#//I plan to through a few of my more loved muses from here to there

[lokissweater]

“i love you and i love you.” ᡣ𐭩

{yuta okkotsu x f!reader}

summary: yuta okkotsu has been hopelessly in love with you since he was fifteen. you, his muse and his reason to live as you took care of him growing up more than anyone else in his life. in fear of breaking your best friend pact and losing you entirely, yuta swallows his feelings for the sake of keeping you in his life, but he can only take so much.

warnings: college au, friends to best friends to lovers trope, lowkey ooc yuta oops, mentions of underage drinking, hopelessly devoted and lovesick yuta for reader, cursing!!! both reader and yuta cuss lol, lots and lots of fluff, ANGST, afab!reader, use of y/n, pet names, no smut in this one! slight sexual themes, reader is older than yuta by two years.

word count: 8.7k

authors note: YAAALLL i actually poured my heart and soul out into this one so i really hope it reaches your heart and soul as well! it is so so cute and i had so much fun writing it. this is definitely not the end of this au! i plan to write more short stories that take place after this one :) mwah.

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yuta was thirteen years old when he first saw you.

you were a casual friend of his older brother who had invited his entire group of friends over for a thanksgiving feast reunion amongst yourselves. yuta stayed locked in his room for the most part, from time to time lazily making his way down the halls and through the kitchen where you all sat to get a glass of water for himself, silently savoring at the food on the table.

eventually you had picked up on his lame attempts of coming into the kitchen for random excuses, concluding that he just wanted to gawk at the food and maybe score a bite or two of the pumpkin pie drenched in whipped cream, sitting pretty and proud in the middle of the table.

but after various unsuccessful attempts and various defeated stomps down the hall and back to his room after every shoo from his brother, he knew he wasn’t going to get even a lick. at the end of the night when the group settled down and many began to take their leave, yuta made his way back down one more time in search of any lucky scraps left behind.

but what he found instead was you, standing in the kitchen with a white porcelain plate in your hands, a slice of pumpkin pie drenched in whipped cream sitting pretty in the middle.

“for you,” you had said calmly, plate outstretched, beckoning him to take it. “i saw you come down a few times looking at it, and i think whoever brought it is taking the rest of it back home, so here.”

yuta had never spoken to a girl before, much less a fifteen year old one with the sweetest smile he had ever seen in his life on her face, but he timidly and awkwardly took the smooth plate from your offering hands, and muttered a squeaky thank you before stumbling down the hall and slamming his bedroom door shut.

from then on, yuta looked forward to the next time his brother would have his friends over, nagging at him constantly with questions of when, and even going as far as to straight up planning the hangouts himself (the location of all of them being at their house of course), but his brother would only shove him out of his room and lock the door shut.

luckily for yuta his wish was granted, and his curious eyes saw you around a lot more often than not, and you gradually became a close friend of yuta’s brother instead of just casual one. every time you came over to his house, you always greeted him with the biggest smile on your face before going into his brother’s room with the rest of the group. and over time, your greetings to yuta went from sweet smiles, to pats on the head, to ruffling up his hair occasionally, and to his personal favorite, the side hug.

you always were around in yuta’s growing life and always made sure he had gotten something to eat that day, or if he had a ride to soccer practice, or if his phone had enough battery to last him through his tutoring sessions, or even if he had someone going to watch his soccer games in the mornings (which was never).

yuta was fifteen when he realized he liked you.

“so no one is going?” you asked sharply, “again?”

yuta shrugged. “its at eight o’ clock in the morning. i don’t expect anyone to, not even you-“

“well i’m going,” you said simply, putting the rest of your textbooks away in your locker and slamming it shut. “geez not even your brother goes to your games? i’m gonna yell at him later.”

“it’s fine.” yuta shook his head and gave you a small smile, his insides twisting and contorting with an overwhelming boy crush for you. “a lot of my teammates parents don’t go either, usually only to the first two of the season.”

but not you. you went every single time, even going as far as dragging his brother with you so he could have family there to watch him play. yuta always made sure to turn and raise a hand to you from across the field, waving it side to side before getting back in the game, his heart thumping wildly in his chest with an insane sense of adrenaline to do good on the field and show off— because you were watching.

yuta was still fifteen when he realized you liked his brother.

firstly, he felt utterly stupid for not picking up on it before. yuta was always too busy staring at you and memorizing every inch and detail of your face to realize that you were looking at his brother the same way yuta looked at you. he was too busy running around in soccer fields and eating the ham sandwiches you always made for him after practices to realize how red your face would get when you sat next to his brother during his games, or when you gave him sandwiches. yuta was too busy drooling over you in his mind that sometimes you wouldn’t even notice him waving at you from across the field like he always did, your eyes trained on his brother instead, that sweet smile he was all too familiar with shining for someone else.

it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t fair at all. yuta felt like his brother always got everything and he always ended up with scraps. yuta never got a friend group like his, or a stellar reputation in a sport like he did, or people at his beck and call everywhere he went, or nominations for pointless shit like homecoming king.

but yuta didn’t give a flying fuck about any of that. he didn’t want any of that. he wanted you. just you.

but he couldn’t have you.

yuta was sixteen when he realized he was in love with you.

he had been for a while actually, and he knew it, but the thought alone of you liking his stupid brother only fueled the fire of denial to save himself from getting hurt more than he already was.

but it was absolutely pouring rain that day, his tutoring session having been cancelled last minute due to the weather, and because of this he had no ride home and no umbrella to even attempt at walking home, not that he could anyways seeing as it would take him thirty minutes to do so. yuta absolutely could not take that chance. he had his laptop in his backpack with all of his school work, and worst of all, his final project that he had been working on since the beginning of the school year, a precious green portfolio filled with notes worth more than gold to him.

yuta grumbled as he scuffed his feet against the concrete at the front of his school under a rooftop, lips pressed into a thin line in annoyance. his parents were at work, there was no way they could just drop everything and go to him (not that they would anyways), and his brother was too busy hanging out with you doing god knows what at god knows where— so even calling you was out of the picture.

at the mere thought of you hanging out with his brother, he sighed softly, sadly, and slumped down on a blue bench with his cold hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, eyes trained to the ground.

heavy pit pats of rain smacked against the ground as he sat there in thought, the sounds of cars zooming down the wet streets as the only source of life around besides himself, seeing as it was already late in the day and everybody else had gone home. without him even noticing, the front doors beside him creaked open as he sat there grumbling.

“yuta?”

his head snapped up upon hearing your pretty voice call out to him, his eyes wide as he saw you standing there with an umbrella.

“what are you doing here?” he asked softly, standing up. yuta looked at you then and noticed your eyes were red and tired, and a shock of worry shot up his spine.

“i was-”

“are you okay?” he asked quickly. “your eyes are red.”

“oh really?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes with your palm, waving him off. “it’s nothing, i didn’t even notice.”

he pursed his lips, concern written all over his face as he took in your defeated expression, but before he could press any further, you spoke again.

“why aren’t you in tutoring?”

“oh they cancelled last minute,” he stuffed his hands further into his jacket and looked to the side. “i don’t have a ride home now because of it, and i can’t even walk home because it’s raining hard as fuck and i have my laptop in my backpack.”

you hummed in understanding, and even though it looked like the worst possible thing ever just happened to you, you gave him that same sweet smile he craved every time he saw you. “let’s walk to your house together. i have an umbrella we can try and fit under.”

he looked at you incredulously. “no no! it’s okay! you live down the street i don’t want to make you walk thirty minutes in the rain with me and thirty back-”

“it’s okay!” you laughed. “i would never leave you here by yourself yu, you know that.”

oh how he loved when you called him that.

his shoulders slowly relaxed, a wobbly cute smile spreading across his face, his cheeks a fuzzy pink. “okay.”

you walked together in a comfortable silence, your little umbrella just barely covering the both of you and yuta’s cheeks were still an intense pinky shade due to the close proximity, his steamy breath basically fanning the side of your ear as he huddled close to you.

after a few minutes spent walking on the sidewalk, yuta spoke up again.

“why are your eyes red?”

you immediately froze, but relaxed quickly.

“just tired s’all,” you responded weakly, but the little wobbling of your bottom lip told him otherwise.

yuta slowly lifted his hand and reached out, placing it softly on top of yours and clenching over the stem of the umbrella. the action caused you both to stop walking, your curious eyes snapping to his.

his palm felt like it was on absolute fire at the feeling of your soft hand under his, yuta’s breath trembling as he breathed out.

he swallowed. “can you please tell me why.”

your eyes flooded with tears then, and you shut them tightly as you dropped your forehead solemnly to rest against his shoulder, your frame shaking with quiet sobs escaping your lips.

yuta’s eyes softened and he quickly took the umbrella from you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a tight hug. his heart thumped so hard against his chest that he could hear it ringing through his ears.

he patted the back of your head gently. “what happened? what’s going on?”

you shook your head against his chest.

“y/n..” he sighed worriedly, running a soothing hand over your shaking back now.

“i have a crush on your brother,” you sobbed.

he knew. god he knew. but hearing you say it out loud broke his heart ten times more than it did when he found out on his own.

yuta slightly pulled back, bending his knees a little to look at you at eye level, his hand on your shoulder.

“i know.”

your eyebrows furrowed, more silent tears spilling from your eyes. “you know?”

yuta nodded, smiling sadly at you as he wiped your tears with his thumb, your eyes closing as he did so. “i spend almost every second of my life with you, of course i know. i noticed.”

you sniffed.

“weren’t you just with him now?” he asked.

your eyes shut tightly again, eyebrows contorted in pain as you nodded. “i confessed to him. i wanted to tell him before we graduated next month.”

you lifted your hands and covered your face, sobbing into them. “i’ve loved him since middle school.”

loved?

yuta’s shoulders slumped as he stared straight ahead, feeling like he wanted to crawl into a deep dark hole and stay there.

“he-“ you hiccuped. “he rejected me.”

his head snapped down immediately, eyebrows furrowing in a mix of disbelief and anger. “huh? he rejected you?”

you nodded, dropping your hands from your eyes and burying your head in his chest.

“why? what did he say?”

“he said he didn’t feel the same way—” you stopped for a moment to even out your breaths. “and that he was sorry.”

yuta scoffed, shaking his head. “what a big fucking loser.”

you snorted at that, and he looked down at you fondly, relieved you laughed.

“he… he thanked me for everything that i’ve done for your family though, especially you.”

he stayed silent.

“he said he was thankful that i was like another sibling for you, and that i took care of you.”

another sibling?

yuta didn’t say anything, that phrase like a slash through his heart while he still thought about how much of a fucking idiot he was to reject you. you, out of anyone deserved to get everything you wanted. you were selfless, incredibly sweet, the most gorgeous human being to ever walk this earth, and you had done so much for everyone that you neglected your own needs all of the time.

how could he not love you back? how could his brother not see the angel in his life that loved him, that sentiment alone an absolute privilege to have? something he would kill for?

yuta knew he shouldn’t make this about himself. he knew you were absolutely hurting and heartbroken, but he just had to know. it was eating him alive inside and out and over and over again as he kept thinking about it.

“is that how you see me?”

“hu-huh?” you hiccuped, picking your head up from his chest to look at him.

“as another sibling. is that how you see me?”

you blinked up at him, your eyes trailing over his furrowed eyebrows and worried gaze, and you hesitated for a moment, not knowing exactly why.

but you nodded, slowly. “you’re my best friend, yu. you’re not just anyone to me i care a lot about you. more than most people in my life.”

for a moment, yuta looked at you blankly, his mind unable to properly register your words. he didn’t know whether he wanted to cry, call up his brother and yell at him, kiss you, or run away.

a part of him knew that too, that you only saw him as a sibling. but like everything else in his life, he buried it down and chose to pretend like it didn’t exist for the sake of his heart.

but regardless of you not returning his feelings, he would rather be something to you than nothing at all. he would rather make some type of difference in your life and have a special spot, than be an absolute nobody to you.

so he smiled. he smiled with soft sad eyes and nodded, pulling you back in and resting his cheek against the top of your head. “you’re my best friend too.”

yuta didn’t see you around much at his house after that, which he understood.

but you still texted yuta everyday and hung out with him sometimes at school, and you still went to his games and practices and made him ham sandwiches after, and you still gave him that sweet smile he loved so so much.

but he never missed how sad you got around his brother, even at the mere mention of him. he never missed how your eyes stayed glued to the ground or had a far off look to them, your arms wrapped around yourself with a safe distance between you both.

when you graduated high school, yuta was a brat the entire ceremony. he was pissed. so pissed that you were two years older than him and that he wasn’t going to see your pretty self around school anymore, which was pretty much the only reason he tolerated it in the first place.

but when your graduating class threw their caps up into the air and his family went down to congratulate his brother, yuta made a beeline for you instead.

and behind that scowl on his face that he had the entire day, his eyes were glossy.

yuta never cried.

when you noticed, your shoulders instantly dropped and you ran to his open arms, practically throwing yourself on him. “yuuu! don’t cry for me!”

“who said i’m crying?” yuta grumbled into your shoulder.

you pulled back and smiled at him, “i’m gonna miss you the most.”

yuta smiled, but then faltered, and a sliver of fear shot up his spine. was this the last time he was going to see you? was this the start of you both slowly distancing, and then ultimately falling apart? were you still going to call him and text him everyday?

as if you could sense his fear, you quickly shook your head. “you’re literally stuck with me for life. you will never find another best friend to replace me, you got it?”

you waved your little index finger at him sternly, and yuta laughed. “i got it.”

yuta was nineteen when he almost kissed you.

after you graduated high school, luckily you went to a college that was only about a thirty minute drive from his place. you were still in yuta’s life, if not way more than it was before, which he thanked his lucky stars for. you went from being a best friend of his brothers, to being only his best friend, as you and his brother didn’t really talk anymore after high school.

and to that, yuta was happy.

and when he graduated high school, you of course were there, crying and pinching his cheeks and hugging him so tight his back cracked a little bit.

he didn’t go to the same college you did (although he definitely tried but didn’t get in) and went to one that was about forty five minutes away from home, one he commuted to everyday like you did for yours.

you both got so much closer that you obliviously acted like a couple, when you weren’t. yuta would pick you up from class and drive you to lunch, pay for all of your meals and anything you practically wanted despite you fighting him every time on it. he would kiss your forehead and your cheek and throw his arm around your shoulder when you walked, he would call you baby and compliment you every single day, and he would sleep over at your house almost all of the time, your head on his chest and his arm wrapped around your torso.

he knew best friends weren’t really supposed to act like this, but did you? you both had grown so accustomed to it that it wasn’t a weird thing for you both, but the constant questions from your mutual friends or even each others parents was a dead giveaway that it in fact, was not how best friends were supposed to act.

but neither of you seemed to care.

“stop moving yu!” you whispered harshly as you applied an aloe vera mud mask to his face. yuta snickered, dodging your fingers every time they came close to applying the mask, with the only reason he was doing it being because it made you laugh.

you were both sat on your fluffy pink rug in the middle of your room in your pajamas, surrounded by all of your skincare essentials and even the fancy products you only pulled out on special occasions. it was one in the morning at this point and you both were still up, trying to keep your laughter to a minimum in attempts at not waking up your parents downstairs.

��baby this stuff smells kind of funky,” he commented as you applied some to his cheek.

“the funkier the better,” you responded, focused. “kind of smells like you.”

he pinched your side and you giggled, flinching away. “i’m kidding! i’m almost done, don’t move.”

yuta listened and stayed still, watching your concentrated pretty face that was practically inches away from his as you applied the mask to the rest of his face, his poor heart almost giving out.

once you were done, you smiled triumphantly and wiped your fingers with a warm damp towel. “all done!”

yuta smiled fondly at you and kissed your cheek. “thanks. is this what you put on every night?”

you shook your head, “not every night, only when i want my skin to look extra good for special occasions.”

“which is..?”

“it’s usually when you invite me over to your family events or when we eat dinner at that one really nice place by your school.”

yuta stopped at that and he felt his heart clench at your words. he didn’t know why and he usually didn’t let it, but his mind was making him believe that maybe…

no.

he relaxed again, humming in acknowledgement. you picked up a circular pink little tub compartment thing and unscrewed the cap, dipping your ring finger in the shimmery product.

“what’s that?” he asked softly, nodding his head to it.

“it’s my lip scrub!” you responded enthusiastically, lifting your ring finger and scooting closer to him. his eyes looked straight at you as you slid your finger over his lips. “it has kind of like a rough texture, it’s supposed to exfoliate your lips and make them really soft.”

his cheeks slowly turned pink, his eyes trailing down to your lips as you sat back, finished.

“here— put some on me now so you can feel what i’m talking about,” you handed him the little tub and he dipped his index finger in, swallowing the lump in his throat.

he timidly lifted his hand and pressed his finger to your waiting perfect lips, softly and gently running the product on your bottom lip before going to the top, his eyes mesmerized and nearly drooling.

yuta was practically tracing you, wanting to burn forever the shape of your mouth into his brain to remember for the rest of his life, wanting nothing more than to press his lips on yours.

but he inhaled sharply and quickly dropped his hand. “i’m finished.”

you pressed your lips together and spread the product around, “did you feel it?”

he shakily nodded, wiping his finger on the warm damp towel before handing it over for you to do the same.

you held up a corner of the towel to his lips and gently wiped the scrub away, “and now they’re soft.”

you passed the towel back over to him, and you sat back, eagerly waiting for him to do the same.

yuta swallowed again and mimicked you, except he was much slower, much more gentle over your plush lips as he subconsciously leaned closer to you that by the time he was done, his nose almost bumped with yours.

with eyes half lidded, he stared at your lips in a daze, licking his bottom lip slightly as you looked at him with wide eyes. he wanted to, so badly, to just grab your face and press your lips together, to pour the love he’s had for you for the past four years out and cherish you with everything that he has.

“yu?” you spoke softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your breath fanning against his lips.

his eyes immediately snapped to yours and he flinched back like a deer in headlights. “so— so when do i take this off?” he pointed to his face. “the mud mask.. when does it come off?”

you looked at him curiously, your eyebrows slightly pinched together as you tried to make sense of what was happening, if anything even really happened.

“almost..” you responded, unfocused. “in about five minutes.”

yuta quickly nodded and pressed his lips into a thin line, his hands clenched so hard into tight fists that his knuckles turned white.

he couldn’t look you in the eye. what the fuck was he doing? he was going to scare you away if he kept doing things like this, if he kept almost slipping up and doing something that could jeopardize your friendship with him.

your trust.

you nudged his shoulder with your finger, and he finally looked at you.

“is the face mask bothering you that much?” you said with a silly smile, and yuta physically deflated, affection pumping through his system.

“no baby,” he shook his head. “i like it! i think i should keep it on for the rest of the night and go to class with it tomorrow morning.”

you snorted and shook your head, “don’t be mean.”

he raised his hands up frantically, “i’m not! you think everybody has the privilege of getting a free facial by their pretty best friend?” he held up his index finger and wiggled it side to side. “i don’t think so.”

you giggled, so much, and grabbed the warm damp towel again, scooting closer to him by your knees. you began wiping away the mask on his face, being careful of not going too rough in fear of accidentally irritating and hurting him. yuta held you by the hips, assisting in keeping your balance and rubbing little circles into your stomach with his thumbs.

your cheeks went a little pink after a bit.

as the rest of the night went on, and when you both finally settled into bed facing each other— his hand on the side of your hip, you softly traced the rather dark bags under his eyes and frowned.

“you need to get more sleep, yu. i think you’ve had these bags since you were fifteen.”

“it’s because i always grind so i can buy you a big white house with a wiener dog and a picket fence.”

you laughed a little too loud and slapped a hand over your mouth, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his as your shoulders shook. when you settled down, you removed your hand and smiled sweetly.

“only if the house comes with you.”

yuta’s breath hitched, and his eyes searched yours desperately, for any indication that maybe, just maybe, you…

no.

“what… you want me as a roommate?”

you playfully rolled your eyes and gently shoved his shoulder.

yuta was twenty years old when he confessed to you.

it was also the first big fight you guys ever had in your entire years of knowing each other.

your relationship stayed the same, two peas in a little pod through college that never seemed to go to one place without the other, so much so that when you did, people would often ask where the other half was. he loved it. he loved you so much, and he found it harder and harder and more heart breaking for him as the years went by watching you not be his in any way shape or form.

every time he visited your campus or went with you to your college parties, he noticed the lurking eyes it seemed like every guy had on you everywhere you went, and it agitated yuta more than anything else. he was still a stubborn brat, and instead of doing something about it and maybe telling you how he feels, he just endures the pain and scowls at their glances, leading you through crowds by the hand or by the small of your back.

he never really indulged in the traditional college experience like you did, and never ever talked to any other girl besides you. he never wanted to or had any interest in doing so, regardless of you returning his feelings or not. you also never really talked to any other guy besides yuta or made any mention of your dating life, people mostly assuming you both were.

yuta weaved through the crowd, trying to spot a place for the both of you to sit while you went to get drinks from the kitchen. upon finally breaking free from the pile of dancing sweaty bodies, he recognized one of your girl friends and a couple of others sitting on a long lounge sofa, her eyes perking up.

“y/n’s boyfriend! you came?”

he stopped a bit, then smiled wide.

“yeah! she’s in the kitchen now by the way, she’ll be over here in a second.”

and when you did come over, already a bit tipsy from the line of shots you got pulled into while getting drinks, you walked over to where yuta sat while greeting your friends, handing him a red solo cup. and instead of sitting in the spot yuta had saved for you right beside him, you settled neatly on his lap.

his eyes nearly bulged out of their eye sockets as you swung an arm around his shoulders for support and made yourself comfortable. you had never done something like this, and he swallowed the huge lump in his throat as trembling hands settled around your waist and over your lap. his arm tingled with the feeling of your thighs underneath, afraid to put his hands anywhere near them in fear of making you uncomfortable or accidentally grabbing your face and making out with you.

but the chance of that happening wasn’t anywhere near impossible, as he was already tipsy by his drink and his hand was already gently caressing over the skin of your soft plush thighs.

best friends don’t do things like this.

and he did not give a single fuck.

your boobs were practically shoved up in his face, his pinky cheeks absolutely blazing as his eyes darted to every corner of the house and anywhere else that wasn’t your tits, his lips itching to feel, to taste.

the night progressed and the both of you got increasingly more and more drunk, clinging on to each other on the couch or stumbling through the house, laughing when one of you would trip and almost face plant on the hardwood floors, leaning on to each other for support.

