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lazyneonrabbitt · 7 months

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Inked

Tattoo artist!Carmen Berzatto x Reader

3.1K | The cute, blue eyed guy does your tattoo, then he does you as well.

Smut, Mikey lives AU, improper use of a tattoo station.

Carmy, who always stops his work to make sure you’re greeted properly when you deliver their lunch.

Who gets numerous complaints from the other artist in the shop when he suggests ordering sandwiches at The Beef during lunch for the third time that week.

“You just want to see he girl again.”

“we’ll agree this one time, but only if you ask her out.”

Carmy, who gets stupidly jealous when you’re getting a tattoo from the guy who does your preferred style of tattoos.

Carmy, who’s pretty sure you don’t even know his name.

So when you come into the shop that day with the ordered sandwiches, he’s gathering the courage to ask you but he never really gets the chance. When you drop the bag at the desk as you usually do, you’re immediately chatting with Layla, the lady at the front desk, about something he can’t hear from back at his station. He sees you take a piece of folded paper from your back pocket and hand it over. A moment later he sees Layla point at different flash sheets behind her on the wall, as if she’s having you choose a style. His observing is stopped by a sandwich being handed to him.

Eventually your serious conversation seems to have ended as all that’s heard over the now resumed buzzing of tattoo machines is cackling laughter from the front desk, which he was still happily watching between his appointments. Normally he’d been sketching in between his clients. Either refining his next appointment’s design or working on new flash designs, but today his mind wasn’t anywhere near a canvas.

He did catch the guy that did your previous two tattoos linger near the front, which Carmy was a asshole move since you clearly wanted something different than usual, otherwise you would have asked for him immediately.

He shrugged at his own thoughts and went back to enjoying his sandwich and watching the scene from a distance, hoping to catch the guy’s disappointment when you picked someone else.

And as if he had spoken it into existence he saw his eyes widen and immediately scrunch up in annoyance, huffing angrilly as he stomped past carmy’s station and glaring at his smile.

His small, mental victory cheer was short lived, though.

“Yo, Bear!” Layla’s voice bellowed through the shop. “Get your ass over here for a sec.”

With every step he took to the front he got more curious about what was on the piece of paper you had brought with you, but he was also feeling better with every glare he got from mister rude guy.

He stopped at the counter, leaning on it and awaiting his friend’s explanation for calling him over.

Layla scoots him the paper with a “She loved the coloring on these,” as she points at the open binder filled with colored pencil drawings. “You think you can work that into this design she brought?”

Carmy lets out a laugh as he picks up the paper and looks it over, already picturing what he’d do with it color-wise and looks back up to you. “So, you want this exact linework with this color palette," with a gesture that moves from your picture, to his open binder. "But with this type of coloring?" He looks at you with his fingers on a watercolor piece with soft pastel tones under smooth curves of a globe, a waterfall flowing from one ocean into the soft blue background. The design looked like an upgraded version of the small line only piece he had on his arm.

“If that’s possible, yeah.” You nodded excitedly before looking back at him. “It is possible, right? If not I’ll think up something else or whatever.” The disappointment your own thoughts were causing you was clear on your face, so much Layla almost felt bad for you.

A hand on your arm quickly made the thoughts disappear. “I’ll make it work, yeah. I got this.” He takes a pen and writes down the design details in he upper corner. “So, how soon do you wanna get this done? I got some open spots not too far out.”

