#—but don’t pretend you’re not one of the most annoying and up yourselves parts of the fandom fjdkskdhksks

[danielnelsen]

i’m not cut out to be a fan of something while new info is being released. any time i see a remotely negative or bad opinion i want to eat my own eyes

[fandom-geek17]

Why I actively think Tyler will be redeemed and Wyler will be endgame based on actual clues and my knowledge about movie-making (and not just because I am a raging Tyler apologist)

This is a long one so strap yourselves in, hahaha

First of all, Hunter Doohan confirmed that Tyler’s feelings for Wednesday were real because he didn’t know who she was or her significance to Laurel’s plan when they first met at the Weathervane. But I’d go even further and claim that he didn’t know her significance during the entire first episode. If he knew, why would he ever offer her a ride out of Jericho and offer her the police file that inadvertently led to her cracking the case and bringing Laurel down (but the argument could also be made that that’s why he gave her that file, to bring his abuser down).

Wednesday makes it abundantly clear over the entire season that she has no interest in Xavier whatsoever and is constantly turned off/annoyed by his presence and antics. And this might just be me personally, but Xavier reminds me a lot of an ex of mine who was extremely entitled, selfish, immature and giving major incel vibes. I feel like Xavier is the type of guy who is nice to a girl only when he is interested and/or wants something. And the way he treated Bianca at the Rave’N (immediate no-no) and immediately goes into pity party-mode whenever someone rejects him just irks me. But again, that might just be me.

Now compare that with Wednesday’s reaction to Tyler’s antics. Wednesday is not someone who wants closeness in the beginning, in any shape or form. She is honest, direct and blunt, with no interest in pretending she enjoys something to be polite. Yet she doesn’t object when Tyler manhandles her in ep 2 (in the forest), she never denies her interest in him in ep 4, her first reaction to attending the Rave’N with Xavier is ‘a bullet to the head’ whilst her reaction to attending with Tyler is to immediately start looking for a dress in her closet. She often seeks out his company when she doesn’t really have a reason to, like when she went through the trouble of going all the way to the Weathervane to ask Tyler about the meetinghouse instead just asking anyone else working at Pilgrim World. These small details are to me the ‘signals’ Tyler was referring to. And I think he also just felt the energy between them, or maybe when you’re a 16 year old boy, most things can be interpreted as ‘signals’ if there’s an interest on his part. Or it was just straight up manipulation, as Hunter stated on his instragram. Either way, we can’t deny that Wednesday seems to enjoy Tyler’s presence more than Xavier’s.

Speaking of Wednesday, this is WEDNESDAY ADDAMS. People claim Xavier is the “healthier choice”, which might be true for any other character. But I feel like it’s very OOC for Wednesday to choose one above the other for being “healthier”, not that I believe Xavier would be much healthier. Wednesday went as far as canonically confirming that Tyler is her type BECAUSE he’s a serial killing monster.

The Addams’ Family have a long history of embracing all things weird and unconventional. Fester would be over the moon hearing that a Hyde of all outcasts (his young crush) has captured Wednesday’s heart. Gomez and Morticia would be more than happy to give Tyler all the love and security he never got from his own family. Morticia smiles fondly when Pugsley mentions missing being waterboarded by Wednesday, I don’t think she would have any trouble embracing a traumatized outcast submitted to abuse and torture and then forced to do someone else’s bidding against their will. She mama-bear instincts would kick up.

Hunter Doohan also said that one of the things he looks forward to exploring in season 2 (now confirmed, yay!) is Tyler’s relationship with the Hyde, pulling each side. Who is the real Tyler and who is the Hyde? Does he have active control over the Hyde’s actions or are they all controlled by his master? Remember, we technically have no idea what Tyler did of his own free will and what he was forced to say and do (including that last fight in ep 8). I imagine the Hyde being more of a split personality rather just than man vs monster. The question is if only the Hyde-personality had access to his monster form.

We see that Tyler rebelled against Laurel when he could, when he wasn’t actively forced to do something. For example when he slipped Wednesday the police file (if we believe that theory) and when he chose to keep Eugene alive (Laurel said “take care of it”, clearly meaning “kill him” but since she never used the word ‘kill’, I believe he saw his chance). He also keeps pointing Wednesday in the right direction, even when he probably wasn’t supposed to according to his master, like when he helped her find the meeting house, helped her break into Laurel’s home, chased her and Enid into the basement where they could find more clues.

Grooming, abuse, torture, manipulation, and mind control!!! Need I say more? Tyler is a true victim of his circumstances and society. We must admit that it was pretty easy for Laurel to sink her claws into him. Lonely, traumatized boy with one dead parent and one to emotionally constipated to raise him through his trauma, and here comes Laurel and offers him the truth about his mother in exchange for mommy kink sexual advances until she kidnaps him to torture as she pleases in a cave. She basically presented herself as the sexual version of his mother that Freud loved to say young boys were so vulnerable to. Of course this lonely boy would fall for her act. Laurel even described herself as a plant metaphor in episode 4: some carnivorous varieties use sexual trickery or deception. She then made him think this entire nefarious plan was about him getting revenge on the way outcasts treated his mother.

We see Tyler screaming out for help, subtly and literally, when he tells Wednesday that he wants to “get out of this hellhole town” and later when he’s screaming in the bathtub in ep 3.

The writers keep mentioning Wyler’s “primal attraction” and how Wednesday is drawn to Tyler’s dark side even from the start when she didn’t know what he was. And I truly believe he feels the same way, he is so smitten when she states she would dump piranhas in the swimming pool again. They are both attracted to the darker aspects of their personalities, whereas I feel like Xavier has this romanticized view of Wednesday in his head and when she disproves that by being her morbid, honest self, his first instinct is to whine and feel sorry for himself. He doesn’t embrace every part of her character.

Netflix makes Wyler a large part of their promotion of the show, going as far as pinning Wyler-positive comments on Instagram and making Wyler at the dance their thumbnail for the show on Netflix and hyping Hunter Doohan in general.

If you compare Wyler and Wavier scenes, they tend to play very soft music and use soft/warm lighting during the Wyler scenes. Wavier scenes, sometimes have this too, but never as prominent as with Wyler. From what I’ve seen with other media, that is usually foreshadowing of the producers’ larger plan.

I have a Filler Couple Theory! And that is that the couple that becomes canon in the middle of a show’s entire runtime is almost never canon by the time the show ends. There are exceptions, of course. But generally, shows tend to follow a similar format: couple 1 is introduced as an idea in season 1, they may or may not become canon but the tension is there, for whatever reason couple 2 becomes canon in season 2/3 to create drama and more tension before couple one becomes endgame in season 3/3 (example Stancy in ST, Benvi in NHIE). An exception to this rule is if couple one is a blowburn over several seasons without a love triangle (example: Peraltiago in B99). The writers of Wednesday have planned 4 seasons. They end season 1 with Wyler broken up, hint that Wavier might take more precedence in season 2, and yet still keeps hyping Wyler as much as they do. I think Wavier will be a distraction/filler for Wednesday as Tyler regains her trust and they build so much sexual tension.

So, this was long and kind of all over the place. But as Enid, I write in my voice. And I will admit that some of these points may be down to pure manipulation on Tyler’s part, especially the signals thing. But part of what I love about this show is the ambiguity, the moral grey areas, the way they make a point of embracing the dark side of humanity and loving the characters through it. Until the show canonically confirms that there is no hope for Tyler/Wyler, I will continue to ship it. And I want to add that my will to ship Wyler has nothing to do with who I would personally choose for myself. If given the choice, I would date Enid before my mind could form the phrase ‘toxic relationship’, and I’m very much one of those boring straight people. But as a romantic partner for a dark, morbid character like Wednesday Addams, I would choose Tyler any day.

Tagging: @therulerofallpotatos

[jaeyunniesimp]

I'M A FOOL TO WANT YOU (s.jy) part one part two

pairing: badboy!jake x fab!reader

tw: angst, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drugs, family issues, kissing (?), mentions of food (lmk if there’s more!)

wc: 2.5k

a/n: hi loves! i was at a total creative block, but then i was listening to frank sinatra’s song that inspired this title, and a lamp lit up in my brain nshdjsjd hope you enjoy it 🥺 luv y’all / this is not proofread so ignore any typos or grammar mistakes :p

synopsis: you weren’t exactly the most famous person in school, but you weren’t a total loser either. You’d say your presence was unremarkable, which somehow feels worse than being hated. He, on the other side, was the most adored person amongst other students. The popular, don’t-give-a-fuck type of bad boy anyone would fall for, and as much as you’d like to say you’re different, you couldn’t feel otherwise.

“i’m a fool to want you, to want a love that can’t be true, a love that’s there for others too”

You’d fallen for Jake Sim a long time ago, probably in middle school, when he was still a no one, a nerdy kid. That was until high school, where his looks matured and his attitude changed. Now, that both of you are in the same college, he never failed to grab other people’s attention, including yours.

Making new friends was certainly difficult, specially when everyone around you is so different from you. Sunoo was at this point your only true friend, the only person you could count on and rant about your problems without the fear of being judged, not just a fun-to-go-out-with friend.

Today wasn’t exactly the best of days. Your parents were fighting again, so you’d be better off staying at the dorms once more this weekend, your brother was drowning himself in drugs and partying a lot, just to numb the sadness he felt from witnessing your family crumbling apart, which made you worried. Although it pales in comparison, the day was also gloomy, which defeated all your hopes to be optimistic about what was yet to come.

Friday mornings used to be your favorite, now you can’t wait for them to end, knowing everyone probably has nice plans besides you. You’re already dressed in your grey sweatpants and your Metallica shirt (ride the lightning bc it’s the best and you got ✨ taste ✨), turning on the kettle to boil some water for your morning tea, when you feel your phone buzzing.

— Hello? — You answer lazily.

— Y/N! Please tell me you haven’t had breakfast yet! — Your best friend pleaded from the other line.

— I was just boiling some water, but I can turn it off. Why? — You replied, pressing the “off” button.

— I found this really cute café and they have bear shaped donuts, we have to go! It’s right beside campus. I’ll send you the address and we meet there, okay? — He asked, excitedly.

You agreed and hung up the phone, feeling kind of sad that you didn’t comply with his excitement.

Hugging yourself, you try to hide from the wind, mentally swearing at yourself for not bringing a coat. You see a little excited figure hopping with their arms up, signaling for you to come closer faster. You can’t deny, that even with all the gloominess you were feeling, seeing Sunoo made you just a little warmer.

Smile spread wide along your face, you hug your friend and quickly get in the store, protecting yourselves from the cold. You ordered a cup of milk tea and some cookies, while he got the infamous bear shaped donuts he was fawning over.

— Are you going home this weekend? — He asked, sipping his coffee.

— Nope. Tryna’ avoid conflict, don’t really wanna see my parents right now. Nor my brother. — You answered looking down to the cup you were holding.

— Hm, I see… You never talk about your brother, though, I don’t even know his name! — He argued.

— Yeah… We’re very different people, and he pretends he’s an only child to his friends, so I might as well just don’t give him that type of attention to mine. — You replied, annoyed.

— Why does he do that?! — His mouth was almost theatrically open, in utter shock.

— I don’t know — You shrugged — He puts on this facade, pretending to be someone he’s not, I guess that includes pretending our family isn’t completely fucked up.

After eating, you both gathered your things and went to your designated classes. Today was Friday, though, which meant Jake had the same classes you did in the morning. God, how do you pay attention to anything math related when Jake fucking Sim is sitting across from you?

You were entering the classroom when you felt a strong bump on your shoulder, almost knocking you down on the floor. You turn around and see no one other than Lee Heeseung, your brother. Not alone, though, he was with Jake. Since when did they become friends? You had no idea, but he was even crashing his classes.

He bumped into you on purpose and you knew it, which meant he was mad at you for whatever reason. You looked at him from across the room with burning eyes, which made him roll his and switch his gaze back to his friend.

You sat on the desk next to Jake’s, watching your brother’s eyes fall upon your figure as you did so, burning into your soul with anger. He wondered what were you trying to do, what moves would you pull, sacred you’d expose him. You couldn’t care less, though, you just knew that if you sat close to them he’d be worried and paranoid the entire time and that was enough revenge for you.

The day went by very slowly, turning every now and then to glance at Jake, pretending you were trying to look at Heeseung instead. He looked extra good today, with his black leather jacket draping over his shoulders, his blonde highlighted locks falling ever so gently on his forehead, your brother had to be really angry to not realize how your eyes were filled with adoration when you looked to your side.

But it kind of made you sad, though. That wasn’t any boy you were admiring, it was Jake. He never hooked up with a girl more than once, and he still managed to get many, and they were all WAY out of your league. They didn’t wear sweatpants to class, nor showed up everyday bare faced. They were just as admirably good looking as him. You really were longing for someone who couldn’t dare to even look at you, less be yours only.

The bell rang after what felt like an eternity, and to your luck, your best friend was already waiting for you outside. You went his direction and started chatting, but your eyes were wandering somewhere else. He was quick to pick up on it, though.

— No fucking way. — He said, mouth open.

— What? — Your gaze suddenly moved back to him.

— You? Fawning over Jake Sim? — He was just speechless.

— WHAT?! — You jumped off your spot, closer to him, almost palming his mouth for him to shut up. — I’m not!

— You we’re staring at him like he was a piece of food! Y/N, don’t get me wrong, he’s handsome as hell, but he’s a fuckboy and you know it. — He explained.

— I’m not simping for him, Sunoo, get over it.

— Okay, sorry — He held his arms up in sign of defeat. — But if you’re in for a one night stand, we could give you, like, a glow up montage so he would look at you…

— Oh thank you, I feel flattered. — You said ironically.

— That’s not what I meant and you know it! You’re gorgeous, but right now you’re kind of following the depressed core style, and it’s not doing anything for you.

He was right. You barely dressed up properly to go out anymore, and you can’t even remember the last time you wore makeup. It was tempting, but should you do this just because of a guy? It felt wrong.

— Sunoo, I’m not gonna do that just because of some guy. — You said, despite your inner urge to actually do it.

— Okay, sorry, just pitching ideas.

“i’m a fool to seek a kiss not mine alone, to share a kiss the devil has known”

The weekend finally came, and you were unexpectedly excited. Sunoo had a birthday party to attend, and he asked you to go with him. You would usually deny or feel uncomfortable going, but it had been so long since you’d had some fun or even dressed up nicely, you were excited to do so.

There was no point going back home anyway, your parents decided last minute they were going on a business trip, leaving the house empty. Partying it is!

Your makeup looked gorgeous, and your short black silky dress hugged your body perfectly. Sunoo was shocked at the sight of you, feeling happy for his best friend who was finally going to have some fun.

The party was packed, a lot of students from your school were there, getting wasted and making out with each other. You and your best friend had a couple of drinks and were just having a good time. You played board games, despite your brains not being at full capacity at the moment, which only made it funnier, did karaoke, and just gossiped all night long. You certainly hadn’t been this happy in a while.

You didn’t even pay attention to the people who were at the party, only sticking around Sunoo and his other friends. About 4am, you decided it was time to leave.

— But campus is so far away from here, we’d have to walk! — Sunoo argued.

— We can go to my parents house, it’s only a mile away and they’re not home anyway. Please, I need to sleep! — You suggested.

He gave in and you two were quickly on your way. It took you a little longer than usual to get there, with your dragging feet and drunk steps, but once you’d made it, it made you feel victorious. You opened the door quietly, out of muscle memory, forgetting that there was nobody home.

You both quickly got in, still taking feather light steps, Sunoo going straight to the bathroom to wash his face, while you went to the kitchen to grab some water. You grabbed a cup, and as soon as you turned on your heel to go around the counter, two bodies appeared out of nowhere, one of them holding a broom, and the other a lamp (?), ready to throw hands.

You screamed, surprised, dropping your glass on the floor, and they screamed at the same time, only to realize it was your brother, who was also at that party and had the same idea as you. But he wasn’t alone. Of course he had to bring Jake Sim to your parents house. Perfect.

A terrified Sunoo ran over your direction and turned on the lights, to meet the weirdest scene he could’ve pictured. Two of the school’s jocks in front of you, holding “weapons”, and glass shattered on the floor.

— What the fuck is wrong with you?! — You screamed, pushing your brother’s chest.

— Me?! You should’ve said you were coming home! — He argued.

— Oh, so now you care about me or what I do? Do you still tell other people you’re an only child? That’s why you needed the heads up? — You mocked.

He let out an annoyed scoff, rolling his eyes.

— That’s your brother? — Sunoo finally spoke up from across the room.

— You have a sister? — Jake asked, with a smug grin on his face.

His eyes landed on your thighs immediately, causing you to adjust your dress, trying to cover yourself up a little more. You were angry. Fuming. You couldn’t care less about Jake Sim right now.