“your boyfriend almost knocked over the tub of tropical mix in the kitchen!” your girl friend yelled over the loud booming music, laughing.

yuta expected you to correct her, but you didn’t, and only laughed along with her.

“no it wasn’t him! it was me,” you giggled drunkenly, your arms around his neck as his were tight around your waist, your group standing off to the side of the dance floor. “he had to grab me and pull me from it!”

and that’s how it often was, just you and him. you taking care of him and him taking care of you in every way possible, trying to pay you back for all of the years you spent being there for him when he was younger and way more, simply because he wanted to.

and on a night where yuta was studying for finals in his room, his brother that was visiting from college came in and sat down on the edge of his bed.

“you studying?” he asked.

yuta nodded, not bothering to take his eyes away from his notebook, still scribbling down his notes. he never really had the best relationship with his brother, much less after what had happened with you getting rejected by him.

his brother took a deep breath through his nose and nodded. “i um… are you still friends with y/n?”

that caught his attention, and yuta’s eyes lifted from his notes to look at him. “yes? i’m with her like, most of the time. if you haven’t noticed.”

“no i have,” his brother murmured. “how is she?”

yuta took a second to respond. “she’s good.”

“that’s good that’s good. does she um- does she still have the same number?”

yuta put down his pencil and leaned back against his desk chair. “why?”

“i wanted to just catch up with her is all,” he shrugged. “i saw her when you brought her here for mom’s birthday and i hadn’t seen her since graduation.”

“catch up with her?” yuta mumbled. “since when do you give a shit about y/n?”

his brother scoffed. “i always have, yuta.”

“didn’t seem like it when you rejected her and started dating one of her close friends like the next day.”

his brother didn’t say anything, and yuta rolled his eyes at the lack of response, picking his pencil back up to continue his work.

“i still have her on social media and see what she’s up to… she posts you a lot. are you guys like— a thing?”

yuta bit the inside of his cheek. “no.”

his brother visibly relaxed for whatever reason and nodded. “i just want to talk to her again, is all. maybe buy her dinner—”

yuta pushed his textbook away, dropped his pencil again and spun around, looking at him with narrowed eyes. “fuck no.”

his brother scoffed. “i’m not asking for permission—”

“fuck no.”

“yuta i’m your brother i literally took you to school everyday and took care of you—”

“y/n did that.” yuta cut him off. “y/n gave me rides to school when i didn’t have my license and bought me food when i didn’t have a job. she also came to every single one of my games regardless of the weather and helped me with my homework when i was too stupid to figure it out on my own, everything you should’ve done.”

“that’s not true—”

“yes it is.” yuta crossed his arms in annoyance. “she didn’t have to do any of that. she never had to take care of me the way that she did but she did it anyways. she took on your role because you were too busy being a dingus doing god knows what and she knew that. y/n has done more for me than you’ve ever done in your entire twenty two years of living.”

his brother sat there in silence, yuta’s heavy angry breathing being the only thing heard in the room.

“okay well—” his brother stood from his bed and walked over to the door. “i’m just going to text her—”

“why the fuck are you gonna meddle into her life now? what… are you bored? are you not satisfied with whatever fucking girl you find up there at school?” yuta threw his arms up in irritation, his blood beginning to boil. “you treated her like shit. like absolute dog shit when you ignored her and avoided her for months after she confessed to you. do you understand how disrespectful that is?”

“whatever man it was high school—”

“and what, that gives you a pass to treat her like that? when that happened i was sixteen picking up the pieces you shit all over at your grown age—”

“i’m leaving.”

and with that, his brother walked out and slammed the door shut, and yuta was left absolutely red. red with anger he had never felt before in his life as he grabbed his notebook and chucked it across the room. he hated how casual he spoke of you, like you were just another girl he was going to try and get to know and fuck— to then leave without another word like his brother’s been doing his whole fucking life to girls. but not to you, it couldn’t happen to you.

and it was like yuta was going through the five stages of grief because then he was afraid. what if you let his brother back into your life? what if you fell for him again? you’d done it before the chances were not zero of you doing it again.

yuta didn’t want to lose you. he would rather gauge his eyes out and eat them for breakfast.

with that, yuta stumbled through his room putting on his shoes and snatching his car keys from his night stand, running down the hall and slamming the front door shut before getting in his car.

the drive was only about fifteen minutes to your house, and he felt so bad that it was nearly two in the morning and he was most likely going to wake you up, but he couldn’t stand it. he was going absolutely crazy, everything in him gnawing and eating him alive, his brother having pushed every single button in his body and more.

his tires screeched as he pulled into your driveway, thankful that your parents were away on a getaway trip as he slammed his car door shut and made his way up to your front door. yuta rang your doorbell twice before you finally opened it.

slowly, you peeked your tired eye through the slit, and your body immediately relaxed at the sight of him. “oh my god yuta, you scared the absolute shit out of—”

you stopped, your face falling at his livid expression and the way his chest heaved erratically. “yu? are you okay? what’s going on—”

but yuta only pushed passed you and trudged up your stairs without another word. dumbstruck, you closed your front door with a click and locked it, following him up the stairs and into your room.

“what’s wrong?”

“my brother is visiting from college.” he mumbled, sitting stiff on your desk chair. you moved to stand in front of him.

“…you mentioned that yeah—”

“and he… he told me that he wants to reach out to you.”

your eyebrows furrowed, taken aback. “me? for what?”

“he says he wants to catch up with you, see how you’re doing. be friends again i guess.”

yuta’s eyes remained stuck to the floor like glue, and you remained silent as you processed his words, confused out of your mind.

“i mean… i mean i guess? i guess that’s fine—”

his head snapped up, “that’s fine?”

you shrugged, “yes? i don’t see the big deal i don’t—”

“baby—” he shook his head in disbelief. “he absolutely broke you and treated you like nothing in high school, and you’re fine letting him back into your life? great.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “why are you being like that? he just wants to be friends again and that’s fine with me—”

yuta scoffed. “he doesn’t deserve it! he doesn’t deserve you—”

“yuta, whatever happened between your brother and i was years ago! i’m over it! this isn’t a big fucking deal!”

you hated fighting with him, god how much you hated it, and the way that he looked at you now was making you absolutely sick.

“so you’re just gonna be friends with him again?” he shrugged, looking at you with narrowed eyes.

“yeah?”

“you’re fucking stupid,” he spat, getting up from your desk chair and walking over to the door, reaching for your doorknob.

you instantly grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face you. “what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“what’s wrong with me?!” he raised his voice, jabbing a finger to his chest. “what’s wrong with you! do you not remember how bad you got when he did what he did?! do you really think i would stand here okay with you rekindling your little love for my brother?”

you scoffed, “my little love?!”

and before you knew it, angry tears were streaming down your face. you hated the way he was talking to you, and you didn’t know how your argument escalated so quickly and so drastically as you wiped your cheeks furiously.

and at the sight of you crying, yuta faltered slightly, his eyes softening.

“why do you think i still love him? i don’t! i haven’t since he rejected me!—”

“who says you won’t start again?” he spoke lowly, arms crossed over his chest. “my brother never had to lift a fucking finger for you to be head over heels for him. you don’t give a shit about yourself and you’re willing to throw yourself at him again—”

“shut up.” you spat, sobs raking through your body. “the fact that you’re stuffing a bunch of fucking words into my mouth and assuming i’m going to jump into your brothers arms is bullshit.”

“i—”

“is this how low you think of me?”

“no baby i don’t—”

“yes you clearly do because everything that’s come out of your mouth—”

“no! no i’m sorry i don’t—”

“then why—”

yuta shoved his hands into his hair exasperated, “because i love you!”

he let his arms fall limp, his eyes glossy and red with the most gut wrenching look on his face that read pure exhaustion. you had never seen him so torn.

“i love you and i love you and i have since since i was fifteen,” his voice shook with each word, hands trembling at his sides. “more than a best friend, more than anything in this world, and i never saw you like another sibling like you did for me.”

“fi.. fifteen?” you spoke so softly he almost didn’t hear you.

he nodded sadly, silent tears slipping down his cheeks and you automatically reached up, softly wiping them away with your thumbs as he closed his eyes, much like how yuta did when you got your heart broken by his brother on that rainy day.

yuta never cried.

“i swallowed it. you loved my brother and i swallowed it. i didn’t give a shit if you only saw me as a sibling because i would rather make some type of mark in your life and be in it than not have you at all. but i can’t take it anymore.”

he let out a sob, and he instantly shoved his face in the crook of his arm in embarrassment.

“yu…”

“you mean absolutely everything to me baby,” his voice was muffled a bit by his elbow, and after roughly wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his sweater, he dropped his arm to look at you again. “i would do absolutely a-anything for you. you’re precious to me and the prettiest girl i have ever laid my eyes on and will ever lay my eyes on.”

he hiccuped and crossed his arms over his chest, staring up at your ceiling. “but i know you don’t love me like i love you. i’ve known for years and i just can’t bring myself to let you go. it’s so bad that i would rather you break my heart over and over again than let you go for the sake of my wellbeing and watch you walk out of my life—”

“yuta, can you please look at me?”

“i— i can’t,” he shook his head as his voice trembled, tears slipping from the sides of his eyes as he continued to stare at your ceiling. “i can’t do it—”

you slowly reached out and cupped his wet cheeks in the palm of your hands, tilting his face down gently to look at you, your eyes filled with remorse at the defeated look on his face.

“why didn’t you tell me?” you asked softly. “why didn’t you tell you were hurting so much?”

he shook his head slowly in your hands. “it’s not fair to you. i didn’t want to put you in a difficult position—”

“what difficult position, yu?” you spoke so gently, so sweetly to him that he almost fell to his knees. “how could you have kept this in for five years? i can’t even imagine—” you hiccuped, “i hate that you were hurting because of me-“

your voice began to contort again into sobs, and he quickly shook his head. “no baby no, it was not because of you, you did nothing wrong. you did the exact opposite.”

you wiped more of his tears with your fingers as he spoke, listening intently.

“no one gave a shit about me the way you did. not even my own parents, and not even my stupid brother that pretended like i practically didn’t exist. you were the only one that was there and you didn’t have to be. you could’ve easily ditched me at any given point and you never did, and i can’t thank you enough for giving me a reason to keep going.”

he wiped his eyes. “and that’s why i fell in love with you so hard because you were so selfless and sweet and i love your smile. i don’t think i could ever make up for everything you’ve done—”

“but you have!—” you interjected, but yuta only shook his head.

“no i haven’t. i’m a stubborn asshole who just said a bunch of shit five minutes ago that i didn’t mean and i only hurt you and i never wanted that—”

“yuta.” you spoke firmly. “you’ve literally done more for me than anyone else in my entire life and i hate that you can’t see that or give yourself credit. you were there for me when i went absolutely insane after your brother rejected me even though you loved me then. you put your own feelings aside to take care of me baby..”

you softly took his hands and led him to sit with you on the bed, wiping his wet cheeks with your sleeve.

“do you not remember when even though you didn’t have a job, any chance you got money you would spend it on me instead of yourself?” you laughed softly. “the minute you got your license you drove me anywhere i wanted… and even to little things like the store because you said you didn’t want me to spend gas money.”

yuta slightly smiled.

“you never ditched me either, when there was every opportunity you could’ve. you always make sure i eat and get enough sleep… and you make me so happy yu, i wish you could see how much i miss you when you’re not around.”

he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and leaned in, softly planting a kiss to your cheek. you smiled warmly.

“who told you i didn’t love you back?”

yuta froze. “you did?”

“when?”

“the day my brother rejected you?” he cocked his head to the side. “i had asked you if you saw me as another sibling and you said yes.”

you threw your head back and moaned, “oh my god yu, of course in that moment because i was stupid and into your brother and i had just gotten rejected!”

you deflated and smiled at him warmly then, your eyes shining with emotions he didn’t allow himself to believe were there. for five years, yuta forced himself to believe you could never return his feelings as a form of protection, and now there was a huge wall in his brain that was itching to come down.

you scooted closer to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, your foreheads touching. “ask me again.”

“hm?” he was dazed, wide eyes staring into yours.

“ask me that question again,” you spoke softly. “the one from that day.”

yuta swallowed thickly, his breathing shaky through his nose, reiterating the phrase he played through his head like a broken record since it happened.

“as another sibling…” he murmured. “is that how you see me?”

you shook your head gently against his forehead, “no… to me—” you leaned back slightly and tilted your head to the side. “you look like the man i’ve been in love with for the past three years.”

silence. nothing.

and then, his eyes welled with tears as he tackled you down and just cried. he cried and he cried into your neck and shook like a little leaf, you holding him so unbelievably tight as your bottom lip wobbled. yuta’s arms were snaked around you as he held you with just as much force if not more.

half a decade. half a decade yuta spent hopelessly lovesick for you that your words burned over his entire body like a fever, his mind reeling and hazy. he held on to you so fucking tight and refused to let go of you, in fear that this was all just some horrendous sick dream and he was going to wake up alone in his bed without you.

you placed a hand on the back of his head as you hugged him, “i love you so much yuta that sometimes i feel like im going nuts.” you laughed softly. “it was always you… it’s been you that’s why i said earlier that i didn’t care if your brother wanted to be friends again, because i love you and i don’t give a shit about him and i’m sorry i made you upset—”

“no,” he lifted his head from the crook of your neck and looked at you, his cheeks flushed with dried up tears and red eyes. “that was just me being an absolute dick and scared of re-living high school all over again. i took that out on you and that wasn’t fair at all, baby. i’m sorry.”

you carded your fingers through his hair. “we both have things to be sorry about, and a lot of years to make up for.”

and finally, yuta grinned so big that his cheeks hurt.

“can i—“ he exhaled shakily. “can i kiss you?”

“please.”

and he smashed his lips against yours, greedily kissing you with so much desperation as he lip locked with you, his hands squeezing and roaming your body. the sound of your lips smacking was loud, and his kisses were so needy and sloppy against your soft plush lips that you squeaked at the intensity. you felt him grin again at your noise and he pulled away from you.

“i’ve wanted this for so long…” he breathed out, his breath fanning against your face as you tried to recover from what was probably the best kiss of your life. you nodded frantically, too dazed and caught up in the thought of his mouth on yours to respond with sentences that made sense.

he chuckled cutely at this, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i love you and i love you.”

and since then, it was like the final wall had finally crumbled down, and yuta began to live like he was supposed to, like he was meant to, with you. his days of yearning and silent torment were over, and most of the time it still felt like a dream whenever he was by your side.

things stayed relatively the same between you two, as you now acknowledge how much of a couple you both actually were acting prior to yuta’s confession. the only major difference now though, was that yuta earned the privilege to call you his and give you sweet kisses as he picked you up from class, or when you make and hand him those ham sandwiches you always do just for him, only this time adorned with a honeyed kiss of your own.

sitting on his living room couch now, your head resting on his lap as a random horror movie played in the background, yuta’s fingers gently brushed over the features of your face as you stared at the tv, his eyes stuck to you like sticky lovesick glue.

you turned your head to look at him after a bit. “why don’t you start playing soccer again?” you hummed. “is there a team at your school?”

yuta nodded, “there is baby.”

“why don’t you try out?” you smiled sweetly at him, and his heart ached. “i always loved watching you play. i miss it.”

“okay,” he tapped your nose. “just for you.”

you rolled your eyes playfully. “and i’ll start dragging your brother with me again.”

yuta’s eyes flung open as his jaw dropped, and you snorted, giggling uncontrollably as he tickled and pinched at your sides. “i’m just kidding! i’m kidding! i’d rather die.”

he let out a boyish laugh, his eyes sparkling as he looked down at you. “as much as i hate him, i can’t thank him enough for being a stupid dingus.”

you quirked an eyebrow, “thank him? why?”

yuta gently and softly pinched one of your cheeks as he smiled at you, and it was then that you noticed the bags under his eyes were nearly gone. he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, moving some of your hair away from your face after he did so.

“because he brought you to me.”

and you smiled, that same radiant sweet smile that made him fall in love with you in the first place, as you reached up and ran a tender finger under where his eye bags once stood, your voice light and airy as you spoke—

“i love you and i love you, yuta.”

[sethsclearwater]

Can you do a Jacob black x female reader during mating season please and thank you ?

here you go lol

...

"fuck, bend over-" the words hadn't even fully left his lips before jacob's hands were on your hips and spinning you around so he could press your chest down on the cool marble of your apartment's bathroom counter.

"jake-" you whined when you felt the sensation against your bare chest, your nipples already beyond hard from how much he had been toying with them earlier in the night. a loud gasp left your lips as he sheathed his cock into your tight channel in one quick thrust.

he could hardly contain his laugh when he saw the way your fingers curled into fists in response to the sudden intrusion, his hands keeping their bruisingly tight grip on your hips while he prepared to fuck you senseless.

he only gave you a moment to stretch around his length before he felt your walls fluttering around him and he decided he couldn't wait any longer, immediately setting a ruthless and unforgiving pace as he snapped his hips against yours.

you were letting out loud whines and moans, the thought of your poor neighbors hearing the two of you not even crossing your fuzzy mind. jake had gotten over to your apartment early that morning, more restless than he currently was as his rut first set in.

you'd answered the door without a clue in the world, quickly finding out that he'd planned on fucking you senseless for the next few days while he went through his first rut with you in his life.

one hand was snaking around your hip in search of your clit, the loud moan you let out a few moments later alerting him that he'd most definitely found the sensitive little nub, "jake please-" you sobbed out, suddenly much more aware of the tears that must've started spilling over your waterline a few moments prior as you looked into the mirror to make eye contact with your imprinter.

jake let out a laugh when he saw what a mess you were, his smile still soft despite the harshness of his thrusts in and out of your pussy, "c'mere," he chuckled, reaching his free hand up to thread his fingers through your hair, tightening his fingers so he could pull you up from the counter so your back was flush against his chest, "you wanna cum on my cock?" he asked, rolling your clit between his fingers as you watched the way he was absolutely ravaging your pussy in the mirror.

you couldn't find the words, just gasping as you nodded, desperate to cum on his cock, "'s what i thought," he chuckled, "let me play with you for a few more minutes and then you can cum, yea? wanna stay in this pussy for a little while longer," he mused, his voice somehow remaining steady despite how hard he was fucking his cock into your tight little channel.

you sucked in a desperate lungful of air, sniffling as you nodded, already knowing he was more in tune with how much you could handle than you were, "mhm," you hummed, letting out a loud moan and dropping your head back against his neck when he pinched your clit between his fingers, his silent way of thanking you.

jake dropped his head so he could pepper your neck with kisses, the softness coming in bruising contrast to the havoc he was currently wreaking on your lower half, "look how good you look with my cock in you," jake chuckled, releasing his grip on your hair so he could slide his hand down to your belly, absolutely loving how he could see the faint little bulge that came each time he filled you with his cock, "taking me so well," he added in between kisses.

you were barely coherent, just doing your best to remain upright as your thoughts continued to get fuzzier and fuzzier as you tried not to cum on his cock. jake knew you were close from the way he felt your walls tightening around him, his own orgasm rapidly approaching as well as his thrusts somehow picked up the pace to the point you were sure you'd have bruises littered all across your middle tomorrow morning.

once he was confident he had marked your neck up to his satisfaction, he was lifting his head to press his lips to your ear, "you can cum," he murmured sliding his hand up from your belly so he could wrap it around your chest and secure you against him, already knowing he'd be responsible for supporting you while you came undone on him.

you whimpered, lifting your gaze to make eye contact with him through the mirror, moving to respond but before you could, jake rolled your clit between his fingers and sent you right over the edge to your orgasm.

jake held you close to him while you came, his thrusts getting sloppier as he chased his own orgasm and supported you through yours, your throbbing walls pulling his own orgasm out of him within a few moments of yours.

"fuck me-" jake groaned, pushing his hips into yours as much as he could, burying his cock inside your pussy as he shot his seed into your throbbing channel.

you were nearly limp, wrapping your hands around his forearm that he has wrapped around your chest to support you. breathing ragged and heavy, the two of you were both struggling to catch your breaths as you both came down from your highs, "nice and easy," jake murmured breathlessly against your ear, his breath hot as he gave your ribs a squeeze, smiling to himself when he saw how hard you were struggling to regain your senses.

"there you go," jake encouraged, both of your breathing slowly evening out as he peppered the crook of your neck with gentle kisses, a stark contrast to the way he had his cock stuffed inside you.

once he was sure he'd finished filling you up, he slowly pulled his hips back enough to pull his softening cock out of your walls, his release following shortly after as it began trickling down your thighs.

he slowly unwrapped his arm from around you, "i got you," he reassured when he heard the soft whimper you let out, both of you already knowing there was no way you were going to be standing on your own for a little while. both his hands remained steady on your figure as he helped spin you around so he could pull you close to his chest for a hug, "did so good for me sweet girl," he praised, lips curling into a smile when he heard the breathy giggle you let out at the complement.

"let's get you on the bed, okay? gonna clean you up and then you can have a break," he suggested, already knowing you weren't in any kind of headspace to be coming up with any counter-arguments to his proposition despite how much you hated being cleaned up.

you just hummed, allowing him to scoop you up in his arms and carry you back into the bedroom so you two could finally take a break.

[harrysfolklore]

31st - hs

happy birthday to the one and only love of my life 🥹🥹 31 omg! i hope he has the best day ever <33

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

You woke up early on February 1st, carefully slipping out of bed without disturbing Harry, who was still peacefully sleeping. The morning sun was just beginning to peek through the curtains, reflecting light across his face. At 31, he was somehow even more beautiful than when you'd first met him - a few more laugh lines around his eyes, his curls slightly shorter now, but still undeniably your Harry.

Making your way to the kitchen, you began the birthday breakfast preparations you'd been planning for days. You started brewing his favorite coffee and pulled out the ingredients for the banana pancakes he loved so much.

