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duskholland · 3 years

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Okay but, Dom!tom making you ride him reverse cowgirl while he’s on a phone call meeting, and harrison being like what’s that slapping noise? And Tom being like I’m fucking my girl rn because he knows how SHY YOU ARE but he knows you get wet at ppl knowing and him being like the view I have rn mate, and Harrison just being like you’re the worst. He’d love tormenting you but also would reward you for still riding him like a champ during his work call 😏

fuck... I would lose my mind. I definitely had mob!tom in mind when I wrote this, but if you squint, it also works with normal tom. nsfw - 18+ only!!! extended warnings beneath the cut...

extended warnings: thigh riding, elements of exhibitionism, unprotected sex (please practise safe sex!!)

---

“There you go, darling. Making a nice wet spot on my leg, aren’t you?”

A strangled whine travels up your throat, and you moan softly as you nod against Tom’s shoulder. Your breaths come out in short pants, arcs of fiery pleasure travelling up your spine from the point at which your soaked, throbbing cunt presses to Tom’s leg. He’s had you grinding against his thigh for what feels like forever, teasing your neck with rough kisses as his hands guide your hips.

“Tell me how badly you want it,” he murmurs, lips by your ear. Shivers pass down your spine as his husky tone travels straight to your clit, and you feel your hole clenching around nothing. “Tell me how badly you want to feel my cock.”

You bite at your lip, pushing your forehead further against his shoulder as you try to keep your composure.

“Bad, Tom. Really, really bad.” This hadn’t been your intention when you’d walked into his office, smirking quietly. You’d expected Tom to take you over his desk, or unravel you with three fingers buried in your heat. You hadn’t expected him to hold you on the edge, passing your soaked heat over his thigh, over and over until you’re practically blubbering from the stimulation. He’s enjoying it - enjoying the whimpers and the moans and the slick that coats his thigh - you know he is. Tom thrives off reducing you to this almost feral state of existence. “Please let me feel you.”

Swallowing back the lump in your throat, you pull your face away from his shoulder and blink up at him, desperation in your eyes. Tom seems to melt, his pupils expanding and his jaw slackening as he takes stock of the flush to your face and the way you’re practically begging him with your eyes to indulge you.

“Mmm, well, because you asked so nicely…” His heavy hands push at your hips, moving you out of the way so he can reach down, play around with his belt, and then carefully pull free his cock. You lick your lips at the sight of his member, flushed and weepy, but as you reach out to touch, Tom bats away your hand. “No, darling,” he murmurs. One of his hands smooths over your cheek, thumb resting over your lower lip. You let your tongue slip out, wrapping around the tip of his finger before drawing it back into your mouth. As you suck on his finger, Tom curses. “Such a fucking minx, aren’t you?” He muses. “Look so fucking innocent, don’t you? Hmm? You walk around like you’re an angel, but both of us know that’s a lie.” He pulls his thumb from your mouth and lets his palm fall over the curve of your ass, causing you to jolt.

“Tom,” you whine, grinding back against his thigh. Now you’ve seen his length, all flushed and full like that, you know there’s nothing you need more than to feel him plugging you to the hilt. “Please.”

Tom smirks at you, brown eyes glinting darkly. Both of his hands pull at your ass roughly, causing you to whimper.

“Turn around, love,” he asks, already helping you with his hands. “Want to watch you fuck yourself on my cock from behind.”

A flush travels through you as you turn in his lap and back up, whimpering when you feel his hard cock, stiff between your swollen pussy lips. You sit up straighter, feeling Tom’s mouth ghosts over your shoulder as his hand slips between your thighs, guiding his cock until you feel his head, hot and wet, stiff at your entrance

“Gonna ride me, angel?” He asks, voice gruff. He nibbles at your neck until you whine. “Don’t want you to stop until you’ve cum, yeah?”

You nod, almost delirious with want. “Yes, yes,” you murmur, biting back the desire to buckle down. You need to wait for his command. “Please, Tom.”

“Go ahead.”

A loud whine rattles past your lips as you finally let yourself down onto his cock, Tom’s hands firm as they shift to your hips to guide you. He’s big - so big that it makes you whimper as you slowly start to ride him, enjoying every pleasurable sensation as you feel his cock rock against your hot centre. You reach out to hold the edge of his desk, the glass cold against your clammy skin as you use it as an anchor, keeping you in place as you start to lose yourself in the feeling.

“Doing so well for me, sweetheart,” comes Tom’s voice, raspy and thick with accent. Every now and again, he ruts his hips up to meet your pelvis, and you groan loudly as his tip knocks up against your sensitive g-spot. “Look so fucking good like this, fucking yourself on my cock. Wish I could look at this forever.” He drops his hand over the curve of your ass again and you whimper, feeling a tightness forming in the pit of your stomach.

You move in sync for a while, your pants and the sound of slapping skin filling the office. Tom’s giving with his praise, soothing you with his low uttered sentiments, praising you for the way you’re making him feel, urging you to go faster, rougher, to push the both of you over the edge. You’re lost in it, gasping and biting at your lip, pressing yourself closer to heaven with each rotation of your hips.

You’re so lost in it that you don’t hear Tom’s phone ringing, not even aware of it until you see him reach out and grab the device on the desk. One of his hands shifts to your lower back.

“Keep going, love,” he mutters, voice tight. “Don’t fucking stop.” Your jaw drops as you realise what he’s doing, but before you can question him, Tom answers his phone. “Haz? What’s up?”

For a moment you considering stopping, embarrassment churning alongside your arousal as you contemplate the thought of Tom’s friend hearing something obscene down the line, but then Tom angles his hips up to meet you, and the sensation of his tip brushing against you so deeply makes your mind go numb. So, you grip the table harder and continue, your orgasm only drifting nearer as you hear Tom carry his conversation with Harrison, his voice tight and rushed.

“Aye, yeah. The papers are a mess, you’ll need to look at them tomorrow. Hey, wait a second bro, yeah, just-“

You can’t see what he’s doing, and for a moment, you think Tom’s disconnected, but then he reaches out and puts the phone on the desk, the screen bright and showing the call.

“-Right, keep going. Just put you on speaker.”

Tom’s hands return to your hips, and immediately you turn around, an ache building in your neck as you glare at him. He raises his eyebrows, fingers squeezing at your flesh as he gives you a look as if to say go on.

“Yeah, so, as I was saying, I think I’ll come around in a couple hours to get the scans-“

You grit your teeth, trying to drown out the sound of Harrison’s static voice as your thoughts travel back to the matter at hand. You’re so wet - you feel your arousal dripping down Tom’s cock as you continue to ride him, a sweat breaking out across your forehead. Somehow you manage to reduce your moans to laboured breaths, and for a few minutes, Tom keeps up conversation, Harrison seeming none the wiser. But it all falls apart when Tom tilts you to the side and the position shifts, your eyelids fluttering shut as the angle brings him in deeper - at the expense of a few very loud sounds of skin against skin.

“-What’s that noise? Sounds like slapping?”

Tom keeps his hands on your hips, urging you on as you bite back a whimper.

“I’m fucking my girl,” Tom replies, easily. You bite back a gasp, and you’d have looked around at him if he didn’t distract you by weaving a hand between your legs to play with your clit. The added stimulation adds to your desperation, and the fact that Harrison knows you’re getting railed makes your cunt clench.

“Fucking hell,” Harrison mutters.

“I have the best view right now, mate,” Tom adds. “You should see her.”

You let go of the desk, sitting up and pressing your back against Tom’s front, your breathing heavy as you feel your climax linger. As you continue to move up and down, his lips work across your shoulder, biting at your skin as you hold back your whimpers. Tom’s lips travel up to your ear, and he adds, softly,

“I can feel how wet you just got. I know you fucking love the thought of Haz hearing us. I know how close you are too, darling. You want to cum, don’t you? You want to cum, with Harrison on the line? Let him hear those pretty little screams, hmm?”

You find yourself nodding, squirming in Tom’s lap as his calloused fingers play with your clit.

“Please,” you whisper, eyes screwed shut.

“Do it,” Tom mutters. “‘Cos I’m about to blow it, love, and I want to feel you cumming around me as I fill you up.”

Your eyes roll back as you finally tip over the edge, your orgasm sweeping over you in large, warming waves. Tom’s hands are slippery on your sides, wet with hot sweat, and he bites at your shoulder as he follows suit, cumming with a low groan. You feel his cock pulse, painting your walls with his seed, and together you unravel.

It’s all pants and lazy open-mouthed kisses as you twist in his arms, still attached at your centre. You hold the back of his head with shaking fingers, kissing him roughly until Tom’s hand moves away from your clit.

“Fuck,” you mutter, pushing your forehead to his. After a moment, you pull back and look at the desk, nervous until you realise his phone screen has gone blank. You reach out for Tom’s phone, grabbing it and turning it on curiously.

Harrison: you’re ridiculous.

“What does it say?” Tom asks, pecking your cheek. You repeat the message, and he grins, eyes dancing with amusement. “He loves it really,” he says, before wiggling his eyebrows. “You do too, don’t you?”

You shrug, licking your lips. “Maybe.”

Tom chases your lips with his mouth, inflamed and warm. “Did well for me, though,” he says, eyes glinting. He kisses you again, hand shifting back towards your clit. “I think I should reward you for taking me so well, don’t you?”

You nod, a smirk biting at your lips. “Go ahead.”

#im crying #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland #myblurbs #tomblurbs #tom.filth #anonymous #smut

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tarithenurse · 3 years

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Spark - 15

Fandom: Enn Enn no Shouboutai / Fire Force. Pairing: Shinmon Benimaru x fem!reader. Content: Hints of smutty thoughts, angst, lack of proofing, suppressed emotions, assholes, fighting, sarcasm. Not necessarily in this order. A/N: Feel free to ASK (or reblog) for tag – in fact: always reblog. Thanks to those who have already <3

15. Choking

… Reader …

The dust clings to your sweaty skin as you force your way through Benimaru’s powered offence. Even if the flames he produce don’t hurt you, the heat steals your breath and the pressure of the air still feels like walking through a storm. Clenching the jaw to hold back curses, the best option is to somehow dodge the blasts of fire and come in low, aiming for his ankles in an attempt to knock him off balance.

Easier said than done. And sure enough, when your legs swing around, he simply jumps and somersaults over to land right behind you. One hand grabs one of your arms, fingers tangle into your hair, pulling your back into an arch against the knee he has you pinned with.

“Now what?” he drawls and your subconscious projects lewd images into your mind – most scenarios where he is pulling your hair for “slightly other” reasons.

Your own hand is small around his wrist but the grip is strong and he doesn’t fight as hard against you as a real attack would which means you can pull him along into a tumble that lands you splayed over him on the ground. The hard panes of his muscles cushions your back a bit while the air is knocked out of him. The only problem now is that he somehow has the wits to change the grip, locking your arms by the elbows – the tangle of limbs is angling you awkwardly and pressing you chest out and shoulders back. A slight tilt of the head brings his bored expression into view.

I can grind into his groin, catching him by surprise and -

“Waka! WAKA!” Mamoru and a few of the other men burst out into the sunlit back yard.

Fists clenched, chests heaving, and eyes filled with nervousness, it’s obvious even to you that something’s wrong. Benimaru must have realized to, because he releases you and pulls you to your feet as he urges the men for an explanation.

“Civilian cops -” Mamoru doesn’t get further for the others.

“- they’re everywhere -”

“We heard it’s the same in Sumida and Taito!”

The panicked voice glide into the background and you grab the oversized clothes you had discarded before the sparring, pulling on socks and shoes without bothering to wipe the sand off your feet.

“Other places too, but the worst thing is -”

Mamoru finally manages to overpower his team mates, “- everywhere Company Three is conveniently there too.”

Shinmon’s voice calms your galloping heart though the words are lost on you – they are not meant for you anyways, but the men who set out to track and delay the unwanted search units in their progress as according to the Worst Case Scenario Plan.

“[Y/N].” Like conjured out of nowhere, Benimaru stands before you, his hot hands wrapping tenderly but sternly around your upper arms. “Keep your head clear. You know what to do?”

You could drown in the calm fire of his mix-match eyes. “Yes.”

“Don’t come out until I come for you...” It almost seems like he wants to say something more, his gaze flicking across your face, but his mouth closes and he turns you with a slight push to get you moving.

And move you do.

For once, you don’t bother about removing your shoes as you speed inside, feet beating a scrambling tattoo as you rush down the hallways and into the men’s bathroom (keeping you gaze fixed on the window and ranting apologies to the startled guy who is unaware of anything going on outside). It’s a stretch for you to get up and through the half-sized window, only pausing to check if the little back street is clear.

As you spill out onto the ground ungracefully, a little thought in the back of you head says you’ll be bruised from this. Thankfully, adrenaline is coursing through your veins and forces the body to move on its own.

Over the wall into the neighbour’s garden.

Spot the little outhouse in the north-west corner...and onto the roof while keeping low.

The thoughts have warped into Benimaru’s voice instead of your own, keeping the objective clear just like he would have wanted. Dirty hands reach for the second floor window in the next house, sliding the loose glass pane sideways without the slightest tremble. Are those my hands? They must be, because they do as you want, reaching in and unlocking the window.

It’s a storage room, you realize after entering and closing the unorthodox entry. Technically, some bored-looking wise ass had revealed that days ago but it only really becomes relevant enough to understand now as you clock the futon in the corner. Under there, there’s a couple of altered floorboards to create a hiding space.

Pushing up the cover, you glare at the cramped spot, a hand sliding across your stomach that has gotten softer thanks to Konro’s amazing cooking granting you regular meals. It’ll be tight. Very tight.

... Benimaru ...

Cops. Benimaru can’t recall the last time they had set foot in Asakusa – the district has been more or less self-governing for as long as anyone can remember and institutions like police and firefighters had been a part of the neighbourhood watch roles. Still is, but a fraction of them (the ones best at handling combustions) had been selected by Konro and formed the Seventh’s Special Fire Force. The people of Asakasu protect their own...but it had still taken too long to round up the unwelcome “visitors” and even longer to find the sleazy bastard from Company Three who had managed to sneak into the headquarters.

It had taken all of Benimaru’s willpower to keep from reducing the man to ashes. The taste of blood seeped into his mouth, while Doctor Giovanni spoke of the so-called righteous need to study and use (abuse) the young woman. Fiery rage simmered beneath the captain’s skin at the outsider’s obvious lack of compassion, the refusal to see [Y/N] as a human with rights.

Thankfully, Konro had been able to think. His voice could cut stone as he calmly stated what the accepted channels for cross-jurisdiction work were and in particular how they had been violated during this “unauthorized operation”.

That’s when they were handed the official documentation overruling anyone in Asakusa. I could take them on and win. But Konro took the option away by accepting the order from the higher-ups and telling Company Seven to stand aside.

...

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Konro grated out.

No. The twins had been fast, grabbing the few belongings that could betray [Y/N]’s existence and stashing them in the storage together with other goodwill things.

“The intel was...incomplete,” Giovanni conceded, goosebump-inducing sweetness slathered onto every word. “I’m thankful for your help. It’s a relief to know we can trust our colleagues across all of Tokyo to be true to the law and the interest of the nation. Imagine if someone had indeed kept vital information Haijima and the Holy Sol...”

Benimaru nearly cracked his teeth at that, but managed to keep a stoic facade despite the inner rage.

“Yes, where would we be without the government?” Konro reiterated rhetorically. “Humanity would be vulnerable, and we’re here to protect the people, after all.”

The words hung for a moment heavy in the room until the sound of departing vehicles rumbled by the building. Police is leaving.

“...indeed. Yes.” A few fingers touched the brim of the hat, tipping it lightly in salute. “At least today was...fruitful.”

What? The two men in charge of Company Seven didn’t dare move until the door had closed behind Giovanni. [Y/N]. I have to...she has to...if she’s not -

“Beni.” Konro’s hand was heavy on the younger man’s shoulder, his eyes darker than normal with worry. “You have to wait ‘til they are gone.”

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quietlyimplode · 3 years

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I love all your fics, I just read them over and over again, especially the Tony and Nat fics that you had recently written. Here I put some symbols I’m interested in, feel free to do whatever you want :) ✓ ❥ ✈ Greetings from Spain

Hello!! Thanks so much for your lovely message. I really appreciate it. It’s been a bit of a rough week so apologies for the delay. I hope you like this one, it didn’t come out how I wanted but it’s done! It’ll sit here with the rest here. (Warnings for Rumlow being a dick and disordered thinking).

waking up either adorably confused or painfully scared

barefoot, sleepy wanderings

reaching out for someone [bonus points if they mumble! their! name!

...

The plane is a small cloaked quinjet, big enough for two. She’s glad the mission is over, safety is in her reach. If it’s Clint picking her up, she can sleep; and she wants it so badly to be Clint on board. As the hatch opens, and no one greets her, she knows it’s not. Natasha’s face morphs into anger as she realises who’s come.

“Hey Russia.” Comes the low voice.

The taunt, on any other day would not even be a blip on her radar, but now? When she was so tired that she wanted to sleep? It deepens her emotions. Her anger bubbles and in her core she wants to punch something or break down completely.

Neither are permissible.

She’d promised her body and her mind that once they were here, at this point, that they could rest. It feels like a kick in the guts she can’t.

The fallout was coming.

It was a race to get home before her past began to morph with her present. She’d pushed herself too far. Was now, pushing herself too far.

She’d been tracked for almost 4 days, catching glimpses of sleep when she was sure that her body was covered, knives in hand and glass surrounding her, a sound warning in case her body didn’t react quick enough. The sheer amount of adrenaline that has been pumping through her body of the last couple of days is leading to a full shut down. She’s already feeling the effects of adrenal fatigue, and it’s showing in her actions.

She can’t sleep with Rumlow here, she doesn’t trust him to close her eyes around him. And now, she has 14 hours, more likely 15 to get home and hide.

She wants to cry.

Instead, she acknowledges him, sits next to him in the cockpit and takes a deep breath as they take off.

They’re lucky the quinjet flies itself.

Rumlow sleeps five hours in.

Natasha is so sick of making and answering small talk, and evidently so is he. She’s angry and tired and Rumlow likes to stir her. She kept away as much as she can, felt his eyes watching her as she reads, eats, drinks. There’s definitely something about him that she hates, and it’s not just because he snores.

Theoretically she could sleep, but instead she starts her mission report. It’s futile. She starts writing and her eyes close drift close . She reads and her eyes close. She looks over and sees Rumlow in deep sleep.

“I could kill you so easily.” She whispers with a snarl, mostly to herself.

Her eyes drift close.

“Take my socks. You’ll feel better soon.” Natasha soothes passing them across to Oksana.

Oksana looks up at her, a shiver passing through her body. “It won’t help. They know I’m sick.”

Natasha shakes her head, “No. You’ll be ok,” she says, taking her hand and patting it, dread pooling in her stomach. The door creaks and Natasha tip toes back to bed, and watches as the guard does his round of the girls beds. Watches as he stops at Oksana’s bed. Squeezes her eyes closed, and then peeking as she watches him pick her up and take her away.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers.

“What are you sorry for?” A male voice says.

Natasha’s eyes open abruptly, thoughts of Oksana still fresh.

“Regretting this line of work?” He follows up, “or planning to kill me?”

She checks the time. 4 hours to go. She’s slept but feels worse, nightmares and dreams making her feel nauseous.

“What do you think?”she retorts.

Natasha gets up and gets a drink, sipping the caffeine slowly, hoping it works miracles.

Rumlow rolls his eyes when she steps back into his view.

“You know Romanoff, people would like you better if you’d just relax more, maybe smile and not glare. It’d make people be more at ease around you. We’re supposed to be on the same team, and you and Barton are..”

She knows. She knows he’s baiting her.

Natasha can’t help it.

She snaps, her body moving faster than her mind, and she punches him in the face; knocking him to the floor, anger fuels her movement and the snarl the comes from her is animalistic as she punches him again, knocking him out.

Oksana smiles.

Natasha smiles back.

“He’s like our old handlers.” Oksana whispers, in Russian, squatting next to Rumlow. “Misogynistic and rude.”

Natasha turns away and sits in the cockpit, and waits with her friend as the jet flies them home.

Rumlow is still unconscious when they land.

Natasha can’t find it in herself to care. He’ll be fine, she’s sure. Doubts that he’s going to admit what happened, or may potentially skew it to his own version of events. Natasha looks back, watches the rise and fall of his chest and then turns and exits the jet with Oksana by her side.

She heads straight for her apartment, she doesn’t check in, doesn’t make contact with anyone; just wants her bed, her own security and own space.

She’s so close.

Clint arrives back from Maine with a smile on his face. Mission success and he’d eaten delicious lobster before heading home which made for a good week in his book. Entering headquarters, he’s immediately summoned to Fury’s lair. He’s not even through the door before he sees Rumlow and all at once his good mood is gone.

“Sir?” He says at the doorway.

Rumlow turns and Clint smirks as he sees two black eyes narrowing at him.

“Rumlow.” He acknowledges.

“Where’s your bitch of a girlfriend?” Rumlow spits.

Fury steps out, eye narrowing.

“What did you just say?” Clint’s hands ball into fists.

“Where’s Romanoff?” Fury translates.

Clint reluctantly turns his attention to Fury.

“I don’t know.”

He looks back to Rumlow.

“Why?”

“She sucker punched me and we haven’t seen her in over 24 hours.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I just got back.” He informs them.

“She hasn’t contacted you?” Fury clarifies.

Clint huffs. “No sir.”

Fury sits back down.

“You’re dismissed.” He directs at Rumlow. “You stay.” He nods to Clint.

Rumlow shoots him a dirty look and leaves.

“Sir?” Clint inquires, he’s now starting to get worried about Natasha. “Any insight you want to give me on why one of them most measured people I’ve ever met, who doesn’t do anything without thinking about it at every angle, punched another agent and is now missing?”

Fury shakes his head.

“Find her. I don’t want to have to report this to the WSC.”

Clint assumes he’s dismissed and exits quickly.

He finds her in the bathroom of his apartment in the corner with her head in her hands. He can’t tell but she’s either dissociating or asleep; neither of which are ideal in an area with cold floors and sharp objects.

“Tasha?” He nudges her foot, hopes that it’s enough to wake her.

“Natasha.” He says again. Louder this time.

He watches as she slowly opens her eyes and a tear slips out and drop down her face.

“Clint?” Her face crumples and she looks like she’s going to cry. “Help me.”

He makes her stand, and steadies her as she stumbles, leading her tired form to the bed.

He pushes her down and lays with her. Her breath is coming out in short gasps and he doesn’t really know what to do.

“Hey,” he pulls her into a hug. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s ok.” Clint is terrified.

She pushes back into him, drawing his arm around her.

“I’m so tired.” She whispers. Clint rubs her back, whispers in her ear that it’s going to be ok. He feels the hitch of her breath and white redundant anger rolls through him. Whatever Rumlow or Fury did to reduce her to.. this.. He doesn’t understand.

He thinks she’s finally asleep, and starts to move away, wanting to see her face, scout what she’s been doing in the past 24 hours, hopes that it’s nothing self-destructive.

He stands and finds himself caught by her hand, he hears her mumble his name and the desperate plea of “don’t leave.”

Settling back next to her he wraps his hands back around her.

Everything else can wait.

#clintasha #clintasha fanfic #clint/nat fic #ask away #my fics #natasha romanoff #black widow #clint barton #hawkeye #brock rumlow #tw misogyny #tw disordered thinking

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stennnn06 · 3 years

Text

another year over, a new one just begun

reignjas + NYE - quick fic.

[possible continuation from ‘under the mistletoe’ ]

The phone rings sharply-- a blaring, ghastly sound that jolts Andrea so far out of sleep that she's convinced she's run an entire marathon and collapsed, right back into her king sized bed. Her heart pounds as she glares at the clock.

11:05.

It isn't even that late, but it's a holiday, and she's trying to forget about the fact that she's already in bed, alone. The phone continues to wail. Apparently, in her wine drunken stupor, she left the volume all the way up after watching an embarrassing number of TikTok videos. Past Andrea is a fucking idiot, and she curses herself swiftly. She doesn't bother sitting up as she pulls the phone to her face in a sloppy, sideways angle.

"Hello?" she answers, muffled.

"Andrea, hi," a painfully familiar voice croons on the other end. There's a pause, and Andrea frowns, sure that she's making things up. It would be a fitting end to a shit year, the ghosts of missed opportunities calling her in the middle of the night on New Year's Eve just to taunt her. But as if the woman on the other end can read her thoughts, she quietly exhales a soft, "it's Sam," and Andrea is sent reeling.

"What do you want?"

Andrea grimaces. It comes out so much sharper than she intends, but she can't very well say "what are you doing?" or "how are you?" because that would be normal, and they're not normal. They've never been, and Andrea knows she's partially to blame for that.

Okay, maybe she's fully to blame, but they aren't keeping score and she isn't about to open her heart and allow Sam Arias of all people to make herself at home.

She won't.

"I don't really know," Sam says, a teasing laugh in her voice. Andrea's stomach flips. "I just thought -- well I guess you're probably at some swanky New Year's Eve party or something, I don't know why I'm bothering you--"

"I'm not," Andrea interrupts. "I'm not anywhere."

"Oh," Sam says quickly. "Oh, okay."

There's another awkward pause that seems to stretch to infinity. Andrea listens to the soft sounds of Sam's shallow breaths and the muffled voices in the background. Ryan Seacrest is babbling about some pop group that Andrea assumes is far out of her demographic, but then it hits her that Sam doesn't sound like she has any plans, either.

The last time they spoke was at Lena's holiday party, if you could count it as speaking. Mostly, Andrea hid behind veiled insults and sarcasm until the gin in her martinis loosened her tongue enough to find Sam's mouth charming. She doesn't know how they ended up huddled together during a game of charades of all things, with Sam's hand ghosting over the small of her back and her own fingers tracing patterns on Sam's thigh, and she'd rather not dwell on the fact that she let her guard slip enough to pull Sam under the mistletoe, but--

Sam kissed her back. That much she knows. And, beyond that, it was searing hot and something she hasn't been able to remove from her mind since, which is its own brand of infuriating.