— Oh great, you’re ready to clean this up! — You went up to Jake and stated sarcastically, pointing at the glass on the floor and the broom he was holding.

You left the kitchen without saying a word, despite your brother’s protests, and quickly grabbed Sunoo’s arm and led him to your bedroom.

— So you never bothered to tell me your brother was Heeseung? Lee Heeseung? THE Lee Heeseung? — He asked, plopping down on your bed.

— Okay, I get it! Whatever, he’s popular, but he’s an idiot. — You answered, removing your heels. — You can sleep here, I’ll take the couch.

— No it’s okay, you should sleep on your own bed. — He got up reluctantly.

— No, really, I hate it here, you can have it. — You argued.

— If you say so… — He mumbled, before drifting off almost instantly.

You let out a small chuckle at your friends action, then poorly removed your make up, put on an old oversized t-shirt, and made your way downstairs, desperate to get some shut eye. You were almost throwing yourself down on the couch, only to squeal lightly when you realized someone else was already lying on it.

— Fuck! You scared the shit out of me! — You whisper-yelled. — Great, I’ll sleep on the bathtub.

— What? You don’t like to cuddle? — The guy answered you, drowsy.

That’s when you realized it wasn’t your brother, it was his really handsome friend lying there.

— Oh shit, sorry, I thought you were Heeseung. — You suddenly became shy, and quickly turned on your heel to go wherever, as long as it wasn’t the living room.

But before you could make a move, a hand grabbed your wrist, making you go back and accidentally sit down on the couch.

— You can sleep here, I don’t bite. Don’t tell me you’re actually sleeping in the bathtub because you’re nervous around me? — He asked, his eyes still closed.

— I-I’m not! I don’t even know you — You answered, trying to let go of his grip.

— I see you looking at me in class, I know you know me. Just lay down and sleep, for god’s sake. — He argued.

You sighed in defeat, after a few seconds of silence, not knowing what to say. His arms draped around your waist, hugging you, as you laid with your back against him. You could feel his warm breath hitting the back of your neck and it made your heart race.

— Relax — He chuckled, resting his face further down your neck, which only made you feel more nervous.

You decided that you should fake it until you made it. You started telling yourself that it was alright, relaxing into his embrace, letting your hands fall on top of his. Your heart was still beating out of your chest, but you were acting like you were used to him.

That was until he started softly kissing your neck, trailing down near your shoulder, holding you tighter. A part of you wanted to let him continue, but another part of you felt so used. You knew you’d be only another girl he slept with, and you couldn’t allow yourself to go through that.

— What are you doing? — You asked firmly.

— Hm… Kissing you — He said in between kisses.

— Really, I just wanna sleep. — You said, taking your hand off his.

— Alright. — He answered, a cold tone in his voice.

He took his arms off you and laid on his back, facing the ceiling. You felt cold and somewhat empty, you wanted more of him, but you know you shouldn’t. You fell asleep right after, hoping that when you woke up, things wouldn’t fall apart like you felt they would.

next

taglist: @loves0ft

[ahundredtimesover]

The Light of Dead Stars (01) | KSJ

Pairing: Seokjin x (f.) Reader; side Seokjin x (f.) OC; side Reader x Namjoon

Genre/Tags: arranged marriage, fake romance, boss/workmate aus; angst, drama, fluff, smut; slow burn

Chapter Warnings: Foul language; mentions of injury; alcohol consumption; allusions to past toxic relationsips (18+)

Chapter Word count: 9.4k

Series Masterlist | Muse Moodboard | Setting Moodboard

Status: Complete

Series summary:  Your unconventional arranged marriage with your company’s President, Kim Seokjin, is necessary, practical, and simple - both your families benefit, and he minds his own business and so do you. But when a slip-up causes his parents to believe that you and he are in love, you have no choice but to pretend you are, especially with the trip to France for his brother’s wedding coming up. When you get back to Seoul, things start to change, and Seokjin is faced with the most difficult decision he has to make.  

Love–he seemed to have missed it. Or was the love that others told about a mere fabrication of perfervid imagination, an exaggeration of the commonplace, a glorification of insipid monotonies such as made up his love life? 

You sigh in relief as you enter your house, luggage in one hand and a pair of heels on the other. It’s been a tiring last few days and a whirlwind of a morning. Perhaps that’s what happens when you get disrupted during your business meeting by your mom, frantic on the other end of the line over a family emergency, and you spend the rest of it stressfully booking a flight and rushing back to Seoul. 

But you’re home now, appeased that your dad is going to be okay and that you have time to freshen up before you meet them at the hospital. 

The kitchen counter is clean and the living room is devoid of the usual mess that Seokjin leaves after a night of watching movies. His car is in the driveway and you think he probably slept in; you know he’s had a tough week, too. 

He’d sent you voice messages last night ranting about one of the board members being a total asshole to the hotel staff during their meeting. Your husband was so angry and wanted to call for a vote of no confidence but Yoongi, his secretary, had thankfully stopped him and suggested sending you those messages instead.

Bless that man, but you really weren’t prepared for a howling Jin, cursing in his high pitched voice then laughing contagiously about a dog jumping its owner that he’d seen on the street. 

Your husband is a handful, that much you could say. You had sensed the charm - it’s one of his weapons, after all - but you didn’t expect the bursts of passion underneath his always calm and professional exterior, a subtle contrast to the perfectionist character of the man who was just your boss not long ago. Three months in and he still surprises and annoys you to no end, and with how you found yourselves in this situation, you really can’t ask for anything more. 

You laugh at the memory of the night you got “engaged” and proceed to your room, take a nice long bath, and dress up before you head to the kitchen to make yourself a meal. You’d just ended a call with Hoseok, your brother, when you exit the room and stop in your tracks, a familiar face meeting you at the other end of the hall. 

Seri’s bright eyes widen as they focus on you, her lips parting and from several feet away, you could hear her hold her breath. 

“___,” she stammers, finally coming around to calling you by your first name instead of Mrs. Kim, which is the most awkward thing she could say, considering who she is in your life. “I didn’t know you’d be home. Jin said that you were—”

“Oh, it’s okay; he didn’t know either. I had to come back a day early from my trip,” you smile awkwardly. “Have you and Jin had breakfast? I’m gonna make myself some pancakes and I can make some for you guys, too.”

“That would be, uh, good, yeah,” she says nervously. “I don’t really cook so…”

“Ah, alright. No problem,” you say, walking down the stairs and mentally calculating the measurements for pancakes good for 3.

Seri follows and stands on the other side of the large kitchen counter, nibbling on her lips before she offers. “I can help you, though!”

“It’s fine,” you say, not too keen on having someone inexperienced help you around the kitchen. 

You see her smile fall and you don’t really want her to feel that you’re antagonistic towards her because you really aren’t. “But you can slice some bananas for your pancakes if you want. Prepare some strawberries for Jin, and some kiwis, too.”

“Okay,” she responds, taking the kitchen tools and fruits that you pass to her and nodding when you tell her to be careful. “Sorry for not being much help, and for, uh, yeah…” she trails.

“Seri, we’ve talked about this. Jin and I have an arrangement - he doesn’t question what I do and who I meet, the same way I don’t question anything or whoever he does,” you say too casually. “And he’s always been honest about his relationship with you, and that’s always better than lying about it. Think of it like an approved extra-marital affair or something,” you shrug, as you mix in the ingredients.

“It’s just… not a normal thing, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” you chuckle, as if preparing a meal for your husband’s lover in your kitchen is not as odd and twisted as it is. “But he’s doing me - my family - a big favor. You make him happy and I don’t wanna take that away from him.”

The one time you turn to look at her, she flashes a shy smile. One thing you appreciate about her is that she’s not some entitled witch just because your husband prefers her to lay in his sheets over you. For lack of a better phrase, she at least “knows her place,” as Jimin, your ever supportive best friend and colleague, says. 

You and Seri both let the sounds of fruits being cut up and pancakes sizzling on the pan echo in the kitchen. You start munching on a few pieces while you continue to work, deciding to not stay long enough to actually have to share a meal with them. You may be preparing their food and you may be okay with all this, but you’re not some dysfunctional family that’d have you eating with them like all is normal. 

It’s in the middle of your third piece of pancake while stacking a few on one plate that you hear hurried steps down the stairs, and you meet your husband’s curious eyes and furrowed brows. 

“You’re… home,” he starts, walking over to you and peeking to see 3 plates in front of you. “And you’re making us breakfast?”

He asks you, eyeing Seri, as if questioning if he should be worried, but she shakes her head and flashes him a grin.

“Ah, yeah. I was just going to make my breakfast and I thought I could make for you guys, too. I’ll leave for the hospital after this,” you respond.

“The hospital? Is everything okay?” He asks, genuinely worried.

“Dad was rushed to the ER last night and needs to have surgery in the afternoon, that’s why I took an earlier flight.”

“What’s wrong? Did you have him checked in the VIP suite? Until when is he here?”

“His colon. And no, the private room is fine. I’ll have him and Mom stay at a hotel while he’s recovering before they go back home to Gwangju next week.”

“Oh, okay. Do you need anything else? I can ask one of the chauffeurs to drive them home,” he offers.

“That’d be great, yes please,” you smile, pouring caramel syrup over his pile of pancakes before he even asks for it. “Hoseok will have to go back to Tokyo tomorrow so he can’t take care of it. Thanks, Jin.”

“Sure, no problem,” he says, taking his plate and Seri’s while you clear the counter. “What about you?”

“I ate while I was cooking,” you grin. “Mom texted and asked me to drop by the supermarket to get her some things before heading to them, so I’ll have to get going.”

“Okay. Have Mr. Lim drive for you, alright?” He calls out as you walk up the stairs.

“I will! Thanks!” You yell.

Seokjin looks at Seri nervously as he pours the coffee in cups and takes out the orange juice from the fridge. He motions for her to eat and she smiles after she’s taken a few bites.

“This is delicious,” she says. “I don’t think I’ve had pancakes quite like this before. ___ makes this a lot, doesn’t she?” 

“She usually makes our breakfast more elaborate than this,” Seokjin hums. “But she makes pancakes when she’s stressed; we’ve even had it for dinner a few times. And well, her dad’s in the hospital so maybe that’s why.”

He internally sighs at the thought, wondering if he should have offered to bring you to the hospital instead. But knowing you, you’d probably insist that he doesn’t need to. 

He and Seri eat in peace until you’re rushing down the stairs and calling Mr. Lim, telling him that you’re ready to leave. 

“Send my regards to your parents, okay? And let me know how your Dad is.”

“Will do. Bye!” You wave at them then head out the door.

Seokjin releases the breath he’s been holding in, then turns to Seri. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was gonna be home,” Seokjin apologizes. 

“It’s fine. I should be the one who’s sorry,” Seri shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have drank that much and stayed the night. I apologized to her and she said it’s okay. I’m not being too naive, am I?” She wonders. 

Not much has changed with her time with Seokjin since his marriage with you 3 months ago. Sure, she still only gets to be with him when he’s not so busy with work like before, but she still sees him, still gets to talk to him over the phone at night since he doesn't sleep in the same room as you, at least when he’s not working or passed out in bed. And he’s never mentioned any argument with you about her.

She was scared the night he told her about the arranged marriage with you, which was the same night that he found out about it. She was ready to let everything go, to accept her fate that she’d never been good enough for him - and she never will be - but he surprised her when he said that things didn’t need to end. You’d insisted that he didn’t have to sacrifice that relationship, and she’d never felt more thankful in her life. 

But she somehow expected that, too. She only gets to see you during company-wide events - you have a senior position unlike her, after all, but the few times she’s been around you or even crossed paths with you in the office, you’ve always been laid-back and welcoming. 

She’s only heard from others that you’re good at what you do - you wouldn’t have reached your executive position as quickly as you have if you weren’t - and that itself should give you a reason to crucify her, humiliate her, even, but you never did. You never looked down on her, and not once did you ever make her feel small, or like a gum stain on your shoe. 

“And well, it wasn’t so bad, was it?” She continues at Seokjin’s silence. 

“I guess not,” he hums, his mind wandering to you, hoping he didn’t shoot himself on the foot by bringing his lover to your shared home while you were away, and then being caught by you. 

You’ve been nothing but accepting and tolerant of the whole situation, but he also knows one thing you have is pride. Being a kind person doesn’t mean you’ll give that up just because you feel you owe his family something. He just hopes he didn’t push his luck this time; he doesn’t know what he’ll do when shit hits the fan, and you’re not there to figure things out with him.

“You didn’t have to cut your trip short for me, bug,” your dad tells you as you caress his hand. “It’s not that serious.”

“You fainted due to pain, Dad. What’s not serious about that?” You frown at him. 

“It’s not a bullet to the chest,” he smirks, earning him a roll of your eyes.

“Don’t think you’re invincible just because you survived that. And that was years ago. Your body isn’t the same,” you reprimand him. 

“Yah, am I really getting a scolding from my daughter before my surgery,” he tries to laugh. “Cut your old man some slack.”

“I will, when you start listening to the doctor,” you cross your arms. “You’re so hard-headed.”

“Like father, like daughter, hmm?” Your mother laughs from next to you. 

You continue scowling at your father while he’s being wheeled away by the nurses, with you yelling an I love you when the door closes. Your mom goes with him and says she’ll call the insurance for some questions, leaving you with your brother in the room.

“Am I really hard-headed like him?” You ask Hoseok, who merely laughs at your question, one you’ve asked him a bunch of times.

“Only sometimes,” he says, sitting next to you on the couch.

“I have my reasons, though,” you defend. 

“Reasons I’ll never understand. Like agreeing to some bullshit marriage arrangement, and letting your husband keep his mistress.”

“I forgot we’re still not over this,” you pout at your big brother, whose displeased face quickly turns into an endeared smile. 

“It’s still too soon. I’m just a little upset that you didn’t talk to me about it, about any of it,” he sighs. “I could’ve convinced you of another way and protected you from all that.”

“Protect me from what, exactly?” You say. “We’d be needing more protection if I hadn’t agreed to the marriage. And I’d be way more stressed than I need to be if I made a big deal out of Jin having a girlfriend.”

“I told you, we could’ve figured it out, borrowed money from friends and relatives or something, instead of being indebted to a family like theirs.”

“We can’t pay our debts by having more, you know that,” you argue. “It was the only way. His grandparents offered; it felt like a win-win for everyone - their name protects us, their son gets a wife.”

“You do know they expect you and him to have children, right? He’s the eldest, after all. How are you supposed to do that if he has a girlfriend?”

“Well, they’re not in a rush,” you argue. “There’s still time to get out of the marriage and still be free from danger without having to have a family with Jin. I’ve been saving up to pay off Dad’s debt with interest. I just need time.”

“Wait, that’s your grand plan?” Your brother turns to you. “You’re gonna pay off what Dad owes while carrying the Kim name so we’re all protected, and then divorce your husband? That’s… cruel.”

“Hey, he’s in on it, too!” You pout, hating being called out. It did sound better in your head and when you pitched it to Jin, who agreed that it was a sound plan. 

“You’re both dumb.”

“Do you really think I want a relationship?” You exclaim. “Do you think one Kim Seokjin will make me want one?”

“Well, not if the man is cozying it up with another woman under your watch!”

“That’s not the point. The point is, I don’t really care. I care about my career, my family, my friends… and Jin doesn’t want this, either. He’s just following orders, and I don’t want him to be miserable just because he didn’t have a choice.”

“So letting him keep his lover is his consolation, that’s it?”

“They’ve been together a while,” you mumble. “As far as I know, he hasn’t had a girlfriend in years so he’s probably just waiting to be in a good position to introduce her to his family or something. I don’t want to stand in between that, you know? Jin is a good man. He deserves to be happy.”

“What about you?”

“I am! Our ideas of happiness are just different,” you say. “His is being with her, among other things like fishing and gaming and caramel syrup on fried food, and mine is all this - work, a safe and complete family, Japanese mayo on fried food,” you chuckle. 

“Aish, I just wish you thought this through more,” your brother sighs, wishing as well that he’d been around to help you figure out other options that didn’t require you to give things up.

“Well, Dad got the aggressive message and old Mr. Kim just happened to check up on him like he does every year and I just…. Blanked out. Nothing else mattered. I’m sorry,” you finally say, knowing that as the big brother, his primary job is worrying about you and your younger sister. “We’ve all had to make sacrifices. This was mine.” 

“Just be careful, okay?” Hoseok gives in, knowing just how hard-headed you really are. “And I know we owe them big time but if that husband of yours does anything to hurt you, I will hunt him down,” he frowns, one of the rare times your usually jolly brother gets serious. 

“I’ve worked with the man for years. He wouldn’t even hurt a fly,” you laugh. “And really, Jin and I are like housemates - I cook breakfast, he cooks dinner, we get groceries together, manage the budget… but other than that, we mind our own business.”