As you worked, you couldn't help but smile, remembering his 30th birthday last year - the big party, all their friends and family gathered together. This year, though, Harry had asked for something quieter, more intimate. "Just us," he'd said, "maybe dinner with family later."

The sound of footsteps made you look up, and there he was, leaning against the doorframe in his pajama bottoms and that old Rolling Stones t-shirt you loved so much.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," you scolded playfully, whisking the pancake batter.

"Bed was cold without you," he mumbled, voice still rough with sleep. His hair was adorably mussed, and he had pillow creases on his cheek. "Besides, something smells amazing."

"Happy birthday, love," you said softly, abandoning your cooking to wrap your arms around him.

He hummed contentedly, pulling you closer and burying his face in your neck. "Thank you, baby."

"Thirty-one," you mused, running your fingers through his hair. "How does it feel?"

"Honestly?" He pulled back to look at you, his green eyes twinkling. "Pretty much the same as thirty. Though I did find another grey hair yesterday."

You laughed, reaching up to touch the single silver strand at his temple. "I think it makes you look distinguished."

"Distinguished?" He raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Mhmm," you nodded seriously. "Very sophisticated. Very George Clooney."

"Oi!" He tickled your sides, making you squeal. "I'm not that old yet!"

The pancakes were momentarily forgotten as you both dissolved into laughter, play-fighting in the kitchen like teenagers. Finally, Harry pulled you close again, pressing soft kisses along your jaw.

"You know," he murmured, "this is already my favorite birthday."

"It's barely started!"

"Doesn't matter. I'm here with you, in our kitchen, and you're making me breakfast. What could be better?"

Your heart swelled with love for this man who could find joy in the simplest moments. "Well, it might get even better when you see your presents."

His eyes lit up like a child's. "Presents? But you said we weren't doing big gifts this year!"

"And we're not," you assured him, turning back to the pancakes before they burned. "Just a few small things. Though..." you paused for dramatic effect, "there might be tickets to that vintage guitar show in Nashville you were talking about."

Harry's gasp of delight made you laugh. "Really? The one with the '59 Les Paul?"

"Maybe," you sang, flipping a pancake. "You'll have to wait and see."

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, watching you cook. "Have I told you lately that you're the best wife ever?"

You felt your cheeks flush at the word 'wife,' still not quite used to hearing it spoken aloud. After nearly a year of marriage, it was still your precious secret, shared only with family and closest friends. The ring on your finger was usually hidden away in public, and you'd both become experts at careful wording in interviews.

"Shh," you teased, though your heart fluttered at his words. "The walls might have ears."

Harry chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "You know, I've been thinking about that actually."

"About what?" you asked, sliding the last pancake onto the plate.

He turned you around gently, his expression thoughtful. "About keeping it secret. Don't get me wrong, this past year has been incredible, having something that's just ours. But sometimes..." he paused, running a hand through his hair, "sometimes I just want to tell the whole world that I'm married to the most amazing woman."

You set down the spatula, studying his face. "Really? You want to go public?"

"Only if you're ready," he said quickly. "But yeah, I do. It's been almost a year, and honestly, I'm tired of not being able to call you my wife whenever I want to. Of having to take my ring off for appearances. Of watching you do the same."

Your heart raced at the possibility. "It would change things," you said softly. "The privacy we've had..."

"I know," he nodded, taking your hands in his. "But maybe... maybe it's time. And what better day than my birthday? We could post something simple, just us."

You thought about it for a moment. The past year had been magical, your private bubble of newlywed bliss protected from the public eye. But he was right - there was something exhausting about constantly hiding, about choosing your words so carefully, about slipping your rings off before stepping outside.

"Okay," you finally said, a smile spreading across your face. "Let's do it."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you laughed as he pulled you into a tight hug. "But after breakfast! These pancakes are getting cold."

Later, after breakfast and presents, you both sat on the couch, phones in hand. You'd chosen a simple photo from your wedding day - just your hands intertwined, both wearing your rings, nothing too revealing but unmistakably a wedding photo.

"Ready?" he asked, his thumb hovering over the 'post' button.

You took a deep breath, nodding. "Ready."

With a click, your secret was out in the world. You both turned your phones to silent, knowing they would explode with notifications any second.

"How does it feel?" Harry asked, pulling you close.

You twisted your ring, which for the first time wouldn't have to come off when you left the house later. "Liberating," you decided. "Scary, but good scary."

"No more hiding," he agreed, kissing your temple.

"No more hiding," you repeated, then laughed. "Your mum's going to be thrilled. She's been dying to post those wedding photos."

"Oh God," Harry groaned good-naturedly. "She's probably already sharing them as we speak."

You snuggled closer to him, enjoying this quiet moment before the world would inevitably explode with the news. "Happy birthday, H. Sorry I kind of hijacked it with our announcement."

"Are you kidding?" He grinned down at you. "This is the best gift you could have given me. Now everyone knows I'm the luckiest man alive."

"Charmer," you muttered, but you were smiling.

"Your charmer," he corrected, then added with obvious delight, "Your husband."

"My husband," you agreed, loving how it felt to say it out loud, knowing you wouldn't have to whisper it anymore.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by zayn, yourinstagram and 20,876,449 others

harrystyles Best birthday gift was marrying my soulmate almost a year ago. Thank you for keeping our secret. ❤️

February, 2024

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username1 WHAT THE HELL

username2 IS THIS A JOKE

taylorswift Finally!! 🥂 Keeping this secret was TORTURE. So happy for you both ♥️

gemmastyles Bbout time you two told everyone!! now i can finally post all the cute photos from the wedding 😭💕

lizzo YALL I WAS AT THE WEDDING AND HAD TO PRETEND I WASNT THIS WHOLE TIME 😭 CONGRATS AGAIN BESTIES

niallhoran The most beautiful day! Love you both!

yourinstagram Finally 🤍 Happy birthday to my husband (!!!) who makes every day feel like a love song. Thank you for choosing me, always.

username3 HUSBAND???????? MARRIED????????? IM SHAKING AND CRYING AND THROWING UP

username4 OH MY GOD THE SIGNS WERE THERE ALL ALONG. REMEMBER WHEN HE KEPT TOUCHING HIS RING FINGER IN THAT ONE INTERVIEW??

username5 not me zooming in on every detail of this photo 👀 THE RINGS ARE SO BEAUTIFUL IM SOBBING

username6 the way they kept this secret for a YEAR?? we love a private couple

username7 HARRY STYLES IS A MARRIED MAN. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. I REPEAT. HARRY STYLES IS A MARRIED MAN

username8 im so happy for them but also crying in the club rn 😭

username9 THE WAY YN JUST CALLED HIM HUSBAND IM SCREAMING

username10 not me thinking about how they had a whole secret wedding and we had no idea 😭 they're so powerful

username11 "best birthday gift" STOP IM CRYING THIS IS SO ROMANTIC

[gokyrts]

prickly fuzz | C.S. 55

18+ | warnings: body worship (m receiving), d/s dynamics, denial, mention of razors (shaving), slight size kink, carlos being a tease wc: 1.4k minors dni

author’s note: here’s the first of many, please enjoy. feedback is always appreciated, lemme know what you think down below or in my ask box!! <3

Sitting at the dinner table, you absentmindedly traced the thick layer of hair on Carlos’ forearm with your eyes. you always admired it, anywhere he showed skin, there was a patch of dark hair on it. on his arms specifically, it stretched all the way to the second knuckle of his fingers. his thighs, too, were covered, the hair prominently peaking from underneath any pair of shorts he wore. he groomed himself though, and you noticed that, especially during the summer break when his upper chest was suddenly smooth as he was putting on his biking gear. the slight disappointment you felt manifested itself as a frown on your face and despite not saying anything, Carlos knew. he knew even then as you were sat next to him, munching on your dinner, eyes cast on his arm, that there was something up with the way you felt about his body hair.

His mind was made up later that night in the shower as he held a razor in his hand, ready to get rid of the fuzz that had grown over the last few weeks on his chest. his gaze flicked between the device and the hair between his pecs a few times, his bottom lip twitching in thought before he abandoned it back in its place, remembering the slightest of pouts on your lips.

Carlos exited the shower, not bothering to put on a shirt or bottoms, his boxers would do. he had a plan after all. with his hair still damp from the shower, Carlos shuffled towards the kitchen where he heard you move around, stopping in the doorway and leaning against it. there you were, in your adorable sleepwear, turning around just in time to see him with his hand rubbing at his chest, and to your surprise, the chest hair you’ve been missing on your boyfriend was still in its place. you must have been staring for quite a second because Carlos was grinning as you so shamelessly ogled him. he stalked closer to you, slow and measured, his eyes signaling the underlying desire he felt.

“you like it, princesita?” he purred, the corner of his mouth curling up in a self-satisfied smirk. when you didn’t answer, his hand, large and warm, wrapped around your delicate wrist, gently bringing it up to the fuzz on his chest. the hairs prickled your fingertips, the edges sharp from continuous shaving. his hand stayed right there, spread over yours, swallowed up in the size difference, his heart thudding steadily right beneath. you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, the unconscious act not escaping Carlos’ keen eyes and he knew he had done something.

“ah?” he encouraged, the sound accompanied by his eyebrow rising. Carlos knew when to press for an answer to get what he wanted from you.

“mhmm…”

oh, how sweet was that? something cocky flared in him at your wordless answer. he tugged you closer by the waist, not fully satisfied with your reaction. the dip of your waist felt warmer where Carlos’ palms engulfed it through the material of your top and you almost shrunk under his gaze.

“ah, so you do…” he mused, his smirk widening at the revelation that you indeed preferred his chest hairy to smooth. your other hand joined the first on his chest, having nowhere else to go, not that it wanted to go anywhere else. Carlos studied you with his gaze, reading your body language, taking in your expression. his thumbs slowly found their way underneath the hem of your shirt, brushing the soft skin of your love handles. they dug into the plushness with gentle pressure, his eyes finding yours.

“come on… don’t get shy on me now…” he cooed, offering you a softer smile this time, leaning forward, letting the fullness of his chest fill your open palms. “you know i like it when you touch me, princesa.”

you didn’t need more encouragement than that, sliding your hands up and down his chest, tracing the dark patches of hair, each small prickle sending a shiver through your body. Carlos watched with interest, nearly grinning when you finally came out of your shell and acted like the girl he knew you were.

“mmm, there’s my girl…”

he hummed in approval, feeling his cock twitch at the attention. his hips shifted forward, grinding against your own but before your gasp could sound in the open air, Carlos swallowed it when his lips smashed against yours. he kissed you hungrily, his grip on your soft curves tightened, the hint of pain making your skin tingle. kissing back, your teeth found the plush softness of his bottom lip and nipped at it in retaliation, eliciting a near growl from Carlos. unable to hold himself back, he took one hand from your hip and pressed it against your chest, effectively pinning you against the surface of the kitchen island behind you. he broke the kiss to breathe, his forehead pressing against yours.

“bedroom…?” Carlos asked, waiting for you to confirm and then gently shoving you in the direction of your shared bedroom. before your back could even hit the mattress, your shirt was already off, a courtesy of Carlos’ impatience. once it was off, his lips were on the exposed skin of your collarbone, kissing and nibbling, while he lowered himself on top of you. his chest pressed against yours causing your nipples to harden as they brushed against his chest hair, making another delicious moan fall from your lips. Carlos deliberately did it again, smirking at your reaction.

“tell me you like it.” he was all about hearing you admit what you liked, always wanting you to use your words, relishing in the occasional embarrassment that came with it. his lips trailed down to your chest, hot breath fanning over your perky tits.

“i- fuck, i like it, Carlos…”

your answer was rewarded with that oh-so-familiar grin before his lips finally closed around your nipple. gasping with pleasure, your hand fisted in the soft strands of his hair, back arching into his mouth. Carlos hummed with approval, pulling away to speak.

“mmm, good girl. i know you do,” his tongue flicked over your nipple again teasingly before continuing.

“you should have told me, mi amor… i would keep it for you.” you would have told him your preference for how he kept his facial hair but mentioning your more subtle favorite hadn’t even crossed your mind.

“you’re lucky i saw you…” he murmured, his lips trailing back up to your own. you were already leaning in for a kiss but Carlos stayed where he was, giving you a look, a look that made you pause.

“show me you like it.”

he commanded, his gaze unwavering. it made your breathing pick up. your eyes fell on the dark hair between his pecs then back up at him. slowly, carefully, you lowered your mouth to his chest, not daring to break eye contact before you felt the first prickle on your lips. that didn’t discourage you though, you continued, pressing one kiss, then another, then another. kiss after kiss, you mapped the expense of Carlos’ chest as his hand came up, gently wrapping in your hair.

“so good for me... doing what you’re told.” he praised, using the other hand to palm himself through his boxers. the act of you worshipping that part of him making him harder than ever. he sat back on his heels on the bed, pulling you up with him.

“what about here, princesa? do you like it here too?” your head turned slightly to see him flexing his forearm, while he still palmed himself with it, the thick strands of hair on his skin nearly covering it all. in a soft act of submission, you switched to his arm, trailing kisses down his forearm to his hand, over his wrist, until you were nearly nosing at his clothed cock, the soft hairs on his thighs tickling your cheek.

“and there?” he continued, pushing your head down to do the same to his thighs. you worked deliberately for his approval and praise, not leaving one inch of the warm skin of his thighs unkissed. your legs pressed together in need, trying to find some friction to relieve the tension building in your gut as your mouth worked over his thighs. the more you were down there, the hazier your mind became, till Carlos caught you mouthing at his boxers.

“tsk tsk, needy girl…” Carlos tutted, his hand in your hair tightening, keeping you just out of reach of what you wanted. he lowered his head slightly, his eyes intense, lips curled up in a cruel smirk.

“you have to earn it first.”

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[pure-smut]

feral.

featuring: Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

contains: college!Sukuna, established relationship, birth control tampering, unprotected s*x, noncon/dubcon, breeding k*nk, size k*nk, cunnilingus, multiple rounds, creampies, stalking, toxic behaviour

word count: 2.4k

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

series: 1. infatuated | 2. obsessed | 3. addicted | 4. toxic | 5. feral

masterlist

a/n: okay this is the actual final part!! tysm for all the love y'all have given this series, sukuna is truly one of my muses he's just so fucked up lmaooo

“Good news,” you say, beaming. “No more condoms!”

Ryomen Sukuna’s head snaps up from where he was lazing on the couch, scrolling his phone.

“What?”

“No more condoms!” you repeat. “I switched to a different kind of pill, it won’t make me feel as bleh.”

Sukuna can only stare at you. You cross the living room and kneel beside him on the couch. He’s been so patient with you, so doting, you feel bad you changed up your birth control so suddenly last time. You reach across to run your fingers through his hair.

“I know you hated the condoms,” you say, an apologetic smile on your face.

“Stupid things,” Sukuna grumbles, leaning into your touch.

The two of you had only had sex once with a condom and it was obvious Sukuna was displeased. Since then, you’ve been sticking to hand and mouth activities, which is great but not enough forever.

“Well, I’m sorry,” you tell him. “We don’t need to use them anymore.”

You lean across to press a kiss against his lips.

“I missed you, ‘Kuna,” you tell him softly, your eyes glancing down pointedly. “All of you.”

A grin crawls across his face as he kisses you back.

“You still have me, baby,” he says. “I’m right here.”

Truthfully, Sukuna’s been slipping you sleeping pills every couple of nights, taking his fill of you without a condom. You wake up every so often a bit achy and sore but Sukuna’s careful to clean up after himself, never leaving a trace, so you don’t pay it much mind. Meanwhile, Sukuna’s happy to keep doting on you, knowing he’s spilling his seed unprotected in you without you even knowing.

He slipped you the morning after pill the first couple of times but the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of getting you pregnant. Your needy little pussy so eager for his cum, fucking his load into you until it takes. The idea was intoxicating. So he stopped spiking your coffee with the morning after pill. All he needs to do now is wait.

Until you interrupt his plans again.

Sukuna waits until you’re out of the house before he starts rifling through the bathroom cabinets. He finds your new pills quickly, a few of them already popped. He regards them with disgust. Just another barrier between you.

He takes a picture of them, making a note of the name and brand. After some difficult searching and a trip to the dark web, Sukuna finds someone who’ll send out several identical boxes, except filled with sugar pills instead. With a grin, he orders them.

Sukuna has to spend a few days finishing inside you knowing you’re still protected, waiting for the fake pills to arrive. He knows you’d get suspicious if he refrained from sex – it’s Sukuna, after all – so he fucks you the way you want, the thought of the prize at the end keeping him going.

You return home one day to see Sukuna with your favourite flowers, the lights turned low, and a smile on his face. Your sweet boyfriend.

You remember what you thought of him before you got together – an arrogant fuckboy would be putting it lightly. What should have been a quick, albeit satisfying, one night stand has somehow turned into the most loving relationship you’ve ever had.

You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him deep, your tongue flicking over his. He’s been in a semi-bad mood ever since you said you were switching pills but he seems to have gotten over it, returning to the gruff but loving guy you know.

“I love you, baby,” Sukuna mumbles into your mouth. “Get on the bed.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond before he carries you through to the bedroom himself. You’re used to this, being manhandled by Sukuna, so you only giggle as he throws you onto the bed. He reaches under your skirt to tug off your panties before crawling between your legs.

Sukuna inhales the scent of you. You smell so dark and sweet, it’s like you’re custom built to turn him on. Ever since the night he broke into your room to taste you as you slept, he hasn’t been able to stop tasting you. You often find yourself in the middle of tasks, cooking or studying, interrupted by Sukuna nudging his face between your legs to lap at you.

Sukuna wraps his arms around your thighs to pull you closer, his tongue parting your folds. You’re already glistening for him, so ready for him, and he loves that about you. Loves that he can take you whenever he wants, your pussy just waiting for him. You taste even better now that he knows you’ve been on the fake birth control pills for a week now, your scent somehow more powerful now he knows you’re unprotected, ready for his seed.

He groans into your pussy at the thought, his cock already throbbing. He licks a fat stripe along your lips before prodding at your entrance, lapping at your sweet honey. His nose nudges your clit, making you groan and card your fingers through his hair. You’d grind against him if you could, if his grip allowed you, but you’re no match for Sukuna’s strength. He always holds you in place, holds you exactly where he wants to.

Sukuna eats your pussy selfishly, the way he enjoys it rather than you – your pleasure being a nice bonus but not always necessary. His thick tongue slides in and out of your hole, gathering as much of your slick as possible, and you have to whine for him to please, please lick your clit. As usual, he brings you to the brink but doesn’t take you over unless you beg him.

Sukuna latches onto your clit, sucking it with just enough pressure to send you hurtling over the edge. His tongue swipes over the sensitive bud as he sucks and your whole body would buck if he wasn’t pinning you down so tightly. You moan and writhe as you come undone on his tongue, Sukuna licking up your juices as they run down his chin. He only pulls away when he’s painfully hard, needing to feel you around him before he bursts.

Sukuna quickly positions himself, slinging your ankles up over his shoulders as he aligns with your sopping cunt. He pushes himself in, feeling the fat head of his cock pop inside you before several more inches follow. You cry out his name, digging your nails into his forearm.

He normally goes slower than this, normally lets you adjust. But when you look up at him, Sukuna’s eyes are feral. Something instinctual has taken over him, has made him desperate to rut into you.

“S-Sukuna,” you whimper. “P-please… slower…”

A muscle bounces in his jaw but he obliges, the sound of your begging appeasing him. He doesn’t push any deeper but instead fucks you with shallow thrusts, only going halfway down his shaft.

It feels like your needy pussy is sucking him in, despite your pleading, and Sukuna has to fight to restrain himself. Your sweet, fertile womb is waiting for him and there’s nothing he wants more than to coat it with his cum.

But he does love you. He loves you so much. He doesn’t want to hurt you, not really, not when you’re whimpering so sweetly for him, your nails digging into him so desperately. So he rocks his hips, waiting for you to adjust, waiting for the wince on your face to turn to pleasure, before he sinks himself deeper.

“Ah, fuck… that’s it…” Sukuna half sighs, half grunts as he bottoms out. “Who’s pussy is this?”

“Y-yours, Sukuna,” you moan.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You, Sukuna!”

“Say it.”

“I belong to you. All of me belongs to you.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, your brain foggy with lust.

Sukuna’s pushing you to the brink again, his thick cock pistoning in and out of you as he rubs against your most sensitive spot. Sukuna feels you cream on his cock, helpless to it, your body not your own.

As you moan and mewl, Sukuna looks down at you and pictures you pregnant with his child. He imagines your swollen belly, how your heavy breasts will sway, how you’ll be with him forever.

His forever.

It’s enough to finish him. Sukuna groans long and low, sinking inside you as he spurts load after load into your womb. He fills you to the brim, his orgasm so powerful he falls onto his arms, muscles shaking.

He’s still inside you as he kisses you roughly, unlike the sweet, deep kisses he usually gives you after sex. You kiss him back but it’s only when you feel his hips rock again, his length still inside you that you realise he’s not done.

“’Kuna…?”

Sukuna ignores you as he pulls out long enough to flip you onto your stomach. He pushes your leg up, bending it at the knee to give him better access as he slides himself into you again.

You gasp as your tender pussy is violated, your hands splayed out as Sukuna pins your down with his body weight. He’s still fully hard, his girth hitting a new angle as he fucks his load back into you.

“S-Sukuna…” you whimper. “M’sore!”

“Quiet,” he commands you, voice rough. “I can feel how fucking wet you are so be a good little slut and let me finish.”

Sukuna’s harsh voice silences you as you bury your face into the pillow, hands fisting the bed sheets. He’s right – you’re tender but you’re still enjoying it, your pussy drooling around his cock. His cum is only making you sloppier, only making it easier for him to fuck you. So you stay quiet, softly whimpering into the pillow.

Sukuna continues fucking you, the feel of your plush walls still so tight around him and the lewd squelch of your sopping pussy making his second orgasm build quickly. He wants to fuck as much cum in you as he can, wants to fill your womb with it.

The fact that you’re unaware, still thinking you’re protected, is a delicious bonus. A thrill runs up his spine as he thinks about how you’re letting him fuck you, letting him cum inside you, when you never would if you knew.

If you only knew.