“Really? I got this week left before we close the shop for renovations so I got all the time then.” You bounced on your heels from excitement as you worked out the appointment details and he handed you his card. “Thank you so much!” You put the card in your back pocket and looked around for a clock. When you spotted one you realized just how long you had been there. “Shit, I gotta go! If I walk fast I’ll make it back before my break is over. see you in two weeks!” You waved to them and called out a goodbye over your shoulder as you jogged out of the front door.

~~~

You kept the little appointment card in your phone case, getting more and more every day.

You got so giddy about it, the Beef staff teased you about it endlessly during the first week of renovation, up to the second you walked out of the door on your way to the appointment.

Arriving at the shop without your work attire or a bag of food felt strange but you were insanely excited. During your waiting time you had been stalking Carmen's artist instagram as well as the parlor's. You had initially picked Carmen as your artist for this piece because of his style, but after really taking a close look at his new posts your mind was already collecting more and more plans for him to cover your body with. But you would be lying to yourself if you said you hadn't been enjoying those tattoo hot take videos of theirs. Honestly you were glued to your phone whenever either page posted something new.

You arrived early so you quietly sat down at the front after saying hi to Layla. From your spot you could see Carmen busy getting his station ready for you, your quickly folded, printed design taped to an armrest.

After a couple of minutes he came up to you, offering you something to drink before walking you to his station.

"So, you nervous?" His sweet smile made all of your nerves disappear and smile back confidently. "Not anymore now that you're here." You couldn't help it, you were so much more excited for this piece than your first ones.

Maybe because this is the first big one, or maybe because of the intricate colors. Obviously because of the insanely cute guy being up close and personal with your thigh for hours.

It surprised you how much effort he had put into your piece. "We never discussed the size, only the placement so I printed the linework in different sizes." He looks at your leg, comparing the prints. "Look in the mirror for me? Which one do you prefer?" His eyes follow yours through the mirror as he moves the stencils onto your leg one by one. "The second one, but maybe a bit higher up?" You leaned in slightly to tap your leg up t where you want the design to be and Carmen follows your taps, holding the paper carefully for you to judge in the mirror. “Yeah, that’s perfect!” You smile at him, following his movements as he puts the sheet between the foils and transfer paper and runs it through the machine. After cutting the piece out again he grabs a sharpie and kneels down in front of you. “Alright, I’m gonna need you to stand perfectly straight for me.” He puts his hands on your hips to turn you all the way to the mirror and places the piece of transfer paper onto your leg. “Right there, yeah?” “Yeah.” You stare as he takes the sharpie and marks its position before taking it off again. He grabs a bottle of liquid and puts some on hi8s gloved fingers to rub it onto your skin. “Okay now stay still.” He steadily holds the paper between his fingers, his pinkies resting against your skin for stability as he carefully lines up the markings and smoothes out the design onto your leg. Giving it a few careful brushes to make sure it stuck everywhere, he gives it a once over and peels it off carefully, checking if it transferred fully.

You watched him work with his full attention on you, no chatting with the other guys or casual conversation. Only making sure you’re getting the best work. When the stencil was fully off your leg he got back up again. “While that dries, lets go over colors.” With a hand on your lower back he led you towards the small desk hidden behind the bar like wall that separated the stations from the front of the shop. “This is what you brought,” His hand splayed out on the desk. “And this is what you requested for the coloring.” carmen opens a leather binder and pulls out a couple of pieces of paper, turning them over and placing them down for you to check. “Holy shit.” It was all you could get out, honestly. You had imagined what the finished concept would look like, but this was so much better.

“This one has the original colors your print has too, and then these two have small edits that I personally thought would look better on skin.”

The first one was what you requested, but the other two had such a better palette. “That one.” You put your finger on the last one, it had the best balance of the original colors and Carmen’s additions. “Yeah, that’s gonna be the one.” The excitement in your voice and that little bounce when you announced your decision had his heart do a flip. He smiled back at you and went to grab and prep all the colors needed for his work. “Go lay down for me? Make sure you’re comfortable and don’t touch the stencil.” You stared and nodded, hands behind you as you backed up against the leather seat and hopped on. He followed your movements while shaking multiple ink bottles. “Or stay seated, I guess, if you want to watch me work.”He smiled at your shocked blush as he turned back to his toolbox table and started pouring colors into tiny tubs. You watched as he compared needles, holding them to the printed line work and placing every needed item neatly on his workbench.

A few buzzes from the machine indicated the end of his setup.

“Okay now you really gotta lay down.” With a gesture of his hand he rolls over with his seat and positioning your seat so he can easily work on your thigh. Once he had you comfortable and got ink on he needle he gave you one last word that he was gonna start. You gave him a thumbs up in response. He looks up at you, raise brows as he asks again. “I’m gonna start now, you good?” “Yeah. Yeah I’m good to go.”

With that said he rubbed vaseline over the bit of skin where he decided to start and carefully pulled the needle across your skin. The scraping burn felt painful at first, but with time it faded into a dull feeling as you stared up at the ceiling catching Carmen’s gaze from time to time whenever he asked if you were doing okay or needed a drink.

By the time the lines were finished the rest of the artists had left for the day. Even Layla came by to have a look at he progress before she called it a day. You sat up and accepted the glass of soda, looking around the empty shop. "We usually don't do tattoos today. Just bookings and designing." He spends a moment cleaning his machine, changing to a different needle for the colors. "I got lucky and have most of my scedule filled out for the upcoming time, so I could take you today." He finishes up prepping for color and cleans off your leg once more with a quick "sorry.". You swore the alcohol on the towel hurt more than the needle.

“You good to start on colors?” You gave a nod in response and laid back down. “Yeah, let’s go!” He gave you an approving smile, loving that you answered him immediately this time.

The colored reference you chose was taped to an armrest next to you. Carmen studied it for a bit, choosing the best order of colors. Again, the buzz of the machine notified you of the start of round two. You kept your breathing even through that first burning moment again and laid still, relaxed and content. The two of you made some stupid small talk, joking here and there. Whenever silence took over for too long he’d start narrating whatever part he was currently coloring, or you would ask tattoo trivia questions that he’s happily answer for you.

The hours passed way quicker than you expected and before you knew it your leg was being cleaned up for the last time and you were carefully helped off the leather seat to take a look in he mirror. With a hand on your back he led you closer to the wall. “Man, walking feels weird now.” You mention and get a laugh in response. “It’ll have faded by tomorrow morning.” He looked at you from his spot beside you, taking in the way you’re staring at your new art piece in awe. “so?” His hand slid a little lower, squeezing right at the hem of your shorts. “What do you think?” His eyes were still on yours as he asked. “It’s perfect, holy shit Carm you’re amazing.” Your thigh was now decorated with the bold, black cartoony linework of a carebear, colored with pinks and blues, beautifully blending into each other and its details done in such smooth thin lines you could stare at it forever.

Your gaze left your tattoo and turned to the side, staring right into his eyes. Your eyes flicked over to his lips for a second before you grabbed his curls at the back of his head and pulled him in for a kiss. Your sudden move caught him off guard but he quickly returned the kiss, one hand slipping lower onto your ass and the other one holding your hip to make sure you wouldn't rub your freshly tattooed skin against his jeans.

“Lets get that leg wrapped up, shall we?” He guided you back to his station to wipe and wrap your thigh, securing the wrap with pieces of tape.

You were leaned against the large seat with Carmen kneeling in front of you, his eyes on yours. In a moment of confidence you put your hand in his hair, carding your fingers through his curls as his hands moved up to the hem of your shorts waiting for your permission.

A tug on his curls lets him know him he could go ahead, carefully pulling down your shorts and panties while making sure he's not dragging the fabric over your wrapped up skin.

Looking up through his lashes he hooks your leg over his shoulder and inches closer until he's right at your centre. "You got no idea how long I've wanted to do this." With that he closes the gap amd his mouth is on you, his tongue dragging over your slit in a broad, slow stripe.

"Fuck, Carm.." Your fingers curled into his hair and pulled him even closer. His nose brushed against your clit and his tounge easily slid into you, tasting all of you. His moans vibrated through you, having you buck your hips into him almost riding his face. He pulls away for a moment to breathe "Taste so good.. Bring this over for me next time you do a food run?" He jokes with his head against your good thigh, those bright blue eyes staring up at you.

You let out a breathy laugh. "Only on food runs?" The hand in his hair moved down to his jaw to guide him back up. His hands find your hips and in a moment his lips are back on yours. "Gotta thank my brother for always sending you over," He kissed along your jaw. "Got high, spilled about my little crush on the pretty one that brought our lunch that day." Moving your head your lips find his earlobe. "Chef may or may not have heard me talk about the cute artist with the blue eyes and pretty curls a couple of times.."

He smirks against your cheek and steals a kiss before grabbing you by the hips and turning you around.

One hand moves up to your back and presses forward so your upper body is laying against the cool leather of the tattoo chair, while the other kept your thighs at a small distance from the chair. With your head resting on your forearms you look back at him admiring you. When he caught you staring he gave you a quick look with raised eyebrows, looking down at where your ass was pressing against the front of his jeans before looking back into your eyes. A smile and a wiggle against him as response told him enough as he pulled his sweats and boxers down far enough to take out his cock ad rub it between your folds. “Don’t tease, Carmy.. Just put it in,” You press your hips into his again, practically begging him. “please..”

With a roll of his hips he pushes in slowly and leans down to kiss down your spine and softly bit your shoulder blade before setting a steady pace, holding your hips close to his so he won’t accidentally shove you into the chair. Your sighs and moans are sounding trough the parlor as he fucks into you with rhythmic thrusts. “You’re not charging me extra for the happy ending, are you?” Your smartass remark only got a pull on your hips and rougher thrusts as a response. He kept up his fast pace until you were seeing stars and his thrusts started getting sloppy. His forehead was pressed against your back as you clenched around him, taking a few more snaps of his hips before he stilled with a moan. “Shit, if you let me do this more often I might even let you walk out without paying at all."

You shifted so you could look back at him, sweat and curls stuck to his forehead, a tired amile on his face. "Fetch me something to clean up with and I will."

You both got cleaned up and laughed together, chatting about all kinds of stuff. Planning a small dinner date during opening night at the restaurant and betting on how each of your work teams would respond to the two of you dating.

You did end up not having to pay for the tattoo.

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: lets all pretend Mikey runs the Beef and shit never went bad.

#sometimes i write #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear imagine #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut

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bradshawsbaby · 4 months

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What Christmas Means to Me, My Love

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Wife!Reader

Summary: You're determined to make your first married Christmas the best one yet. But when you start to overextend yourself, Bob steps in to remind you what's most important.

Word Count: 10.6k

Author's Note: Whew! The relief I feel that I was able to get this story completed before Christmas Eve! This is my contribution to @lewmagoo's A Lew Magoo Christmas challenge! It was inspired by the Stevie Wonder song, "What Christmas Means To Me." I hope you all enjoy!

(Special shoutout and thanks to @luminousnotmatter and @ryebecca for listening to me ramble when I was having a total meltdown about writing this story. I'm very thankful for you both!)

Warnings: References to being stressed during the holidays and a few brief innuendos, but it's mostly just fluff, fluff, and more fluff!

From the time he was a young boy, Bob Floyd had been cognizant of one very fascinating phenomenon—his bed never felt so comfortable or so warm as when his alarm clock was blaring in his ear, giving him a rather forceful reminder that it was time to get up and start the day. After he met you, that troubling phenomenon seemed to increase tenfold. As responsible as he was and as much as he prided himself on getting to work early each day, Bob would be lying if he said there weren’t times when he felt like chucking his alarm clock across the room and playing sick just so he could stay tucked away in bed all day, cocooned under the blankets and wrapped around your sweet warmth.

This morning, as his alarm started roaring at 7:00 on the dot, Bob let out a small grunt of protest, blindly reaching out from beneath the comforter to pound a resentful fist on the top of his alarm clock. Once it was silent, he rolled over in the bed the two of you had been sharing as husband and wife for nearly six months now and reached an arm out, fully expecting to wrap it around your soft, pajama-clad body. When he was met with emptiness instead, Bob blinked his eyes open in confusion and sat up slowly, rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from his vision as he grabbed his glasses off the nightstand and slipped them onto his nose, albeit a bit crookedly.

“Sweetheart?” Bob called out, frowning when he was met with nothing but the early morning stillness of your quaint little home.

Immediately, he flung the covers back and climbed out of bed, padding towards the bathroom to see if maybe you were in the shower and couldn’t hear him calling you over the sound of the running water. That theory was quickly disproven, however, when he found the bathroom door hanging open, lights off and no sounds of a shower in progress. But as he flicked on the lights, Bob discovered that you must have been in there not too long ago, for the mirror above the sink was still beaded with condensation and the bathmat had the imprint of damp footprints.

“Honey?” Bob called again, thinking maybe you’d stepped outside to enjoy your morning coffee on the front porch. Although why you’d be up this early—and showered already, too—on one of your days off from work was beyond him.

Walking into the kitchen, Bob immediately spotted a piece of festive note paper resting on the countertop. He recognized it instantly, the cream colored paper outlined with a ring of cheerful poinsettias. You’d been ecstatic when you’d found it at the dollar store a few weeks ago—"You never know when something like this will come in handy during the holidays, honey," were your exact words. But what stood out even more was your delicate handwriting etched across the paper in dark ink. Picking up the note, Bob adjusted his glasses and read the message you’d quickly penned on your way out the door.

Good morning, honey! I decided to head out early to try to hit some of the stores before they get too crazy. There’s a lot that I still need to pick up, so I’ll probably be gone most of the day. Also, Lorraine and I are going to run over to check out the venue for our staff holiday party and finalize the menu. Speaking of which, I also need to finalize the menu for OUR party, plus Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Text me if there’s anything you want me to get! Hopefully I won’t be home too late. I love you!!!

P.S. I almost forgot—I packed some lunch for you and left it in the fridge! And there’s a pot of coffee ready to brew. Have a great day!!!

He sighed softly as he set your note back down on the counter, running a hand through his honey brown hair, a tender smile tugging at the corners of his lips even as he silently lamented your early departure. He could hear your voice in his head as he read your words, chuckling to himself as he pictured you quickly gulping down a cup of coffee—in your favorite Christmas mug, no doubt—and shoving a piece of half-burnt toast in your mouth before running out the door.

You absolutely lived for this time of year, and all the hecticness that the season entailed.

Bob had known, almost from the very start of your relationship, how much you adored Christmas. It was one of the things, in fact, that had made it so easy for him to fall in love with you. Seeing the way you lit up like a firefly when a Christmas song came on the radio or when your favorite coffee shop started offering peppermint-flavored drinks made Bob’s heart melt in absolute love and devotion. He had never known anyone as whimsical or as full of genuine Christmas spirit as you. And your joy was infectious—Bob had never loved the holiday season so much as he did once he started celebrating it with you.

Waiting for his coffee to finish brewing, Bob couldn’t help but grin as he glanced around the kitchen at all the decorations you’d been putting up since Thanksgiving. They gave your home a warm, cozy feeling that had nothing to do with aesthetics and everything to do with the loving care with which you’d hung them.

To Bob, every day was Christmas so long as he got to spend it with you.

Which was why he sighed again as he poured a splash of cream into his coffee mug, brows furrowing above his glasses as he considered how little he’d seen you these past couple weeks.

With both of you working full-time jobs, it made sense that you couldn’t possibly spend every waking moment together. But Bob looked forward more than anything to your routine of dinner in the early evening and then hours spent lounging in each other’s arms, talking about your days or listening to music or watching a movie together. It was a habit you had gotten into even before you were married, and it was made all the sweeter by the fact that your lives were now entwined so intrinsically.

These past few weeks, however, that routine had been seriously upended by all the hustle and bustle of the holidays. Bob knew you took this time of year seriously—and he really did love how happy it made you—but it seemed like this year more than ever, your schedule was jam-packed and filled nearly to bursting.

On top of the usual shopping that needed to get done—you bought gifts for everyone, even down to your mail carrier and the barista who made your favorite coffee—there were preparations for not one, not two, but three separate parties you had volunteered to host. First up was your staff holiday party. Your colleagues knew that no one loved Christmas more than you, and so they had unanimously nominated you to spearhead the planning, which you’d graciously agreed to, with some help from your co-worker, Lorraine. Then was the party for the Daggers and their families that you had convinced Bob it would be fun to host a few days before Christmas Eve. All of your friends couldn’t stop buzzing about it, and you were going to great lengths to make sure it was perfect. As if all that wasn’t enough, you were also going to be hosting both of your families for the holidays this year, parents, siblings, nieces, nephews, and all.

“It’s our first Christmas as Mr. and Mrs. Floyd,” you’d told him one night, when he’d asked if you were really okay with all of the planning that would be involved. “I want it to be special.” Your smile when you said it warmed him from the inside out. As introverted as he could be, he’d gladly host twenty parties so long as it made you happy.

The reality, however, was that you were swamped. Every day after work, you were either running around to stores or scouring the internet for the best cyber deals or researching recipes that you wanted to try for Christmas dinner. One night, Bob had even found you making an alphabetized list of holiday games you could play at the parties.

“Are you sure you’re really okay?” Bob asked at one point, when he caught you yawning over your dinner. “I know I’ve been busy with work, but I can help more. Just tell me what you need.”

“I’m fine, silly,” you giggled, waving off his concern with a hand. “I just want everyone to have a good time.”

“They will,” he told you, resting his large, calloused hand over yours. He looked intently into your eyes, sincerity shining in the blue depths of his. “They’ll have a good time no matter what. You don’t have to make yourself sick over planning.”

You had just smiled at him and given him a kiss, but clearly you hadn’t heeded his words because now you were even using your day off to run errands, waking up even earlier than your naval aviator husband to do so.

Rinsing his empty mug out in the sink, Bob frowned as he thought of how tired you’d seemed these past few days. Your joy and your sweetness never diminished, but he could tell just from looking in your eyes how exhausted you were getting. You were overextending yourself, and he was terrified you were going to burn out before Christmas even arrived. Not being able to fully enjoy your favorite time of year would devastate you, and nothing would hurt Bob more than that.

You needed to take a day for yourself, Bob decided as he let the warm water flow over him in a quick shower. No shopping, no planning, no organizing—just a day where you actually got to enjoy all your favorite things about this season.

That idea remained buzzing around in his head as he drove to work, hanging on the periphery of his consciousness even as he spent hours flying test runs with Phoenix and the rest of the Daggers. On his lunch break, he enthusiastically hunkered down in the rec room to research some of the plans that were percolating in his mind. And by the time he drove home that evening, he was wearing a smile bright enough to rival any of the Christmas lights twinkling in your neighborhood.

The fact that you still weren’t home when Bob unlocked the front door and carefully placed his work boots on the shoe rack only further solidified his plan. As if you could somehow read his mind, his phone buzzed suddenly with an incoming text.

Are you home? I’m so sorry I’m not back yet! I’m on my way now. I picked up some dinner from that BBQ place that you like 😋

Bob’s heart squeezed with affection as he read your words. You’d been up for nearly twelve hours at this point, and you were no doubt exhausted, but you were still always putting others ahead of yourself. He typed out a quick response as he walked into the living room to turn on the lights on the Christmas tree.

Yum! Thank you, sweetheart. Can’t wait for you to get home ♥️

About twenty minutes later, just as Bob was stepping out of your bedroom after changing into a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt from his time at the Naval Academy, he heard your key jiggling in the lock and hurried to meet you.

“Oh!” you gasped in surprise when your husband swung open the door before you could finish turning your key. “Hiya, honey,” you beamed, holding up the bag of take-out food you’d picked up especially for him on your drive home.

“Man, I tell you, these delivery people keep getting cuter and cuter,” Bob teased, drawing you close and taking the food out of your hands as he dropped a kiss on your lips.

“Mmm,” you giggled against his mouth, kissing him back as you felt some of the tension you’d been carrying in your shoulders slowly dissipate. “Maybe this delivery girl can join you for dinner tonight,” you winked playfully, smiling when you felt Bob’s fingers lace through yours.

“I was counting on it,” he chuckled, tugging on your hand as he turned into the house.

“Oh, just give me a couple minutes, honey,” you exclaimed, suddenly remembering you’d left your car idling in the driveway, the backseat and trunk filled to the brim with your purchases of the day. “I just want to get everything out of the car.”

“Sweetheart, it can wait,” Bob insisted, glancing longingly between you and his dinner. “Your food’s going to get cold. I’ll help you unload the car after we eat.”

You bit your lip in hesitation, but finally relented when you saw the puppy dog expression on your husband’s face. “Okay, fine, let me just go turn the car off.”

A few minutes later, you and Bob were seated side by side at your small kitchen table, your legs pressing together and your fingers brushing against one another as you nibbled on wings and scarfed down some chili mac and cheese.

“How was your day?” you asked curiously, glancing up as you took a sip of water and wiped your fingers on a napkin.

You always asked that question so sincerely, even after all this time. It made him feel so seen and loved. Smiling, he rested his hand over yours and squeezed your fingers gently.

“It was good,” he said lightly, not yet ready to divulge the plans he’d been formulating all day. “You know, same old, same old. How about yours?”

“It was great!” you chirped, beaming brightly.

Bob smiled and nodded as you told him about the gifts you’d picked up for all the nieces and nephews, the menu you and Lorraine had decided on for your staff holiday party, the grab bags gifts you’d snagged for the Dagger party, the new gingerbread recipe you’d just heard about, and a whole host of other things.

“Sorry, I’m rambling,” you murmured sheepishly after you realized you’d hardly stopped for a moment to take a breath.

“It’s okay, I love it when you ramble,” Bob grinned, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Mmm, I love it even more when you taste like barbeque,” he laughed, nudging your nose with his own.

Laughing, you wrapped your arms around his strong shoulders and kissed him tenderly. Pulling back, you rested your forehead against his with a contented sigh and gazed into his eyes. “Want to go find a movie to watch while I do the dishes?” you suggested.

Bob pulled back slightly to more fully look at you, though he kept his large hands wrapped loosely around your waist. “As much as I love the sound of that plan, I think we should call it an early night tonight, honey,” he said softly, reaching up to lightly brush your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You look exhausted.”

You pouted slightly, but couldn’t stifle the yawn that suddenly came upon you, which made the both of you laugh. “I guess you’re right,” you admitted ruefully, resting your head on his shoulder for a moment.

“How about you get started on the dishes and I’ll unload everything from the car? Then we’ll head to bed, alright?” Bob asked, hyper aware of the drawn look around your eyes.

“Deal,” you nodded, giving him one more kiss as you jumped up to clear the table.

Thirty minutes later, the two of you were cuddled up under the covers, the warm glow from the little battery-operated lantern you kept near the window casting a cozy feel over the room.

“Do you have any plans for Saturday?” Bob asked softly, running his fingers up and down your arm gently as you lay in his embrace. Saturday was the one day that the both of you had off, and he intended to make the most of it this weekend.

You let out a soft sigh, snuggling up further against his chest. “There are a few new recipes I wanted to try for dinner on Christmas Eve and Christmas, so I figured maybe I should test them out ahead of time, just in case they end up being a disaster. Saturday seems as good a day as any to do that. Want to be my taste tester?” you grinned, eyes crinkling as you smiled over at him.

“Uh-uh,” Bob shook his head, a slightly mischievous smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Your eyes widened in surprise as you looked at him. “Why not? You’ve got other plans?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, his blue eyes twinkling, which you could see even in the dark of your bedroom. “I’m going to have a very full day.”

“Doing what?” you huffed jokingly, arching an eyebrow as you rolled onto your side, gazing at him curiously.

“You’ll find out,” Bob grinned, not letting the cat out of the bag just yet. “You’re coming with me.”

“What?” you asked, clearly taken aback as your eyes widened once again. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” he chuckled, leaning over to give you a quick kiss.

“Bob!” you exclaimed, nudging him lightly with your foot.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he grinned, rolling over and closing his eyes. He had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing as he heard you huffing softly beside him, clearly desperate to know what he was planning. Within minutes, however, he heard the sound of your breathing soften and deepen, your eyes closing in a deep slumber.

Turning back over, Bob watched you sleep peacefully and felt his heart clench inside his chest. You were going above and beyond this Christmas, and it was clearly taking its toll, whether you wanted to admit it or not. He was glad to see you sleeping so comfortably after such a long day.

You were striving so hard to make this Christmas magical for everyone else. This weekend, Bob was going to make it magical for you and remind you what this season was really all about.

Nobody deserved it more than you.

Saturday morning dawned bright and crisp, just as Bob had been anticipating. He’d been checking the forecast every day to make sure that nothing was going to interfere with his plans for today. The weather was better than he could have hoped for—the sun was shining bright, hardly a cloud in the sky, but the air had a nice winter chill as the temperature hovered somewhere between the high fifties and low sixties.

That was one of the only things you ever lamented about moving to San Diego—it was harder to make it feel like Christmas when it was still warm enough to wear shorts and go to the beach. But today’s weather, while certainly not cold by any stretch of the imagination, would at least give you an opportunity to wear one of those new sweaters you’d bought for yourself.

Grinning like a little kid on Christmas morning, Bob quietly tiptoed into your bedroom, where he was delighted to see that you were still fast asleep, buried so deeply under the covers that only the top of your head was poking out. Swallowing back a laugh, he sidled over to your side of the bed and carefully placed the treats he’d set out early to procure on your nightstand.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured softly, gingerly taking a seat on the edge of the bed to avoid crushing you. You stirred slightly, but didn’t open your eyes, so he bent down to drop a kiss on the crown of your head, still the only part of your body exposed to the mid-morning light. “Honey, wake up,” he tried again, his voice scarcely above a whisper.

Letting out a soft hum in response, you slowly pushed the covers back and ran a hand down your face before opening your eyes halfway, peeking up at your husband through hooded lids.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Bob chuckled, ducking his head to peck your lips tenderly.

“Mmm, good morning,” you replied, your voice still heavy with sleep as you stretched with a satisfied little groan. You were so distracted by the extremely pleasant view of your handsome husband hovering above you that it took you a moment to realize how much light was filtering in through the windows, and to catch a glimpse of the time on your alarm clock. Gasping, you bolted upright, looking at Bob with wide eyes. “Is that really the time? I thought I set an alarm!”

It was nearly 9:45am. You couldn’t remember the last time you had slept in that late. Between work and all the other things you were usually running around doing, even on your days off, your internal alarm hardly ever let you sleep that long. Not to mention the fact that you normally had an alarm set. You could have sworn you had set it last night.

Bob had the grace to look a bit sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck, gazing at you with those big blue eyes behind the frames of his adorably gawky glasses. “You did,” he began slowly, glancing guiltily at your alarm clock and then back at you. “I shut it off.”

“Bob!” you exclaimed in astonishment, uncertain what would have possessed him to do that, especially when he knew how busy you were lately. “Why would you do that?”

“You needed the extra sleep, honey,” he said in a voice so sweet and filled with concern that you couldn’t even dream of staying mad at him. Reaching out, he took one of your hands between both of his, gently rolling the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “You’ve been running yourself ragged these past couple weeks. I wanted you to get some real rest.”

You bit your lip, averting your gaze as you silently thought about how busy you’d been lately and how exhausted you’d been feeling. You’d had three cups of coffee at work yesterday just to make it through the day.

“I guess you’re right,” you conceded, your lips curving upward in a rueful smile. “I do feel a little bit better already. Thank you, honey,” you told him, leaning forward to give him a kiss of appreciation. That was when your eyes landed on the cup of coffee and the small red-and-white striped bag on your nightstand. “Is that for me?” you gasped in delight, looking back at your husband eagerly.

“Mhm,” Bob chuckled at your open excitement, reaching for the cup and the bag and placing them in your hands.

Your very favorite coffee shop in all of San Diego, which also happened to be the spot where you and Bob went on your second date, was a tiny little hole-in-the-wall place not far from where you worked. From the outside, it didn’t seem like much to behold, but it was one of the city’s best kept secrets. Their coffee was brewed to perfection and their baked goods were a sweettooth’s dream. But what you loved most of all was the way they went all out for the holidays. The entire cafe was decked out in garland and bows and twinkling lights, Christmas music pumped through the speakers all day long, and their menu reflected everyone’s seasonal favorites.

At this time of year, your go-to order was a large peppermint mocha with extra whipped cream and a gingerbread scone that you swore you wanted to be your last meal on this earth. Bob had gotten to the cafe just in time that morning to get a scone fresh out of the oven.

“Oh my gosh, it’s still warm,” you sighed happily, the spiced molasses melting on your tongue as soon as you popped it into your mouth. You closed your eyes in bliss, washing it down with a sip of the peppermint mocha. “Thank you, honey. This is such a sweet surprise.”

“The first of many, I hope,” Bob smiled, resting a hand on your thigh as you enjoyed your breakfast in bed. “I have lots planned for you today, Mrs. Floyd.”

“You do?” you asked, raising an eyebrow over the rim of your coffee cup.