(That, and the fact that she actually doesn't find Sam as insufferable as she acts, and in fact finds her annoyingly attractive, all grates against her patience as she waits for Sam to say something.)

"I should have called earlier," Sam says, still toeing the line of actually getting to the point.

"You should also get an award for the gymnastics you're doing," Andrea bites back. "What do you want, Sam?"

"Nothing, I'm sorry," Sam apologizes, unnecessarily. "I guess... I just wanted to say happy new year. I hope you have a good night, Andrea."

She hangs up before Andrea can respond, which is just as well. She's not about to get snuggly on the phone and whisper pleasantries until the ball drops. That's not the kind of girl she is.

She tosses her phone aside and curls back up on her side, angrily pulling the covers up high over her shoulders. Stupid Sam with her stupid voice and her stupid face, calling before midnight on stupid New Year's Eve--

Well, now she's awake. Dammit all to hell. She throws the covers back in exasperation. She's also out of wine, and out of patience, and God, why did Sam have to go and ruin everything?

The address stares back at her, teasing, from the application on her phone. She knows it because there isn't anything she can't access -- thank God for data privacy and her company's penchant for exploiting it. It's something she'll ask forgiveness for later, probably. Until then--

Her car pulls up to a modest brownstone only several minutes from her own condo. The fact that she sleeps only a few miles from Sam's house isn't lost on her, but they can spend the rest of the new year unpacking all that.

It's 11:45 by the time she knocks on the door.

Sam answers after a minute, and she has no right to look that fucking good, but. That's just how this is going to go, apparently. Sam curls a strand of hair behind her ear, her oversized NCU sweatshirt looking so warm and inviting--

Andrea huffs at the sight. She's still in yoga pants and a crew neck sweatshirt, her hair tucked under a Metropolis Monarchs baseball cap because she's not trying to look like she's trying, which means she didn't try at all. Seeing Sam in front of her now, though, makes her wish she did. She purses her lips.

"Andrea?" Sam frowns, crossing her arms tentatively. "What are you--"

"Don't read into it," Andrea scolds, feeling suddenly very bold and very presumptuous. Sam didn't even really ask her to do anything, and yet here she is, with fucking bells on. "You sounded desperate."

"Yeah, I guess I did," Sam agrees, shrugging. She's so unbothered by the whole idea of asking for what she wants, that Andrea is bewildered. Can it really just be like that? "You want to come in?"

Andrea bites back every sarcastic comment she can think to make -- 'no, I want to stand on your porch for the rest of time' or 'no, I'm not here to see you--" and instead she simply nods and follows.

Sam leads her to a warm family room with a blazing fire, a good sized TV and a modestly full bottle of champagne. It needles at her that Sam is here, alone, throwing her own little celebration, without falling apart at the seams like Andrea was. It's baffling.

"I don't want to intrude," Andrea jokes, nodding at the small singular plate of snacks.

"Yeah, I was throwing a rager, but I guess I have room for one more," Sam teases, and it's light and easy and Andrea's stomach catapults into space. "Drink?"

Andrea bites her lip and nods, and before she can stop it, they're sitting on the couch, thighs touching, watching everyone in downtown Metropolis huddle together in preparation for the ball to drop.

"Is this what you normally do?" Andrea asks, curious. She doesn't look at Sam, instead gluing her eyes to the TV where Anderson Cooper is trying desperately to look like he wants to be there instead of his cozy, posh mansion. Andrea can't imagine.

"My daughter is usually here, but she's at that age now where friends are much cooler than mom," Sam sighs, almost wistful. "So I guess this is the new normal."

Ah right, the daughter. Sam has a child, and Andrea knows it, but also conveniently forgets about it until it's staring her in the face. Or being dropped casually into the conversation, like right now. She wonders what it'll be like, to have to navigate that, but it's so far beyond comprehension that she lets it slide in silence.

The fact that her mind inevitably went there, however, presses firmly in her chest.

"I'm glad you came over," Sam says softly as the giant ticker starts to count down from 1 minute. "I wanted you to--"

Andrea turns and is immediately lost in the look on Sam's face -- like she means what she's saying, and God, isn't that just everything Andrea has been looking to avoid?

Before she has to come up with a response, everyone starts counting down from 10 and she's saved by the hokey tradition of watching a glistening crystal ball drop in the middle of a crowd.

"Happy new year!" Sam exclaims, turning to her with a hundred watt smile. It's ridiculously adorable, how excited she is about something so simple, and part of Andrea simply melts. "Cheers!"

Their glasses clink together, and they're sipping champagne, and then their glasses are put aside and Sam is still staring at her with that look....

Andrea wants it, desperately, and she watches the way Sam's eyes glance from her lips to her eyes and back, a question burning in the silence between them.

Sam leans forward and Andrea lets her, and before she can fully process, their lips are slotted together, soft, and warm and hungry. Everything seems to break apart fully, her impenetrable wall reduced to dust. Why she was ever trying to deny this is beyond her, as Sam's lips push every last thought from her brain. Her hands trail along Sam's toned sides and up into her hair, satisfied at the whimper it elicits from Sam's mouth.

She gives and takes in a comfortable back and forth, all the while thinking that maybe this could be something worth getting used to.

"Do you think what they say is true?" Sam asks, breathless as they pull apart. Auld Lang Syne plays softly in the background, the melody profound and sad and nostalgic. Andrea is pretty sure she'll never hear it the same way again, not after tonight. "That whatever you're doing at midnight is how you'll spend the year?" She has a goofy smile teasing across her lips and her cheeks are flushed and Andrea just wants to kiss her over and over and over.

"That's absurd--" Andrea scoffs, her heart squeezing slightly. "Why?"

"I kind of hope it is," Sam says, shrugging, her hand still resting on Andrea's knee.

Something about the way she says it -- soft, vulnerable, honest -- makes Andrea break. She pulls her forward by the collar of her sweatshirt, breaking her momentum with her lips. She kisses her with everything she has, pleading it's enough without having to explain. Sam smiles against her mouth, and it causes Andrea to follow, and soon they're grinning and kissing and kissing and kissing... And oh, this is what it's supposed to feel like.

"I hope so too," Andrea eventually whispers in the space between them as they try to catch their breath. Sam looks at her, eyes wide and sparkling and Andrea can't help but chuckle. "Happy new year, Sam."

#reignjas #rojarias #NYE #i really wanted a NYE fic and so i panicked and threw this together last minute #while angrily answering emails #but this is keeping me sane #happy new year everyone!#stay safe #andrea x sam #why are they so fucking GOOD #UGH #going to go write more about them PROBABLY

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sillyrabbit81 · 3 years

Text

Her Heavy Cross

Summary: Three years after tragedy hits, Lana she decides to start dating again. She meets Will through a dating app and they begin an online romance. After months of constant requests, Lana relents and agrees to meet and go on an irl date with Will. But is Will who he says he is? Lana is quickly pulled into an intense relationship forcing her to confront her tragic past. Will Lana face it or will she close her heart forever?

Pairing: OMC x OFC

Word Count: approx 3.5k

Warnings: swearing, smut, Dom vibes, dirty talk

Authors Note: The story started as a Henry Cavill fanfiction but I changed it to be an original character, but shades of Henry are still there. Hope you enjoy the story and thanks for reading.

Part 11 Part 13

Part 12

It took over an hour to get to Liam's place. Sydney peak hour traffic was a bloody nightmare, especially on a Friday afternoon. By the time I neared Liam's house, I was drained.

I picked up a bit when I pulled into his garage. As he said, the door was open. I parked my car and got out gingerly, almost scared to open my car door in case I hit the car next to mine. It was a 2021 Jag-F Type V8 R, and it was fucking sex. It was black with tan leather seats and a black interior. I circled the car noting the red callipers and black wheels.

I tried to peer inside, but it was too reflective. I cupped a hand around my eyes to reduce the glare, and as my palm touched the glass, the car beeped.

"Holy fucking shit cunt!" I yelled and jumped back about 10 metres. I leaned against my car and took deep breaths, my heart racing.

"Did I scare you?" I heard Liam say. He was standing in the doorway, and his whole body seemed to be twitching, trying to hold back a laugh. He was dressed casually, jeans and a t-shirt with an unzipped hoodie. I stared daggers at him.

"Yeah, you did, you bastard." My heart was beating like a drum in my chest.

"I just wanted to open the car door for you so you could see inside." He came over to me. He still had a grin on his face as he stood in front of me, hands in his jacket pockets. Then the whole building rumbled, and I jumped again only to realise it was just the garage door closing. "Sorry I couldn't help it." He laughed, showing me the remote before pocketing it again.

I couldn't stay mad. It was pretty funny. I tried to suppress my smile. Liam leaned forward and rested his hands on my car, trapping me between his arms. I didn't have to try not to laugh anymore; I had to try not to melt. He leaned into me, pressing me between his body and my car. Instinctively my legs parted for him. His body dipped slightly, and I felt his thigh slip between my legs. As he stood to his full height, his thigh lifted me until I was on my toes and rubbed deliciously against me.

I thought he would kiss me. Instead, he said, "I missed you." He put a hand on the side of my neck, his thumb caressing my cheek. Then he moved his hand around my neck and gently gripped my throat before moving down my chest, resting between my breasts. His eyes followed the path of his hand, then closed briefly. When he opened them, they were blazing with heat.

"I missed you too," I whispered.

He leaned his forehead into mine, our noses touching. "Your heart's beating so fast. I didn't mean to scare you that much." He delicately rubbed his nose against me.

"It's not just because you scared me. It's being near you." I wriggled against him until I could feel his thigh in just the right place. I rocked against it, trying to soothe the ache I felt.

He kissed me then. Rough and hungry. There was no foreplay, no soft kisses to start, only passionate, all-consuming kisses. His skin, rough with stubble, stung my lips as I kissed him back. Grinding against his thigh, I could feel his hardness was obvious and impossible to ignore. I held onto his arms, relishing the feel of his muscles. I wanted all of him, and I let my hands explore his shoulders and back. Liam did his own exploring, not just of my mouth, but his hands covered my chest, squeezing at my breasts. His hand went under my shirt and resumed its assault on my breasts, fingertips grazing against my hard nipples. Liam didn't stop kissing me. He felt so hard it must be uncomfortable confined as it was.

His kisses paused, but his body didn't. He lifted one of my thighs to his waist. He held me there, squeezed under his arm while he ran his hand up my thigh and gripped my arse. My bones felt like rubber, and my neck fell back as he used this new position to rub against my centre. With my throat bared to him, he kissed my neck, his tongue massaging deep into me and sucking my skin.

"I want to fuck you right here." He growled into my neck.

"Then do it," I said back, my voice surprised me with its hoarseness.

"I don't have a condom on me." He roughly grabbed my face forcing me to look at him. His fingers and thumb dug into my cheeks. He smiled, but it looked more like a snarl. "I thought I'd make it back to the house. But I find you bent over my car with your arse in the air, just begging me to take you." He spanked me then. I moaned and kept moving against him. My core was aching, milking at nothing, desperate to be filled. My hands gripped at his arse, pulling him in closer. My need was overwhelming as I felt him through our clothes, using his body to get the friction I craved. I was panting, moaning, searching for release.

"Then I saw your face, cheeks flaming, eyes wide, lips parted looking just like you do when I fuck you, and I knew I had to touch you." He kissed me again, his hand still holding my cheeks. "When you opened your legs for me, I almost lost control." His hand left my cheeks and clamped over my throat, and I close to my peak.

"I felt your heart beating like a cornered rabbit. I thought you were scared, but you said it was me. I did that to you. You couldn't control your lust, grinding against my leg like a bitch in heat, and you finally made me lose control." Everything slipped away. The whole world was gone. The only thing left was Liam, his voice rough like gravel, his thigh hard as stone and my sweet release. There was no denying it, my moans turned into shouts, and my body drove itself to its climax. Liam's mouth came over mine, and he smothered my cries as I snapped. Ecstasy rolled through me as I came—wave after wave of pleasure coursed through my body. Too soon, the world came back, and I wilted into Liam's arms.

He held me gently now, his body no longer crushing me. His arms were around my back, and he lifted mine around his neck. I heard, "Hang on, Sweetheart." I tightened my grip as much as I could spent like I was. He scooped me up, one arm behind my back, the other under my knees.

The jolt brought me back to my senses. "What are you doing?" I said.

Liam smiled, looking down at me as he carried me out of the garage and across his backyard. "What does it look like? I'm taking what's mine to my bedroom." His eyes shined dangerously. "It's my turn."

"You're a caveman," I said to him, smiling. The euphoria of my orgasm still very much with me.

"You love it." He said. "Open the door." I opened the back door and closed it behind us.

Cole bounced around Liam's feet as we got inside. I reached out and patted him. "Hi, Cole." I greeted him.

"Cole. Mat." Liam's voice was stern. "Stay." He ordered.

"Poor Cole," I said. Liam rolled his eyes.

He didn't put me down until we reached the lift. We were about to go up when I remembered my bag. "All my stuff is still in my car," I said.

Liam growled in annoyance. "Where are your keys?"

"In my bag, next to my car."

"Just your handbag? Anything else?" He barked.

"Overnight bag on the front seat."

"Don't move." Liam jogged back to the car. Jogged. Ha! Whipped, I thought.

He came back quickly, and he caught me grinning before I could hide it.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," I lied. I wasn't about to poke a horny bear.

We got in the elevator. "Thank you," I said, pointing to my bags. Liam grunted, clearly impatient. Looking at his pants, it was clear why.

When we got to his room, he dropped my bags in the doorway. He took off his jacket and leaned in the doorframe a moment, looking at me. I got nervous under his gaze. He stared at me for so long. Eventually, I asked, "What are you staring at?"

"You." He replied.

"Yes, but why?"

"I'm trying to decide if I want to fuck you or have you suck my cock."

I swallowed. "Oh."

"Lana."

"Yes."

"Go sit on the bed." I did, and he followed me. Standing in front of me, he parted my legs and got in close. "Undo my belt." I started to undo his belt, but he stopped me and said, "Go slow and look at me." I had to pause a minute and take deep breaths. I could feel my excitement build again. I peered up at him as I did what he instructed. He was imposing from this angle, so big as he loomed over me, watching me, licking his lips as he told me to undo his buttons.

His open jeans sat resting on his hips, and he reached into his underwear to pull out his cock. My mouth parted, I wanted it, I wanted to touch him, lick him, please him. But I waited, my eyes moving between his face and his sex.

He ran his hands through my hair, gathering it all behind my head and held it in his fist. "Open your mouth," he said. I felt warmth all through my body, and I opened my mouth. He guided my head to his sex, and he entered my mouth. I heard him groan as I clamped my lips and let my tongue curve around him. Although he held my hair as he did, he let me control the pace. I moved my lips up and down his shaft, using my tongue to suck on him as I went. He was too big to fit in my mouth entirely, so I wrapped my hand around the base and moved it in time with my mouth. I watched as he closed his eyes, his face full of tension. I kept going, increasing my rhythm steadily.

Liam opened his eyes. They were wild and dark. "Fuck." He snarled, his fist growing tighter around my hair. "You're going to make me cum." I hummed in agreement, the vibrations making him jerk slightly, but I didn't stop.

I reached between his legs with my other hand and cupped his balls. They were tight, close to his body, and I knew he didn't have long. My fingers rubbed him gently as I continued to hold him in my mouth. I watched as he threw his head back and his hips thrust into me. Liam held my head still, and I felt his cock thicken in my mouth. He unleashed an animalistic cry as he exploded into my mouth. I felt the release on my tongue in waves until he quieted. Then Liam shuddered and pulled out of my mouth. I swallowed his bitter and warm cum. I almost laughed out loud as I remembered the picture he had sent of the pineapple juice.

He released my hair and stood for a minute, recovering. Then he surprised me by lifting me to a standing position and kissed me softly.

His kisses were different now. They weren't full of passion and hunger but were tender and sweet. He licked at my lips with his tongue before he slipped it into me, massaging at my tongue before pulling back. He hummed, content as we held each other. I breathed deeply into his chest, his masculine smell soothing me and once again, I found the whole world slip away until it was just the two of us.

We stood embracing for a while before we pulled away, smiling stupid grins at each other.

"I haven't had a girl dry hump me since I was 17," Liam said. He was laughing as he put himself away and did his pants up. I felt my cheeks heat. I wanted to hit him. "No, no, no. It was good," he protested. He kissed my nose. "The next part was even better." I blushed harder.

I felt awkward now that my passion was sated. I wanted to hide, but Liam moved around seemingly without any of the embarrassment I felt. Seeing his confidence seemed to help mine. He didn't look at me like I was doing something wrong or illicit; he looked at me with desire and awe. He didn't feel like what we did was wrong because it wasn't. It was all in my head. It was the story I had told myself, so I would suppress my desires after Andy had died. So I wouldn't move on, so I would stay in that depression, grieving him forever, punishing myself for not being in the car too for not dying with them.

"Lana," Liam's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Are you ok? I think I lost you there."

"I'm ok." I lied. I could tell by how he tilted his head and looked at me that he knew that wasn't true.

"Did you not like it? Did I hurt you?"

I shook my head. "It's not you." I plastered a smile on my face. "I'm fine."

"I've known enough women to know that "I'm fine" means "you fucked up."

I rolled my eyes and put my arms around his neck. "I'll be right."

Liam looked confused. "You'll be right what?"

"Don't you Pommies speak English? I'll be right. I will be alright. It's ok. I'll be fine."

Liam grinned, "I speak English perfectly. You speak some crazy alien imitation of English."

"Yeah, righto, mate," I said playfully. I kissed Liam quickly, still smiling, but it was genuine now.

"I've heard that one before."

"Good on ya." I was having fun with it.

Liam half sighed, and half laughed. He tried to ignore my game and asked, "Are you hungry? Should we get ready for dinner?"

"Well, I'm not here fuck spiders."

He threw his hands up, exasperated. But he was laughing as he said. "What the bloody hell does that mean?"

"It's a sarcastic reply to an obvious question. Yes, I'm hungry. Feed me, Seymour."

Liam went into his dressing room to get changed. I sat on his bed, waiting for him, keeping my eyes averted. He dressed quickly and came out in a pair of black pants and a salmon coloured knitted jumper. He took my breath away. He was so gorgeous. He sat on his chair in the corner of the room and put on his shoes and socks.

I was nervous about being in public with Liam. I didn't want any more photos showing up online adding fuel to the fire. I figured if nothing came out, then the story would go away until I was ready.

I told Liam how I felt, and he said, "That's why we are going to Blue Salt. The more expensive and exclusive a place is, the less likely you are to have photos appear, unless it's a nightclub, the paps stake those places out. I guess it's about the type of people." He shrugged as he finished with his shoes.

My Australian egalitarian values bristled at this. I liked fancy restaurants, clothes, cars, houses and jewellery as much as any woman around the world, but I hated snobbery. There was some classism in Australia, but I no more respected a surgeon than I would respect a labourer. It was about who they were as people, and it's what actions they took in the world that was important, not their education.

I loved that I lived in a country where a guy can interrupt the Prime Minister giving a press conference. He can tell the media to get off his front lawn because he just reseeded it, and the PM says, "Sure. Let's just move back." When they move, the guy just says, "Sorry mate," to the PM, who replies, "All good." No security involvement, no guns, just mutual respect.

Another of our PMs once held the world record for fastest skol of a yard of beer while at Oxford, and until he died, he would skol a beer at the Cricket in summer to cheers from the crowd. We aren't a perfect country. There's a lot I don't like. But that, that I loved.

When he had finished dressing, I shooed Liam out of his room so I could get dressed. He seemed a bit disappointed, but I insisted. I put on a short, black body con dress with tight lace sleeves and black pantyhose. I put on a pair of black six-inch heels to top it off. I reapplied my makeup with dark and sultry eyeshadow and deep red lipstick. I fixed my hair which I let hang free down my shoulders and back.

I was nervous about going down to see Liam. He hadn't seen me dress like this before. I was dressed up last Friday when we met, but it wasn't a sexy outfit. I preferred to wear pants. Usually, jeans and t-shirts, and most of my dating profile pics depicted that. But I also loved getting dressed up and wearing something sexy. It made me feel sexy, confident, as well. I wanted to show Liam this side of me too, but I was scared of his reaction. What if he hated it? Preferring my more casual look. Or what if he liked it and wanted me to dress like it all the time. I decided fuck it, I would dress how I want to dress, and he can go jump if that's not good enough.

I went down the lift and took a deep breath. I pushed as many of my negative thoughts out of my head as I could and went into the lounge room.

Liam was sitting on his lounge with Cole reading what looked like a script. One of his ankles was resting on his knee, and he was writing on the pages. He said, "Hold on a minute, Lana, just making some notes." He looked up briefly before dropping his head to the page. He froze then slowly looked up, his face blank. A smile slowly appeared on his face revealing his teeth. He put the script and pen down.

His reaction so far was close to what I had hoped for, so I did a little turn for him. "Do you like it?" I asked.

Liam stood and started to walk over to me. No walk wasn't the word; he stalked over to me, his body tense as if ready for a chase. My knees felt weak watching him move like a predator, knowing what his strong limbs could do if he caught me. Heat bloomed between my legs. I wanted him to catch me.

It took everything I had not to hide in fear or shame of my desire. I didn't look away as I watched Liam look me up and down as he approached. I wanted to, but part of me didn't. Part of me knew how good I looked, knew the reaction I wanted, knew I wanted him like this, feral and dangerous.

"Lana," he breathed voice slightly above a whisper. He was close to me, and I saw that, with my heels on, we were closer in height, and my eyes were in line with his mouth. He lifted a hand to my face, almost touching me but stopping himself. He looked down at my body and gingerly placed a hand on my waist. His other hand took mine, and for a second, it looked like he meant to waltz with me.

When he spoke again, his voice was almost normal. "Sweetheart, I don't know whether to lock you in a room so only I can see you like this or if I should ring the paparazzi myself so everyone can see how fucking sexy my girlfriend is." He smiled at me then, "you look amazing. I didn't think you were going to go to all this trouble."

I raised my eyebrows at the girlfriend comment, but I ignored it, not wanting to ruin the mood. "Sometimes, I like all this trouble." I put my arm on his shoulder, and now it really was like we were dancing. He pulled me in closer, moving his hand from my waist to the small of my back. He rocked us side to side, weight shifting from foot to foot. Then he raised our clasped hands high and turned me beneath them before holding me again. Gone was his animalistic look; now he looked at me, and he just seemed happy.

"Can I kiss you?" Liam asked. I was surprised that he had asked. Liam usually just says he wants to. My surprise must have shown on my face because he said, "you look so beautiful. I don't want to ruin your make-up."

I kissed him, more like a peck than a proper kiss. "Make-up isn't going to stop me kissing you."

He took a few steps, and I followed. He led me around in a circle, guiding my hand to his neck and moving his hand to the middle of my back. Then he dipped me. He leaned down and kissed me and drew me back up. "You can dance." He stated, not asking a question.

"Not really. I took a few lessons with Riza before she got married. She wanted to surprise Jen by knowing how to dance for their wedding."

"I should take you dancing one day, and you can show me what you've got."

I smiled and pulled away, embarrassment coming back. "We should get going. It's getting late."

Part 13

#original character #original fiction #romantic story #happy ever after

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alias-b · 3 years

Text

sins of my youth. 020

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Hello everyone. Thanks for clicking in to read. Billy and Evie continue to explore their new relationship together. Max's fourteenth birthday party marks a change for the teens, reminding them that danger isn't too far off. TW: Neil being Neil. Mentions of abuse. Something close to an almost assault/abduction off screen near the end. Light mentions of Pica & fatphobia. Sexual themes

***My tag list is wide open, just shoot me a msg to join it! Chat with me about the chapter if you have the time! Enjoy! xoxo

Chapter 20: Rose Tint My World

“Hold still, I’ll poke your eye again.”

“I can’t breathe, you’re killing me.” Came a sniffled whine.

“Such a baby. You asked.”

“I said I was curious after you put the gunk on my nails!”

“That gunk was a great color on you. You whine just like your big brother.” Carol had Max’s face clamped in her grip as she applied mascara. “Don’t blink, you'll smear it.”

“Evie, she’s killing me,” Max lamented aloud. “This is not worth it.” Evie just laughed, setting a bowl of pretzels aside. Carol flicked a mirror up to let Max see her handiwork. “Whoa...It’s not terrible.” She gruffed in a mumble, tilting her head to see each angle. "Kinda like Madonna."

“I’ll take it.” Carol stole some M&Ms from another dish as they shared a spot on Heather’s fuzzy carpet. A movie rolled on in the corner TV.

Max about howled when Heather came in from the bathroom, face covered in green.

“Monster!”

“It’s a face-mask!” Heather planted her hands on her hips, prompting more laughter. “You’ll be more into them once your body really changes.”

“Girls are way scarier than boys.” Max poked at her blushed cheek which had Carol smacking her hand away. Evie was draped across the bottom of the bed in her robe and nightie, half-watching the TV. “Can you do a zombie make-up?”

Carol gave a snort.

“I can do anything. kid.”

“Eves, you want another piece of pizza?” Heather crossed with the box.

“I’m so full.” Evie shook her head.

“You had like one piece.”

“I ate a big lunch. And lots of pretzels.” Evie snatched the pretzel bowl again for good measure. Truthfully, her appetite had been up and down lately. Mostly down. What with the pangs in her stomach that always passed and… “You sound like my mother.”

“She was...extra peppy at the salon today. My mom and I got our monthly trim.”

“Probably some guy she’s seeing, it’ll pass and another will come. Men are like Kleenex to her. Soft, strong, and disposable.” Evie shrugged to pluck up a magazine.

“Hey,” Max began as Carol fussed over her, “so I didn’t want to make a thing of it, but my mom keeps insisting. My birthday party is coming. She and Neil saved so I could have it just at the roller rink and...they said I could invite whoever I wanted. But, I can’t ask the guys to come. So I figured I’d ask El. She’s really cool. But, maybe if you guys wanted to come? You can bring boys and pretend you’re not even at my party if it’s not your thing. I just-”

“Max, we’d love to come.” Heather piped up first. “Evie and I rule the rink too.”