You lay there, legs nearly numb and body drained of any energy, as Sukuna continues to saw in and out of you. You feel one of his large hands scoop under your hip, lifting you slightly so he can go deeper. Sukuna handles you like you’re just a hole for him to fuck and you realise the thought makes you even wetter. Your walls are so sensitive, each stroke feels like fire through your body, half pleasure and half pain.

Your abused pussy clenches involuntarily around Sukuna's girth as he forces a orgasm from you, his hips snapping against your ass at a brutal pace.

Having you in this position reminds Sukuna of every night he’s fucked you while you’re asleep, your body limp and pliant, just waiting to be moved to his liking. Except this time he's fucked you into submission, his own personal little fucktoy.

“Fuck…” he mutters, his cock swelling. “You’re such a good girl for me. You’re so fucking good.”

He’s so close. Your pussy feels too warm and soft, too greedy for his cum for him to last any longer. Sukuna grips your hip hard enough to leave bruises, holding you in place as he fucks into you. His balls tighten at his approaching orgasm and you can hear his moans behind you, his cock nearly overly sensitive.

You’re almost relieved as you feel his hot cum spill inside you, Sukuna’s thrusts slowing as his cock throws thick ropes of his sticky seed in your womb. Your breathing is ragged, your face streaked with tears you didn’t realise you were crying.

Sukuna pulls out of you but stays where he is, breathing hard. After a moment, he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“Sorry, baby,” he murmurs. “Couldn’t help myself. You just felt so good.”

Sukuna smooths his hand across your back, pressing more gentle kisses against your neck and shoulder. You let him, blinking away the last of the tears.

“I love you,” Sukuna says quietly.

You roll over to face him, wincing at the tender ache between your legs.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Sukuna kisses you again, the way you remember, soft and deep. You want to ask what came over him but when he tells you he’s going to clean you up and run you a hot bath, you decide you don’t mind.

True to his word, Sukuna gently cleans you before leaving you to soak in the bath. He offers to stay with you but you insist you want to sit alone for a while, peppering him with reassuring kisses. And you do sit alone for a while, for a few minutes.

Quietly, you climb out of the bath and open the cabinet to find your birth control pills. You check you’ve taken the dummy pills Sukuna got you before putting them back in the cabinet. You sink silently to your knees and carefully lift one of the tiles on the bathroom floor. Sitting there are your real birth control pills.

You pop one free, swallowing it quickly before putting it back, replacing the tile without making a sound. You climb back into the bath slowly so you don’t splash before lying back again, relaxing.

You first discovered Sukuna’s sleeping pills when he was out collecting your favourite takeout some weeks ago. You figured that was the reason you were waking up some mornings with a familiar ache.

You discovered the tracking app on your phone the morning after Sukuna had installed it and had spotted him following at a distance behind you some days. So you gave him what he wanted – you made sure he saw you ignored other men and you never lied about your location.

You got your own set of morning after pills once you found the sleeping pills, knowing immediately what Sukuna was up to. He might think you’re unprotected, might fuck you like you are, but only you know that’s not true.

You close your eyes, enjoying the soak of the hot water. You know Sukuna does this because he loves you. Because he’s obsessed with you. You like that he's rough with you you, that he loves you so much he stalks you, that he wants to get you pregnant so he'll never lose you.

You love him just as much back. Your sweet, doting boyfriend who thinks he knows everything about you, who thinks he’s the one in control.

Your smirk to yourself.

If only he knew.

masterlist

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[librababe99]

request: jason todd and reader are babysitting (damian, a random child, you choose) and someone confuses both of you as parents and jason is struck by how much he doesn’t hate being mistaken for the father of your child.

Hi anon! Honestly this is such a cute idea🥹 lucky for you I was able to whip up something....

Title: Unspoken Bonds summary: Jason, reader, and Damian, spend a day at the Gotham Aviary, indulging Damian's fascination with birds of prey. As they bond, a passing stranger comments on how cute their "family" looks, unknowingly sparking something deep within Jason.

The morning sunlight filtered through the windows of Wayne Manor, casting a golden glow over the grand living room. You were sitting on the couch, waiting for Jason to finish lacing up his boots while Damian stood near the door, arms crossed with his usual impatient glare.

“I still don’t understand why I need the two of you to accompany me,” Damian grumbled. “I’m perfectly capable of going alone.”

Jason chuckled as he straightened up, meeting Damian’s glare with a teasing smirk. “Oh, I’m sure you are, demon spawn. But if you want to keep Alfred from locking down the Batcave after the last time you snuck out, you’ll play along.”

Damian huffed, crossing his arms tighter. “That was your fault. If you hadn’t—”

“Okay, enough,” you interrupted, standing up and grabbing your bag. “Let’s just enjoy the day, alright? We’re taking you somewhere you’ve wanted to go, Damian. Be happy.”

The teen gave you a skeptical glance, but there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes. You had planned a surprise for him, and despite his stubbornness, Damian’s love for adventure always won out in the end.

After a short drive into Gotham, the three of you arrived at the Gotham Aviary, a hidden gem in the city—a large sanctuary home to all kinds of birds of prey. Damian’s eyes lit up the moment he stepped out of the car. He’d been talking about visiting this place for months now, and even though he’d never admit it, he was thrilled.

“Impressed?” you asked with a grin.

Damian looked away, trying to mask his excitement. “It’s acceptable.”

You exchanged a knowing look with Jason, who just shook his head with a laugh. “He’ll be bouncing off the walls in no time,” Jason whispered to you, and you playfully nudged him as the three of you made your way inside.

The hours passed peacefully. Damian immersed himself in learning about the birds, engaging in long conversations with the caretakers and volunteers about falconry and raptor behaviors. Jason stayed by your side, his hand occasionally brushing against yours, a quiet smile always playing on his lips as he watched Damien be... well, Damian.

“I think he’s actually enjoying himself,” Jason mused quietly as Damien watched a golden eagle take flight.

“Of course, he is,” you replied, leaning into Jason a little. “He may act tough, but he’s still a kid.”

Jason hummed in agreement, his arm slipping around your waist as the two of you stood there in a comfortable silence, watching Damian.

As the three of you left the aviary later in the afternoon, the sun beginning to set, you passed a family with a young child in tow. The mother, smiling brightly, looked over at the three of you and said, “Oh, you have such a cute family! Reminds me of my own when we first came here.”

You blinked, slightly caught off guard, but before you could respond, Jason froze beside you. He didn't say anything, but you felt his grip on your hand tighten, the tension in his body suddenly palpable.

The woman continued on her way, none the wiser to the storm of emotions that her innocent comment had stirred.

Jason didn’t speak for a few moments, but you could tell something had shifted. His usually calm and teasing demeanor had faded into something more serious, his expression distant. Damian, thankfully, was already distracted with something else and hadn’t noticed.

“Jay?” you asked softly, stopping and turning to face him. “You okay?”

Jason’s gaze lingered on the sidewalk for a second longer before he looked up at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right words. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. “Yeah, I’m fine, babe. It’s just... what that woman said.”

You tilted your head, gently encouraging him to continue.

“The whole... family thing,” Jason said, his voice unusually quiet. “It just... caught me off guard, I guess. I never really thought about it before. Having... a family.”

The weight of his words settled between you both, and you could see the vulnerability behind his eyes, something Jason rarely let anyone see. For all the bravado and snark he carried, there were parts of him—damaged, fragile parts—that still grappled with his past, his death, and his complex relationship with Bruce.

You reached out and cupped his cheek, thumb gently tracing his skin. “What are you feeling, Jay?” you asked softly, knowing better than to push him too hard.

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch as if grounding himself. When he opened them again, his expression was calmer, but his emotions were still raw. “It’s not that I’m scared of it. I’m not freaked out about the idea of having a family with you.” He paused, searching for the right words. “It’s... more like, I didn’t know how much I wanted that. Until now.”

Your breath caught slightly at his admission. Jason wasn’t someone who easily allowed himself to be vulnerable. His life had been filled with pain and loss, and the idea of stability—of a family—was something that had always seemed out of reach for him. But now, in this quiet moment, he was letting himself feel it. The possibility. The hope.

You smiled gently, brushing a lock of hair away from his face. “You’d be a great dad, you know that, right?”

Jason let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Yeah? You think so?”

“I know so.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, his lips brushing your forehead as he held you close. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath his jacket, his breath warm against your skin.

Damian, noticing you two lagging behind, turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Are you two seriously having a moment right now?”

Jason chuckled, releasing you but keeping his arm draped over your shoulders. “Relax, demon spawn. Just figuring out if you’d make a good big brother one day.”

Damian’s eyes widened, and he scowled. “Tt, not even funny.”

You laughed, ruffling Damian’s hair as you caught up with him. “You’d be a great big brother, too, Damian. Imagine all the little bird lessons you could teach.”

Damian rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it, a tiny smirk playing at his lips as the three of you made your way back to the car.

As you drove home, the quiet of the evening settled over you all. Jason’s hand found yours again, giving it a gentle squeeze. You glanced over at him and saw a new warmth in his gaze—one that promised something deeper, more enduring. A future neither of you had quite imagined before.

And for the first time, Jason allowed himself to feel something other than fear when he thought about that future. Instead, he felt hope.

[crowsofdarkness]

Steve has a special request for his birthday.

18+ CW's below the cut(public sex, slight knife play, oral with female receiving, spanking, unprotected pinv, use of "sir", reader is bound.)

Steve only wanted one thing for his birthday. Me, on my knees, in the middle of the woods behind the Avengers Compound. Everyone thought he was Mr. Shy Guy; quiet and reserved. 

But I knew different. I knew the darkness that lived inside of Steve. Which is why we were here outside in the woods, while I was on my hands and knees naked for him and my arms were bound behind my back. Steve loomed in his full Captain America suit. 

His hands held my hips with a bruising force, halting me up slightly so my pussy was directly in line with those luscious lips. Since my hands were bound behind my back, my body folded awkwardly but I dared not to complain.

“So pretty and wet, all for me,” Steve mused with a flick of his tongue over my clit. 

“Oh god,” I moaned, pressing my pussy closer to his mouth. 

I needed more of him. Desperately. 

A swift smack to my ass echoed in the woods causing me to cry out. “No god here, Doll. Just you and me.”

All at once, his mouth devoured my pussy, tongue fucking me for a few beats before his teeth grazed over the overly sensitive bud of my clit. He’d been working me up since the second we stepped foot in the woods, so all it took was his face between my legs for a few seconds before my release rushed out of me with a howl of euphoria. I cried out while writing against his face, making his grip on my hips tighten as he licked and sucked me through my orgasm. 

“I fucking love the way you taste,” a gentle kiss to my over stimulated clit. 

I was breathless, ready to fall into a heap in the ground, but Steve had other plans. 

“Are you ready for my cock now, doll?” 

All I could do was nod which didn’t seem to please him because he landed another smack to my ass. 

“Try that again,” he snarled. 

Oh, right. 

“Yes sir,” I squeaked out. 

“Good fucking girl,” he crooned before sinking himself deep inside of me. 

It was an adjustment to have him fit in between my walls. His cock was much larger and it was always an adjustment so he had to pull himself out before sinking in slowly a few times until I was fully open for him. 

“You take my cock so well, doll. Like you were made for me,” he said while snapping his hips against my ass. 

The only noises that lingered in the air of the woods was our shared panting, skin on skin, and me writing in the crunchy leaves. Every time Steve would piston his cock into me, my body would shift up half an inch. He let out a low growl and wrapped an arm around my midsection. He hoisted us up so he was kneeling and I was speared open on his cock. The new angle made stars dance in the edge of my vision and I rested my head against his shoulder. I felt the rough material of his suit scratch against the bareness of my back as he lifted me up and down on him. 

“I love the way you fuck,” Steve sank he teeth into my neck and I cried out. 

Suddenly, a cold bite of metal was pressed against the spot he bit down and I froze in his grasp.

The knife he brought, the one we frequently used during sex, was pressed against my neck.

“I need you to be quiet. I can’t have people hearing how pretty you sound,” he grunted when his cock swelled inside of me. 

He was close. 

With the knife pressed into my throat, I rolled my hips against him, trying to bring him closer to the edge because I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer. The second he slipped himself inside of me, my second orgasm was building. I was so far gone in the aura of him, desperate for that release, I hadn’t realized the tip of the blade pressed a bit too hard into my skin, drawing the smallest of blood. 

Steve changed our position again, once more being face down on the ground as his entire body laid against mine, his pace almost ruthless and erratic. A curse fell from his lips and then something soft brushed against my back. 

“I’m going to fill up that pretty little cunt, doll.” 

I lifted my head to try and get a peek at him, wanting to taste those lips I loved so much, but Steve let out a noise of disappointment and shoved my face into the ground, causing me to take in a mouth of dirt. 

But I didn’t care because my second orgasm of the night ripped me in half when the head of his cock hit that spot which made my vision blur. He pumped himself a few more times until his cock twitched just as he let out a low whine, coating the inside of my walls. 

“Best. Birthday. Ever,” his voice was muffled by my hair as he buried his face into it. 

[loveesiren]

𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖬𝗒 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 (𝖯𝗍. 3)

Choi Seunghyun x f!reader x Kwon Jiyong | Masterlist

a/n: This part is longggg, but here's part three! I hope you guys enjoy. I feel like I'm moving past this hump and can finally get into the fucking terrible shit I have planned lol.

synopsis: Y/n and Seunghyun are finally official. But Jiyong begins to struggle with his true emotions between his best friend and his best friends girlfriend

warnings: angst, language, mentions of sex

wc: 5k+

You’d barely seen Jiyong over the last few days. If he was in the building, he was everywhere except where you were. You were grateful for that—grateful that you didn’t have to sit through another one of his cold stares or the snide remarks he loved to throw your way. It was easier this way.

Seunghyun, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. Every chance he got, he was near you, talking to you, looking for an excuse to keep you company. He asked to see your sketches, offered to help with anything you needed, even brought you coffee without you asking.

“Aren’t I technically the one who works for you?” you mused, a small smile tugging at your lips as he handed you the cup.

He grinned, settling down beside you. “You’re our stylist, Y/n, not our assistant. You have one of the most important jobs here.”

“Is that so?” You arched a brow, amused by his enthusiasm.

“Yeah. I mean, without you, I’d be going out on stage like this.” He leaned back, motioning to his current outfit—gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, a well-worn Pink Floyd t-shirt hugging his frame. His hair was still damp from a recent shower, slightly tousled, and the scent of his cologne lingered in the air between you.

You bit your lip, eyes dragging over him before you could stop yourself. You liked him like this—casual, comfortable, completely unbothered.

“Miss Y/l/n,” Seunghyun smirked, his voice teasing. “Are you checking me out?”

Your cheeks burned instantly. “I-uh…” You scrambled for a response, but nothing came.

He laughed, leaning in just slightly. “I’m just teasing you.” A beat passed before he added, voice softer, “But I wouldn’t mind if you were.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through your chest, and you found yourself laughing with him.

A sharp knock at the studio door interrupted the moment.

“Yo, lovebirds.”

Your stomach twisted at the sound of Jiyong’s voice. His tone was laced with something unreadable, but his expression gave nothing away as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. The moment your eyes met his, your smile faltered.

“Sorry to break it up, but YG’s looking for you,” he said, directing his words at Seunghyun.

Seunghyun let out a dramatic sigh but stood without hesitation. “Wait for me? So I can walk you to your car?”

You nodded, offering a small smile. He returned it before jogging out of the room.

Jiyong, however, didn’t move. He lingered, eyes scanning over you with something close to scrutiny. The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

You shifted in your seat, suddenly uncomfortable under his gaze.

“Seems like things are going well,” he said, voice dripping with something sharp.

You swallowed. “Uhm, yeah… Thank you. For not telling him, I mean.”

Jiyong sighed, finally pushing himself off the doorframe and sauntering into the room. He flopped onto the couch behind you, stretching out like he had nowhere better to be.

“Yeah, well…” He exhaled, running his fingers over the rings on his hand. “You’re not worth losing my best friend over.”

The words stung more than you wanted to admit. But they weren’t untrue. Seunghyun didn’t deserve to get caught in the crossfire of whatever dysfunctional thing you and Jiyong had once been.

“He’s gonna ask you out again, by the way,” Jiyong muttered, his fingers fidgeting with the silver bands. “He doesn’t shut up about you.”

Your lips twitched slightly, despite yourself.

Jiyong saw the expression you tried to hide and rolled his eyes. He hated you. At least, that’s what he told himself. The two of you always had problems, always found a reason to fight. It had been that way for years.

But lately… something was different.

Ever since that last night you spent tangled in your sheets, your nails dragging down his back as you moaned his name. Ever since you looked him in the eyes and told him you were done.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you.

Normally, he’d start a fight. He’d push your buttons, get under your skin, rile you up until you were breathless with frustration. Because he knew the more he pissed you off, the needier you’d get for him. It was a cycle. A toxic, fucked-up cycle.

But now? What was the point?

He could be cruel, sure. Tell everyone the truth. But where would that leave him? You weren’t his to take his frustration out on anymore. He’d handed you to Seunghyun on a silver fucking platter.

And for the first time, he felt hollow.

The door creaked open again. “Wow, the two of you in the same room without screaming? Are pigs flying?”

Seunghyun’s voice was light, teasing, but Jiyong stood immediately, forcing out a chuckle. “Don’t worry, I just finished yelling at her about the stupid outfit she’s designing for me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I like the outfit you’re designing for him,” Seunghyun said, smiling down at you as he approached.

You met his gaze, something apologetic in your expression. Every time the two of them were in the same room, your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of your secret pressing against your ribs.

“Can I walk you to your car?” Seunghyun asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

You blinked, then nodded. “Yeah! Of course.” Quickly, you shut your sketchbook, stuffing it into your bag.

Seunghyun held out his hand, and you hesitated only for a second before lacing your fingers with his. His palm was warm against yours. The two of you walked in comfortable silence through the building, the cool night air greeting you as you stepped outside.

When you reached your car, Seunghyun moved ahead, opening the door for you. His fingers lingered against the edge of the window frame as he leaned in slightly, resting his chin on his arms. His eyes traced over your face, soft and admiring.

“Would you like to go out with me again?” His voice was steady, more confident this time.

You smiled wide. “I’d like that.”

His lips curled into a grin. “You free Saturday?”

“As long as I finish up these sketches.”

“Well, get to sketching then. I’ll pick you up around eleven.”

“A.M.? Where are you taking me?” you giggled.

“Somewhere special.” He winked. “Drive safe.”

Before you could react, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. Then, just as quickly, he backed away, smiling as he watched you drive off.

From across the parking lot, Jiyong watched, a bitter taste settling on his tongue. He exhaled a slow breath of smoke, making his way over to Seunghyun.

“What’d she say?” He tried to sound casually curious, not completely jealous.

“She said yes.” Seunghyun’s eyes remained locked on your disappearing car, his voice filled with something close to wonder. “Come on, let’s go celebrate.” He clapped Jiyong’s shoulder.

Jiyong scoffed, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. “We’re celebrating you asking a girl out on a date?”

“Not just any girl, Ji. Y/n!” Seunghyun’s smile was soft. “I’ve been into her for years. Just never had the confidence to ask her out until now.”

Jiyong knew that. He had always known. The first time he had you, he’d felt sick about it—knowing how much Seunghyun admired you.

But that night, when you had screamed his name like he was the only thing that mattered—he had started to understand why his best friend was so into you.

Jiyong exhaled, flicking his cigarette to the ground. “First round’s on me, then.”

And with that, he slung an arm over his best friend’s shoulder, heading toward the bar—swallowing his jealousy like another shot of whiskey.

-

Once again, you tore clothes from the hangers, trying them on and discarding them just as quickly. Frustration bubbled inside you—how were you supposed to pick the perfect outfit when Seunghyun refused to tell you where he was taking you?

You had texted him the night before, practically pleading for a hint. All he had given you was cute and casual. As if that didn’t encompass a million different possibilities.

With a sigh, you finally settled on a black skirt and tights, a gray sweater, and chunky black heels. You grabbed your red Prada bag and made your way to the mirror to assess your look. Casual—but not too casual. A balance between effortless and put-together. You could blend in just about anywhere.

After styling your hair into loose curls and adorning yourself with delicate silver jewelry, your phone vibrated. A hopeful smile tugged at your lips as you reached for it, expecting a message from Seunghyun. But the moment you saw the sender, your heart sank.

YG: GD and Taeyang need their hair done by Monday for an interview.

You exhaled sharply, rolling your eyes. There was little you wanted to do less than spend time with Jiyong. But work was work. Tamping down your irritation, you typed a quick response: I’m out of town today, but I can squeeze them in tomorrow.

Before you could dwell on it, the doorbell rang.

Excitement replaced disappointment as you rushed to answer it, a warm flutter in your chest. Swinging the door open, you found Seunghyun standing there, his signature smile in place, holding yet another flower—this time, a pink lily.

“Hi,” you greeted, your voice tinged with a shy warmth as you leaned against the doorframe.

“Hi.” His deep voice was soft, affectionate.

You took the lily from his hand, bringing it to your nose to inhale its delicate scent. He always did this—always brought you something new. A small, thoughtful gesture that never failed to make your heart stutter.

“Is this okay?” you asked, motioning to your outfit, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.

His dark eyes swept over you, appreciation flickering across his features before he met your eyes again. “You look perfect,” he murmured. The sincerity in his voice made your breath hitch.

Your lips curled into a smile. “One sec!” You darted to the kitchen, carefully placing the lily in the vase where the growing collection of flowers sat on your counter. The sight of them, a soft blend of colors and petals, made your chest tighten with something unfamiliar yet undeniably warm.

Returning to the door, you slipped your hand into his as he offered it to you, his fingers wrapping around yours in a way that felt both natural and reassuring. He led you to the sleek black car waiting at the curb.

Ever the gentleman, Seunghyun opened the door for you, helping you inside before circling around to slide in beside you before he told the driver where to go.

“Royal treatment today?” you teased, raising a playful brow.

He chuckled, reaching for the bottle of wine nestled in ice between you. “Can’t drink and drive,” he said, pouring you a glass. The deep red liquid shimmered under the soft interior lights as he handed it to you. “Wine?”