“Fine, as long as you don’t get caught in any drama that would jeopardize your career,” he continues. “And your personal life, too, especially if Mom and Dad find out. It may seem real simple in your head, but feelings can get involved, you’ll never know. You seem to like him already,” he warns.

“Not in that way,” you chuckle. “He’s a lot of good things but I’m not attracted to him; he’s not for me.”

“A handsome face like that can turn anyone into a believer, though,” he bites back. “He may not be my favorite person but I can appreciate great looks and they didn’t name him as Asia’s most sought-after bachelor for nothing.”

“I know, I have eyes,” you nudge him. “But I can tell him he’s handsome with a straight face and he can smile at me without me getting flustered.”

“I hope it’s a humble smile, at least.”

“Hmm, it depends. Most times it’s quite cheeky,” you chuckle. “He’s kinda full of himself in that way but you get used to it. I mean, I am, and it’s funnier than anything. It doesn’t affect me, though. But everyone else just falls for his charms but not me.”

“Funny that you’re now his wife.”

“Life works weirdly sometimes but I’ll take it. As long as I’m safe, as long as we all are,” you smile at Hoseok, hoping that it’ll be enough to ease his worries. 

He envelopes you in a hug and that’s all the comfort and affirmation you need.

Taehyung walks over to his balcony and lies on Seokjin’s back, curses and groans escaping the elder’s mouth at his younger brother’s antics.

“Get off my back, Tae.”

“You’re the one lying on my couch, hyung,” he answers, stretching as he does. 

“I bought this couch for you.”

“It’s still in the apartment that I own.”

“Ugh, can you act your age? Or at least someone who’s about to get married?”

Seokjin says the magic word and it’s what gets his brother off his back, literally. Taehyung sits down and starts going on about his suit fitting and finally finding the pair of shoes that he’s going to get shipped from Italy. 

“Also, please free up your next week. We’re doing food tasting of the menu for the wedding and I need your palate,” Taehyung says casually.

“You’re gonna fly me to France?”

“You’re the President of the company, hyung. You’re flying yourself to France. I’ll pay for your hotel, though. You can even take ___ with you. There’s a suite so no need to stay in one room since you know, you’re both stupid that way.”

Seokjin smacks the back of his brother’s head the way he always had growing up when the younger would tease him endlessly.

“We’re not stupid; it’s the arrangement,” he corrects.

“It’s the arrangement,” Taehyung repeats, rolling his eyes and mocking his brother’s tone of voice as he likes to do. “Fine, whatever. Anyway, what brings you here on this fine Saturday? No meeting? No date? No extra-curriculars?” He smirks.

“Nah, just bored. I just dropped off Seri at her place… after ___ got home and saw us there.”

“Your wife saw you and Seri doing the deed?!” Taehyung dramatically exclaims. “How the fuck did you let that happen!”

“No!” Seokjin groans. “She came home a day earlier from her work trip and Seri had just left my room. ___ made us breakfast and then left to visit her dad in the hospital. It was a little awkward. For me, at least.”

“Well duh. Your arranged wife makes breakfast for you and your official lover? That is weird. But wait, how’s ___’s dad?”

“He’s fine,” Seokjin says. “But yeah, that was my morning. And I drove here after dropping Seri off because my house does feel a little weird right now. Too soon.”

“Hmm, you agreed to this, though. But then again, ___ never cared for boyfriends because her exes sucked so I’m not so surprised that she’s not making a big deal about you and your little affair.”

“You know about her exes?”

“Yeah, don’t you?” Taehyung wonders.

“Not really. Other than work and what we’re going to eat, we don’t really talk about anything else,” Seokjin shrugs, wondering why he hasn’t made more of an effort to get to know you, his wife.

Perhaps it’s the shock that he still hasn’t gotten over, even if at some point before all this, he’d accepted that he’d most likely have an arranged marriage, although the case with you is totally different from what he prepared for. Maybe it’s the idea that it’s all temporary; you have that grand plan of getting a divorce down the road, after all, even if he’s not quite sure how that will go, given that his family actually expects you and him to have children.

Or maybe, it’s that odd feeling that he’s being unfaithful to his girlfriend with his wife by getting to know you on a deeper level, and the thought makes him sick to his stomach. He really should’ve thought about this much better. 

“When does she even have time to hang out with you?” Seokjin asks. “She’s almost as much of a workaholic than I am.”

“Hmm, during those dinner and drinks we’d sometimes have since you know, I actually spend that time getting to know my colleagues and not hooking up with the— ouch!” Taehyung gasps, nursing his arm that his brother just pinched. “It’s true, though! That’s how you and Seri started!”

“Yeah, but you make it sound so… shallow or like, not meaningful.”

“Isn’t it? She’s still that person for you, isn’t she? Otherwise you would’ve introduced her as your girlfriend to our family a long time ago,” Taehyung bites back. “You could’ve avoided this whole arranged-marriage-with-a-love-affair-on-the-side thing and be with someone you’re actually attracted to and like.”

“It’s not that easy,” Seokjin huffs. “Seri works for us.”

“So does ___, and she’s now your wife, so you can’t make that excuse. Our family isn’t that conservative, you know? They don’t really mind who we get married to, as long as we do, and then give them lots of grandchildren,” Taehyung shrugs. “But seriously though, how come you never introduced Seri?”

“I… never really thought about it, I guess. It just all seemed so convenient. She understood my schedule, the women I’d meet, the places I’d go to… She never asked for more, she just… settled. And I, well, I guess I…”

Seokjin trails, the words getting stuck in his throat. Why had he never made things more with Seri? What was he so worried about? What was holding him back?

“Well, that’s dumb,” Taehyung remarks, jerking away from his brother’s attempt at hitting him again. “You’re dumb. I mean, you just kept her around until time caught up with you and you decided to still keep her even when you have a wife - who, by the way, is really nice and cool - and you don’t even think Seri’s worth it.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.”

“You didn’t say she was.”

“Look, I’ll admit, I didn’t really think it through. Father told me about the arrangement, ___ asked me what was holding me back and I said I had a girlfriend and she said it was okay that I did, then I proceeded to meet with that girlfriend right after and proposed the whole, ‘let’s continue seeing each other even if I’m married since it’s not real and my fiancé is fine with it, anyway’ thing,” Seokjin groans; hearing himself say it out loud does sound stupid. “Ah, smart people do dumb things sometimes.”

“No, dumb people do dumb things,” his brother corrects. “Seriously. How are you the most brilliant person that I know but still be so dumb when it comes to your personal life? Now you’re in this situation. It may seem simple to you but it’s a whole ass mess from out here.”

“You’re right, I’m dumb.”

“Thank you for agreeing with me for the first time in my 30 years of living.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Yes, but like you also said, I’m right,” Taehyung arches his brow. “But you know what the silver lining is?”

Seokjin turns to his little brother, one who, despite his eccentricities and being the annoying little shit he’s supposed to be, actually makes sense sometimes. “What?”

“You aren’t alone. You have ___. You’re gonna figure it out.”

Seokjin goes around the deli he frequents and finds the ingredients he’s looking for, getting enough for the meal he’s about to prepare.

He called you after he left his brother’s apartment and asked what time you’ll be home. You said you’d leave the hospital after you’d bought takeout dinner for you and for your family, but he insisted he’d cook instead and send some for them, too. You sounded thankful, and perhaps relieved. He can only imagine that it’s been a long day for you, and regardless of how your arrangement is, you actually look out for each other, and preparing each other's meals is how you both do it.

He gets to work once he arrives home, merely asking Mrs. Kang to get him some containers for the food he’ll send to your family. He packs up, sends it through the chauffeur, and works on your dinner while waiting for you.

You enter your house some time after, tired legs dragging you up the foyer steps and into the kitchen. 

“Is this what I think it is?” You squeal, scurrying to where Seokjin is and immediately taking a teaspoon to try the sauce he’s making. 

“More seasoning,” you say. 

He promptly follows and you assess the counter to see what he’s made - scallops with truffle, hanwoo beef, and some cold noodles. 

“The deli finally had some scallops and beef available?” You ask, and he nods in response, plating the food now. 

There’s only two, and you don’t know why but you half expected he’d have Seri over for dinner instead of you, given that he’s spent the day with her anyway. Maybe they’d eaten already, but he was at the deli not long ago and he wouldn’t have had enough time, especially since he made food for your family, too.

You don’t think much about it and remove your coat. You take your place on the dining table and pour him and yourself some wine. Seokjin takes the appetizer while he lets the meat cool down.

You’re singing your praises when he finally speaks up.

“Look, I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t know that—”

“So this is an apology dinner?” You arch an eyebrow teasingly.

“Uh, sort of?” He laughs nervously. “And well, I may not know much but I know enough that anything about your family stresses you out, even if you seemed fine earlier. I just didn’t want you to worry about what you or they were gonna have for dinner or something.”

“And that’s worth this super fancy meal?”

“It was just gonna be a ribs kind of night but I saw they had the ingredients that weren’t there last week and I just went for it,” he explains, and you’re reminded of last Friday when you’d both planned to make this very dinner together after an intense executive committee meeting that you both just wanted to get out of, but the store didn’t have the ingredients you wanted so you had curry instead.

“Hmm, at least we could make up for it,” you smile. “But yeah, I had a long distressed call with Mom while I was in Singapore this morning when she told me about my dad; she had to be the one to calm me down. But other than that, there’s really nothing to apologize for.”

“There is,” he insists, putting on that pout of his that you always laugh at because it reminds you of that one cartoon character with fluffy cheeks and the fullest of lips. 

“There really isn’t. Because it’s really okay, Jin. We’ve talked about this.”

“Yeah but, it’s the first time that you've caught us here. Seri was supposed to leave before you got back.”

“Not your fault. I should’ve let you know I was on the way home,” you argue, moaning at the taste of the beef that he cooked perfectly.

“But still, that was disrespectful of me, taking her home while you were away.”

“And where do you plan to spend time with her, hmm?”

“Uh… her place?”

“And risk being found out?”

“Well, it’s worked the last few months.”

“And for how long do you expect that?” You press him.

“I… don’t know,” he sighs, sounding defeated.

You look at Seokjin, distress painted on his face. You know enough that he feels guilty, even if you don’t think he has any reason to be. But you’re starting to think after that talk with your brother that it’s not always so simple and that maybe, there are still things that you and Seokjin haven’t fully discussed yet. But you want to assure him more than anything. Regardless of your arrangement, you don’t want him feeling bad.

“Look, Jin, I know it’s an odd dynamic,” you start. “Mrs. Kang still looks at me apologetically sometimes and I have to remind her that I’m not bothered by your relationship with Seri. Your family’s been so kind to mine, and you didn’t want this in the first place; you weren’t given a choice.”

It’s the reason you always give - to him, to your brother, your 3 best friends, to yourself… and it’s always worked to make you think it’s all worth it.

“But I know your father and your grandfather; they’re not gonna be happy if they find out the truth. I’m just saying, be careful,” you add. “There’s a guest house on the property; it’s why I wanted this place. Just think - this is the most I could do for you… as your wife. I’m not being manipulative or vengeful, if you think this is some sort of ploy to make you comfortable and then ruin your life after. This is really the least of my worries,” you continue, seeing that shy smile of his appear.

“Plus, you cook me really good food, you’re honest, and you’re not an asshole, nor narcissistic, nor abusive in any way, so…”

“Your standards in men are so low, huh?” He says, wondering what your experiences with those exes who sucked might have been for you to be like this, as he learned from his brother. 

But Seokjin has never asked; you’re more colleagues or distant friends than you are husband and wife, anyway, and with how things are going, he thinks it’s really the best he could get out of the situation you were both thrust into. 

“Sadly,” you sigh. “All I want is a kind man as a companion. You’re at least fun to talk to,” you smile. “Also, you’re handsome.”

“Finally, you agree,” he cheekily smiles.

And you shake your head in laughter as you think back to what you’d told your brother earlier in the day. 

“Still not as handsome as your brother, though,” you tease.

“Yah!” He frowns. “I’m not feeding you the macarons I bought!”

Seokjin hauls his luggage up the foyer stairs and parks it by the couch, too tired from his evening flight from France after having helped his brother and his fiancé finalize the menu for their wedding that’s happening in 3 months. It was a good few days, but he wishes he got to actually savor it, but with so much work to do, he didn’t have time to go around like he wanted.

You were the one left at home this time, and the one who sent him a voice message saying that one of your teams finally perfected the vegan dumpling recipe they’ve been working on for months. You sounded so proud and said you couldn’t wait for him to taste it when he got back home, and he didn’t know what to feel about the thought that the only reason you’d make that message is when it’s about work.

Sure, he did that with you last week - that board member was really a rude one - but he did send more of his messages talking about this new character in Maple Story and how he wants to buy Nexon one day so he could design all the items he wants.

He laughs at the thought before his phone ringing rattles him, and he smiles seeing Seri’s name on the screen.

“Hey,” he hums. “How are you?”

She’s fine, she says, on the way back from visiting her parents in Ulsan and that it was a good trip. 

“I miss you, though. When can I see you?” She asks.

“I miss you, too, Seri,” Seokjin smiles. “I’m tired from the trip but I can see you this week. We can have dinner from somewhere nice, anywhere you want.”

Seri starts listing some restaurants, unable to make up her mind. 

“Yes, it’s fine if you don’t know where you want to eat yet. As long as you can wear that other dress this time,” he hums. “We could maybe—”

The words get caught in his throat as he stares at 2 pairs of shocked and dare he say - disgusted - eyes glaring at him. 

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, quickly ending the call despite Seri’s repeated calls of his name.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jung, good morning,” Seokjin bows, not missing Mrs. Kang behind them and her petrified yet apologetic face for having the worst timing of letting your parents in the house while he was on a call with his girlfriend.

“I, uh…” he trails, looking around the house and scratching the back of his neck, too terrified to look at them again. He can feel their stare boring through the side of his head, and he’s never wanted to disappear in his life more than now.

Fortunately, he hears you running down the stairs, calling for him and saying that you’re gonna head to the hotel where your parents are before they leave. 

You stop in your tracks as you see your parents near the living room, looking as if they’d just seen a ghost. 

“Mom, Dad. I was just about to head to you,” you say, wondering what’s got them in a sour mood.

“We wanted to drop by instead; you’ve been visiting us everyday,” your mom says nervously, eyes constantly flitting from your dad to Jin. 

Your father, on the other hand, stares at your husband as if in disgust and you’re trying to find out what’s going on.

“Dad?” You walk closer to him. “Are you ok—”

“Who is Seri? And why is your husband talking to her as if they are in a relationship?” He glowers, and you feel your heart drop to the ground because you definitely didn’t want them to know, not just for your sake but most especially for Jin’s.

You see your father’s clenched fists and know that you have to clear the air right now; he’s more than capable to take your husband, given his background.

“Because they are,” you admit, taking his hand and unclenching it. “I’ve known it all along. And I don’t mind it at all.”

Your father looks at you in shock, as if he’s powerless, like his heart has just broken and he doesn’t know how they could be pieced back together with what you’d just admitted. After everything you’ve been through, this is the situation you end up in, and to think your father agreed to this because he thought it would do you good. 

It may not have started due to love or attraction but the least he could hope for is for you to be respected as a wife, as a woman, as a person.

“Why don’t we head to the study and talk there, yeah? Jin will just help Mrs. Kang prepare lunch for us,” you say, motioning for him to go to the kitchen and start working. 

Seokjin promptly moves and bows towards your parents again, and you hear him comforting Mrs. Kang who profusely apologizes.

You lead your parents to their seats and ask how their stay was, when the next check up would be, and how much the medicines cost. Your mother answers all your questions, too afraid to get into the discussion of what she really wants to know, so your father is the one who does.

“How long has this been going on?” He asks angrily.

“Ever since we got married. I told you, I’ve always known,” you say calmly, hoping it would appease them somehow, though your father’s clenched jaw tells you that it isn’t.

“How is this even okay with you?! We didn’t agree to this arranged marriage for you to be disrespected like this!” He exclaims, trying to fight the tears. 

“No, you agreed with his parents and grandparents so we could be protected, so his family can make good on their word that they will protect us the way you protected them,” you remind him. “Jin had no choice in this. He followed like the good son that he is, and that took so much away from him. Seri was part of his support team when he was the Vice President, and they’ve had something going on for a while, but he couldn’t come out with it, until this arrangement happened, and it was all too fast.”

“But sweetie, you’re married now. That’s not something he should be doing, or you should even be condoning,” your mother says, trying to understand you, woman to woman.