He nodded, his smile only growing wider. “Don’t you remember what I said the other night? We’ve got a lot to do today. So as soon as you’re done enjoying your breakfast, you better hop in the shower. We don’t want to be late,” he told you, his gorgeous baby blues sparkling as he rose from the bed and started towards the door.

“Wait!” you cried, jumping out of bed with your coffee and scone still firmly in hand. “What are we doing?” you called after him, chasing behind him in bare feet. “Bobby!”

“You’ll find out,” he laughed, turning around and resting his hands on your shoulders. “Just wear something comfortable,” was all the information he gave you.

You sighed in a purposely dramatic fashion, shooting him a playful glance. You knew from the look on his face that he wasn’t going to tell you anything else, so there was no use in trying to get the information out of him. Instead, you quickly gulped down the rest of your coffee and finished off your scone—still trying to savor every bite—before tearing off your pajamas and jumping into the shower.

An hour later, you were ready to go, dressed in a cute pair of jeans and a new red and white sweater you’d just recently purchased. The weather today finally gave you an opportunity to wear it.

“Is this alright?” you asked Bob as you stepped into the living room, holding your arms out at your sides. It was hard to know what to wear when you had no idea what you were doing.

“It’s perfect,” Bob nodded, smiling as he rose from the couch and took in your appearance. “Just like you,” he added, winking as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I could say the same thing to you,” you giggled, resting your hands on his broad chest. He was wearing a dark green crew neck sweater and dark jeans that fit his long figure exquisitely. “Now are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Bob just shook his head, laughing out loud when you released a groan of exasperation. “Patience, my sweet wife,” he teased, taking your hand in his and leading you towards the front door. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

You really hadn’t been sure what to anticipate when you climbed into the car with Bob. As many guesses as you tried to make to figure out what his plans were, your husband’s expression was impenetrable. He didn’t give anything away, no matter what you said.

What you hadn’t been expecting was to pull into the parking lot of Petco Park.

As soon as Bob put the car in park, you glanced over at him curiously, trying to figure out what you were doing here. Your husband wasn’t a big baseball fan. And even if he was, it was the middle of December.

“I’m guessing we’re not here for a Padres game?” you ventured with a playful smile, glancing around the crowded parking lot.

Your husband laughed, shaking his head. “Not exactly. Come on,” he told you, climbing out of the car and hurrying around to the passenger side to open your door.

Slipping your hand into his, you followed his lead as he guided you through the milling crowd towards the entrance to the baseball stadium. He seemed almost giddy as the two of you got closer and closer to the park, glancing down at you every few seconds as if to check that you were still with him. You had no idea what was awaiting you, but his excitement was infectious and you found yourself buzzing with anticipation.

You weren’t disappointed.

As soon as Bob handed over your tickets to the attendant, you were swept up in the crowd of people surging towards Gallagher Square, where you were met with a breathtaking display of Christmas beauty.

“Oh, Bobby,” you breathed out, coming to a halt as you stared, wide-eyed and in awe of the beautiful market that surrounded you.

“Do you like it?” Bob asked, a thread of nervousness in his voice as he looked at you, watching the way you were silently taking everything in.

Turning to face him, your face split into a huge grin and you threw your arms around him, peppering his cheek with kisses. “I love it! It’s so wonderful!”

It was as close to a German Christmas market as you had ever come, with vendors of all kinds set up in little wooden booths ringing the perimeter of the square. There were shopkeepers selling a whole assortment of things, from hot chocolate and gingerbread cookies to homemade candy to personalized ornaments to fine wine and jewelry. Amidst all the different stalls were small stages where performances ranging from choirs to magic shows were taking place, not to mention the life-size snow globes and the giant sleigh where guests could take pictures. And at the center of it all was a ginormous Christmas tree that had to be at least thirty feet tall.

It was magical. It made you feel like you were a little girl again, attending your town’s local Christmas fair with your family.

“I didn’t even know this existed!” you exclaimed, still holding tightly to your husband as you continued to gaze around you.

“I didn’t either,” Bob admitted, unable to stop smiling at how happy you looked. “But Phoenix and Hangman told me they took the kids here last week and had a blast, so I knew I had to get you tickets.”

“Oh, thank you, honey! This is amazing!” you beamed, wrapping your arms around him to give him an enthusiastic kiss.

Bob chuckled and blushed slightly as he adjusted his glasses with one hand, his other hand resting on your hip. “Should we walk around?”

Nodding, you took his hand and practically hauled him across the square, bouncing from stall to stall and oohing and aahing over all the various trinkets and baubles.

“Oh, honey, look! We should get this,” you cooed, holding up a sweet ornament of a hand painted Christmas tree with a little banner draped across it that read Our First Christmas as Mr. and Mrs.

It didn’t matter that you had three other ornaments with similar messages already hanging on your Christmas tree at home. Bob gladly pulled out his wallet to buy it for you, his heart fluttering at the gorgeous smile that lit up your entire face when the vendor carefully wrapped it up and handed it to you.

“Thank you, Bobby. I can’t wait to put it on the tree when we get home,” you told him, carefully slipping the wrapped ornament into your purse.

“Anything for you, honey,” Bob murmured softly, kissing your forehead. “Alright, what’s our next stop?”

You and Bob continued to wander among the stalls for the next couple hours, stopping on occasion to take a photo or grab a snack—"This is sustenance," you grinned, holding up the little brown bag of freshly glazed almonds that you’d purchased for the two of you to munch on.

At one point, as you were admiring the work of a local artist, you heard the sound of the sweetest voices imaginable. Following the music, with Bob trailing closely behind, you walked a bit further up the path before stopping in front of a small choir made up of the most angelic looking children you had ever seen. The sign in front of the platform declared that they were students from a local school for children with special needs.

“Oh, Bobby,” you whispered, tears sparkling on your lashes as they sang the most beautiful version of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” you had ever heard. Resting your head on your husband’s shoulder, you let the music wash over you, smiling brightly as they transitioned from one song to another.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there exactly—was it for three songs or six?—but when the children finally stopped singing, you and Bob burst into thunderous applause, prompting nearby onlookers to join in.

The pride on the children’s faces melted your heart as they shyly waved to the crowd and began making their way off the platform.

A little girl with Down syndrome, who couldn’t have been older than six or seven, suddenly broke away from the others and grabbed her mother’s hand, dragging her towards where you and your husband stood.

“Thank you for coming!” she said brightly, offering an adorable little gap-tooth smile.

“Thank you for having us!” you replied brightly, squatting down so that you were on eye level with her. “You all sounded amazing!”

To your surprise, the little girl lunged forward to wrap her arms around you in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” her mother exclaimed, touching her daughter’s shoulder and trying to pull her back.

“It’s alright,” you smiled, patting the little girl’s back before she let go. “No need to apologize.”

“Thank you for staying to listen for so long,” the woman said, looking between you and Bob. “The kids worked really hard on their program for today, so it was nice to have such a captive audience.”

“We were happy to do it, really,” Bob told her, smiling down at the little girl as he rested a hand on your lower back. “Christmas music is my wife’s favorite,” he told her conspiratorially.

Her eyes widened in delighted surprise. “Mine, too!”

You all laughed happily at that.

“Well, I hope you have an amazing Christmas and that Santa brings you everything you’re hoping for this year,” you told her, grinning at the way she lit up at the mention of Santa.

“Santa! Santa!” she cheered.

“That’s right,” her mother nodded, brushing her daughter’s hair back over her shoulder. “We should get going soon if we want to go see Santa. What do you say to the nice people who watched you sing?”

“Thank you!” the little girl said sweetly, giving both you and Bob another quick hug around the legs. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” you and Bob replied in unison, waving to both mother and daughter as you went your separate ways, smiling from ear to ear.

“You’re going to make an amazing mother one day,” Bob told you softly, the unadulterated adoration in his eyes warming you up from the inside out.

You just smiled dreamily in response, very much looking forward to the day when you would get to see Bob Floyd become a father.

“Well I think that was a very successful trip to the Christmas Market,” your husband said a few minutes later after you circled back to the center of the square.

“I had so much fun, honey. Thank you for thinking of this,” you told him, touched by the effort he’d made to bring you here and make it such a lovely afternoon.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Bob smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He glanced down at his watch and raised his eyebrows. “Oh, but we better get going if we want to stay on schedule. Still have a lot to do.”

“Wait…what?” you questioned, startled. “There’s more?”

“I said I had a lot planned, didn’t I?” That mischievous twinkle had returned to his eyes. “You didn’t think this was it, did you?”

“Bob Floyd, what do you have up your sleeve?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest and looking up at him with a quirked brow, trying and failing to mask the smile tugging at your lips.

“You’ll see,” was all he said, taking your hand and leading you back to the car.

If you had been uncertain about what your husband’s plans were when you’d arrived at Petco Park, you were doubly unsure what he had in mind when he turned onto the bridge connecting San Diego to Coronado.

“Are you taking me with you to work?” you wondered with a laugh, looking out the window at the afternoon sun sparkling on the San Diego Bay. You often told Bob that you were jealous of the view he got to enjoy on his commute to and from North Island.

Bob laughed at your question, but simply shook his head in response, turning up the radio as Mariah Carey began belting “All I Want for Christmas is You.”

“Hmmm, saved by the Queen of Christmas,” you joked, nudging him playfully as he took a turn off the bridge.

“Now, honey, you know that you’re the Queen of Christmas,” Bob retorted, winking at you as he made a few more turns.

“True,” you giggled, singing along to the radio until Hotel Coronado appeared in your sights, in all its glorious grandeur. You glanced over at Bob curiously, but he didn’t say anything as he searched for a parking spot.

“The suspense is killing me, Bobby,” you lamented, clinging onto his arm once he finally did manage to park the car. “What are we doing now?”

Turning to face you, Bob was struck once again by just how deeply he loved you. There was no one else he’d drag himself all over San Diego for on his day off from work.

“We’re going ice skating,” he explained, chuckling at the shocked expression on your face.

“You mean…Skating by the Sea?!” you gasped excitedly, practically bouncing up and down in your seat. “Bobby, you got tickets?”

“Sure did,” he nodded, pulling them out of his pocket to show you.

“Oh my gosh, how?” you breathed, reaching out to touch them as if you were afraid they would disappear.

“Mav knows a guy,” Bob chuckled, shaking his head affectionately as he thought of his boss and mentor.

As Hotel Coronado’s most popular winter attraction, it was nearly impossible to get tickets to Skating by the Sea during the Christmas season, but when Bob had mentioned it at work, Maverick had promised that he would be able to procure him a couple tickets. How he managed it, Bob didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know either. All that mattered was that you were looking at him right now like he had hung the moon and the stars, and there was no better reward than that.

“Ready to go?” Bob asked, holding out his hand to you.

“Ready!” you cheered, placing your hand in his and holding on tight.

It had been quite some time since you had actually been ice skating, and you were a bit rusty, especially in comparison to your midwestern husband, who had grown up ice skating on frozen ponds every winter. Still, despite your wobbly knees, you were determined to enjoy every moment of this experience.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Bob murmured encouragingly, holding tightly to your hands as he guided you onto the ice, sticking close to the wall in case you needed extra support.

“If you had told me we were coming, I could have brushed up on my skills ahead of time,” you teased, glancing down at your white rental skates as you carefully slid one foot in front of the other.

“And ruin the surprise and the look on your face when I told you what we were doing? Never,” he grinned, gently squeezing your hands as you slowly started to become more confident and steady on your feet. “You’ve got it, honey. Try looking up at me. I won’t let go,” he promised.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze from your feet up to your husband’s midsection, and then finally up to his face, that face that you adored more than anything else on this earth.

“There you go, you’ve got it. You’re doing such a good job,” Bob praised you, his confidence unshaken as he moved backwards across the ice. It was incredibly attractive how sure of himself he was out here.

“I think I’ve got it now. Want to try letting go?” you asked with a grin, feeling a little nervous but willing to give it a shot.

Smiling proudly, Bob nodded and slowly released his grip on your hands, letting you glide independently for a few seconds. You moved forward tentatively, your hands still out at your sides so that you could grab onto him—or the wall—if needed.

“That’s it, honey! Look at you go!” your husband cheered, making you laugh as you carefully made your way over to the opposite wall, which afforded you breathtaking views of the beach and the ocean beyond.

Seconds later, Bob skated up beside you, resting with you against the wall and enjoying the same view. “Pretty beautiful, huh?” he asked, gazing down at you.

“Insanely beautiful,” you agreed, resting your hand over his and squeezing gently. “I’m so glad we’re here.”

“Me, too,” Bob nodded, lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “But it doesn’t matter what we’re doing. I’m just so glad to be with you.”

“Honey,” you breathed out, touched by the sweetness of his words. They actually made you well up a little bit.

“I mean it, sweetheart. It’s not the things we do that make days like this special. It’s getting to do them with you. That’s all I really wanted. I’ve missed you these past few weeks,” he confessed.

“Oh, Bobby,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. “I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Bob was quiet for a moment, just holding you close and resting his cheek atop your head.

“I love you so much, you know,” you told him, lifting your head to press a kiss to his jaw.

“I know,” he nodded, his mouth turning up in a tender smile. “I love you, too. More than anything.”

After a couple moments of comfortable silence, you took his hand and started to push away from the wall. “Come on, let’s go show everybody what an amazing skater you are,” you laughed, nearly toppling over in your eagerness. Thankfully, Bob had some of the quickest reflexes you’d ever seen and was there to catch you.

He was always there to catch you.

You and your husband spent the next hour twirling around on the ice, you trying your best not to fall and Bob trying his best to keep you from falling. By the time your legs were starting to ache in protest, the sun was just beginning to set over the beach, the sky exploding in hues of orange, pink, and red.

“Isn’t that the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen?” you whispered in awe, resting your cheek against your husband’s strong chest and soaking in the moment.

“A close second to you,” Bob replied, chuckling at the adorable way you got all flustered at his compliment. “C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get those skates off you.”

Stepping off the rink, Bob carefully guided you to a nearby bench and sat you down before squatting in front of you to untie your laces.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” you asked softly, reaching out to lightly caress his flushed cheek as he ministered to you.

“I ask myself the same thing every day when I get to wake up beside you,” he said, pressing a kiss to your knee before pulling your skates off. He then rose and plopped down beside you on the bench, pulling off his own skates with ease.

After you returned your rental skates and collected your things, Bob stopped you on the pathway near the beach and looked down at you.

“I hope you’ve worked up an appetite after all this,” he told you, a knowing smile on his face. “Because we’ve got one more stop.”

“We do? Oh, Bobby! This day has already been so special. I can’t imagine how it could get any better,” you declared, wondering what more he could possibly have in store.

“Wait and see,” Bob winked, taking your hand as you began strolling off hotel property and towards where you had parked “Oh, and I’ve got a little something in the car for you to change into.”

The last thing on earth you had been expecting when your husband handed you a small duffel bag out of the trunk of the car was to open it up and find the beautiful red dress you’d worn last Christmas—the one Bob hadn’t been able to stop gushing about or get you out of fast enough after Christmas dinner—and your favorite pair of high heels, plus the diamond studs and pendant he’d gifted you last year, the ones you only wore on very special occasions.

And yet, there you were, sitting beside your husband in the passenger seat of his car in your holiday finest, flying along the open road towards some unknown destination.

You weren’t the only one who had changed after your ice skating escapades. Bob had packed a second duffel, it seemed, for when you had returned from getting changed, he was waiting for you, no longer clad in his crew neck and jeans, but in a pair of black slacks and a dinner jacket, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

“For you,” he said with a wide smile, handing you a small bouquet of red and white roses—another surprise he’d been hiding in that trunk of his.

You held the sweet-smelling flowers close to your nose now as Bob made a few turns, heading in a direction that was not totally familiar to you.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” you whispered softly, a hint of emotion catching in your voice as you rested the beautiful bouquet in your lap. You couldn’t wait to put it in one of your Christmas vases when you got home and proudly display it on the coffee table in the living room.

Bob glanced over at you as he came to a red light, his blue eyes brimming with adoration as he soaked in how happy and content you looked. “You deserve it,” he told you, reaching out to rest a hand on your thigh, his fingers lightly stroking the inside of your knee. “You deserve all this and so much more. And I’m so lucky to be the man who gets to give it to you—or try anyway,” he added with a sheepish laugh.

Before the light could turn green, you leaned over and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss. “You succeed,” you murmured against his lips. “Every time. I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”

“I love you,” he smiled, caressing your cheek with the pad of his thumb before returning both hands to the wheel, ignoring the disgruntled driver who was honking behind him.

You giggled as you settled back in your seat with a happy sigh. “I love you, too, honey.” You paused for a moment or two, then tacked on, “Now will you tell me where we’re going?”

“Nice try,” Bob laughed, shooting you a sideways glance. “I haven’t spoiled any of my surprises today. You think I’m going to start now?”

“Oh, fine,” you replied, heaving a dramatic sigh and then grinning. “I can’t wait to find out what it is though.”

“I have a feeling you’re really going to love it,” he said, his smile warmer than the San Diego sun as he tapped his hands excitedly on the steering wheel, his own anticipation building.

“I know I will,” you nodded, lifting the bouquet of roses to your nose once more and taking a delicate sniff. “I love anything so long as I’m doing it with you.”

A few minutes later, Bob made a final turn that led the two of you up a winding, gorgeously manicured road. Leaning forward, you gazed out the window eagerly, trying to place exactly where you were. At that exact moment, a large sign came into view that read FAIRMONT GRAND DEL MAR.

Gasping in delight, you practically had your nose smushed against the glass as your husband drove past stunning gardens and twinkling fountains, all decked out with the most darling, demure decorations you had ever seen.

Fairmont Grand Del Mar was one of the most luxurious and glamorous hotels in all of Southern California, and while it was basically right in your own backyard, you had never stepped foot on its grounds before.

You suddenly found yourself very grateful that your jeans and sweater were safely tucked away in a duffel bag. Thank goodness your brilliant husband thought of everything.

“Oh my goodness, Bobby!” you squealed, covering your mouth to try to control the delighted laughter that was bubbling up inside you. But it was no use. “It’s so beautiful here!”

“It is, isn’t it?” Bob hummed in agreement, taking in the view as he slowed his pace along the property’s winding pathways. “A beautiful girl in a beautiful place. Sounds about right to me,” he added, eyes sparkling behind his glasses.

You just smiled at that, a pleasant warmth rushing to your cheeks as you tried to take in as much of the views as you could. As if the hotel grounds weren’t breathtaking enough on their own, they’d clearly gone to great lengths to turn the property into a winter wonderland for the holidays and they had more than succeeded. You loved every inch of it.

Moments later, after Bob had helped you out of the car and handed his keys off to a valet parker, he wrapped an arm around your waist and led you into the lobby of what seemed to be one of the hotel’s restaurants. It was elegantly designed, with Persian rugs and cream-colored marble walls, scrolled detailing on the ceiling, and a roaring fireplace to give the room a cozy, inviting atmosphere. It was decorated for the season with class—golden candelabras, dark red poinsettias, aromatic garland wrapped in red ribbons and bows, giant wreaths practically the size of you hanging on the walls.

It felt like a little Christmas paradise.

You were thankful for Bob’s strong hand on your back, guiding you along as you tripped over your own two feet, gazing around the room in unabashed awe.

“Don’t worry, honey,” he whispered in your ear as you approached the host stand. “I’ll make sure to take lots of pictures of you in that gorgeous dress with this perfect Christmas backdrop,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I want you in the pictures, too,” you whispered back, grinning as you squeezed his hand where it was resting on your hip. “Too bad we didn’t think to come here for our Christmas card photo,” you added, eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Next year,” Bob winked. He managed to tear his gaze away from you only when the two of you finally got to the stand and the hostess looked at you expectantly.

“Good evening,” she said in a voice that was calm, cool, and cultured. “Do you have a reservation with us tonight?”

“Yes,” Bob told her, squeezing your hip softly as he spoke. “Dinner for two. It should be under Floyd.”

The hostess checked her computer screen and smiled. “Ah, yes. We’re pleased to welcome you tonight, Mr. and Mrs. Floyd. Please, follow me,” she said, leading you through a small maze of elegantly set tables, bedecked with what appeared to be antique tablecloths, romantic candles, and subtle hints of holly and garland.

The three of you finally came to a stop at a cozy table right near a window which overlooked the gardens, a twinkling Christmas tree right in your line of vision.

“Your server will be right with you,” the hostess told you as the two of you got settled in your seats. “We hope you very much enjoy our special Christmas menu here at Fairmont Grand Del Mar,” she added with a gracious smile before turning to head back to her post.

“Thank you,” you murmured with a soft smile, maintaining every ounce of decorum you could possibly muster until the woman was out of earshot. Then you let out a delighted squeal, the same sound you used to make when opening your presents on Christmas morning as a little girl. “Bobby! This is incredible! How did you manage this?” you demanded, gaping at him in amazement. Then you giggled. “Wait, let me guess. Mav knows another guy?”

“Actually this time, it was Payback who knew a guy,” Bob laughed, reaching across the table to take your hand in his, brushing his thumb across your soft skin. “His cousin works concierge at the hotel, so he managed to pull a few strings.”

“Amazing,” you grinned, squeezing his hand lovingly. “Don’t let me forget to thank Mav and Reuben when I see them at the party.”

“Just Mav and Reuben?” he teased, pretending to be wounded.

You leaned in a little closer, lowering your voice as you told him, “Well I’m going to give you a proper thank you tonight.” Your eyes sparkled in tandem with the diamond pendant hanging around your neck.

Bob’s cheeks turned bright pink as he caught your meaning, and he reached up to tug lightly at the collar of his shirt, clearing his throat.

Winking, you leaned back with a smile. Your husband was saved from having to come up with a reply by the sudden appearance of your waiter, an older, dignified man named Antonio, who greeted you both warmly as he shared some drink recommendations.

Despite the fact that Bob hardly ever drank, he ordered the two of you a bottle of champagne that came highly recommended, which Antonio happily delivered along with a bucket of ice.

“To you, sweetheart,” Bob toasted, lifting the flute that your waiter had filled just a moment earlier. “This time of year wouldn’t be half as special if it wasn’t for you.”

“No, to you,” you smiled, raising your own champagne flute to mirror your husband’s. “Today was beyond words, and none of it would have been possible without you.”

“To us then,” he grinned, compromising as he tipped his glass towards you.

“To us,” you nodded in agreement, lightly clinking your glass against his before taking a sip. “Mmm, that’s delicious,” you murmured appreciatively, licking a drop of the champagne off your lip.

“Mhm,” Bob hummed, looking almost surprised. “I mean, not that I have much to compare to, but I’d say this is the best champagne I’ve ever had.”

“Better than at our wedding?” you joked.

“I stand corrected. This is the second best champagne I’ve ever had,” he chuckled.

You and Bob relaxed into smooth and easy conversation. Both your mothers would have scolded you for resting your elbows on the table, especially in such a fancy restaurant, but neither of you cared as you leaned in closer to one another, whispering over the candlelight as the twinkling lights outside the window illuminated your lovestruck faces. Faintly, in the distance, you could hear the soft sounds of classic Christmas tunes being played on a piano. It was the most perfect evening you could have imagined.

The food was some of the best you’d ever tasted. After much debate, you finally settled on the filet mignon with a bearnaise sauce, roasted vegetables, and what had to be the world’s creamiest mashed potatoes, while Bob selected the pork medallions with roasted garlic fingerling potatoes and a brussel sprout salad. Although really it was hard to say who had ordered what considering the way you kept picking food off each other’s plates.

By the time the sour-cherry cheesecake trifle that the two of you had ordered for the grand finale came out, you felt like you were going to burst right out of your pretty red dress. But like you always said, there was always room for dessert.

“You want to know the craziest thing?” you asked, looking up at Bob as you set your fork down on the plate resting between you and your husband. When he nodded at you, you went on, “I just realized that I didn’t think about any of my holiday planning at all today—the shopping, my work party, the parties we’re hosting, none of it. It didn’t cross my mind at all even though it’s all I’ve been thinking about these past few weeks. Isn’t that funny?”

Bob set his fork down as well and gazed at you from across the table, the corners of his mouth turning up in a small smile. “Good,” he said, reaching out to take your hand in his once more, gently playing with your wedding band. “That was my mission, and it sounds like it was a success. I wanted today to be a day where you just got to have fun and enjoy this time of year. I know how much it means to you, and I also know that it’ll be over in the blink of an eye, so we have to make the most of it while we can.”

Your heart melted at his words, and you felt the corners of your eyes pricking with happy tears. Your husband was truly the most thoughtful, selfless, caring man you had ever known. You would never know what you had ever done to get so lucky as to find him.

“Oh, Bobby,” you breathed out, mimicking his actions and lightly rolling his wedding band underneath your finger as you reached for his other hand. You were quiet for a moment, then thought of his words from earlier, the words that had been niggling the back of your mind on and off since you’d left the ice skating rink. “What you said before,” you began slowly, chewing on your bottom lip, “about missing me these past few weeks. Have I really been that busy? I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, honey, no,” Bob gasped, squeezing your hands tightly in his own. “I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty. I’ve just been worried about you, that’s all. You’re always so happy this time of year, and I know how much it means to you, so I hate to see you running yourself ragged like you have been. I guess I was starting to be afraid that you were going to burn yourself out before Christmas even got here.”

Your heart constricted at the genuine concern in his voice, at the way he was always looking out for you, even when you weren’t paying careful enough attention.

“And I have missed you,” he added softly, lifting one of your hands to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to it.

“I’ve missed you, too, honey,” you whispered, your throat clogging with emotion as you thought of the many nights you’d come home later than usual after running to the stores after work, too tired to curl up on the couch and watch a movie with your husband or just get to enjoy his company. “And you’re right—I have been running myself ragged. I can feel it. I’ve been so tired, and I feel like I don’t even have the time to enjoy all my favorite traditions.” You sighed softly, shaking your head. “I just—I just wanted everything to be perfect this year, you know?”

“It always is perfect,” Bob murmured encouragingly, gently stroking the inside of your wrist with his calloused fingertips, his movements slow and soothing.

“I know, but with it being our first married Christmas, I guess I just wanted it to be really perfect. I got it into my head that we needed to start all these new traditions and that I had to keep on top of everything at all times to make sure that it happened, but now I’m realizing that in the process of all that, I lost sight of what’s most important about celebrating our first Christmas as husband and wife—you,” you admitted, reaching up to lovingly cup his cheek in your hand.

He smiled softly at your words, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to the inside of your palm. “Sweetheart, the good news is that we have a whole lifetime of making traditions together. So long as it’s you and me, then that’s all I need,” he promised you.

You nodded, a couple stray tears spilling down your cheeks, which you wiped away with a sheepish little laugh. “You’re right. Today was a pretty good start to some Floyd Christmas traditions, I think,” you told him with a grin.

Bob reached out to thumb away the tears sparkling like diamonds on your skin. “I agree,” he smiled. “But the truth is, I don’t care what we’re doing. We could go ice skating on the beach or watch a movie on the couch. We could have a five-star dinner at the Fairmont Grand Del Mar or eat take-out on the kitchen floor.” He glanced around for a moment, just to check if anyone had heard him, his blue eyes laughing as he turned back to you. “I just want to do it with you. That’s what Christmas really means to me, sweetheart. All the other stuff, that’s icing on the cake.”

“I love you so much,” you whispered, leaning across the table and capturing his mouth with your own, the taste of sour cherries and champagne still clinging to his lips.

His fingers tangled in your hair as he cradled the back of your head and kissed you back until you were both sitting breathless in your chairs.

“You’re the love of my life,” he told you. “No matter how many traditions come and go, that’s one thing that will never change.”

As soon as you and Bob got home that night, exhausted in the best way after a perfect day together, you both ran to change into the Christmas pajamas you’d worn last Christmas Eve, then curled up on the couch with steaming mugs of hot cocoa to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas.

“Tired?” Bob asked softly as the Peanuts crew sang “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” while the credits rolled.

“Mmm, a little,” you nodded, lifting your head from where it had been resting on his shoulder.

“Ready to head to bed?” he yawned, pushing the blanket back and rising from the couch before turning to hold his hands out to you.

“Mhm,” you murmured, slipping your hands into your husband’s and allowing him to pull you to your feet. “But not to go to sleep just yet,” you added pointedly.

At your husband’s raised brows, you giggled softly.

“I still have to properly thank you for today,” you reminded him with a playful wink.

You had never seen him move so fast.

That Christmas turned out to be one of the best you’d ever celebrated. Your work party went off without a hitch, the Daggers were already talking about how they needed to make a party at the Floyds’ an annual Christmas tradition, and your families loved getting to spend the holidays together as one huge unit. Every gift you’d purchased was well received and every meal you cooked was touted as the best anyone had ever eaten.

But that wasn’t what made it so special.

As you had been reminded this year, Christmas was about so much more than the planning and the presents and the parties. Those things were nice, sure, but they weren’t what made this time of year so magical.

What made this Christmas so perfect was the handsome man with blue eyes and a wide smile waiting for you beneath the mistletoe.

He was the only gift you needed, today and every day for the rest of your life.

#a lew magoo christmas #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun: maverick #lewis pullman

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livwritesstuff · 4 months

Text