You accepted with a grin, clinking your glass against his before taking a sip. The rich, velvety taste lingered on your tongue, unfamiliar yet decadent.

You hadn’t experienced such a luxury in a long time. Sure, Jiyong had the same access to these things, but never once were you worth it to him. You were there when he needed to take his frustrations out, that was it. Never worth a date.

You pushed thoughts of Jiyong aside, unwilling to let him taint the moment.

“So,” you said, tilting your head with curiosity, “are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?”

Seunghyun laughed, shaking his head. “Patience isn’t your strong suit, is it, Y/n?”

“Nah, not really,” you admitted with a smirk.

“Well,” he began, swirling the wine in his glass, “I’m taking you to an art museum. A new one that just opened a few months ago. I haven’t had the chance to go yet, and I figured it’d be more exciting with the company of a pretty woman.”

Your heart fluttered. He remembered. He had noticed the vibrant artwork that adorned your walls, had paid attention when you talked about your love for design. Art was always something the two of you could connect over.

“That sounds perfect,” you said, voice softer now.

“Good,” he replied, his lips curving into a pleased smile. “And, if you’re not too sick of me by the end of the day, I made dinner reservations.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the giddy warmth spreading through you.

It had been so long since someone had treated you like this—with patience, with intention, with genuine care.

Seunghyun made your heart feel something you hadn’t in a long time. Safe.

Excited for the day ahead, you clinked your glass against his once more. “I don’t think I could ever get sick of you.”

His gaze held yours for a moment longer than necessary before he chuckled, shaking his head. “We’ll see about that.”

-

Seunghyun’s hand was warm in yours as the two of you wandered through the museum, the rhythmic click of your heels against the polished floor the only sound between murmured conversations and the soft classical music playing overhead. Every so often, his fingers would graze your shoulder, a light, fleeting touch on the small of your back as you both stopped in front of different paintings, soaking in the stories they told.

You could feel his gaze on you, more often than on the art, but you pretended not to notice.

“I think this one is my favorite,” Seunghyun said finally, his voice carrying a quiet reverence.

You turned to see him standing before an oil painting of a woman seated on the edge of an ocean cliff, the sea stretching endlessly before her. The wind played through her hair, her eyes closed, her lips curved in an effortless, serene smile. There was something ethereal about her—like she existed in a moment of pure, untainted happiness.

You swallowed. You wondered if you would ever feel that free.

“Why this one?” you asked softly.

He tilted his head, studying the piece a moment longer before answering. “Reminds me of you.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you turned to him. “It does?”

“Yeah.” He glanced down at you, the corner of his lips tugging into a small smile. “Beautiful. Carefree. Innocent.”

Your stomach twisted, and before you could stop yourself, you bit your lip. Innocent. If only he knew.

“I’m not that innocent, Seunghyun…” you murmured, eyes dropping to the floor.

He turned to fully face you, his presence grounding. “We’ve all made mistakes in the past. That doesn’t take away from who you are now.” His voice was steady, assured, as if there was no room for debate.

You hesitated before looking up at him. His eyes, dark and unwavering behind his glasses, searched yours. And yet, you couldn't hold his gaze for long. Your heart pounded at the unspoken truths pressing against your ribs—the weight of Jiyong, the memories of tangled sheets and burning touches, of moans swallowed by hungry lips. And here you were now, standing beside his best friend, holding his hand like you weren’t carrying secrets that could ruin everything.

“I-I’m scared that if you knew about my past,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper, “you wouldn’t like me anymore. Not even as a friend.”

Seunghyun exhaled, his fingers gently squeezing yours. “I have a past too, Y/n.” His voice softened. “Nothing could make me not like you.”

You searched his face for any hint of hesitation, but there was none. Only sincerity. Only warmth.

Swallowing thickly, you forced a smile. You weren’t ready to tell him everything—not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Come on,” he said, giving your hand another squeeze before pulling you toward the next room.

You let yourself follow him, forcing away the gnawing guilt in your stomach.

-

By the time you reached the last exhibit, your stomach growled loud enough to make Seunghyun chuckle.

“So,” he teased, turning to you with a smirk, “are you sick of me yet?”

“Never.” You smiled, meaning it.

“Good,” he grinned, slipping his arm around your waist as he guided you toward the exit. “Because I’m starving. Let’s go to dinner.”

You were still laughing when the car pulled up to the restaurant, but as soon as you saw where he had brought you, your breath caught in your throat.

Jungsik.

Your lips parted in disbelief. The elegant gold-lettered sign gleamed under the city lights. It was one of the most luxurious restaurants in Seoul—where only the elite dined, where reservations were booked months in advance, where the price of a single meal could make your rent look laughable.

“Seunghyun…” you started, turning to him. “We can’t eat here.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “Why not?”

“This place is so expensive and I—I’m underdressed.” You gestured to your casual sweater and boot-like heels, suddenly feeling out of place.

He shook his head, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “You look beautiful.” His voice left no room for argument. “And don’t worry about the money. Order whatever you want.”

You exhaled, reluctantly following him inside, but the moment you stepped through the doors, the discomfort settled deep in your bones.

The hosts immediately recognized Seunghyun, their professional composure faltering as excitement flickered in their eyes. Still, they kept their voices steady, ushering you toward a private room. But the way their gazes flickered to you, the subtle downturn of their lips, didn’t go unnoticed.

You knew that look.

It was the same look people always gave when they saw a woman with a man like him. A silent judgment, a question they didn’t dare to voice.

What is she doing with him?

Seunghyun, seemingly oblivious, held your hand firmly as you entered the intimate dining space. He pulled out your chair for you, his touch lingering as you sat down.

“This is really nice,” you admitted, looking around at the dimly lit room, the perfectly set table, the candlelight flickering between you. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, his voice softer now. “I really like you, Y/n…” He hesitated, rubbing his palms together. “And I kind of wanted to ask you something.”

Your heartbeat stuttered.

You glanced up at him, his expression unusually nervous. It was…endearing. Seunghyun, the man known for his confidence, for his composed demeanor, was hesitating.

“What is it?” you asked, tilting your head.

He exhaled, adjusting his glasses before finally meeting your gaze.

“I was kind of hoping that we could be… exclusive.” His lips pressed together as he studied your reaction.

You blinked. Was he trying to ask you to be his—

“Like… in a relationship,” he clarified quickly, his voice almost sheepish.

A slow smile crept onto your lips. “Seunghyun, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I am. Sorry, I haven’t dated in a long time…”

You should have been ecstatic.

You were happy. Seunghyun was sweet, thoughtful—he treated you better than you had been treated in years. But as you opened your mouth to answer, your mind betrayed you.

Flashes of Jiyong. His hands tangled in your hair, his voice rough with need as he whispered filthy things into your ear. His lips ghosting over your skin, his grip possessive, his body pressing into yours with reckless abandon.

Your stomach twisted violently.

No. That was over. It never meant anything. It was time to move forward.

You inhaled sharply. “Yes.”

Seunghyun’s eyes widened slightly. “Yes?”

You nodded, pushing the lingering thoughts of Jiyong into the furthest corners of your mind. “I really like you too, Seunghyun.” That was the truth. The only truth you could hold onto right now.

His lips curved into the most genuine, heartwarming smile you had ever seen. He ducked his head with a nervous chuckle, and you found yourself staring, captivated by how cute he was.

And yet, despite the happiness bubbling in your chest, that gnawing feeling in your gut refused to disappear.

-

Seunghyun walked you to your front door beneath a soft glow of streetlights, the cool night air mingling with the warmth of your shared smiles. Every step felt charged with anticipation, and as you paused at the doorstep, his gentle voice broke the quiet. “Does this mean I get to kiss you goodnight?” he murmured, his tone soft.

A blush warmed your cheeks as you met his eyes. “I’d be offended if you didn’t,” you replied, your words light and teasing. The playful banter hung in the space between you like an invitation.

Taking a slow, deliberate step forward, Seunghyun’s hands moved with tender precision. His fingers brushed through your hair, delicately pushing stray strands behind your ear before cupping your cheek with a warmth that made your heart flutter. For a moment, time seemed to pause—the distant hum of the city and the gentle rustle of leaves in the night a perfect backdrop to this intimate scene.

Leaning closer, his gaze never wavering from yours, you instinctively lifted onto your tippy toes, your hands resting lightly on his broad shoulders. The distance between you shrank until his face was only inches away from yours. His lips met yours in a soft, gentle kiss that felt both new and achingly familiar. In that single, suspended moment, you sensed the delicate interplay of passion and tenderness—a kiss that carried the sweetness of unspoken promises and the flutter of butterflies dancing wildly in your stomach.

As your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, every touch and every heartbeat deepened the connection between you. Slowly, reluctantly, you broke the kiss, your lips parting with a lingering sense of wonder. 

Biting your lip, you gazed up at him through long, fluttering lashes as he whispered a quiet “Woah…” His husky tone sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but giggle—a sound that mingled with the night’s serene melody.

Gathering your courage, you softly asked, “Do you… want to come inside? We could watch a movie or something…” The invitation was gentle yet filled with hopeful vulnerability. 

His smile widened, lighting up the dim night as he replied with playful earnestness, “Can I kiss you more?”

With a delighted giggle and a nod that spoke volumes, you fumbled for your keys. The simple click of the lock unlocking became the opening note of a new chapter, a promise of more shared moments, more whispered secrets, and more kisses waiting in the quiet sanctuary of your home.

-

The bright morning sun pierced through your eyelids, its warmth a stark contrast to the cool air still clinging to the room. You stirred uncomfortably, groaning as you turned your face away from the light. That’s when you felt it—a strong, steady arm wrapped around your waist, holding you securely. Your entire body tensed for a split second, your heart pounding as memories of past mornings with Jiyong rushed through your mind like an uninvited ghost.

But then, reality settled in, wiping away the bitter taste of regret. Last night’s events played in your head like a hazy but beautiful dream—your date with Seunghyun, the way he looked at you under the dim glow of streetlights, the soft confession that led to him asking you to be his girlfriend. The way he kissed you at your doorstep… and every kiss that followed.

A slow smile curled at your lips as you relaxed into his warmth, allowing yourself to savor the unfamiliar but welcome sensation of waking up in his arms. No guilt. No shame. No rushing to untangle yourself and sneak out of a bed that wasn’t yours to stay in. You were exactly where you wanted to be. Fully clothed, wrapped up in the arms of your boyfriend.

Boyfriend. The word settled in your chest, unfamiliar but thrilling.

Carefully, you sat up, trying not to wake him. Seunghyun’s grip loosened slightly, but he remained fast asleep, his lips parted as soft snores escaped. You couldn’t help but smile, watching him for a moment longer than necessary. He looked peaceful, and God, was he handsome—long lashes resting against his skin, dark hair a mess against the pillow. A warmth spread through your chest as you resisted the urge to reach out and trace your fingers along his jaw.

Shaking yourself out of your daze, you reached for your phone on the coffee table and began scrolling through your messages. The moment of peace shattered instantly.

“Shit…” you muttered under your breath, your stomach sinking at the reminder staring back at you. Your so-called day off had just been hijacked. Jiyong and Taeyang needed their hair done before tomorrow’s interview.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?”

Seunghyun’s raspy voice, still thick with sleep, sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes remained closed as he reached for you, fingers grazing your wrist before wrapping around your waist to pull you back against him.

You sighed, letting yourself melt into his hold. “I forgot Jiyong and Youngbae have an interview tomorrow. I have to do their hair today.” A pout formed on your lips as you snuggled into his chest. “I just wanna lay here with you all day.”

Seunghyun let out a low hum, his lips pressing a lazy kiss against your temple. “Mmm, me too,” he whispered. “What if they just came here? Then we don’t have to get dressed, don’t have to drive to the studio… and I can make you breakfast.”

The idea was tempting. Youngbae was always easy going—you actually enjoyed spending time with him. But Jiyong… the last time he was in your house, your nails had been digging into his back as you moaned his name into the night.

Your stomach twisted at the memory.

You swallowed hard, forcing the thought away before it could drag you down into dangerous territory. “That sounds nice,” you murmured instead.

You shot off a quick text to the boys, and an hour later, there was a knock at your door. Seunghyun answered, while you stood in the living room, preparing everything you needed.

“Y/n!” Taeyang’s voice rang through the space as he entered, immediately pulling you into a warm hug. “How are you?!”

“I’m good! How are you?” you asked, laughing as he gave you a quick spin before setting you back down.

“Great! Can’t wait for you to work your magic on this mess,” he grinned, ruffling his already-disheveled hair.

Your gaze flickered past him just as Jiyong walked in, his presence filling the room with an unspoken weight. He barely acknowledged you as he plopped onto the couch, phone in hand, fingers immediately scrolling through his feed.

“Hey,” he said flatly.

You returned the greeting with the same lack of enthusiasm. “Hey.”

The exchange seemed normal enough to Seunghyun and Taeyang, but beneath the surface, the tension between you and Jiyong crackled like a live wire.

Trying to ignore the feeling gnawing at your gut, you focused on Youngbae’s hair, assessing what needed to be done. Just a little bleach, a little dye—nothing too complicated.

Seunghyun approached you, holding out a piece of crispy bacon. You glanced up at him and smiled, accepting the bite as he fed you.

“Thank you, babe.”

“Oooooh,” Taeyang drawled, grinning mischievously. “Are you guys dating now?”

Seunghyun beamed. “Yeah. I asked her last night over dinner.” He fed you another bite, his smile wide with pride. You chewed, feeling suddenly shy under the attention.

“No shit?!” Taeyang laughed. “Well, congratulations! You guys are a cute couple.”

Seunghyun leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your lips before heading back to the kitchen, his mood light and carefree.

You swallowed, your hands suddenly clumsy as you mixed the dye. Something told you to look behind you.

Jiyong.

He sat stiffly on the couch, his phone forgotten in his lap, his jaw clenched. His leg bounced restlessly, the violent motion betraying the storm brewing inside him.

“I need a smoke,” he muttered before pushing up from the couch and making his way toward the balcony.

Seunghyun watched him go, a look of confusion flashing across his face before he followed.

Out on the porch, the air was thick with unspoken words.

“You good?” Seunghyun asked, lighting his own cigarette.

Jiyong took a long drag, exhaling a slow stream of smoke before responding. “Yeah, I’m good, man.”

“You seem tense.”

Jiyong hesitated before speaking. “It’s just… this girl.”

Seunghyun raised a brow. “Girl? I didn’t know you had a girl.”

Jiyong let out a dry chuckle. “She’s not really my girl. We just fucked.”

“Ahhh,” Seunghyun grinned. “But you like her?”

Jiyong pressed his lips together, his jaw tightening as he stared at the city skyline. He could lie. He could brush it off like he always did. But for some reason, the words didn’t come.

Seunghyun took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling before speaking. “Dude, I know you hate getting close to girls. But if she’s worth it, you gotta find a way.”

Jiyong let out a bitter laugh. “Trust me, it’s not that simple.”

“Well, you deserve a good woman. But you have to put in the effort to get her.” Seunghyun glanced through the window, smiling at the sight of you laughing with Youngbae. “It took me a while, but I finally asked Y/n out. And she said yes, man! She’s my fucking girlfriend!”

Jiyong squeezed his eyes shut. The words hit him harder than they should have. He flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his shoe before turning to face Seunghyun.

“You’re right, man. Thanks. And… you and Y/n are great together. I’m happy for you.” He forced a smile, clapping a hand on Seunghyun’s shoulder. But inside, he was unraveling. Because he wasn’t happy for him.

He wasn’t happy at all.

He was supposed to hate you. But watching you now—happy, glowing, wrapped up in Seunghyun’s affection—he didn’t hate you.

He needed you.

And that realization made him want to tear the whole damn world apart.

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[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Their little sunshine p.1

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Alex x reader x Lily, I have planned more parts for this story so I hope you enjoy it :)

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

The first time Alex Albon met his new physio, he nearly did a double take.

The Williams garage wasn’t exactly the most colorful place—navy blues, whites, and the occasional streak of sponsor red dominated the scene. But she stood out like a soft splash of pink against it all. It wasn’t just her outfit, though her pastel compression top and perfectly coordinated sneakers were a stark contrast to the usual sports gear around. It was the way she carried herself—bubbly, warm, and utterly radiant.

"Alex!" she beamed, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as he approached. "I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you—well, not like that, obviously, but you know what I mean!"

Alex chuckled, a little taken aback by the sheer enthusiasm radiating from her. "I think so?"

She grinned, unfazed. "Don’t worry, you’ll love our sessions. I promise I’ll take the best care of you!"

He wasn’t sure what to expect, but as soon as they started, he realized she wasn’t just all sunshine and chatter—she was good. Her hands were gentle yet firm, her instructions clear but never harsh. And more than anything, there was something about her presence that made it easy to relax.

For the first time in a while, physio sessions didn’t feel like just another part of the job. They felt… comfortable.

It didn’t take long for Alex to start looking forward to their sessions. She had this way of making even the most mundane exercises fun—humming pop songs under her breath, sticking tiny smiley face stickers on his water bottle when she thought he wasn’t hydrating enough, or dramatically gasping when she found a particularly tight knot in his shoulders.

"You’re so tense, Alex!" she scolded one day, hands pressing firmly into his back. "It’s like you’re storing all the stress of the paddock in here."

"Maybe I am," he joked, eyes fluttering shut as her thumbs worked out a particularly stubborn knot. "You’re a miracle worker, though."

She preened at the compliment. "I am pretty great, huh?"

Even Carlos, ever the skeptic, eventually gave in.

"You’re actually magic," he muttered one day, rolling his shoulder after a session. "I don’t know what you did, but I feel like I just slept for a week."

She beamed. "Told you I’d take care of you!"

For Alex, though, it wasn’t just the skill—it was her. She was the kind of person who lit up every room she walked into, and as the season dragged on, with its relentless travel and stress, she became a safe space.

One particularly rough weekend, after a frustrating qualifying session, Alex found himself in the physio room earlier than usual. She glanced up from where she was organizing massage oils, instantly noticing the tension in his posture.

"Tough one?" she asked gently.

Alex exhaled. "Yeah."

She didn’t push him to talk about it, didn’t try to force positivity onto him. Instead, she simply patted the massage table. "C’mon, lie down. Let’s get some of that stress out of your system."

As her hands worked through the knots in his shoulders, he felt himself slowly relax.

"You know," she mused, voice light but comforting, "you’re allowed to have bad days, Alex."

He hummed, eyes closed. "I know."

"Good," she said simply. And somehow, it was exactly what he needed to hear.

It wasn’t until a few races into the season that Alex finally introduced her to Lily.

"You have to meet my girlfriend," he told her one afternoon, stretching out on the massage table as she worked on his legs. "I swear, you two would get along so well."

She blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Lily," he clarified, sitting up from the massage table. "You two would get along so well."

Her lips curled into a smile. "That’s a bold claim."

"I’m serious!" Alex insisted. "You’re both, like… nice. And you make people feel comfortable. And you have this whole cute aesthetic thing going on."

She giggled. "Are you calling me cute, Albon?"

He rolled his eyes. "Just meet her, okay?"

The opportunity came during the Monaco race weekend. After a long, exhausting day in the paddock, Alex invited her to dinner with him and Lily.

She arrived in a soft pink sundress, her hair tied up with a matching ribbon. And the moment she stepped into the restaurant, she was met with a bright, familiar grin.

"Oh my God, you’re adorable!"

The greeting came from none other than Lily. He, stood up from his seat to introduce you to each other but before he could even respond, you had already reached out to hug her.

"You’re so pretty!" you gushed.

"You’re so pretty!" she shot back, already feeling like they had known each other for years.

Alex, watching them with an amused smile, shook his head. "I knew this would happen."

It was instant. Over dinner, they fell into an easy rhythm—talking about everything from skincare to travel to their shared love for making fun of Alex.

"So, how’s he as a physio client?" Lily asked, smirking slightly.

"Oh, such a baby when it comes to deep tissue massages," she teased, making Alex groan.

Lily laughed. "That checks out."

By the end of the night, they had already exchanged numbers, planning a shopping trip for the next free weekend.

And just like that, she wasn’t just Alex’s physio anymore—she was part of their little circle.

A ray of sunshine that fit right in.

Part 2

[syd-vixious]

2004 poto x reader prompt: you gotta write something about erik learning to be comfortable w his natural hair. 2004 erik is one of the few eriks that isn’t balding so i’m so surprised no one commented more on how reader not just accepts him being maskless but being wigless too. playing with his hair? 🥺🥺

A/N: My first Erik request!! I'm honestly so happy that I've been getting requests for this delicious man. Like I did in my earlier post, I've been on a poto hyperfixation recently. It's to the point where I'm planning on being the Phantom for halloween this year lol. Anyway, thank you anon for the request and I hope it's to your liking!

Insecurities

Summary: Erik keeps an eye on you at all times when he cannot be near. But, how will he feel about himself when he observes you helping other men with their luscious hair on their “perfect” scalp.

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

It was late at night at the Palais Garnier. Most of the actors, dancers, and crew have already head to bed for the night or were in the process of said task. You took the time to slip away from the prying eyes of the world above, heading to one of the secret entrances that led to the catacombs below the opera house.

After a tiring day of rehearsals, you longed to be in the comforting arms of your darling. As you hurriedly headed down the steps to where he resided, you were caught off guard by the silence. Normally, especially if Erik knew you would be arriving, he would be either playing his magnificent organ or singing with his velvet-laced voice. Concern etching itself to your features, you continued to make your way to his sanctuary.

Once you arrived, you were surprised to see him absent from his spot where he would wait for you. "Erik, dear? Are you here?" you paused for a moment, waiting for a response.

Walking to where his bed was located, you saw the dark curtains drawn and heard the music box playing from the makeshift bedroom. With gentle steps, you entered and saw Erik holding a handheld mirror, his Phantom wig and mask placed upon his head.

You stepped behind him, softly placing your hands upon his shoulders as you gaze at his reflection. "What bothers you, my love?" you asked, worry lacing your tone.

With a huff, he placed the mirror down, standing up and walking out of the room, "It is nothing for you to be concerned about." he inclined in a cold tone.

You followed him back out to the main area, watching him sit down at his organ, trying to find a piece to play that might help whatever thoughts are racing through his mind at the moment. You gave a soft sigh and crouched beside him.