“So what, then? He’ll be miserable being married to me, and I’ll be miserable as well? Did you really expect that being married to him means that we’ll fall in love?” you sigh. “That’s not how it works, and you know it’s… it’s hard for me to get into love and relationships right now. All that matters to me at this moment are work, you, and being able to do things I want, to do things that make me happy.”

“Well, we didn’t expect you and Mr. Kim to fall in love, at least not right away, but we didn’t expect this at all. It’s unlike him, and unlike you,” your mother reasons. “You said everything was good between you two.”

“They are. Just because—”

“I spent years serving that family,” your father interjects, the sadness in his voice, unmissable. “I took a bullet for them, and I don’t regret it one bit. But this… this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. He should at least be trying with you, and you should be doing the same. You don’t deserve this, ___. You deserve to be loved and respected.”

“And I am, just not in the way you think,” you argue. “Jin is a good boss, and a good person. I don’t want this marriage to take that away from him, to change him just because things are difficult for our family. And I know it may not seem like it but he does care about me. He checks up on me, cooks for me… he doesn’t yell at me and not once has he laid a hand on me. He respects me as a colleague, as a person, and—”

“Well, he should; he’s already disrespecting you as a wife with that affair he has,” your father scoffs.

“Mom, Dad, I don’t expect you to understand. But if there’s anything that you both taught me, it’s that I should choose my battles, and this is one I’m not willing to fight,” you say, putting your foot down.

“Whatever happens with Jin and Seri, that’s their issue, not mine. But I’m just minding my business here, focusing on doing well at my job, proving that I earned the position not because I’m his wife or was being prepped to be one. And there's both of you. We still have debts to pay, so let’s focus on that, okay? I didn't want you to know because I didn’t want you to worry. So please, don’t. You know me, I don’t take shit from anyone, not anymore. I know how to step away now when it isn’t good for me; you taught me that, too.”

It’s that confident, assuring smile of yours that for years, disappeared, and even if it’s not ideal, your father knows it’s sincere when he sees it. You’re a big girl; you know what you’re doing. He did put this on you because of his mistakes, and he just has to do the hard thing and trust you.

“You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” He nudges your knee, causing you to smile wider. 

“Well, you raised me, so, there you go,” you laugh now. 

“Just… at any point it becomes too much, you let us know. I’ll beg his family to let you go if I have to, trust me on that,” he says.

“No one’s gonna be begging anyone. I’ll be fine, Dad. Trust me on that.”

He stands up and hugs you, whispers how you’re still his little bug and that he’ll protect you no matter what, and you hug him tightly, thanking the universe that he’s as amazing he is, even if your luck when it comes to boyfriends is the opposite of your luck when it comes to your family.

The knock on the door prompts you to look up and see Jin peeking in, saying that the food is almost ready.

“You okay?” You ask, as you lead your parents to the dining room then walk towards him.

“Yeah, but I can’t join you since Father wants to meet with me about the issue with one of our distributors and their scandal,” he answers.

“Ah, I heard about that, they were talking about it the other day. But yeah, sure, we’ll leave some food for you,” you answer.

Seokjin excuses himself then heads up the room, purposely missing lunch so he doesn’t have to face your parents again until he has to say goodbye. He refuses to look them in the eyes when he does, and his anxious face says enough.

You lead your parents to the car and head back inside, assuring your husband that things are okay. 

“I’ll just meet Dara and Jimin at the mall. You good here?”

“Yeah, I have some things to work on,” he responds, thankful for once that he’s got something to preoccupy his mind. “Dinner tonight?”

“Yeah, sure,” you say, grabbing your bag and heading out. 

You spend the afternoon with your best friends, narrating to them what happened with your parents at home, and some days you wished you’d surrounded yourself with less blunt companions instead. 

“I really don’t know how you and Mr. Kim managed all these months,” Dara says. “Is he so desperate to get his dick wet that he keeps his side chick while married to you?”

You slap her arm at her non-modulated voice while you walk around COEX. 

“First of all, can you stop being formal with him and calling him Mr. Kim?”

“He’s a sexy bitch, okay? Calling him by just his name doesn’t give him justice. It makes him less handsome,” she argues. “I can just call him Mr. President if you want,” she chuckles, earning her a glare from you. “Anyway, so what’s your second point?”

“I don’t know about his sex life but you make him sound so shallow. I don’t think Seri’s just a booty call. They’ve gone on for so long.”

“Someone can have the same booty call for years, ___. You know how Dara does it,” Jimin laughs. 

“Yeah, and she still hasn’t settled down with him,” you point out.

“Because it’s convenient. He’s convenient,” she explains. “Some nights Jae and I don’t even have sex, you know? We just talk, and that’s convenient, too. He’s just not… it. He’s fine for now since I don’t wanna settle down yet. We’re 33, hun. We’re young. And he knows that, and he doesn’t mind. He never demanded anything more because he knows I don’t want anything serious.”

“So what’s your point, exactly?” You turn towards her with furrowed brows. 

“My point is that maybe Mr. President has just kept her around because that’s all he wants her to be… a secret. There’s something exciting about that, you know? But she’s probably like, a secret who serves whatever purpose he wants for her, and she’s probably down for it, too. I mean, hooking up with your hot boss? Who’s never fantasized about that?” She chides.

“Me,” you reply. 

“Well, you’re too focused on work so all the other men around you fade into the background,” she responds. “But you’re also this saint who let him keep seeing his side chick when you’re married but that girl is… I don’t even know what to call her but the fact that she didn’t seem to demand anything or like, fight you that he’s her man? That she also got the short end of the stick by being his secret for years and then now his mistress? Girl’s got it bad. He makes it up somehow, I guess. His dick’s probably as pretty as his face.”

Jimin can’t help but laugh and you can’t stop yourself from wanting to strangle her, but you can’t deny that it also makes you wonder.

What is it about Seri that made him keep her around for so long? What’s lacking that’s kept him from making anything official? 

“We don’t know their story, okay? He’s nothing like Taehyung who’s an open book. Jin likes to keep to himself, bury himself in work and do his duties as son and heir of the company,” you defend. “How he’s managing is agreeing to arrangements and making them, I guess.”

“It’s either he’s a selfish prick who can’t make up his mind, or he just doesn’t know what he’s doing. And I don’t know which is worse,” Dara shrugs, and you hate how valid her points are, too.

“Hmm, better than the ones I’ve had, at least,” you sigh.

“Obviously, but don’t lower your standards, okay?” Jimin hugs you. “I know you said you’re not giving into love and relationships - for how long, we don’t know, but even with just a companion or partner like he is, don’t settle for less.”

“I know, that’s why I keep telling you guys and Kook and my brother - if it were someone else, I wouldn’t have agreed,” you state. “Other than the fact that Jin makes amazing food and he’s nice, he makes me feel safe.”

You smile, thinking about how the past months have been living with him - cooking for each other, going to work and going home most days together, attending events, and minding each other’s business. There hasn’t been anything to complain about. 

“And wanted, even as just a housemate or something,” you add. “Three months in, and that’s all I’ve ever felt with him.”

You enter the restaurant that Jin had texted you an hour ago to go to, and your eyes would’ve blown out of your head if it was possible because of the place he chose.

You take the seat he pulls out for you and you eye him curiously. “Still feeling guilty, huh?” You say.

“Hmm?” He looks at you innocently while sipping his wine. 

“You don’t like this restaurant but I do, and you’re treating me to dinner.”

“Their whole menu has garlic. I’m allergic to garlic,” he grimaces.

“You’re not. You just say you are but you just really don’t like it.”

“How did you know?” He looks at you surprised.

“I remember 3 years ago, one of the interns mistakenly served you dumplings with garlic oil and nothing happened to you,” you recount. “No rash, no shortness of breath or nausea… you just went on and finished a whole glass of soda, which we all know you also don’t like.”

“How… what? Why were you watching me?”

“I wasn’t; I was watching him. He was the intern from my team and I got to him too late when he served you that thing, and I swear my life flashed before my eyes,” you chuckle. “I wasn’t about to kill the Vice President of my company. But you were fine, just made a face and I knew… you were just pretending.”

“And for good reason,” he defends. “I don’t want people to feel uncomfortable when I say I can’t stand the taste.”

“Fair enough. I’d say that about green tea if it was a more common ingredient,” you shrug. 

“But I can’t ever put anything past you, huh?” He chuckles.

“Hmm, not really,” you laugh. “I’m quite observant.”

“Is that why you knew about me and Seri this whole time?”

“Ah, I see you overheard my conversation with my parents, then,” you say, his actions from earlier to now suddenly making sense.

“But yes, that’s why I knew. I mean, we had that Christmas party one time and almost everyone was drunk except for me, and my ever flirty best friend Jimin had his arm around Seri’s shoulder and you looked like you were about to tackle him to the ground, but you didn’t do anything and just left,” you explain. “And so when we spoke before we agreed to the marriage and I asked you if there was something you wanted to tell me, I felt relieved that you admitted your relationship with her. I guess it should’ve been easier to lie to me and hide it, because there was a chance I’d tell you to stop.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t see the point. Like I said, you’re a good person. You don’t deserve to be trapped in this with me.”

“What you said… about not being keen on love and relationships. Is that true?” He wonders, remembering what his brother had said about your exes.

“Yes, but I don’t want you to feel bad for me so that isn’t something I’m willing to share yet.”

“Okay, fair.”

“But sorry, too. My dad went pretty hard, huh?”

“It’s okay. I expect him to be protective as a father,” Seokjin responds. “And I don’t give you enough credit but you’re a good person, too. You didn’t have a choice in this, either. That must be hard for him to accept - letting his daughter be with a man who can’t treat her right. But what he said, about taking a bullet for my family… I didn’t know about that.”

“It’s not really something he broadcasts or anything,” you say. “He didn’t realize that being part of the building’s security team would put him in that much danger. It was after a controversial merger and your grandparents had left the building to go to a press conference and some sniper started shooting towards their car. My dad was assigned outside and protected your grandmother, taking a bullet to his chest. I was a teenager, then.”

You recall running to the hospital after your brother had called you, in fear that your father was going to die, but the Kims made sure that he got the best treatment, and they’ve felt indebted to your family ever since.

“Dad asked to be left out of the news articles for fear that we would be in danger. He quit his job after that, but your grandfather always looked out for us, would check in on my dad regularly and that’s how he found out about the threats to my family because of a debt that my parents couldn’t pay,” you narrate. “And now we’re here. So yeah, it’s on us. I’ve been saving to pay it off so we’ll no longer need your protection, and you can be free from me.”

“You make it sound like being my wife is a terrible thing,” he laughs, masking his disappointment that he’s somehow let you down.

“I’m not. It’s fun being your wife, actually,” you nudge his foot, trying to encourage him. “I mean, it felt weird at the start, don’t get me wrong - you’re my boss and I look up to you as a colleague - but it was easy,” you smile, recalling how everything happened so fast but you and Jin kept assuring each other that it was all gonna be okay. “We found a rhythm, a routine, and things worked out. But Seri’s important to you and I’m just glad you told me about her right away.”

“So you would’ve hated me if I lied about her?”

“I would’ve lost respect for you, actually. I can’t stand liars, cheaters, abusers… And you’re not any of those.”

Your face falls a little but you turn to him with bright eyes right away. 

It’s something you’re not yet comfortable to talk about, and that’s something he respects.

“Seriously, you gotta raise your standard higher. I’m telling you as a friend and as your husband,” he laughs, the irony not being lost on you both. 

“I did! I found him, too,” you say, your eyes wandering, and Seokjin is glad that at some point in your life, someone hadn’t hurt you deliberately. “Seeing the world was just more important to him than me; something always is. He said he’d come back for me but he hasn’t.”

“And now you’re stuck with me. I’m sorry,” Seokjin says, wanting to have your smile back.

“Well, that was 5 years ago, and he still isn’t back, which is another reason why I agreed to this. I’ll never know what will happen. Five years is a long time to wait for someone.”

“It is, huh?” He asks, suddenly feeling a tightness in his chest that really started since you came home last week.

“Yeah, I mean, people make promises to comfort us, to give us hope, even if half the time, they’re broken. But he said he’d come for me so we can be together without the distance, and I believed him; I still do,” you share. “Why, how long have you and Seri been together?”

“Five years.”

“Oh, well… Uh, your situation is different,” you backtrack. 

“Is it, though? I…” Seokjin trails, fumbling his words as the thoughts start to make him wonder. 

First, it was fearing you’d hated him for bringing Seri to your house, and then his brother slamming a cannonball at him about why he’d never taken his relationship with Seri further, and then humiliating himself in front of your parents, and then tonight. 

You, specifically, and how comfortable he feels around you despite your situation and how you always try to make him feel better about everything, especially about himself. 

And how the thought of 5 years being too long to wait for someone hits him more than he cares to admit. 

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. It’s different,” he settles, not wanting to argue.

He knows you’re right, in a way that unlike whoever it is you were talking about, Seri is here, and that makes it different. 

But he also can’t help but think that so many times, he had a chance to admit his relationship with her, yet he never did. That in all these 5 years, all he’s done was make her wait, because something else was always more important to him than her. 

Work, perhaps? Maybe it’s his time, his convenience, his comfort that mattered more. But as he watches you eat and critique your dish, the soft smile painting your face whenever you talk about food, he thinks that maybe it’s something else entirely, and he’s only now finding out exactly what that is.

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[showf4lls]

⎼ MIGRAINE HOURS; MULTIPLE

genre !! headcanons, comfort

cw !! descriptions of pain[?], brief mention of vomiting [nothing graphic], mention of medication, migraine symptoms, weed [in sapnap’s part]

includes !! chuckle sammy boys [ ted, charlie, schlatt ] + crew boys [ karl, quackity, sapnap, george, dream ] + wilbur + niki + minx

notes !! this is purely self indulgent, so most of the symptoms i’m describing are what i personally experience and i’m sorry if i’m leaving any out! i have a migraine rn and it’s making me want to keel over and pass away so i’m writing this to comfort myself lmao. i’ve been told a lot that my migraines are too annoying and that they make me too high-maintenance for a relationship, but that’s totally not true, people are just ableist lol. but i know that there’s a lot of people out there that have had this experience and/or feel this way. just know that you’re not alone, you’re not too “high maintenance,” it’s not too much work to help you when you’re not feeling well. take care of yourselves, y’all /gen

this used to be way longer so this is revised to be like oddly specific/wholesome things they each would do you’re welcome /lh

TED NIVISON

⎼ reminds you to stretch every so often so you don’t get too tense!

⎼ definitely does the thing where he squeezes your head for a little bit if the pain is really bad [if you get migraines you’ll know what i’m talking about; sometimes you need a little extra pressure on your noggin to feel better]

⎼ helps you put your hair up really tightly to put more pressure on your brain

⎼ goes in on absolutely everything with you. diet changes? he’s in. journaling? he’ll get one that matches yours and you’ll sit down and journal your shit together every day. need blue light glasses? count him in, he’s been meaning to get some anyways. early bedtime? fuck yeah, he gets to make sure you’re both taken care of and getting enough rest. sunglasses around the house? i think you mean swag B)

CHARLIE SLIMECICLE

⎼ naps with you when you feel like nothing else will help with the pain

⎼ constantly researching for you and seeing what he can do to help or if he can find any new resources for you. finds new apps for you to track your symptoms or find other people who experience chronic migraines. encourages you to experiment with things that might make you feel better

⎼ absolutely has a borderline insane assortment of pedialyte for you to choose from, should you need it

⎼ makes excuses that place the blame on himself when you get a migraine while you’re spending time with friends so you don’t feel bad about going home

⎼ keeps the ice trays in his freezer full at all times in case you need an ice pack when you’re over at his place

JSCHLATT

⎼ while pretending that he doesn’t give a shit about your suffering, passively asks if you’ve taken your meds yet, if you’ve eaten, if you need water, etc.