‘tis my birthday today (it’s gotta be one of the worst birthdays to have, we don’t need to talk about it) anyways that’s where this is coming from

(also i’m not trying to imply that jan 1 is eddie’s bday. i wouldn’t wish that on anybody. besides, he is def a weirdo february aquarius)

The second half of the calendar year is nothing short of pandemonium for Eddie and Steve and their three daughters.

Moe’s birthday in late July kicks it off, almost immediately followed by Steve’s birthday in early August, then Hazel’s in September. Robbie’s birthday comes mere days after Halloween, and from there they dive headfirst into the bedlam of the holiday season.

Much to Eddie's relief, they all made it to yet another New Year's Day, and while the girls are definitely feeling the end-of-winter-break blues, Eddie welcomes the reprieve in festivities, brief as it may be.

His own birthday is up next – though not for another month.

He’s really not a birthday kind of guy. Never had been.

He loves making birthdays exciting for Steve and their daughters (they have a whole slew of traditions and everything – there’s names spelled out in pancakes involved; it's a very big deal), but his own…not so much.

It managed to fly under the radar for the past few years, but since this year is the big Five-Oh, he knows Steve won’t let him get away with that again.

Eddie has a complicated relationship with his birthday. When he was younger and the weight of Birthday Importance was at its peak, he never really celebrated the way other kids got to, and now, as an adult, he doesn’t know how to feel the things you’re supposed to feel about your birthday.

Steve does a good job, despite Eddie’s weirdness.

His favorite, Eddie thinks, was the year Moe was born, when Steve had managed to catch him off guard by renting a tiny cottage up in Maine for a few days.

“Moe or no Moe,” Steve had asked, “I’ve got Rob and Nance on standby.”

(They’d taken Moe. She saw snow for the first time. It was amazing, and people who don't want to involve their kids in stuff are a bunch of fucking weirdos).

Steve gives him a letter every year – handwritten on notebook paper and folded into whatever cheesy card he picks out.

Eddie keeps most of the letters in a fireproof lockbox along with all their passports and social security cards and birth certificates (look – Eddie doesn’t fuck around with priceless shit), but he keeps the most recent one – the one Steve gave him for his forty-ninth birthday nearly a year ago – in the top drawer of his bedside table.

He has it pretty much memorized at this point.

It says:

Ed! (with an exclamation point and everything – god, does Eddie love him)

49.

Holy shit we’re getting old.

Writing this is making me think about all the ones from the beginning, when I’d write about our future together even though we didn’t have a damn clue what we were working towards for a while.

I think we’re in it, man. Crazy, right?

(The ink color suddenly switches from blue to purple)

Sorry for the color change. Hazy decided she needed a blue pen immediately. Hope your vision hasn’t gone totally to shit and you can still read the purple.

Anyways, since I have you hostage reading this, I’m gonna take the opportunity to discuss you, because you don’t let me in real life most of the time.

You are gorgeous. Best looking face I’ve ever seen. I wonder how much time I’ve lost off my day just staring at you (actually, not a loss. I take that back)

You suck at puzzles – I know that sounds bad, but it’s great for me. I need that to rub off on Moe because she’s getting pretty good and that’s gonna be a problem for me.

You make me laugh so fucking hard every day. I’m praying the girls get your sense of “elevated” humor or whatever you like to call it

You’re so fucking smart, Eddie. I count myself lucky for it endlessly

You are completely 100% you all the time. I’m still working on that I think but I’m getting there because of you. I’m glad all that shit we went through didn’t take that away from you.

the BEST dad. Can’t believe I didn’t say that sooner. Not to brag but our kids are turning out pretty awesome (can’t go around saying that too much though it’ll go right to their heads and then any power we have left goes out the window)

You’re probably the best person I’ve ever known. Don’t think I’ll be forgetting what a catch you are any time soon, because I won't.

Thank you for loving me even all these years later. My life is better every day that I’m with you.

We’ll keep things quiet this year. Don’t get used to it though. Next year’s gonna be a rager.

Love you always!

- Steve :) ♡ ☆

#over-the-moon in love steve absolutely writes a mean love letter #to those who get steve's sign-off -> ilysm that's an old post #shoutout to the partners of birthday-haters #y’all are doing the most and it is appreciated #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

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piratekane · 1 year

Text

Beatrice sighs as her pen runs out of ink. This is the second pen today and she’s starting to feel like there is something working against her. But, that seems illogical. The more logical conclusion is that Ava has used her pens. She has a tendency to use them until they’re nearly dry and put them back in Beatrice’s backpack, thinking she’s doing a good job returning them to where she found them.

Not maliciously. There’s nothing Ava does that is malicious. Beatrice knows she’s probably thinking: I borrowed this. I need to put it back. And then she does and Beatrice opens her backpack at the student center the next day, intent on getting some work done while she waits for Ava, and finds her pens dry.

She looks through her pencil case but there isn’t another pen, just a precisely sharpened standard pencil, two black mechanical pencils, a yellow highlighter, a soft white eraser, and her red pen - used to make corrections only. She debates using it.

No. It would ruin her notes.

Instead, she pulls out her laptop. She’ll just continue her notes there and transfer them to her notebook later. The extra repetition will be good for her. Her professor asked her a question she wasn’t quite prepared for and she knows she’s going to be thinking about it all week until she has a chance to redeem herself in the next class.

Her screen comes to life and she sighs. This one isn’t born from frustration like her last one; this one is an acceptance, an admitting to herself that, despite what she’s looking at, she can’t help but feel a rush of affection for it.

Ava has changed her desktop background again. This time, it’s a picture Camila took last weekend. Ava is in a white shirt and white shorts, a white sweatband around her forehead. All of it is stained in neon paint. She’s holding a fake plastic trophy high above her head with one hand, the other looped around Beatrice’s neck, the two of them squished into the frame. Her own clothes are soaked with the same bright colors.

How she agreed to something called a Color Run... The idea of running through cannons of color had not sounded appealing, but Ava had come home with a flyer she found on the bulletin board outside the cafeteria and presented it to Beatrice alongside a bulleted list of reasons why Beatrice should say yes.

She let Ava go through the list: one, you love to exercise. Two, it’s advertised to make the world ‘healthier’ and you’re always telling me I need to start making better choices. Three, imagine if we got Lilith to agree to come and someone blasted her with a color cannon?

The third one hadn’t been convincing. Lilith would never agree to something like that.

Beatrice didn’t tell her that the list didn’t matter; she was going to say yes the moment Ava handed her the flyer and looked at her with those eyes, the ones that always made Beatrice feel like she could free fall and not care what waits for her at the other end of it.

And she had to admit, it was rather fun. The white clothes they bought were completely ruined, but it had been worth it to see the way Ava beamed the whole run, sprinting ahead to circle back around her. She had thrown her arms wide when the color cannons went off, soaking in the powder. Beatrice soaked in her happiness in return.

It hasn’t been long. Spring is fading into summer quickly and Ava has been living with her for two months and every single moment has been filled with the kind of happiness that Beatrice could have only dreamed about when she was younger. The kind of happiness that made each day feel like it was worth waking up for.

She hadn’t gone looking for this, hadn’t expected something like this to just fall into her lap - or literally crash into her table. It’s illogical to think fate sent Ava into her orbit, but if she was pressed, she could admit that each of them must have been in the right place at the right time. Serendipity, Ava said with a rakish smile. We were destined to meet.

If there was such a thing as serendipity, it must be working in her favor.

She opens a word document, the cursor blinking at the top of the page. She titles it Anthropological Theories of Religion and flips through her textbook until she finds the correct page. She likes this class, likes how as she continues through her degree program the class gets smaller, more intimate. She typically likes the professor, though she feels thrown off by her now.

Halfway through a word, her world goes dark. Warm hands slide over her eyes, fingertips pressing against her skin.

She smiles nearly instantly. “Ava.”

“Not Ava,” says a low voice. But it’s clunky, a poor imitation at something deeper.

Beatrice plays along for just a moment, indulging Ava and a part of herself that likes to make Ava happy. “Oh? Well then. I suppose a stranger has found it appropriate to put their hands on me.” She curls her fingers around a thin wrist, one her hand already knows the shape of, and tightens slightly. “I do know how to disarm you.”

“You could try.”

Beatrice tightens her grip in response and hears a slight exhale that glances against the shell of her ear. A fingertip skates across her brow briefly and then Ava is letting go, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before she sits down heavily in the chair next to Beatrice.

“How did you know it was me? What if I was… Mary?”

Beatrice spares Ava a glance. “Mary knows better. You, on the other hand…”

“I’ve never known better.” Ava says it with pride. “Especially not when it comes to you.”

Beatrice feels her chest tighten. She wonders if Ava knows, if Ava understands how something so simple unspools the tight loop Beatrice keeps around her heart. A part of her thinks Ava must. Ava is able to read her so thoroughly. From the moment they met, Ava has seen through her so effortlessly. It’s thrilling, to be seen like that.

And it’s devastatingly terrifying.

“Yes, well,” she says quietly.

“One day, you’ll use that to your advantage.” Ava spins Beatrice’s textbook towards her, reading a few of the section titles before she turns it back towards Beatrice. “But you’re also too nice for that, so who knows.”

Beatrice straightens out her textbook out of habit more than anything else. “You’re late.”

Ava smiles sheepishly. “I got caught up.” She doesn’t give an answer past that.

Beatrice nearly frowns. Ava doesn’t owe her any more of an explanation. She just usually gives one.

“But I’m here now!” Ava takes off her backpack, resting it on the floor before she opens it and takes out her own laptop. “I thought you didn’t like typing your notes? Muscle memory or something, right?”

“My pens are out of ink.”

Ava’s cheeks flush. “That’s my fault, isn’t it.”

“It’s certainly not mine.” She says it without any malice. “I just need to start carrying more pens.”

Ava still looks guilty. She fishes into the pocket of her jean shorts and unearths a stick of gum, three paper clips, and an uncapped pen. She spreads them out on the table and nudges the pen towards Beatrice. It’s not the tip she likes, thicker than she usually uses, and it’s blue. If red would ruin her notes, this would change the physical shape of them.

She takes the offered pen and closes her laptop. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.” Ava smiles and scoops the paper clips up, putting them back in her pocket.

Beatrice will find them later when she does the laundry and she’ll add them to the jar of pocket-trinkets she keeps of all the things Ava leaves behind in her clothes. It’s made up of coins and paper clips and pen caps - all things that Ava swears she’s going to put in proper places but never remembers until Beatrice is pulling them out of the washing machine.

Ava takes the gum and breaks it in half, offering it to Beatrice. She has coffee and this gum is spearmint. The combination will taste horrible. But she puts the gum in her mouth and smiles when Ava does.

“So, listen to what MacKay did today.” Ava tells the story animatedly, face shifting as she plays each character. Beatrice doesn’t catch every word, too focused on the rise and fall of her voice and the way her hands move as she goes on. Beatrice finds herself smiling along, not at all caring about some girl named Carina or Professor MacKay and whatever argument they’ve gotten into this week.

Ava is halfway through her story, body gearing up to drop the punch line, when her face shifts and her eyes cut over Beatrice’s shoulder. Beatrice frowns, turning to look. A boy is approaching their table, hands locked around the straps of his backpack as he strides towards them.

“Hey, Ava!” he calls.

Beatrice looks back at Ava. She knows this boy, at the very least. But her face is unreadable - a feat Ava doesn’t manage to accomplish very often. He comes closer and Beatrice’s frown deepens.

“Ah,” Ava says quietly.

Ah?

The boy slows as he reaches their table, a smile on his face that someone might find charming. She studies Ava’s face. Does she find it charming?

“Hey, Ava,” he repeats. His voice is smooth, slightly accented. A traitorous part of her thinks of the time that Ava said she liked accents. “I was hoping to catch you after class.”

Ava smiles. “Sorry, JC. I was in a hurry. Had a lunch date.” She hooks a thumb in Beatrice’s direction. “JC, meet Beatrice, my best friend. Beatrice, this is JC. He’s my biology lab partner.”

JC. She’s never heard of him before. Ava talks about everyone and everything. Some nights, she talks until she falls asleep on the couch, her Hobbes stuffed animal clutched in her arms. It’s almost as if she collects stories all day just to tell them to Beatrice later. She knows about every one of Ava’s classmates, is - secretly - invested in her Literary Theory classmates, Robert and Nayara, and their on-again, off-again relationship. She knows about the librarian Ava likes, who doesn’t mind her iced coffee, as long as she uses a paper towel and keeps it away from the books.

But she’s never heard of a JC, or anyone who might use the initials JC.

And it’s not that Ava isn’t allowed to have friends. She is. She has plenty of them. She always says hello to at least fifteen people when they go out, either here to their favorite table in the student center or in the library or walking to the cafeteria if they’re getting lunch between classes. Ava loves people, loves knowing things about them. Beatrice loves that about her.

She just thought she knew all of them. Or has heard of them before. She certainly thinks she would have remembered hearing about Ava’s lab partner. It's odd, now, that she hasn't.

JC smiles at her, his eyes taking a moment longer to shift away from Ava. “It’s nice to meet you. Ava has talked a lot about you.”

Beatrice hides her smile at that. “Nice to meet you,” she says politely.

He completely turns from her, his job of mirroring her politeness gone, his job done. Beatrice finds herself studying him. He’s attractive in a conventional sense. A strong jaw, a good smile. Camila would have many things to say about him and Beatrice works to keep her voice out of her mind. She focuses on Lilith instead.

Boys, she would probably sneer. Beatrice agrees.

JC runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back a little. Beatrice watches Ava’s eyes follow the motion and fights a visible frown. JC notices, though, and seems to preen a little in a way only university-age boys can when they find themselves to be attractive. She takes a centering breath. She doesn’t know JC. She’s sure he’s a nice person. She’s also sure he’d be a nicer one if he wasn’t standing at their table right now.

“I just wanted to know if you gave any thought to my question.”

“Ah,” Ava says again.

Ah?

JC doesn’t seem bothered. “I know your rule on dating your lab partner. It’s a very specific rule but I think you should give me a chance.”

Dating echoes in Beatrice’s head like a slow siren, like the slow spin of a lantern in a lighthouse. It illuminates JC, floating in the ocean in her mind, with his charming smile and his hopeful eyes. Ava appears next, face unreadable. They rotate around and around until they’re in the same frame.

She blinks and Ava is staring at her, a slight wrinkle in her forehead.

Beatrice keeps her face neutral, unsure of what else to do with it. She certainly can’t shout no. She absolutely will not encourage it. She’s stuck in a sort of limbo where she isn’t sure what comes next and so she waits, poised and ready to do whatever is needed of her.

Ava’s frown deepens.

JC takes the silence and runs with it. “If it’s because you’re worried about things being awkward if it doesn’t go well - and that’s a big if - then you don’t need to worry.” His smile widens and he leans one hand down on the table, his whole body angled towards Ava now. “What do you say?”

Say no, she thinks. Tell him to go away.

Ava has been living with her for two months and Beatrice has been in love with her for at least half of that.

It took some getting used to, this feeling. It took many nights laying in bed staring at the ceiling and pretending like the feelings she had for Ava were just a friendship. An intense one, born of their proximity and Ava’s natural affinity for people in general.

But love is friendship caught on fire, she’s read before. And her friendship with Ava is a living, burning thing. She knows their love would be incendiary, scorching everything she thought love looked like before.

If - and it’s a big if - Ava ever wanted to love her back.

Why would she? Why would she give up a world of possibility for Beatrice? She’s certainly nothing special. She’s disciplined, polite, considerate to the needs of others - all the things her parents wanted her to be. Ava wants someone free, a little brash, selfish in the right ways. Beatrice is none of those things, can’t even begin to think of how she could be. But Ava deserves to get what she wants after all those years of being denied even the simplest of things.

Beatrice just doesn’t have the qualities Ava could want. Friendship is one thing. Being in love with someone is another. Beatrice is hyper aware of the difference.

It doesn’t stop her from dreaming about it, though. It doesn’t stop her from wishing for it.

“What’s the worst that could happen? We spend the rest of the semester ignoring each other?” he asks, smile charming.

Yes, she thinks. What’s the worst that could happen between them? They could spend the rest of the lease ignoring each other. Ava would never look at her the same.

She’d have to go back to living her life the way it was before Ava - not the worst, but not as great as this.

“I don’t know,” Ava finally hedges.

Yes, Beatrice exhales in her mind.

JC leans forward a little more. “It doesn’t need to be anything big. We could go for one of those iced coffees you like. At the cafe near Venable?”

“She likes the one near the English department.”

Beatrice frowns. Surely that wasn’t her voice. But Ava and JC are both looking at her. So it must have been her. There’s a slight smile on Ava’s face, a slight frown on JC’s. Beatrice clears her throat.

“I’m sorry. I just…”

JC recovers. “The one near Eldridge Hall, sure. I know someone who works there. She can sneak us a pastry.”

Ava hasn’t looked away from Beatrice. “I don’t know,” she repeats.

Beatrice swallows. It’s fine. Ava is - well, not quite a grown up, but certainly not a child. Despite her propensity for Saturday morning cartoons on Beatrice’s Hulu account - which is ruining the algorithm of her suggested shows - and sleeping on the couch upside down like a toddler and eating, God help her, shredded cheese out of the bag after finishing half a gallon of milk without even pouring herself a glass, she is not a child.

She can make her own decisions. And if that decision is- If it’s- Well. Beatrice swallows past a knot forming in her throat. Well. She can do what she pleases. Including this probably-very-nice-boy in front of them. She’s allowed to do that.

So she smiles tightly, her lips pressing together thinly, and tells herself to get it together. She keeps her focus on Ava and loosens her mouth and it feels a little more natural. She inhales through her nose. She can tell Ava that she’s free to do whatever she wants with whoever she wants.

“You do like a free pastry,” is what she ends up saying.

Ava’s forehead pinches, the corners of her mouth crinkling. “I do,” she says slowly, confused.

“An iced coffee and a pastry.” Beatrice says it just as slowly. “Both things that you enjoy.”

“I do,” Ava repeats.

Beatrice nods encouragingly. Her head feels like it’s on a spring, up and down and up and down. She’s worried it’s going to roll off.

JC looks between the two of them, confusion on his face. Beatrice sees him out of the corner of her eye and her smile tightens again.

Ava is still staring at her, still frowning slightly. Beatrice forces herself into her most diplomatic smile.

Don’t you get it? she wants to ask. Don’t you understand what I’m trying to say?

But Ava misses it. Because she breaks Beatrice’s gaze and focuses on JC instead. Beatrice thinks her smile is slightly dimmer. Or she’s just hoping it is. But it still doesn’t ease the pain of knowing there is a smile and it’s aimed at JC.

She opens her mouth, but he beats her to it. “Listen, you have my number. I’m done with classes this evening. And then you’ll meet me for coffee, okay? And you won’t regret it.”

Ava says nothing. JC pushes back from their table and smiles, hooking his hands back around the straps of his bag. His eyes wander to Beatrice and he nods politely before turning in a lazy circle and heading back through the crowd as the student center starts to fill up as afternoon classes.

Beatrice looks away instantly, busying herself with adjusting her notebook. It doesn’t need to be straightened out. In fact, she pushes it out of place and the pen Ava loaned her starts to roll across the table towards the edge. She reaches for it at the same time as Ava does.

Their fingers tangle and the pen is trapped under Beatrice’s palm. She pauses, every nerve exposed, and looks up to find Ava already looking back at her.

She smiles, mouth still wound too tight. “I’ve got it.”

“Do you?” Ava asks curiously.

Beatrice frowns, looking down. Their fingers are still slotted together, still laced over the pen. Of course she has it. It’s right there, scratching blue ink against her palm.

“Because it seems like you’ve lost everything else,” Ava continues. “Like your cool, for instance.”

She pulls back minutely. “My-” Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that?”

Ava shrugs a shoulder. She only does that when she has a secret, when there’s something that Beatrice missed, a cue she didn’t read. “You do like a free pastry,” she mocks, her voice pitched low in a terrible approximation of Beatrice’s accent. “What gotten into you?”

“Oh.” Beatrice bristles. “Well, you do.”

“I know that. You know that.” Ava pauses. “Why does JC need to know that?”

Beatrice doesn’t have a good answer for that. So she makes one up. “Your potential suitors will need to know things about you. That is less a trivia fact and more of a necessity.”

Ava snorts loudly. Beatrice looks around, but no one seems bothered by the sudden noise. “My potential suitors?” She shakes her head. “Bea, honestly. No one talks like you do.”

She doesn’t make it sound like an insult. She never does, never has. She seems more entertained than anything, but not in a way that makes Beatrice uncomfortable or self-conscious. It makes her feel seen. And she loves to be seen by Ava. It uncoils some of the tension in her shoulder that she knows is radiating into her hand, tense under Ava’s touch.

Ava doesn’t move her hand. “Well, thanks to you, I think I’m going on a date tonight.”

Thanks to me. Thanks to the way she said Ava would enjoy herself. Thanks to her, Ava is meeting someone who isn’t her for a coffee at Ava’s favorite cafe where she only brings Beatrice. One of our places, Ava always tells her with a smile.

“You can say no,” she reminds Ava, her whole body locking up again.

Say no, say no. She feels each word burn in her throat. But why would she? Why would she pick someone like JC over me?

Ava is still looking at her curiously, head tipped slightly as she studies her face. Beatrice holds still, face perfectly impassive from years of practice. She doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t open her mouth and tell Ava that JC seemed nice but she deserves something better than nice; something spectacular.

Then again, she’s not sure that Ava would feel that way about her.

So she forces her face to relax. Works through each muscle until she’s smiling slightly and nods encouragingly. “But if you like him and can see yourself enjoying your time, you should say yes.”

“Do you want me to?”

The question cuts through her with the intensity of a perfect lightning strike. She pulls back slightly, the only indication Ava’s hand tightening over hers when it starts to slide away. Ava’s face has gone from curious to a level of seriousness usually reserved for her more difficult homework assignments, or when she’s trying to figure out something Beatrice said.

“I don’t… I don’t think that’s my decision.”

“Well, you’re my best friend.”

Beatrice has never hated a description more in her life. She fights the visceral reaction she feels come alive in her chest. She is Ava’s best friend. She’s admitted that more times than her parents have told her they love her. The first time had been a surprise to both of them, almost too soon after Ava moved in. But it felt natural. Ava slotted into the unknown hole in her life like she had always been there.

But she’d set their whole foundation on fire if it meant one day she could be Ava’s best friend and, and, and.

She widens her smile, feeling like she’s playing a part. “Of course. But I suppose… Well, there’s no harm in trying, is there?”

Ava’s hand slides away now and the feeling that she said the wrong thing rushes in on her.

“A very diplomatic answer, Beatrice.” She pats the top of Beatrice’s hand before she pulls it into her lap. “Remind me again why you’re not running for student government?”

Beatrice doesn’t smile. She simply touches her notebook, arranging it’s already perfect line. She looks down at the chunky-tipped blue pen sitting on the page, so out of place against the neat, thin, black lines of her notes. Suddenly the idea of writing with it feels overwhelming.

“I think we better get to lunch.” She puts the pen in front of Ava. “Camila said she was going to meet us there.”

She needs the buffer, needs to put space between them. Camila is the perfect distraction. Mary and Shannon would know instantly that something was wrong - and they’d corner her until she said what. But perhaps they might not; Shannon seems supernaturally in tune with her and there’s rarely a thing she needs to tell her. Lilith would read Beatrice’s hesitation and be annoyed. Or think it’s Ava’s fault and be cagey when she doesn’t need to be. Camila would be too polite to acknowledge the tension Beatrice knows is radiating off her.

Ava, mercifully, doesn’t argue with her or point out that Camila isn’t meeting them for another 15 minutes and the walk only takes 5. She pockets the pen again and packs her things away, waiting for Beatrice to zip her bag closed.

They walk inches apart, shoulders to themselves. It’s the longest 5 minutes of Beatrice’s life.

The door opens slowly. Beatrice looks up from her book, the one she’s been reading since Ava left; the one she hasn’t been reading at all. Ava slips through it, back turned to close the door quietly behind her. When she turns to the living room, she gasps.

“Beatrice.”

Beatrice blinks. “Why are you sneaking back in?”

Ava is still taking deep breaths, hand pressed to her chest. “I thought you’d be sleeping.”

“At…” Beatrice checks her phone, frowning. “Eight o’clock in the evening?”

The tips of Ava’s ears go red just enough for Beatrice to notice. “Well. I didn’t look at the time.”

Beatrice looks out the window at the golden sunset. “It’s still light out.”

“You’re an early sleeper.” Ava sounds like she’s grasping at straws, the pitch of her voice rising.

“Not that early,” Beatrice says flatly. She slips her bookmark into her book, grateful to be closing it. “8 hours a night are important, but if I went to sleep at this hour, I’d be up at four in the morning. That’s too early, even for me.”

Ava toes off her shoes, kicking them towards the shoe rack at the door. One of them lands on the rack but the other bounces off it and away. Ava sighs, fixes it, and runs a hand through her hair when she straightens up.

“How-” Beatrice stops. She suddenly needs to be busy, needs to have her hands moving. She could open her book again, thumb through the pages. But tea sounds better. She stands, crossing to the kitchen and filling the electric kettle.

“I got you a coffee.” Ava pulls out a stool tucked at the breakfast bar, leaning forward with her chin in her hands. “But some kid on a skateboard crashed into me when he cut a corner and took the coffee down with him.”

Beatrice pulls two mugs out the cabinet, dropping a tea bag in each. “Are you okay?”

“Just my pride.” Ava shrugs when Beatrice looks back. “But I’m disappointed. I got you a mocha chip frappuchino. Lucy put in extra chocolate chips.”

Something flutters in Beatrice’s chest, a sudden thought that overwhelms her: maybe Ava does these things because she feels it too. She pushes it down and smiles. “I do like when Lucy makes my drinks. But, maybe next time.”

Ava is quiet long enough that Beatrice wonders if she left. The kettle starts to whistle and she fills the mugs, balancing them carefully as she carries them to the counter Ava hasn’t moved from. She’s just uncharacteristically quiet. She hums a thank you and curls her hands around the mug, hissing when she finds it’s too hot.

Beatrice can’t help the fond smile; Ava is always rushing into things.

It’s why Beatrice knows Ava doesn’t feel the same way. She’s not rushing into this, not caught up in a whirlwind like she is with everything else.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how my date was?” Ava finally asks.

I don’t want to know.

“How was your date?” she asks politely.

Tell me it was the worst date you’ve ever been on. Worse than the one you told me about where the boy slurped his pasta and sauce got everywhere; worse than the one where the girl tried to cast a love spell on you.

Ava shrugs. “It was… nice.” She blows on her tea. “JC is a good guy. I knew that already. But it wasn’t… groundbreaking.”

Beatrice is patient, letting her tea cool on its own. “Does a date need to be groundbreaking?”

“World-breaking.” Ava says it so quickly and fiercely, Beatrice has to blink. “It should be life-altering.”

“That seems like a lot to expect for a first date.” Beatrice points out. “At a coffee shop. With your lab partner.”

Ava shrugs. “Maybe I just have high expectations.”

Ones Beatrice can never live up to, it seems.

She smiles, hoping it looks warm and friendly. “You’ll have a hard time finding someone with an outlook like that.”

“I don’t know.” Ava takes a sip of her tea, hisses again. “I mean, a lot of things in my life have been like that. Getting out of the orphanage. Getting into school. Meeting you.” She’s staring at Beatrice now, a smile on her face.

She curls her hands around her mug and fights the way it burns her skin. She’s hardly earth-shattering, hardly worth that much. There’s no way she could be. But Ava is so earnest all the time, means things so completely. And if she’s saying that, Beatrice has to acknowledge that Ava considers her something great. A great friendship that Beatrice could never, ever risk.

But she feels herself flush all the same. “I’d hardly call it that.” She hedges around her next question. “So, no second date?”

She wonders if Ava hears the way her voice trembles; she can certainly feel it in her chest.

But Ava doesn’t seem to, too focused on taking another, slower, sip of her tea. This one apparently doesn’t scald her tongue. She grins up at Beatrice, hunched over the steaming mug. She’s brought her legs up on the rungs of the stool and her knees are around her ears. Ava clutches the mug tightly to her chest.

She’s in love with a menace.

“I don’t think so,” Ava says after a minute. “I mean, I don’t really have a reason not to, but…”

Beatrice breathes in deeply, steadying herself. She’s not a reason for Ava to say no. She knows that. “That’s not very encouraging,” she says instead.

Ava shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not looking for anything to change right now. I want things to stay exactly as they are. Things are perfect. And if I went out with him again, I’d just be, I don’t know. Pretending.”

She takes another measured sip of her tea. She feels like she’s walking in the empty space between the points of knives. “You wouldn’t be happy.”

Ava shakes her head softly. “No, I wouldn’t be. How could I be happy if I was pretending all the time?”

Beatrice knows. Because she is. She’s pretending from the moment she wakes up to the moment she falls asleep alone and all the seconds in between. She’s pretending that everything she’s feeling isn’t consuming her from the inside out.

All the books she read as a child, all the romances novels she devoured in her bed with a flashlight illuminating the pages - none of it described the way it feels now. Love is friendship on fire had seemed like such a childish thing to say. Something arbitrary and insignificant. But now she understands what it’s supposed to mean, what she could never understand before with anyone else.

“You couldn’t,” she admits. She’s not lying.

Ava’s eyes are still piercing, still searching her face. She wonders what Ava is trying to find and she keeps the truth as far away from her as she can. Either she finds something else or she gives up, because her face breaks into two and she’s grinning.

Ava slurps her tea, smiling wider when Beatrice looks mildly disgusted. “Alright. The way I see it, we have two options: we have a sleepover night where you let me braid your hair and I let you paint my toenails.” She laughs when the mild disgust turns into outright horror. “Or, I get you back into that really nice sweater you were wearing earlier and we got off in search of a replacement mocha chip frappuchino?”

Beatrice abandons her tea almost immediately. “Do you know what time Lucy’s shift is over?”

Ava jumps off her stool, landing lightly on her feet. She doesn’t bother with sneakers, socked feet sliding into sandals. Beatrice thinks about telling her how ridiculous it looks: her mid-calf socks usually hidden by her high-top sneakers, and a pair of black slides; her jean shorts where the pocket hangs just a little too long past the hem; her crop top with How you lichen me now? hand-stenciled on the front, from the one botany club meeting she attended; her hair half-pulled back in a high top-knot; a crooked grin on her face.

She’s the most beautiful woman Beatrice has ever seen in her life.

And one day, someone else is going to get to call her theirs. Beatrice will be left with the empty space where Ava used to be, her own space in Ava’s life filled up with someone else. Someone better. Someone she wants to rush headlong into the future with. Someone she sees a world of possibilities with.

Beatrice will be happy for her. Or, she’ll exhaust herself pretending.

“Milady,” Ava says, mouth tripping over the sounds. She holds out her arm. “Will you accompany me on this chip?”

Beatrice rolls her eyes. “You hardly made an effort that time.”

Ava’s smile doesn’t falter. “One of these days, I’ll impress you, Beatrice. You’ll see.” She wags her finger at Beatrice. “And then you’ll realize how special I am. You’ll never want to lose me.”

“No,” she says quietly. Ava slips away to grab her phone, abandoned on the breakfast bar. Beatrice waits by the door, holding it open. “I don’t suppose I ever will.”