"Erik, darling, I know when something is troubling you. Please, tell me what is flowing through your beautiful mind at this moment." You reached up towards his mask, causing him to flinch and catch your wrist the moment your fingertips grazed the surface.

When his misty eyes met your own, he sighed, "How do you even bare to glance at me?"

Your brows furrowed in confusion, "What ever do you mean?"

He let go of your wrist, bringing his hand back up to his face to remove his wig and mask to expose his true features underneath. "How could you want to glance at this hellish gargoyle each day and decide not to choose someone else? Someone less deformed, someone who wasn't a mistake made by God?"

Your face went from confusion to sorrow, feeling his pain and insecurities that laced his words. You took his hand, standing him up and guiding him back to the bedroom area. Taking a seat and patting the empty space beside you, silently asking him to join you.

He complied, facing you with confusion in his eyes.

With a loving gaze, you held his face gently, "Erik, my love, my muse... I speak to you every day to be with you. I join you in your song to hear you. I lay with you each night to feel you. You are the most important thing in my life. You were, by no means, a mistake from God. You were a gift, a blessing that I am overjoyed to have met each and every day."

You began to caress the deformed side of his face tenderly, "So tell me, what bothers your heart, my angel?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch before speaking. "I saw you with some of those bastard men today. You were helping them style their perfect hair on their perfect scalps. Then you come here just to be around this disappointing beast that lies before you."

You frown, upset that the events of today were bothering him this much. You leaned forward and placed a kiss on his forehead, placing your own against it after. "My sweet, I assure you, you have nothing to worry about. The hairdresser for rehearsal did not arrive today so they had me take her place for the time being."

With a soft caress, you combed your hands through his hair, making sure to be gentle as to not hurt him. "It doesn't matter how those men look in physical appearance, it means nothing to me."

You moved his head to rest on your chest as you held him, "The amount of hair on your beautiful head does not matter to me. Besides, my love, your hair is softer than the finest of silk. I love you for who you are, Erik."

His voice hitched as tears soaked your chest, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. You placed a kiss on his head, holding him close to you.

"I love you. My angel, my muse, my Y/n."

[hoe4hotchner]

Hi! I've recently found your blog and first of all, let me say that you are brilliant! I read your fic about singer!reader x Hotch and I was wondering if you'd be open to write another fic/drabble about them? Like imagine it's Valkyrie's opening night of her tour for her new album, the entire team is there, and reader keeps looking/pointing at Hotch during the songs (like Taylor Swift is doing whenever Travis Kelce is there?) I just think Hotch would be so flustered it would be so cute *-*

No worries if you don't feel like writing this btw! Hope you have a great day!!

Opening night | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem singer!reader | WC: 1.1k | CW: nothing

A/N: Thank you so much! I’m glad you found my blog and hope you'll enjoy this one too! 💕

The venue buzzed with anticipation, the low hum of conversation and excited cheers weaving into a symphony of pre-show excitement from your fans. Your opener had just left the stage, almost jumping with excitement as she relayed how great the crowd had been. You loved seeing how energetic she was coming off the stage, knowing that you'd made the right choice in bringing a newer artist on tour with you, rather than the more established one your label had recommended during the planning meetings.

The stage was dark and wrapped in mystique as your crew moved around in the shadows, changing a few instruments out and moving some positions of others as they prepared the stage for you and your band.

The BAU team occupied a cluster of prime seats up on the balcony, their enthusiasm apparent in their attire and energy as they waited for you to come out.

Despite their excitement, no one matched Garcia's energy. She sat at the edge of her seat, ready to jump out of her seat, her bejeweled glasses catching the dim light. “I still can’t believe it,” she whispered for the fifth time that evening, shaking her head as if to reset her reality. “Hotch — our Hotch — is dating Valkyrie. THE Valkyrie. My favorite artist of all time. How does that even happen? What alternate dimension are we living in?” Hotch smiled quietly to himself as he listened to Garcia

“This is wild,” Morgan said, leaning back in his seat with a grin as he looked out over the stadium. “I still can’t believe we know Valkyrie. Like, know her know her.”

“She’s amazing,” JJ agreed. “This new album? Masterpiece.”

Rossi chuckled, sipping his whiskey. “I think we’re all in agreement. What about you, Aaron? Nervous to be the muse tonight?”

Hotch, seated at the edge of their group, straightened his tie and gave Rossi a glance. “I’m just here to support her,” he said simply, his tone calm, the usual stoic Hotchner tone that showed no emotion. But the slight tug at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement, a crack in his normal demeanor that didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team.  

Garcia gasped dramatically, clutching her phone like it was a lifeline. “Oh my GOD, you’re blushing already!” she exclaimed, her fingers moving quickly to snap a picture. “This is going in the vault.”

Hotch sighed, but his smirk lingered. “Garcia put the phone away.”

“Absolutely not,” she replied, grinning as she angled for another shot. “This is for posterity, boss man. You’ll thank me later.”

Morgan leaned back in his seat, shaking his head with a laugh. “Posterity, huh? I think she just wants proof she knows someone famous by association.”

“Don’t we all?” JJ added with a grin, nudging Garcia.  

Before Hotch could muster a reply, the rest of the lights in the arena shut off, and the venue was plunged into darkness. A wave of energy rippled through the crowd, the excited murmur rising into a roar of cheers that shook the room. The stage lights remained off, the suspense growing as the audience clapped and whistled.  

Then it started — a chant, low at first but growing louder with each passing second as more and more of your fans caught onto it.  

“Valkyrie! Valkyrie! Valkyrie!”

Garcia clutched Morgan’s arm, her excitement bubbling over. “Do you hear that? That’s for her!”

Hotch leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze fixed on the stage. The chant grew louder.  

The first note of the opening song rang out, clear and strong, echoing through the venue like a call to arms. The stage erupted in light, beams of gold and white cutting through the darkness as the music built to its first crescendo. Suddenly, a platform at the center of the stage began to rise, smoke swirling around its edges.

And there you were, emerging from the floor, your silhouette framed by the blinding spotlights behind you, creating a halo-like effect that made you look angelic. The crowd’s cheers exploded into an uproar, the sheer volume rattling the balcony where the BAU team sat.

You stepped forward with effortless grace, your breathtaking costume catching every flicker of light. It shimmered with each movement, the intricate detailing making you look like a constellation. The energy you radiated was magnetic — electric — and it pulled every eye in the room to you.

Hotch’s gaze never left you, although he could sense several men in the pit staring at you with hungry looks — he couldn't lie, it made him a little jealous and perhaps even a little overprotective, wanting to jump in a hide you away.

He’d seen you perform countless times, but tonight felt different. It wasn’t just the crowd or the grandeur of the venue; it was the unmistakable pride that welled in his chest watching you command the stage as you did.  

As you launched into the second song, your voice soaring effortlessly through the lyrics, you began scanning the crowd. Your smile widened when your eyes found him. You paused for the briefest moment, microphone in hand, before pointing directly at him.  

The reaction from the audience was deafening, a mix of cheers and laughter as people tried to decipher who the gesture was for. Hotch, however, stiffened in his seat, his normally composed self giving way to a look of wide-eyed surprise.  

“Oh no, she didn’t!” Morgan barked out, laughing so hard he had to brace himself against Rossi. “Hotch! You’ve been claimed!”

“She’s bold,” JJ whispered, grinning as she nudged Garcia.  

Garcia fanned herself dramatically. “Forget Hotch — I’m in love.”

Hotch shook his head, a small, embarrassed smile playing at his lips. He tugged at his tie, adjusting it more out of habit than necessity, and kept his focus on you.  

And you didn’t stop.  

As you moved through your set, you stole moments to lock eyes with him, a sly smile or a quick glance that sent the team into fits of laughter every time. During a particularly sultry number, you sauntered across the stage, letting the lyrics drip with honey as you zeroed in on him. The crowd saw a confident performer captivating her audience — although you were sure a few fans had caught on by now, and that you'd find edits and clips from tonight on social media in the following days — Hotch only saw you teasing him mercilessly.  

By the time you reached the final song, Hotch’s usual exterior had cracked. His tie was loose, his cheeks faintly pink, and his lips tugged into an almost constant smile.  

“She’s singing to you again,” Garcia teased, leaning over to snap another picture.  

Reid tilted his head. “Well actually, she’s pointed at him approximately seven times now in this song alone. That seems statistically significant.”

“Statistically significant” Morgan repeated in a mocking tone, laughing. “Reid, it means they're whipped for each other.”

Hotch leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving you, and shook his head. “You’re all ridiculous.”

But when you sent one last wink his way before stepping off stage before returning for the encore, even he couldn’t deny the truth.  

[marauder-misprint]

Okay, that may be an absurd request. But isn't that what fan fiction is for after all?!

Tom Riddle / Voldemort's daughter!reader and Sirius balck. I need a violent(!) love-hate relationship. (A spoiler for you about my current love life:))

If it's okay for you to write, I'd love to read from you.

And if possible, I would prefer Sirius who graduated from Hogwarts, maybe never sent to Azkaban or just released. It is a pleasure to read a little in adulthood.

Thank you very much in advance 🤍🤍🤍

Hi! I hope your love life is going better (And seriously, if you need someone to talk to about your current situation, I'm here for you)

Idk how violent love-hate this is. I tried to do an enemies to lovers type of thing? Hopefully you enjoy this ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

It's set post-war, James and Lily are dead and Sirius is raising Harry w/ Remus.

Blood is(n't) everything

Sirius Black x Riddle!reader

part 2

4.5k words

cw: angst, hurt/comfort, the tiniest bit of fluff, discussion of war, drinking

You knew from the moment you were born that you had Helga Hufflepuff’s blood running through your veins. Your mother was the niece of Hepzihab Smith, who constantly bragged about being a Hufflepuff descendant. You should have been a shoo-in for Hufflepuff when you arrived at Hogwarts. Imagine everyone’s surprise when you got sorted into Slytherin. 

I guess blood isn’t everything, you mused time and time again. 

You felt very at home in Slytherin. People seemed to get you. Part of you felt slightly bad that you agreed with the ones that said “Better than Slytherin than Hufflepuff if you ask me.” Hufflepuff, despite being family, felt soft and you were anything but. 

Voldemort’s main rise to power occurred while you were in school. You paid attention to who agreed with his beliefs and who didn’t. Knowing where people’s beliefs and loyalties laid, all while keeping yours close to your chest, allowed you to be on good terms with a wide variety of people. 

But as Voldemort gained more and more followers, you grew more curious about him. It took a bit of digging and research. You found out when he might’ve attended Hogwarts and from a meticulously careful conversation with Professor Slughorn, you discovered his real name. A name he stopped going by. Tom Riddle. 

That might not mean anything to any of your peers, but it did to you. Your mother had mentioned your father to you a handful of times, saying how charming he was and how kind he was to visit her aging aunt. Tom Riddle was your father and that made you a descendant of Slytherin, just like he was. 

Maybe blood is everything. 

---

Years passed and your father fell at the hands of James and Lily Potter. The ministry tried rounding up all of the known Death Eaters. Anyone with the mark would be put away. Lucky for you, you never took the mark. Your name was enough. You hadn’t taken part in some of the more heinous activities, but your connection to your father’s followers was obvious. You had worked to convince uncertain witches and wizards that blood status meant everything. 

Now that Voldemort had fallen, you returned to holding your beliefs close to your chest again. You found a job that was able to ignore whatever past you had with the Dark Arts and while some did remember your part in upping Voldemort’s numbers, you were able to move on with your life. For the most part, that is.

“How the hell did trash like you manage to stay out of Azkaban?” Sirius drawled from behind where you sat at the bar. 

You clicked your tongue as you looked over your shoulder. You had hoped for a quiet night. A few drinks at the bar and then off to bed. That was your plan. 

“Black, lovely. Can’t say I know what you mean though.”

“We all know about your connection to your father.”

“Being born isn’t enough to lock someone up.”

“It should be,” he sighed, moving closer to the bar to signal the bartender to pour him a drink. “Although, you did more than be born.”

“No one can prove I did anything to be locked up over.” You took a sip of your drink. “Say, how is the Potter boy? You and that half blood are taking care of him now that his mummy and daddy are in the ground?” 

Sirius’ face immediately burned. He tipped the bottom of your cup upward so your drink spilled all over your lap. You hummed nonchalantly, waving your hand over yourself to dry your clothes. 

“Classy, Black. Real classy.”

“You have no right to talk about the Potters,” he hissed. 

“Another one, sir,” you called to the bartender and then turned your gaze back to the man standing next to you. “Why’s that?”

“You damn well know why.”

“I mean, technically, they killed my father so me and that boy got something in common, don’t we?”

Sirius looked like he was about to punch you. The bartender came to your rescue though, handing you another cocktail and Sirius his shot. He threw it back and immediately asked for another. 

“But speaking of families… How are Regulus and Walburga? Haven’t heard from either recently.”

“Regulus is… he’s dead,” Sirius said firmly. “And Mother, who the hell knows or cares. Why were you in contact with her?”

“Shame about Regulus. I liked ‘im,” you replied, not answering Sirius’ question.

The answer was actually quite innocent. You had wanted to talk to her about being a well-positioned woman in a noble family and Regulus had connected you. 

“Just another casualty to blame on your family,” Sirius grumbled, tossing back the second shot. 

“You seem to have a lot of thoughts on the matter. Care to sit and talk about it?” you asked, your tone mocking.

You really didn’t expect Sirius to sigh and then take the stool next to you. Despite not being vocal about your beliefs in school, you and Sirius never really got along. You were a Slytherin afterall and he hated each and every one in your house, even Regulus. There had been one kiss between the two of you — that game of spin the bottle was the end of your participation in party games. And then after school, you really went your separate ways. So to say that you and Sirius weren’t even really acquaintances would be correct. 

“You helped tear apart families. Innocent people were killed. Over what? Purifying wizardkind?” he snarked before ordering a whiskey.

A sipping drink, you thought, that means he’s going to sit here. 

“I don’t expect you to understand,” you said. “Loyalty to family and all.”

“Please, if you really knew my family… You would’ve left too. Actual Slytherin families are far worse than the Hufflepuffs who raised you.”

You shook your head. “For someone who preaches not judging, you are quick to judge.”

“What?”

“Not all Slytherins are the same, which you should know. I’ve heard about Andromeda.” You swirled your drink before taking a slow sip. “But if you think home was all sunshine and roses, especially after my sorting, you’re well mistaken.” 

“S’pose that would’ve been disappointing for your mum.”

You gave a dry laugh. “A bit, yeah. Even after I reminded her that my dad was in Slytherin.”

There’s a few moments of silence between you as you each work on your drink. You are both thinking back to your sortings and the letters from home that followed. Disappointment emanated from each stroke of ink. You weren’t where you were supposed to. You managed to stray from your blood — well, you didn’t stray from your blood but at the time, you thought you did. 

“He wouldn’t have been a loving father, you know,” Sirius said. 

“And you’d know that?”

Sirius nodded. 

“How do you reckon you and your friend are doing?” you asked, beginning with genuine curiosity. Then a twisted part of you continued, “Going to throw him to the streets if he doesn’t get sorted into Gryffindor?”

Sirius let out a long, deep sigh. You assumed he was regretting sitting down. You didn’t need to know Sirius all that well to be able to press his buttons. He was simply that predictable. 

“He has so much crimson and gold in his blood-” Sirius started to say, but you cut him off.

“You’d have me believing that blood doesn’t mean shit, though!”

“Listen here, you little bitch.” His patience was running thin.

“I will if you commit. Does blood mean everything or not? Because if it does, then your boy’s a Gryffindor and I can be damned for being a Riddle but all those little mudbloods taint wizardkind. If it means nothing, then I’m innocent and you can be whoever you want to be.”

“You’re damned because you preached He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s agenda.”

“I’m damned for worse things,��� you said with a wicked grin adorning your lips. “You know, those things no one can prove were me.”

Suddenly, Sirius whipped his wand out and had it pressed against your throat under your chin. His eyes bore into yours. You showed no fear, your grin only widened.

“What’re you going to do? Curse me? Hex me? Kill me?”

“I oughta…”

“Oi! Take it outside!” the bartender yelled.

You smirked, placing a few galleons on the counter. 

“On me, Black.” You stood up, Sirius’ wand moving with you. “You heard the man. This is a respectable business. If you have issues with me, we’ll take it outside.”

You turned your back on Sirius and made for the door. You looked back at him. He stood unmoving by the counter where you left him. You rolled your eyes.

“Come on, pretty boy. Or do I need to insult you some more?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes in your direction, but he followed you anyway. Once outside, you led him into an alley. 

“I feel like you’re going to murder me back here…” he muttered. 

You kicked over a crate so that it was a good height for you to sit on. Sirius, however, chose to remain standing. He did lean against the grimy wall with a steady grip on his wand. 

“If anyone’s being murdered out here, it’s me. Trust me, you’re not the only one who’d like to see me six feet in the ground.” 

“If you really think I’d kill you, why did you insist I come out here with you?”

“Because I don’t think you’ll do it. You don’t have it in you. Not in cold blood. If we were dueling, then maybe. But if I’m sitting here, looking pretty with my wand tucked away, I’m perfectly safe with you.”

Sirius frowns. He doesn’t retort with anything because he knows you’re right. Yes, you were the daughter of the man who killed two of his best friends. Yes, he knew you did horrid things, but you were right that no one could prove you did anything more than preach the inferiority of muggleborns. He couldn’t justify killing you. 

You tilted your head as you viewed Sirius in the alley’s low lighting.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a waste of pureblood?” That genuine curiosity had returned.

“All the time. Right up there with being told I’m a disappointment and a stain on the Black name. But, do tell, why do you think I’m a waste?”

“You don’t seem to want to settle down and have a family.”

That caught Sirius off-guard. He had more-or-less settled down to raise Harry, but besides the little boy and Remus, he didn’t have any desire for a family. His hadn’t given him that want and he had found that he could live without it. 

“You’re pretty. You have good blood in you, whether you acknowledge it or not. I hear plenty of people actually like you. You’re just like a few moral standards short of being the perfect bachelor.”

“Like you know anything of moral standards…” 

You stood up and walked over to Sirius. You stood right in front of him, close enough to feel his whiskey-scented breath. You dragged the backside of your hand down his cheek. 

“Just because my morals are different than yours doesn’t mean mine don’t exist.”

“Yet you just said mine didn’t-”

“No, I didn’t. I said you were short,” you corrected him, cutting him off again. “You could… raise them. Higher standards are what you need. Then you’d surround yourself with better people.”

Sirius gave your shoulders a push to make you step away from him.

“I’m only surrounded by the lowest of the low when I’m around your kind,” he spat. 

“Those willing to do anything for their families?” 

Sirius didn’t give any warning. He slashed his wand, sending you flying backwards into the crate you had been sitting in earlier.

“You can’t preach doing anything and having morals at the same time, sweetheart,” he snarled, slowly approaching where you laid in the splintered wood.

“I disagree,” you groaned. You reached for your wand and a quick wave had flames shooting out of it.

Sirius jumped out of the way, but it gave you a moment to rise to your feet. 

“Sometimes-” You sent more flames out of your wand, causing Sirius to jump out of the way. “-you have set aside-” More flames and he deflected. “-what some consider good so that you can have a moment-” Flames singed the edges of Sirius’ clothing. “-with your absent father.”

“Fathers aren’t worth it!” He shot a geyser of water in your direction. 

“Then you haven’t properly longed for one.” Enchanted ropes wrapped themselves around Sirius’ feet and he fell to the ground. 

Another wave of your wand had his being ripped from his hands. You caught it with ease.

“Your little Order didn’t teach you to duel all that well, did it?” you cooed as you stood over him. Now with his wand in your hands, the ropes bound his hands as well. “You should really consider your opponent before you engage, Black.” 

Then you sat just out of his reach. You knew better than to sit too close, even with his extremities bound, Sirius could do damage to you.

“You’re sitting?”

You nodded. “I offered to talk inside and you’re the one bringing magic into it all. Figured maybe you do want to talk, but you’re too hot headed to do so civilly.” You paused before adding thoughtfully, “Orion got that way.”

“I’m nothing like my father,” Sirius snarled.

“Oh, don’t say nothing. You two are plenty alike. Just… aligned differently.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“How do I say this in a way that won’t piss you off more?” You clicked your tongue as you thought, taking your time as if to prove to Sirius that this interaction was now on your time. “Your family likes the cosmos, right? Think of it like this: you each have your north star that you follow. Or you’re both looking for the brightest star but you have different hemispheres.” You tilted your head as you tried to study Sirius’ expression. “I’m sure he thought he was raising you the right way in the same way you think you’re raising the Potter boy the right way.”

“My father didn’t care for me or Regulus.”

“Au contraire, Black. You should know that he absolutely adores Regulus. And as stubborn as you were, he loved you until you got sorted into Gryffindor and made a bigger mess than he could clean up.”

“How would you know that?”

“Oh, did you not know I’ve been for tea for Walburga several times? And Orion likes to have a few after, as you should know.” 

“I’m aware… Bit weird you had tea with my mother though…”

You shrugged. “I needed advice.”

“You?” Sirius scoffed. “You needed advice?”

“Never claimed to know it all.”

“You sure act like it.”

“And you act like the most righteous person in the ally, yet you cast the first spell.”

Sirius didn’t respond and you didn’t continue. You twirled your wand in between your fingers. You could feel Sirius watching your dexterity. You wanted him to be the next one to talk. He clearly had more to say to you, but he remained silent. 

After a few minutes of nothing, you sighed and waved your wand to unbind Sirius. He rubbed his wrists immediately after. You were surprised that he didn’t reach for his wand right away. He did after a few moments and adjusted himself so he was sitting across from you.

“Is it lonely for you?” you asked in a soft voice. “Living in the aftermath of the war.”

Sirius blinked slowly. Your words sank in slowly. 

“I… I lost a lot of friends, but I wouldn’t say I’m lonely. The survivors, we make do. We’re there for each other. I have Remus. The Weasleys. Dumbledore when I need him. Mad-Eye Moody is a character. We support each other.” He stared at you. “Are you lonely?”