“I look very cute in skates,” Carol agreed with a twitching smirk. “I'm in. I’ll bring Tommy, he sucks and he’ll fall down a bunch. We'll pretend we ran into each other so your stepdad can get the stick out of his ass.”

“Billy has to go too cause Neil says it’s a family event.” Max turned to Evie. “I think he’d be happier with you there.”

“I think Billy and I both are fine being there for you. I had my fourteenth at the rink too. It’ll be fun.” Evie beamed, legs up to sway idly. “Plus we haven’t met the Chief’s kid. She’s home-schooled, right?”

“Yeah, she might be joining us in school next year.” Max stayed still for Carol’s brush. “Depends. She was uh...adopted under weird circumstances. You’ll like her. I taught her how to do that felting thing because of you and she made this funny one of her dad.”

“I’ll bet Hopper loved that.” Evie winked.

“He’s kind of a babe in like a scruffy, rugged way,” Carol remarked. "Strong mountain man type."

“Ew. He’s so old.” Max reeled back to laugh.

“I’m just saying! I like a man in uniform. He rocks the khaki.”

“The moms in town do eat him up.” Heather shrugged, joining Evie on the bed with a handful of candy. “We all have our strange crushes. I like high cheek-bones. Guys with a little Bowie. Evie? You got one?”

“Gia Carangi even if she isn’t modeling any more, I love her face.” Evie was flicking pages without looking. Howls from the TV went ignored through the chatter.

“I called that. Fenny being into ladies. Try Iman.” Carol winked which earned her a look as if she hadn’t planted a kiss on Evie in a fit of rage.

“People say Billy’s pretty like a girl.” Max had added which got the other girls giggling.

“I like this one, we’re so keeping her.” Carol got up to root for a bag of chips, popping them open. “Like the zombie face better?”

“I still look too pretty.” Max appeared more goth than zombie.

“You are pretty. Deal with it. We redheads stick together.” Carol stole Evie’s magazine. “Let us know when the party is, we’ll be there.”

Max looked at the three older girls squished together on Heather’s bed. Chattering and supporting. Happy to have her around.

A bright smile touched her face for the first time since Neil Hargrove walked into her home.

** ** **

Most days, all it felt like was floating. Floating through her house. Through Hawkins. Up and down streets. Through school. A stunning illusion she pulled like wool over her dark eyes.

A woman in rippling silks walking endless halls toward a great, cherry red door at the end, but the door gets farther away and she's thrilled to continue on even still. Feather wings glittering to unfold from her back because heaven's light is beyond the door. Crystalline eyes with their hold. Waiting for her. The sky awaits her with caressing clouds. Opulent gold sun rays and twinkling stars when the world lies down.

Evie knew she was too big for her wings most days. Too heavy to leave the Earth.

Knew in her beating heart of hearts that was the first thing people think when they see her. This magnificent soul with drive and neon and talent reduced to a single shrewd glance. And they don't think twice until she's something vaguely sexual. Something marketable you can package and process and sell to the last drop.

Easier to stomach something uncomely if you can slide into it ruthlessly to rut. They always come like animals, wailing as a banshee would to get off better than they ever will in their small lives. They eat it up. Cover it in sweat and regret and blame.

These things that hang as little weights on her heartstrings swinging back and forth. They make her not want to attempt extending those wings to fly. Fear of heads shaking in judgement. Fear of looking uglier. More foolish for even trying. Poor thing.

All because of one glance that couldn't be bothered to see worth in another human life. Sometimes Evie wanted to be skinny not because of beauty, but because she'd get a privilege pass to exist in this world.

They think she shouldn't dress the way she does. She's probably lazy and self loathing because of added pounds. She has no real aspirations or means to achieve them. Those eyes that watch her eat. That shift away before they decide on another seat because the one open next to her just isn't right. They glare because of the extra room she might take up. Even sharing a few cordial words with fat girls seemed to be a task.

Evie always notices and does the polite thing pretending she doesn't. She knows what her body looks like, no need to point out the obvious.

Strange, how these snap judgements, these eyes that don't look twice; can villainize a body utterly. A body. Flesh, bone, and muscle. We're all made in heaven's image. All destined for paths we seek to control. Superiority should have been an illusion. But no, too much or too little, your worth dips low. Fetishes and internalized hatred for things that were shaped and colored differently. Blame.

But, some days, when the wind soars just right...just strong enough...Evie can spread and illuminate. See the births and deaths of a million stars. Drop the little weights to feel the winds between her fingers. In her curls. In her wings. Feel her feet leave the floor for just a few fleeting seconds.

The fleeting seconds of soaring always seem so worth it against a world of unsightly aches. Against snap judgements she can toss back to live in a flower petal haze.

Evie tried hard to live in those moments when they flashed into her. Spotlights. Butterflies delicately landing on her flesh to open and close their stained glass wings for kisses. Evie felt crushed utterly in the most decadent way.

Billy's soft lips on her neck to get lost in the pulse. Deft fingers that would push up her clothing as he moved in her. Eyes that wanted to see her. All of her. The prayers he could whisper against heating skin.

A lot could be said about him. But, Billy was always happy to see her and that alone was air spinning into gold. His eyes would light up. Lips twitching. She could hear the single beat that his heart skipped. Even if they didn't speak, they felt this awareness for each other in the vicinity. Truly magic.

Those eyes. That love of a face. Always staring pointedly to read her up and down. Always plucking the weights from her heart by listening. Always unafraid to touch her. Evie hoped she returned that. She really did.

Fleeting seconds began to linger between them. Seeping slow and saccharine as fresh pouring honey.

Sneaking away on walks while he let her hold his hand. Flirtation against school lockers that ended in several 'just one more' kisses. Double dates to the movies with Tommy and Carol. Sitting separately to make out.

Driving up near Lover’s Lake to kiss in a parked Camaro while the sun laid itself down to sleep. Fumbling playfully to undress and explore. Watching the construction of a coming mall with Slurpees from the gas station. Tongues and lips colored all artificial cherry and strawberry.

Evie would stretch her wings completely. Let Billy admire them until the world was all satin rose-tinted. She could forget her urges and worries and insecurities. All together. This was fine.

She was fine. More then fine.

He so liked to admire her wings. Pleasure crushed in as she moaned. Let his fingers explore contours and notches untouched before. Billy would take those prayers on his lips and drape them over her body. Spell them between fleshy thighs. Pulling more fleeting seconds for himself too.

They could roll around under sheets and not worry about anything else. Have conversations that always felt silly and wonderful and weighted because they both mattered to someone so ardently. That alone was an ocean both could sink into.

Something beautiful to behold. The real vision behind the great red door. Your soul mattering.

Evie was in a bubble with Billy Hargrove. A stupid, dopey look on her face when Mona settled dinner down one evening. Steam rising from a huge pot.

“Going out later?” Evie began to create sound or she'd be lost. "You colored your hair brown again."

“Needed another change. Ah, I'm going out just with Karen and Claudia. Dessert and wine night. I asked Susan but that poor thing keeps standing me up. Did you finish Max’s gift for her party?” Mona scooped up huge portions in a bowl that Evie would only be prodding at.

“Yeah, it’s set. Turned out perfect. She’s not much for jewelry but I think a personalized tie dye shirt will be fun. Might look cool while skateboarding. I also have that goody bag of sweets for her to fill up on we made.” Evie reminded herself to pick up her spoon. Took a few bites.

“You’re not scarfing it down like usual, you love my crawfish soup.”

“It’s delicious, I just had a big lunch.” A lie. Evie pressed herself to eat quicker, tearing a piece of fresh bread to chew. Thing was, she wanted to eat. She wanted to eat so badly despite the sickness welling inside her. The heavy ache made it a task. Mona eyed her daughter there. “My stomach's in knots a lot, just school stuff.”

“Well, you are a senior.” Mona pushed her own soup around. “I haven’t been around as much as I’d like to be. Just the salon and I met-”

“I get it.” Evie’s lips spread in a flash, not wanting her mother to finish that sentence. “I’m with friends a lot and I keep busy with my music and the cat. I even wrote a new song.”

“That’s two this week, you. Strumming along blissfully.” Mona gushed. “Whatever has you all creative and dewy, chase it.” Silverware clicked around and Evie stared at her dish. A broader smile crossed.

"I will."

“What’s it called?”

“Ocean Eyes.”

Evie could be pretty transparent in the early stages of a relationship.

These short weeks in with Billy. Lyrics flooded free. Sometimes he liked to watch her write and strum when they hung out. Trips to the lounge where she worked other nights got him a full show, but not of her original stuff. Songs marched forth.

“Ocean Eyes.”

“Cupid and Psyche.”

“Honey Stardust.”

“Neon-Tinted Hearts.”

Rock. Pop. Lush and obscene with her glowing heartstrings. She wrote them for Fredrick too when they got together.

“Doll Joints.”

“Lollipop Lolita.”

“Prince Charming.”

After dinner, Evie stole a notebook filled with her every sinful lyrical confession of her time with Fredrick Bowers. Burnt it in an empty pot out back until Billy wandered out the back steps of his place. Asking her if she was trying to set the neighborhood on fire.

“How can I help?” He’d snarked while the sky went all pretty peach fuzz. Evie just laughed and never explained what she’d burnt or why it felt this cathartic to watch the smoke rise toward a falling sun. She figured maybe this was the day she'd stop eating foreign and sharp objects. She could do it. She was happier. Lighter. It had to stop.

It had to. She couldn't think about this haze shattering, it hurt too deep.

Billy used the flame to light his cigarette comically and kissed her before inhaling the smoke.

“Can we take a drive? Or walk if you’re low on gas?”

“Let’s walk, I got some cash doing my odd jobs for the damn neighbors, but I need it to last a bit longer with Max’s birthday. Got her this new board she was too chickenshit to beg our parents for.”

“Aren’t you a darling big brother?” Evie crossed her arms to follow him when the flame dwindled low. They went around the house to the front, started down the street. “Iris has some hours for me that next Saturday night.”

“You going to tell your mom about the secret job thing?” Billy inhaled and let smoke billow up into the afternoon light. They walked along Cherry Lane. Not touching. Counting steps while their shadows cast and the streetlights came up. A brisk night loomed, spring begging to creep through the month of March.

“I figured I could this summer. Around graduation. Just say I got something bigger since I’m eighteen and Iris can get me steadier hours. Gigs day or night. Maybe I’ll get to host a couple more drag shows. I miss those damn girls, the funniest performers know. I'll just let my mom down easy about the receptionist thing, hopefully she’s fine with it. Make it sound like I took initiative cause I'm a big girl.”

“And your grand singer plans?” He liked to ask about her and hang upon the syllables.

“Still up in the air. I’m taking the year off to work and write. Try for a talent agent or manager. I can record maybe...try to get airtime. There’s this contest thing, they do it every year and the winners always do well. But, I’m honestly too afraid to ask my mom about it just yet. I’m saving though here and there.” Evie beamed. “You? Summer and on.”

She was clearly asking if he was sticking around for summer.

“Odd lawn, house, and car jobs are getting me by. This whole street is a mess and the moms in town like to watch me work."

"Yikes."

"It means better pay and tips. I’m taking Heather up on her lifeguard offer this summer. I'll save up, Dad's already going to be asking for rent when I graduate."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Don’t wanna bank on that mall they’re opening with all the other little shits trying to get jobs first.” Billy leaned back to let the cooler air kiss his face, sighing before he tossed his smoke out.

Evie came to the end of the street near the forest, swayed around a streetlamp like she was in an old Hollywood flick. Dreaming long and endless. Sometimes she worried so often that she wasn't living. Just dreaming it all away. Maybe a center line was possible.

Maybe she'd be able to soar over it all.

Billy waited for her to swing back around it before he pressed into her for a slow, lingering kiss. Even better, maybe they both were sharing a dream. Making it of something stronger.

“So, how am I doing?” He joked lighter. Evie gripped the lamp to stay level, head tilting. “Two weeks in, almost three. This whole situation.”

“Situation.” Evie mused, slyly hiding half her face behind the lamp to hum. The shadowy starlet of a femme fatale she loved to watch on television with her mother. Glinting. Dangerous. "This whole situation?" She lingered to sigh it even slower.

"You and me." He'd sounded out, drawing nearer. "Us..." Evangeline, always the playful nymph, flitted off playfully. Spinning the other way to walk along so Billy came to her side easily.

“I think you’re doing fine." She tapped her chin. "What about me? Evaluate my performance.”

“Ah. In a sea of slithery tadpoles, you’re a goddamn firecracker.” He’d laughed and Evie followed, covering her lips with one hand.

“I don’t know how any of that correlates or makes sense, but I’ll take it.”

“Neither do I. Just made it up to see you do that. The scrunchy thing you do when you’re too happy or upset with me.” Billy’s nose crinkled as he grinned there. Evie came up to peck his freckles.

“You’re a total sap, Hargrove.” Evie continued, hands clasped behind her back before she inhaled the air. “Let’s hit that mini mart nearby. I’m craving a Dr. Pepper. Buy you a soda. It’s my turn.”

“No, it isn’t. You’re just being too nice again,” Billy remarked, feet shifting slower as they crossed the street. “I can’t take you fancy places.”

“I don’t need to go to fancy places, I just like hanging out with you wherever.” Evie turned her head to see him. “We’re both poor, we make due. Summer will be better. We can just work and...figure this out. I like it right now though, so don’t worry because I know how you shiver in those boots.”

She pondered it.

“Do you like it?” Evie offered quieter, earning Billy’s eyes searching her expression. Lip twitching, he tossed his arm around her. Brought Evie taut into his frame with an easier grin so they could keep walking toward the whirling, illuminated sign in the distance.

“Yeah, I like it.” He decided. “I like you plenty. What's not to like, Evangeline?” His free hand gestured out and Evie beamed to point at that darling face. Her Eros. Encouraging her wings to unfold without pressure.

"Wow, you're getting better and better at that." A beat. "Making me blush without rolling my eyes."

"Please, Angel, your knees quiver every time I hit you with this smile. You might as well toss off the panties for me." For good measure, he flashed it and Evie hid from his absolute burning charm. Cheeks felt that fire bloom and billow.

A car hurried past them. Sweeping budding flowers and loose leaves about. Delicate, they danced. Trees wobbled back and forth to the wind picking up. Evie stayed looking away to smile that time. Knew this wind would carry her easily.

"Did you have a best friend back in California?" She moved her arm around his back as they went.

"I don't know. Guess I had a few in orbit."

"Am I your best friend here?" She piped back up and Billy slowed to glance, chuckling.

"I thought you and I were avoiding labels."

"It's different." Came the protest.

"No, it isn't." He paused. "Heather's your best friend."

"Yeah, but I figured I could have more than one. Perfectly carved places for each." Evie shifted in front of him, hands smoothing up Billy's shoulders to clasp fingers round his neck. Blue eyes glittered to search.

"You trying to push some admission outta me, Fenny?"

Lashes batted with all the innocence they could hold.

"Just admit it, Hargrove," she pulled him down for a lip lock, pecking his jaw and cheeks until he broke to laugh and hold her at bay. One brow lifted. "It'll be our dirty little secret."

"Fine. Only cause you twisted my arm about it and it gets you hot. You are my very," he palmed her bottom to make her gasp in one motion, "very best friend. Happy?" Billy stole a kiss when she was still dumbfounded, molding their frames together.

"Maybe I am." Evie sighed, sounding too raw and honest about it. She came out to see his eyes there. Tried to read them. Billy blinked to say something else.

“So, you're already thinking about graduation and summer, huh? Moving quick.”

“I’m optimistic is all. It’s a rare thing with me so I'm just enjoying it. I’m not used to happy and good.” Evie got cheeky to hide anything else, winking over her shoulder before she went inside the tiny store.

Fluorescent lights washed out too many colorful packages. They picked cold cans of soda and bright yellow packs of Jujyfruit candies to curb a sweet craving. Billy gripped the paper bag in one fist and Evie snatched his free hand when they got outside.

“C’mon!” She picked up the pace. “Let’s catch the bus to the other side of town.”

“Billy Hargrove doesn’t take the bus. It’s all full.” He’d complained, still rushing after her to the stop.

“Try something new.” Evie was giggling, tugging at him to get on.

With the bus full of residents leaving work, they took some standing room with a group up front. Fingers curled into the handles above, swaying closer together due to the rocking and crowding. A hard turn sent Evie into Billy’s chest, her hand sprang out over his shoulder to catch the bar just above his head.

“Trying to jump my bones in public, little Miss Fenny?” He feigned a look of awe, brows lifting playfully. His free arm slipped around the small of Evie’s back, bracing her there into his marble frame. “You know how much easier it is if you just ask, Angel?”

Evie wanted to scoff. Wanted to scrunch that annoyed look she was known for. Wanted to send him to the floor and kiss him for miles and miles. But, she just stood there in the dim, flickering bus lights. Watched his expression relax. Not really breathing until she reminded herself.

Billy seemed to remember as well. At the back and forth shifting of the vehicle, they squished together. Forcing looks away to see the path again. Billy pushed his thigh further between her legs. Both of them idly rubbing together now. Evie felt the heat crawl up her cheeks, lungs tremoring. Billy’s fist holding the bag shifting a little lower on her back, firm and scalding hot.

She peered up at his jawline. Looked away. Felt Billy’s eyes wander back after before he flickered elsewhere. Denim pushed against denim. Billy hitched this breath as if he might whimper. Swallowed it down. Hips swaying back and forth and back again. A thumb pushed deftly into her back. Evie shifting in, lips parting. Trembling as Billy turned his head to see her centimeters from him.

“This is our stop.” She’d said in his ear. Leaning flush into him to pull the cord down. Billy inhaled the amber. Brushed his nose into her own while she came back out.

“Don’t wanna stop.” His freckles looked especially glowy outlined in a rare blush. The bus skidded and Evie veered back with some amusement. Brown eyes casting Billy up and down before she skipped off in a hurry, leaving him to chase her because he’d always chase her. Bag still wrinkled around Billy’s fist, he caught up with her. Under the streetlamps surrounded by dancing moths.

“We near Lover’s Lake?”

“Yeah, the park nearby. Figured some loitering would do us good.” Evie stepped across the grass and sand. Listened to the dark structures creak. “C’mon. I love the swings.”

She plopped back into one, legs kicking some before Billy joined her. He cracked one can of soda to offer it, feet shifting over the sand to sway closer together. Chains creaking.

They clicked drinks and guzzled fizz before Evie snagged the candy out. Stealing a few chewy pieces. The bright box got passed back and forth during a comfortable silence. Billy watched Evie as she observed the moon there.

“Do you know any constellations?” She’d asked quieter, forcing him out of the daze. Curls caught the illumination with stars dotting her dark eyes.

“Not really.” He took the candy back as she swallowed a piece.

“You see that crooked line? Those four little guys, they call that...Salem’s Lot. And...” Evie touched her lips, pointing again. “Those two bright boys there. Called Shawshank. Oh, and that one-”

“These are Stephen King references.” He pushed her.

“No, I’m very smart and they’re real-life constellations. Listen and learn, Billy boy.”

“So, are you gonna call that grouping, The Shining or The Overlook?” He pointed to a cluster and Evie snickered.

“Obviously that’s Carrietta White’s Constellation. Duh. Cause it looks like a rain of blood.” Evie snorted and Billy joined her, heads pressing together as they giggled like school children.

“You know she wears a crushed red velvet dress in the book? Not pink as seen in the movie.” Billy stretched out, finishing his soda.

“You know she’s fat in the book, too?” Evie winked at him, eyed the trash, and tried to toss her can at it. Missing badly, it smacked the rim and fell in the sand with a clatter. “Damn it!” Billy laughed at her louder.

“Don’t try for a career on the court, Evie.” He watched her pout as she plucked it up to throw it away properly. “Now, watch the master work.” He aimed as she sat down. One deft hand reeled back and launched it only to have Evie’s palm smack it easily the other direction. Almost falling out of her seat cackling, she got the candy pushed into her arm before he gawked and went to get it.

“Oh,” she kept up without air, “I thought you were the master? You should have seen your face!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled, dunking it in the can with an echoing clank. For some cheery consolation, she offered the rest of the box to him. Tiny candy pieces fell into his palm before he pushed them all into his mouth at once, eyes lifting to the sky again. Billy made a face and turned to go to push her swing. “Gimme another constellation.”

“Hmm.” Evie held the chains, began to swing properly at his coaxing. Felt like they were in a secret garden together. Water rippling against the air distantly. Cold chill not bothering either of them. “Those two stars. The little one and the big guy. See?”

Billy gripped the chains, keeping her swing up against him to follow the gaze

“That’s Neverland. Second star to the right and straight on till morning.” She snickered again as Billy pushed her forward. “Bet I can beat you there. I’ll jump from the swing.”

“You’re on.” Billy stole the seat next to her, both of them pumping higher. Curls fluttering. Laughing. Happy because they were together and that mattered.

“I’m going to overthrow Pan and Hook. Become the most fantastic Lost Girl with a siren song to command the island and you’ll write your stories.”

“Think so?” Billy pushed himself higher. Actually thought he might fly with Evie there.

“Yes! You’ll tell the greatest stories ever heard through the land and they’ll echo back down here to be loved too.” She proclaimed that. Not having heard Billy’s stories, but believing what was in his heart.

Time slowed. Wild laughter crackled toward the sky. Utter sparks as they jumped together and collided to roll around the sand. Evie was still alight with joy under him, hair splayed everywhere as Billy snapped up to check her over, hovering. Evie’s giggling tapered off against the night air. She stared up at him. Framed in twinkling stars. He said something she didn’t catch.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Evie sounded out slower, lost in the endless crystalline blue. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean, what?”

“What you said when we were lying in bed together. You said I was the best thing about this place. People never say things like that. Not to girls like me. I believed it when you said it though and it was easy too.” Evie skimmed her fingers over his jacket. Watched Billy’s eyes flicker to recall that moment and the clouds he floated upon like lily-pads in a pond.

Billy swept down. Planted a hot kiss that was all lips. Swelled her mouth when he pulled out. He left Evie fluttered and came to her ear.

“That was a yes.” He pushed up, eyes too sly. “By the way.” Evie took a hand when he offered one and got pulled to her feet, bodies stumbling together. They tried to brush the sand off fabric.

“Do you think about that night? The dance, I mean. Not...the sex. Well, I guess it’s okay to think about the sex actually.” She blushed there when Billy’s lip quirked. His fingers still wrapped around her wrist. “Before all that went down with Brock. It was-”

“Not terrible.” He finished.

“Not at all. The first part of the night, sometimes I wish we could go back and-”

“Rewrite it.” Billy looked around, giving Evie a tug. He pulled her up on the metal roundabout, painted red and blue that was chipping away. “Hold on.” Another smile had curled as he braced to get it spinning.

“Billy!” Evie jerked to hold tight to the bars. Hair flying up. Curls coiled out. Fire billowing gracefully. “What are you doing!”

“Turning back the clock,” he charged and jumped on with her, wobbling to hold something, "to redo it.” Evie grabbed for his coat. Fisting the fabric when they locked eyes. Wind rushed in a thrill with memories tumbling together and apart.

Her wings sprang forth.

Billy made Evie the still point to his turning world. For just a moment. Knew, if anything, that meeting her was something truly important. An unseen force that would twist his heart forever.

Spinning round and round. He recalled the metallic confetti dancing and the way the music pulsed. The carousel began to slow, both teens holding the bars and each other to say level.

Slower, Evie pecked a kiss upon his lips to mirror the first. Unable to come out far, Billy was already closing the distance for the second. Trying to pay her back with a thousand sweet kisses.

Cheers rang and fireworks burst. She remembered it all too. How dizzy and still the world seemed to be. How it hushed for her too sweetly. Billy’s hands on her face, cradling delicately to angle the second kiss a little deeper. They felt the metal clink to stillness under them and inched back out.

“I want to go home with you,” Evie said the words she wished she had that night. Huge dark eyes glittering. She found his lips again. Not worried about air or what the future held for them. Lost on a rosy haze and perfectly fine for these stolen fleeting seconds. “Can we go?” Billy searched her, thumb sweeping a circle into her jaw. He smiled fully.

“Only if we can take the bus again.”

** ** ** **

“Happy Birthday!” Evie gushed, offering a gift to a small pile. Max had her arms around her before she’d gotten a chance to turn. One hand shifted to the shorter girl’s back. Music whirled with a campy light show, made the horribly patterned carpets glow. “Carol and Heather are on their way in. Tommy’s around but he won’t hang near the table.”

“Neil’s going to be late. Work stuff.” This explained why Max’s smile was so bright. Evie nudged her chin, head cocking. “You brought your own skates.”

“I know it’s dorky, but they’re my babies.” Evie gestured to the red skates swung over one shoulder. “Evie Fenny doesn’t rent her skates.”

“That’s El, come meet her,” Max pulled Evie off after she got one wave at Susan behind the table setting up. “Billy’s grabbing stuff from the car. He drove us.”

El Hopper was a tiny thing. Almost like a little bird compared to Hopper’s hulking frame behind her. She peered around and seemed at instant ease upon seeing Max.

“El, this is my neighbor, Evie," Max introduced them, "she’s cool.”

El made this gesture like she had a needle and poked at her hand.

“Yes!” Max got it, tugging Evie’s arm. “She taught me the felting thing.”

“Hope the sharp objects weren’t a bother in your house, Chief Hopper.” Evie perked up at Jim with a sheepish expression. “I should have asked you, I know it might seem a little dangerous.”

He actually laughed at that. If only she knew the danger these kids had gotten into prior.

“Believe me, crafts are a welcomed change.”

“El, nice to meet you. I’m Evie. Max talks about you all the time.” Evie held out her hand and the young girl looked shocked. “Good things.”