It’s inevitable. She’ll lose Ava to someone who loves her out loud, someone good enough for her. But she’s going to bury greedy hands into the moments in between and hold on for as long as Ava lets her.

“I think I’m going to tell JC it was nice, but we won’t go out again,” Ava says conversationally as they exit their apartment building, headed towards campus. “He was nice, but… I’m looking for better.”

“You’ll find it,” she says, believing it wholeheartedly. She unthinkingly maneuvers Ava around a crack in the sidewalk. “You just need to be patient.”

“Patience isn’t my strong suit.” Her hand slides to Beatrice’s, their fingers slotting together for a fleeting moment. “I don’t know how much longer I can wait. But I'll try.”

Just keep waiting. Wait forever, her mind screams. Don’t find anyone before I can be who you need me to be.

Ava takes in her silence and laughs. Beatrice frowns, not in on the joke, but doesn’t protest when Ava laces an arm through hers, pulling until their pressed together from the shoulder to their elbows, digging into each other. There’s no space between them, not for a slip of paper or a secret.

Ava hums softly, some tune Beatrice doesn’t know, but would guess is some new song on the radio that she’s never heard. Beatrice lets it bubble in her chest, sinks into it’s familiar warmth, and hopes that whatever God is watching over her lets her keep this moment for as long as she can.

And if he isn’t, she hopes he’s just not paying enough attention to realize she’s living on borrowed time and that she’s running out of it.

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #forever roommates #jealousy turning saints into the sea #but also poor bea?#(as if i didn't write her into this corner)#everyone say thank you kay thank you kay #anyway let's try for a little less next time yes?

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aclowntiny · 7 months

Text

Ink Trails- Hongjoong x GN!Reader (Soulmate AU)

Just about everyone has a soulmate, a person they're destined to be with, to go through life with in some capacity. The mark of this? Anything you write on your skin shows up on theirs.

Word Count: 2.4k | Soulmate AU, Banter, Faint Humor | Warnings: a bit of language

You weren’t a big fan of drawing on yourself. As a child, you were something of a neat freak, washing all the dirt you could off your hands and never wanting to add ammo to the enemy in yours and the sink’s war. Of course, your favorite sheet of temporary tattoos didn’t count as dirt, not when they granted you several days of carrying your favorite character, a little purple penguin, with you. In fact, you practically ignored the rest of the sheet besides a few snowflakes surrounding him, all of which everyone told you were now decorating some other kid, too.

Well, good, you thought, your penguin was the best and they probably loved it, too. Otherwise they couldn’t marry you or whatever soulmates did. Usually it was get married. Maybe you would get married when you grew up. Your grandparents liked being married.

As you grew a bit older, you wrote in school. Sometimes your pen or pencil slipped, skimming your hand with an accidental line. Sometimes your soulmate was clumsy, too, and you watched a pencil trail appear when you didn’t even have one in hand. The weirdest was when you watched a whole shaky ㅎ appear, the circle looking a bit square, then suddenly erasing and being reborn round again.

And then just like that, it was all gone.

It hadn’t really been your habit to write things on yourself like others you knew- it just didn’t come naturally to you when you had paper and, a bit later in life, your phone. Beside that, given the marks of soulmates, any notes you wrote would appear on someone else’s arm, hand, anywhere they could get scolded for if they had strict family or teachers or a barrier to looking presentable at an academic event. It just didn’t seem fair. That was the same reason why, even years after school and becoming an adult, you chose not to get any tattoos. What if your soulmate hated it? Then they get it removed and you lose yours and the cycle goes on like some sort of stupid cartoon sequence of ink and lasers.

Ok, that part maybe not so much, but you knew how personal and controversial tattoos could be, so kinda weird to put one on someone else without their consent. Sorry about the penguin, you supposed all those years later, I was four.

Instead, perhaps preferably, you doodled a lot on paper, keeping at it even when that rude boy Matthew from seventh grade told you your cat looked so bad, it made him think it was a dragon holding a cookie. Such insults would not be taken from the guy who used ‘I don’t like the color red’ as an icebreaker ‘fun fact’…while wearing a red shirt.

Even if you were no artist, improvement naturally came with age and frequency, and you favored keeping your drawings cute anyway. Yet another reason to put them down on paper- pen ink faded from skin, but on paper, it was like a tattoo. Permanent with all your other notebooks of doodles that would have more than covered your body.

Your body, which was semi-frequently decorated anyway, not of your own accord. Your soulmate, likely around your age, had no qualms about use of the forearms as a notepad, so it wasn’t the oddest occurrence by far to wake up with things like ‘7:00 독주회’ or a more frantic ‘ENGLISH TEST 9:00’ scrawled there. Or even once a very unceremoniously written, shaky, clearly hastily added ‘BUMJOONG WAS HERE’ on the back of your hand. That was a fun one to try to explain. It made you wonder sometimes if your soulmate was a less considerate person than you or if you’d simply proven well in your restraint.

You weren’t expecting any answers, or perhaps more questions, to come in the form they all did.

The morning was like any other: it was your day off, time you’d reserved so as to endeavor some shopping. Making yourself a nice breakfast and choosing one of your favorite outfits, you hopped in the shower. Deciding what the heck, it was your day off, you even busted out the new sugar scrub you’d bought as peals of warm, crashing water echoed around you, lathering some exfoliant luxury upon the skin you’d always cared for.

Never once had you expected it to entertain anyone’s notice.

But there it was as you strolled along the concrete of the shopping center’s sidewalk, completely unaware of what was exposed until you ran into a friend, waving and exchanging the platitudes of two meeting after some time.

“Wow, (y/n), what a surprise, I didn’t know you got a tattoo! I thought you didn’t want any!” Your old friend Brian exclaimed with a wide smile, tilting his head. “May I see the whole thing?”

His words rose slowly to your head as you blinked, gears turning. For you had not, in fact, gotten anything of the sort done. Instinctively you held out your hand, assuming your soulmate had scrawled another vague practice reminder on the back of their hand or wrist, but your skin was blank, just a smooth expanse the same tone it always was.

“No, not your hand, silly! There!” Your eyes followed as he pointed down towards the ground, toward…your leg?

Swiveling at the hips, you bent and tugged on any necessary clothing to reveal, sure enough, writing near your ankle. Your chest sunk.

“I didn’t get a tattoo,” you said quietly.

“What?”

“I didn’t get a tattoo,” you repeated, voice a deadpan.

He pointed, finger rising slowly, almost shakily. “Then what’s-”

“I don’t know. I- I guess my soulmate did it.”

“Your soulmate got a tattoo without asking you?”

“We haven’t met,” you burst out as you raised the fabric around your leg higher, “I guess they don’t care what I think! What’s this even say, anyway?”

Frustration pricked at you at the sheer height of the piece- it wasn’t exactly dainty. Quite a ballsy move, all things considered. Sheesh. Wait, those were wings, huh?

“It says ‘faith’,” Brian supplied, “and I think it’s nice. Could definitely be worse. Could have been a partner’s name or, like, naked Spongebob or something.”

You cocked a brow. “Naked Spongebob?”

“Well, would you want that on your leg?” Brian shot back, crossing his black t-shirted arms.

“No,” you sighed, staring at your new, involuntary body art, “I suppose I would not. Well, you’re right- this is pretty nice. I can live with this. Hopefully it’s not the first one of many, though. My soulmate better leave me some control of my own skin.”

“Yeah, and if they don’t, you’d better give them a piece of your mind.”

A chuckle escaped you. “Yeah, right. I don’t even know where they are.”

“Have you never tried to find out?” Brian’s eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing at you like he was asking the dumbest question he’d ever uttered.

And maybe he was. Your chest contracted in realization that you had, in fact, never once considered taking any initiative into finding whoever it was had those recitals or English tests or who you really hoped had the spine to smack Bumjoong one for defacement of property. The person who, by the universe’s decree, was meant to be some miraculous piece of your life forever and you’d just…assumed they’d walk in whenever it was time. All your concern had gone to not bothering their appearance despite their clear lack of regard on the subject.

“Uh, (y/n)?” A hand waved in front of your face. Brian’s. “You’ve gone all spacey on me, what’s wrong?”

“Brian, I might be stupid.”

“Might?”

You descended back to earth, or at least close enough to its gravity, to find the wherewithal to smack his shoulder beneath the momentous echoing of reality throughout your brain.

“Also, I take it then the tattoo on your arm wasn’t your idea either?”

“The…what?”

Shopping day over.

Hongjoong couldn’t recognize his own handwriting. Or could he? Had he written that address on the back of his hand? He had to have. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. As if his schedule wasn’t busy enough, now here was some other errand he’d forgotten.

Pulling out his phone and typing it into maps, he saw that at least it wasn’t too far away. A reasonable drive, especially for a…tuesday? Oddly specific, but appointments were appointments, he reflected as he swiveled in his leather office chair.

After all, if it wasn’t important, he wouldn’t have written it down so visibly on himself like that. That was a habit he’d largely dropped in adulthood, image of greater concern and regard for mess a bit higher, too. Plus, the only other good it would have served seemed not his lot.

At least a fair number of songs had come from it. Ah, music- the eternal, universal processor. What would he do without it? Music was a way of filling every void-no, scratch that, coming to terms with the existence of voids within oneself- the thing that made him feel complete, or certainly one of them. Jokes had it that music was Hongjoong's soulmate, and while the songwriter didn't appreciate fun being poked at his expense, it was hard to deny the itching grains of truth beneath his skin at the words.

Music-related or not, this short trip was his lot, so why not make the best of it? After all, whoever had organized it picked a pretty nice café as the rendezvous point. Worst case, Hongjoong would at least get a coffee out of it.

You were starting to wonder if nobody would approach you, more singles and even couples getting in line and heading straight for a table or the door than you could count on one hand. In fact, in came someone else right in time with your thoughts, a super hot guy in fact, though he looked confused as hell. His eyes darted back and forth between the chalkboard menu and the industrial-style metal tables as he stood a little bit out of line.

Shit didn’t hit the fan until he pulled his phone out to check it, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. His loose black t-shirt sleeve fell back, revealing a tattoo suspiciously similar to the second one that Brian pointed out on your own body. And that font was very, very unique. And big. And it was on you now.

Moving completely of its own volition, your body peeled from its metal seat and strode right up to him. No thoughts swirled to the surface of your mind even as you reached his side, prompting him to turn on his heels.

The only words your mind could barely form fell out of your lips. "You're the one who gave me these tattoos."

Jumping back, the man gaze at you with saucer-wide eyes, saying nothing as you pulled your own sleeve back to reveal the second and luckily last set of writing Brian had found on your body, this time reading 'No 1 like me', and again showed your ankle.

"I designed that one myself, how could you possibly-" His wide-eyed gape fell slowly into a smile. "I have a soulmate?"

"Yes, of course you do!" You replied, incredulous. "Did you think you didn't?"

"You never wrote anything!" He shot back.

"I was trying not to mess you up!"

"I just..." The man's handsome features fell, first into seeming hurt then just into a pensive look. "For so many years I taught myself to make my own way. Sometimes I was fine with it, sometimes I wasn't."

"No wonder you thought there was no one like you," you said before panicking, thinking better of it, "not that the tattoo isn't cool! And still true. I really like the font, actually? You said you designed at least one of these?"

"Yeah, I knew what I wanted, so I drew up the faith one and..." He tilted his head, sliding his phone from his hand back into his pocket. "wait, do you want to get a table?"

"Only if you buy me a drink," you teased, nodding toward your arm as you got back in line, "you owe me for these."

"I think you owe me for years of radio silence," the man shot back with a smirk, crossing his arms.

Heat crept into your face at the way he fixed the intense look at you, but you refused to back down. "The way you described it sounded like I taught you a valuable lesson."

"Pain can teach lessons."

Ok, you were about spent at that. "Are we really fighting over something as stupid as one free coffee?"

"I mean, fighting wasn't the word I would have used there, but you're right. I've got this one."

"Oh, you two are so cute!" The barista waved her hand as you placed your orders. "I love couples who bicker like old married grandparents! So, what are your names?"

You and your soulmate glanced at each other, your eyes sliding back into those deep, dark, expressive ones you wouldn't mind getting used to. He searched yours, too, and a small smile played on his lips that had you wondering what he was thinking... until you realized it, too.

Maybe you had wildly opposite views over the years on using your body as a notebook, but you two soulmates had the exact same sense of humor.

"We don't know," you both said at the same time.

"I'm Hongjoong," the man in black introduced himself, smiling wickedly now.

"(y/n), nice to meet you," you replied, bowing back to him.

The barista mirrored Hongjoong's initial shock at your confrontation as you both headed to your table, laughing now. Somehow that all came as easily as bickering, all your interactions up to that point having a certain flow you'd never felt before. Placebo effect? Maybe, yet the tug you felt the moment you first saw Hongjoong was yet to fade. It was like those old sayings: it felt like you two were making music.

"Ok, please don't think I'm being rude," Hongjoong's voice cut into your thoughts, "but I'm a songwriter, and I feel like I just have to write down some lyrics right now."

All you could do was just grin at that. Well, shit. Maybe now you really would have to try leaving more of an ink trail.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #soulmate au #can't believe this is my first soulmate au piece tbh...but hope y'all enjoy 😁

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vivicanyounot · 7 months

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"I'm so sorry! I thought you were someone else! ^-^;" "..."

Amy Rose just did the biggest mistake of her life. She ran and hugged some other hedgehog AGAIN! And this one was not what she was expecting.

The last time was a white hedgehog minding their business drinking apple juice at some park and now THIS? This is just utterly embarrassing!

Here she was, gone and hugged a hedgehog drinking coffee quietly on a corner and she didn't expect them to be so into their writing-- She done bumped on his work with ink spilling everywhere. Before realizing her mistake, she noticed how soft this one's fur is.

"This one's really soft!---------------I, wait a minute..."

'Sonic's more of a fluffy kind rather than a soft one.' she thought.

She let go of this hedgehog and adjusted her eyesight to the bright light cascading on the window. This one's fur is BLACK, not blue at all! How could she have missed this?! She really needs to get her eyes checked.

This figure turned their head behind revealing ruby-colored eyes.

"I-I didn't know you were writing! I'm so sorry! I thought you were someone else!" Amy worriedly joked hoping that this hedgehog would sympathize at her. She couldn't help but feel like this hedgehog was someone familiar to her.

"..." Eyes continued to stare. Then to his book. Then back to her again. There was a pause and an incalculable look bared on his face before proceeding to glare this time.

"Now what are you going to do with all of this mess?" he croaks slowly, careful with his words. He points to his book utterly disappointed.

"I-I didn't mean to bump on what you were writing. I hope to make it up to you." Amy said begrudgingly at the last part. She doesn't want to waste time today since she needs to find Sonic as soon as possible. HE has an upcoming tournament and he's seen nowhere at all from the venue! Where could he possible be?---

"Make it up to me, you say?" the stranger asks. He puts his pen down and taps his fingers on the table. Amy gulped, nervously sweating from this hedgehog's threatening aura. Yet still, she wouldn't feel much harm from him at all. She just knows that he wouldn't hurt her weirdly enough.

"It'd be nice if I had a ghost writer. *I* dictate about the contents." He flips his book, almost covered with so much ink stains.

"YOU write on it." He points to Amy then to his book. She has no idea on how to write.

'How on earth am I going to write. Much less have the time to be working with you?!' she thought. She had her hands ravaging her hair. And suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blue figure from the window. And they're ordering from a hotdog stand. Could it be?

"You're probably thinking how this is going to be arranged? Don't worry I've got you covered." He whips out his used napkin on the table and hands Amy his pen. Amy holds his fountain pen but she was distracted. She got other things to worry about like that blue hedgehog from afar already eating his 10 chilidogs. She is determined.

"Just write your number here." He taps on the napkin. Amy didn't think twice about anything she just wanted to get out and give that blue hedgehog an earful of her nagging. She wrote on his napkin quick and easy.

"Yeah yeah, we'll talk about this later. Bye!" She turned around ready to leave until her arm got caught by the stranger. Her emerald-colored eyes focused solely on him. His eyes staring back with a level focus.

"Expect a call from me, Rose." He hoarsed then removes his hand from her arm. Amy saw the blue figure blur past their cafe. She holds her wrist hurt from his handling then consequently left with an irritated look. She still feel his eyes boring into her back.

"What a weirdo." She whispered running out of the cafe.

'And h-he knew my name! Did he also ASK for my number just now?'

How is the world coming into for Amy Rose?

a/n: i just made this story now to support the drawing. should i do a comic of it now too? let me know!!! and maybe you guys wanna continue this story...?

#sonic #amy rose #shadow the hedgehog #shadamy #sonic au #sonic the hedgehog

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nouearth · 9 months

Text

the remedy for guilt.

clark kent x male reader.

summary: guilt, pain, and shame consumes clark as his nightmares have been haunted by the memory of lois.

wc: 2.5k. genre: angst, comfort. warnings: cavill!clark, clark has ptsd, nightmares, topic and depictions of death, mentions of blood and wounds.

request.

thunder blared and cracked to the man’s startle, and immediately, the sky unlocked with a haze, ghastly as if stolen from humanity. spirits of hard rain quickly crashed onto metal gates, barriers that ward off trespassers, and came down harder onto carved stones. it sank into the heart of earth after.

it was an orthodox setting some have found comfort in after painful months of mourning. clark wondered how incredibly cathartic mother nature’s tears would feel on his skin once it was his turn.

he flinched when a droplet does—burned—and the wind heckled.

in loving memory of lois lane, it was carved beautiful like her handwriting. she was always in a rush, chasing after the biggest scandals with a notepad in her hand, yet the scribe flowed with impressive structure, prideful in every stroke of her pen. kneeling on one leg, without a care that mud had inked uncomfortably into his pants, clark caressed the engraving of lois’ name, gently as if it was skin—her skin, and the gale laughed—louder now.

“—got you these flowers,” clark bitterly chuckled, gently waved the wrapped bundle of cream and pink rosebuds that the wind was sure to have blown away by now if it weren’t for his clench on them. “figured these colors would be a nice change of pace, so…”

the thunder approved clark’s choice of flowers.

“i’ll get going soon, but i just wanted to see you one more time before—“ the gale blew stronger, lifted clark’s bangs and almost his glasses, but they soon found refuge in his breast pouch. there was a beat of silence as the wind sang, unusual in its whistles. “before i head back to—“

there it was again.

a gentle croak that harmonized with the wind.

someone’s hurt. struck by lighting, maybe? if being drenched in the rain hadn’t strung him back to reality, the eery sound of help definitely woken clark to his senses. he was vigilant, carefully scanning his surroundings with his x-ray vision.

nothing out of the ordinary—

“help,” a voice squeaked from somewhere, barely audible, but clark managed to filter the gust out. he spun in place when a whisper attacked one ear then the next. defensively, he lifted himself off the ground and scanned the gravesite from a higher viewer. alert, yet calm.

no one.

“please, speak up!” clark roamed in the air, inspected every corner. the wind and rain fogged his endeavor, but he was determined. it grew louder now after several patrols, and relief settled because he was getting closer.

“help me,” it whispered in the fog, and the haze grew thicker, heavier. “please, help me. i can’t breathe!” it cried out now, desperate because safety was near, yet so far away. “please, where are you?!” it pleaded.

“I’m coming, stay put!” clark shouted, and he flew down, a bewildered frown etched into his face when the mist barricaded his arrival, knocking him back. “what the—“

it was like touching an invisible shield when clark curiously reached out, pressing a palm into nothing. thick air swallowed his hand and he pulled back when another cry startled. “hurry, please! i-i think I’m going to—” it choked.

“i—“ clark ascended higher now, challenged by the mystical fog. he was absolutely clueless, puzzled, but was later comforted because force was always on his side.

“i’m here!” the clock ticked in his head. thunder and lightning shook the atmosphere of earth, and the rain hit clark’s skin like bullets as he rushed down the gravesite, punching through the several layers of air. one by one, they unfurled, and clark grunted as if it could boost his strength at the very last layer. “please! help! oh god, i—”

“you’re…” it was sheer, unveiling the field of gravestones, and he could see something moving, waving, but the rain blurred his vision. “you’re…” the voice weakened.

harder now, clark punched several more times with a battle cry louder than the previous, through gritted teeth enough to break bone, and the fog cowered at the very last second, thinning in wispy strides from his force. the swing from his arm pulled him to the source with incredible force. it was out of his control now, the wind yanked, then drove him to the ground, dragging clark across the muddy field. absolute black had entered his vision, and he could only breathe. breathe in mud, rain, grass, as he was pulled everywhere but nowhere, yet somehow closer to the source of those dreadful cries.

“you’re...”

the voice croaked over him as clark was grounded, blindly face-planted into the soils until he wasn’t. his head slowly lifted by an unspeakable force, and the cry continued to creak like nails on a chalkboard, unbearably closer to his face. a cold breath bit at his skin and as if the spell was broken, clark snapped his eyes opened.

it was horrid. it took every little breath clark had in him, and he tried to shut his eyes. he couldn’t. the spell hadn’t been broken. it was a mere glamor as clark’s eyes began to stung, brimmed with tears as he was bewitched to stare into the bloody corpse of his former lover. “you were,” the more it croaked, layers of skin cracked and peeled off. clark shuddered, his eyelids unwillingly pulled to the heavens as he watched lois’ broken skin unveil bloody wounds, then flesh, then bone, as she ascended higher before him, like a deity, until his head was thrown back.

“TOO LATE.” the voice crackled like the thunder before it, and her corpse crumbled into ashes, spilling onto him like heavy rain.

a guttural inhale stirred you from your dreams, flinching, but it was the sudden movements within the bed that woke you into a fright, scrambling you in bed. equally, clark’s silhouette sat up and slumped against the headboard as he paced his breath. in and out, his pants began to slow, but it was the flicker of the lamp, unveiling reality, and then the warmth of your hand on his chest that pacified him.

“clark,” your voice made him turn and he watched you simulate a regular breathing pattern before following your guidance. “slow, just like that.” your hand rested over his beating heart, aiding its journey to its regular pace with calming strokes, while you held his distraught with assurance, locking it into a vault when you leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. a job well-done, but also a measure to bring him back.

his breath was warm against yours, and he muttered a soft apology before pulling away, but keeping your hand to his chest, appreciative but silently afraid of letting you go.

“water?” before he could answer, you offered your cup of water that’s been sitting at the bedside table, and with two quick gulps, he soothed his throat.

it was a routine at this point. not every day, but at least once a week, clark would get night terrors that would startle you awake. others would’ve found it incredibly annoying, but you could never bring yourself to that thought. after what clark had told you, it would’ve been incredibly wounding for you to.

“i’m sorry,” clark sighed and pressed a warm hand to your cheek. you shook your head against it, mustering up a tired smile before pressing a kiss into his palm. he only pulled you closer to his side as you both lay breathless in bed. “let’s go back to sleep—“

“hah, you and i both know that won’t be happening.” chuckling, you playfully pushed him away before laying his head on your lap. he does so without any complaints, and an appreciative kiss to your stomach pressed. clark was always so protective of you, it was the least you could do for him. “want to talk about it?”

“no, it’s just…” clark’s gaze drafted to the wrinkles of your shirt, then he spent the majority of the silence inhaling your scent. it assured him that you were here—still here.

your fingers threaded through his locks in soothing rhythms, but clark’s frown remained. “lois again?”

“i didn’t mean to—“ he looked up, apologetic in the weary state of his gaze.

“clark,” your palm gently applied pressure to his temple, and you couldn’t help but to kiss him once more, then his nose, then his forehead, before pulling away. “she’s not… she shouldn’t be treated as if she didn’t exist.”

“I know,” clark hummed, agreeing yet reluctantly so. the strokes to his head—your touch—crumbled the protective walls of his nightmares and dreams, and a vault, mainly consisting of his insecurities and guilt, unlocked. “i know…”

one would agree that it was weird, offensive even, to talk about your ex-partner, more so if they had passed away. it gave the message that they still clung onto them, that they still loved them, that you were brought into someone’s life solely to fill that missing puzzle in their life. you’ve admitted that you struggled with that before, your self-esteem took a dive because you compared yourself to the impact she made on clark’s life. envious, you teared over.

but you’ve accepted it now. because clark’s dreams of lois wasn’t because he needed to replace her. the more he awakened you with his night terrors, it was telling that he was haunted by guilt—consumed by it. it ate him up on the inside. where the happiness that you would fill clark was immediately swallowed by regret, because the voice told him that he didn’t deserve to be happy.

clark agreed.

“i killed her, didn’t i?” his voice animated like the soft wrinkles on your shirt.

“you know that’s not true,” you frowned, and you pressed your palm to his cheek. “clark.”

“if i had been there quicker, if i had been stronger, if i had—“

“if you had abandoned the hundreds—thousands—of people in the city?” you questioned his blame, and he once again, looked up at you. orbs wet, glistening under the shade of dim lights. a sigh left your lips, and you continued the stokes to his head. “i know you’re superman, and… and you feel like you have to do everything—like you can do everything.”

“for the most part, you can.” your voice softened as well as your touch, until it came to a halt. warmth seeped into his head as you rested upon it. “but it’s frankly impossible to save everyone, you know that. and from what you’ve told me about lois, she would’ve wanted this outcome.”

“(m/n),”

“she probably would’ve forced you to, if i’m being honest.” you chuckled, and looked down at him, into his sober orbs. “and i could never, ever, know what you are going through. to have the safety of the planet fall on your shoulders. to fight those who try to destroy our planet. to take the life of those who do. to play god.”

“but what i do know is that,” clark gazed up now, his turn to caress your cheeks while you closed your eyes to the roughness of his hand. to the warm touch that has become a memory you would yearn for on a daily basis. “it’s not your fault. you had the impossible decision to choose between thousand of lives versus the love of your life, and i’d reckon you’d feel guilt either way, clark. and i’d also reckon that…”

“hm?”

your forehead pressed to his while his hand maintained on your cheek, and you blindly kissed at whatever was in front. his nose, lips, cheeks, features that you felt and cherished with all of your heart. all of your being. “you and lois knew the lives of thousands mattered the most.”

“i wouldn’t have had to make that decision had i been stronger, though.” clark reasoned, pulling away to sit up now, because guilt ate him again, as soon as you fed him his innocence. “if i was smarter, i would’ve been ten steps ahead. i would’ve figured out that the sun could heal me, to grant me more powers, to—”

“clark,” his mutters halted when you touched him again. though his back faced you, he knew the look you were giving him as he stared blankly, achingly into the wall. reassuring strokes lined his broad back before you leaned your forehead on it. “you can’t change the past.”

“it’s not about changing the past, it’s about,” he was frustrated, apologetic, sorrowful, all in one, and clark buried his face into his palms, muttering. “it’s about you. i can’t let it happen again. what if i lose you too?”

“you’re not going to lose me, clark.”

“we don’t know that—“ he sighed, lifting his head up, and then peered back at you. his wrinkles have never forested deeper, and exhaustion seeped into the fine lines. “it would break me. i wouldn’t know how to move on with myself, how to live, how to—“

“if that day ever comes, then i’m telling you now that i want you to make the right decision.” your arms wrapped around his waist, embracing him with the utmost warmth because in the pit of your stomach, in your deepest worries, you were afraid too. he was right. you never know if something might happen. whether from another attempted destruction of the world, or a simple heart attack, life was short.

“i need to keep you safe.”

“you already do, clark. and if something were to happen to me, then i trust that you will do your best to spare me from looking at death in the eye.” but clark’s hold to your hands sobered you, the warmth and beloved roughness like a potion, broke you free of those reckless thoughts, and you melted soft kisses along his upper back in appreciation, sighing. “but until then, i don’t want you spending the rest of your life worrying about me.”

“it’s my job to.” clark mindlessly played with your fingers, thinner than his. “to worry.”

“i know,” you squeezed tighter around him. “but i fell in love with clark kent, not the man of steel.”

“but—“

“if it’s my time to go, i don’t want you looking back at how we should’ve made more memories. you don’t need any more powers than you already have, clark.” you assured him with another kiss to his shoulder, and despite his refusal, he melted, leaning back into you. “you’ve kept me safe as you already are, and you will continue doing so until my very last breath.”

“until your very last breath…” he repeated, but you can hear the bitterness in his tone. chuckling, you soothed him with another kiss, to his other shoulder now.

“and until my last breath, i promise to also protect you as you will protect me. i may not be as strong as you are, and i may not be the sun that heals you.”

“(m/n),”

“but when the time comes, i assure you that your guilt will not be anchored to me. that you will no longer suffer because of me.”

“because i trust you.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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staarri · 13 days

Text

𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨 — 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡.

c. scaramouche

character(s) are friends with reader, gn!reader, angsty-ish, scaramouche is still in the fatui, this is a work of fiction

fluff , love letter . word count : roughly 0.9k

t. @aventurne @tragedy-of-commons @yvnaology @nyoomiin

Scaramouche is not an easy man to love. He’s busy, constantly busy, awake even during the most ungodly hours of the night and constantly rubbing at his eyes from his exhaustion. It’s no surprise the Fatui are overworking him again. What’s funny is that he’s sitting at his desk, a pile of papers on the right side–all reports from his underlings–were unnoticed; all of it, even the chirping of the birds as the sun rose and showed the start of a new day, Scaramouche was stuck on a piece of paper in front of him with the words that reads, To my dearest.

There's no way he can capture your beauty on a cheap piece of parchment . He should’ve bought something expensive instead, like a new set of clothes he thinks you’ll like. But lately you’ve just seemed so distant. He needs to reach you somehow. You’ve been driven away by the lies his mouth spills and now, he’s suffering with the consequences, and not once will he ever say it to you, but he needs you to stick with him while he tries to better himself.

So here he is: a fountain pen in hand, wasting his time with something so.. childish. Who writes letters anyway, isn't it something you did as a child towards someone you liked?

Call him a child then. Call him old-fashioned, traditional, and in love. Call him whatever you like, because in the end he’s yours, and he’s always been.

He’s let his thoughts linger for too long and suddenly it's 7 am. His eyebags have never been worse and his mind is tired, not from his job, but from this stupid letter he’s made no progress on. To my dearest should be good enough, right? I mean, you were easy to please. He was sure that it would be more than enough for you.

How tiring. He says, mindlessly scribbling on the paper, jet-black ink scattered all throughout and splattering around the words. Was he angry? Not at all. Frustrated, yes, but for a good reason–to think he did this just because you two were friends was infuriating. Shouldn’t you two be something more?