⎼ keeps a hand on your head and plays with your hair while standing behind you but pretends he’s not

⎼ will continue quiet conversations with his friends after having told them to shut the fuck up if it’s obvious that you’re trying to fight a migraine

⎼ if you’re complaining about light sensitivity, he’ll just shush you and cover your eyes with his hands. might not be the most helpful, but he’s trying in his own way and the thought is sweet. he does the same thing with your ears when you’re having noise sensitivity

KARL JACOBS

⎼ gets really quiet and soft with you; he hates seeing you upset or in pain. lots of hugs are involved

⎼ makes sure you’re absolutely covered in heat packs

⎼ keeps extra comfy clothes around for you to change into whenever you feel a migraine coming on

⎼ always the first to ask about how he can help or what could’ve caused it; mans is kind of a fixer /lh

⎼ will order you whatever food sounds good to you without a moment’s hesitation if you mention that you’re even the littlest bit hungry

QUACKITY

⎼ 100 to 0 real quick. totally goes from “HAHAHA OMG” to “woah, hey - are you okay?” it’s super sweet to see the contrast

⎼ lets you wear his beanies and pull them down to cover your eyes. he thinks it’s adorable, and it’s totally a bonus that it helps with the light/noise sensitivity

⎼ somehow convinces tiger to lay on you when you’re having a particularly bad migraine, especially if you’re napping

⎼ makes a visible effort to keep from making too much noise

SAPNAP

⎼ the second he realizes that you’re trying not to cry from the pain, he shushes you, wraps the closest loose piece of clothing around your head, and pulls you to his chest

⎼ encourages you to do literally anything you think might help. you need your entire body to be covered in a heat pack? he’ll shove you into a warm bath with your clothes on. your light sensitivity is kicking your ass? he’ll wrap a bandana around your head. your clothes feel gross and uncomfy? that’‘s fine! he’ll throw all his comfiest clothes in the dryer for 10 minutes for you so they’re nice and cozy when you put them on

⎼ also tries to help remedy your triggers. you haven’t been drinking enough water? force feeds you pedialyte and gatorade. you haven’t eaten enough? begs dream to make your favorite or doordashes whatever sounds good to you

⎼ if your meds stop working, he’ll let you use however much of his weed you need to not suffer anymore

GEORGE

⎼ totally encourages you to sleep it off and definitely doesn’t use it as an excuse to nap with you

⎼ kind of teases you about it because he doesn’t quite understand the concept of migraines but, when all’s said and done, he helps you take care of yourself and gets you what you need

⎼ after knowing you for so long he’s learned to tell when you feel a migraine coming on by the way you interact with other people, and he knows that you won’t leave calls even if you have a migraine because you hate missing out on stuff, so he’ll just tell everyone to shut up so it’s at least easier on you

DREAM

⎼ he won’t notice until something you do catches his attention, and then he gives a little “aw, honey,” pulls you into a hug, and very quietly asks what he can do to help

⎼ doesn’t give a single shit who else is around or what’s happening, if dream even has an inkling that you have a migraine coming on, he’s throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and forcing you to lay down in his bed so you can be as comfy as possible

⎼ another one who gets you whatever you need as soon as you ask for it, no questions asked. mans worries too much. you don’t like the light? all the lights off, lightbulbs out so that no one can accidentally turn the lights on while you’re having an attack. no more light ever again (he’s dramatic, you saw the fnaf stream /lh). your clothes are uncomfy? pick any one of his hoodies that you want, he’ll even stick it in the dryer for you so it’s nice and toasty warm. hungry? any food he can possibly remember you enjoying, he’s making it. you’re too warm? ice bath, immediately. you don’t think you’ve been drinking enough water? you’re drinking every single electrolyte drink he has in his kitchen

NIKI NIHACHU

⎼ pulls you into a hug and pets your hair without a second thought, and very quietly whispers “i’m so sorry you’re in pain, what can i do to help?”

⎼ helps you find home remedies for your nausea and, when that doesn’t help, holds your hair back for you when you get sick

⎼ definitely way better at helping you through the frustration and more emotional components of migraines than the others. holds you when you cry, listens when you ramble, and helps you calm down because she knows that crying makes it hurt worse

⎼ sticks with you for all the time that you’re awake during your migraine. holds ice packs to your head when you feel too week to, gently reminds you to relax your muscles, makes sure you feel listened to, and tries to do easy little things with you that don’t require a lot of effort so you don’t feel bad; she knows that shit can feel really isolating

MINX

⎼ first, she absolutely makes sure you take your meds if you need to because they’re there to help you feel better

⎼ another one that would wear sunglasses around the house or out and about with you so that you don’t feel weird about it; she thinks it’s actually a cool main character moment to wear sunglasses inside /lh

⎼ when you’re really emotional and in lots of pain she’ll sit with you and rub your arms and trace circles into your knees. if you need more physical attention, she’ll let you press your forehead into her shoulder while she hums and shushes you

WILBUR SOOT

⎼ mostly just makes sure that you take your meds and drinking enough water, and snacking if you need to

⎼ plays you songs on his guitar and sings you to sleep when you’re having trouble relaxing enough to squeeze in a nap

⎼ absolutely would hold your hair back for you when you get sick and rub circles into your back, assuring you that it’s okay

⎼ lets you sprawl out on his bed covered in ice and heat packs - he honestly doesn’t give a shit what you need to do to feel better when you’re having an attack as long as it helps

⎼ doesn’t want you to feel excluded or isolated so he’ll set up camp on the floor next to you with a gatorade and some crackers and his laptop and, very quietly, play a chill podcast so it still feels like you guys are hanging out

⎼ definitely doesn’t let you pity yourself. King of Reassurance. he knows how easy it can be to get stuck on the idea that you’re a burden and assumes it’s worse if you experience chronic pain as intense as migraines, so he doesn’t hesitate to assure you that you’re not a burden to him in any way. he’s really grateful for any time he can spend with you at all, whether you have a migraine or not

[saccmaass]

Recommended Bucky Barnes Fics

Here’s a list of all my favorite bucky barnes fics I’ve read lately, I hope you’ll enjoy them as much as I did! if you have any fic recs of your own pls send

Note: please pay attention to the warnings

Thank you @firefly-graphics for the dividers:)

Biker Bucky Makes Pancakes With Your Kids by @angrythingstarlight  Dad Beefy Biker! Bucky

911 Romeo by @buckys-blue-eyes  paramedic!bucky

paramedic!bucky coming to check you out cause you were out drunk with your friends and missed a curb, twisting your ankle pretty bad

He’s A Good Friend by @markandlexies  tfatws!bucky

reader is tired of watching bucky go on dates with leah and flirt with sarah. realizations are made about the way reader truly feels about the man she’s always thought to be just a friend.

Sleeping With A Friend by @wkemeup friends to lovers

You wake up in Bucky’s bed after a night you’re certain will only break your heart.

It's called: freefall by @kikixreverie  friends to lovers

Things get heated between you and your closest friend Bucky, when you're made to play a married couple on an important mission. Neither of you can help yourselves when you end up stuck in a hotel room together, with sexual tension you could cut with a knife.

uncontrollable by @barnesafterglow neighbors to lovers

the rising tension with bucky comes to a head

Top Of His List by @angrythingstarlight​ Mafia!Bucky

Your mafia boyfriend has a few priorities in his life and you’re number one.

Whatever It Takes by  @angrythingstarlight​ Mafia!Bucky

Bucky is willing to do whatever it takes to get you back. “But I know what I want, and I’ll do anything to get you back. You want me to beg, I’ll beg, you want me down on my knees, I’ll get down on my knees”

Not Happening by @notimetoblog Modern AU, enemies to lovers

An online dating site clearly makes a mistake when it matches you with the one person you cannot stand.

Something Borrowed by @buckys-darling Modern AU, friends with benefits

You’ve been in love with Bucky Barnes for as long as you can remember. Small problem, though: he’s engaged to your best friend. So why not sleep with his?

Bittersweet Temptations by @revengingbarnes Coffee shop AU, enemies to lovers

Bucky Barnes buys the coffee shop opposite to you, and quickly becomes your rival and the most annoying guy in your life.

10 Signs An Introvert Likes You by @andyl394 Avenger! reader

Bucky wasn’t the type of guy to show his feelings and neither were you the one to notice subtle things, until you come across this video. A guidance that may help you discover rather The Winter Soldier likes you or not.

It’s A Deal by @justreadingfics friends with benefits 

 You’re out of a relationship of 10 years and you’re just in desperate need to get laid, no strings attached, no romance, no complications. You dear friend Natasha feels like she’s going to regret this later, but she might have the perfect guy to fulfill your needs.

Bad Match by @justreadingfics Avenger! reader

Bucky and the Reader are set up on a date, but things don’t go as well as expected.  

The Holiday Hack [Two, Three] by @gogolucky13  Modern/Fake dating AU

You ask Bucky to be your stand-in boyfriend for your family’s Christmas party.

Play Pretend [ part II ] by @wkemeup  sex pollen

When Bucky is injected with a substance that leaves him desperate for release, you offer your help.

To Make A Soldier Blush Part 2 by @justreadingfics Avenger! reader

 You’re a new avenger and you have your own mission to accomplish: making Bucky Barnes blush every time you see him.

Being Rivals To Lovers With Bucky Barnes by @blushingbucky

soulmate AU  Bucky Barnes with songbird by @imaginearyparties​

soulmate AU -  guardian by @imaginearyparties​

[songbirdstyles]

screw my brain (’till it hurts)

summary: you and harry are spies on an assignment to pretend to be a married couple in order to take down a drug trafficking ring. the only problem? you two can’t stand each other.

warnings: smut (18+), hate sex, knifeplay, breathplay (choking), slapping, fingering, phone sex (sort of); enemies to lovers, one bed, fake dating 

song inspo.: death on two legs (dedicated to ...) - queen / back chat - queen / you’re so vain - carly simon

word count: 19.5k 

You can practically feel Harry’s anger simmering beside you, and you’re tired of it.

He’s been acting like a child since you got on the plane, his eyes narrowed and venomous and steam practically blowing out of his ears as though he’s on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum, and you’re sure if looks could kill you’d be dead a million times over again from all the staredowns he’d been trying to initiate. And you’re used to this, for the most part, but it doesn’t make you feel any less annoyed as he huffs beside you, flicking through the file on his lap.

And - look. You don’t like Harry. You can hardly even tolerate him, most of the time, and the only times you manage to be near him without gagging is when you’re on missions. Usually he’s the same way, pushing aside the mutual disdain you’ve shared from day fucking one when there’s goals to be accomplished and targets to take down but he’s just sitting here like an angry log, thumbing noisily through papers as you swipe through your phone.

He’s looking for attention, Mark would tell you - your boss is the epitome of coolness, desperate for you and Harry to get along because of his tendency to force you together on missions - and that is true. You’re just as pissed as he is and you aren’t making a show of it. No, he’s an attention seeking crybaby, and you won’t give him what he craves. Won’t even look at him.

The plane dips a bit, then, and your stomach lurches, grabbing at the armrest in between you two where Harry’s elbow rests, and he jerks it into his side as though you’d burned him. You scoff, then, the pretense of faking casualness abandoned as fast as you’d stuck to it, and you can sense him rolling his eyes at the noise.

“For Fuck’s sake,” you huff, leaning to the side so you can stare at him as you roll your eyes pointedly, and he mimics the movement. “What are you so whiny about?”

“M’not whiny,” Harry insists in a tone that’s strikingly similar to the whine he claims he doesn’t have, and you sigh before reaching over, snatching the file off of his lap. “Hey - I was readin’ that!”

“Really?” you inquire, shifting so your back is to the man next to you and he can’t read the words on the page you’re squinting at. “Could’ve fooled me. Thought you were just sitting there huffing and rolling your eyes like a baby.” After a moment where he doesn’t respond, you risk a glance backwards and are met with the back of his head full of curls as he stares out the window at the passing sunset as you whiz through the sky. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, hmm? Did Mark not put enough into the budget for hair gel and dirty shoes?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says in a wildly mature way of response, and you can hardly resist the urge to smirk at it. “F’the record, m’mad that I have t’do another mission with you.”

You nod, trailing your finger along the line of words detailing aspects about the target you know you’ll have to utilize later - he has four cats. He and his wife are on the brink of divorce. He has two daughters, and he doesn’t speak to either of them. His name is Vincent Carfield, and, boy, does he sound like a real catch - you’re so focused on reading about him that you hardly register that Harry’s started speaking again.

“Wish Mark would realize m’good enough to do shit like this on my own. Don’t need you t’come around an’ pretend to be my - my girlfriend. S’stupid.”

“Well, if you were good enough, I would be at home with cucumbers on my eyes right now instead of reading about the leader of a drug trafficking ring -”

“God, you’re a bitch -”

“And you’re an asshole -”

“Fuck you - m’calling Mark.”

You snort, leaning back in your seat as Harry fumbles in his bag at his feet for his tablet, and he shakily sets it up on his lap, tapping through the screen until he gets to the FaceTime app. “Real mature, Har, going to tattle to Mark.”

“God, not everything’s about you, narcissist - half hour out, need a debrief.”

You crane your neck to lean in front of him and look out the window, and - sure enough - you can already tell that you’re getting closer, plane dipping slowly lower and it wouldn’t be perceptible to you if he hadn’t told you. Harry’s always been a tad bit more observant than you, though you wouldn’t confess that to him if your life depended on it.

Mark answers Harry’s call within mere seconds - he’s always on high alert when you guys call, especially when you’re off on missions together - part of you suspects he’s always waiting for a call that one of you killed the other. “Hello, lovebirds,” he chirps, the pure image of relaxation as he adjusts his tie, shifting in his seat - you and Harry both roll your eyes at his nickname for the pair of you. “Surprised to see you haven’t clawed each other’s eyes out.” “Wish I did,” you mutter beneath your breath, and Harry glares at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Anyway,” Mark says, and you know he heard what you said judging from the ghost of a smile on his pale face, but he brushes past it. “When you land, you’ll have around an hour to get settled into the hotel before dinner. I’ve sent you the address to the restaurant - the target is eating there with his wife, most likely to discuss their divorce, so he’ll be feeling vulnerable and insecure -” “And that’s where I come in,” you finish, trailing your nail across the fine printed page which holds the plans the three had deliberated over for two weeks prior - compared to most of your missions it was an extraordinarily short amount of time to plan but none of you could foresee this one going anything other than disgustingly easy. If you pull through, you could be home by the end of the weekend.

“And that’s where you come in,” Mark affirms, thick rimmed glasses mirroring the image of you and Harry that he’s seeing on his screen. “Find any way to touch him - pretend to trip - and plant the audio tracker on his jacket.” You nod, and Harry drops his head against the seat with a soft sigh that nearly makes you turn and throttle him but you hold back, fingers tensing as though itching for a throat to grab. “Then you guys go back to the hotel, hold back from slaughtering each other, and listen in - he’s staying at the room next to yours.”

If this situation were occurring a year ago in your first few weeks of working as a spy perhaps you’d marvel at the seeming coincidence of Mark just happening to get you a hotel room right next to your target - but your one-year anniversary working has just come up and, as it so happens, you know he can make just about anything happen by pulling the right strings. And staying in the same hotel, on the same floor, is the perfect talking point for dinner - you’re already storing it in the back of your mind to bring up in conversation when you manage to get the tracker on his jacket -

“ - and, look, guys, I know you don’t particularly like each other,” Mark is saying when your attention snaps back to him, and Harry snorts. It’s the understatement of the century - you almost want to laugh with him. “It’s just really important that you sell yourselves as a couple. I don’t care what you have to do - share a drink or hold hands - but he needs to see you as a couple. All of his mistresses have been seemingly happily married - he’ll be more inclined to get closer with ____ if he sees you’re in a good relationship. Then, Harry, of course, can explore his hotel room - snuff out anything suspicious.”

You nod but Harry seems less convinced - his brow arches as his arms cross over his chest, and you glance over at him with confusion written over your features. “M’confused,” he says, and you raise your eyebrows. “She’s gonna fu - have an affair wit’ him, then?”

God, we fucking talked about this, you want to shout at him, to shake his shoulders until he’s dizzy. If you paid attention while we planned instead of sitting there whining that you don’t go on missions by yourself because nobody goes on missions by themselves unless they’ve been here for nearly 10 years and you’ve barely scraped three -

Mark is more patient. He just shrugs, fingers tapping away at the keyboard connecting to his screen. “Maybe - maybe not. Depends how vulnerable she can get him without resorting to sexual means.”

“Don’t think I’ll have a problem with that,” you can’t resist saying, popping the ‘p’ in problem as you smugly smirk, scratching your nails against the smooth paper you’d been reading as Harry glares at you, seemingly affronted. “Only had to resort to getting down and dirty with a target once - that asshole mob boss - everyone else is just dying to tell me their juicy little secrets. Guess it’s a perk at being good at what you do, right, Har?”

“Oh, you’re such a -”

“Children, children,” Mark interrupts the beginning of Harry’s speech about what a cunt you are, holding up his age-worn palms with mock exasperation as he stares the two of you down. “Stay civil. I’ve just booked your reservation at this Italian restaurant called Fucina’s - it’s for 7, under Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson. Vincent Carfield and his wife have a reservation for 7:30 but have a tendency to arrive early. They requested seating in a more private area, as did I, so you should be able to hear their conversations -”

The conversation rolls on for another few minutes until the pilot announces that you’re landing in ten, and that’s Mark’s cue to sign off - with a fleeting inquiry about any questions the pair of you may have he’s gone, wishing you good luck and making you promise to call him after dinner once you’ve set up the tracker and begun listening to your mark. You don’t suspect you’ll forget to - you and Harry generally can’t be in an enclosed environment together for too long without having overwhelming desires to take each other out, and Mark balances you out. Eases the two of you, calms you down, even when you’re so angry at Harry you want nothing more than to stamp your feet on the ground and scream.