A slower smile crossed. She took Evie’s hand to shake it. Awkward about her navigation but trying to take everything in. Clearly never been to a party like this one. Kids of various ages circled the floor on skates. Laughing. Holding hands.

“Max...talks about you too. I like your hair.” El mirrored. Peered to Hopper with a pleased expression he matched. She offered Max a wrapped gift. Evie grinned and touched her curls, pulled up into two high, rounded buns.

“C’mon, let me show you the table they’re setting up.” Max took El’s wrist to usher her off.

“Are you...staying to skate?” Evie turned to the Chief.

“El’s, ah, not used to crowds. She came from some unfortunate circumstances. I’d like to stay close. First party. Maybe I’m hovering.” He pushed his hands into his pockets. Not in uniform. Evie beamed a little.

“She’s young, you’re worried. It’s sweet, actually. You’re just being a good dad.” The smile seemed to dither in her eyes. Even when Jack was married to Mona, he wasn't always around. Work and trips kept him busy, but he stayed to close to Evie the moment he arrived home with his little gifts and endless stories. “Don’t come running over if she falls, we got her.”

“Yeah, uh, if you could keep an eye on El when you see her around. That would mean a lot to me. I know you babysat the Henderson kid. El doesn’t need a babysitter, she’s just… This is new for her.” Jim gestured. Digging for a smoke he couldn’t have in the immediate area.

“Heather, Carol, and I will keep an eye out.”

“Carol?” He chuckled. “Perkins?”

“Oh, yeah, we made up. Funny thing.”

“Almost as funny as you hanging out with the Hargrove boy through winter.” He quirked his brow.

“What can I say, Chief...” Evie shrugged. “I’m...branching out.”

As if on cue, Billy paced in a side door. Bag clutched under one arm. He caught Evie’s glance instantly. Both of them locked in and back out on cue. Blue eyes shifted up and down because she was wearing his denim jacket over a little lacy, floral top tucked into her jeans.

Neil would arrive and they had an act to keep up. Ignoring each other.

“I’ll sit far." Jim offered. "Pretend I’m not here.”

She about cackled, lost in thought still.

“I’ll just pretend you’re my real dad,” Evie winced at herself, saw him pause with some subtle awe, “oof, I’m not sure where that came from. Ouch. Okay. Walking away now. Sorry, Chief.”

“Evie.” He eased a gentle hand toward her. “What I said. If there’s...anything going on. You can talk to me. On or off the record.”

“Yeap. Right. I’m okay. I’m...I’m gonna...skate. Yeah. Sorry. Oh, my…” Evie whirled to hurry off, cringing all the way to the table. “I think I just had a mental break.”

“What?” Heather had chuckled.

“Nothing. Time to skate?” Came Evie’s begging. Agreement followed.

Hopper made himself scarce with a cigarette and plate of cheese fries in the corner. Billy plopped himself into a chair behind the decorated table, looking disinterested. Not catching Evie’s eyes while she sat with the girls to put her skates on. Just watched Susan set out plates for pizza and cake.

Evie went out with Heather first for a lap, both of them giggling and pulling little stunts to show off for Tommy who was on the ground as Carol pulled at him. Max jumped over his leg, cackling before she tried to get El to come out with them.

“Kinda reminds me of us. They’re too cute.” Heather quipped, whirling to skate backward. They joined the younger girls, hoping to get El relaxed and away from the wall she seemed to cling to. Every turn, Evie shot Billy a look. Got his lips quirking before he ruefully was peering away.

“Do you want to skate, Billy?” Susan had asked after a beat, weary of the music already. Bit of a glittery disco mess. That same dreamy rose haze in the air.

“About as much as I want to give my old man a sponge bath, Susan.” Billy frowned for effect and dropped it when she actually laughed at him. It was an easier thing for them to talk without Neil’s shadow.

“Well, the offer is open if you want to.” Susan thought to tell him Evie looked beautiful today when she caught him staring at her for the third time but decided not to be obvious. Not yet.

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m being inappropriate and I’m going to send your only daughter down with me.” He recited easily.

“I was your age once, Billy, I know how to laugh still.” Susan seemed surprised at the revelation herself. Slowly, she took a seat next to him. Not leaving another chair as a buffer like she usually did. “It might not be so bad. Her following you, you know, after this. When she’s older. She still looks up to you.”

It became clear what Susan was asking him. Max would resent her one day down the line. For the choices she made. The things she couldn’t stop no matter how hard she tried. Maybe Billy and Max didn’t always get along, but he’d be a safer place for her than whatever was leftover in that house. Susan would always be under Neil Hargrove, but she could ensure her daughter would not be. One day.

Billy leaned forward on his elbows, palms rubbing. He felt for his ring and remembered it was hidden under Evie’s dipping sweetheart neckline. He didn’t say anything, but met Susan’s eyes.

“Evie’s been a good friend to her.” Susan crossed her legs and sat back to watch the girls laugh. Slowly easing into the conversation. El wobbled, holding hands with Max and Evie to gain some speed. Heather was trying to help Carol steady poor Tommy. “Don’t you think so?”

“I haven’t noticed.” Billy turned his head aside.

“She’s very pretty. Kind. That’s all I’m saying. She and her mother, they’re nice neighbors to have on Cherry.”

“Jesus, Susan, why don’t you date them both?” Billy shot up to go to the snack counter. Susan ghosted this smile after him, hands clasping. “Cheese fries. Jalapenos...Extra jalapenos.” He got his plate and turned to see Chief Hopper’s cigarette glow red. “You got any more of those? My pack is out and they don't have a machine in this joint.”

Jim just eyed him.

“I’m legal.” Billy puffed before a stick flicked across the table. “Camels. Unfiltered. Disgusting. Are you a flannel hobo of some kind with those?”

The Chief gawked at him.

“Don’t you smoke Reds? Baby’s first cigarette.”

Billy matched him. Offended.

“I’m smoking with the big boys, Hop. You should try it.”

“You in a place to complain, kid?” Jim reached to take it back before Billy swiped, lighting up to puff.

“No, sir.” His lighter snapped shut. “You unable to cut the cord or is dressing like a lumberjack to hang out at a 70s roller disco a hobby?”

“Haven’t seen you down at the station in a while. Few months, in fact. Turning over a new leaf this year?” Jim remarked instead, leaning forward on his elbows.

“Aw. You miss me or something? Your boys finally get tired of chasing me down? Or trying to.” Billy gave this comedic pout, head turning to eye Evie again. Graceful swan that she was out there. His jacket hanging off her shoulders, exposing that neck. Little wisps of curls swayed about from her space buns decorated with matching glittery star barrettes, loose hair framing her face. Brown eyes flicked up and he snatched his gaze away. “Guess I found something else to get into that isn’t trouble. You guys bore me down there, I like to be amused.”

“The real crime-stopper, boredom. Color me impressed and shocked.” Jim seemed to like that, eyes rolling. Billy puffed and swept a piece of tobacco from his mouth. “I guess whatever you’re doing, keep it up.” He watched Billy crunch on some salty jalapenos, plucking five gooey fries at once to swallow them down. Almost starved.

“I intend to.” Billy flicked his greasy fingers to his brow. “Chief.”

“William.”

Billy mumbled as he went off, finishing the smoke to flick it out a back door. Eyes shifting to watch the girls plus poor Tommy. El was already better than him.

“Man, I’m dying out here. Help me. I’ll tag you in.” Tommy scrambled up the sidewall and clung, out of breath. Freckles all dewy.

“You wanted to be a good boyfriend,” Billy cackled for good measure, "that'll teach you."

“Feed me a fry,” Tommy begged over the barrier.

“Fuck out of here, they’re mine. My dad will show soon so you can disappear to a corner and get your own damn fries.” To make it a point, Billy stood there and fed himself.

Behind Tommy, Max skidded and fell with Evie barely catching her. Both girls had gone down in a fit of giggling.

“We’re fine, go on!” Max waved to Heather and El ahead of them. Carol came to steal Tommy back as Billy craned to see his step-sister.

“You alright?” Evie was picking her up when Max’s shirt slipped closer to her pale shoulder, flashing a burst of purple there the size of a softball. “Oh, my god.” It slipped out before she could stop it.

“That’s-!” Max cut herself off and fixed her shirt. Spring was creeping and all she donned was long-sleeved and frumpy. Dressing almost like Susan. “I fell, you know, on my board.” Evie tried to give her the dignity of a look that said she believed it. Must have cracked. “Evie, it’s nothing. Don’t worry. Please.”

Dressing like Susan. Sounding like Billy.

“Max, my house is-”

“I know, but don’t… Don’t say anything. Not to Billy or my mom, ah… Neil’s here.” Max put her head down and skated around Evie to go away.

There was something particularly helpless about watching a young girl flee obediently to her monster. Evie wondered if this was what she looked like to Billy headed to Fredrick's place.

Small. Scared. Lost.

Neil Hargrove started with words. Lots of horrible words that whittled Max down to a hard pit. Then pushing. Then some grabbing. Then shoving. Into walls mostly.

The hit didn’t bruise Max. It was more of a swipe to make her go to her room for talking back. Whatever that meant to Neil. But, he was drunk and he caught her jaw with an open palm. That stayed red for the day until she snuck a pack of frozen peas, not wanting Susan or Billy to know.

But, the swipe sent her into the dining room table. Left the violet petals bursting under her skin. Evie lost the urge to skate and came out. Saw Billy’s eyes again and paused to help Heather usher El out for food.

“You’re a natural.” Evie complimented which earned a full smile. El opened her mouth to speak before Billy appeared in front of them.

“They’re making us sing.” He cocked his head, peering at El. “You’re the one with the funny name, aren’t you?”

“Jane. But,” she seemed to have trouble staring at him for more than three extended seconds and pointed to her chest, “El.” Red crept across her cheeks. Billy towered over her, cocking a wider grin to play up the fact that she was all blushy for a pretty older boy.

“El?” He raised one brow. “What’s the L stand for?”

“Ignore him.” Heather pulled the younger girl around Billy as he chuckled, pausing to see Evie. Her colorless expression.

“You okay?” He said it hard with a furrowed brow.

“Fine.” She tried to make it sound cold but it came out near silent. Head turned down as she flitted around him to join the party.

Neil, stiff and stoic, pressing his lips like he was at the damn DMV. Susan plastered a broader grin to dote on him after his long day, lingering close to his side as they set out pizza and readied the cake.

It was all so routine. Like getting your shots.

Pizza. Sing. Candles. Wish. Cake. Gifts. Thank you.

Billy and Evie took the farthest seats from each other. Played a game of glance and ignore that they’d made up on the spot. They both were either losing or winning.

“Strange,” Neil remarked as he pulled Max aside for another slice. “You and the high school girls.”

“Oh, I invited El too, she’s my age. I didn’t want to leave Evie out and the girls...they’re nice to me.”

“They don’t dress like nice girls.”

Heather and Carol both donned perfectly normal tees and jeans. Nothing would suffice for Neil Hargrove. Max shifted her cake around. No longer hungry for it.

“Maybe we’ll talk about the type of girl you should hang around at a later time. The Fenny girl is nice enough, even if her shirt is a little too...low. Dresses kinda tight. Bit of an odd one. She’s different. Her friends, well...I’m just not sure, Maxine.”

“Yes, sir.” She looked at her birthday cake like it was infested with worms. Carefully forced a bite and set it aside.

Max hung around. Smiled and thanked everyone after each birthday present. Even hugged Neil only cause he opened his arms at her. She said bye to El then Heather. Carol seemed to be turning in as well so Tommy went out back to get the car.

As the party went on and dwindled, Evie caught Billy’s eyes gesturing to the rental counter. He slipped around the corner into the many shelves and Evie turned back to see Max and Susan at the table. Neil seated in a chair not helping them clean up, eyes elsewhere. Casually, she skated around and got her arm snatched. A gasp snuffed against a pair of lips. Kisses hidden away from the world.

“Paid the kid a few coins and a threat to leave for ten minutes."

Music vibrated the shelves. Evie put her arms around Billy.

“I still have skates on.”

“Even better. I might have a thing for girls in red skates.” Billy was all hands, holding Evie steady. Pulling one leg around his hip. Pushing denim into denim. Hot friction might have done her in any other day.

“We are not hooking up with all the smelly rental skates.” Evie laughed into his lips, still pecking back and peering over her shoulder. She paused to see his eyes. Wanted to blurt what she’d seen on Max’s body. Even to Billy now, it felt wrong. So, she said something else.

“Hey, we should…keep an eye on your sister, you know. It’s her birthday. She’s...She needs her big brother.”

Billy huffed into her neck.

“Fine, fine, but you’ll regret not taking the adventure on here.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Evie shifted. “My feet hurt and we can make-out in my bed later.” She kissed his neck. “I’ll do that thing you like if you promise you went easy on the product down there.”

“Only dotted the gold crown. Scout’s honor.” Billy winked and she rolled her eyes. He peered out first. “Give it a second then follow.”

“Wait.” Evie thumbed her red lipstick from his mouth. “Now, shoo.” Billy licked his lips and snuck out. She waited a moment. Let the happy butterflies land in her stomach then followed. Pausing, her skates came off for more comfortable tennis shoes.

“Evangeline, do you need a ride home with us later?” Neil had asked.

“No, thank you, I was getting a ride with Carol now.” She smiled and looked for red hair to say her goodbyes. “Where’d Max go?” Evie collected her coat and Susan paused to peer around.

“She was here a second ago. Neil?” Hands dropped a stack of plates into the trash.

“Probably went to the bathroom.” He shrugged, squinting at all the moving lights that were making his head pound. “Billy, go find your sister.”

Billy seemed to notice the look on Evie’s face and feel the same chill before he hurried off without fighting. Susan looked through the sea of kids and teens meandering as Evie passed her to check the ajar side door.

"Max!" The one flickering light at the exit made her skin crawl. A cry echoed distantly followed by a dull crash in the dark. Like a bag of trash hitting the dumpster.

Evie dropped her skates to follow the hollowed-out sound. Exhaust swept up her nose and tires gave a harsh wail, horns sounding while a faraway car disappeared around a row of trees to get to the main street with the rest.

“Max!” Evie charged out. Heart painfully thudding within her ribs.

“Evie?” Carol heard her and footsteps echoed around the building.

“Max!” Evie was near tears now. A shift in some fallen trash bags made her pause when two sneakers appeared around the side of the dumpster. This odd scratching sound left her lips. Evie threw herself over the tiny body there, turned Max’s limp frame over.

Her shirt collar was ripped open where someone grabbed her. Or tried to. Dragging then dropping her when she put up a fight. Bleeding scrapes and dirt scuffed all over her pale freckled skin from the rough tumble. Carol got to them first and pulled off her sweater to cover Max’s torso while Evie gathered her up.

“Help!” Carol called because Evie couldn’t. More bodies arrived. Tommy. Susan. Billy. Neil.

“Neil, she won’t wake up.” Susan pulled her daughter out of Evie’s arms, shaking her. Moans filtered out, but nothing else. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I saw...a car. It was too dark. I just found her here on the ground. Someone tried to...” Evie wheezed out and never finished, gesturing aimlessly.

“Susan, give Maxine to Billy. She needs a hospital.” Neil swept down as Billy urged his sister’s tiny body away. This hard. flamed expression on his face as if he wasn't really here.

Max looked broken. Not real. A doll left under the bed for too long without love or cherished stories to comfort it. Evie felt the knees of her jeans soak through from the wet pavement. Too many words hit the air and Evie’s eyes dropped to where that harsh car had gone to.

Evangeline wondered what kind of monster would grab up a little girl and throw her out into the trash.