You were pretty, far too pretty for him to describe. Scaramouche thought his vocabulary was wide enough, but this letter alone has him searching for the words he once knew. Your eyes, leaving him feeling small in a never ending forest and your smile–god, your smile was intoxicating. It would give light to the things he’s been hiding from you this entire time. Your laugh–your voice, sweet and soft, loud and oh-so clear. How you’d bring it down to a whisper when you feel embarrassed about admitting something, how your nose scrunches up when you laugh or when your smile lines just seem so fitting for someone like you.

What was so special about you?

You were like the sunset on the beaches, glowing. Absolutely stunning, ethereal, lighting everything in a bright orange, his eyes becoming a mix of brown and a dark blue. He’s different around you, he's a completely different person. From the color of his eyes to the racing of his heart, to the feeling that he wasn’t getting enough air whenever you hold his hand–but you’d do it in a friendly way. You don't squeeze his hand too tight, you let go when necessary and don’t leave any kind of touch lingering for far too long.

Scaramouche is not an easy man to love. He’s bad with words and he can’t tell you the things you want to hear;he can’t provide you with the touch you crave, he can’t make up his mind. One moment he’s thinking about just giving you a whole bag of mora for you to use for your next trip, the other he’s thinking about finishing this damn letter that has plagued his mind ever since you first whispered the fact you appreciate him.

There’s no way he can treat you right. There’s absolutely no way he will be perfect, that he’ll be the partner that’ll leave such a mark on you. But god, ask for the world and he will give it to you. Name one thing and when you wake up it's right at your nightstand. Choose the ring and its design, he’ll get a matching one that you yourself decided on as well. Just say the word because he is a child in love.

So here he is, an envelope in hand. Going to the nearest flower shop to buy something that will still wilt under the sun after a few days. He will not love, and can’t love the same way as you, but he will learn how to.

Call him stupid;call him an idiot for falling for someone he knows is way too out of his league. But that’s all he is, and it's far too late to change that. He might lose you at some point, and that's really what scares him the most.

Suddenly he’s standing at your doorstep, ringing the doorbell and you’d be confused who in the world decided to bring you a sunflower and a piece of envelope in the middle of the day–you don't recall ordering anything.

He didn’t even get to sign it. Maybe next time he can get it right… for his dearest.

characters belong to their respective companies. everything is written by staarri - do not steal, reupload, translate, modify or feed my work to ai.

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sluttywonwoo · 8 months

Text

instead of you [part twenty-four] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, angst, alcohol consumption, smut adjacent... you'll see (mdni)

word count: 4.5k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

Jisung was gone when you woke up the next morning. The sheets beside you were cold, meaning he hadn’t been there for a while. You reached for your phone to see if you had any messages from him, but when you checked it there was nothing.

You didn’t have much on the itinerary today so you could go back to sleep if you wanted to, but you figured you should probably get up and find Jiisung before doing anything else.

You got dressed and ventured into the living area, stumbling across Minho sitting shirtless on the couch. You suppressed a sigh, and brushed past him into the kitchen. Jisung wasn’t there either. There was tea brewing in a kettle on the stove so you knew he couldn’t be far, but you were back at square one with your search.

Reluctantly, you sulked back to where Minho was. It was hard to ‘keep your distance’ from him when you were sharing a living space- even if you weren’t sharing a room anymore.

“Do you know where my boyfriend is?”

Minho flinched, like he didn’t expect you to address him, but recovered quickly, lips easing into a smirk. “What, am I not good enough company?”

It was especially hard to keep your distance when he said things like that- mostly because you wanted to smack the grin off of his face.

You scowled. “Do you know where he is or not?”

“He’s on the balcony.”

You left Minho where he was and found your best friend exactly where his brother said he would be. He was sitting with his mother at the dining table with the book he’d borrowed from you laying open on the glass surface.

You could tell he’d responded to some of your annotations from the different colored ink in the margins. Neither of you had very good handwriting so it could be difficult to tell apart, which is why you always wrote in different colors. You used black pens, Jisung used blue.

Leaving little messages between the pages of books was you and Jisung’s thing, well, one of your many things, but you found yourself wondering what it would be like to annotate a book for Minho. Would he think your dumb jokes were funny? Would he like the same lines as you? Get annoyed by the protagonist- you stopped yourself there, unable to go any further with that train of thought. Sexual fantasies were one thing, but domestic fantasies... you couldn’t let yourself go down that road.

Nikki was the first to notice you standing there and she waved you over with a grin, pulling out an empty chair for you.

“Good morning! How’d you sleep?”

“Really good, thank you.”

Jisung spoke next before you could return the formality. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. I thought I might have to go in there and wake you up before we head out to the museums.”

You forced a chuckle as you settled in the seat, throwing your best friend a glare when his mother wasn’t looking.

“Your tea is almost ready,” you said, suddenly remembering. “The kettle was making a lot of noise.”

“Oh thanks, baby.” Jisung leaned forward to push himself up, but his mom beat him to it.

“I’ll get it, you two stay here.”

“Are you sure, mom?” he asked. “I can just go grab it really fast.”

“No, no,” she assured him. “I’ve got it.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like any, y/n?”

You shook your head. “Oh, no thank you.”

“I’ve been trying to get her on it for years, trust me. She’s partial to coffee.”

“She’s my one true love, I can’t cheat on her.”

The truth was you did drink tea sometimes, but you didn’t really care for the way Jisung made it.

“You’re in tea’s birthplace,” he argued. “If you’re going to have it anywhere, it should be here!”

“And to your point, if I drink tea here, I’d rather go get it from somewhere authentic.”

Jisung shrugged in defeat, cracking a smile. “Fair enough.”

You waited until Nikki was inside to shove him. “Can you not make me look bad in front of your mom?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I sleep in late, I don’t like tea?”

He chuckled, still rubbing his arm. “Those aren’t bad things!”

“You’re Korean. Isn’t not liking tea considered treason?”

“Well, you’re not Korean.”

“Exactly, I don’t want her to think I’m some classless American or something.”

“She doesn’t! Where are you getting these ideas from?” he cocked his head to the side, voice tinged with concern. “She loves you, trust me.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he assured you and grabbed your hand, giving it a quick squeeze.

You tried to relax a little, rolling your shoulders and your neck to relieve some of the tension.

“You okay, baby?” he pressed, running his thumb along your knuckles.

Just then you heard the door to the apartment open and close. Nikki appeared at the table a moment later with a mug in each hand.

“Thanks, mom,” Jisung said gratefully as he accepted the drink from her. His eyes flitted back to your face, still waiting for your answer.

“What are we doing tonight?” you asked, deciding to change the subject.

He hesitated before answering, like he didn’t want to move on without knowing what was bothering you. But you didn’t give him much of a choice.

“Minho and Felix were mentioning getting drunk tonight.”

“Again?” you mused, making Nikki grin as she took a sip of her tea.

Bold of you to say, for someone who usually spent her weeknights at a fraternity house. You could tell Jisung was thinking the same thing. He quirked an eyebrow up at you in question, but thankfully didn’t verbalize his thoughts. That would definitely be something to tarnish your character in his mother’s eyes if he were to mention it in front of her.

“I think the bar upstairs is doing a karaoke night or something. Wanna go?”

Jisung still didn’t know about the decision you’d made to avoid alcohol. Because knowing that would mean he’d have to know about why you’d made said decision. You didn’t think you would ever be able to tell your best friend that you’d kissed his brother- or that he’d kissed you for that matter and then you’d kissed him like a week later while you were completely sober.

He also didn’t know about your other agreement, the one that you’d made with Minho, the one where you had agreed to stay away from each other.

So you just nodded easily in agreement, resolving silently to be the designated sober friend of the night, even though you didn’t have to drive anywhere.

Of course, it was foolish to think that alcohol was to blame for your decision-making. You knew it only lowered your inhibitions. It didn’t alter the chemistry of your brain or turn you into a different person. But you hoped that staying dry, or somewhat dry, for the rest of the trip would help keep you out of trouble.

“Come on, y/n, you have to do a song!”

It was Minho, of course, who was urging you to get up on stage and make a fool of yourself in front of the entire bar.

“Trust me, you do not want to hear me sing,” you insisted. “And this isn’t me being humble or anything. I’m not hiding some incredible talent like girls do in the movies, I promise.”

“That’s never stopped you before!” Jisung chimed in. “You love karaoke. Are you embarrassed because they’re here?” he nodded toward his brothers and you stared down at the table without answering, pretty much confirming what he’d suggested.

And he’s right, you do love karaoke, but that’s because most of the time you’re halfway to blacking out by the time you get on stage, and this time you’re stone-cold sober. All of the fun of karaoke comes from being too gone to care that you’re ruining a cultural masterpiece and doing a disservice to whoever the original artist is.

The only people who enjoyed doing karaoke sober were people with a humiliation kink.

Plus, this bar was a lot nicer than the bars you were used to doing karaoke in. Everyone was dressed in semi-formal attire, including yourself, and you didn’t know if you’d be able to relax in this atmosphere.

“We could do a duet,” Jisung offered. “I know we do a pretty decent Wish I Was a Cowboy.”

“We cannot do a country song here.”

“Then what song do you want to do? You pick.”

“I don’t know,” you whined. “Do we have to?”

“We don’t have to, but I know you’ll have fun. You always do!” You grumbled under your breath because you knew he was right. “Maybe you just need a little more liquid courage, hm?” Jisung pushed your drink closer to you with a knowing grin.

He didn’t know the daiquiri in front of you was actually a virgin daiquiri, didn’t know you’d slipped away to the bar when you said you were going to the bathroom to ask the bartender to make your drink nonalcoholic.

You knew the only reason you were hesitating on getting up on that stage was the lack of alcohol in your system.

“If you do a duet, Minho and I will do a duet,” Felix propositioned. “And you can choose the song.”

Now that was an offer you couldn’t refuse.

“Fine. Get me a shot.”

“Atta girl.”

Twenty minutes later the DJ was calling you and Jisung to the front of the room. The tequila was still burning your throat even though you’d chased it with your daiquiri. You could tell Jisung was feeling it too from the way he grimaced and cleared his throat before standing from his seat.

You took his hand and let him lead you through the small crowd. The bar was probably a little busier than it was on a normal night because of the event, but it still wasn’t packed.

Still, the amount of people you were going to have to sing in front of made you nervous. One shot had turned into three, against your better judgment, to try and shake the anxiety and you were definitely feeling it, but the nerves hadn’t subsided.

The DJ confirmed your song choice with Jisung and then reiterated it to the audience in Mandarin and English. You’d chosen Kesha’s “We R Who We R” on a whim. It wasn’t really a duet song, but you knew all of the words and you knew your best friend did too.

Your eyes found Minho’s automatically- even with the stage lights shining in your face, even with the sea of people in front of you, you were drawn to him. You told yourself it was because you already knew where he was, you’d just been sitting there, and he was familiar. You were nervous, and you didn’t know anyone else here other than Jisung’s brothers. Of course you’d look for comfort.

He gave you an encouraging thumbs up as the music started to swell from the speakers and you forced yourself to look away, cheeks burning. The tequila had been a bad idea.

Thankfully, the song was over as soon as it started. At least, that’s how it felt. One of the reasons you didn’t mind karaoke was that you’d black out the second you stepped foot on stage and then regain consciousness once you were finished performing. It was fun because you weren’t self-conscious of embarrassing yourself in the moment, and then you’d get to laugh at yourself later if one of your friends had filmed it.

“Great job,” Felix complimented upon your return to the table. Minho clapped Jisung on the back approvingly.

“Y/n carried,” Jisung said proudly, leaning back and placing a hand on your thigh. “She always does.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t even remember what we just did. The song started playing and that’s it. I came back to when they were all clapping.”

“Well your autopilot is very impressive,” Felix continued.

“Thanks. Years of practice.”

“What do you mean?” Minho asked.

“It used to happen all the time in high school too...” you trailed off, mumbling the next part. “I was a theater kid.”

“What?”

Jisung smirked at your embarrassed expression while his brothers gawked at you. “Makes sense, right?” he teased.

“Shut the fuck up,” you spat.

“That explains so much,” Minho whispered.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Anyway, you did great, babe,” Jisung said. “Promise.”

“As long as I hit most of the notes I’m happy.”

“Okay, now pick a song for me and Minho. We’re up in a few more rounds.”

Felix passed you the book of choices for you to look over, even though you’d already flipped through everything when you and Jisung went. Instinctively, you looked up to Minho for some kind of guidance. You didn’t want to pick something they wouldn’t like. But he just grinned.

“Pick your poison.”

You ended up recruiting Jisung for the decision since he knew the two boys way better than you did. He pointed out a couple of options for you to choose from and you eventually went with Promiscuous Girl by Nelly Furtado and Timbaland which proved to be a mistake. You chose it because you thought they’d make fun of themselves and have a good time with it, and they did, but Minho also pulled out a side of him you’d never seen before and that was a problem.

It was a problem because he took Timbaland’s part and the lower octave definitely had an effect on you. Not only that, but the way he worked the stage like he owned it made your insides twist. He was pretty confident on a normal day, but this was on a different level. It was clear that he wasn’t taking himself too seriously, but that he also knew how to perform, which was making you feel all sorts of things. Instead of interacting with each other, Minho and Felix involved the crowd, acting like they were singing about them. And of course, Minho locked eyes with you and wouldn’t look away. His gaze broke away a couple of times when he turned to face different sections of the audience, but it always came back to you.

At some point, you weren’t even registering the lyrics anymore, just watching his hips move to the rhythm like you were being hypnotized.

“He’s such a show-off,” Jisung mumbled in your ear. “He’s got a career in dance and never lets anyone forget it.”

“They’re upstaging us,” you muttered back.

“Yeah, fuck them.”

“We should leave,” you joked, still not able to tear your eyes away from the stage. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to stand if you tried. “We can’t stand for this kind of disrespect.”

“At least they don’t have our chemistry,” he pointed out.

“That’s true. We have that advantage. It would have been a little concerning if they did.”

Jisung laughed, and nodded in agreement, turning his head back toward the performance.

It was like Minho could feel the shift in your attention, like he knew you were fully focused on him again, because he threw a wink in your direction, biting his lip to suppress a smirk.

“Jesus, are they trying to seduce the entire bar?”

Nope, just me.

He was probably just doing it to be annoying, to get under your skin or something. He was the one who had said it was a good idea to keep your distance from each other so you knew it didn’t mean anything.

Still, you felt hot all over and stole a sip of Jisung’s drink to try and cool down. You’d already finished yours. But you forgot that his actually had vodka in it and almost spit it all over the table.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” your best friend asked frantically, hitting you a couple of times on the back in case you were choking.

“Just strong,” is all you were able to manage.

“Here, I’ll get you some water.”

“No, I got it,” you insisted. “I have to go to the bathroom anyway.”

That was a lie, but you did want to splash some cold water on your face to ease the heat that had risen to your cheeks during Minho and Felix’s performance. The song was over now and you didn’t want them to see you so flustered so you needed to be gone before they came back over to the table.

You were up before Jisung could protest, and wove through the tables to the back of the bar where the hallway for the restrooms were. You were nearly there when you heard your name being called from behind you and you whipped around before you could think better of it.

It was Minho, because who else would it be? He had his hands in the pockets of his slacks, Rolex just barely peeking out from where it was fastened around his wrist. You hated that you noticed that. You hated that you noticed the veins that traveled up his arms and disappeared under the rolled sleeves of his white dress shirt. You hated that you noticed everything about him.

“What are you doing back here?” you asked.

“Looking for you,” he confessed. “Thought you might’ve been upset.”

“Upset about what?”

He took a step closer to you. You were tempted to back away, but you stood your ground. The hallway was already pretty small and in a couple of moves of this chess game you were playing with him you’d be backed into a corner, literally.

“About the karaoke thing.”

“What karaoke thing?”

“Well, it could be a number of things,” he explained. “I feel bad about pressuring you to do a song when you didn’t want to, for one.”

“You didn’t pressure me.”

“I kind of did.”

“Not any more than my own boyfriend was.”

He shrugged indifferently, but it was stiff. His shoulders moved up and down in a rehearsed manner. It didn’t come naturally.

“It’s just karaoke,” you added.

“Well, yeah, but then I also thought you might be upset about me and Felix’s song- or my part of the song, I guess.”

Had he noticed you acting weird? Or was he suddenly remorseful over eye-fucking you for three straight minutes in front of your boyfriend? Either way, you weren’t sure why he would care.

“I picked the song, why would I be upset?”

“I mean, you got up as soon as it ended. I thought you might be rushing out because I overstepped or something.”

“Do you think you overstepped?” you asked, throwing the ball back into his court.

Minho pressed his lips into a thin line as he contemplated how to answer your question.

“Not everything is about you,” you scoffed before he could respond, even though you had definitely just been running to the bathroom to splash water on your face because of him.

He blinked, clearly not expecting you to take the conversation in that direction. “I know.”

You put your hands on your hips and cocked your head to the side. “Do you?”

“Listen, I know things between us are complicated-”

“You’re the one who said we should stay away from each other, yet here you are following me to the bathroom. Where does Jisung think you are? What if he comes to check on me?”

“He won’t.”

“How do you know?”

Minho sighed in exasperation, taking a hand out of his pocket to run it through his styled curls. “Do you ever stop worrying?”

“I think the situation warrants it,” you reasoned.

“And what exactly is the situation?” he asked, taking another step closer.

“You tell me,” you countered.

You were both dancing around it, neither of you wanting to admit it. Minho has a career in dance. Jisung’s words echoed in your head as you stared his older brother down. You knew you were going to be the one to get burned in the end no matter how things turned out, especially now that the fire was growing so out of control. Wild, destroying everything in its path. You could feel it in your stomach, the incandescence that drew you to Minho. You could see the embers in his eyes too.

Minho was the first to make a move this time. Instead of answering, he cupped your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours. You kissed him back almost immediately, practically melting into him as he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

He steadied you by moving his hands from your cheeks to your waist. His strong frame cradled your crumbling one, and he stumbled backward as he pulled you into the men’s room. He leaned his back into the door to open it, mouth never leaving yours.

The bathroom was empty, thankfully, but you didn’t think you would’ve cared if it wasn’t. Minho turned you around and pressed you into the sinks, teeth grazing your shoulders as he ground his hips into yours from behind.

The dim lighting was another thing you were thankful for. That way, he couldn’t see how wrecked you already looked in the reflection of the mirror. Your hands clutched at the edge of the marble countertop as you tried to keep your knees from buckling. He hadn’t even touched you, not really, and you were struggling to catch your breath.

Minho’s hands ran over your ass, squeezing before he spun you back around and kissed you again. Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, the alcohol in your system doing nothing to help your coordination.

He chuckled against your mouth and grabbed your hands with his, stilling them.

“Let me,” he whispered.

You nodded wordlessly and watched as he popped a few buttons of the dress shirt- not enough to be completely open, but enough to show off his chest, and you felt your mouth go dry as you shamelessly ogled him. He smirked at your reaction and ran a hand through his hair. You didn’t even remember grabbing his hair like that, but evidently, you had gotten carried away in more ways than one.

He grabbed your hips and hoisted you up onto the counter, laughing when you nearly fell into one of the sinks. You spread your legs for him, letting him slot himself between them as he placed a hand on each of your thighs and slipped his fingers beneath the hem of your skirt. You couldn’t help but grind yourself against him, desperate for some type of relief. The ache was getting to be too much. You felt so empty, and you just wanted something inside of you.

“Please, Minho,” you gasped.

“Please, what?” he quipped back, kissing you again to punctuate the question.

“I need...” you trailed off.

Were you really going to say it? Were you really going throw your morals out the window and fuck your best friend’s brother just because you were drunk and horny and couldn’t seem to stay away from him? Clearly, you’d stooped below the moral high ground weeks ago when you’d gotten yourself off to the thought of him, and when you kissed him. You’d already crossed so many lines, broken so many of the rules of you and Jisung’s agreement. Yet this line was the line, and if you didn’t think there was redemption for you before, there certainly wouldn’t be after this.

It was as if you were at the gates of hell, and instead of turning away and running for the hills, you were being lured into the heat. You weren’t even trying to fight it. You’d burn willingly with Minho if he would step into the flames with you.

Minho spoke before you could get another word in and whatever resolve you had left evaporated. “You have no idea how badly I want you,” he rasped.

“I think I might have some idea,” you teased, squeezing your thighs around his waist, effectively pressing his erection into your stomach.

The fact that you could feel how hard he was through his pants was only turning you on more, and it made you wonder if he could feel your arousal too. Wearing a skirt hadn’t been the best idea in hindsight. The only layer between your pussy and anything else was the panties you were wearing, and the material they were made out of was pretty thin. If Minho pulled away and there was a wet patch on his slacks from you, you might die from embarrassment.

“Wish I could take you up against the glass,” he muttered, nodding in the direction of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far side of the restroom. “Where the whole city could see.”

The hotel bar was a rooftop bar atop a skyscraper. No one would be able to see you, and you both knew that, but the idea of it made you clench around nothing nonetheless.

He latched his mouth to your neck and began working on the straps of your shirt. He slid them down your shoulders, exposing more of your cleavage in the process. You moaned at the feeling of his tongue on your skin, and he seemed to like that. Your sounds spurred him on, and his head dipped lower and lower until he was at the valley of your breasts. You were about to beg him not to stop when the door to the bathroom flung open suddenly, making you both freeze where you were.

It was no one you knew, just one of the other patrons of the bar, but you were still completely mortified to be caught in such a compromising position. Minho was quick to react and shielded your half-naked body with his, holding you close to him so that the person couldn’t see your state of undress.

The stranger turned around and left just as quickly as they’d come in, but it had been enough to break the spell.

Minho let go of you and awkwardly stepped backward, hastily redoing the buttons on his shirt. He was quiet now and he wouldn’t look you in the eyes. You knew there was no chance of picking up where you’d left off. It was over.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t know what came over me.”

You straightened your skirt and hopped off the counter. You did know what came over him. It was the same thing that came over him the first time he kissed you, and the time he kissed you back, but you decided not to say anything about it. You had no room to talk anyway.

“I, uh, I don’t want you to think that I don’t want to, because I do,” he stressed, looking pained. “But you’re my brother’s girlfriend, and that’s... that’s just a line I can’t cross. I can’t do that to him. I know we’ve already crossed so many lines... b-but as long as you’re his nothing can happen between us.”

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sixosix · 9 months

Text

IT WAS ALL BY DESIGN | KAVEH

tags second chance, angst and fluff, time-skips, DARK HUMOR, lovers to exes to lovers again, profanity

written for art @aanobrain, who i made a bloodpact with saying that if i were to write this they’d write me xiao, so here we are. hope u like it art

a/n wc 4K kaveh lore spoilers but i didn’t follow the canon timeline. kaveh meets al-haitham BEFORE the palace of alcazarzaray. also this has two parts

next part

kaveh first saw you when he was presenting his nth draft proposal to his fellow group members.

it’s stressful, it’s a mess, kaveh is lost, and so, so tired. this group is certainly the worst one he’s had yet, but he’s too far deep to back out now.

tamara sighs deeply, like a tired mother, and kaveh’s temper flares, “i understand your need to express your love for aesthetics, but don’t you think that it’s unwise to sacrifice practicality?”

kaveh’s jaw ticks. “sacrifice? i’ve already explained that i’ve thought of every detail to consider. give me something to work on, actual criticism, without just slandering my ideals.”

tamara enjoys insulting his beliefs because she is nothing like kaveh. or maybe it’s because he is nothing like her.

it always is like this. snobs treat his proposals—bursting at the seams with unique ideas yet never neglecting quality—like a joke, and they never get past getting called drafts. he never gets past calling any of his first proposals a success.

“the outside world wouldn’t be as lenient as we had been to your designs, you know,” another of them says. one of his mentors. “tamara is right. we don’t have to get too detailed. here, listen, what if you just change up the strange curve of this wall? and this pillar you…”

outside world, kaveh thinks bitterly. he had already dealt enough with the outside world, but keeping him cornered against a wall he had been building against them was far worse than that.

yet he can’t say this. he’s said enough already. if tamara’s face were to get any redder, he’d lose the opportunity for the materials collectively funded by these people.

kaveh sighs, defeated. “i know. i’m sorry i snapped. i’ll take in your suggestions. what did you say must be removed first?”

“hold on,” one of his group mates speaks up. anis leans her chair over to another table, tapping the shoulder of someone kaveh is sure he’s never damn seen before. “hey, what do you think?”

you squint at kaveh’s work, unfazed by anis interrupting your studies. kaveh doesn’t want to, but he can’t look away. “i don’t understand some of it, but it’s nice. this building would look beautiful in the jungle.”

anis returns the front of her char’s legs on the floor. “ahh, you think?” she muses, handing the paper over to you. “well, an outside perspective is just as important.”

with a pen in your grip, you point at somewhere kaveh can’t quite see, blocked off by the back of the paper. it’s blocked off your face, too. “could use a bit more ornamental flora. too little over here if you’re going to already add it. life doesn’t just come from bright colors, but other forms of life as well.”

“spoken like a true amurta darshan.”

you huff proudly, lowering the paper and revealing your smile. kaveh stares, and stares.

knowing how to appreciate beauty as he does is a trait he has always admired. he secretly takes your suggestions to heart, planning to pull another all-nighter for a few sketches. this is the beauty of the akademiya; why he never gave up as soon as he was first brought down—he learns so much every day.

his heart races just at the thought of it. it’s been days since he felt this.

kaveh wonders if he’ll see you again and doesn’t get much time to think about it again when he’s pulled back to reality, back to yet another proposal that’s been erased so many times, it looks more like a smudge of ink than something kaveh would proudly call his.

kaveh sees you again in the house of daena hunched over a book with your face pinched, sitting next to someone, and he thinks that might’ve been when he fell in love.

but no, that can’t be right. that’s not how love works. it takes time, courage, long nights, restless mornings—this is just him a few feet away from someone whose words he admired.

this must be more like passing by a picture that caught his interest. this must be more fleeting, more like what he deserves, like how the yolk is shaped perfectly on his breakfast for the first time in weeks, how the weather is perfect for smooth construction without disaster, or how his mother did not at least cry too much in a day.

he had only been trying to pass by and continue annotating the book he promised himself to get back to, which happened to be slotted on the shelf in front of your table. it’s sheer luck. and he might’ve taken advantage of it.

the student next to you is speaking. cyno, kaveh recognizes belatedly. “do you get it? because wave could refer to the motion of your hands, but it could also refer to an ocean’s wave, or what is the result of the wind blowing over the surface of—”

you clutch your head. with your eyes off the books scattered across the desk, kaveh sees this as a sign to turn away, a small smile on his face as he listens to your voice. it’s pleasant, much more than the ones he hears all the time around him. “please, cyno, have some respect for your senior and have mercy on the bags under my eyes.”

“i am,” cyno says sternly. “i am cheering you up. perhaps it’s because you aren’t under-sand-ing my jokes.”

when kaveh risks a glance, you throw a crumbled paper onto cyno, which he catches with unblinking ease.

“don’t make me call tighnari here,” you threaten, holding a pen to his face.

“is he going to give me pun-ishment?”

“cyno…”

kaveh gets his wits about him again and realizes that he had been picking more books than he needed, just in time to hear more of cyno, unfortunately.

“did you not understand? you see, the word punishment has pun in it, which is what i’m—”

“that’s it.” the sound of a chair sliding across the smooth floor echoes in the quiet halls. “you sit there alone. think about your actions; i’m going to get lunch without you.”

kaveh takes a step forward, you do so backward, and you catch each other’s eyes from the synchronized movement.

somehow, meeting your eyes makes his heart jump to his throat. he can’t tell if this is better or worse than when you were just at a different table and he didn’t have the chance to speak with you.

it becomes a moment too long: kaveh gets nervous, spinning around on his heels and pretending to look for more books. this is unlike him. his head aches trying to think about it.

once you leave, kaveh approaches cyno.

“cyno,” kaveh says with a smile.

“kaveh,” cyno acknowledges. “why were you just watching us? was there something wrong?”

kaveh’s blood drains from his face. “was it that obvious? was it?”

cyno nods. “you’re terrible at acting casual.”

kaveh sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ugh—whatever. cyno, hey, listen. that person you were with…”

“y/n?” he tilts his head. “did you need anything?”

“no, no.” kaveh repeats your name in his head, and files it away for later. “do you want to get lunch?” he asks, which he later realizes is an unspoken invitation for a new side of cyno he wishes he didn’t know. the puns hurt his head more than frustrating clients.

kaveh sits by himself in lambad’s tavern, lazily rocking his glass back and forth.

he’s made friends. plenty. but he’s not sure if he can confide in them if he were to go to them in this state.

he thought could consider al-haitham as one, but that blew over on his own face some time ago. it was a mess. kaveh’s not sure which hurt more: when he felt his own spite with how he trembled in spitting al-haitham’s name, or the fact that someone he almost considered a best friend seemed unfazed at all when they both knew that they wouldn’t talk to each other the next day.

al-haitham removed his name from the thesis, and kaveh tore up the copy he had of it. but unlike al-haitham, kaveh couldn’t bear the guilt and pieced them back together.

now they haven’t spoken for a while.

and he sits here, frustrated to the point of near tears.

he’s never felt as lonely as he feels right now, burdened by the stress accumulated from all those years with no one to tell him that he’s doing something right, that he’s going in the right direction. it feels childish, but when he closes his eyes, he can vividly imagine someone patting his shoulder, telling him he’s proud to call him his son, or someone pulling him close, kissing his forehead, telling him that she’d come back for him.

kaveh picks up the glass and takes a long sip.

“are you even allowed to drink?” someone says, too close to him.