It’s how you feel now, a bit, as Harry shuts his tablet and shoves it back into his bag with a dramatic huff after Mark has signed off. He’s angry about something again, surely relating to you and the mission and how he constantly feels snubbed by Mark but, truthfully, as the plane dips lower and lower to the Earth, you find that you really, really, don’t care.

 ~~

 The hotel room is, for all intents and purposes, fairly large. It’s nicer than a significant portion of the ones you two inhabit on missions and you should be grateful, toeing off your boots in the entrance of the suite, that it has a functioning kitchen and a bathroom with a door that closes and an L shaped couch facing the television (based on the description of the suite Mark had sent), but your mood has been entirely soured by Harry’s sore attitude during the drive from the airport to the hotel.

He drops his suitcase against the carpeted ground of the entrance, and it slams onto the ground so close to your sock-covered toes that you jump back, glaring at him as he pointedly ignores you and descends further into the hotel room, peeking his curly head into the kitchen and the bathroom. You watch him as you rest your suitcase against the wall, nudging his closer to the wall with your foot before following him, already tugging your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check for any new texts from your boss when -

“You’ve got t’be fucking kidding me.”

You arch your eyebrows, tilting your phone into your chest as you turn the corner into the main living area. And it’s nice, eyes wandering over the couch that Mark had told you about, and the TV mounted to the wall with a Roku connected to it that you’re sure you’ll take advantage of later tonight. The carpet is soft beneath your feet even through your socks, and the bed is nicely made, pillows fluffy and looking soft -

Bed.

Shit.

What a bastard, Mark is - booking a room with only one bed? And not even telling you two about it? God, you could kill him. You really could, and you will, as soon as you get back to headquarters and see his stupid bald head in person - you’ll throttle him. Or shoot him. Hell, you’ll even stab him.

“You’re taking the couch,” you tell Harry, and before he can protest you take a running start to leap onto the bed, plopping onto your back and tucking your arms beneath your scalp. “Looks real comfy, doesn’t it? The bed - not the couch. Couch looks like it’ll kill your back.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Harry practically snarls, voice all venom and teeth, and he sits at the edge of the bed anyway, hands going up to loosen at the black tie wrapped tight around his neck. “So entitled - I’ll take the fucking bed. Been here longer than you, y’know - just ‘cause y’like t’act like you’re so good -”

“And yet,” you interrupt, bringing your foot up to kick at his side, and he turns around and glares at you, “I’m the one getting put on assignments with you, even though I’ve hardly been here a year. Oh, yeah, what’s that Mark told us? I was put on duty the quickest than anyone else after finishing my assignments?” You screw up your eyes as though trying to fact check yourself before nodding, smiling at the positively hateful expression on your partner’s face. “Guess I am good.”

He opens his mouth to reply and perhaps he assumes better of it - he simply rolls his eyes, pulling his tie off of his neck and dropping it on the ground beside him. For a moment you simply stare at him as he peels his jacket off, littering it on the floor in a similar fashion as his tie, until he’s merely donning a white button down and his black dress pants, hair messy and face light red. 

Sometimes you do that - you watch him - because it’s nice to see him look so peaceful and silent when you’re used to spewing hatred back and forth. You could even be into him if he kept his mouth taped shut and promised to never make a single noise, but he would never comply with it - and you’re sure you’d find a reason to get pissed off at him if he didn’t speak.

You hadn’t realized how long you’d been staring at him until he turns around, and your gazes lock, and you lift your eyebrows.

“Don’t stare at me,” Harry demands, backing up on the bed until his head rests on the pillow beside you - you turn your head to stare at him, affronted. “Told you - m’taking the bed. An’ m’gonna take a nap f’a half hour- already set the timer on m’phone - so you can either take the couch or sit here right beside me.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, glaring down at the man beside you who closes his eyes (rather smugly, you’ll add) and mimics your own previous position, arms tucked beside his head. “You dickhead.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Fine by me.”

“I’m gonna nap too -”

“Go ahead -”

“And I stretch out a lot when I sleep.”

“How ever will I handle it?”

You’ve seem to run out of responses, furrowing your eyebrows as Harry’s face settles into an expression of slight comfort and you wonder if he really has gone to bed, resting in the button down shirt and dress pants that he’s always itching to get out of at the end of the day. You’ve had to watch him undress with absolutely no shame in front of your far too many times for comfort, shoved into small hotel rooms together but at least they had two beds - you can hardly control your heart rate as you stare down at him.

(Because you’re angry, of course. Whenever he’s acting like a dumbass your heartbeat quickens to match the pace of a fucking freight train, and that’s nearly every time you’ve ever had to talk to him.)

After a moment you rest back on the bed beside him, head dangerously close to the center of the two pillows where you can feel Harry’s curls, spread upon his pillows, brushing against the sides of your temples. With every feel of his hair against your skin you feel your anger rising, and you exhale softly, pressing your palms to the top of your stomach as you listen to his steady breathing beside you.

He sounds too peaceful.

You wait nearly ten minutes before beginning your plan of attack, not nearly as meticulously planned as the ones you and Harry will employ later - you slowly begin to spread your legs out, feeling your calf brush against his foot, and your arms follow in a similar pattern. They stretch outwards, forearm thrown across his neck, and you can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing against your skin but he doesn’t take the bait - doesn’t even move a muscle, and you can feel his even breathing against your arm.

For a second you wonder if he really is asleep. You’d be surprised.

It’s uncomfortable sleeping on your back and that’s your justification for rolling over onto your stomach, body halfway on top of Harry’s, chest pressed against his and face buried into the pillow beside him so your nose presses into his hair, softly inhaling the fruity shampoo he uses. Your arm lazily throws itself across his torso, leg nudging his until they fall off the bed, and he grunts.

“What th’fuck are y’doing?” Harry questions gruffly, voice just raspy enough to make you consider the very real possibility that he truly had fallen asleep, and you don’t respond. “Get off me, dumbass - tryin’ t’sleep.”

You remain silent. You work on steadying your breathing, faking sleep in the way that you’ve mastered over the past year (and a half, if you count the six months of training you’d done before beginning work) - on one of your earliest missions you’d pretended to be passed out in the back of a work party you’d seduced your way into with a tape recorder taped to your underboob and you’d been able to get enough recording of a conversation between two sleazy old men to support your hypothesis that their paper company was a front for a sex trafficking ring. You suspect this case should be likely the same, albeit easier and likely without the work party, and you’ll breeze through it like nobody’s business if it requires fake sleeping like you’re doing now.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” he correctly deduces, lifting his arm to slam it against your back entirely too hard and you nibble on your bottom lip to keep from making any type of noise at the slight pain the motion brings. “Get off me. Go t’the couch - stop being so stubborn.”

You mumble something incoherent under your breath, digging your face further into your pillow just to hear the way he hisses as you (un)intentionally tug at his hair. You feel his hands dig into your sides and before you can pull off of him he pushes you away with as much force as he can muster, and you’re send tossed to the other end of the bed, grappling at the duvet to stop yourself from slipping over the edge of the bed onto the carpet.

“Fuck,” you hiss, pushing yourself to sit out with your legs stuck straight out in front of you. With a glare directed towards the man opposite you you pull your legs back and push them towards him sharply, kicking him directly in his thigh, and his legs tumble off the bed, forcing him to sit up to maintain his balance. “Take that, dipshit.”

“Can’t you do better than that?” Harry questions, tone so mocking and condescending that you push yourself to his knees just as he rises to stand, the top button of his shirt mercifully coming undone, and you resist the urge to glance at it every so often. “C’mon, babe - if you’re gonna be a bitch -”

You push yourself to stand on top of the covers, taking a leap towards Harry where he stands on the other side of the bed, and your legs hook around his torso, effectively catching him by surprise as his hands immediately land on your waist, tugging you off of him and throwing you onto the bed with an ease that shouldn’t surprise you after this long of knowing him but it still knocks the breath out of you. His body hovers above you, pinning your arms above your head but you won’t have that - hook your legs around the back of his thighs and force him onto his back, throwing your legs over his torso as you mimic the position he’d trapped you in.

“1…” you begin counting tauntingly as you stare down at his face, reaching down to grab his wrists and hold them above his head, watching as he wriggles beneath you, his stomach tensing against your core. “2 … not even gonna put up a fight? What an agent you are -”

He practically growls at that, jerking his hands upward until they slip out of your grasp, nearly whacking you in the chin before he pushes himself up. You’re slammed into the headboard before you can even stop to think of your counterattack, back slamming into the wood as you drop your head forward to ensure you don’t knock your head into the wall, and Harry kneels in front of you with an exasperated, smug smirk, reaching up to press his forearm over your throat.

He’s not pressing hard - not enough to constrict your breathing at all, merely to hold your head in place - and after a second he begins counting just as you had - “1 … 2 … 3.”

You struggle uselessly against him until he reaches the final number, and a satisfied smile etches itself across his face before he pulls away, resting back on his knees to watch you huff before him before he begins crawling off the bed. “An’ I think that means that you, m’lady, have t’take the couch -”

You deliver one final swift kick to the back of Harry’s needs, and he tumbles off of the bed onto the ground with a cry, knees dropping onto the carpet and hands instinctively pressing to the wall he’d nearly slammed his head into. His position becomes one similar to a prayer, dropping his head forward against the wall with a dramatic groan.

“I won,” you tell him, flopping onto your back on the bed with a satisfied hum. “Get on the couch - reckon we still have a good 10 minutes left of our nap.”

Harry pushes himself to his feet in the blink of an eye, turning around with a look on his face that’s so serious you nearly want to double over in laughter, and as he plants his knees on the edge of the bed to resume the fight you’d had earlier, a sudden noise from the wall opposite your bed causes you to hold your palm out to him, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“Shh!” you hiss, pushing yourself onto your elbows as Harry furrows his eyebrows, craning his neck towards the wall as though it’ll help him hear better. “D’you hear that?”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, pondering the muffled noises coming from the hotel room next door. “Wha’?” Harry questions after a moment, voice hushed and soft, and you wait a moment before responding.

“The shower -” and, sure enough, just as the thought crosses your mind and the words leave your mouth you know that that’s the noise you’re hearing - the sound of water streaming onto the buff body of Vincent Carfield or perhaps his wife - “what time is it?”

“Uh -” Harry scrambles off the bed, digging through his backpack thrown on the ground until he can pull out his tablet, and the light shines on his face as he turns it on. “6:34.”

“Shit,” you hiss, rolling off the bed and practically darting out to the entrance hall where your suitcase rests against the wall, and you knock it to the ground and unzip it quickly. “Vincent’s already getting ready - we need to be at the restaurant soon. How fast can you get ready?”

“Pretty fast -” by the time Harry’s made his way into the entrance hall to dig through the suitcase he’d attempted to hit you with earlier you’ve peeled off your clothes, dropping them in a pile by your feet until you’re clad in only your bra and a pair of lace panties that leave entirely too little to the imagination, holster holding your knife firm against your thigh, and he freezes. “Christ. Can’t y’get a room f’that?”

“Oh, says the one who strips naked in the middle of the room every single night!” You shake your head, digging through your suitcase until you can find the black dress you’d packed specifically for dinner - it’s folded and mercifully wrinkle free, and you unzip the back to begin stepping into it. “Get ready. I’m going to do my makeup.”

“Make sure y’put a lot on - don’t wanna scare him off -”

“Shut up, Harry!”

 ~~

 Fucina’s is dark and fancy, with hosts dressed in all black and waitresses in a similar fashion. You would almost feel out of place, your arm hooked with Harry’s as you’re led through the main dining room towards the back where your table is, but it’s not any more elegant than any of the other expensive restaurants and galas the pair of you have infiltrated together, and with your tight dress and his suit, you look like exactly the couple to eat and afford a restaurant like this.

“The pasta’s $65,” Harry murmurs, trailing his fingertip down the laminated menu that you can hardly see in the dim light of the restaurant. You squint down at the page, bringing your head closer down to confirm that, yes, the fettuccine truly is that fucking expensive, and - not for the first time - you’re immensely grateful for the headquarters-mandated debit cards that you’ll use to pay for this. “Y’see that? The fettuccine?”

“Yeah,” you nod, though you’re not looking at the menu any longer - your eyes scan the restaurant behind Harry’s back, and of the three other tables in the private section Mark had requested for Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson to be in, none of them are occupied except yours. You and Harry had gotten there ten minutes late, much to Mark’s chagrin when you called him in the taxi, and the Carfields still hadn’t arrived. “Think I’m just gonna get a salad - not too hungry, anyway.”

“Me too.”

The conversation drains into a weird sort of silence - not awkward, and not malicious, either, as all of your silences usually are typically the result of one of you purposely ignoring the other. It’s harder to air out your disdain for each other when you’re supposed to be a couple that’s hopelessly in love in a high class restaurant, and you find that you don’t have much else to talk about with your partner besides discussing either the mission or whatever he’s doing that may be pissing you off at the moment -

He actually looks nice right now. Calm, collected - if you didn’t know better you’d say he looks like a pretty stand-up guy. The kind you’d take home to your mom.

“Why are y’lookin’ at me?” Harry questions, then, glancing up at you, and you internally curse at yourself - you always tend to forget how good he is at identifying someone staring at him. 

“Just thinking about how much I prefer you when you aren’t speaking,” you tell him, voice dropping lower as a host clad in black leads an older couple into the area, sitting them at a table towards the window as Harry rolls his eyes. You lift your water glass to your lips, taking a slow sip as you attempt to inconspicuously decipher if the couple is your target -

“You’re being so obvious,” Harry hisses, voice soft like a breath and yet still retaining all the venom his words always tend to hold. “Is it them?”

“No,” you decide, resting your glass back on your coaster as you slide your chair further into the table, foot accidentally kicking his ankle as you do - his face contorts in both annoyance and pain as he repeats the motion to you. “No - Carfield’s wife is young, isn’t she?”

“27.”

“Yeah.” The wife currently settling into her seat, draping her jacket over the back of her chair, is decidedly not 27 - add 50 years, or so. “Not them. They should be here soon, though.” 

“Good.”

In another moment your waitress has come to take your drink orders - you get a bottle of red wine just to hammer in the notion that you’re a young couple on a date night, even if you really prefer white wine, and you’re sure Harry would rather have a beer, but Mark always tells you to go for red when you’re out to dinner on missions. And - well - you’re not necessarily complaining. Wine is wine.

The wine arrives at your table with two tall glasses and Harry takes it to pour with a faux cheerful grin that has the waitress flushing in the dim light of the room - you tell yourself the tinge of jealousy at her clear adoration for the man currently uncorking the bottle to pour for you is simply because of how in character you are in terms of your fake marriage - and if you were someone else, perhaps you’d get angry at her for clearly flirting with Harry, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

Strange. You’d always taken him as the more observant one of the two of you, but he’s paying no mind to the waitress’s blushed face as he pours wine into your glass and she pulls out her notepad, ready to take your order.

“I’ll have the caesar salad, please, without chicken,” you tell her, giving a tight lipped grin as she scribbles it down onto her page. When Harry’s rested the bottle of wine back on the tablecloth-clad table, you reach over and rest your hand overtop of his, feeling his veins jump beneath your touch. “What about you, honey?”

If he’s confused, he doesn’t look it - just gives you a warm smile that feels entirely wrong coming from him, and the waitress looks positively affronted as he orders a large Mediterannean salad, and when she’s tucked her notebook back into the apron tied around her waist and left the private area, he furrows his eyebrows at you.

“Y’jealous?” Harry inquires, leaning his head in with a mocking grin that makes you roll your eyes, though you make no effort to move your hand from his - it looks better for appearances, anyway. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“In your dreams,” you insist, straightening your posture once a different hostess leads a couple into the room. The man is old, bald head shining in the dim light and donning a suit jacket that clearly hasn’t been tailored to his proportions, and his wife is significantly younger, pale face flushed red and wearing a black dress that looks as though she’s attending a funeral - you suppose she is, to some degree, mourning her marriage, so perhaps it’s fitting.

Harry can tell by the way you straighten up that the new couple sitting at the table behind him is the Carfields. Vincent sits with his back to your table, his wife on the opposite side, and immediately they lean their heads together, surely speaking in hushed tones about - prenuptial agreements and custody of their two girls and the like.

You need to be a couple. Mark had insisted on it, that it’s the most important part for you to get closer to Vincent and make him susceptible to your manipulation - he needs to see you as some sort of forbidden fruit - a married woman with a seemingly happy husband. It’s a control thing for him, and one you need to play into if you want to take his drug ring down.

It would sound like an ambitious goal if you weren’t as confident in yourself and Harry - because even if you hate him, he’s a damn good agent.