And why the world bore so many of that same design.

~~~~~

Mad Max :( Her story line is gonna start to push toward the front here and there with Evie's in pieces. Thanks again for following the fic, I really appreciate it! Please please leave some words if you enjoy the fic. XOXO Taglist open

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#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove fanfic #stranger things #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x plus size oc #stranger things fanfiction #angel fenny #Billy x angel #somy #writing #mine

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celosiaa · 4 years

Text

steady, love (chapter 5)

Summary:

Martin is not doing well.

Jon is there with him through every step.

(because I became obsessed ™ with the idea of Martin dealing with the physical and emotional aftermath of leaving the Lonely)

Chapters 1-6 are up on ao3 under the same username!

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

WARNING: martin's sick! and I describe it a little more in detail here. no vomiting or anything, mostly just coughing.

After fumbling with the doorknob around the large grocery bags in his arms, Jon is not surprised to find that Martin has presumably retreated upstairs for the time being. Closing his eyes, he allows himself a deep, centering sigh.

A bit of separation ought to do us both some good.

The contents of the bags shift awkwardly in his hold, forcing him to prop them up at a strange angle. He crosses the room quickly and sets them down on the kitchen table with a heavy THUD.

Sunlight filters in through the kitchen window, highlighted now in the absence of electrical lighting. From this angle, Jon can see ribbons of dust framed in the sunbeams, undoubtedly landing to coat every surface in the small kitchen. He sniffs reflexively.

Time to get to work.

He flicks on the lights and throws open the windows, willing the stifling air out of the cottage. After taking out the cleaning supplies he’d purchased and wiping down every kitchen surface, he turns next to the array of vegetables.

Where do I start? How does soup…work?

He ponders this for a few minutes, setting all the potential ingredients on the countertop and rearranging them periodically in an attempt to draw some method from his memory. With some doubt, he decides to chop the onions, celery, and carrots first. Luckily, he is not left to flounder for long— in a single moment, he finds that he Knows exactly what to do. His hands begin to work with the rhythm of a seasoned chef, his movements fluid and sure.

Soon after, the aromatic soup bubbling on the stovetop floods the cottage with a kind of lived-in presence previously unknown to it. As he works, Jon smiles to himself, beginning to hum some half-forgotten tune. He pops the baguette in the oven to warm it.

At last, Watcher, you give me something useful to work with.

While he waits on their meal to finish, he takes out the mountain of medicines he’d purchased and lines them up on the countertop. Placing his hands on his hips, he stares at them intently, unsure of his next move.

Should I go up there?

He might be asleep.

…or he’s climbed out the window.

As if on cue, a creaking stair from behind him causes him to turn around quickly. There stands Martin, pillow creases on his left cheek, smashing down hair that had been standing on end and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Their eyes meet, and both freeze for several seconds, staring at each other, neither willing to shatter the uncomfortable silence. Eventually, Martin breaks eye contact, pulling a chair out from the table and slumping into it unceremoniously. He props his head on his hand, staring into the middle distance.

Jon’s heart fills with hope as Martin sits down, and he hurriedly sets the table for two, ladling out generous portions of soup and placing the sliced baguette on the table. Taking his seat, he sets a glass of water in front of Martin, back ramrod straight, and anxiously studies the man before him.

Martin looks up then, meeting Jon’s eyes, expression giving nothing away. Jon worries at his bottom lip. He wants to say something, anything to break this awful silence.

They inhale simultaneously.

“I’m sorry—”

“I’m sor—”

They pause, mouths hanging open momentarily, before Jon continues, words pouring out of him in a rush.

“You were perfectly in the right, Martin. You—”

“I shouldn’t have snapped. I—heh—I can’t really understand what this—” he waves his hands vaguely. “—feels like, to you, but…I should have given you a chance to explain. It’s only fair.”

At this, Jon drops his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable.

“It’s alright, Martin. And…I’m still sorry,” he replies in a soft voice.

A corner of Martin’s mouth turns up, and he chuckles briefly.

“I can tell,” he says, motioning at the colorful spread in front of them.

“Y-yes, well…I did sort of plan this before my actions necessitated apologies. I hope it’s alright.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely, dear.”

Dear.

Martin’s words draw heat into Jon’s cheeks, and he grins into his soup. It is quite good, actually—full of flavor that Martin praises enthusiastically, though his senses are undoubtedly a bit muddled by congestion.

They eat in contented silence for while. Jon’s heart bounds when Martin starts to get up for seconds, bowl in hand. Snatching it from him quickly, Jon delightedly fetches him another steaming bowl full. As he places it in front of him, Martin smiles fondly, and thin grey wisps travel out with his breath.

“We should probably talk about that,” Jon says, taking Martin’s glass and watching the rising plumes.

“Yeah, maybe,” Martin laughs, which turns hastily into coughing— substantially deeper-sounding than they had been earlier.

“And that,” Jon says pointedly, filling Martin’s glass with water.

“It’s not that bad,” Martin replies, even as his eyes begin to stream.

Jon huffs sharply.

“Well, you’re going to take something for it anyway, now that you’ve eaten. Here—”

He shakes two fever-reducers into Martin’s hand, which he swallows obediently. Jon then turns to flick the kettle on and leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely in front of him.

“How do you feel?”

Martin has the audacity to simply shrug as he takes a bite. When Jon sighs loudly in frustration, Martin looks up, setting his spoon down and swallowing.

“Alright, alright. I’m…better than this morning, I think. Least I’ve got my voice back a bit.”

“Fever’s still there, though. A bit higher, even.”

At this, Martin chuckles again, shaking his head and stirring his soup. Jon holds his hands out to his sides palms up in questioning.

“What?”

“You’re fussing!”

“I most certainly am not! I’m being perfectly reasonable, thank you.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Hmf.”

Jon turns back to making tea, pouring a mug for each of them, adding plenty of honey to Martin’s for good measure. As he sets them down on the table, he continues his line of questioning.

“And the…Lonely stuff, then? What should we do about it?”

At this, Martin lets out a heavy sigh, congestion crackling audibly in his chest as he does.

“Dunno. Seems to come out more when you’re being sweet, though.”

Jon’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair.

“And I wouldn’t complain about having more of that,” he continues with a sunny smile, tipping his head onto his hand again, eyes full of amusement.

Jon returns his gaze with a sidelong glare, and watches as Martin’s shoulders begin to shake in silent giggles. His own face melts into a smile, even as he tries to stop it from doing so.

Oh.

I think…I might love him.

Somehow, the thought does not alarm him.

Walking over to Martin slowly, he runs a hand over his hair where it still sticks up.

“Don’t push it,” he says tenderly, planting a soft kiss onto Martin’s scorching forehead.

Satisfied with the beet-red flush he’s pulled onto Martin’s cheeks, Jon sits down in the adjacent chair, taking Martin’s hand in his. They enjoy the peace and quiet for hours, sipping at their tea and simply taking joy in each other’s company.

The fog rolls out of Martin in billows.

Jon awakens with a start, sitting up immediately, causing his head to rush.

What…?

Something had woken him, but listening now, he hears nothing but the house creaking around him. Running a hand over his face, he tries to wrestle his sleep-laden thoughts into something resembling competence.

Something is…

He turns sharply to the right side of the bed, finding it empty. Alarm rings through his head as he passes a hand over the Martin-shaped indentation on the sheets—already gone cold. Breath quickening, he runs through worst-case scenarios in his mind, preparing to fight whatever had found them here, grabbing the knife he keeps at the bedside. He slinks out of bed with cat-like grace.

From downstairs, he hears Martin’s deep hacking, urgently trying to clear his lungs.

Fuck.

Jon drops the knife to the floor, flooded with relief that he will not have to fight anything other than illness tonight. Dropping back onto the edge of the bed, he doubles over, allowing his heart a moment to slow as it pounds in his ears. Martin’s fit continues for nearly a minute before mercifully ceasing.

He must be miserable.

Jon winces in sympathy before standing again, pulling on his dressing gown as he heads down the stairs.

Upon entering the living room, he finds Martin once again on the sofa, curled up as tightly as his long legs will allow. Jon can see his shoulders shaking as he desperately tries to hold back the coughs bubbling up in his chest, his face pressed into a tissue. He turns away from Jon as he enters his peripheral vision, shaking his head rapidly.

“Martin? What’s—”

He’s cut off abruptly by sneezing, loud and wet, that morphs quickly back into rattling coughs. Jon’s chest aches as he watches, hearing whatever nastiness occupies Martin’s lungs refusing to loosen. With a determined grimace, Jon steps over to him, placing a hand on his back, and begins rubbing circles with a gentle pressure.

Unfortunately, this does not seem to help, and Martin continues his half-drowned hacking with no respite in sight.

Biting his lip, Jon makes his decision and begins pounding the heel of his hand over the ribs protecting Martin’s lower lungs.

At last, this seems to break some congestion free, deepening Martin’s cough before he finally manages to get something up. Looking into the tissue for a moment with disgust, Martin balls it up and throws it into the bin he’s dragged near the sofa, sniffling exhaustedly. He drops his head to rest on his hands.

Jon walks around the coffee table to sit beside him, resuming the slow circles on his back.

3͙̋̎9͓͂ͫ̆.̣̖̿6̩

Christ.

“I’m sorry, Jon. I’m so sorry, it’s disgusting.” he rasps, voice wobbling with effort.

“Don’t—don’t apologize, Martin. You’ve done nothing wrong,” Jon replies in the gentlest tone he can manage, continuing his ministrations for several moments in silence.

He looks up when he feels Martin’s shoulders beginning to shake, thinking he needs to cough again.

To his dismay, Jon sees hot tears threatening to spill over Martin’s cheeks.

“Oh, Martin, no.”

At his words, Martin immediately chokes out a sob, hiding his face in his hands, now unable to stop them from coming. He gasps and heaves as Jon continues rubbing circles on his upper back, eventually coming to kneel in front of him, one hand resting on his knee as the sobs give way to shaking.

“Look at me, darling. Look at me.”

Jon gently pries Martin’s hands away from his face, fever-glassed eyes meeting bright green.

“Listen to me. I want to look after you. I want to. Please…please let me.”

Martin’s breath hitches, tears spilling out again, and Jon pulls his head to rest on his shoulder, stroking a hand through his faded curls.

They stay just like that for a few minutes, before Jon curls back up on the sofa next to him, hand still moving through his hair as he drifts off.

After several hours of fitful rest, Jon had managed to coax Martin into some breakfast and medication before dragging him back to bed for some proper sleep. Basira and he had planned to speak at noon via the phone box in town, and he had told Martin as such.

Jon had left a note for him near the bed anyway. Just in case the fever stole his memory.

He has just made it to the outskirts of the village, where sits the phone box. It’s a bit dilapidated, peeling paint showing some hastily covered old graffiti beneath. Jon smirks.

Martin would love this.

Stepping inside and closing the door, Jon dials Basira’s phone. She answers almost immediately.

“Jon? Is that you?”

“Y-yes, hello Basira.”

She exhales a long sigh of relief.

“You made it then. Thank God, I was starting to get worried.”

Jon can’t help but smile at this.

“Yes, we’re here. I don’t think we were followed, so we should be relatively safe for the time being.”

“Good. That’s good.”

They pause as Jon carefully considers his words.

“Have you…have you found Daisy?” he asks in as soft a tone as he can muster.

Basira sighs heavily. When she replies, her voice is lower, each word measured.

“I’ve got some leads. But…I don’t want to go after her in earnest until I find out whether or not there’s any way she could…be the old Daisy again. The real one. I’ve been talking to some ‘experts,’ as it were.”

“Experts? Wouldn’t that be us?”

Basira huffs out a laugh. “You know, there are other people in the world outside of the Institute, Jon.”

“No, there aren’t.”

She fully chuckles at this, before they slip into a brief, but comfortable silence.

“And you? How are you doing?” she asks, her question heavy with implication that Jon chooses to ignore.

“We’re fine, we’re…managing.”

“Are you, though?”

Jon sighs at this, knowing he has never successfully hidden anything of import from Basira, and he was unlikely to be able to start today.

“The Eye is…getting hungry. Harder to control.”

“Thought as much. You’ve been feeding on innocents again, then?” she asks waspishly.

“N-NO! No, Basira, I’ve been able to resist. I just…don’t know what to do going forward.”

“I’ll send you some statements then. Should tide you over until…well, until the next horrible thing happens, I suppose.”

Jon feels he could cry with relief.

“Thank you, Basira. Really, thank you. You’ve got the address then?”

“…yeah. I’ve actually been there before, you know. With Daisy.”

Her voice grows muffled with emotion.

“It’s a lovely little spot.”

“It is.”

Their grief hangs in the air like a curtain for a few moments, and they decide to let it be.

Breathe it in, and let it go.

Just let it go.

Basira clears her throat and continues, voice stronger.

“Is Martin alright? Is he…still Martin?”

“Yes, yes he’s been…more Martin than I’ve seen him be in a while. Which is saying something, given that he’s quite ill at the moment.”

“Ill? Ill how?” she says, her voice ticking up in concern.

“It’s…complicated. Some kind of dreadful chest cold or flu or something, certainly. But…sometimes, when he feels—”

Jon cuts off, embarrassed.

“Sometimes he breathes out this…fog. It looks like the fog that was in the Lonely, so he thinks it’s a sign of the Lonely leaving him. That it’s a good thing.”

“And what do you think?”

Jon sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I think he might be right, but…I also think it might be what’s making him ill. He’s…gotten much worse, even just since yesterday.”

“Hmm.”

Another silence falls, both pondering.

“Well. Something else I can look into, I suppose. You’re at the phone box in the village, right?”

Jon chuckles, looking around at the smudged glass.

“Of course.”

“Right. Let’s plan to talk again in a few days. Half past one on Thursday okay? I’ll rush you the statements in the meantime.”

“That sounds perfect, Basira. Thank you. And…”

He cuts off, softening his voice.

“Good luck. I hope you can find a way to get her back. And…that we’ll see each other again, soon.”

Basira sniffs audibly, leaning away from the speaker for a moment.

“Right. Be careful, Jon. I mean it. Call if Martin gets worse.”

The receiver clicks.

Jon gets back to the cottage just in time for Martin’s next round of Dr. Sims-prescribed medication, his hair tossed wild by the Highland winds. The downstairs lights are still off, just as he had left them.

I hope he managed some decent sleep, at least.

He grabs the meds from the kitchen counter along with a fresh glass of water, and ascends the stairs on tiptoe. Swinging the bedroom door open, he finds Martin sprawled across the bed, mouth open and propped up on every pillow they had managed to find. Jon smirks fondly. He then sets the meds and the glass of water on the nightstand as he sits on the edge of the bed.

3̗͒ͩ9̬̖̊̔.̳̰̓3.

Jon frowns the moment he places his hand on Martin’s flushed neck. It’s down from earlier, but not by much, and still on the border of worrying.

Dammit, I’ve got to wake him.

Stroking his arm, Jon calls his name softly.

“Martin. Hey, Martin.”

He brushes the damp fringe back from Martin’s brow.

At this, Martin lifts his eyelids halfway, heavy with sleep. After a moment, he turns his gaze to Jon before groaning and scrubbing at his eyes.

Poor thing.

Jon holds out the pills and the water glass to him.

“Do you think you can take these?”

Martin stares blankly at them for a moment, as though mesmerized by their colors, before reaching out with shaky hands. He pops the pills in his mouth successfully, but as he reaches for the glass, his hands shake so badly that Jon is forced to keep a hand over his as Martin tips his head back to swallow.

His breaths are shallow and crackling when Jon takes back the glass, and sweat begins to bead his brow. Grimacing for a moment, Jon rubs his shoulder briefly before standing.

“I’ll be right back.”

He walks quickly to the bathroom, finding a clean washcloth and dampening it with the coldest water he can coax from the tap. Deep, rattling coughs echo from the bedroom as he does, and he shakes his head frustratedly.

Why isn’t any of this helping?

As he returns, Martin has reached the bitter and unsatisfying end of his fit, his chest still crackling with each inhale in spite of his efforts to clear it.

“Christ, Martin. You sound awful.”

But Martin has squeezed his eyes shut again, leaning back against the pillows in exhaustion and rubbing painfully at his chest. Jon perches near his elbow and begins gently sweeping the cold cloth over his face, eliciting a contented sigh from Martin as soon as the coolness hits his skin. Jon moves lower, stroking his neck soothingly before depositing the cloth on his forehead.

As he does so, Martin reaches up, grabbing his hand lightly.

“What is it?”

Martin does not reply, merely gazing at his hand with half-lidded eyes as he begins to massage it, much in the same way he had done the previous morning on their drive to the village.

Oh, Martin.

Jon smiles and runs his free hand through Martin’s hair. Martin’s fingers work over the length of each of Jon’s, before Jon’s gentle motions relax him enough that he falls asleep halfway through his ministrations.

Chuckling fondly, Jon lifts the towel from Martin’s brow just long enough to plant a few lingering kisses there before replacing it.

“Sleep well, darling,” he whispers, moving the tissue box within his reach on the bed and patting his arm before slipping out the door.

#tma #tma fic #sickfic #jonmartin #tw illness #my writing

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

Text

Three Things

So...this happened. It may happen again. No idea exactly what is happening. But it happened. So I hope you enjoy it.

Timeline: Post-series, minor spoilers for season three.

Thanks to @scribbles97 and @i-am-chidorixblossom for reading and support.

-o-o-o-

Cool Things

“Hey, everyone! I’m Alan Tracy.” The blond young man in the middle of the screen waved. A green shirt with a faded guitar motif, a pair of cargo shorts that really needed a good yank in the northerly direction and a dash of freckles across a rather cute nose was enough to keep her interested. The name Tracy wasn’t a familiar one, but hey, she was bored.

“Aw, could you make it more boring?” Hmm, read a girl’s mind why don’t you, random voice.

Alan glared at someone beyond the field of the camera. “Hey, this is my vlog. I’m doing it my way. Just hold the camera still.”

“Pfft, world class aquanaut and rescue operative reduced to cameraman. If you renege on this, kid, you’re paying for this forever.”

“Shut up, you’ll get your flippers back.”

“Damn right I’ll get my flippers back.” The camera bounced up and down. “You had no right to borrow them in the first place!”

“Can you just hold the camera still?”

Apparently not, because the screen wriggled all over the place. Why the kid hadn’t bothered to buy a tripod, she had no idea.

“Can you just give me my flippers back?”

“No. You borrowed my tripod for underwater filming, so you can stand in for its rusted remains until I can get to the mainland to buy a new one.”

Well, that explained that.

“Why did you have to start the vlog today, then?”

“Because yesterday I was in space, tomorrow I’ve got college work. Today is free, so I’m taking it. Can you just be quiet, hold the camera still so we can do this?”

“Do what?” A deeper voice echoed off of the hardwood panel floor and a buff dude dressed in red flannel wandered into shot. Sharp eyebrows glared at the camera. “Alan, what are you doing?”

“Er…” Terror? Guilt? She wasn’t quite sure how to gauge blondie’s sudden drop in expression. “Uh, hey, Virg. Weren’t you supposed to be with Scott? You know, in Auckland?”

“Brains needed a hand last minute. Are you filming?”

The screen shuddered and went black.

Huh?

But suddenly it lit up again. This time it was in a completely different location. Blondie was huddled in some greenery. “Sorry about that, guys. The first thing you have to learn about living here is that there are far too many brothers around and most of them aren’t cool.” He blinked. “Okay, Gordon can be great when he isn’t being an ass. And, yeah, John is my space bro. He is totally cool. Did you know he can eat a bagel while hula-hooping upside down? Sure, he does it in space, but the coordination required…totally fab. Gordon dared him once, and John really isn’t one to let Gordon win anything. Not that we fight, really, but Gordon can be irritating at times.” He paused for a moment. “And yeah, Scott and Virg are cool in their own way. Just a little smothery at times. Even worse now Dad’s home.”

He stood up. Over his green t-shirt and shorts, he had some kind of harness. “But that is not what we are here for.” He shoved a helmet on his head. It was bright red and sported a bold white number three on the front of it. “This video is the first in what I hope to be many. Each will contain three things I think are cool. The camera shifted and an ocean came into view. She realised he was standing on the side of a mountain on a coastline.

“First up is the view.” He held out the camera. He must have on some kind of gimbal because all the wobbly movement was gone and the panning was smooth. A huge ocean started at the bottom of the cliff and disappeared into the blue haze of distance. “Not as high as I’m used to, but still totally cool. This is a spot we call Rocket’s Roost because Dad once landed one of his model rockets up here by accident. Took us three days to find it because its transponder was fried. It has a great view, but the down side is that it is a pain to get to. Vertical hike and all. The upside it that although there is miles of ocean in that direction. In this direction…” The camera moved around and a mountain appeared. “Is thrilldom itself.”

He bent over and grabbed a line and clicked it to what appeared to be a bearing on a taut cable stretching off into the hazy distance. Was he going to?

Yes, he was.

“This is the Tracy Train central line. A one-way zip-line home after the struggle to get up here. I love it. And I’m going to take you along for the ride.”

This time the camera did wiggle somewhat as he fastened it to something. She could no longer see him, but she could see the drop and the angle of that cable.

Wow.

“You ready? Here we go! 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…” He let off one hell of a yell and the view narrowed to one of speed and descent at an astonishing rate. She found her heart in her throat just staring at the screen. The cable led first to the opposing mountain side and then turned back on itself, giving her a great view of what was now clearly an Island for a few moments before it abruptly turned again. Alan let out a whoop at the turn and the camera rocked crazily. A glass roof came into view and the ground was coming up awfully fast.

“Yeeeeeah!” Something caught the literally falling man and the camera rocked like crazy. “Woo hoo!”

The image shuddered for a moment before steadying as shoes hit dirt and Blondie stood up. “Aww, man.”

Standing directly in front of the camera was that same red flannel dressed hunk from earlier. The frown on his face was set to split the planet in two and his beefy arms were folded across his considerable chest. “Alan?”

“It’s for fun, honest. I’m not exposing anything. I just wanna be cool.”

“You are cool, Alan. I thought we had covered that. I thought Brandon had covered that. You told me yourself.”

“Yeah, well, I want to be cooler.”

The frown relaxed and, to her surprise, Flannie rolled his eyes. “Alan, you do know you are pretty great, don’t you?”

“Pretty great?” So much scoff in those two words.

“I think so.”

“Thanks, Virg.” It dripped sarcasm. Yeah, thanks, Flannie, give the guy a break. He only wants to have some fun. “I just want to have some fun.” Yeah, you tell him.

Something shifted in flannel-draped man. His expression became more considered. “Can I see your footage?”

“Why?”

“I’m interested.”

“Why?”

“Do you want to do this or not?”

“Huh?”

And the camera cut off again.

She blinked a moment. What exactly was this supposed to be?

Then Blondie was back. The background was obviously somewhere inside. A guitar hung on the wall in the background, an odd echo of that same green t-shirt he was still wearing.

“Hey, there, everyone. Sorry about that again. As I said, brothers are everywhere.” His head tilted to one side. “But that isn’t a bad thing. In fact, family can be cool. I know that can be considered to be the least cool thing to say, but yeah, they’re great. So, for my third cool thing today, I’m going to say family is cool. Don’t care if you rat me in the comments. Cool view, cool zip line, cool family. They are my three things today.” A grin. “A thank you to Virgil for lending me his tripod. And a big thank you to Gordon for choosing a career in aquanautics rather than film. I hope you enjoyed. Be fab. Three out.”

The video ended and the streamer cued up the next in line, a video from that Bear vlogger. She hit cancel and poking at the screen, pulled up the Tracy channel. It only contained one video. The one she had just watched. Blondie’s grinning face shone out at her from the mostly empty screen.

His profile said next to nothing and other than an odd gif of slowly spinning dots and circles appearing on the screen in one corner, there was no further information.

A shrug and she wandered off into the net looking for something else to watch.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Alan Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #TB Three Things

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phobiadeficient · 4 years

Note

Sniper + 1 or more other mercs punish Scott after he's been a brat

demo/sniper/scout is a pairing combo i really like even if there’s like. practically no content for it. its good shit tho for real

“Tavish, your boyfriend is being a bloody menace again,” Sniper started in, dragging Scout by the scruff of his neck into Demo’s little workshop.

“Why’s it that he’s only my boyfriend when he’s acting out, and your boyfriend when he’s being sweet?” Demo asked, not looking up from the bundle of wires and switches that he was working on, canisters lined up neatly in front of him.

“Because he only ever works this hard to piss me off,” Sniper replied.

“And why do you think that is, Mundy?” Demo asked, a little bit sarcastically.

“Because it’s way funnier,” Scout cut in, and shut right back up again when Sniper shook him once, hard.

“The temper on you, love,” Demo tsk’d, working his hands free and standing up from his workbench, moving forward to look Scout up and down. “Careful with him. The munchkinlander bruises easy, y’ken.”

Scout glared at that, and Demo raised an eyebrow at him briefly before turning his attention back to Sniper.

“Look, you know why he keeps doing this, aye?” Demo asked, amusement in his tone.

“Because we can’t leave him alone for ten bloody minutes before he gets bored and wants attention, and then he has a bloody temper tantrum over it when we don’t give it to him,” Sniper said, tone biting. He seemed legitimately pissed off. Demo was curious as to what Scout had actually done this time.

“And?” Demo led, and continued when Sniper just frowned, not understanding. “Lad, you keep using negative reinforcement is the thing. Stubborn little bastards like this,” he said, taking Scout’s chin in one hand and tilting his head up to face Demo head on, “just dig their heels in with that. Love getting a reaction.”

“So what else am I meant to do?” Sniper asked, confused.

“Watch and learn,” Demo said, and leaned to grab a length of rope from where it was hanging on the wall.

He had a setup for making his much larger explosives, which included a big bracing apparatus—currently folded and stowed away—and a large hook on the ceiling. Demo, in clean, efficient movements, first tied Scout’s wrists together, then he looped the rope up over the hook, pulling hard, and Scout was yanked so he stood flat on his feet with his arms well up above his head, only enough slack to stand comfortably.

Scout looked surprised. He clearly hadn’t really seen this coming. Demo barely spared him a look though, busy tying off the rope.

“Care to pass the box cutter, Mundy?” Demo asked idly, and he saw Scout go tense in his periphery.

Sniper did so, and Demo flicked it open, moving forward. Scout had a slight edge of fear in his expression, and Demo flicked the thing back closed, moving a hand to press soothingly into Scout’s side.

“Not gonna hurt you with this, darl,” he said, stilling the mile-a-minute train of thought that was probably going through Scout’s head just then. Scout relaxed only a little bit.

To be fair, it wasn’t often that he and Demo played this way. That was more Sniper’s rodeo, with Demo occasionally asked to help with more complicated ones. And when Demo did play he usually did so with Sniper, and they didn’t exactly have a set dynamic, switching between who was in charge and who was tying up who depending on the mood. Mostly Scout got his fill of that particular kind of attention with Sniper and then he and Demo messed around in a more vanilla way, Scout getting pampered just a bit in the wake of getting tied up and used. That was more Demo’s dynamic.

That said, he did have some ideas.

“Hold this,” Demo directed, taking the dog tag lying against Scout’s shirt and lifting it up towards his face. Scout carefully took it between his teeth, clearly hesitant, not sure that’s what Demo wanted from him. Demo nodded approvingly. He then opened the box cutter again and sliced Scout’s shirt clean off of him in three cuts, two from the edge of the sleeve to the collar of the shirt and once right down the center, baring him to the world. He tugged lightly on the chain of the tags and Scout released it again, letting it drop back into place, face flushing.

He was aware of Sniper moving to lock the door somewhere in his periphery, even if he didn’t turn to look. Scout glancing to watch him did that work for him.

“So what’d you do?” Demo finally asked, tone bright.

Scout set his jaw, looking off to one side.

“The little menace just—“ Sniper started, but Demo shot him a glance.

“No,” he said, looking back at Scout. “He’s gonna be the one to say it.”

“Or else what?” Scout challenged, no small amount of fight there behind his eyes.

“Or else you get to stand there. But if you do tell me,” Demo led, reaching forward to close the distance for a moment, thumbs moving to Scout’s nipples and kneading and rolling them in smooth motions that had him writhing, gasping in need within only a few moments. Then he pulled back with a parting pinch, and Scout went still again, breath coming a bit heavier, pants tighter. “Well, I think you’ll like what happens.”

Scout was quiet for another few seconds, glancing between Sniper and Demo a few times.

“Care for a drink, Mundy?” Demo asked, attention shifting to Sniper.

“Could go for one,” Sniper shrugged, catching on in an instant. “What do you have?”

“Got plenty of options—“ Demo started, taking only a step away from Scout before he started stammering.

“I, alright, so, it was really an accident this time I swear—“ Scout said, speaking quickly.

“Right?” Demo said, returning to stand in front of him again.

“I…” Scout was flushing further. “I went over to the camper to see if Snipes was busy, because you told me you were workin’ on somethin’ today, and he was just taking his stupid gun apart and putting it back together again—“

“I’ve told you a million times that my rifle needs actual maintenance or else I’ll need to replace it within the year, it’s not my fault you don’t take care of your bloody things and I do—“ Sniper started to snap, and quieted again when Demo glanced at him.

“So what’d you do?” Demo prompted, raising an eyebrow at Scout again.

Scout ducked his head. “So I… sassed him for a while,” he trailed, speaking carefully. “And he told me to go away, and… that he wasn’t good to play today. That he was busy.”

Demo nodded, waiting, aware that that wasn’t enough to piss Sniper off so badly.

“…And then on my way out I slammed to door,” Scout admitted, “and it shook the camper and knocked over a bunch of shit.”

Demo hummed, stepping a bit closer, running hands down Scout’s sides, making him shiver as he traced over the sensitive parts of his ribcage, gentle even with calloused fingers. “What’d you knock over?”

“A few glasses, a jar—it was empty,” he hurried to say, seeing Demo’s eyebrows rise. “But glass got everywhere. And a box of bullets slid off the table and scattered. And… and a picture fell off the wall. It was an accident, really, but then Snipes freaked out on me and yelled at me and dragged me over here.”

Demo hummed, hands rising to toy with his chest some more, and within moments Scout was leaned forward what amount the ropes would allow, reduced to gasping again. “Good,” Demo praised, and Scout shivered.

“How the hell did you manage that?” Sniper asked from near Demo’s shoulder, incredulous.

“Positive reinforcement, Mickey m’boy,” Demo said, a little smug. “Now, Scout.”

“Mmmwhat?” Scout asked, eyes blinking open, hazy.

“Now you’re going to apologize,” Demo said.

Scout tensed up a bit, eyebrows furrowing. “Aw, go to hell,” he said, even as his voice wavered. Demo stopped playing with him. “I didn’t even do it on purpose, it’s not my fault he’s a dumbass and left his goddamn dishes stacked up like that and doesn’t know how to hang up a poster—“

Demo removed his hands entirely, and Scout stopped talking, looking down and watching them retreat, returning to Demo’s side, one to his hip. “I don’t care if you did it on purpose, lad. You’ve made a mess and now you’re going to apologize for it,” he said firmly.

There was that gleam again. “Or else what, Cyclops? You gonna make me?” he asked, taking some of the slack in hand and leaning hard on the ropes.

“Nope,” Demo replied, reaching up to cup Scout’s jaw in hand, angling him just so. “You’re just gonna stay there tied up until you do. And you won’t get a single lick of attention until then. All you have to do is apologize, lad, that’s all. Just a little one.”

Scout huffed, sinking, glaring at Demo when he gave Scout a parting pat on the cheek before stepping away, gesturing for Sniper to follow.

“Mate, he doesn’t listen to that,” Sniper said quietly, too quiet for Scout to hear as they went to the cabinet on the other side of the little workshop. “He’s stubborn as hell. Buttering him up doesn’t get him anywhere but pleased with himself.”

“Mundy, every time he acts out you rough him up. But that’s what he wants you do to,” Demo replied just as quietly, pulling out two glasses and two bottles, setting to mixing some drinks on the countertop nearby. “You’re giving him what he wants. If you want him to do what you say willingly, you’ve got to promise something that he’ll like just as much as whatever punishment you’re threatening him with. Either punish him hard—which might well just get him to safeword before he’s done what you’ve asked, the little bastard’s a slut for pain and doesn’t know when to quit—or offer him something he wants more than his pride.”

Sniper took the drink that was offered to him, clinking their glasses before downing a gulp. He considered for a moment. “Think that’ll work?”

“Depends. You can rile him up real desperate-like then get him to do what you say, but only if you can make it that long without losing your own self-control. Or, you can offer something he wants desperately already.”

Sniper paused. “Oh. Well, mate, then I might just have an idea.”

Scout was sulking. There he was, shirtless and tied up, and Demo and Sniper weren’t even looking at him. Assholes. Couldn’t they see how hot he was? What a chance they had right then? He was just there, good-looking and helpless. Seriously.

He perked up when Demo started walking towards him, only to slump again when he moved right past him. Then he felt a pair of strong hands at his hips and he was pulled back against Demo’s body, and his breath hitched.

“So me and Mundy have been talking,” he hummed, quiet into Scout’s ear. “We think we know what your reward is gonna be for when you tell him you’re sorry.”

“Yeah?” Scout asked, tilting his head closer, trying to look at Demo.

“Yeah,” Sniper said, and Scout looked forward again, and his breath caught when Sniper stepped forward close enough to press their fronts together, leaving him sandwiched and immobilized between the two larger men. “Remember that time we all got together?”

“When me and Mundy both had a lend of you? At the same time?”

“You put that sweet little outfit on to beg us for it, to try and get us to give it to you, remember? The black one?” Sniper prompted, nibbling a line down Scout’s neck between phrases.

Scout remembered exactly what Sniper was talking about and his pulse hammered. Demo pressed a kiss to his pulse point as it apparently showed, and he swallowed hard, breath hitching as Sniper caught the motion of his adam’s apple under his teeth. “Yeah,” he said weakly.

“I knew how much you liked that, and god knows me and the lanky bastard both liked it too. If you apologize, we can do that again, right here,” Demo coaxed, hands falling from his hips to instead run along the inside of Scout’s thighs.

The idea ran loose in Scout’s mind for a few moments. Himself, tied up and helpless, getting absolutely railed into by the two very hot guys he was dating.

He flushed clear down to his chest, heart hammering.

“Okay,” he agreed, voice breaking a little. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry Snipes. I—I promise I won’t do it again, I’m real sorry.”

“You gonna help him clean up later, lad?” Demo asked, hummed into the back of his neck.

“Yeah, yeah I will, promise. I promise,” he agreed, nodding feverishly.

“Gonna whinge about it, or will you be a good boy and help nice and quiet?” Sniper asked.

“No, I’ll be good. I can be good,” Scout said quickly.

Quiet for a few moments. Scout rolled his hips forward at the sound of Sniper and Demo sharing a kiss over his shoulder. “Bloody genius, Tavish,” Sniper praised lowly, and Demo chuckled, and then they were starting to get undressed.

Scout moved along to make it easier when his pants were undone and pushed down, trying to kick off his shoes as best he could. Sniper got them open, and then Demo pulled them down and off, guiding them off Scout’s legs one leg at a time. When Demo returned to pressing up behind him, his chest was bare, and Scout groaned at it.

“Lube, Mickey?” Demo prompted, and the bottle was passed over. “Thanks, love. Right, up you get lad.”

Scout felt hands pulling at the back of his thighs, and he took the prompt, shifting on his feet for a second before taking hold of the slack in the rope again and lifting his legs up into the air, wrapping them around Sniper’s middle. Sniper grabbed hold of him to help him keep his balance, hands on his ass, both keeping him supported and spreading him enough that Demo could start in.

Scout moaned and babbled pleads into Sniper’s shoulder and neck as Demo worked him open quickly and efficiently, knowing his body and his tells pretty damn well by then and knowing that Scout could take the discomfort involved in moving fast. Loved to, even. Loved the slight burn, the knowledge that he’d be just a little sore the next day and that he’d know exactly who was responsible for it.

But Demo worked him up well into three fingers, his hands bigger than Sniper’s, spreading him more than was usually needed. Scout was asked to hop down for a second to let Sniper get undressed, which he did with efficiency, before he was being held again, Demo helping support his weight while Sniper slicked up and found the right angle and—and—and—

His brain always whited out for a second at that first push, and it was a good thing he managed to keep his legs in place and had Demo holding him up, that he clenched his fists, because he might’ve outright fallen over otherwise. Sniper filled him in three easy pushes, and Scout tried to say something like “it’s fine, I’m not in any pain, we can go ahead”, but mostly it just came out in a moan.

Sniper got a pretty good read on the situation, though. “He’s awright, Tavish. Go on,” he prompted. Another kiss shared over his shoulder, then Demo shifted, Sniper taking the weight back to free up Demo’s hands.

Sniper started rolling up into him in slow, steady motions, and Scout heard the sound of more lube before on the next roll, one of Demo’s fingers followed alongside Sniper’s cock and Scout couldn’t help but release a sharp gasp of pleasure, hips jerking. Demo shushed him with a kiss at the apex of his spine, starting up a gentle motion alongside Sniper’s. One finger became two—another hard gasp from Scout, they were talking to each other quietly but he couldn’t seem to make himself focus on what they were saying—and then finally three. All of a sudden, Scout felt a bolt of something, and he whispered a frantic word into Sniper’s shoulder.

Sniper’s motions stopped in an instant. “He asked for yellow, Tavish,” he relayed, and Demo stopped as well.

“Need me out, lad?” he asked sympathetically, free hand kneading at Scout’s thigh to soothe him.

“No,” he managed, voice weak, and with everything stopped for a moment he could process suddenly that there were tears leaking out of his eyes. “Just-just gimme a second. I can do this. I know I can do this. Just need a second.”

Demo nodded, kissing Scout a few more times, beard a comforting, familiar rasp against his skin. Sniper did the same on the opposite side of his neck, a tremble to his hands where they supported Scout’s weight.

Finally Scout felt like things had reached a manageable level, and he exhaled, relaxing just a little bit, taking a deep breath. “Okay. I think I’m good now,” he said, tilting his head to make it clear he was addressing Demo.