“Didn’t live my life for friends. And the friends I did have? Dead. Apparently all of them. Or Azkaban.” You chuckled softly. “Bit sad, innit?”

“You chose that life.”

“I chose chasing a family who, I should’ve known this, didn’t want me. And I chose protecting myself. Chasing family and being safe shouldn’t leave me alone.”

“I chased a family and I protected myself,” Sirius said. “It was a chosen family, rather than blood. And I protected others in addition to myself. That’s how you don’t end up alone.”

“Yeah, well, it’s too late for me.” You sighed and then looked at Sirius. “You have your wand. Why don’t you get it over with or leave me alone?”

Sirius shook his head. “I don’t think you should be alone right now. I disagree with you on so much, but… the life of a disappointing family is something I’m far too familiar with.”

“If you hadn’t put a wand to my throat, I’d say let’s go back inside and get a drink,” you said dryly.

Then Sirius stood up and extended his hand. “There are other bars, Smith. Next one’s on me.”

You found a different bar. The two of you sat, drank and discussed the war and everyone you lost to it. You talked about being disappointed in your father’s reaction to your existence and wanting to be worth something to him. Sirius listened, nodding. He got where you were coming from, even if he sorely disagreed with everything Tom Riddle stood for. Sirius loved pissing his family off, being everything they hated, but he knew that life wasn’t for everything. Some people needed that feeling of acceptance. Hell, even he did and he found that in the Potters. 

When the night came to its end, Sirius said, “You know, you don’t have to be quite so lonely.”

“What do you mean?”

“Saturday. Hippogriff’s Nest at eight?”

“Are you asking me on a date?” you asked with a sly smile. You knew he wasn’t.

“Yeah, right,” he said sarcastically. “I’m offering a conversation and some drinks. Between… acquaintances?”

“Yeah, alright.” Your answer wasn’t sarcastic.

Sirius nodded and disapparated. You followed suit after one more drink.

It was the start of a pattern. Every few nights, you’d meet with Sirius to talk about anything and everything. You discussed childhoods and your years at school. Your singular kiss came up briefly, and you’re not sure who wanted to change the subject quicker. Sometimes one of you would go too far with an insult and spells would be exchanged. That was why you rarely visited the same bar twice; you weren’t sure if you’d be let back in. 

Slowly but surely, you felt the acquaintanceship melt into something fonder. You started to consider Sirius as your friend. You personally disliked how you really should’ve considered him your best friend, given that many of your other friends were people you almost never spoke to anymore.

---

“Padfoot, what the bloody hell is this?” Remus demanded as he threw the Daily Prophet down in front of him.

“That’d be the newspaper, Moony,” Sirius said casually. 

“What’s in the paper?”

Sirius glanced down momentarily. “You got it open to Skeeter’s gossip section. That’s rubbish and you know it.”

“Read it,” Remus hissed.

With a roll of his eyes, Sirius looked down at the paper again. This time reading the headline, “FAMILY TIES?”, and seeing the picture of you and him, both of you looking at each other and moving with an air of affection. Sirius turned bright red and couldn’t look at Remus. He hadn’t told his cohabitor that he had been meeting with you.

“You know I wouldn’t normally believe anything she writes, but that?” Remus pointed to the picture. “That is pretty damning, Pads. You know who she is.”

“I do,” Sirius muttered.

“Then tell me what the fuck this is? How do you explain this?” 

“It’s a drink. People tend to get them at bars.”

“And the picture? You talked to her? At least help some kind of conversation with her? How were they able to get this picture?”

Remus sounded exasperated. As he should, Sirius thought. 

“Sit down, Remus,” he said, trying to maintain his own composure. He wasn’t ready to explain everything to his best friend just yet. When Remus took a seat, Sirius continued, “I’m giving her a second chance.”

“She doesn’t deserve one.”

“Remus, listen. We’ve been talking-” 

“Ugh!” 

“I knew you’d react this way. That’s why I didn’t tell you! I know what she’s done, what she’s supported-”

“Who she’s related to!” Remus exclaimed bitterly.

“Who she’s related to. But you know she can choose her blood as much as I can.”

“I can’t believe you’re defending the Dark Lord’s daughter. Imagine what James would say!”

“He would question me. He’d be on your side. He’d be bloody furious at me. I have every reason to hex her into next millenia. And yet, I can’t help it. I’m giving her a second chance and she has yet to blow it.”

“When she blows it, she’ll take you down with her.”

“It’s not a when, Moony. It’s an if and I don’t think she will.” 

“It’s your own damn funeral.”

“I know.”

Remus held his head in his hands for a minute, too upset and frustrated to even look at Sirius. 

“How long have you been seeing her?” Remus asked the table.  

“We’ve been getting drinks for a few months now, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Months? Padfoot!”

“Like I said, she hasn’t burned me yet.” He paused and chuckled to himself. “Well, she’s burned my clothes.”

Remus’ head snapped up. “What?”

“We’ve dueled. Several times. She’s a big fan of fire curses.”

“Merlin’s fucking beard. You’re drinking with someone who’s trying to literally burn you?”

“She tries to burn me, I try to bleed her out,” Sirius said with a shrug. 

Remus was infuriated with how casual he was acting about it.

“She’s the bloody daughter of the Dark Lord and you’re… you’re… you’re…”

“Helping her move on from her past.”

“I can’t… I can’t with you right now.” 

Remus got up from the table and walked away. Sirius remained in the kitchen and read the column about you and Sirius. He knew so much of it was exaggerated and misinterpreted. He was certain that you had never leaned in close enough to kiss him that entire night. He rolled his eyes at the article. But he kept looking back at the photo. The photo’s version of him was looking at you with an inexplicably fond gaze. And you were returning it. 

Had he been looking at you like that? Had you been looking at him like that? Why did he feel like he needed to know?

It gave Sirius something to think about before he saw you again a few days later. 

You met at the bar, like you usually did. You ordered your drinks. You told him about your day at work. He told you about Harry’s latest neighborhood adventures. It was a normal conversation. 

Then Sirius cleared his throat.

“Did you see Rita Skeeter’s article?” he asked tentatively.

You shook your head with a frown. “With a family like mine? No, I tend to avoid the gossip section. I’m surprised you don’t.”

“Oh, I usually avoid it. Erm, Remus pointed out an interesting article to me. It’s all gossip, but still… interesting.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and tilted your head. “Interesting how?”

“Just… eye-opening, I guess,” Sirius said.

He put some coins on the counter and took your hand. “Come with me.” 

You didn’t protest despite your confusion. You let Sirius lead you out of the bar and into the alley.

“Decided to finally kill after all?” you teased, thinking back to when Sirius first ran into you.

Instead of answering your question, Sirius slammed you into the wall. It was rougher than he intended, knocking the wind out of you. You tried to reach for your wand, but Sirius grabbed your wrist and pinned it to the wall next to your shoulder.

“I need to try something,” he whispered. 

He stared into your eyes for a second. Then he brought his lips to yours, barely brushing against them. You could feel him take a shaky breath. His lips pressed against yours with more force. Your body responded before you could get over your shock. You were kissing Sirius with more fervor than he was kissing you. His hand that wasn’t holding your wrist gripped your waist and your free hand made its way to his hair. 

When he pulled back, you made a desperate attempt to recapture his lips, but he moved away from you with his whole body. You stood against the wall as he stepped into the middle of the alley. He ran one hand through his hair and the other down his face.

“Fuck…” he whispered to himself. 

You watched him, confused. First he pulled you out of the bar and into the alley to kiss you and now he was acting like he just messed something up.

“What, Black?” you asked, your voice cutting through the darkness. “You got to talk to me. This ain’t Hogwarts.”

“Fuck…” he swore again, mostly to himself before turning to you. “It was better than the one at Hogwarts.”

You didn’t respond. You were unsure if you should say anything, because what Sirius just said didn’t really answer your question. Why was he so upset? 

“The article. Skeeter’s gossip. It was about us. And the article was utter bullshit. But the picture… the fucking picture…”  

“The picture made you want to kiss me?” you asked, disbelieving.

“The way I looked at you in the picture,” he corrected, his voice dropping lower. “I shouldn’t look at you like that, but…”

“But you do?” you asked softly. 

“Yeah, I fucking do. And I shouldn’t. Everything says I shouldn’t.”

“Right,” you said. You sounded hurt and a bit bitter. Which you had every right to sound. After everything you talked about and how much time you were spending together, you thought Sirius had moved on from some stuff. Apparently not. “So you look at me. And you kiss me. Yet you want nothing to do with me. I get it, Black, I do. I got Riddle blood and that’s an end all.”

You didn’t wait for him to respond. You just disapparated on the spot to your flat. Sirius stared at where you had been standing. He wasn’t done talking to you. He wasn’t done processing what he was feeling. And now you were gone. 

He can’t even follow you as he doesn’t know where you live. He figures that maybe he could send you an owl. Those birds can find anyone. 

Sirius disapparated himself, appearing in his kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and decided to drink the whole thing in the solitary of his room. All he wanted was to forget the look of hurt on your face when you said “I get it, Black, I do.” It took him no time at all to finish the bottle and pass out in his bed. His thoughts were plagued with your hurt expression and that bled into nightmares. As it turned out, Sirius cared for you more than he wanted to admit to himself and now he had to somehow undo the damage he did to you. 

Blood isn’t everything. And Sirius knows that more than anyone. Now, he needed to remind you of that. 

[save-the-villainous-cat]

“So what exactly is this…” The villain grabbed the hero’s wrist before they could touch the electronic gadget.

“If you want to, you can play with it outside. Not in here, please,” the villain said, their voice low, controlled. Their expression serious.

The hero rolled their eyes.

“Ugh, I’m not a dog that plays outside,” the hero hissed. They freed themselves from the villain’s grip rather harshly and stared at their nemesis who merely raised their brows.

“You’re not?”

“Ugh, you—”

“Then don’t touch my toys, love.”

“I should be confiscating your ‘toys.’ They’re a hazard for national security.”

“Are suspended heroes allowed to do that?” the villain mused. Their lazy smile spread all over their face and the hero clenched their jaw hard enough to make it hurt. Because, technically, the villain was right.

The hero had been suspended. For reckless behaviour. For now.

“Fuck off,” the hero whispered. They turned around to look at the other weapons and technical devices in the (what the villain called) weapon room. It was more the size of an entire apartment.

And quite impressive. They knew the villain was rich, but rich enough to possess technology not even the government knew of?

In their training, the hero had learnt quite a lot about weaponry, but this was beyond them. They barely recognised anything in here, let alone how to use this technology.

“Don’t you have like…a normal gun in here? Something I can actually use?” the hero asked. The villain took a small quadratic device from a table where hundreds of them were arranged properly.

“What makes you think I’d let you use any of this?”

“Ah, so you just want to show off.” The villain turned to look at the hero and merely shrugged.

“Perhaps.” The hero couldn’t even tell which was worse: being suspended or crawling to the villain, asking for help.

But the hero had no choice, this case was important and without the agency’s help, the villain was the only person they could turn to. So far, the villain played no part in this, so the hero could only hope they were interested in a neutral approach.

Together.

The hero’s jaw hurt.

“This is all we need for now,” the villain said. “It’s a tracking device. Location, voices, if it’s close enough to the person you’re trying to observe, it can even measure their heartbeat.”

They showed the hero the little device, not much bigger than a fingernail.

“Hm.” The hero scratched the back of their neck. The bugs from the agency were much bigger, much less capable. “And that’s gonna work?”

The villain simply laughed. “It’s adorable that you think it won’t.”

“I just…need this to work,” the hero said. The circumstances around this case were complicated, but the hero was willing to use every mean necessary to solve the murder of a colleague. It wasn’t easy, not even after an entire year.

Maybe that was the whole reason for why the agency had suspended them. Maybe they didn’t want them to work on the case at all.

“It will,” the villain said. “You don’t want to know how many times I slipped through your fingers thanks to one of these.”

“…delightful,” the hero said. They took a careful look at the villain. As always, dressed in fine clothes, as always serious, but still amused by pretty much anything. The hero always felt quite small next to them, even though they were sure they were older than them.

If the villain betrayed them, the hero was probably going to lose their shit.

They needed a Plan B, needed to be prepared for such an event.

“Don’t worry, love. This one is on me,” the villain said. They leaned over, their lips nearly touching the hero’s ear. “Unless you have a few million dollars on hand to pay for this.”

The hero blushed immediately and pushed the villain away.

“My god. You’re horrible.” They were regretting this already.

“Play nice. You know my kindness has its limits.”

Indeed. The villain wasn’t afraid of breaking the hero’s bones. Their forearm still hurt when they were lifting weights.

The hero sighed.

“You’re right.”

“Apologise then.”

“I’m sorry,” the hero said. Their ears were hot enough to hurt. They tried to look at everything except for the villain but that was nearly impossible. The villain’s pure presence demanded attention.

“No, properly. On your knees.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Quite serious, love,” the villain said. They smiled, more than a little amused. It wasn’t their soft smile and it wasn’t their evil smile either. They simply looked quite happy with themselves.

Despite their raging heart, the hero dropped to their knees. There was no negotiating with the villain. They knew that.

“Sorry.” Their voice was flat. Their face beet red. They bit the inside of their cheek. Thank god they were alone, they knew the villain liked to put on a show for an audience.

Which made this also quite intimate and embarrassed the hero even more.

They swallowed.

“Good enough for me. Get up.” The hero did so and once again, the villain leaned over, smiling. They put a hand on the hero’s shoulder and with the other, they gave them the little bug. “Not a dog, huh?”

pt. 2

[yesihaveaobsession]

Between the Shelves

Alastor x female!librarian reader

Summary: Alastor frequently visits a library, drawn to the pretty librarian working there. Under the guise of searching for a book, he maneuvers his way through the shelves, 'accidentally'.

A/N- had this idea in my notes for a while and here it is..

Alastor was downtown, glancing at himself in a store window, straightening his tie and brushing off his suit. Today, he was making his daily visit to the librarian who had stolen his heart—and that was you. You owned a very small library, which some might call more of a bookstore than anything else. As he approached the library, the bell above the door chimed when he stepped inside, the grin on his face firmly in place, his usual confidence stance and stood with his arms behind his back.

The soft scent of old books filled the air, comforting and familiar to him, though technically, he hadn’t come for a book. He glanced over at the counter but didn’t see you there; instead, he heard humming coming from one of the aisles. His tall frame drifted through the shelves, his eyes scanning the rows of books—or rather, peering through the gaps in them to see if you were there. Finally, he reached for a random title, gripping the spine and sliding the book out. Just as he’d planned, there you were, on the other side of the shelf, putting books away.

"Ah! What a surprise!" Alastor exclaimed, leaning slightly against the shelf, feigning shock at their coincidental meeting. “I didn’t expect to run into such a lovely librarian behind the stacks.”

You glanced up at him, both surprised and unsurprised to see him. He had been visiting you every day, though always at different times, and you were too caught up in your own world to hear the door chime when he came in. A shy smile played on your lips, not entirely convinced this meeting was an accident. "Looking for something specific, Alastor?"

"Well," he began, stepping around the shelf to stand beside you. You felt his presence next to you as you finished putting away the last few books. "I was searching for a book, but now that you're here, I seem to have forgotten what it was." Alastor’s grin widened, clearly pleased with himself.

"Perhaps you could offer me a recommendation?" His crimson eyes lingered on you, as if the books were merely an excuse to be near you. You sensed his playfulness and chuckled softly. "Sure, what kind of book are you in the mood for today?"

"Hmm, nothing in particular."

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and you gestured toward a nearby section. "Well, if you like mysteries, we’ve got a few new arrivals over here. I think you might like them." Alastor smiled and nodded. You knew he preferred classic, old literature, but you suggested something a bit more modern. Truth be told, he’d read whatever book you gave him, no matter how bad. Alastor followed your lead, staying just close enough to keep you aware of his presence without overstepping.

"You're always so knowledgeable," he mused. "I must admit, it's part of why I keep coming back." His closed-lipped smile and the double meaning of his words were impossible to miss.

Your heart skipped a beat, unsure whether to take his words at face value or if there was more to them. "I’m just doing my job," you laughed softly, trying to keep your composure. "But I’m glad I could help." You handed him another recommendation. Alastor’s smile grew wider, and his eyes gleamed with their signature mischievous look. "Oh, you help more than you know, my dear. Far more." Your hands brushed gently against each other.

You followed him to the counter as he handed you the book to check out, smiling back at him as your eyes locked once more when he took it from you. Alastor turned on his heel and began walking to the door, but then paused and glanced over his right shoulder.

"Until next time, then. Have a great day, my lovely librarian," he said with a smile. You couldn’t help but blush as you watched him leave, hoping you’d see him tomorrow. This time, you weren’t entirely sure if he actually read the books he checked out—or if they were just an excuse to see you.

[amongemeraldclouds]

misery loves company

An evening of moping at the garden is interrupted by a drunken Enzo Berkshire.

Lorenzo Berkshire x f!Reader

Content: angst, comfort, some fluff

A/N: This was supposed to be chapter one for the Enzo series I will never continue. Please read at your own risk, it's open-ended and will not have more parts.

✿ Masterlist | ✿ Lorenzo Berkshire Masterlist | 1.4k words

You swiped your tear, the stars unblurring, shining brightly once again. You inhaled the smell of roses as the evening breeze caressed your hair. Crickets chirped around you while your thoughts ran through the events of the last few months.

You could go over each memory, turning every stone, tracing details with a red string that, if you connected just so, you could have sworn it would form a pattern. Some way to untangle the mess of emotions that ran across every direction, taking you everywhere and nowhere. If only it were that simple.

A sudden rustling of leaves brought you back to the present moment, irritation rising to the surface. You turned around, ready to bite the head off which wanker dared to interrupt your midnight musings when you saw his face. Lorenzo Berkshire.

The boy with an easy smile had his eyebrows bunched up together, the corners of his lips drawn down. You didn't really know him all that well, but even you could tell his frown simply didn't belong. The closer he got, the more you could smell the alcohol.

"Midnight walk, Berkshire?" You asked by way of greeting, "not much to see by this bench."

He paused when he saw you, his frown replaced by a sheepish grin. "Had enough of a walk, ground started tilting," he admitted. "Didn't realize this bench came with a pretty girl."

"Don't blame the ground for your inebriation. Guess this night comes with a drunken boy," you replied, motioning for him to sit beside you.

"Not gonna call me a pretty boy? Perhaps you prefer handsome? Gorgeous?"

He's Lorenzo Berkshire alright, the grief etched on his face now replaced by one of his charming smiles. "Well you're more drunk than gorgeous right now."

"Oh you're breaking my heart here," he placed his hands over his heart as if you had just shot him, then began dangerously tilting to one side. You leapt forward, grabbing his hand and was caught off guard by his weight, very nearly joining his skull-crashing fate.

At the very last second, your feet found purchase on the ground, yanking yourselves up. The sudden force sent you slamming down on the bench.

Your heart lept as you braced yourself for the fall, only to land with a soft thud. You peered an eye open, trying to make sense of the situation when you found yourself looking into Enzo's eyes. They reflected the same mixture of surprise and amusement as yours.

You could feel his breath on your face and it sent gooseflesh rippling across your skin. Just one subtle shift would have your lips colliding, a stranger's stolen kiss.

Sobriety electrified Enzo's nerves, bringing his senses back up to full speed as he realized how good you fit against him. How warm. He inched closer, a kiss could end his long and dreary night. His gut, however had other plans, contorting his face just as he pushed you away to save you from his stomach contents that rose up and spilled onto the floor.

You sat back the opposite end of the bench, the sour pungent aroma tainting the once-rosy air. You produced a handkerchief from your pocket, originally meant for tears, now gifted to the drunk boy and his sick.

He sat for a moment, catching his breath as he wiped his mouth. It tasted just as foul as he felt and suddenly the storm within him was back. He needed more alcohol, more distractions, more of anything that would drown these feelings that threatened to swallow him whole.

You plucked a rose beside you and transformed it to a cup then cast a charm to fill it with water. You handed it to him wordlessly, which he immediately gulped down.

"Sure, fine. Come join me on the bench," you said, trying to lighten the mood. "I hate to say I told you so..." you trailed off.

"I'm more drunk than gorgeous," he echoed your words from earlier.

You spoke up before he had a moment to mope, "so what is it? Daddy cut off your allowance?"

He scoffed, shaking his head. Just like that, you were on a little guessing game.

"Had a row with your friends?"

"I'd look worse if that were the case and then we'd drink together," he smiled, recalling fond memories.

"What are the odds then that it's over a girl?" you say jokingly, he never had troubles getting them so you're preparing your next guess when he suddenly pauses.

"Oh, you got me there," he said, a self deprecating smile on his face.

You looked at him seriously then and studied his face. "But you -" you began.

"Have a certain reputation," he spoke up, "and it's not entirely wrong, except I met someone whom I thought I wanted something more with."

"And what did she want?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

"The problem is sometimes your reputation can overshadow you. She wanted the prestige that came with it," he rolled his eyes. "And I'm not going to act like I'm innocent here. I didn't know the ways you get girls are not the same ways that will keep them."

You frowned at his statement. "You talk about strategy as if this is a game, which it's not."

He raised his hands in defense, "see I didn't know that, I still don't know what it is and isn't. I just don't like how it feels. I don't do feelings."

"No," you agreed with him, "you just drink them away."

He scoffed, "oh spare me the lecture."

It was your turn to raise your hands. "Believe me, Berkshire. I'm the last one who has any credibility talking about feelings or relationships. I was just sulking over my breakup before I was so rudely interrupted."

"What was that saying? Misery loves company?" He raised his eyebrow.

You shrugged, "I just wish it were easy to just get over the whole thing, you know? No drinking, no midnight moping. Just," you gestured, hand slicing forward through the air, "moving forward."

"How about this?" He asked, his mind sharper after having expelled some of the substance that was clouding his head. "Why don't we do activities together to help us move on?"

You raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

"Oh I don't mean anything untoward. Just anti-dates, two people who move on together. Not exactly a rebound, more like mates keeping each other accountable for our happiness. No moping, okay maybe sometimes talking helps, but we also do activities. Scream on top of hills, break things for the heck of it, have fun."

"Don't you have your friends for that?" You asked, not sure why he was asking you specifically.