kaveh inhales sharply, unfortunately breathing his drink along with it. he chokes on it, and some dribbled past his lips as he turns to the sound of the familiar voice.

you quirk an eyebrow. kaveh wants to gape.

“it’s coffee, and i’m allowed,” kaveh mutters hoarsely, flustered. how long have you been there? were you just watching him?

“but you’re pretending it is alcohol?”

kaveh looks away. he was hoping that no one would notice his dramatics.

“it’s funny,” you tell him. kaveh wasn’t really hoping to appear funny in his sorry state.

you call for lambad and tell him you want your usual. when lambad returns, he hands you a half-full glass of what kaveh could smell as alcohol. maybe he should’ve done the same, but his goal was to feel awake enough to finish his due project, not intoxicated and slurring his words together.

“well?” you turn to him, your cheek against your palm as your arm rests against the counter. “are you gonna act like it and bemoan your regrets?”

students of the akademiya have started to become familiar with the fact that kaveh is a one-of-a-kind genius. names like light of kshahrewar started to circle the halls loud enough for kaveh to hear it from rumors and to his face when they asked to collaborate with him or when they ask for too much of his time.

he was expecting you to do the same. he wouldn’t even blame you if you tried because he wouldn’t hesitate to say yes. yes, yes, i want to.

there is no liquid courage here, just the presence of you and his muddled mind finding it far too comfortable.

“my mother remarried,” he says.

you blink, pausing mid-way through drinking your fill. “oh…?”

“i’m happy for her,” kaveh says, confident, firm.

“here’s to that.” you clink your glass against his.

you weren’t taking it as a happy statement. he doesn’t want sympathy, but he knows that whatever you’re thinking is the irrefutable truth. perhaps you were mourning with him because he, too, knows that there’s nothing content about him when he has to reassure himself out loud.

kaveh wants to ask so many questions. he wants to pull out the stacks of papers shoved in his briefcase, ask you what you think of it, listen to you tell him that you understand its beauty, but it’d be more beautiful if he weren’t so afraid and confined in someone else’s ideals. he needs to hear you say it because he knows you’d say the exact same thing as he wants.

instead, he sits quietly, watching you from the corner of his eyes, entranced.

and kaveh—he’s longing. or maybe he’s just starting to feel loneliness.

“so, what happened between you and al-haitham’s group project?” you ask, wearing a smile that spells out you know exactly what you’re getting into.

“oh, don’t even get me started,” kaveh groans.

the night ends with his heart a little lighter than it was before. (this is still fleeting, right?)

it seems like after that, you’re just everywhere and always by his side. kaveh loves it. especially when he’s too caught up with the world and needs someone to distract him enough to remember that the world is splendid.

despite his desperate attempt at drowning himself in coffee in hopes of being able to remodel at least three rejected drafts, he doesn’t get anything done at all.

he knows that giving in and offering to help out everyone who asks him for it isn’t healthy. he knows it, and he sees the effects on his face, the paleness of his skin, and the mess of his hair.

when kaveh stares his paper down, he can almost see himself on it. not a reflection, but a shadow. it looks like a bird’s nest. he might as well get feathers to go with his hair and complete the look.

someone taps his shoulder, and kaveh somehow doesn’t feel like reacting accordingly. “kaveh, is that you? are you kaveh?” the stranger asks, all in one breath.

it takes him a few seconds. breathing in and out deeply. he turns around, hopes the eyebags on his face aren’t as heavy as they feel, and smiles.

“yes?”

“ah!” he recognizes the student. a few years younger than him. he can’t quite come up with a name right now. “thank goodness. they told me that you could help me with this, i knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

“oh,” kaveh says, quiet.

if any of his friends were here, they’d glare him down, tell him that he’s going to bleed himself dry if he even thinks about saying anything aside from no. but they aren’t, and kaveh’s heart is bleeding out instead.

“what is it?”

“kaveh!”

you come stumbling in between him and the younger student, whose eyes bulge out of his eyes. he seems to be shaking, if kaveh were to look any closer.

without warning, you throw an arm over kaveh’s shoulder, leaning down to press your chest against his shoulder blade. kaveh’s breath hitches.

you tilt your head to appraise the cowering junior. “oh,” you say, as if not realizing he had been there all along. “daneh. did you need anything?”

“no. no, no, i don’t,” daneh splutters. “i’ll take my leave, i think— i think i should— please excuse me.”

while daneh runs off, kaveh tries to recall his breakfast and the procedure he did in his head to calm down and give himself the boldness to meet your eyes. what is happening to him?

dried fish fillet pan-fried until crispy, served in creamy, white sauce, sprinkled with mint—

“kaveh,” you say. your voice is too close to his ears, which he is sure is turning red.

—kaveh, kaveh, kaveh.

“y/n,” kaveh says, defeated, the grip on his quill faltering. “what was that about?”

he thinks he can feel a grin, and he badly wants to see what it would look like on your face. “i don’t remember telling you my name.”

curiosity wins. kaveh can’t help but smile along with you when he sees it. “you did it on purpose?” then, “cyno told me.”

“you asked around about me?”

“yes, i did,” he says, almost petulantly.

the way your mouth tips to one side more makes your beam come off more smug. “is that so?” you say, and kaveh feels like he’s bared himself to the world. “what’s this?”

kaveh follows where you’re pointing. it’s a mindless sketch he was practicing with; he doesn’t remember drawing half of it. “i was… oh, i don’t know, i just needed a break.”

“this is what you do on your break?” your fingers hover over the page as you trace the curved columns and drooping roof. “green. they look like leaves,” you tell him quietly.

kaveh’s smile turns softer at your sincere awe. “i know.” he wonders what’s going on in your head, then wonders if he’s worth knowing. “what do you think’s missing?”

“i’m no architect, but it could use a bit more of a… splash, you know? color. maybe some—”

“ornamental flora?” kaveh finishes for you. “you’re right. there’s no need to worry about this, though. i must have been on autopilot creating this.”

“straight to the bin it goes? what a shame. it’s stunning.” there’s a seat right there, yet you insist on being pressed against him, bent over, still too close to his ear. you talk about beauty, and kaveh asks himself if you’ve looked at yourself. “i suppose i don’t understand how geniuses work. you are one of a kind, light of kshahrewar.”

then he is suddenly so aware of your hand having trailed upwards, resting on his nape. as you move, your skin rubs absentmindedly on where the hair fades. he shivers.

he hates that title. he feels like he doesn’t deserve any praise he receives at all. yet when you say it—

“you blush a lot,” you point out. kaveh wants to dig a hole and lay there forever. “it’s cute. your expressiveness is charming.”

“don’t—just say that.” his face is so, so red.

al-haitham finds him alone at the same table that night, unable to focus on anything but his racing thoughts. something is wrong with him, he’s sure. he’ll have to pay tighnari a visit and retrace if he’d picked the wrong mushroom.

al-haitham—and kaveh doesn’t know how he’s managed to figure it out so easily—makes a face that would be the closest thing to a smile. “i like y/n,” al-haitham says, out of the blue.

“what,” kaveh says flatly, coiled up like a cat prepared to pounce.

“smart enough to pull you back down and smart enough to make you listen.”

“it’s—” kaveh wants to say it’s not like that, but he goes silent thinking about it. “fuck off. you wouldn’t get it.”

al-haitham tilts his head to the side. “you’re the one not ‘getting it’.”

thankfully, al-haitham leaves him be. they are still on awkward terms, after all.

“oh,” kaveh says intelligently one morning. oh, no.

tighnari’s ear twitches. “the star of the show is here, finally.”

“everyone,” kaveh starts solemnly as the door slams shut behind him. the wind blows, and kaveh’s hair flutters, looking like he came straight out of those films.

“how has dealing with your recent client been looking?” tighnari asks with a smile. cyno and al-haitham nod because they probably didn’t think of even asking that. it’s why tighnari is kaveh’s favorite.

but he is not here to talk about that.

kaveh slams his briefcase on the table, rattling their glasses. “i’m going to confess.”

al-haitham makes a face. “who are we confessing to?”

“not we, al-haitham. stay out of this,” kaveh says. al-haitham’s expression doesn’t change. “i’m going to confess, and it’s going to be so romantic. no one can say no.”

“i would say no.”

kaveh glares, snatching his glass. “al-haitham, just be quiet. the adults are talking. this isn’t about you.”

“you invited us out here,” al-haitham points out.

cyno tilts his head. “to y/n, right?”

“about time,” tighnari sighs.

“yes, to y/n. and what do you mean about—” kaveh huffs, getting red in the face, flustered. “hey, aren’t you guys going to stop me? tell me this is a bad idea and that i’m going to ruin this meaningful friendship i have with y/n?”

“everyone wants you to confess already,” al-haitham says, as if kaveh is stupid for not realizing that. maybe he is.

cyno hums thoughtfully. “if i stop you, i think y/n will murder me with bare hands.”

“oh,” kaveh says, pleased. whatever that means. “alright, then, thank you.” he downs the glass of water—it was al-haitham’s, most likely, judging by the incensed expression on his face—and grabs his briefcase again.

“where are you going— kaveh, hey, where do you think you’re—” tighnari smacks his hand on the table, yelling after kaveh, who’s already by the door.

kaveh’s confession is messy, quick, and probably not as romantic as he had hoped, stumbling over his words and feeling as brave as an infatuated schoolgirl.

“pinning me against the shelf like this is quite the move, kaveh,” you say, and kaveh snaps back to reality. “why are we hiding?”

“sorry,” he splutters, backing off a bit but not enough to have you far from touching him. “i don’t want—someone could see us.”

“now, why are you afraid of that?” you grin, sly enough to make kaveh comprehend that you know exactly what he’s called you over here for. you do the—the thing again, where you trace shapes on his nape, and he shivers helplessly.

“i like you too much,” kaveh says, his face too red to be passed off as sunburnt.

suddenly, all the confidence he thought he had when he left the tavern dissipated. “you know what i mean. can you—no, will you… ugh, i’m not doing it right—”

you meet his gaze, and you don’t look away, the long silence starting to grow distressing for kaveh.

“kaveh,” you say softly, and that’s when kaveh’s expression crumbles. it could be because of how you said it, carving his name with your mouth so tenderly, but really, it’s because he feels like you wouldn’t look at him the same way ever again.

“yes.”

…wait.

you cup his cheek, pulling him closer to you by his hips. “yes, yes.”

“wait,” kaveh says, “really?”

you bristle, tilting your head down. are you embarrassed? kaveh feels a thrill run down his spine. “yes. about time—we finally did something about the unbearable tension between us. so, if you’re willing to have me…”

“yes, yes,” kaveh says, to all of that. “god, yes.”

embarrassed, you bury your face on his shoulder. kaveh can’t hide how fast his heart is beating when you’re directly on top of it. when you’re in it. “but listen, kaveh, i don’t know if i can stay here in sumeru forever. and i know it will be hard. so if you aren’t—”

kaveh is too happy to think too hard about that.

“no,” kaveh says, “no, i still want to try. please, let’s try.”

“okay,” you breathe, smiling brightly. “kiss me already, will you?”

kaveh prays and prays and thanks their archon that this isn’t fleeting. don’t let it be, not when he has you, and he has already found out your lips meld perfectly with his.

lord sangemah bay commissions him.

in the first few minutes after dori told him that she could care less about what he wanted to do with the place, kaveh didn’t know what to do with himself. he wanted to do everything, but when all of it comes rushing at once, he’s frozen in place instead.

he takes a step in the direction of the house of daena, then another, and another, until he’s sprinting and his heart is racing enough to have a smile crack across his face.

he spends the night in there. he feels crazy; other students can sense madness in his eyes. they all leave him be, as if they know that once they ask, kaveh will never stop talking.

kaveh feels his wrist sore, but he can’t stop. he wouldn’t be able to if he even tried, not when he thinks of a sinking leaf for a roof, windows shaped like petals, and your words—

kaveh pauses, glancing at the clock that has definitely been spinning faster than he remembered.

it’s sunrise. he gets back to work.

“you’re grinning ear-to-ear,” you say, poking kaveh’s cheek. “you’re not telling me something.”

kaveh isn’t. but only on purpose. he takes your hand and uses it to kiss the back of your palm as he blinks up at you, the embodiment of innocence. “what are you talking about? i told you about it. dori commissioned me, and she said that i’ll be in charge of the approval of the design and the construction process…”

while kaveh explains all this, gesturing wildly with his hands, he trails off when realizing you had just been staring at him fondly. his heart skips a beat or two.

“why—why are you just staring like that?”

“it’s hard not to.”

he kisses you square on the mouth, the blueprint of the palace of alcazarzaray hidden beneath his palms, and he thinks he’s never been happier.

(and under the same stars, the withering slithers in, and everything crashes down faster than kaveh could even say please, no.)

a/n art if you’re reading this i didn’t tell you but this is actually a second chance fic cus i remember you saying it’s one of your favorite tropes 🤧 but anyway ty for reading!

#606:GENSHIN #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kaveh x reader #kaveh x you

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animereaderinsertwriter · 1 year

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Tags/Warnings: fem!tutor!yn, football player!Bakugou, werewolf!Bakugou, college au, werewolf mates, yn is hit on my a douchebag and bkg punches him <3

Werewolf!Bakugou who decides he wants to go to college after high school in order to use the football scholarship he earned as the star quarterback.

Werewolf!Bakugou who can’t imagine a life not spent chasing the ball in front of him and mowing down the opposition.

Werewolf!Bakugou who figures out the hard way that chasing the ball requires good grades, actually, and that college is nothing like high school.

Werewolf!Bakugou who walks into his first tutoring session with you gross, sweaty from practice, and about fifteen minutes late, and you clock three things immediately.

One, Bakugou Katsuki is in fact a werewolf; you have The Gift just as you mother had, and you can see it, smell it instantly as he walks through the door. In your mind's eye, you see the beast you know he is in an awkward overlay over his human form, and you don't catch whatever excuse he offers for his tardiness because you're distracted by gleaming crimson eyes and the black ring around them that you know not to be eyeliner, but instead simply his natural coloration.

Two, he's sexy as hell, and that makes you wanna rage-quit your job then and there. You work so hard, and yet the higher-ups always plague you with the hottest students to tutor— you swear they do it on purpose just to dangle what you can never have in front of you like some cruel joke.

Three— he's looking at you. Not just looking, but looking. You can't meet his eyes any longer, so you roll them to heaven in a silent plea for help.

"Just sit down and let's get started now," you tell him, willing your hands to steady as you gesture to the computer monitor next to you. "I only have forty-five minutes left in my shift, and judging by your sheet of objectives, we've got a lot of work to do."

He sits next to you, sweaty, earthy, and a bit smelly, and instead of logging in, he stares at you a bit more, heavily sniffs the air, then sneezes, and sniffs again. You squirm, uncomfortable, and he seems to sense this, because he reluctantly turns to the monitor and puts his too-big hands over the keyboard.

You sigh, and think that this will be a long semester.

***

The first tutoring session does not go as poorly as Bakugou anticipates— but it does not go as well as it might have, either. He spends most of his time there being redirected by the sweet, funny-smelling little thing they assigned to work with him. He doesn't think you realize that you're what's distracting him, or else you'd stop leaning in so close to show him things he couldn't care less about on this google docs thing or whatever— but he's certainly not going to complain, even if it is a pain to keep his teeth to himself the whole time. You just— you smell like a chew-toy made specifically for him, but he can't figure out why.

It's maddening.

Even so, to the relief of his coaches, Bakugou decides to keep showing up, and things get better from there. He gets used to your scent— something earthy, something natural beneath the smell of pencil lead, pen ink, and paper-smell— and he tries not to stare quite so often. Meanwhile, you're ever patient, ever gentle, even when he snaps and growls a bit when you apply more pressure than he'd like while working on assignments he doesn't want to do. You make it easy for him to know things about you; you easily volunteer personal information as a way to build rapport, he thinks. It's… it's nice to get to know you in this way.

There's just one thing that keeps bothering him.

"Why don't you ever come to any of my games?" he sulks one day as you comment on your weekend plans— Netflix with Ben and Jerry, whoever the fuck they were. Fuck Ben and Jerry.

You give him a funny look.

"And how do you know I don't go?" You ask him, quirking a brow in a way that makes him feel like he's missing something. "There's thousands of people in the stadium when you play— you wouldn't know if I was there or not, now would you?"

"Yes I would," he shoots back immediately, forgetting himself, and then to his chagrin, you challenge him.

"Oh yeah? How?" you demand, arms crossed with a smirk, and he knows he's been had.

He couldn't very well say "I could smell you if you were there," now could he?

"I just would," he grumbled, crossing his arms and sinking lower into his chair. "Still didn't answer my question.'

You look at him with an unreadable expression for a moment, and then you admit,

"You guys get hurt a lot," you said, eyes cast down on your lap. "I used to go, but my heart leaps into my throat every time I see one of you go down— which is all the time, really."

Bakugou immediately regrets his attitude when he remembers his teammate, whose knee was in a couple different pieces currently. Of course you had such a sweet and noble reason for not going. Of course he'd made an ass out of himself about it.

"Oh," he says, awkward in the face of your revelation, but you reach out and take his hand with a soft smile.

"It's alright," you say, your skin warm against his. "In fact— if you really want me to go, I'll come out this Saturday and watch you guys play."

Bakugou immediately perks up at that. Some part of him preens at the thought of you in the stands, watching him being better and faster and stronger than every other man under the lights— an irresistible part that makes his teeth itch.

"You will?" he asks, uncaring of how eager he must appear to you.

"I will," you smile, and he grins back a little too widely.

It's not until he leaves the session with you that he realizes that this Saturday is the full moon.

***

That next Saturday, you don't tailgate or otherwise celebrate. You're a bit nervous, on edge, but also excited— you had forgotten what the collective energy of a fall football crowd had felt like, and now that you're sitting in the stands, watching the game, you remember why you ever even bothered to go.

Bakugou is stunning; as you watch him, he's fast and strong and clever as he twists in and out and around the other team's defense, unstoppable, a true alpha. Your heart skips a beat as a huge, hulking player almost Bakugou's size moves to tackle him— but Bakugou dances just out of reach and all the other player catches is air, warmed slightly by Bakugou's former presence. You've never seen anything like this. He's incredible, and you curse yourself for not coming to watch him sooner.

By the end of the game, there's a nervous energy in your chest, a restlessness in your mind; as you wait in line to get down to the field to see Bakugou, part of you wants to shove through the crowd, using your shoulder and sharp elbow to make a way for yourself. Something inside you needs to see him, a deep and desperate urge that you don't quite understand… but once your feet finally touch astroturf, you don't see him, and the world suddenly feels too big, too vast— dizzying.

You feel a presence at your side, and a shadow falls over you. You look over, and although the player who has approached you isn't quite Bakugou's size, he's still huge, hulking, and you suddenly feel small.

"Hey pretty thing," the man says, smiling widely in a way that makes guttural fear pulsing sickeningly through you. "You looking for somebody?"

You shake your head, finding yourself both literally and figuratively on the back foot as you back away, but the man closes the distance easily, with a single step forward that equals two and a half of your strides.

"I think you want to get into the after-party with me," he said, still grinning. "Don't you think you'd look good on my arm?"

The and in my bed goes unspoken, but you hear it anyway, and something wild rises in you— but then something happens faster than you can blink, and the man is suddenly gone. Instead, you see Bakugou's back, his jersey number printed in large font and your school's colors, and his shoulders are heaving with labored breaths.

He'd punched his teammate straight in the mouth.

You watch on, frozen for a moment as Bakugou tears into the bastard, and then suddenly you find your voice and your feet, and as the full moon peaks out from behind the clouds, you call his name:

"Katsuki!" you scream, and when he turns to you, you see that his eyes are no longer human, but flashing fully wolf in the cold, bright light of the stadium. His teeth, you notice, are unnaturally sharp and white, and he looks now somehow more like beast than man.

As the other player scrambles to his feet, you lose Bakugou’s attention, and he lunges at his teammate, tackling him to the ground.

I'm that moment, something surges within you; somehow, you feel sure that Bakugou won't stop until his teammate properly submits to him, and you know that no one knows how to actually do that—

Except you.

Heedless of danger, you step in front of Bakugou, wedge yourself between him and his teammate; you lock eyes with him briefly, enough to catch the attention of brilliant vermillion, then expose your neck, tilting your head to one side as you close your eyes. Immediately, you feel a whiskered cheek rub against yours, accepting the submission with a pleased rumble, and the tension leaves your body entirely.

"We need to get out of here," you tell him as you look up and catch a glance at the moon. "People probably saw what just happened, and you don't need to be around humans when you—"

At that, Bakugou flinches away. He's suddenly, jarringly apart from you, eyes wide and mouth agape, putting pencil-sharp fangs on display.

"How— how did you—"

His eyebrows scrunch in a heart-wrenching mix of confusion and betrayal, but there is no time to deal with that here and now.

"Later," you assure him, grabbing one of his hands and pressing it against your neck, once again submitting to his wolf. "Come on, let's go."

Together, you make your way out of the stadium, your hand in his, until you're in a park, surrounded by trees, and far enough away that you're sure not to be bothered by any untimely interruptions. Blessedly, the moon is covered by the foliage of the trees you stand beneath, and you feel certain that Bakugou is relaxed a bit by its absence.

"Are you alright?" you ask him, and he looks at you like you've grown another head.

"Am I— you mean to say— uhh—"

He blinks, shakes his head, then tries again.

"What the fuck just happened?" he asks, this time fully articulate, and you giggle.

"I don't see what's so fucking funny," he huffed, crossing his arms. "Are you insane?"

"No more than you are," you grin, and he frowns at you.

"How— uh, I mean— why did you—"

You've had enough of watching Bakugou flounder. Slowly, you step forward, exposing your neck once more, and you say,

"It's alright, Katsuki. I have The Gift. I've known what you are since the day I met you."

You look up to meet his eyes, and Bakugou is… less himself. The awkward overlay of his beastly form is back in your vision, and even when you blink a few times, it doesn't go away. The only thing that remains consistent are his eyes— vibrant, blood-red, and alluring.

"Did you take your wolfsbane?" you ask him, and he grunts in what you assume is the affirmative. It would only make sense that he would because of the game, but with the way he's acting—

"I think the wolf wants to shift anyway," he says, visibly struggling with the words. "I want— I mean, it's— Jesus fuck, woman, stop with the neck thing before I start gnawing on you!"

You stiffen a bit at that, and Bakugou looks like he could shove his foot in his mouth— but then the implication of what he said begins to dawn on you, and you smile.

"You think of me as pack," you say with a grin. "How cute!"

"N-not pack." He looks at you meaningfully, then. "Not… quite."

You blink. You swallow.

"Not… pack?"

Bakugou looks miserable.

"No," he affirms. "Not pack."

It was always a possibility, you knew. Your mother had warned you long ago. Your own father had been human, of course, but where The Gift was concerned, one could never be sure.

"So… like mate?"

Bakugou hunches his shoulders with shame, but nods tentatively.

"Before, I wasn't sure," he admits, "but now, under the moon…"

He grimaces, and your heart breaks for him. Slowly, you step forward and reclaim his hand with a smile, and he lets you.

"How close are you to your shift?" you ask gently, rubbing your thumb over the skin of his knuckles.

"Close," he huffs. "You— you gotta get outta here, you can't be here for when I—"

"I know," you tell him, understanding.

"Don't— don't run, though." He eyes you up and down, and you swear you can see a wolf-tail swish despite his rueful expression. "I'll want to chase if you run."

An interesting detail— you file it away for later.

"I won't," you promise, still holding his hand in yours, "but in return, I need you to make a promise to me."

Bakugou growls lightly at that, frustrated, but you lift his hand to your neck, place it there, and it soothes him.

"Promise me that when you're recovered from your shift, you'll find me," you say. "We need to talk about this properly— and from here on out, I'll need to tell my supervisors that I can't tutor you anymore."

Hurt flashes in Bakugou's eyes, and you can see that he's wounded, but you press his hand more firmly against your neck as you add,

"After all, tutors aren't allowed to date their students— can't give HR a reason to fire me."

A million different emotions flicker in Bakugou's eyes, and the vision of his wolf gets a little stronger— but he takes his hand away, shuddering.

"Get the hell outta here," he says, looking at you now with eyes that are peeling off your clothes layer by layer, "or else I don't think I'll give you a choice in the matter."

At that, you grin.

"Is it a deal, then?"

Bakugou grunts.

"You bet your sweet ass it is. Now fuck off— I'll find you when I'm me again."

It is with a certain thrill of satisfaction that you turn on your heel, leaving Bakugou there in the copse of trees in the center of the park. You know he will do just as he said; you know that he is made for you, and you for him.

You know you've found your mate.

#hannah's freaky fridays #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #mha x reader #werewolf!bakugou #tutor!reader

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streamingcolors-gvf · 1 year

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Skin Deep - Part 2

Moodboard created by @jakekiszkasleftnutsack

Shout out to @kiszkasun for providing tattoo edits of the boys 🖤

@pennylanefics for the beautiful tatt!jake moodboard that sparked the idea.

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x f!reader x Jake Kiszka

Warnings: cursing, sexually explicit content - MINORS DNI!! (Oral m!receiving, fingering, hand stuff - m!recieving, dirty talk, praise kink, spit kink, super light choking if you squint, biting)

A/N: This has become a twin series (smut with both of them for those unaware, so if this isn’t your thing, keep scrolling) , and I found that I had to break up some of the chapters due to the size of the fic. So I don’t want Jake girlies coming after me. There will be plenty of Jake interactions coming up. I PROMISE. Feedback and your support is always appreciated. Hope y’all enjoy this installment 🖤

Thank you @asparrowofthedawn for all the Pinterest diving, daily support and inspo for this fic. It doesn’t go unappreciated. Also a thank you to @capturethechaos for letting me bug them with my rambling thoughts and updates on this story.

Masterpost, Part 1

The first thing you realize when you pry your eyelids apart, is that you’re not in your bedroom. The luxury cotton blend of high-thread count sheets brushing up against your cheek aren’t the ones fitted across your mattress. The mustard-yellow painted wall isn’t one you recognize, and the soft light filtering in through the windows doesn’t happen at home. You blink away your blurred vision until it comes into focus, finally seeing the vintage movie posters decorating the room.

As you’re slowly dragged into consciousness, you hear the faint sounds of snoring beside you. It startles you at first, making you turn abruptly to prop yourself up on your elbow. You realize it’s Josh facing away from you, laying across his stomach. He’s still sleeping soundly, face hidden and tucked away into the crook of his elbow.

The memories of the night prior flood your mind, and the shock of what transpired runs through your body, making you huff out a breath of disbelief. Reeling from it, you take the moment of peace to look around his room, something that felt rather intimate despite everything that has already happened between you.

A wooden artist desk sits in the corner, locked in an upright position with sheets of toned paper taped to its surface. On the shelves above it, metal tins sit filled with a collection of pens, paintbrushes and markers. A large tapestry is tacked to the wall on the far side. Exotic potted plants are scattered around the room, resting on shelves, onto the floor and even hanging from the ceiling — giving the space a sense of life.

Soon, your eyes find Josh again. The blanket is draped across his waist, giving you the view of his bare back for the first time. Most of Josh’s body is touched by ink, but the expansive piece captures your attention as he takes in the steady breaths of slumber. Starting in the center of his spine, the floral mandala spreads out into two massive lotus flowers on each shoulder blade. You reach out, tracing his warm skin with a feather-light touch of your fingers along the bold linework of each petal. It’s ambitious, still unfinished with only a fraction of the design filled with the rich, vibrant colors.

Pitched hums vibrate in his chest as he starts to stir when your fingertips travel between his shoulders and up to where the tattoo ends at the nape of his neck. You quickly retreat your hand to your chest when he stretches and rotates onto his back. A heavy sigh leaves him, and for a second you think he might be awake, but the way his mouth parts with a hushed snore tells you otherwise.

His tousled curls have lost their shape, falling over his brow with his head buried into the pillow. Long lashes kiss the high point of his cheeks that have been painted pink with the spring sun.

You have never been in denial about how attractive you found him. Now, as you look upon him in his purest and most vulnerable form, you can truly appreciate his beauty. Even to the tiny scar beside his mouth or the one nicked below his left brow — tiny imperfections that tell a story for a moment in time.

Maybe you’re still riding on the wave of impulsivity that led you to this predicament in the first place when you lean into him. The kiss you place below his ear is what makes his arm slip around your back to pull you in tighter. The tip of your nose brushes against the crushed-velvet of his buzzed hair, ticking you in the process. A sleep laden groan rumbles in his throat, vibrating against your lips while you explore the sharp line of his jaw. The late morning light peeking through the blinds catches the wet marks you’re leaving across the tattoos covering his neck. You let the tip of your tongue follow the lines of the petals, breathing him in as if you could smell the sweet scent of the inked peonies. The feeling of your mouth brings him a step closer to consciousness, eliciting a heavy sigh from his chest.

Nuzzling into the crook of his neck, you trail your hand down his bare, tattooed chest, passing over your fingers over the sparrows and bed of poppies. The muscles of his stomach quiver from your sensual touch, making his hips shift against the mattress. You’re expecting the waistband of at least a pair of underwear, but instead, you feel the trimmed patch of hair when you slip your fingers beneath the blanket.

He’s warm and soft cupped in your hand. You’re gentle with your touch, keeping him safe as you guide him into a state of wakefulness. A shudder rolls through him with a moan that cracks through the thick air settling in his bedroom. His fingertips press into your side, and you feel him harden in your palm with every steady beat of his heart.

You notice the lustful scent of sex still lingering on him as you place another heady kiss to his collarbone, quickly giving into the urge to bite along the thin, delicate skin. His hand slides up your back and through your hair, wrapping around the nape of your neck, and gives it a firm squeeze with his fingers as your teeth graze across him.

His back arches up from the bed once your tongue creates a path down to his nipple, following it with a louder groan when you flick across it.

“Morning.” The dreamy crackle of this voice delivered to you in a heavy sigh makes your elbows weak as you crawl down his body. Your eyes flick up to see him squinting through barely-open lids right before he rubs the sleep from his lashes with the heel of his palm.

You blow a stream of cool air through pursed lips, watching it harden instantly. A breathy whine falls from his open mouth as he writhes beneath you, bucking his hips to drive himself through your hand in an act of impatience. He’s no longer dormant, twitching in the loose grasp of your fingers as he stiffens with each passing second.

“Good morning,” you hum through your open-kisses down his sternum. You nip at the soft flesh of his belly below his navel with a deliberate pump of your fist over his length.

Within the short amount of time spent with him, you are starting to think nothing about this man could surprise you. However, you’re proven wrong when you pull the duvet away from his stomach and discover something peculiar that catches your eye, making you pause the movement of your hand. The permanent illustration you find yourself studying for longer than you’d admit, is a pair of cherries placed a few inches from the base of him — a hidden treasure below his waist, tucked between the divot of his hip and where you were about to place your lips. Two green leaves sprout from the stem, and its vivid shade of red shines in the illustrator’s choice to dip them in a glaze of sticky syrup that runs down the round edge of the fruit in three seductive drips. A banner ribbon wraps around the middle of them, taunting you with the words ‘Bite Me’ in bold font.