Demo ignored that for a little bit, continuing to stretch him and coax him open for a few more moments before he even pulled his fingers out and his pants off. Scout squeezed his eyes shut and took a few more deep breaths, listening idly to the sound of slicking up further, hands being wiped off.

Then Demo had a hand on his thigh, pulling, working Sniper out until just the head was left. And Scout heard Sniper’s breath catching, and then his own followed as he felt Demo line up.

“Ready, lad?” Demo asked, and Scout nodded half-frantically, and he started lowering Scout to allow them both to push in.

Whiteout, world blurring at the edges. He was aware, distantly, of Demo murmuring for him to relax, of Sniper telling him good, he was doing such a good job, what a good boy. His own dick was absolutely throbbing, trapped between him and Sniper, teased by the hair on Sniper’s stomach and desperate for contact, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t touch himself, couldn’t do anything but let himself be used, and oh, oh fuck—

Breathing picked up, Sniper and Demo thrusting in what rhythm they could find, both of them using their upper body strength to lift and manipulate Scout as they pleased, bouncing him on them with only some small amount of effort, seeming to get a real kick out of all the noise he was making. Demo reached around and took hold of Scout’s dog tags, pressing them to his mouth, and Scout took them between his teeth like he had earlier without even really thinking about it.

Hands were everywhere. Supporting his weight, groping up and down his thighs, dragging nails over his back, and—that was Demo’s, he was pretty sure—teasing at his nipples and making him whine and jerk.

“Want me to bite you?” Sniper asked, liquid gravel into his ear, and he nodded desperately, and writhed when he started in.

“Gorgeous, love,” Demo praised, low into his shoulder blade, licking and sucking at the freckles there that he could find, and all Scout could do was moan.

“Such a good boy,” Sniper praised, voice hard and rough, marking up his shoulders and neck with abandon between panting, and all Scout could do was moan.

“Gonna come, are you? Gonna come for us? Go on, give us a show,” Demo teased, nose buried in his hair, hands pinching his nipples hard, and all Scout could do was moan.

He wasn’t sure who came first, sensation and pleasure blurring together, feeling only his own sounds transform into begging, then praise, then no words at all, just moaning and keening, a rough voice following with him, someone else humming satisfaction into his shoulder.

When he came back down to earth, shivering, shaking, out of sorts in his own skin, like he’d touched a live wire, like he was fresh off the high of winning a fight, he could confirm pretty easily that yes, both Sniper and Demo had come. And Demo had pulled out, gingerly, gently, and pulled away from Scout’s back, leaving him cold. Scout felt an involuntary roll of embarrassment hit him at the feeling of dripping that followed the exit. Sniper hefted him carefully, slipping out, and a moment later Scout’s arms were suddenly released and dropped down around Sniper’s shoulders.

Sniper looked at him. He looked at Sniper.

“Made a bloody mess of you,” Demo observed, returning, helping guide Scout‘s feet to the floor and stroking over one of the bite marks Sniper had left, other arm wrapped around his waist to help keep him upright. “That’s gonna leave a mark, Mundy. What’d I tell you about bruising?”

“Sorry,” Sniper said, a little sheepishly.

“You right, Scooter?” Demo asked, hand smoothing down his flank, one of Sniper’s moving up to mop his face dry. Scout nodded, not quite ready for words again yet.

“I’m…” Sniper started to say, hesitated. “I’m sorry I snapped at you like that, love. It was an accident that you made such a mess. An accident because you’re a careless little bugger, but still an accident. And I, er, appreciate your apology.”

Scout couldn’t help but smile, and buried his face in Sniper’s shoulder to hide it. Took a deep breath or two. “You can make it up to me by helpin’ clean me up. I can barely fuckin’ walk right now,” he murmured weakly.

“Sure,” Sniper agreed.

“We all sorted out then? Anyone still pissy? Is the domestic over?” Demo teased, moving to the side of them to look them both in the face. He got some sheepish nodding. “Good. Gimme your hands, lad, you’re not getting out of those cuffs yourself.”

“Thanks, Demo,” Scout said, more earnest than he generally allowed himself. Sniper echoed the sentiment.

“Don’t you even mention it,” Demo said, kissing both of them square on the cheek, first Scout, then Sniper, then Scout again. “Love you both, happy to sort it out that I get to keep loving you both instead watching of you throttle each other.”

“What if that’s hot, though? What if we get a safeword first?” Scout joked, grinning at Demo even as he offered his hands to be untied.

“Och, then I’ll watch you throttle each other seven days a week, darl,” Demo teased, pinching his cheek, and Scout laughed, and Sniper laughed, and all was well.

Until next time Scout decided he wasn’t getting enough attention, at least. But Demo was looking forward to it.

#//demosniperscout #//powerplay #//bondage

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liliansilverstuff · 5 years

Text

Dramione Prompt: “They warned me about you, I should have listened.”

A little dramione fic I just wrote from this prompt suggested by @xxxmikanxxx

“They warned me about you, I should have listened.”

Hermione scoffed, gaping at him incredulously.

“Draco Malfoy, how dare you!”

“What? It’s true. Harry and Ron said you’d be impossible as a study partner. Clearly they were drawing on personal experience.”

They sat at the kitchen table of Grimmauld place, NEWT practice exams and copious pages of notes strewn across the table.

She rolled her eyes and gestured to the table top.

“What I’m saying is this level of disorganization must first be dealt with before we can adequately prepare! Besides, I didn’t take you for a slob, Malfoy.”

“It’s organized chaos, Granger. If you look closely you’ll notice the pattern.”

She squinted her eyes at him and then down at the pages. In all the time he’d been a spy for the order, they’d never studied together. She’d always known he had a brilliant mind, of course, but school had been the least of their worries. Now that the war was over and they were on to normal life, completing their schoolwork seemed the next correct action for both Draco and Hermione, while most of their other friends had opted to take ministry jobs and professional quidditch team positions.

And so there she was, in Harry’s kitchen during Christmas break, studying with Draco Malfoy of all people. Well, she supposed it wasn’t far fetched, given that Malfoy Manor had been reduced to cinders in the war, along with Draco’s family.

She supposed in some odd way, she was sort of like his family now.

Sort of.

They certainly spent a lot of time together. Her choice to sit with him at the Slytherin table was a mixture of political statement and convenience, given that none of her fellow 8th year Gryffindors had returned to Hogwarts. Then there were Prefect rounds. Yes, she saw a lot of him, but they hadn’t been alone together outside of school until now.

She leaned in, keen to quickly work out whatever he was insinuating about his so-called organization of papers. Her eyes scanned the notes furiously for some glimmer of recognition. She was the seeker in desperate need to end the game quickly.

Where was that damned golden ball?

He leaned in next to her and murmured, “Concentrate now, Granger. Surely you see it already? Or is that brilliant mind no longer as sharp as it once was?”

She gasped and turned to glare at him, not having realized how close he’d gotten. Their faces were centimeters apart.

The air between them hummed with anticipation. Of what, she hardly wanted to know.

Then her heart began to pound as he smirked, but did not break eye contact.

“I’ll tell you what,” he murmured. “I’m going to go pour some firewhisky. Once you’ve worked it out, come and join me in the sitting room with your answer.”

With that, he stood and exited the room, the swinging kitchen door flapping in his wake. The silence was deafening and her head spun. She focused back down on the task at hand, now certain that there was indeed some hidden intent in the way he’d laid the pages out.

She’d been right, he was no slob. She knew it! The sensation of being correct about that gave her a renewed sense of vigor and determination to also be on the same page about the… pages.

Firstly, she recognized that the notes were a mix of such a variety of topics, they didn’t even make sense being used in the same study session. Well, that surely meant he hadn’t actually intended to use the content on the pages, but was instead grouping them together due to some other convenience they must be affording him.

Twisting and turning her head to see the pile from different angles, she slowly did begin to see a pattern. The practice exams were a bottom layer of sorts, covered then by chapter summary notes for various books, all beginning with bold titles at the top. The whole lot was covered with scraps of miscellaneous notes that seemed to have no rhyme or reason for being there. Their placement, however, seemed somehow deliberate. Many were layered directly over the chapter note titles, making it so that certain letters peeked through, almost as if being framed by the top layer.

Looking left to right repeatedly, she recognized that there may be a message in the framed letters.

But… her brain whirred into action, dismissing this idea as utterly ridiculous. Why would he be writing her a message?

Then again, his abrupt exit from the room and his words, “join me in the sitting room with your answer,” made it clear that he was asking her a question.

What a peculiar way to do so, though.

Her face scrunched up as she looked back down, determined to get to the bottom of this quickly.

“Alright, Hermione, focus,” she mumbled aloud.

Chapter 7 of Numerology and Gramatica notes were on the far left, the top scraps framing a letter C.

She’d begin there, withdrawing a small scrap of blank parchment from her bag and writing “C” before moving on to scan the next set of chapter notes. The “a” was framed. She added it. Next was a subtitle on notes for arithmancy, the “n” framed out clearly.

She moved down the line, focusing on nothing more than identifying which letters were clearly being pointed out.

When she was done, she looked down at her final line of eleven letters and gasped. They were scrunched together, but her mind instantly put the spaces where she knew they belonged and added a question mark at the end. More of a request, actually. And one that made her shiver. Her ability to breathe became suddenly labored.

Glancing up at the kitchen door, she thought of fleeing. She could avoid this. Could avoid him. Go back to Hogwarts for break. Sit at the Gryffindor table again. Withdraw as prefect in service of her studies.

But she could not ignore a subtle yet suddenly growing yearning in her belly. In her chest. In her throat. The sensation was enough to make her faint.

Without any semblance of a plan in her head, she moved toward the door and pushed it open with a surprisingly sweaty hand. The other was clutching on to the scrap of parchment by her side. She walked imperiously into the sitting room. He was standing by the fireplace, holding a glass of firewhisky. When he looked up at her, she was startled by the vulnerability in his eyes.

It was all in his eyes.

They conveyed a sense of panicked desperation she’d never seen there, and her breath caught in her chest as they stared at one another for who knew how long.

Finally, she forced her feet to move closer to him. Her proximity alone would be an answer, but she wanted to hear him ask it.

Once they were directly in front of one another, she reached up and took the drink from his hand, slowly placing it on the mantle.

She stared deeply into his eyes and said, “Ask me.” Her voice came out as a throaty whisper.

He swallowed and seemed to be steeling himself for what he was about to do. The moment stretched on longer than she wanted it to, so she added a, “please.”

He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed again.

“Hermione… can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” she breathed out almost before he was done asking.

Stepping closer to her, he placed his left hand on her waist and cupped her cheek with his right. She lifted up onto her toes in anticipation, and he dipped his head down to meet her. As their lips pressed together, her entire body became suffused with a tingling sensation that made her unsure if she could stay standing. Their lips came apart and they both let out shuddering breaths before returning to the kiss once again, and deepening it. He pulled her body into his and brought his hand up to grip her curls as they simultaneously parted their lips and began tasting one another for the first time. He was like the initial bite of a decadent dessert at a fine restaurant, meticulously crafted to be intoxicating and luxurious all at once. Sinful, but with no guilt attached. Pure pleasure.

She could not help but let out a small moan of delight, and was surprised to hear him make an identical noise at that very same moment.

Then they both began to laugh, their grins making it impossible to keep kissing. He pulled back slightly, but then gave her a few small pecks on the lips as they continued to let out the laughter at their shared satisfaction. He pressed his forehead to hers and reached his hands down to entwine with both of hers.

“Alright, now I think I can study with you,” he said.

She pulled back and quirked an eyebrow at him.

He grinned. “I don’t think I could have kept my mind on anything but doing that.”

She flashed her best impression of his signature smirk at him. “And now?”

He stepped into her, hands on her waist and legs straddling hers, dipping his head back down to her lips.

“Now you can reward me appropriately for getting the right answers.”

Feeling a surge of mischief, she pulled back just before his lips connected with hers and said, “Alright then, let’s get to it.”

Then, she turned and strode towards the kitchen, faintly registering what sounded like a growl coming from him as he grabbed his glass and followed obediently.

#dramione #dramionefanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #dhrfanfiction #dhr fanfiction #dhr #draco x hermione #draco malfoy #Hermione Granger #post-war #Harry Potter #HP Fandom #hp fanfic #author: liliansilver #author: lilian silver

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hpdabbles · 5 years

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Little Matchmaker.

“Hi. My dad said you’re famous”

Harry looks up from where he’s trying to get Albus to hold still long enough to clean his son’s face. By their table is a small little blond boy, maybe around Albus age, staring up at him with big round grey eyes.

For a moment he almost gets whiplash of memories because those eyes are very familiar. He hasn’t seen them in years though, the owner of them disappearing into who knows where after the war.

“Um, I’m not that famous,” Harry says awkwardly. He glances around trying to spot the kid’s parents. He thought they wouldn’t be bothered here since this was a muggle town. None of the people here should know about Harry Potter’s legend.

James is already making a face and Albus is pouting up a storm. He resisted the urge to sigh. Harry promised them this visit would be away from all the Wizarding World’s awestruck staring, would be with all his attention on them and he wishes for once he could come through for them.

Their relationship is rocking enough after the divorce.

“My dad said you are. My dad doesn’t lie” The boy says narrowing his eyes at Harry like he’s daring him to disagree. “You’re Harry Potter. You have glasses and a scar on your forehead. You save people.”

“Go away” James grouches with all the venom of a seven-year-old. “We’re eating”

Despite James being older and sitting in a higher chair the blond kid still manages to look down at him. Harry gets another sprung of memories but the kid turns to him again. “You are Harry Potter, right?”

“Well I-”

“He’s my Daddy!” Albus hisses, actually hisses, and Harry whips his head around worried someone heard his boy’s parseltongue. Luckily no one is paying attention to them. “Stop trying to steal him!”

Harry winces. Albus still thinks people varying for his attention was someone trying to steal him. Thinks it’s the reason he left their home, even though it’s been almost a year since they lived together.

As if through the crowds screaming his name were more important to him then his family.

That’s what drove Ginny away, wasn’t it?

Okay, maybe not the reason, both just didn’t feel like their relationship was working anymore. Both of them wanted different things and they were still great friends. She understood him in ways no one else did as he did for her but both had to admit that the spark was lost.

Oh, it would have been easy to stay together, but then they would be living a lie. They were friends but nothing more. Staying together and dragging out the marriage wouldn’t have done them any good, may have even turned them bitter against each other and neither wanted that.

Ginny was tired of the “Boy-Who-Conquer’s Wife” fame, always overshadowed and reduce as a simple wife despite being one of the best bloody quidditch’s professional players out there. Harry was tried in general, tired of work, tired of fame, tired of life but then again he’s been tired since he was fourteen.

It was his kids nowadays that keeps him going. Moving out of his old house and sharing custody with Ginny over his three pride and joys was hard, harder still that she had them longer than he, but it was refreshing in a way too.

He packed up his bags, moved to the countryside with his Potter wealth and just started to farm, away from the crowds and noise. Heaven knows it did wonders for his mental state.

The blond kid raises one brow then hisses back “The moon is a cow in blue heels”

Baffled Albus closes his mouth, looking like someone slap him with a fish, making Harry chuckle. He highly doubts the strange kid knew what he was saying likely just wanting to hiss at his son. Little kids tend to mimic each other when insulted.

James sticks out his tongue to the kid and the blond doesn’t back down copping the action with a mocking “blah” added to it. Both his boys look impressed.

“Are you Harry Potter or not?” The boy demands after a long stare off between James. He stomps his little foot making Harry raise a brow. Little spoil isn’t he?

“I am,” He says watching the delight bloom over the kid’s face.

“Great. You’re Harry Potter and you save people” Quick as a snake the boy spring forward wrapping his tiny finger’s around Harry’s in a death grip. “You need to save my Daddy”

Wait, what? The blond turns tugging on his hand as if though he’s strong enough to make Harry move on his own. “He’s sad and you need to save him. I heard Uncle Blaise tell Aunt Pansy he’s going to die if he stays sad, but he needs a hero to save him from himself you see. So come save him”

Mildly alarm now Harry stops the boy by pulling him backwards. “I’m sorry what do you mean by-”

“I can pay you!” The little boy says almost desperately and- oh no, big silver eyes are filling with tears. His sons have fallen silent, aware something terrible was happening before them. “I have four pounds and I can give you all my toys! All of them!”

Harry gets up from seat kneeling before the child who is sniffling now rubbing at his eyes. He places his hands on his shoulder’s gently. “I don’t want your toys-”

“I do!” Albus chirps in but is silenced by James who hisses “Be quiet!” so Harry ignores them. The little boy is staring at him with such broken eyes he wants to punch anyone who hurt him. It surprises him a little, such protective urges are usually only reserved for his own three angles.

“-I just want to know why you think you’re Daddy needs saving?” He says gently, reaching up to wipe at the tears spilling over the boy's cheeks.

“Mommy went to sleep” The boy whispers. “She not gonna wake up anymore and Daddy’s really sad...I don’t know what to do. I’m not a hero but you are..so please..please can we come live with you? Until Daddy’s happy again?”

“Er...well-I don’t think-”

“Scorpius?” A man calls. The two turn to see a blond man looking around. Harry’s breath catches in his throat. Draco Malfoy? Was that Draco Malfoy? After all these years? Or was it just some man that may look what he thinks Malfoy would look like now?

The blond man looks in their direction, and his face twists into rage. “Get your bloody hands off my boy!”

Nearly everyone on the street turns and Harry hastily backs away from the child as if he’s been burn. The blond rushes over, scooping up his child and glaring with all the might of a dragon. “What did you do to him!? Scorpius love, did he do anything weird to you?”

“It’s Harry Potter Daddy!” The boy blurts burring his face into the blond's neck “He’s here to save you! We’re gonna live with him now”

“Potter?” The man says relaxing. He blinks silver eyes at Harry and then his lips turn into an odd smile. Warily and apologetic all rolled into one. “What’s the Wizarding Savior doing in these neck of the woods?”

And yes, that’s definitely Draco Malfoy. Holy shit, the time has done him so many favors. He’s been pretty back in Hogwarts but the sharp and cold features always made him a little off-putting.

He’s got more of a softer tone to him, more mellow somehow. Harry dumbstruck by it, unable to work his jaw around his astonishment.

Mommy went to sleep.

Hadn’t he read in the Daily Prophet a year back, around the time Ginny and he were working out the details of their divorce about Astoria Malfoy’s death? It wasn’t that big of a deal to him then, only finding out she married Draco from the fact, her husband refused to allow Daily Prophet to cover the funeral and the reports trashed him for it.

It hadn’t hit him that Draco Malfoy was a widow until this very moment.

Because despite the fact he was softer there was exhaustion and sadness clinging to every weary part of the man’s body, The desperate hold he had on his son, like he may disappear too, made Harry’s stomach turn.

Without thinking he found himself saying “Having lunch with my sons. Would you two care to join us?”

Draco looked surprised but he was unable to say no to his very eager son who cheered at the idea. The Malfoys sat with them, at first stiff and unsure but somehow Albus and Scorpius started talking about some game or another and the two roped James into it.

The fathers sat back watching the new friendship blossom with faint smiles. They avoided looking at each other for too long before a weary Draco offhandedly mention creating brooms as a job now.

Harry soon found himself discussing the man’s job while admitting he was the proud owner of a farm and the rest of the afternoon turns into an outing with the two men and their kids. It’s been a long time since Harry had this much fun, taking the boys to the local park and watching them run about screaming.

Draco stands next to him “I thought you had three kids?”

Harry turns to him with surprise and the blond says almost defensively “It was all over the Daily Prophet when she was born.”

Ah yes, he forgot about that article. Lily was born with a heart defect that had Healers speculating her survival. At the time Harry was a mess of stress and worry not paying attention to the articles being published. When his sweet little girl pulled through he went about with sues, angry they gotten his daughter’s medical record.

“She’s with her mom. She’s doing some witch night daughter-mother tradition” Harry wasn’t really sure what it was about but Ginny hadn’t taken no for an answer. “Tomorrow she would bring Lily over.”

“Ah yes, The Stargazing.” Draco nods then with a slight smile he adds on “They sent Scorpius an invention mistaking him for a girl and I had to spend four hours explaining the wards wouldn’t allow him in to get him to stop asking to go.”

“Sexiest Wards”

“I know right?”

They share a laugh and just then Harry thinks he misses this. This weird comfortable understanding, of want and longing with the hints of desire under every word.

He used to share it with Ginny, and he wishes he could share it with someone else. Before he can think better of it he finds the words “Say Malfoy would you mind joining me for dinner?”

Two years later, he picks up his three kids, bringing all three back to the farm and smiling as they run inside of their step-dads workshop with loud shouts of “Did you make me a broom Draco?!” in three different voices but with the same eager tones.

Scorpius’ voice rings over all of them “I did!”

followed by his husband’s very alarm “NO! THAT’S NOT FIT FOR FLYING-JAMES GET OFF OF IT!”

Harry smiles.

#Harry Potter #Darry #Post-war #No bad blood between exes #Scorpius malfoy the best match maker #slight angst #Little Matchmaker Au #Family feels

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crystallized-shadow · 5 years

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Pairing: Madara/Tobirama Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1684 Summary: One of the earliest lessons all mages learn is to never tamper with the elements and the gods that controlled them. It was a lesson Madara had written off as unimportant, nothing but boring prattle adults spewed because they thought the younger generations were stupid. The tree roots slowly crushing him said maybe he should have paid a little closer attention.

For @officerjennie who inspired this fic with the prompt “last time you stole winter from its rightful owner”

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

One of the earliest lessons all mages learn is to never tamper with the elements and the gods that controlled them. It was a lesson Madara had written off as unimportant, nothing but boring prattle adults spewed because they thought the younger generations were stupid. The tree roots slowly crushing him said maybe he should have paid a little closer attention.

“Where is my brother?” The nature god demands, squeezing Madara tighter.

“I don’t know!” Madara growls as he glares at the otherworldly being, he should probably be more intimidated than he is, but ever since that damn embodiment of winter had shown up nothing is life was normal anymore.

“You’re lying!” The root coils around his throat and suddenly Madara can’t breath. Instead of feeling panicked the human just grins and bursts into flames. The nature god jerks back in surprise and Madara bolts while he has the chance.

“I hate your brother,” Madara declares as he stomps into his home, frowning when a sound akin to wind rattling through frozen trees drifts down the hallway, “don’t laugh at me, I’m serious!”

“No you’re not,” the pale figure draped sensually in fur states, his ruby red eyes sparkling with amusement as Madara walks into the living room. “You love Hashirama.”

“Hashirama,” Madara repeats, wondering why the name sounds vaguely familiar, “are you high on magic again Snowflake?”

“Don’t call me that!” The growled words hold little threat, but the icy hand pinning him to the wall definitely holds some promise.

“Tobirama,” Madara purrs, smirking at the shudder his guest fails to hide; Tobirama always reacted like that when Madara spoke his name and the human loved it. “Why is your brother here?”

“You did steal me,” Tobirama points out with a shrug, releasing Madara as he takes a step back, “and Mother Nature hates when his seasons are stolen.”

“Mother Nature?” Madara can’t help but chuckle when he hears that, “he doesn’t seem very motherly.” The rest of Tobirama’s words register and the fire mages scowls. “I didn’t steal you!”

“You’ll see soon enough,” the god of winter mutters before he grins, “but you did little mage; it was you who activated the spell that brought me here.”

“It was an accident!” Madara grumbles, “I was trying to summon a lesser spirit but one sigil was wrong.”

“Hashirama won’t see it that way, to him you are a thief that stole one of his precious brothers. He won’t stop until he has your head.”

“Well that’s comforting, any other cheery news for me?” Madara asks, shoving Tobirama onto the couch when the god stops to think about it.

“I like your head where it is,” Tobirama states, barely even reacting when Madara plops down in his lap.

“Then you better tell your brother to leave it alone,” the fire mage points out, relaxing against Tobirama as the other male pulls him close.

“I am...unsure if seeing me with you would help or hurt your case.”

“Is there a way for me to unsteal you?” Madara asks after a few moments of quiet, “so I don’t have to sleep with one eye open for the rest of my life?”

“That’s not how contracts with beings like me work,” Tobirama says, absentmindedly running his fingers through Madara’s wild mane, “once you agreed to it we became bound for the entirety of your life.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before I agreed!?!” Madara exclaims, tilting his head to the side so he can glare at the winter god.

“Maybe I wanted to be stolen by you,” Tobirama mutters, leaning forward just enough that his lips brush against Madara’s ear as he speaks.

“W-what?” The breathless tone has Tobirama smirking as he gently tugs at his human’s earlobe. “Ah!”

“You don’t realize how brightly your magic burns, do you?” Tobirama’s tone drops an octave and he smirks at the flare of arousal that lights up Madara’s magic. “It was so easy to be drawn to it,” the god of winter pretends not to notice his human’s moan as he lavishes a trail of biting kisses down the other’s neck; he loved how easy it was to mark Madara’s skin. “How could I not want to be stolen?”

“Tobirama,” Madara groans, tilting his head to give the other better access to his neck, “y-you’re...ah! Not playing fair!”

“Who said gods were fair?” Tobirama leans back enough to look at all the lovely marks he’s left on his human, “I don’t want my brother thinking he can steal you away.”

“Don’t…” A rather loud moan is drawn from Madara’s lips when a cool hand slips inside his pants, feather soft touches teasing his length. “...don’t wanna think about...your brother…” Madara manages to pant out, embarrassed by how quickly the god can reduce him to this.

“Shall I make your mind go blank then?” Tobirama questions, sucking a mark on the underside of Madara’s jaw, his human wouldn’t be able to hide that one easily.

“If you think you can,” Madara challenges, moaning as he bucks into the hand suddenly gripping him.

“Still challenging the gods I see,” Tobirama smirks and, in one shift move, deposits Madara on the floor. It takes Madara a moment to catch up with the action, but once he does he glares up at the god, flames raging in those usually dark orbs. “Strip,” Tobirama orders, his smirk widening at Madara’s hast to obey. The god settles more comfortably on the couch, letting his furry cloak fall to leave him naked.

“Tobirama,” Madara moans, draping himself over the other’s lap and hissing when their erections brush together.

“So eager,” Tobirama teases, pulling Madara in for a kiss before his human can pout.

“Tobirama!” Madara gasps, arching away from the kiss as the god wraps a hand around both their cocks.

“What’s wrong little mage?” Tobirama purrs, sucking another mark right over his human’s Adam's apple, “am I too much for you?”

“Hardly enough,” Madara shoots back with a glare, a spark of challenge lighting up his eyes and the winter god smirks darkly.

“Allow me to try harder then.”

In a blur of movement Madara finds himself on his back, staring up into smug red eyes. Biting back on instinctive flare of his magic, the fire mage squirms as his hands are pinned above his head by one pale hand. An embarrassingly loud keen is drawn from his throat when a single cool finger slips inside his entrance.

“You always make such pretty noises for me,” Tobirama murmurs as he works at opening Madara up, marking up his human’s chest with searing kisses as he does.

“Ah! Tobirama!” Madara moans, squirming as a second finger joins the first and just grazes that special spot deep inside him. “I’m not made of glass you fucking tease!”

“You said that last time,” Tobirama reminds him with a chuckle, slowly scissoring his fingers, “and then complained loudly the next day when you couldn’t walk.”

“Fuck you!”

“I believe I am fucking you.” Tobirama presses a third finger in, easing the stretch with a cool spark of magic.

“Stop teasing me,” Madara whines, eagerly thrusting back against the fingers moving too slowly inside him, “I want you Tobirama-” A particular hard jab at his prostate cuts his words off in a moan. “Please!”

“How can I say no when you ask so nicely?” Tobirama chuckles, enjoying the needy whimper he draws from the fire mage as he removes his fingers. He doesn’t leave his human empty for long, quickly lining himself up and thrusting inside the tight, waiting heat that is Madara.

“Ah!!” Madara moans loudly, hands clawing uselessly at couch under him.

“You always take me so well little mage,” the winter god purrs, angling his thrusts until a sharp, choked off moan tells him he’s found his human’s prostate again.

Madara bites his lip, fighting back both the urge to flare his magic and the filth he wants to babble out. Of course being the observant bastard he is, Tobirama notices his struggles right away and leans down to kiss him, gently tugging his abused lip free.

“None of that now,” Tobirama scolds, his hips never faltering in their quick, purposeful thrusts, “I want to hear all of you; ever sound you make belongs to me.”

“Feeling a little possessive are we?” Madara teases breathlessly, writhing beneath the god above him, “maybe I don’t want to share my sounds.”

“One day you will learn to stop challenging me,” Tobirama growls, shifting both hands to Madara’s legs and spreading them wider, allowing him to sink that much deeper into the fire mage.

“Tobirama!” Madara groans, a triumphant smirk on his face, “always so easy to manipulate.”

“You little shit,” the winter god grumbles, realizing he’s been played, “maybe I should punish you.”

“You know you love me.”

“I do,” Tobirama agrees, his speed picking up as he nears his end.

“I love you too,” Madara murmurs with a gentle smile that causes Tobirama’s heart to skip a beat.

Tobirama wants to say something, anything in response, but his happiness seems to have robbed him of his words for the moment so he settles for thoroughly ravishing the human under him.

Madara moans, all thoughts forced from his mind by the cool wave of lust crashing over him. In his pleasure, the fire mage feels his magic blaze to life around him, mingling with Tobirama’s in a way it’s never done before. Barely two more thrusts has Madara spilling over himself and clamping down around Tobirama, dragging the god down into his climax as well.

For a long moment neither being moves, both too lost in the afterglow of such an intense orgasm. Tobirama recovers first and notices the first stirrings of change in Madara’s magic; that causes a spark of hope in his heart and he finds himself waiting on bated breath for Madara to say something.

“Tobirama…” Madara pants in a voice crackling like the scorching sun, “my winter…”

“Welcome back,” Tobirama grins, placing a gentle kiss on Madara’s lips, “my beloved summer.”

#Tobirama Senju #Madara Uchiha #MadaTobi #TobiMada #prompt: last time you stole winter from its rightful owner #stolen seasons #Hashirama Senju #Mother Nature Hashirama #God of Winter Tobirama #Fire Mage Madara #magic au #Forces of Nature au #my writing #Crystal writes #ruby

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tarithenurse · 5 years

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On my Mind, in my Soul - 2

Pairing: Loki x burglar!Reader Contents: Cussing, a bit of violence, some angsting and pining, lemons...and lots of them. Consider yourself warned if you’re underage. A/N: Didn’t plan for the first part to actually be a first part. I’d planned it as a one-shot based on @maladaptive-ninja-returns‘s 3 “prompts”...but then it was nicely recieved and I chatted with them again and we had some fun ideas...so here’s part 2. This time the 3 things have been provided with a sister (who was rather confused as to why I was asking...but it did result in us watching the Bridge of Death sequence from Monty Python and the Holy Grail). Anyhoodles, the things were Earrings. Green. And the song “Put your Records on” by CB Rae. Lyric bits are marked as block quotes.

Challenge

Music’s playing in your ears as you make your way slowly through the museum, keeping the perfect distance to make it seem to the tour guide as though you’re part of the group while to them (a class of history students and their teacher) you’re just some random guest that happens to be going at the same pace. The map of the place in your hand is filled with thin lines by now, indicating camera angles and “alternative” routes.

“And over here we have a temporary collection on loan from London…” the voice of the guide announces through a lull in the song.

He’s beaming proudly as the class oohs and aahs at the glittery reflection of the ornate Crown Jewels. Amateurs. Sure, the lineup of necklaces and crowns looks impressive, but the main items are merely very good replicas made to satisfy the curiosity of people who can’t make it to the Tower of London – the real deal’s safely stored there, only to be removed on special occasions when the queen and her family actually uses it.

However, some of the less impressive items are not fakes. Taking a place before a display case, your eyes fall upon a comparatively drab pair of earrings. Fat, pinkish pearls dangle from golden drops and ovals with a multitude of tiny, white gemstones. Yuck. There are tastier ways of showing off wealth in your opinion, but you also understand that sometimes it’s not about having style per se, rather about flaunting that you can have anything. What in your eyes might be ugly (or at the best of cases kitsch) is probably a blatant show of power because deep down humans are simple creatures that understand a simple language: rarity equals wealth and wealth in turn equals power. And those earrings are rare, no one in their right mind would make more than a single pair.

So why those? Simple. You got a job and the buyer was smart enough to wrap it in a dare, claiming no one could get their hands on that set of pearls. To top the whole deal off, the guy’s willing to do wire transfer but a cash bonus if the job’s completed within a month.

You have to hide a smile as you tug the map and pencil into your purse, slipping your phone out for a moment to skip a tune in the hopes of the shuffle finding something more celebratory for the way out of the museum.

It takes a few tries before you succeed, meaning you’re already back in the grand room by the time you return the device to safety and your fingers brush against something unexpected, causing you to pause in your tracks and glance around, but no one stands out in the crowd of tourists and other visitors. One peek into the depths of the purse’s enough to grant a view of an envelope made of special paper. Or parchment? A cold shudder runs down your spine upon realisation that someone must have gotten close enough to slip it in there although you always keep the damn bag close to your body, even tugged under the arm. Whoever it is…they are good. Too good. It’s as if every camera’s trained on you, like each and every single person’s watching even the smallest movement you make, sending prickly waves of tension to the back of your legs while every hair stands on end.

Forcing yourself to move slowly, you leave the museum. Following the most crowded routes home, you only check for followers a million times. Discreetly, of course, despite the increasing frustration of spotting no one in pursuit or out of place (as much as anyone can look that in New York) not even when walking five times around the block before finally letting yourself into your little flat.

It almost feels safe as the deadbolt clicks into place and you allow yourself to slide onto the floor. Deep breaths tasting of curry from last night’s dinner and book dust helps ground you enough to stop your hands from shaking by the time they pull out the envelope. Turning it around and around, you have to admire the cottonlike quality of the paper and the clearly manually cut edges that shout craftmanship to the heavens. The sender is loaded or makes his own paper.

By the table under the glaring light of a lamp, it’s obvious that the person hasn’t left any other clues on the outside of the envelope, forcing you to open it after a careful examination to avoid any hidden nuisances. You’re holding your breath as you peer into the folds, spotting a photograph which you shake out. What the…?

Trying to pretend that the image’s taken months ago is futile, but still you hurry to the kitchen and slam down on your knees by the cabinet under the sink so hard that you bounce painfully on the linoleum. It doesn’t delay you. Eyes sting with pain as you pull the contents out, scattering the bucket with cleaning agents across the floor. You slam a fist onto a loose board to tip it up, revealing the front of a safe nestled among insulation and rubble. Five beeps and a fingerprint are all it takes for your worry to be proven right.

“Fucking! Alien! Pissflap!” Each exclamation’s punctuated by punches to the cabinet door.

At first glance, the contents could appear to be exactly the way you left them this morning…but the Tiger’s Eye Pendant’s missing.

Maybe sometimes we got it wrong, but it's all right The more things seems to change, the more they stay the same

…

Making the right call can be hard in the heat of the moment, but you managed. More than a week since you’ve been burgled and your thoughts stray all too often to the future and the plans it holds to right the wrong, the only consolation being that the job you have to finish first will be a means to that very end.

Hanging upside down from the skylight, each movement has to be perfectly controlled to stay out of the camera’s view until you’ve reached it and slipped the screen before it. It had taken several tries to get the image just right, but the result was close to perfection. Close enough to get me some minutes. That’s all you need.

Moments later, you’re on the floor. Harness and rope still attached for a quick escape as you work through the hollow pedestal because gods know you’ll be screwed if you disturb the glass encasing the exhibition. Each movement tugs at the restraining tether and gnaws at your skin. You reach carefully through wires for the sensors and lights, the Stark “knife” tugged gingerly away in the palm with nothing but a rubber sleeve to prevent bloodshed. Gloves? Of course you wear them, not only preventing fingerprints but granting a safe grip. Without them your hands would have been slippery with sweat and even now there are a few drops running down your spine before they get soaked up in the top. There. You breathe in deeply a couple of times before unsheathing the knife and cutting through the plate where the loot’s resting. No normal knife would be able to do it and getting this tool had been expensive…but so worth it!

A few more breaths, then you can pack away the fugly earrings and your gear. Just in time, too, as you already can hear the night guard approaching. It’s with a minimal thought of remorse that you ascend, the gears whirring softly as you speed towards the fresh night air.