Your eyes meet Harry’s across the table, and he raises an eyebrow. You nod, jerking your head up and down before wrapping your manicured fingers around the stem of your wine glass, lifting it up and giving your partner a soft smile - one that he’s rarely on the receiving end of, if you’re being truthful - and you nod your chin towards his glass. Harry follows your lead, lifting his glass and raising it to clink against yours.

“Cheers,” he murmurs, and both of you sip from your glasses before resting them back down on your coasters, the rim of your glass decorated with a generous pink stain from your lipstick. “Happy anniversary, honey.”

His voice raises in volume just a bit, and from the table behind him you can see tears fill Mrs. Carfield’s eyes at the sentiment of a happy couple, and Mr. Carfield’s head tilts to the side though you don’t watch him long enough to see if he’d heard Harry - you simply smile - lift your intertwined hands in the air and to anyone else in your private area you’re sure you simply look the perfect part of a happy couple, celebrating their marriage anniversary. Two years together. Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson have been married for longer than you’ve known (and despised) Harry - surely there’s irony hidden in there, deep enough that you can’t see it.

It’s easier than you’d like to admit to fake a meaningful conversation with Harry. Mark generally gives the pair of you a list of things to talk about so people get the impression that you can tolerate each other but you typically don’t even need it - it’s easy enough to talk about your faux plans for the rest of your marriage.

It’s almost fun, even. Not in a way you’d expect - but it’s funny, talking about whatever the pair of you would imagine married couples would discuss - mortgages and trying for babies and politics - keeping your voices loud enough so the couple behind you can hear but quiet enough so it doesn’t seem intentional.

“D’you think we could turn the guest room into a nursery?” Harry inquires, lips quirking upwards as he lifts his wine to his lips, and you nibble on your bottom lip, pretending to contemplate the question.

“Of course,” you respond faux-thoughtfully, leaning forward just a bit, and his eyes flicker downwards for hardly a second before rising to meet your eyes again. “Or perhaps the office.”

“Yes, that’s a bit bigger,” he says seriously, and you nod, reaching for your glass of wine to take another small sip. It’s bitter and leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you’re determined to drink the entire thing - it’ll soothe the nerves that you’re sure will arrive when it’s time to plant the bug on Mr. Carfield. You still haven’t figured out how you’ll manage to do it smoothly. “Then perhaps we could save the guest room for the second.”

You nod, hardly able to keep the small smile off your lips, and Harry leans forward, reaching for the stem of his glass - perhaps he miscalculates the force needed to pick up a glass, or maybe he’s beginning to feel the effects of the first glass of wine he’d downed - but his hand knocks into the glass, sending it toppling forward onto your arms, sticky red liquid coating your skin. You jerk your arms back as though he’d burned you, watching him hiss as he reaches for the glass before it can spill any further onto you or the white tablecloth now stained with redness.

You swallow the urge to snap at him - that’s counterproductive, and it’ll blow your cover - so you merely inhale, willing the anger down as you reach for your napkin to begin to mop up the mess. “Should watch what you’re doing, honey -”

“My bad, darling - didn’t mean to -”

And the moment of you beginning to like Harry is gone as fast as it had begun, feeling the simmering anger that’s ever-present beneath your skin already beginning to bubble into existence. He’s looking at you with his eyebrows raised as if this is your fault that he can’t control his own glass, like you’re the nuisance, and your desire to retort snarkily is thwarted only as Vincent Carfield’s head turns just slightly to the side, and you can see him and his wife watching the pair of you in what’s clearly an attempt to be subtle.

You rest your palms on the table as Harry sets his glass back on the coaster, and you can feel the similar waves of annoyance rolling off of him that you’re sure you’re mirroring. “I’m going to go clean myself up,” you tell him. “Excuse me for a moment, sweetheart.”

“Take your time, princess.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you push your chair back with a tight lipped smile, standing up and resting your napkin on the table before your seat as you push past the table towards the bathroom you’d passed when your host had lead you to the table.

The restrooms are nicely decorated, with large mirrors and sinks and two singular stalls - entirely too fancy for the thoughts racing through your mind as you lean over the sink, turning the faucet on and shoving your sticky arms beneath the flow of warm water. You’d managed to clean most of the wine with your napkin but you still just need - perhaps just a moment to yourself, without Harry’s eyes piercing into you in a way that makes it impossible to feel like he doesn’t want to throttle you.

And you want to throttle him, too. That’s why your relationship works because it doesn’t, because you hate him as much as he hates you - and yet, while you were drinking wine and messing around and pretending to be a couple you didn’t hate him. Not even a bit -

Until he spilled the wine. It’s a forcible reminder of why you want to shave off all of his hair when he sleeps, sometimes.

The water has gone cold on your skin when you finally shut the faucet off, picking up a small stack of paper towels to dry off your arms. When you’ve chucked your trash in the wicker-basket garbage bin you take a moment to simply stare at yourself in the mirror, black dress hugging your body just enough to leave very little to the imagination - you adjust the fabric to hide the bulge where you have your knife holstered to your thigh. The cut of the dress dips low into your cleavage - and then you recall how Harry’s eyes had briefly dipped downwards when you’d been talking earlier -

A smile twitches at your lips. You’ll have to remember to use that one against him later.

Just before you turn to leave you pause - stick your hand down the front of your dress to the small audio device you’d hidden in your bra. The bug is small, barely the size of your pinky nail, one side sticky enough to hold onto Vincent Carfield’s tan suit jacket -

You hadn’t thought too much about how you’d manage to subtly get the device on him, but there’s no time like the present, is there?

You leave the bathroom, then - nearly run into your waitress as she stares down at her notepad, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining the dirty look she shoots you - and climb the two short steps it takes to get to the private area you’d been seated in. Harry’s back faces you, curls looking particularly messy and head dropped forward to surely stare at his phone, and you can see Vincent leaning in to talk to his wife with narrowed eyes and a hushed tone.

You inhale and begin your walk over to the table, heels clicking on the tiled floor, and Harry’s head tilts to the side as he hears you coming. Vincent���s eyes rise to meet yours just as your heel slides a bit on the floor and you slip forward right beside their table, and the plan falls into action just as you’d planned in the thirty second walk it had taken to get from the bathroom to here.

Vincent’s arm sticks out instinctively to catch you, wrapped around your stomach for just a moment too long as his other hand rests on your back, and you use the opportunity to reach up and grab his shoulder as a way to steady yourself. Harry jerks around in his seat to watch you, and the concern in his eyes almost makes you revive your brief moment of liking him but it’s overpowered by the pride you feel - if he can’t immediately snuff out that the fall was a fraud, then it had clearly looked realistic enough that the Carfields wouldn’t be able to tell, your hand with the bug pressing to his shoulder

Boom. Planted. Your grip presses the bug against the back of his shoulder as he helps you to your feet, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes trail up your body - his poor wife looks affronted at the clear display of attraction.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you apologize, trailing your finger down his arm as he drops his hands back to the table. “I’m so clumsy sometimes -”

“No worries,” he assures you, and perhaps he would seem like a kind, well-adjusted man if it weren’t for the way his eyes zero in on your chest like a magnet - Harry shifts in his seat, watching the two of you, and his wife picks up her glass of wine and downs it in one sip. “Always glad to help a pretty girl in need.”

A blush works its way up your cheeks and before you can flirt back - it raises bile in the back of your throat to do it - Harry intervenes, leaning forward with a goddamn award winning smile and absolutely stomping on your chance to ensure some sort of relationship with Mr. Carfield as he says, “Did she wrinkle your suit at all? We’ll get the laundry bill, if she did.”

You grind your teeth together through a smile as Vincent shakes his bald head, sending Harry a warm smile which your partner gladly reciprocates. “It’s fine - are the two of you married?”

Didn’t he hear you two loudly celebrating your anniversary? Perhaps he just needs to confirm it - nothing wrong with it - but, God, he’s forward.

“Yes, we are,” you reply, and you step away from Vincent to walk back to your table - Harry reaches for your hand and pulls you to him, and you suspect the motion would look awkward if done by anyone else but it feels entirely too natural for you to be bothered. “It’s our two year marriage anniversary, actually. That’s why we’re here - on vacation.”

“That’s lovely,” Vincent says, and his smile stretches wider until it makes you uncomfortable to look at so you busy yourself gazing down at Harry’s head as though you’re so smitten you can hardly stand to look away. Then he holds out his hand, and you grab it, letting him shake it vigorously before he moves towards Harry. “It’s Vincent Carfield,” he tells you both, and Harry jumps in to introduce yourselves by your false names. “How long are you here?” “Just th’weekend,” Harry responds, nodding as Vincent does. “We’re staying downtown.”

“Really?” Vincent leans forward, and you lean your body back just a bit - not enough for him to notice, thankfully. “What hotel?”

And Harry gives him the name and Vincent acts as though it’s the wildest coincidence in the world that you both happen to be staying at one of the nicest, most popular hotels in London but you’re glad he overreacts, in a way. It’s important to establish some sort of relation between the two of you and maybe this’ll make Vincent feel like he’s destined to start some sort of affair with you - sure, it’s stupid, but he’s insecure and you’re ‘married’ and that should make him feel a bit more in control, knowing there’s a man waiting for you when you’re with him.

The thought could nearly make you gag. You hope beyond hope that it doesn’t have to get to it - that maybe the two of you could just sit and talk while Harry searches his hotel room - but, judging from the way he’s practically salivating as he stares up at you, you don’t think that’ll be the case.

After another moment of chatter your waitress arrives with a large plate of salad in each hand - you let go of Harry’s hand with one last departing wink to Vincent Carfield as you walk around the table to your seat, pushing your seat into the table just as your salad is placed before you.

Vincent’s wife glares at you - you’d feel bad in any other scenario. But - hey - at least they’re getting divorced already.

You pick up your fork, stabbing into a crouton and a few pieces of iceberg lettuce, and you raise it to your mouth, chewing thoughtfully on your food as Harry mirrors your actions. The two of you eat in silence for a minute or two, and you occasionally lift your wine to take a sip - he hadn’t poured himself a new glass, for which you are extremely grateful - before he leans in, curls flopping around his ears in a way that would be adorable if you didn’t have any sort of niggling annoyance for him still lingering.

“Good job, Mrs. Robinson,” murmurs Harry into a forkful of lettuce before shoving it into his mouth, and you scrunch your nose at his sloppiness.

“It’s what I’m best at,” you respond in earnest, and you relish in the way he rolls his eyes.

 ~~

 Harry takes forever in the shower.

It’s an indisputable fact at this point and one you should have gotten used to but it never fails to amaze you as your fingers type away at the headquarters-issued laptop resting on the carpet in front of you. He’s already been in the bathroom for nearly 20 minutes - you can hear his music playing, old hippie music that’s always blaring from his earbuds on plane and car rides, and steam billows out of the crack in the bottom of the door - and you’ve been picking up where he left up setting up the audio transmitter you’d attached to Vincent Carfield so you can hear what he’s saying, wired earbuds plugged into the computer preparation for when you start the audio.

Harry hadn’t done much at all to set it up - you can’t imagine what he was doing in the hotel room while you were showering if he wasn’t working on the mission, but you’d come out after your shower and hardly anything was done.

They should come up with better technology for this, you think as you drum your fingernails against your laptop, watching the small loading bar inch across the computer screen, transmitting the audio from next door to both your laptop and to Mark, back at headquarters. You’d texted him briefly to ask if he still wanted you to call him and he told you to merely connect the audio to him and there would be no issues - well, that’s fine by you, even if you’d largely counted on him coming between you and Harry when you’ll inevitably want to kill him later tonight.

The water shuts off. You roll your eyes for a good few seconds as you hear the shower curtain being shoved open from inside the bathroom, and you lean further into the computer before you, squinting at the loading bar that hasn’t progressed further since the last time you examined it. You sigh - push yourself off of the floor, arms stretched above your head and the sleeves of your t-shirt slide further down your shoulders. You’re simply donning a worn college shirt you’d gotten when you were in high school and still had dreams of attending a typical university - dreams that, evidently, you had squashed in the years to come - and a pair of sleep shorts, their waist just a tad too big on you and you’ve tugged them up further than they should rest.

It’s decidedly chilly in the hotel. The steam dissipating through the room from Harry’s shower serves as the only way to heat you up, humid air warm on your skin, and you hate the way you almost appreciate him for taking such a piping hot shower - but the thought doesn’t have to linger too long before the bathroom door opens with the force of a fucking bullet and Harry walks out, towel tied around his waist and hanging low on his hips, sopping curls brushed and resting on his shoulders, droplets from the strands rolling down his chest.

Your stomach flips. 

“Christ,” you say as a way of hiding the way your skin suddenly feels like there’s a fire lighting it from the inside out, burning your insides with it. “Don’t have any clothes to put on?”

He rolls his eyes - you swallow thickly, perching yourself on the edge of the bed as he takes a moment to stop and glance at the computer on the ground before turning back to you. “Changing in the bathroom is gross,” and - well, yeah, you have to agree with that. “Y’practically stripped naked in front f’me earlier, y’know.”

“You did it first,” you mutter, pulling your legs to cross beneath you as Harry crosses the room to the full length mirror mounted on the wall, fingers running through his wet curls, and you tear your eyes away from the water dripping onto his bare skin with only mild difficulty. “The audio is loading.”

“I saw that, believe it or not.”

Dick. You bite your tongue, though, and resist the urge to retort that he’d clearly not even started to set up the transmitter while you were showering, because the loading bar has moved nearly to the end of the screen while you’d been conversing with Harry. You climb off the bed, kneeling in front of the computer as Harry looks down at you, and you distinctly feel a drop from his hair land on the top of your head.

“S’done?” he inquires, and you glance up at him to reply but he’s already plopping down next to you, leaning over you to squint at the screen so you get a nice whiff of the hotel soap he’d used and his own distinct scent of shampoo - it’s fruity, mixed with something musky you can’t decipher - maybe tobacco? It’s hard to tell - he smells good. You wonder if he’s noticed how still you’ve gotten but then he pulls away, leaning back on his arm while you clear your throat and lean forward, tapping the mousepad on your laptop a few times in quick succession. “You’ve got it hooked to Mark?”

“‘Course,” you say, if only to regain your composure and keep your pretense of light annoyance with him. “Probably why it’s taking so long.”

“Ah.”

Then he stands, crossing to the entrance hall where his suitcase is opened, clothes folded meticulously because he’s nothing if not a freak for his clothes - out of the corner of your eye you see him pull out a pair of pajama pants and only a pair of pajama pants, and when his head turns to glance back at you, you’re quick to avert your gaze back to the computer -

Which has loaded. Hooray!

“It’s done,” you call to him, a decibel too loud and you’re quick to lower your voice with a small glance to the wall separating you and the Carfields. Earlier, you’d heard their door slam when they got home from dinner and you could make out their faint voices arguing if you focused hard enough - you don’t want them to hear you. “Get changed and we can listen.”

You pick up one of the earbuds connected to the laptop and shove it in your ear, fiddling with the volume buttons until it’s loud enough that you can hear their conversations as Harry ducks back into the bathroom. Clearly the coat with the bug has been folded in such a way that it muffles their voices but hell, it’s a strong bug, and you can still manage to hear them fine enough.

You send a text to Mark, and he confirms he can hear it too - you toss your phone to the side, letting it slide across the carpet as you lean in, adjusting the earbud in your ear.

Vincent’s voice is what you hear first - he’s talking fast, as though he’s in a rush, and your brows furrow.

“The new shipment isn’t set to come in until the first,” he says, tone hushed and soft, and you can’t hear his wife’s response after a moment of listening, and then he continues. “Think, you idiot! She’s trying to milk me for everything I’ve got - everything we’ve worked for -”

For a brief moment you wonder who she is, but after another few moments with no response you figure that he isn’t talking to his wife as you’d expected - he’s on the phone with someone, speaking of his divorce. A business partner - of course. The bathroom door opens, and your eyes shift to Harry’s figure as you hold out the available earbud for him.

Fuck. He’s gonna fucking kill you - not with his hands or with his gun but with those fucking pants, so low on his hips you can see the trail of hair leading beneath the plaid fabric, the tie done loose and casual. He’s not wearing a shirt, tattoos on full display for you to ogle if you had the time to, and you don’t, of course, but it doesn’t stop your eyes from roaming over his torso, throat feeling suddenly dry as he pads over to you on the ground, dropping to his knees beside you.

“Are you checking me out?” Harry questions, a soft smirk dancing on his lips and you roll your eyes, dangling the earbud for him to grab and he finally takes it, placing it in his left ear just as Vincent begins to speak again.