You huff a laugh of shock as your fingers feel over the smooth skin. “This has got to be the sluttiest thing about you.”

He’s peering down at you through drowsy lids, his arm now bent behind his head with a smug grin plastered across his stupidly handsome face. He draws in his bottom lip between his teeth before he asks in a raspy tone that makes your chest tighten, “You like it?”

My god, you do.

You’re not willing to reveal your hand to him just yet, so you deflect with a question of your own. “Who gave you this?”

Laughter suddenly breaks free into the quiet room, the sound throaty and heavy when it hits your ears. “I don’t kiss and tell, baby.”

You allow your mind to wander with the thoughts of him getting it, picturing how he might’ve been in a similar position to the one you were in last night. You imagine how he looked with the band of his pants pulled down just enough as the strokes of the needle made contact with the sensitive skin. Something about this tattoo in particular has a feminine touch, and you can’t help the pang of slight jealousy hitting your chest and curiosity from entering your mind.

Even though your weak attempt at a bluff is starting to crumble, you stay vigilant with a purposeful click of your tongue. “Pity.”

Before he’s able to respond with a witty remark, you roll your tongue across the tattoo as if there really was sweet juice from the cherries that could wet your taste buds. An almost feline-like purr rumbles in his throat as you lick your way to the other side. His fingers brush your hand that you’ve draped across his stomach before reaching up to touch your hair.

You suck at the tender skin while slowly stroking him. The lapping of your tongue and nipping of your teeth, paired with the deliciously slow flick of your wrist, causes his fingers to leave you.

A whispered curse flutters from his lips, but your eyes remain closed while you keep your mouth sealed around him. A sharp hiss through his teeth transforms into a moan of pleasure as the familiar blushed splotches of your own cherry-sized love-mark form on the surface.

“Something to remember me by,” you whisper in admiration as you catch your breath and wipe the string of saliva from your lip.

A sighed hum breaks into giggles. “I don’t think I’m ever forgetting you.”

The thought makes you blush and a wave of heat rises from your belly to your chest, but you decide that exploring the new influx of feelings he has created for you would have to wait another time.

“So, being the better-looking twin, I have the nicer dick, ri- oh…” He trails off, falling into a sort-of trance from your casting spell, staring at the bead of spit dribble from your bottom lip. It falls onto the pretty pink head – a lovely shade that matches the one of his lips —and starts to drip down before you swipe it across with your thumb.

Now slick from your mouth, you slide your hand around his length with a rolling twist of your wrist. A violent shudder rolls through him as the mumbled praise leaves his mouth, “Fuck…that’s so good. Just like that.”

You tease him like this through a few deliberate strokes until you decide to bring your lips to him. A devilish grin curls at the upturned corners of his lips with brazen confidence brimming through each word. “You gonna suck my cock, baby?”

You flash him a coy smile, but otherwise stay silent to let your actions do the talking for you. He watches your every move, but can barely contain the broken whimper within his clamped mouth when you finally lick that blissful spot beneath the tip. You’re making sure to keep your eyes locked on him as you push him inch-by-inch along your flattened tongue. It’s obvious he’s fighting the temptation to close them, but the way his dark brows pull together and how his mouth parts through panting breaths tells you everything you need to know.

Just when he expects you to stop, you don’t. Instead, you keep nudging him farther and farther until he hits the back of your throat and the tip of your nose brushes ever-so-slightly against the trimmed hair.

You have to suppress the gag threatening to creep up with deep breaths while allowing your eyes to finally close. He’s pressing himself past the point of your limit, throbbing desperately in the wet warmth of your mouth. You pause for a few moments, letting him soak in the consuming feeling of his cock nestled as deep as it can go. Lifting your head from him, you lick up the streams of drool that have leaked past your lips, cleaning him in a less-than-subtle act of depravity. He takes in the sight of your little show, groaning through clenched teeth, “Holy shit. That feels fucking amazing.”

Your thighs clench in an aching need from the sound of his deeper voice. You swirl your tongue around the head in a changing pattern of circles, tasting him as if he’s a lollipop that shares the same sugary-sweet flavor of those cherries. He sucks in a sharp breath, and a praise hits your ears through a strangled moan, “Yes…yes, baby, oh my god!”

A glance up through your lashes gives you the chance to see him throwing his hands back into the flattened mess of curls buried into the pillow. You stare, fixating on the way the muscles in his arms flex and how his chest rises and falls rapidly from ragged breaths. Something catches your eye, and you realize it’s the light reflecting off the tiny metal ball of his tongue ring swiping across his lip. His eyelids are clamping hard enough to form a small crease between his brows as his open mouth creates a perfect “O” shape. “Oh god…”

The rhythmic bobbing of your head is sloppy, and the borderline-pornographic sounds echoing around the walls of his room would have been more-than shameful to anyone else but the two of you. You find that you have to wrap your hand around what your mouth can’t quite reach, just like you had done with Jake the night before. A ragged cry catches in the back of his throat, but he quickly clears the noise with a forceful grunt, “Fucking…Christ!”

You know he’s teetering on the very edge by the way his stomach muscles are flexing from the rapid build of his orgasm. The slippery pop! of him from your lips yanks his focus back to you in a heartbeat, and the lust-drunken daze swirling in his blown-out pupils makes you giggle for a moment. Although, his eyes don’t stay locked on you for more than a few seconds as they flit behind heavy lids while you continue to pump a tight fist around him.

The delightful squeeze of your fingers around the swollen tip with each upward stroke of your wrist is dancing the line of pleasure and torture for him. He doesn’t dare complain, but the agonizing pace you're choosing causes a sheen of sweat to form on his bare chest that’s now heaving up and down like broken bellows.

He taps your arm in a panic to signal defeat, accepting the complete loss of control. His strained voice is breathless, cracking through tightened vocal cords across a dry tongue, “I can’t…I-I’m gonna cum, baby.”

Not wanting to waste another second, you take him back into the silken feeling of your mouth, enveloping him in its addicting warmth. The way his cock twitches, hardening past the point you thought was physically possible, reveals that his words are nothing but the truth. You’re determined to drive him as deep as he can go with a purposeful flick of your tongue along the base. It doesn’t take longer than a few seconds for his shaky fingers to wrap around your wrist as he succumbs to the tidal wave of his release. If there was any doubt whether his brother could hear you both before, it’s gone now with Josh crying out his mantra of profanities. With a faltering lift of his hips, the heat of his come hits the back of your throat with a force you don’t expect, making it spasm through every swallow. You drink every last drop of him down without question until he’s on the brink of overstimulation.

You pepper kisses the raised point of his hip as he comes down from his euphoric high. The whimpered exhales bubble into giggles as he wipes the hair back from his sweaty brow. He props himself up on an elbow, and looks down at you with that grin plastered across his flushed face.

He huffs an exaggerated breath, “Okay, I’m a little upset Jake experienced that first.”

You roll your eyes in feigned disapproval, “You can’t be serious.”

“C’mere.” He reaches forward to grab your wrist, guiding you onto his lap as he starts to sit up on the bed. You’re both careful in your movements with the fresh tattoo on your leg.

Despite the soreness of your thigh, you settle into the position with a natural ease, taking his face into your cupped palms. The apples of his cheeks are blushing a rosy hue, radiating with a unique glow that could only come from a post-sex haze. Something else grabs your attention when he yawns, and for a second you doubt yourself. You know it's not your mind playing tricks when he wipes his fingers across his mouth, and you’re able to see it for the second time. Acting out of pure impulse, you grasp his bottom lip between your thumb and finger to get a better look.

There it is.

A badly faded tattoo inked into the pink flesh of his inner lip. You think you’re mistaken at first, so you blink a few times and squint to make sure you’re reading the letters correctly. Despite the arguably poor line work, you can still make out the bold lettering ‘PU$$Y”.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” you scoff in disbelief, but before you can release his lip, he pretends to bite at your fingers until you swat him away.

His hands are roaming freely over your ass and up your back when pouts out the lip in question. “What? You don’t like that one?”

“I think I stand corrected. That is probably the sluttiest thing about you.” Snorting a laugh, you rub the muscles of his shoulders until your arms cross behind his neck.

He sighs at the satisfying feeling of your nails lightly scratching his scalp. “I was actually looking to get it removed here soon.” His eyes flutter closed as he cranes his neck back, similar to a cat leaning into a hand to be petted. “I can’t say it's my proudest moment.”

Withdrawing your hands from his hair, you ask out of curiosity, “So what’s the story behind this one?”

You swear you see embarrassment flash across his features from how he chews at his lip. “Ah well, besides being nineteen, alone with a bottle of tequila and access to a tattoo machine? I’m afraid there’s not much more to the tale than that.”

You would’ve laughed if it wasn’t for the barely-detectable shift in his mood, and guilt starts to stir in your gut from fear that you’ve struck a nerve with the topic. You brush your fingertips across his slightly-downturned mouth, asking in a hushed voice, “You did it yourself?”

He hums his answer, smiling from your affectionate touch, but his eyes remain focused on his hands that are busy caressing up your sides. Maybe he’s distracting himself, or even you, when he cups your breasts, giving them a playful squeeze in the palms.

You whine at the feeling, and squirm in his lap as you stroke the trimmed hair of his mustache with your index finger, humming in thought. “Ya’know, I think you should shave this.”

He chuckles, sending the warm, airy laughter across your chest. “Why? Don’t like that either?”

“No! No, I do,” you insist in a too-loud voice, and the kiss placed on your collarbone nearly made the next thought disintegrate on your tongue. “But I also think it’s a shame to cover up your beautiful lips. A clean-shaven look would suit you.”

“Hmmm. I might have to consider that.” He draws the tip of his nose up the column of your extended throat, breathing you in through a deep inhale. “Might make up for the shitty lip tattoo.”

You’re putty in his hands, forgetting where you are, or even what day it is when he kisses up your neck as he roams across the contour of your ass and between your legs. You groan in response, “Maybe there’s nothing wrong with stating your favorite meal.”

His response to your sentiment is a heavy breath that verges on the edge of a growl hitting your throat. His hands quickly find their place around your waist to rock you forward enough to feel his cock twitch and harden beneath you, making you giggle in shock, “Already?”

He scoffs, pulling away just far enough to give you a view of his face, “I'm sorry. I wasn’t aware that your expectations of me included not getting hard when you sit naked on my dick.”

That look he’s giving you. The same one you saw the first day you met him. It’s the one that could sell you on anything he desired.

You only roll your eyes in response before glancing at the nightstand in search of your phone. “What time is it?”

“Hmm… I dunno. But for some reason I don’t care,” he sighs with an unbothered lilt in his voice, and tries to bring you in for a kiss, but you pull away before his lips touch yours.

He rips his head away, brows raised at you in disbelief, huffing a sharp puff of air through his nose. “I’m offended.”

“Well, I’m sorry to offend, but I really have to brush my teeth, and I’m in desperate need of a shower.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll let it slip just this once because that’s not a bad idea. I’m sure there’s a pack of toothbrushes in the bathroom somewhere.” A mischievous grin forms on his face.“ And I’m never one to turn down a shower with a beautiful woman.”

You slide off his lap and off the edge of the bed, and throw a quip over your shoulder, “Who says you’re joining?”

The sharp smack of his hand to your ass elicits a high-pitched squeak from your throat while sending you forward in the direction of his door. You pad across the wooden floor — barefoot and naked — to exit his bedroom and walk into the hall. Not remembering much from the night before, the layout of their house is foreign to you. There is a closed door across from Josh’s, which you’re quick to remember is Jake’s, but as you turn left to wander in search for the bathroom, you see an open door.

You flip on the switch, and take in the sight when your eyes adjust to the new lighting. You were in here at one point in the night, but the little details of the space were the last thing on your mind given the circumstances. Now, in the light of day and a clearer conscience, you’re able to absorb everything more clearly.

To your left is a modern style black vanity with two white, porcelain basins resting on its surface. Across from you is a massive walk-in shower encased in glass walls. Golden bathroom fixtures contrast the almost-black, gray hexagonal tile work that lines the inside of the shower.

You slowly venture in, feeling the cool tile beneath your bare feet as you make your way to the large mirror. You’re startled by your reflection, scanning over the vast collection of hickies and love marks that are scattered across your skin in an array of shapes, sizes and colors. Spreading the bruised flesh with your fingertips to gauge the damage, you can’t even begin to map out which ones are left by Josh and where Jake’s begin.

Josh enters the bathroom a few seconds later, and your eyes are instantly drawn to his image in the mirror. He’s clearly comfortable with his own nakedness, shuffling behind you, still-half hard as he rummages around the drawer in search of the spare toothbrush. You turn away, blushing awkwardly at the sight, even though you just had him in your mouth minutes ago. Something about the action felt rather domestic for only knowing him for such a short amount of time.

He offers a basic, standard-issue toothbrush he pulled from the torn plastic packaging. Plucking it from his fingers, you let the sarcastic comment slip, “A stash of toothbrushes for all your guests?”

Your criticism comes out harsher than you intend, causing him to take a step back in order to look you over. He tilts his head, showing the genuine confusion pulling his brows together. He takes a few seconds to process your words until a special glint shines in his amber-colored eyes. “Am I hearing a hint of jealousy on your tongue?”

Was it?

Your mouth falls open to reply, but before you can utter a single word, he takes a step forward with open arms, interrupting your thoughts. “Here, let me take care of that for you.”

He takes your face, holding it between his hands to plant a kiss directly on your mouth, but you fight back by wriggling away, working to dodge the attempts to lock lips. You throw your head back, squealing in protest, “Josh!”

Giggles burst through his chest as he tries shushing you, “Shhh…I think a kiss will make it all better.” His lips connect with your cheek, causing his words to mumble into the flesh, “I’ve been so so good. I think I deserve it, baby.”

With his hands weaving into your hair at the nape of your neck, you groan from the temptation, but stay steadfast in your choice to wait, huffing through a dry laugh, “I literally just had your cum in my mouth. Let me brush first.”

He nips at the apple of your cheek, savoring its sweetness with a teasing lick. “I love when you talk dirty to me.” Pulling away a few inches, he gives himself enough space for his eyes to drift down to your lips. With his naked body wrapping around yours, you’re able to feel the warmth of him pressing into your hip. “Also bold of you to assume I don’t enjoy that sort of thing.”

You hide the blush creeping up to your face with a playful shove to his chest and laughter loud enough to wake up Jake, “Oh my god! You’re fucking gross.”

Josh flashes a cheeky grin as he releases you. “Yeah, well, I think you secretly like that about me.”

“Bold of you to assume that I like you at all. I could be in it just for the perks.” He gives you the side eye as takes an electric toothbrush from its charging dock on the counter — one that's white and sleek in design. Although, the only response he gives you is a bout of throaty laughter while he swipes a line of toothpaste across the bristles before handing the tube over.

He pops it into his mouth, mumbling around the brush stuck in the side of his cheek, “You have a funny way of showing your indifference.” The comment is sealed with a wink, and he turns away from you toward the shower.

You copy his actions, brushing your teeth while watching him pull a stack of bath towels out from the cabinet. He breaks away to spit into the other basin before turning on the water inside the shower. It takes incredible effort for you not to giggle at the lovely view of his little butt jiggling as he moves around the bathroom.

After placing the toothbrush back into its designated spot, he hops into the shower while you’re preoccupied with rinsing. You finish up, pull open the door to see his back facing you as he stands under the far-side showerhead. “Without me? Now I’m offended.”

His laughter bounces around the slate-toned tile, “I was getting cold, and things shrivel, okay?” He looks over his shoulder, squinting from the water rolling over his face. “Can't let you see me in such a vulnerable state.”

You walk into the soothing heat of the water, making your way over to him. Slipping your arms around his waist, and using a particularly flirty voice, you tease into his exposed ear, “Oh no. We can’t dent that giant ego of yours, can we?”

He hums, sending the thrumming sound into your chest, and takes your hand in his. He pulls it across his cock, making you feel the weight and size of him stiffening along your fingers. “You think my ego is dented, baby?”

He turns within your embrace to face you, and without another second of hesitation, crashes his lips into yours. He’s quick to lick into your mouth, making you realize that waiting the few extra minutes to kiss you has created an insatiable hunger within him. You find yourself chasing the cool metal of his jewelry as his tongue dances across yours — its existence acting as an ill-kept secret he chooses to reveal in the most opportune moments.

You could kiss him for hours, exploring each other under the falling water and rising steam of the shower. You’re not even sure how much time has passed when the sound of knuckles rapping against the glass startles you from the daydream, making both of you turn your heads to find the source.

The fogged door to the shower opens, and he instantly grumbles in frustration, “Are you fucking kidding me? We’re having a moment here, dude.”

You peer over your shoulder to see Jake stepping in completely nude. Unbothered by Josh’s annoyance, he chuckles, “And let you two hog all the hot water? I don’t think so.”

Josh releases his arms around you, albeit reluctantly, so you can turn around to face his brother. You watch as he stands under the opposite shower-head, tipping his head back to let the spray wet his long hair. The water running over their tattooed skin resembles an artist’s coating of glossy varnish brushed across an oil painting. Whereas the vibrant colors on Josh’s body are deeply saturated, popping in vibrancy against the golden-tone of his skin, Jake’s black and gray work has the appearance as though the art has been dipped in fresh ink.

You’re staring.

You know you are, but you can’t stop your wandering eyes from exploring the details of his naked body in front of you if your life depended on it. You can see the silver hoops of his ears now that his soaked hair clings to his neck and shoulders. Rivers of hot water have been created, flowing down the contours of his chest, pouring down his torso like a waterfall. It carries your eyes down past his navel and between his legs, causing the bubbling feeling to rise inside you.

Aside from the obvious distraction that’s leaving you bashful, you’re able to admire the unveiled tattoos on his thighs now that they are bare and in your view. His right showcases the portrait of a beautiful mermaid, graced with cascading waves of floating hair, supple, perked breasts that are wrapped in a blanket of fanned fins. The left reveals a more violent scene, depicting a massive, brooding pirate ship that’s split in two by the Kraken, pulled into the depths of the ocean. The sea creature’s long tentacles swirl around in different directions, wrapping around the lean muscles of his upper leg.

Jake rolls his head forward, causing the water to run down the sharp planes of his face, coaxing you with an open hand. You take his fingers without question, letting him tug you forward in such a swift movement that your chest collides with his. He chuckles, then speaks in his lowest voice against your cheek, one that’s still loud enough for you to hear over the running water, “I was a little sad to see that my little dove had flown to another bed this morning.”

Josh’s hand, now slick with soap, slips down the center of your spine when he throws a prodding remark over your shoulder to his twin, “I think it’s quite obvious that I’m clearly her favorite.”

Jake hums in disappointment, and pulls away to look at you with a raised brow., “Is that true?”

Not only are you put on the spot with the question, but Josh is making it nearly impossible for you to concentrate with his hands lathering soap across your back in massaging circles.

Jake clicks his tongue as he watches his own hand snake up your throat, making you suck in a sharp breath as his fingers press into the pulse point. Beads of water ricochet off his face and onto yours when he breathes across your parted mouth, “I’m curious as to why I didn’t hear you this morning.”

His wet lips ghost across your jaw until they eventually touch your ear, taunting you with a satisfying purr, “Because if you were my bed, I would have fucked you until you were screaming my name for him to hear.”

Confident in how he’s left you speechless, he suddenly breaks his hold on you to reach for the bottle of shampoo sitting on the shower ledge, gifting you with a knowing smirk as he does so. As you stand here in shock, he’s more than aware that he’s teasing you with the mundane action, making sure to take his time squirting the soap into the palm of his hand and massaging it into his scalp as if you aren’t standing right in front of him.

You extend your open hand until it touches his silken chest, feeling his relaxed breathing beneath your palm. Jake’s eyes remain closed as his head stays tipped back, but you still catch the harsh swallow in his throat in response. Your fingertips follow the flow of the water until his stomach shudders from you tickling across his navel. While his expressionless face keeps up the act of nonchalance, the twitch and bounce of his hardening cock gives him away.

Meanwhile, Josh’s hands have slipped around your hips and up the front of your body. Fingers splay out, gliding across the soap foam to feel across the delicate softness of your belly. He eliminates the inches of distance, hooking his chin over your shoulder to bring you together so his chest connects with your back. His left hand floats across the rich lather he’s created, cupping your breast with a firm squeeze, while the right slides its way up your sternum to wrap around your throat.

The gasp you release evolves into a deep moan from the feeling of his fingers pressing into you just as Jake had done moments before — yet it’s seemingly different. There’s a certain neediness to Josh’s touch around the vulnerable spot, as if worshiping you every moment he was given, forgoing any sense of possessiveness his brother might have.

The high-pressure of the running water massages across your back from his side’s shower head, bouncing off naked skin to cover the shower door like a wall of rain. You watch the heavy droplets trickle down, merging together along the pane of glass until the sharp sensation of Josh’s teeth dragging across your shoulder yanks your focus away.

Your hips roll against him, grinding against his erection that’s been pressing into your ass for the last few minutes. He hums in approval, tightening his hold around your body that much more. You melt into the embrace, as if the hot steam billowing up from the floor has fused you to him. The diluted suds of Jake’s shampoo are starting to run down in waves over his body as he rinses his hair. You trace a solitary index finger from the base, along his growing length, and to the tip of his cock, causing a smirk to break through his stoic face.

You jump on the chance to tease him in this fleeting lapse of his control by loosely wrapping your fingers around him. The temperature of the water doesn’t mask your ability to feel his warmth as he hardens in your grasp. You study the way he slowly licks across his lips, how his breathing begins to deepen when you start to stroke him — mesmerized watching the artwork decorating his chest as it shifts with the ever-moving canvas of his skin.

A low groan rumbles within him, loud enough that the sound echoes within the shower walls, and his head falls forward suddenly like a loosened hinge. He has to brace himself by placing an open hand to the shower wall, but hasn’t opened his eyes to look at you just yet. The washed hair that he has slicked to the back of his head has fallen free in long tendrils, framing his face. With the water no longer flowing down his back, it pours from those ends of his hair, the very tip of his nose, the pouted edge of his parted bottom lip and his chin.

You watch as his dark, defined brows shift as the speed and technique of your hand changes, going from a raised to furrowed state, and back again. Slick with leftover soap, you slip your other hand between his legs to cup the rest of him in the safety of your palm. The careful rub of gentle fingers along the hot skin as you continue stroking him causes a stifled moan to escape his open mouth.

He huffs a breathy laugh, shining a devilishly handsome smile while looking up through soaked lashes. “You’re fucking trouble.”

The combination of Jake’s wet cock pulsing wildly in your hand while Josh’s ruts into the small of your back sends a primal need straight to your core. You clench around nothing — only the memory of them between your legs hours ago. As if Josh can feel the impatience coursing through you, his hand leaves its place around your throat, and trails back down through the valley of your breasts, roaming over your curves until he dips between your shaking legs.

His slender, tattooed fingers part you while sighing into your ear, sending the hummed sound over the folds of your brain, “Fuck, baby. She’s already so swollen and hard for me.” He pauses to bite at your earlobe, rolling his tongue ring over as he sucks it into his mouth before praising, “Pretty little thing.” Another heavy breath rolls into a purr against you, “A greedy one, isn’t she?”

He graces you with an artist’s touch, drawing the pad of his middle finger across your clit in a changing pattern of shapes. You don’t even fight when he attaches his lips to the side of your neck, allowing him to add to the collection of marks he and his brother have left on you.

Your vision is blurred by steam, hot water, and the blooming cloud of lust circling in your head, but you’re able to see Jake reaching out with his free hand to grasp your chin between his thumb and fingers, guiding himself to you. He kisses you, capturing your wet lips with his own. The heat of his mouth is addicting, a stark contrast from the water that’s already started to chill on your skin. Yet, despite the soothing heat of his tongue, you can taste the mint flavor from his toothpaste lingering in his mouth.

He sends a moan over your tongue, rolling his hips to chase the friction of your hand pumping around his cock. You do the same, as you’re becoming increasingly more distracted by Josh playing with your clit.

The sensation of his hot tongue running across your cool, wet skin along your shoulder makes your knees buckle beneath your weight, but thankfully Josh’s hand wrapped underneath your breast keeps you upright. With your head resting on his shoulder, he speaks softly with a crooning voice against your cheek, “Is it getting difficult, baby?” You would respond with something witty, but the thought disappears somewhere in the fog swirling your mind. “Hard for you to think while I’m fucking you with my fingers, huh?

The digits curl with precision, pressing against the special spot hidden inside you, working you while the heel of his palm rubs against your clit. Your eyes clamp shut, and the movements of your hand on Jake begin to stagger in rhythm. An internal battle is waging within your body, fighting the decision whether to stiffen or relax in Josh’s arms. His voice is so low and deep it almost dissipates into beading water hitting the tile. “They feel good?”

You can only nod your pitiful answer with your face pressing up against his cheek. With a broad lick of his tongue across it, he teases with confidence dripping in his voice. “Sure seems like it with how your pussy’s swallowing them up.” He presses his fingers against the spot with more force, pairing the action with a nip to your ear. “Almost more than you gagging on my cock this morning.”

A groan tears through your chest and you tighten your fist around Jake, making him stumble forward when your fingertips squeeze around the head. He takes a second to compose himself before giving away that he’s heard his brother by asking him, “Felt fucking amazing, right?”

You might die in embarrassment at the idea of them bonding over your oral skills as if it isn’t for the fact that you’re stuck between them. It should be shameful with how greedy you are, wanting both of them to fill you up for the third time in twenty-four hours. You’re feeling the repercussions, the soreness of your muscles, the lack of proper sleep throughout the night, and most importantly — the dull aching between your thighs. You can’t force yourself to care in the slightest.

You feel the teeth of Josh’s grin drag across the nape of your neck as he grinds himself against your ass. “I’d say the best I’ve ever had.”

You’re getting closer to your peak, climbing faster than you could have anticipated. The blanketing heat of your impending orgasm floods between your legs, making the movement of your hand on Jake slow to a stop. You’re lost in the high of lust flowing in your veins, practically riding on Josh’s hand as his fingers pump inside you. You release your hand from Jake to reach back for Josh, making him withdraw his fingers and smack your swollen cunt with an open hand.

You cry out from the sting and empty feeling you’re suddenly left with, “What the fuck?!”

He hisses in your ear while his fingertip tickles across your clit, making you squirm in his hold. “You thought I was gonna reward you for that?” Jake giggles at your flustered state as he’s busy brushing his thumb across your nipple, but Josh continues, “Don’t be selfish, baby. Be a good girl and don’t take your hand off him again.”

Jake grabs your wrist in a gentle hold, guiding it to his cock — the inked skull on the back of his hand staring back at you once again. He strokes himself with your hand beneath his, showing you the exact pace and pressure he wants. “Just like that, dove.”

His fingers run along your arm, holding it loosely to brace himself as you work your hand around him once again. He’s watching with every ounce of focus he possesses, and his brows are sewn so tightly together it almost looks as if he’s in pain, grimacing through the ragged panting from his lungs. “Fuck, that’s feels good.”

Josh’s fingers find their place buried deep inside you, picking up exactly where he left off. The soap he used is acting like a lube against your backside, allowing him to glide himself in eager thrusts against your ass.

Jake tightens his grasp around your arm, stammering out through a pitchy moan thats unfamiliar to you, “I’m..I’m gonna-“

Even through the mess of wet, soap-slicked bodies, all three of you work in unison to find a collective release. Josh is determined to make you finish first, throwing you off the edge into the unforgiving sea of your orgasm. You drench his fingers in your arousal, riding through each undulating wave on his hand. Through the height of your ecstacy, you’ve been pumping your hand faster on Jake, feeling his cock harden and pulse in preparation. Josh retreats his hand from between your legs to grab your hip, pressing the tiny indents into the flesh. Jake loses control and unravels before you, grunting through a final squeeze of your fingers across the head of his cock. He drives himself back into your hand, shooting his cum into your stomach, rewarding you with its heat before it washes away down your body.

Josh is only seconds behind, jerking himself with frenzied pumps as his other hand digs into your side. His knuckles hit your skin with each pass, giving away just how desperate he is at this moment. A string of hushed curses through strained panting flutters across your back as he paints you. You arch into the feeling, connecting the back of your head to his brow. No one dares to move for a minute, locked in a trance as the streams of water fall around you. Josh swipes his fingers through the cum he’s left across your asscheek, admiring his work before it's lost forever.

Jake is the one to break the silence once he finds a clearer state of consciousness, “Josh?”

Straightening himself from his crouched position against you, he responds with a cracked voice, “Yeah?”

Jake shifts his weight on his legs, and reaches for the bottle of conditioner on the ledge. “Weren’t you supposed to open the shop this morning?”

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck!” Josh curses loudly and stumbles away from you in a panic, nearly slipping on the tile before grabbing the shower door handle. He whips his head back to look at you, revealing the new guilt and stress masking over his features. He leans in and places a chaste kiss to your lips before apologizing, “I’m so fucking sorry I gotta run, baby. Talk later?”

“S-sure,” you mumble against his lips, clearly still trapped in this daze. He kisses you again, giving into the urge to lick across your bottom lip.

Before you can convince him to forget all his responsibilities again, Jake scolds him with a forceful shove to his chest to break the two of you apart, “Go, you fucking idiot!”

Josh doesn’t even argue, and stumbles out of the shower, causing a rush of cold air to sting your bare flesh. Jake rushes to close it and take you into his arms without his brother’s presence stopping him. The view through the glass is obstructed with steam, but you can hear Josh fumbling in the bathroom for a minute, then the sounds of his feet hitting the wood floor when he runs into his bedroom.

Jake kisses you gently, peppering your jawline with the touch of his lips until they brush the shell of your ear. The sound of his voice is affectionate, even with the lingering notes of his desire, “Now let’s take care of that tattoo before I can enjoy you all to myself.”

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