…

There’s a market for everything whether it’s illegally obtained tools or perfectly made replicas. Studying the simile glinting in the hand, you know that even Loki will have to look carefully to detect the fraud…especially after you’ve added the finishing touch on the back of the pendant.

Part of the bonus has been spent on that piece of work while the rest has gone into setting up your safehouse for a longer stay. You still come and go from your usual apartment, ensuring the façade of a student living there, but everything important has slowly been moved to the other side of upper Manhattan and after the last security measures the place’s close to impenetrable. And impossible to find.

Crouched by the coffee table, you go through the last plans. The private guards’ rounds must have been shuffled, of course, and will take a couple of stake outs to learn. Next, you’re certain that the Asgardian snob must have improved the locks on windows and doors as a pure minimum, leaving a reduced list of access points for a human to use. Question is if he’s considered something like a drone.

…

Girl, put your records on, tell me your favorite song You go ahead, let your hair down Sapphire and faded jeans I hope you get your dreams

The cool air dries the tip of your tongue, but you’re too engrossed in navigating the toy through the chimney to care. Each foot of the descend brings it closer to the smoldering ashes and the thing can only handle a certain amount of heat what with all the plastic components, so as soon as it slips out from the fireplace, you heave a sigh of relief. Now comes the hard part. Orienting yourself through the little screen, the drone whirrs along corridors and through grand rooms in search of a safe entryway fitting a woman. Patiently, you ignore the shingles of the roof radiating cold into your muscles as the minutes tick by until you strike gold in the form of a bathroom window. It’s narrow but not impossibly so and you can’t help but laugh quietly to yourself as you use the flying robot to unlatch it and push it open wide.

Slipping in is simple enough, you only hesitate as you land on the marble floor because you hadn’t expected the dampness of the air. Every hard, cool surface’s laced with a fine condensation, but running a hand over the faucets gives a sense of relief that whoever has showered or bathed must have done this a while ago. It’s disconcerting though. Loki supposedly has a private bathroom en suite with his bedroom, so who would use this? There’s no hamper with laundry, no dirty towels or soaps that have been used. Nothing personal. Perhaps he’s got visitors? It’d surprise you. In fact, you’re almost willing to bet that an employee’s taken the liberty of using the facilities but either way, it doesn’t change the plan.

Silently slipping through the door, you know where to go and within minutes have the display in view from a position in a shadowy corner. There’s still a guard lingering, seemingly taking an interest in a set of blueish daggers. Move…come on…you want to finish the round and get some coffee. Silently willing him on results in absolutely nothing and you can feel anxiousness prickle your back and force you shoulders upwards and forwards. Tomorrow, you’ll need to find a massage therapist to knead the tensions away.

Finally, after agonizing minutes, the guy leaves, whistling a soft tune as if he’s proud of a job well done. At least it might hint of extra time if he lingers in other rooms too.

You’re about to work through the case the normal way when you notice the fault in the glass’s positioning and a brief examination leads to a broad smile stretching your cheeks as you place the glove covered hands on either side of the housing and lift it off – no alarms or boobytraps triggered. The exchange’s quick. A glance on your watch, and then you shuffle over to the nearby shelf with the peculiar knives. Stuck tip-down into a relatively common utensil holder it’s almost as though the eccentric collector only has them for show because he knows visitors might be awed while he himself doesn’t consider them of any specific worth although the blue flaring through the gunmetal-dark material is out of this world. Maybe literally.

It’s when you reach out for one that it shimmers out of existence in a familiar golden haze causing your heart to skip a beat. Cursing inwardly for wasting time, you turn to hightail it out of the mansion but nearly collide with the very same blade you were admiring, the tip now resting delicately on your chest.

“My little thief.” Finally looking past the weapon, your eyes meet Loki’s. “I had almost given up hope that you would come.”

Returning the smirk he grants you, it’s still a careful shrug rolling through your shoulder. “Been busy…but I guess you know that.”

It’s impossible to ignore the quick sweep his tongue makes along the lower lip as he looks you over, the widening of his pupils that sends a flutter through your stomach in anticipation. Never again, you’d promised yourself and still you find the memories begin to team up with the view of the tall figure before you. He’s in command of the situation unless you manage to escape. How? He’s the one with a weapon, its tip felt through the fabric like a pin-prick on the slope of your breast – the tiniest movement and it will be more than just a prick. How?

Looking up at him, you smile innocently to prevent any sudden reactions as you reach out for his free hand. He lets you take it, entwining fingers delicately for a moment before leading it to your face. A tender kiss in his palm, the thin cool skin of his wrist before you let his hand rest on your shoulder, allowing you to reach for him and gently nudge the knife-wielding hand aside though never letting go of the arm. You fingers trace the slender limb lazily, half-forgotten as lips brush along his jaw.

Banzai. Loki’s fingers lock into your hair, folding around the base of your skull to steer you, both your lips onto his but also your body trailing after him as he backs towards the centre of the room. If memory serves you right, there’s some kind of puffy bench or other which means that you only have until you reach that to incapacitate him. Why? I could just go along. Sweet temptation makes your heart flutter against your ribs and a heat pools low in you belly. It’s a dangerous game to play with someone like him and you had promised yourself last time that it would never happen again…just like you had sworn never to return to this place.

A quick glance verifies that you have about four steps before he’ll have you locked beneath him. Grinding against his groin with your hip, the reaction comes immediately in form of a groan and you pray that he’s distracted enough for a few seconds. With a swift snatch you manage to tear the dagger from his grip, brandishing it between your bodies with the tip pointed at his growing cock.

Breathing heavily, Loki’s aware enough of what’s going on to stop moving, his eyes filling with cold fury as he glances towards the alternative hostage situation. “What’s this? Complaints?” Somehow, he still manages to patronize you.

“Consider it a refusal.”

“You didn’t say no last time, my pet.”

He’s right, but you’re not about to give in again and let him get more power over you. “It served it’s purpose. No more.”

“Ouch.” Thin lips curl in a snarl. “It hurts my feelings….especially when you lie that badly.”

It won’t help to discuss past events with him (especially when you don’t want to admit the truth yourself), so you change focus to the situation at hand by ordering the Asgardian to let go of you. Something he only begrudgingly does when you add more pressure with the knife and it slips through the fabric of his trousers with a soft rippling sound as each thread is severed.

You should’ve seen it coming. The moment you step back, creating distance between the god and the weapon, he moves. A sharp pain races up from wrist to shoulder as the metal clatters across the floor, but you don’t have time to register where it lands because your aching arm is twisted behind your back and used as leverage to force you onto the floor with your face smushed into the green velvet of the seat. It smells of sawdust and a hint of camphor, but mostly it just grates against your skin.

A glint of light reflecting of metal captivates you, ensuring that Loki can use less power to hold you still as you stare at the dark grey-blue tip less than an inch from your eye. Shit. You can’t breathe. Can’t move or think. Only one other sentence keeps circling in your mind – unfortunately it’s full of self-deprecation rather than any useful ideas. Shit.

“Don’t mistake my indulgence for weakness,” the cold hiss explains, “letting you go last time was not a show of defeat as you very well know.”

The dagger moves out of sight, leaving you to stare one-eyed at a shade of green you’ll never forget anymore. Then you feel the prick at the nape of your skull. The cocky alien’s in control now even as he lets go of you and this time there’s nothing playful about the current predicament like the previous encounters had been. Sweat’s breaking out all over your body and you have to swallow hard to simply be able to breathe.

“So what now?” Your sneer’s partially muffled by the plush piece of furniture. “Gonna rape me, you sick bastard?”

He hits you so hard that you skid across the polished floor. Black spots dance before your eyes even after you manage to crack the jaw back in place. You’ve been hit before. Hell, it’s one of the reasons you became such a good burglar, but this tops it all and calls forth hot tears that spill down your face. You don’t care. You especially don’t care when he yanks your face skywards by grabbing hold of the messy hair and the freezing length of a by now familiar blade lands on your throat.

“Look. At. Me.” A spark within you wants to resist, but you can’t and your view fills with the emerald irises that burn with hate. “I may be harsh and cruel, but I would never do something like that to you.” He seems to realize what he’s said and adds quickly, “to anyone.”

Just more than I could take Pity for pity's sake Some nights kept me awake I thought that I was stronger

…

The world’s fuzzy and soft in the night by the time you attempt to open your eyes. It takes a moment to get your bearing and another one before the memories return and you sit up with a gasp. You’re back in your little apartment, but you have no recollection of how you got there. The last you do recall are Loki’s green eyes before a sensation of falling.

What did he do? Padding yourself down, it’s with some disbelief that you accept that you not only are wearing exactly the same as when you set out the night before, but there are no other injuries than a few bruises…excluding the deep gash in your pride. No trace of unwarranted contact despite the fact that you must have been completely at Loki’s mercy. Knowing that, you should be relieved. Not afraid. Not shameful. Not…filling with regret as if you had been the one to make advances only to be turned down by him. Messed up. Too messed up. Is it possible to get addicted to a person?

Frustrated, you push off the bed and begin pacing hectically through the small apartment, a scathing, internal monologue running on repeat to remind you of why it’s good you got away from Loki’s mansion without anything else happening.

…

Turning in your bed, you’re vaguely aware that the light has changed to soft grey tones - you must have managed to fall asleep after all. Tugging at the oversized t-shirt to get comfortable again, the feeling of the pendant against your chest solicits a drowsy smile.

…

You near a state of wakefulness in protest of the chill stealing through your limbs. Presuming in the sleepy state that you must have pushed the covers aside, you grope for it. Not covers. The observation flashes through your head and startles you to move quickly for the crevice between mattress and headboard for a knife you keep tugged away there, but cold fingers wrap round your wrists.

“Not so fast.”

Blinking blearily, you stare up into Loki’s face. The glint in his gorgeous, green eyes is mischievous, not unlike the curling smile that broadens as he takes in your exposed form because no, a faded t-shirt and a pair of panties doesn’t count as cover when he’s the one blatantly studying each curve. You see how his eyes darken, hear the shortness of both your breaths, and memories come flooding back followed by a strong heat in your womanhood.

Your attempt at speaking’s a helpless croak until you clear the throat. “Ch-changed your mind?”

The gaze alone could hold you in place as he refocuses on your mouth. Unbiddenly, you wet your lips that suddenly have gone dry.

“I do not deny that I appreciate your body immensely, but that’s not why I’m here.” Loki changes the hold on your wrist with ease, freeing a hand to caress your neck, your throat, before pulling out the pendant from under the cotton. “No…this is why.” Faint embers are reflected onto his cold irises. “I must congratulate you, my dear…your plan was not bad and had I been a mere human, then I would probably not have noticed the exchange.”

The weight of the necklace returns onto your chest, now cold from his fingers that begin straightening the chain. Each stroke ghosts across sensitive skin, sending goosebumps racing over your body and a soft ache warns you how your nipples are initiating a slow uprising against the t-shirt.

“Why d’you want it back? You let me leave with it!”

Your challenge’s meant to distract him from what he’s doing, but he merely glances before beginning to smoothen the fabric. “I knew you’d come back for it.”

“What?” The word pops out hard and mocking. “You think it’s more than financial value to me?” It doesn’t…does it? You’d meant to sell it originally, but then changed your mind and blew of the potential buyers without remorse.

“Pet…don’t pretend we don’t think alike, you and I.” Leaning down, Loki’s lips brush gently against your earlobe and his hair tickles against your chin, its scent of frost and camphor setting off a new shiver that heads straight for your aching core. “You’d come because of your pride. For the challenge. And deep down…because you yearn for something more.”

The Asgardian tugs playfully at your ear with his teeth, hands sliding along your arm and side before reverting and you feel your body betray your mind as it arches into his touch. Cupping your face in a large hand his lips meet yours gently before he pulls back, letting go completely although he doesn’t get off the bed.

“Please…” broken-voiced, you try to formulate what you need.

Light fingertips on your thigh stokes the burning need. “Tell me what you want, kitten. Last time you denied me my fun…what will it be now?”

“I want…I…” Loki stays within reach of your grabbing hands but doesn’t move towards you either. “I want you…need…please?”

“Are you certain?” His grip on your hip’s still soft. Too soft. “I’d like to reward you for the skill it took to swap the pendant, but you have to want it.”

“Just shut up and fuck me!”

Gentleness is obliterated by a bruising urgency as Loki takes over your body. Every inch’s kissed, bitten, licked, or explored with cool hands that booth bruise and soothe the burning traces. Every time you gasp for breath, his lips find yours to swallow each moan that the pressure of his thigh between your legs elicit. Not enough. He’s gotten you to the brink of bliss, but like a mirage it keeps eluding you and the feverish need for more’s burning you from the inside, leaving a hollow sensation that can be filled if only… A whine escapes your lips, warning the god as you reach for the belt buckle in desperation only to feel them snared and forced above your head.

He positions himself between your legs, nudging the knees apart. “So eager…” the growl’s guttural, nearly muffling the words, “longing for more…”

The golden shimmer’s visible even with half-closed eyes, but although you can feel his skin against your legs and arms as Loki repositions himself, your soaked panties still form a barrier between the cockhead as it pushes against your folds, and the old t-shirt insulates you from the chill of his chest.

“Loki…pleeaase!”

Arching against him, you feel the tremble passing through his body and for the briefest of moments it’s as though his eyes are red, but you’re distracted by his skin changing hue and the man, the alien, growing ever so slightly that his physique becomes impressively dimensioned. A scratching like claws diverts your eyes to the now blueish hands where darker talons have replaced the nails. I should be terrified. The logic’s clear yet simultaneously completely irrelevant as icy lips find the tender skin on your throat where they suck, marking a path spot by spot to your clavicle…then past…and as the V of the cotton obstructs the proceedings, Loki shreds it and tosses the scraps onto the floor without taking his burning gaze off your body now exposed beneath him.

“Little pet…if I hurt you…” He forces his gaze to your face, concern simmering in the darkness of lust. “If I hurt you or you want me to stop…say Laufey.”

The request itself is not unfamiliar unlike the word so you nod. “Mighty confident talking wh–“

You don’t get further because he kisses you again, forcefully, hungrily, biting your bottom lip as his fingers slip past the hem of the panties and delve between your soaking folds to the delighted groans of both of you. Perfect strokes mix with circles around the clit and entrance, often with added pressure onto the former that has you crying out Loki’s name like a prayer. Still, he’s got your wrists in an iron grip even if it clearly frustrates him.

“Belt,” you gasp, causing him to pause, “will get…get your h-hand…free.”

The curling smile bares gleaming, pointed teeth. “What a delightfully filthy idea.”

Not only does he use the belt to restrain your hands. No. The god also takes the opportunity to turn you around onto elbows and knees, allowing him to take place behind you. Claws trail your spine all the way to the elastic of the remaining clothes and you can feel it give way, sliding under the curve of your ass and exposing the glistening heat of your cunt. Then they too are torn apart. Cold hands slam onto the butt cheeks, forming an anchor for Loki as he begins to lab up your arousal, his nose nudging at your core with every movement.

Heat and tension builds within you, has you pleading for your god to fill you or let you cum on his tongue and fingers. Again and again, the bastard denies you release. Each time, he chuckles darkly as he has you watch past your own body how the strong hand pumps a nervewrecking huge cock languidly. The tip a dark purple with the exception of the milky pre-cum leaking out each time his fist passes ridges similar to those on the rest of his body. And all you can think of is how badly you want him inside you, to feel the ridges against the smooth walls, and you pout and curse when he returns to the ministrations that has his face glistening.

Balancing on the edge, you nearly scream as he pulls away once more, but this time his strong hands brings your legs together with his knees on the outside, and you gasp from anticipation and the thundering need at the feeling of the cool cockhead tracing your folds, each pass nudging further in until his manhood’s fully covered in your juices and he’s perfectly aligned.

“Don’t hold back, kitten.”

And with that Loki slides into your tight core, stretching you to the very limits which causes a sweet, stinging pain to heighten the sensation of each ridge that delves in and makes you shout with pleasure on contact with your g-spot. Gold shimmers, freeing your wrists so you can brace yourself.

“That’s it,” he growls, “ let me hear you.”

The rhythm’s slow at first, allowing some semblance of adaptation before increasing the intensity. And you let him hear exactly how you feel. Praises and curses mingle with your gasping breath, turning into groans, then shouts until he has you cumming with his name tearing from your throat in a wild scream as you plunge into the darkness of the abyss to drown in ecstasy. Every muscle seizes in your body, leaving it to Loki to hold you in position…and he does as he rams into you haphazardly before reaching his own peak and unloading like an icy flood inside you, stealing the last air from your lungs.

He doesn’t bother with pulling out, rather he tips the both of you, tugging you tightly to his chest as his form reverts to normal. Gasping for air, none of you speak.

Eventually, though, the peaceful silence ends, and Loki abandons you in the bed in favour of cleaning up and getting dressed the same way as when first you’d had sex. Pausing by the door, he looks back. It’s almost a déjà vu.

“I trust we will see each other again, my pet?” The lazy smile negates the questioning tone.

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theloversofmrsunshine · 5 years

Text

President Jin and the Lady, ch 10

It had required a massive undertaking and movement of his sphere of influence before President Jin could do away with the majority of the charges laid against him. Lack of evidence, illegally obtained evidence and fabricated evidence worked in his favor to lessen his stay in prison. The good thing about a wily and uncouth police officer on his tail is that, for all of his smarts, he hadn’t exactly followed the law in apprehending him.

And despite every attempt, President Jin only served a three-year prison sentence for his crimes. Though many of his accomplices had been ousted during the same investigation that sank him, there isn’t much power the law has against the might of connections and money. Especially when one of those connections is Lord Go Sahong. Though very upright, it seems that owing a debt makes Lord Go a very forgiving man. Like his granddaughter, Lord Go had visited President Jin at the very beginning of his sentence in jail. He’d been charged with twenty years for his crimes, pending an additional 10 years if the conspiracy of attempted murder charges stuck.

Lord Go had sat, quite stately, across the glass divide. He’d observed him in silence, much like his granddaughter had. The resemblance between them was clear. He’d smiled then, to the annoyance of his guest. After President Jin explained himself, Lord Go had allowed the moment of mirth to pass, a small smile on his face. Despite it all, Assemblyman Go Sahong loved no one and nothing more than he loved his granddaughter.

“You did me a great service a year ago, and I have not forgotten our debt,” he said at last, sighing gruffly. “However, you did wrong many people in your scams and machinations. You must pay for your crimes.”

President Jin had nodded. He hadn’t expected Lord Go to help him at all. He had been prepared for this conversation to go on less pleasantly than it already had, considering he’d swindled several millions of won from this man. Most of his victims cried and wailed over mere thousands. This man, however, had suffered the most from the fall of One Network. Even his approval ratings had plummeted, even when people realized he’d also been a victim of President Jin Hyunpil’s lies. South Koreans were not known for being forgiving about past mistakes.

“I’ll have your sentence reduced to three years. And despite what your ex-employee and that detective claim, the murder charges won’t stick,” he says firmly, a note of finality in his voice. “You’ll have some community service to do once you’re out, but I’ll have a job ready for you once you’ve done your time.”

President Jin’s mouth drops open in abject shock. He stands, hands folded politely, even as he dearly wishes he could pound on the glass again. “But, sir, this is too much! You’ve already done so much!”

Lord Go waves his complaints away with one hand, heedless of his words. “Come back a better man, President Jin.”

The elderly man shoots him a glare beneath his brows, frowning impressively. His parting shot is remarkably reminiscent of Go Aeshin.

“Don’t disappoint my granddaughter anymore.”

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

Upon exiting the prison, there’s a polished black car waiting for him. Against the hood leans Gu Dongmae, smiling roguishly. President Jin tugs his high collar higher on his chin, to ward off the winter chill.

“So rumors were true, you’re finally free, naeuri.” The Japanese Oyabun drawls, tossing his head. The irony of the title ought to rattle President Jin, but during his time in jail, Dongmae had visited more often than the people who claimed to be on his side. Albeit begrudgingly, he’s grown rather fond of the cheeky mafia don.

A friend in need is a friend indeed, so the saying goes. And Gu Dongmae had shown that to be true. Dongmae jerks his head toward the copilot seat, chuckling. “Hop in, naeuri.”}

Shaking his head, Presindent Jin does as he’s told, jumping into his younger friend’s car. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Dongmae fires up the engine and heads out, one hand on the wheel and the left on his chin, elbow against the window pane. “My wife suggested you might want some good food and drinks on your first day out. And no place quite like the Glory Hotel for you to… donate your generous patronage, naeuri.”

President Jin laughs outright, smoothing a hand down his beard. “So that’s your angle?” his voice is too amused for the accusation to stick. “Make me drink wantonly and stick me with the bill?”

“Of course,” Dongmae says agreeably, his voice friendly. “What else is there but for me to make money off of you, conman?” The mischievous twinkle in his eyes takes the edge off his words, so President Jin takes no offence at his insult.

President Jin takes a pair of sunglasses from the glove compartment, putting them on with a grin. “Haven’t you heard, Yakuza? I’m poor, the government took everything.”

Dongmae snorts, giving his friend a mean side-eye. “Not everything.”

President Jin doesn’t meet his searching gaze, staring intently at the road. Trust the husband of South Korea’s most infamous information broker to know he still has a secret stash hidden in different parts of the country. He wonders how many of his little cash caches Kudo Hina is aware of.

Knowing that wily woman, probably every single one.

“You and your wife are incorrigible.” He says, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice.

----------

He’d gone to visit the venerable Lord Go, and instead happened upon her. She’s a vision in white, like the very first day he’d seen her. She’s completely barefoot in her study, surrounded by fountains and plants as she paints, her leather indoor sandals forgotten on the floor. Her hair is pulled back into a simple low ponytail, revealing the large pearl earrings brushing against her neck. Her long-sleeved white blouse billows with every brush stroke, and there are specks of paint on her creamy white pants. A cigarette lays forgotten on the coffee table at her side, along with a cup of cooling tea.

She’s as beautiful as the day he thought he’d lost her.

Lady Go Aeshin glances toward him as the servants clear the table and set down fresh tea for both of them. He hadn’t yet gathered the courage to visit her at her new apartment, hence why he’d been hedging and avoiding her. President Jin had come looking for Lord Go, only to find his granddaughter laying in wait. He’d been told the master of the house was here, and it seems the servants had conspired to bring them together. The elderly man pays him no mind as he finishes setting out the tea. As the servants exit, the room grows quiet.

President Jin doesn’t even dare sit down as her eyes rove over him, an assessing glance. She doesn’t invite him to sit down, and the clatter of the brush on the easel makes him jump.

“It’s raining outside,” she says conversationally, eying the droplets on his shoulders. He nods mutely, not quite knowing what to say. He’d been too impatient to accept an umbrella from his underlings, anxious to meet Lord Go. He’s always been a silver tongue conman, but today, words seem to fail him completely. Though he’d played this encounter countless times in his head during this three-year stint in jail, he’d never quite found the proper words to say. Should he start with an apology? Should he beg her to be his?

His last time begging Lady Go Aeshin hadn’t gone well. She never visited him while he was in prison. She merely sent him the occasional present, some with a letter enclosed. That was the limit of their contact. Even Gu Dongmae’s wife had visited him more than that. It stung, that she had stayed away, despite his request at her return. But damn it all, he loves this woman, foolishly, ardently, completely. He will never be free of her until he dies. He hates himself a little for loving a creature as unattainable as this. She is the human embodiment of wildfire, encroaching upon his heart but uncontrollable and without master. She will be the death of him.

“I wonder, President Jin…” she says, standing at last. She picks up her cigarette, exhaling smoke before speaking again. “Do you know what love is?”

It’s a rather confusing question, especially since she’d asked using the English word for love. Considering her breeding and education, he realizes her question is more of the rhetorical kind. He nods nonetheless, wondering what she’s getting at.

“It takes two people, together, for it to be done properly.” She remarks as she walks, as barefoot as a child, toward him. Her stride radiates power, and somehow, he finds his own confidence within hers. He straightens, finally looking her dead in the eye.

“It’s not easy, love.” He says casually, as she reaches him. His hands find her hips and he pulls her just a little closer. She smiles, taking a long drag from her cigarette.

“No, indeed.” Aeshin steps out of his grasp, and tosses him a look over her shoulder. “Come here.”

Wherever she goes, he would willingly follow. President Jin realizes that he’d lost to this woman from the very start, but he finds he doesn’t really mind. To tangle him up in her web, she’d ended up tangled up in him. Regardless of who tied the damning knot, they were both in this and they were in it together.

His smile sharpens. She is his.

#PresidentJinAndTheLady #president jin #Go Ae Shin #go aeshin #Mr Sunshine #mr sunshine netflix #Masters

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taeheyhey · 5 years

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Chapter 16 - Look Where?

Taehyung x Reader - Fluff/Angst - 3.4k words

A/N - Happy weekend you gorgeous lot!! I hope you all had an amazing week filled with lovely things! Thank you so much for reading this and my other fics, I hope you know how much happiness you all bring me. As always, I hope you enjoy, please let me know if you do, and thank you for your asks and likes!

One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight ~ Nine ~ Ten ~ Eleven ~ Twelve ~ Thirteen ~ Fourteen ~ Fifteen ~ Sixteen ~ Seventeen ~ Eighteen ~ Nineteen ~ Twenty ~ Twenty-One ~ Twenty-Two

You sat in front of the laptop with your fingers anxiously poised over the keys. You had been motionless for the last five minutes as you talked yourself in and out of the action you were about to take. You could feel Ronnie and Peter observing your lack of movement, their eyes burning holes in to the top of your head; the only part of you visible behind the screen rested on the bar’s surface as you crouched over the keyboard.

“...please y/n, look for me.”

As overcome with joy and relief as you had been at his phone call, you couldn’t help but feel it left you with even more questions than you had before. You had almost forgotten about the strange man who had burst in to the hotel suite the morning after you had met Taehyung for the first time, demanding to know who were and how you gained entry to the room, and it had been so easy for you to write off the evasive nature of his answers to your questions as being a result of the very clear and obvious language barrier between the two of you.

You had somehow convinced yourself to disregard the absolute lack of real information or knowledge you had of him, choosing instead to rationalise the strength of your desire to be with him on the kindness he had shown you, the ease with which he could pull laughs and smiles from your lips, the intense way he would fix his eyes on you, and the tenderness and all-encompassing passion with which he touched you.

Now, staring at the cursor blinking apathetically and relentlessly in the search bar, you asked yourself for the umpteenth time what the hell you were thinking. You pressed down on the 't' key heavily with your index finger, as though you had never typed in your life, before lifting your hand to your lips and chewing on your thumbnail, furrowing your brow in the glare of the cold, white screen. You took a deep breath in and quickly tapped on the 'a', your fingertip bouncing off the button as though it were red-hot metal and returning to cover your mouth again in something resembling panic.

The search engine beamed the word 'ta' back at you, along with the suggestions 'target', 'tax calculator', and 'Taylor Swift'. You huffed out a sigh and rapidly and aggressively tapped the delete button three times more than was needed to remove the two letters that were the fruit of almost fifteen minute’s work.

“This is stupid,” you announced loudly and slammed the lid of the laptop shut, causing Peter to partially spill the drink he had lifted partway to his mouth. “Completely and utterly pointless.”

You stood and hooked the computer beneath your arm as you stomped towards the other end of the bar and plugged it in. It was possibly the oldest laptop still in existence and were it not plugged in to the mains power approximately once every forty-five minutes, it would go in to what could only be described as panic-mode and shut down, a fact that you usually found endlessly frustrating.

On this occasion however you were actually grateful for the excuse to walk away from it for a moment. Although your mind was still buzzing with thoughts of what – if anything – you would find once you entered the correct combination of letters, the diversion of wordlessly removing Peter’s glass from his hand to refill the drink he had lost during your Google-related outburst, was a welcome one.

You returned the now replenished glass to it’s position before Peter with a thud without looking at him, leaning forward on to the bar with both hands after you had done so, and stared out through the glass of the front door and began to wonder if you had completely lost your mind.

Was this even what he meant by looking for him? It just seemed so ludicrous that you were sure there must have been a mistranslation. He hadn’t explicitly said to search him on the internet had he? But where else could you possibly begin to look? Then again what kind of person would be so sure that their web presence was enough to answer the multitude of questions you had whizzing around in your brain?

“Do you need to take a break?” Ronnie’s voice shook you from your thoughts. “You look like you’re having a sort of an episode.”

You felt your expression relax at his question, only just becoming aware that your jaw had been clenched and your brow knitted together to such an extent that the muscles in your face were beginning to ache in protest. You pressed your lips together in a brief, tight smile and shook your head no, picking up a damp rag and wiping the bar top in small circles vigorously and enthusiastically, and completely unnecessarily.

Ronnie rose from his stool and walked over to stand opposite you, reaching over the bar and plucking the rag from your hand easily. “Y/N, I’m sure I can handle serving Peter on my own for a little while, you’re just making streaks on the top at this point,” he pointed in the direction of the stairs that lead up to the living area of the building, rag still in hand. “Go.”

You huffed out a sigh and pulled the string at the back of your apron, balling the material up and throwing it on top of the back bar, sticking your tongue out at Ronnie as you did so.

Before you could fully make your exit, you heard Ronnie clear this throat pointedly and you turned to see him gesturing to the laptop, still plugged in at the wall.

You turned on your heel and retrieved the offending object. “Ugh, fine,” you grumbled as you stomped back towards the stairs.

Safely ensconced in your room once more, you sat cross-legged on the bed and lifted the computer’s top, ensuring in was plugged in again. The internet explorer was open just as you has left it and the cursor continued it’s mocking flashing as if you had never abandoned it in a strop some minutes before.

What had he meant by it’s all on the note? Removing the laptop from your legs and setting it beside you on the bed, you leant over to retrieve the folded napkin and removed it from the tiny bag you had decided to keep it in.

It’s all on the note? “There’s barely anything on it,” you muttered to yourself as you delicately set the tiger charm of the beside table, after it had fallen from the folds of the thin paper. You spread the napkin out over your thigh and frowned at it, imagining him leaning over it and biting his lip in concentration. You lifted it and held it close to your face. Your eyes fell on the letter 'V'.

Shaking your head and huffing out a laugh at the absurdity of the situation, you pulled the computer back in to your lap and dropped the note down on to the pile of blankets you still hadn’t straightened properly. You pressed on the 'v' button and hit enter, your eyes wide in anticipation as the search engine took longer than usual to return the results.

You were entirely unsurprised when you were offered a long list of articles on sporting events as a potential answer to your incredibly vague enquiry, along with a plethora of information on a 2009 television programme. You knew you weren’t trying to find out the truth in any earnest way, you were honestly apprehensive about what you might find.

You steeled yourself and tapped in the search bar once more, and added the letters 't' and 'a' to reduce the search results down. Your eyes scanned the list of suggestions and your focus was pulled to around half way down the list. 'V Taehyung South Korean Singer'.

You hesitantly hovered the mouse pointer over the name and attempted to prepare your brain for the immense can of worms you were sure you were about to open. Scrunching your eyes shut and tapping on the mouse pad, you took in a sharp breath to calm your nerves and opened your eyes slowly.

And there he was.

The beauty of his face perfectly captured in photo after photo in the small selection at the top of the results page. You clicked on the images tab and were instantly bombarded with an enormous amount of varying hair colours and contact lenses and expensive looking clothes. You slowly let out the breath you had been holding as you scrolled through the page.

For the most part he looked the same, but you couldn’t help but notice some subtle differences. The practiced angles and careful lighting made the person in the images seem somehow unreal, untouchable, and your head was beginning to hurt from the comparison between the handsome, caring, giggling young man you had rapidly developed a deep affection for; and the person on the screen with the flawless skin and perfectly applied smoky eye.

Despite the fact he was very obviously wearing makeup in a fair few of the images, and that the photographs had been professionally taken and arranged, you couldn’t help but think how much better he looked in person. The pictures simply failed to do him justice. In a large number of them, the rich gold of his skin had been lightened to such an extent that it caused a dull rage to begin to throb behind your eyes, and you felt offended on his behalf.

So that was it: he was a singer. You realised should have guessed from the mellifluous quality of his voice as you had huddled together on the roof, and your heart clenched at the memory. You cast your thoughts back and tried to bring to mind the melody of the song he had sang so beautifully in his honeyed voice. You hummed a few bars aloud, varying the notes here and there until it sounded close enough according to your best recollection.

You returned your attention to the pictures on the screen in front of you and continued your trawl through them. It would occur to you a little later that you were scanning the images so intently with the goal of finding one that looked the most like the Taehyung you had encountered, so that you might be able to fully reconcile the person you had begun to fall for with the primped and precisely groomed man in front of you on the screen.

Your eyes were suddenly drawn to a photograph in the bottom right corner of the monitor. In it, his hair was the colour of coffee and his eyes were the chocolate brown you had found yourself being lost in over and over. He was biting his lip and staring in to the lens so intently that if you didn’t know any better you could swear he was looking right back at you, the very image of seductive.

Without truly understanding why, you felt an unease begin to unfurl in your stomach and decided you had seen enough pictures for the time being, opting instead for the Wikipedia page, once you were able to wrap your brain around the fact that it existed.

Sometime later that evening you lay on your back on the bed staring at the ceiling, the laptop battery long since draining to nothing, and tried to piece together the huge amount of information you had found. How did it make sense that you had never heard of them? Sure, it wasn’t like pop music was really something you were in to, but all you had had to do was type in three letters and the barrage of content you were instantly hit with was mind-boggling.

Strangely, it was not the fact that he, along with the rest of his group (which included cute, baby-faced Jimin, whom you recalled with a groan that you had carded for alcohol), was so well-known that was most troubling to you. Around an hour or so in to your search, you had come across a thumbnail for a video which purported to be a complication of Taehyung’s “Sexiest Moments”. Against your better judgement, you clicked on the link and were subjected to one of the most confusing three and a half minutes of your life.

The time you had spent with Taehyung had been filled with moments of him taking your breath away with the way he looked at you like you were the only one in the room. It was the heated desire and want that filled his eyes when his gaze met yours, and the way he would bite down gently on his bottom lip or flick his tongue out and run it along the flesh there that made you feel like he was simply incapable of controlling himself and that you were the most desirable person in the world.

Except it had become evident throughout the course of the video that these expressions were well-used and well-practiced, and those looks; those intense stares and provocative glances that you had thought were for your benefit alone; were apparently oft-utilised – and incredibly effective – stage tools with which to make their fans feel a kind of connection with him, much like the connection you believed you had made with him.

Had you really read the situation so inaccurately? Was this what he had wanted you to find? When he ended your last conversation with “I’ll miss you” was that his way of finally saying a proper goodbye?

You wracked your brain to try and think of another explanation, but all your mind could offer at that moment in time was a multitude of reasons as to why an ordinary girl like you had absolutely no place in the extraordinary life of a man like Kim Taehyung.