"They don't understand the way you do, you know?"

You saw it then, a vulnerability in his eyes that mirrored your own. When you were around your friends, you always felt a need to keep up appearances. They'd tell you your ex is not worth crying over as if you could be okay in a snap of a finger.

In reality, the grief came in waves. Sometimes it's small ripples that reflect the sunlight, where you almost feel you've reached the shore after being away at sea for too long. On other days, it's high tide where just one wave is enough to swallow you whole. And no weather forecast could ever prepare you.

"Of course," you nodded. "It's not as easy as others assume it would be. Not unless you've experienced it too."

"Exactly," he stood up and reached out his hand, "so what do you say, mate?"

You reached out and shook his hand. "Okay, mate."

He gave you a small smile, almost as if he was shy. After all, he did spill his guts in more ways than one. "I've intruded on your night enough, we can plan the details over breakfast tomorrow. Can I walk you back to your dorm?"

"Ah the drunk boy has manners, there is hope for you after all," you stood up and followed him back to indoors. "And yes, breakfast works."

"Maybe then I'll be more gorgeous than drunk," he quips.

"I'll be the judge of that."

It was an odd turn of events, but perhaps it was exactly what you needed. Not a drunken boy's barf, that you could have done without, but a new friend for a new beginning you embarked on. Oh the possibilities.

✿ Masterlist | ✿ Lorenzo Berkshire Masterlist

[grayandthyme]

ILYYYYY omg domestic fluff lovers rise up 😛 omg thinking about Tommy teaching reader how to do shoot or ride a horse and in return she teaches him stuff about cooking and gardening and such. a little trade system like UGHHHHH!!!! i know his ass would pretend like he knows what he’s doing but would burn the fuck out of dinner LOLLL - 🦆

ughhh ducky you're feeding me with this.. ty for giving me things to write and procrastinate my summer class.

also can u tell i love writing reader and Tommy banter?? he's just such a pretty funny boy. help

"And if I’m comin’ at you with a knife like this, what the hell is that flimsy lil’ thing gon’ do?"

Tommy’s voice bounced off the walls of the empty community center, heavy with that familiar Southern drawl and overconfidence. He stood ten feet away, holding a dull training blade like he was starring in a low-budget action flick.

This had been his latest obsession—your self-defense. He’d gone from checking the perimeter of your shared house twice a night to running surprise drills in the living room. Now, it had escalated to full combat demonstrations in the center foyer, complete with stern lectures and pretend weapons.

You sighed, raising your own weapon in return—a worn kitchen knife with a serrated edge and a bent tip.

“Tommy,” you said flatly, “It’s a knife,"

"It’s gonna hurt no matter what the fuck happens.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, pacing forward like he was about to explain physics to a goldfish. “There’s a difference, sweetheart, between gettin’ hurt and stayin’ alive. One buys time. The other ends it.”

You scoffed, lowering the blade and resting it on your thigh.

“Jesus. Who do you think I’m out here fighting? James Bond? Roving gangs of wild squirrels?”

Tommy stopped a few feet in front of you, tilting his head in mock seriousness. “I have seen a squirrel give you the side-eye.”

“Once,” you pointed a finger at him, “once,"

"… and it had it out for me, I swear.”

That grin of his broke through—the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made you forget he’d ever picked up a weapon in the first place.

That mole.

You wanted to kiss that mole on his cheek every time you saw it.

He stepped closer, lowering his knife and running a hand down your arm until it met your hand, gently curling your fingers tighter around the handle of your blade, letting it rise once more.

“I know you don’t think this is necessary,” he said, voice softer now. “But I ain’t losin’ you ‘cause you don't know how to move your feet.”

You looked down at the space between you, heart doing a little stutter-step at how close he’d gotten.

Warmth radiated off him—safe, steady, annoying-as-hell warmth. It felt so good.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” you murmured, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Mostly ‘cause I plan to hide behind you if shit goes south.”

He laughed, forehead leaning lightly against yours.

“Well,” he whispered, “just promise me you’ll at least stab someone if they get too close.”

You tilted your head. “Define too close.”

Tommy chuckled again, then kissed you quick, like punctuation—like it meant everything but didn’t need to be explained.

“You’re impossible,” he said against your cheek.

“And you love it,” you grinned.

“Yeah,” he said, resting his forehead against yours again. “That’s the problem.”

“So…” you drawled, angling the knife in your hand. “Does that mean I stab you too? ‘Cause you’re well in stabbin’ territory, Cowboy.”

You gave the blade a dramatic little wiggle, jabbing it half-heartedly toward his chest. It bent like plastic, utterly useless—it was more like a threat made of wet paper.

Tommy didn’t even flinch. He just smirked that slow, cocky smirk of his—the one that always made it harder to stay mad at him than it should be.

He shouldn't be so pretty.

“Oh, I’m in stabbin’ range, huh?” he mused, stepping in even closer, hands lifted like he might try to disarm you… or pull you in.

You nodded, deadly serious, “One more unsolicited knife lesson and you might not walk outta here.”

He gave a low laugh, rough around the edges, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You threaten me like that again, I might start thinkin’ you enjoy this.”

You shrugged one shoulder, still holding the knife between you, blade gently resting against his chest now. “What can I say? I like livin’ dangerously.”

He leaned in, so close his breath tickled your skin. “Yeah?” he said, voice dropping low, teasing, fingers angling to move your wrist lower, “Then maybe we should skip the knife lesson and go straight to hand-to-hand.”

You blinked, lips twitching. “That a fight offer or a date?”

Tommy chuckled, that gravelly, boyish sound you’d grown addicted to. “Darlin’, with you? Ain’t much of a difference.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t step back. He reached up, gently plucking the knife from your fingers and tossing it onto the table behind you with a soft clatter. The sight of his prowess building up, that usual look he'd give you before he pounced.

“You know that thing wouldn’t do shit in a real fight,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow, “You wouldn’t either… if I kicked you in the balls.”

That made him bark out a real laugh, throwing his head back before looking at you again with something softer now—something honest.

“I just wanna know you’re safe."

A beat, his hands flexing absently at your sides.

"That you can protect yourself when I ain’t there.”

You paused, letting the weight of that sink in. Then you sighed, looping your arms around his neck as he rested his hands on your waist.

“I know,” you murmured. “But between the knives and the lectures, you forget I already feel safe. 'Cause I’ve got you.”

He kissed you after that—slow and steady, like he was thanking you just for showing up, for humoring him, for letting him care.

When he pulled away, his hands lingered, fingers thrumming like he wasn’t ready to let go.

You tilted your head, lips still curved from the kiss, “Alright, Cowboy,” you said with a hum, stepping back just enough to make him follow you with his eyes. “What’s next on the curriculum? Duckin’ bullets? Wrestlin' bears?”

Tommy chuckled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying not to grin too hard. “I was thinkin’ more… how to knock a guy flat without breakin’ your pretty knuckles.”

You snorted, crossing your arms.

“That’s the most backhanded compliment I’ve ever heard.”

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Ain’t my fault you got delicate hands, and a mean right hook.”

“Delicate?” you echoed, feigning offense. “You wanna see delicate, Miller?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Sweetheart.”

He picked up the dull training knife again, twirling it once between his fingers before holding it out to you, hilt first.

“Alright then,” he said, voice dipping into something low and warm. “Lesson two. Let’s teach you how to disarm a dumbass.”

You took the knife with a raised brow. “And you're the dumbass, I assume?”

Tommy smirked. “Figured you’d enjoy it.”

You weighed the training knife in your hand, twisting it clumsily between your fingers as Tommy stepped back into position, hands raised like he was ready for a showdown at noon.

“Alright,” he said, tapping the dull blade against his palm. “Come at me. Try to get it outta my hand.”

You squinted at him. “That’s your expert instruction? Just come at you?”

“Well,” he smirked, “I could yell at you about footwork and leverage for the next hour, but somethin’ tells me your attention span ain’t built for that.”

“You’re not wrong,” you muttered, and lunged without warning.

Tommy caught your wrist easily—like he knew it was coming, which of course he did—and spun you with almost embarrassing grace, your back hitting his chest before you could blink.

“Fast,” he praised softly near your ear, dark and low, “But predictable.”

Your brain screamed at you not to get turned on.

This wasn't the moment.

“Maybe I just wanted to be this close to you.," You scoffed.

He snorted a laugh and let you go, but his eyes stayed serious.

“Again.”

You stepped back, brows raised. “You’re not gonna go easy on me just ‘cause you like me, huh?”

Tommy’s face softened, but the set of his jaw didn’t.

“No, ma’am. That’s exactly why I ain’t goin’ easy on you.”

This time, you moved slower—trying to fake him out. He adjusted with each shift of your stance, reading you like a book.

You darted forward, twisted, tried to knock the blade from his grip. He blocked you again, but this time you didn’t back off. You used your weight, your elbow, your shoulder—clumsy, but determined.

You grunted in frustration when the knife didn’t budge. “You really think I’m gonna survive out there with a move I saw in Kill Bill? This is ninja shit, Tommy.”

“I think you’re tougher than you let on,” Tommy replied, voice low. “But wantin’ to survive and knowin’ how are two different things.”

He stepped closer again, not reaching for you this time, just watching your face.

“I don’t want you to learn this stuff ‘cause I think you’re weak,” he said. “I want you to learn it ‘cause someday I might not be standin’ between you and someone who means real harm.”

You blinked, heart catching in your chest.

It was easy to joke when he was grinning, easy to play tough when it was all fun and flirting—but his words landed with the kind of weight that made you shut up.

You nodded once, slower this time. “Okay,” you said quietly. “Then teach me right.”

Tommy gave a small smile—proud, and just a little relieved. “Good. Now—watch my wrist. If you can trap it, you can twist the knife out. Not strength—leverage.”

You stepped in again, more focused now, mimicking the motion he showed you.

He didn’t stop smiling the rest of the lesson. And when you finally got the blade out of his hand, stumbling with surprise as it dropped to the floor, he just laughed and pulled you close, brushing a kiss to your cheek, then temple.

“Told you you had it in you...”

You looked up at him, breathless and flushed, It was harder than it looked.

“Yeah, well… You’re lucky I like you. Or I’d be usin’ that move on you every time you piss me off.”

He grinned against your temple, nose pushing into your hair, a subtle inhale, “Might start pissin’ you off on purpose, then.”

“Careful,” you warned, “I’m armed now.”

“Good,” he said, arms still wrapped around you. “Makes me sleep a hell of a lot better.”

Finally, it was time to cleanup.

You wiped the back of your hand across your forehead, breath still coming in uneven pulls.

The training knife lay somewhere on the floor, forgotten. Your muscles ached in that satisfying, sore kind of way—the kind that meant you’d actually learned something.

You glanced over at Tommy, who was already rolling his shoulder out like he was twice his age, sweat darkening the collar of his Henley.

“Think we’ve earned ourselves a shower after that one,” you said, voice low, teasing. You let the word we hang in the air, just long enough to make him glance up.

His eyes flicked to yours, and sure enough—there it was. That telltale twitch in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his gaze. Like he was debating whether to play innocent or call your bluff.

He didn’t.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice rough, lips curving just slightly. “You offerin’ to conserve water with me, or just statin’ facts?”

You raised a brow. “Tommy Miller, are you flirtin’ with me after nearly dislocating my shoulder?”

He chuckled, stepping close enough that you had to tilt your head to hold his gaze. “Sweetheart, I flirt with you while dislocatin’ your shoulder.”

You laughed, shoving at his chest playfully. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best damn thing that ever happened to your self-defense game,” he corrected, arms already wrapping around your waist like the training session hadn’t ever happened.

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue.”

“Mm,” he murmured, brushing his nose against your temple. “Then let’s skip the argument and head straight to that shower…”

You smirked against his chest. “Fine. But if the hot water runs out, I’m blamin’ you.”

He kissed the top of your head and started guiding you toward the door, still holding you close.

“That’s well alright,” he said, soft and proud, “… long as you’re blamin’ me naked."

. . .

The shower steam still clung to your skin as you moved around the small kitchen, damp hair tucked behind your ears, droplets cooling against the back of your neck.

You wore one of Tommy’s old shirts—threadbare in places, sleeves rolled up past your elbows—and the hem brushed your thighs as you stirred a skillet of onions and peppers, the sizzle filling the silence.

The front of the house creaked—floorboards whining under familiar boots—and you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

"Somethin' smells good," Tommy drawled, voice thick with post-shower laziness and that rasp he always had when he wasn’t fully dry yet.

You glanced over your shoulder—and nearly dropped the spatula.

Tommy stood there in nothing but a pair of loose jeans, belt undone—slung low on his hips—hair wet and curling slightly at the ends, droplets still chasing paths down his chest.

Sunlight from the window behind you caught on the water, tracing the lines of his stomach, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe.

“Jesus,” you muttered, turning back to the stove before you could openly gawk.

He laughed, slow and smug. “I live here, ma'am, I’m allowed to walk around however I want.”

“Walkin’ around like that should be a crime,” you mumbled.

Tommy stepped closer, bare feet padding across the hardwood. You felt the warmth of him behind you before he even touched you—his hand sliding along the curve of your waist—tilting until they rested in the area below your belly button. Fingers damp and calloused, his thighs barely brushing your legs.

“That dinner for me?” he asked, voice low against your ear.

“Well, it ain’t for your brother,” you replied, pressing your lips together to hide a smile.

Tommy chuckled, burying his nose briefly in the wet strands of your hair—a deep inhale— “Could get used to this. Comin’ home to you, food on the stove, you lookin’ like that…”

You leaned back just slightly, letting your head rest against his shoulder. “Still covered in soap and thinkin’ with your stomach. Real romantic, Cowboy.”

“Nah,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “I’m thinkin’ with somethin’ else entirely right now.”

You elbowed him lightly in the ribs, earning a dramatic grunt.

“Hands off unless you’re helpin’ slice the tomatoes.”

He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re cruel.”

He stayed pressed against you a moment longer, his chest warm against your back, before sighing and stepping away to grab a knife from the drawer.

“Fine. But I’m still not puttin’ a shirt on,” he warned.

You glanced at him with a smirk.

“Didn’t ask you to.”

You slid the cutting board toward the center of the counter and laid out the last tomato, fingers sticky with juice and faintly tinged red.

Tommy stood beside you now, still shirtless, still a bit damp. You didn’t comment—though your brain certainly did.

“Alright,” you said softly, holding up the knife. “You wanna make ‘em thin. Not paper thin, just… thin enough they’ll stretch.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Stretch?”

“Only got three,” you reminded him. “If we want enough for both of us, you gotta slice ‘em like you’re tryna impress a ghost.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, babygirl’. Show me how it’s done.”

You guided his hand without asking, curling your fingers around his and settling the knife into his palm. His skin was warm—always was—and you stood close enough now that your shoulder brushed his arm, your breath mingling with his.

Your other hand came up to rest on the tomato, holding it steady.

“Like this,” you said quietly, pressing your chest slightly against his arm as you nudged the blade down in a smooth, practiced stroke. “Don’t push too hard. Let the knife do the work.”

Tommy was quiet, his focus somewhere between the tomato and the way your voice went soft when you taught him things like this—like you were sharing some kind of secret, just for him.

You moved his hand again, guiding him through the next slice. “See? Clean. No mush. No squish.”

“Can’t believe you’re makin’ me nervous over a damn tomato,” he muttered, but his voice was low, affectionate. His fingers adjusted slightly under yours, finding the grip.

“Can’t believe I gotta teach a grown man how to cut produce,” you teased, smiling up at him.

He glanced down at you, eyes warm, playful. “You try shootin’ a rifle at a dead sprint, then tell me what’s harder.”

“This,” you said without hesitation, nudging his elbow. “Tomatoes are unforgiving.”

You felt him laugh more than heard it—his chest moved against your arm, his breath warm across your cheek. For a moment, neither of you moved. The kitchen was quiet again, save for the soft hiss of the stove and the occasional pop of something caramelizing in the pan.

Tommy looked at the half-sliced tomato, then back at you. “So what you’re sayin’ is… I’m under serious pressure here.”

“Life or death, actually,” you confirmed with mock gravity.

. . .

The sun was high over Jackson, warm but not yet unbearable, casting long, sharp shadows across the new foundation being framed at the edge of town.

Dust curled in lazy spirals with every bootstep, and the rhythmic sounds of hammering and saws filled the air, underscored by occasional laughter and shouted instructions.

You spotted him right away—Tommy, up on the second beam, sweat darkening the back of his shirt, hair pushed back with a rubber-band, curls and all. Jesse was nearby, hauling up a plank with two other guys, a crooked grin on his face even as he barked something about needing more nails.

You hung back for a second, just watching.

There was something about seeing Tommy like this—focused, steady, sun catching the curve of his jaw and his forearms flexing with every movement—that hit different than the quiet moments at home.

This was his element, too.

The version of him that worked with purpose, who gave a damn about the bones of the place people called home.

You lifted the cloth-wrapped bundle in your hand and made your way toward the frame.

Tommy glanced down when he heard your boots on gravel, already smirking before you said anything.

“Well, look who’s bravin’ the dust,” he called down, waving Jesse off when he offered to grab something for him. “You lost or just miss me that much?”

You held up the glass bottle, its amber sheen catching the light.

“Figured you could use a little break,” you said, voice loud enough to carry but still easy, casual. “Wasn't sure if you'd already sweat out your entire body weight.”

A few of the guys whistled, and Jesse let out a low ooooh like this was some kind of middle school cafeteria flirt-off.

Tommy just shook his head and climbed down, work belt jangling with each step.

“Y’all jealous, go get your own sweet-talker,” he called over his shoulder.

You handed him the beer once his boots hit dirt, the bottle already starting to sweat from the cold.

He took it, brushed the lip clean with the hem of his shirt—like that ever did anything—and offered a quiet, grateful, “You’re too good to me.”

You tilted your head. “Well. I do like watchin’ you sweat.”

He gave you that crooked grin again, lips pulling around the bottle as he took a long drink, neck tilting back just enough for you to stare without shame.

When he lowered it, he licked his lips and looked at you with that same easy warmth he always wore around you—like everything else could wait.

“You hangin’ around for a bit?” he asked, already hoping you’d say yes.

You nodded, adjusting your stance. “Long as no one minds me stealin’ you for a few minutes.”

Jesse called from across the frame, “So long as you bring me a beer next time!”

Tommy leaned close, voice low as he handed you back the half-finished bottle, fingers brushing yours.

“Bet he wouldn’t look half as good doin’ it,” he murmured, giving your waist a soft squeeze before turning back toward the site. “Gimme fifteen. I’ll take a real break.”

You watched him go—dust on his jeans, sunlight in his hair, every step of his grounded and good—and smiled.

Pouncing on him later wasn't the worst of ideas.

Especially if he kept his hair up.

. . .

The sun had dipped low behind the tree line, casting long amber streaks across the windows and bathing the living room in honeyed light. The cicadas had started up outside, their hum slow and rhythmic, a signal that the day was finally giving way to night.

You sat curled on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, one of Tommy’s long-sleeved flannels draped around you like a blanket. The faint scent of sawdust still clung to it, warm and familiar.

The door creaked open and shut with a soft thud, followed by the telltale shuffle of boots being kicked off and a long, exhausted sigh.

Tommy stepped into the room, freshly rinsed—again—and barefoot, his hair damp and curling at the edges of his jaw. He wore a plain tee this time, clean and a little snug, paired with the jeans he had left the house in. He looked tired, in that quiet way that came after good, honest work.

“You still up?” he asked, voice low and rough as gravel smoothed by years of use.

You hummed a semblance of yes, stretching an arm out to him without a word.

He didn’t hesitate—just crossed the room and sank into the couch beside you, pulling your legs across his lap like it was second nature. His hand found your calf, warm and gentle, thumb tracing lazy circles over your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

The house was still, save for the buzz of cicadas and the distant clink of dishes being washed a few doors down. Jackson was quiet like that at night—safe. Still.

You broke the silence first, your voice soft. “Jesse told me you carried that whole support beam on your own today.”

Tommy scoffed, “Jesse talks a lot for a man who takes water breaks every twenty minutes.”

“Still, I’m impressed. Real heroic of you.”

He leaned his head back against the cushion, eyes closing. “You flatter me too much, darlin’. I’m just doin’ what needs doin’.”

“Mm,” you hummed, letting your fingers drift through the damp strands at his temple. “Thinkin' that I need some doin'." You smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to the side of his jaw, your lips lingering just long enough to make him sigh again—this time softer, deeper.

He let out a quiet chuckle, one hand trailing up the curve of your thigh where it rested over his lap. “That so?” he murmured, turning his head just enough that his nose skimmed your cheek.

You didn’t pull back, didn’t shy away. Just smiled against his skin, your voice low and teasing. “Mhm. Might be the hardest job in Jackson, dealin’ with me… Especially if you look like that while workin'.”

Tommy’s lips ghosted across your jaw as he grinned.

“Lucky I don’t scare easy.”

“Lucky for me,” you said, shifting just slightly so your forehead rested against his.

The world was dim now, the room lit only by the last streaks of golden light slipping through the windows.

Outside, the town had gone quiet.

Inside, it was just the two of you and the slow rhythm of touch and breath.

He brought his hand to your waist, then ribs, grounding you there like he always did, thumb brushing over the fabric of his own borrowed shirt hanging loose on your frame.

“I like this on you,” he said quietly.

“Your shirt?”

“No,” he replied, voice thick with affection. “All of it. You, here. With me. End of the day.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth then, slow and deliberate, tasting sun and salt and something sweeter—something like him. Like home.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, Tommy.”

“I know,” he said, almost reverent, “Doesn’t stop me from thankin’ whoever’s listenin’.”

You didn’t say anything at first—just let your fingers slide back into his hair, your touch slow and steady, slowly undoing the loose knot of his lengthened curls.

He kissed you again—slower this time, longer.

Like he had nowhere to be, like he wanted the moment to stretch and stretch until it became permanent.

And maybe it wasn’t flashy.

Maybe it wasn’t grand. But it was real.

It was built on long days, quiet dinners, and shared beds.

On teasing and touches and post-work beers.

On the kind of love that showed up every single day and chose to stay.