~~~

Finally boarding the plane, Taehyung pulled his headphones from the pocket of his bag and then lifted it to shove it haphazardly in to the over-head lockers before flopping down in to his seat and kicking his head back with a weary groan.

He wondered if you had found out about him yet, or if you had even begun to look, and his palms felt itchy with nervous energy. He rubbed his hands along his thighs in an attempt to calm the tingling and tried to picture what your reaction might be.

Would it make the reasons for his sudden disappearance any clearer to you? Would you be able to understand why he had needed to be evasive when the subject of the nature of his visit to your part of the world came up?

He hoped so. More than anything he wanted you to understand entirely. Ideally he would have been by your side when you discovered the truth; in a perfect world he would have been the one to tell you in person.

But it wasn’t a perfect world, Taehyung thought with a loud sigh as habit caused him to reach once again for the phantom phone in his left pocket, drawing the attention of Jimin who sat beside him.

Jimin wordlessly reached in to his own pocket and offered him his own handset without looking at him, before he continued to inattentively flick through the selection of movies he could watch on the long flight home.

Taehyung smiled gratefully at him – despite Jimin’s focus being trained on the screen in front of him – and plugged his own headphones in to the port at the base of the device. He and Jimin didn’t have exactly the same taste in music, but Taehyung knew that from the sheer amount of time they had spent together there was bound to be some overlaps.

He began to scroll through the music on Jimin’s phone, looking for one song in particular, a piece of music that he would now always associate with you. He remembered that Jimin had once said that it was the song that fit Taehyung the most, and it had always filled him with warmth when he heard it. Now, that warmth would still course through him upon hearing the opening lines, but he knew now there would be a sadness there too as he reminisced about your liaison on the rooftop, at the very least until he was able to see you again.

As the plane began to taxi away from the terminal, Jimin pulled on his earbuds to remove them and turned to Taehyung, who had finally finished moving his thumb along his friend’s phone with a furrowed brow, having just located the track he was looking for and hitting the play button.

“Taehyung-ah,” he began quietly, looking over each of his shoulders before leaning closer to him conspiratorially.

Taehyung pressed pause just as the first note played, pushing the left side of his earphones off and turning to acknowledge him – resting the phone in his lap – and waiting for him to continue.

“We never got to discuss our plan any further.” Jimin looked positively giddy, and Taehyung raised an eyebrow questioningly at him.

“We didn’t start to make a plan about anything, Jiminie.” He fidgeted in his seat uncomfortably. At that precise moment he could barely think beyond what your thoughts may be at finding out the truth about his fame, and whether or not you would have any idea of the implications that went hand-in-hand with it. He chewed on his lip and worried about whether or not you would still think he was worth the complications.

“Which is precisely why we need to discuss it more. What are we going to do?” He was practically bouncing in his seat, and Jimin’s blatant wish to help his friend would have been endearing were it not filling Taehyung with anxiety.

Following his conversations with Namjoon and Seong-min, he had no desire to get anyone in to trouble, and he hadn’t even considered how he might approach the situation once they arrived at home, what with their abrupt return to Korea scuppering his original plan to let you know bit-by-bit using carefully selected videos to reduce the risk of you being overwhelmed. Allowing more people to get involved at this point only seemed to run the risk of muddying things a great deal more.

In the interest of trying keeping things simple, he decided it would be best if he played dumb for the time being. “About what? Y/N?” Jimin rolled his eyes, only just stopping short of saying 'duh', and nodded. “We’ll have a break coming up in a few months, right? I was going to go back and see her and...pick up where we left off.”

The last part of his statement came out as a question in light of the thinly-veiled impatience beaming from Jimin’s face. “That’s your plan? Aish, I thought you were meant to be falling for her.”

“Well what do you suggest if you’re such an expert?” Taehyung’s frustration resulted in the volume of his voice raising above the loud whisper they had been speaking in, causing both of them to shift their eyes from side to side to see if anyone could hear their conversation.

Content that their discussions remained private, Jimin returned to hushed tones and continued. “I need you to tell me everything about what happened between the two of you.”

Taehyung swallowed thickly and felt his cheeks begin to burn as blood rushed to them. “Everything?” The question came out in a squeak.

It only took Jimin a moment to work out why Taehyung suddenly looked so bashful. “Ya, not that! Why would I need to know that?” He made a face as though it was the most offended he had been in his life.

“Because you’re a pervert, hyung.” The two friends turned to see Jungkook leaning over the back of their seats, clearly having heard everything. He turned to Taehyung, “I want to help too.”

As Jimin began to half-heartedly but repeatedly smack the back of the maknae's hands settled atop their headrests, Taehyung shifted back in his seat and faced forward, closing his eyes for a moment. So much for keeping things simple, he thought, turning his attention to the rapidly retreating view of the ground below through the small window. Exasperated, he sighed heavily and slid the headphone back over his ear and pressed play, allowing the sweet melody of the song to fill his ears and thoughts of you to fill his mind.

A/N - Hi again, we've only 6 more chapters to go after this now!! Thank you for sticking with me, feel free to send me any questions you might have about any characters or anything at all really!! Next chapter will be up next Friday evening (UK time!) ☺♥🌟♥

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