“Never,” you murmur, and if that isn’t the furthest from the truth you could get to you’re not quite sure what is. “Listen to him - I’m going to the bathroom.” And, as you push yourself to stand and walk towards the bathroom, you swear you can hear him murmur slacker beneath his breath but - well - you don’t need to respond to everything he says sometimes.

Truthfully, yes. You did have to pee. And when you’re done with that you turn on the faucet to wash your hands and you stare at the bathroom mirror that’s still damp from the steam of his shower, edges still frosted with the humidity, and it makes your reflection fuzzy as you look at yourself.

What the fuck? Seriously - what the fuck?

There’s a pressure in your lower stomach and a neediness between your thighs that you can only assign to Harry’s freshly-showered, no-shirt-low-pants appearance and it has shame bubbling under your skin mixed with some other feeling you don’t care enough to figure out. You’re feeling very strange things for Harry - things you’ve never felt for him, ever, in the entire year of knowing him - and you’re almost completely positive he doesn’t feel the same, doesn’t have the same desire to bend you over this sink -

Almost. But almost is very close to absolutely positive.

You feel embarrassed for yourself as you glance around the sink. His hairbrush sits on the counter, and there are so many assorted beauty products scattered across the surface that you can’t tell which ones are yours or his.

The lotion is his, you decide. You don’t use unscented lotion - but you reach for it anyway, squirting a dollop onto your palms and rubbing it in for a reason you’re not entirely sure of. When your hands are as soft as they’re going to get you glance at yourself in the mirror again, shirt baggy and long, the ends of your shorts peeking beneath the fabric.

You reach up, pulling the waistband of your shorts up until they aren’t visible beneath the ends of your shirt, exposing your legs until it appears you’re wearing no sleep shorts beneath the shirt. It’s more comfortable like that, anyway, you tell yourself, which isn’t quite true, before pushing the bathroom door open and walking back out to where Harry’s perched on the floor.

He turns to look at you, and you don’t miss the way his eyes crawl up your legs but he’s a bit more subtle about it than you’re sure you were - his bottom lip looks a deeper shade of red than the top and you wonder if he’d been biting it.

You decide not to repeat his retort about checking you out, even if you’re almost entirely sure he was.

“How’s it going?” you inquire, picking up your earbud to begin listening again. The wire connecting the two buds is short and you shift closer to him until the tip of your kneecap brushes his - you’d expected him to jerk away like you’d fucking stepped on him but he doesn’t, surprisingly. “Got anything juicy?”

“Jus’ vague references t’shipments and goods - they’re trying t’trace his call, see who he’s talking to.” You nod, resting your chin on your palm as Vincent drones on about exactly what Harry had said - the only substantial piece of evidence you have pointing to his business being a coverup for a drug trafficking scheme is references to obscene amounts of money he fears losing to his ex-wife that he would’ve never been able to obtain working at a privately-owned tailory. 

For ten minutes Vincent’s phone call remains as a bit of a drag and, truthfully, a rather large waste of time in your opinion - this is stuff you’d already known, including the shipment coming in a week’s time that you know headquarters will be able to intercept - and you’ve just begun to pull out your earbud to retreat to the bathroom once more to brush your teeth when Harry’s arm jerks towards you, fingers wrapping around your wrist and effectively preventing you from rising.

“Jesus hell,” you hiss, dropping back down onto the ground as you shove your earbud back in, “what -?”

But then Vincent is speaking again.

“ - look, buddy,” he says, voice suddenly dropped lower so that Harry reaches out, tapping the volume button a few times until you can hear him properly, “met this girl at dinner tonight, out with Bonnie. Real cute - body like a fuckin’ goddess.”

Your cheeks flush as a small smirk spreads across Harry’s face.

Vincent pauses, clearly awaiting his business partner’s response to this shocking bit of news, and when he speaks again he sounds more annoyed. “Fuckin’ done with Bonnie - I’m a free agent, Jules.”

You snap at Harry, but he’s already fishing for his phone, pulling up the notes app and jotting down the name Jules in a fresh page.

“Can fuck whoever I want to, now, and I swear, you’d die if you saw her.” You can practically picture the scumbag’s face as he says it, all smug and arrogant - as though you’d ever give him the time of a day if you weren’t being fucking paid for it. “Staying at the same hotel too, with her husband.”

Another pause. “Jules, do you think I give a shit about husbands? Remember Mia, in LA? The one married to that big fella? She was all over me.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile even as your stomach continues to churn in disgust, and Harry exhales softly, resting his phone on top of his knee. Clearly, Vincent’s conversation with Jules has turned from fighting for nearly fifteen minutes about shipments and payments to you and it’s entirely less important but it still piques your interest more. The gritty details of their shipping is for Mark to handle back at headquarters - you need to make sure you can distract Vincent long enough for Harry to search his room.

“ - and, man, you should’ve seen the eyes this girl was giving me - and her husband was all over her, too, checkin’ her out but she was still looking at me -”

You nearly choke at that, head whipping to the side to look at Harry, and he’s doing a sufficient job of furrowing his eyebrows and looking entirely confused at Vincent’s words but you don’t believe him for a moment. Checking you out - God, and you had the nerve to feel embarrassed for your desire for him. A month ago you may have been truly annoyed at Vincent’s observation but it only fuels the fire igniting in your core as Harry puts on his pretense of adjusting his earbuds, tips of his ears bright red as he pointedly avoids your gaze, and you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from grinning.

“I’ll let you go. God, don’t sound so pretentious - didn’t you hook up with that French chick who was married to the boxer? - Yeah, that’s what I thought -”

You’re much less interested in Vincent’s conversations now, pulling your earbud out and standing up, arms stretched high above your head as Harry stays, leaning against the ground with one arm. After a moment, though, Vincent must have ended his phone call - Harry shuts the laptop and pulls his earbud out, standing up, and your gazes meet for a moment.

“Vincent’s an idiot,” he tells you, flush creeping up his neck, and you nod.

“Is he?’

“Y’know he was just saying that so he seemed cool, right?”

“Said what?”

Harry rolls his eyes, then, and you can’t stop the smirk from gracing your lips once more as he crosses across the hotel room, collapsing onto his back onto the bed, and you furrow your eyebrows as you watch him. “Didn’t check you out.”

“I didn’t say you did.” He doesn’t respond, and you sit yourself on the edge of the bed, glaring down at his slumped figure. “You’re not getting the bed.”

“‘Course I am. We fought it out, remember?”

“And we didn’t finish.”

“We absolutely did,” and then he pushes himself to sit up, leaning against the headboard, and it takes more willpower than you possess to keep your eyes from roaming his body but you resist with everything in you - you’ll just about die if he calls you out for checking him out. “I beat you. I had y’against the headboard.”

“That was inconclusive.”

“Get on the couch.”

You narrow your eyes at him and he narrows his right back, staring into his fucking soul because you’ll be damned if you sleep on the couch, even if it makes logistical sense because he is taller than you - but, no. You’re the one who could possibly have to fuck Vincent Carfield in all his glory. You deserve the bed, size be damned.

In the end, you blink first, and come bedtime, you’re nestled on the couch with blankets you’d found in the hotel wardrobe.

You hate Harry.

 ~~

 The couch is extremely uncomfortable. It’s what you’d expected but your back still aches in pain when you wake up at 3 in the fucking morning, blankets dangling off the edge of the cushions you’re bundled on top of, and the pillow your head was resting on has slipped off onto the ground.

The room is pitch black as you groan, the noise purposefully loud, reaching down until your fingers graze the edge of the pillow - but your grip is slow, tired, and as you pick up the pillow to throw it back behind your head it slips from your grasp, dropping onto the ground and bouncing against the carpet until it’s resting a solid six feet from the couch.

Do you really need a pillow? You’re not sure, but you desperately don’t want to have to get up and get it because you know your sleepiness will melt away before you can even think about it, and, more than anything, you desire going back to sleep in order to try and be well rested for tomorrow. 

You reach down and pull your clump of blankets back up over yourself, pulling your knees further against your chest so the entire area of the blankets coats your body. Your head rests against the flat cushion, pillow be damned, and you shift again until your back is rested flat against the cushion as well, legs sticking straight out in front of you, the couch creaking at the movement.

The blankets don’t cover your legs - you push one of them down until they’re situated onto your feet, collectively covering your entire body even if it isn’t necessarily warm. At least they’re blanketed to some degree.

After ten minutes of trying to go back to bed, you pointedly decide that yes, you really do need a pillow, and immediately. Your neck already aches with the uncomfortable position and your ears feel chilly without being pressed into the soft pillow you’d snatched from the bed Harry is currently sleeping on - the bastard. He’d practically suffocated you with his smug gazes before he fell asleep, curled on top of the bed that he’d (rightfully) claimed as his after an arm wrestle, rock paper scissors game, and a half-hearted second attempt at a wrestling match - you’d lost all three.

Whatever. You’d been determined not to sulk at your losses before returning to the couch, trying not to let Harry see you mope but now you wish you’d made a bigger show of your disappointment - perhaps he’d have caved and taken the couch, but you’re sure he’d have stayed firm no matter what.

You slowly push yourself off of the couch, creeping across the room towards where your pillow rests on the ground, and you pick it up, clutching it tight to your chest before returning to the couch. You press it against the cushion, punching it a few times to attempt to soften it before huffing softly, lying yourself back down and tugging your blankets tight back up against you.

The next ten minutes goes by much as the night had previously - you can’t find a good position, turning onto your side and your back and your stomach until you’re hardly sure which way you’re facing, at this point, face buried tight against your pillow. You long for not much more than a soft bed for your back to rest into and you’re sure you’ll be a sore, tired disaster tomorrow when you manage to find Vincent Carfield in the hotel.

You turn to your side, the couch squeaking beneath the shift in your weight, and your body tenses when you hear a soft groan from the lump wrapped in covers on top of the bed, his silhouette illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the window into the hotel room.

“How much longer are y’gonna move?” Harry grunts, voice low and raspy and you swallow when you hear it - if you close your eyes and listen to him speak, you could almost imagine him sounding like that in a very different scenario - “Keepin’ me up.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” you retort, voice soft and crackling with your yearning to sleep. “If you’d like to take the couch so I stop tossing and turning, I’d much appreciate it.”

He exhales softly, the noise sounding so deep and pornographic it makes your stomach flip. “In your dreams.”

You narrow your eyes as you stare at him, duvet pulled up to his chest and head turned to the side towards you - in the dark you can’t tell if his eyes are shut or if he’s looking at you. For a moment you decide not to say anything, hands crossed over your stomach, and then you shift loudly onto your back, couch creaking, and Harry sighs just as you’d anticipated.

“Please,” he begins, tone low and pleading, and you cut him off before he can continue.

“Not my fault the couch is loud, Har.”

“You’re doin’ it on purpose.”

“Of course I’m not,” you tell him, shifting again so another noise permeates the air of the hotel room. “The couch is just noisy - and uncomfortable.”

There’s a rather pregnant pause after that and you keep your eyes on Harry, watching the way he shifts onto his back, opening up a rather small sliver of space beside him and your heart practically leaps at the sight but you don’t say anything else - simply roll back onto your side, the couch creaking as you do, and he sighs again.

It seems like he sighs a lot.

“If I invite you into my bed,” Harry begins, and a small smile begins tugging your lips upwards even if you want to groan at his usage of the word my, “you’ll promise t’be quiet an’ go t’sleep?”

God, he sounds like your mother. “Yes,” you tell him, clutching the blankets wrapped around your torso. “I promise.”

Another pause. “Then - then y’can come. We can share.”

You try not to look too eager. Masking your emotions is, perhaps, the most important aspect of your job and yet you’re sure you look just as excited as you feel, pushing yourself to your feet with your blankets wrapped around your body, pillow stowed beneath your arm. Your feet pad across the carpet, toes sinking into the plushness of the floor before you make it to the bed, and Harry’s staring up at you, face contorted in a mixture of emotions you can’t decipher.

“Not gonna scooch over, then?” you question, resting your pillow against the bed and hitting it a few times. 

“Y’have room, don’t you?”

And the answer is that you don’t, of course. When you lie yourself down on the bed your legs knock into Harry’s, head so close to his you can feel his curls grazing your face, and the duvet you pull up your chin smells like him, distinctly. His elbow juts into your side - your cold foot rests against his warm one - you don’t think you’ve ever touched him this much outside of a mission.

You drape your clump of blankets over your body, partially resting on top of Harry, smoothing your palms over the fabric with a contented sigh. Your back is thanking you for the switch in sleeping spots and your neck sinks into the pillow and mattress, aches already beginning to alleviate themselves.

“Still need me t’move?” Harry asks, and you shut your eyes, nearly missing the way his eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he rests himself back against the bed.

“No,” you murmur, and there’s another moment of silence before he mumbles his affirmation. Tomorrow you’re sure you’ll regret this - sleeping beside him, even if that’s all you do - feeling him pressed against parts of your body you’d never expected to feel his touch on.

Well, you’d rather deal with the tinge of embarrassment (and pride) than an achy back and lack of sleep - you smile slightly.

 ~~

 The next morning comes entirely too soon for your liking - sunlight peeking through the windows permeates your eyelids until you’re groaning awake, palm pressed against your eyes to block the light and face burying itself back into your pillow.

Your alarm hasn’t gone off yet. If your alarm doesn’t go off, then it’s not morning. Surely you have a few more hours of rest before you need to get up - even a couple more minutes will do -

Just as the thought crosses your mind your phone blares its alarm, the loud noise jolting you up like a bucket of ice water, and, from behind you, Harry grunts into his pillow.

Behind you.

You’re quick to silence your alarm - another nine full minutes of peaceful resting, if you’re lucky, before you’re disturbed again, though you’re sure you won’t get back to bed now that you’ve remembered the events of last night. 

Harry’s arm is heavy, draped over your midsection, the soft surface of his cheek buried intently into the crevice between your neck and shoulder - you can feel his soft breathing against your skin, the air a warm and gentle sensation. One of his legs has wedged itself between yours, thigh pressed entirely too high in the crevice between your thighs, and with every moment that passes you can feel the rise and fall of his bare chest as he snores behind you.

What a fucking sight, you think, sitting up slightly to look down at him. God, if he were awake, you’d tease him until he cries about what a position the pair of you had worked yourselves into but you have the foresight to see how that would backfire on you - technically, you’re just as to blame as he is, even if he’s the bigger spoon right now.

But you’re most decidedly not to blame for the hardness pressing into your lower back, tearing a sleepy groan from Harry’s throat when you shift in your position.

The bastard. He’s hard as a fucking rock from pressing against you while you slept, and a sleepy smirk spreads across your face as you glance down at him. In any other circumstance you think you’d poke him awake just to make him aware of it but there’s a certain air of desire you’re feeling as well that makes you feel - well, not as though you’re in the appropriate position to make fun of him for his boner.

Slowly, you disentangle yourself from his body. His leg drops to the mattress when you swing your own off the edge of the bed, his arm falling until it’s resting in your lap, palm pressed against a certain area that makes your breath hitch, furrowing your eyebrows as you glance down at his hand. There are still fading, pink indents from the rings he takes off every night and before every mission, save for the fake wedding band the two of you often have to don on missions, and you scrunch your nose as you admire it.

Married. You don’t think so. The only time you think of him with anything other than hatred is when he’s asleep, like this - or shirtless.

You stand up, shaking your head to wipe those thoughts from your mind. Harry’s hand drops onto the mattress and you can tell it’s the push he needed into consciousness - you glance back at him to see his eyes cracked open, and they shut when your gazes meet.

“‘Morning,” you tell him, voice louder than you’d intended, and he winces at the noise, shifting onto his back - it’s as though you can see the exact moment he realizes his little problem mixed with the realization that you would also know about it, pressed up against him during the night - his eyes widen ever so slightly, and he pushes himself to lean against the headboard, bundling his duvet onto his lap. 

“Um - g’morning,” Harry replies, voice raspy like it had been the night prior and your stomach turns - you shift on your feet. “Y’goin’ t’the bathroom?”

“You can go first,” you say, and he nods, bringing fists up to rub at his eyes. And then - because you just can’t help pissing him off when you have such a golden opportunity - you add, “Think you might need it a bit more than I do.”

His face reddens.

 ~~

 Earpiece. Knife. Boobs.

You go through the things you need on a mental checklist as you pick up your forkful of scrambled eggs, chewing thoughtfully on the bite. The hotel restaurant is nearly completely full, couples and families packed into the small tables as they feast on their complimentary breakfasts, chatter filling the section. You’ve been sitting eating (truthfully, delicious) breakfast for the better half of an hour, bringing your plate up to the buffet to refill your platter of eggs, fruit, and toast.

Realistically, you would have eaten and left had you not been waiting for a very specific somebody to walk in and catch your eye. You and Harry had plugged back into the bug in Vincent’s room to hear him planning to go down for complimentary breakfast - the only clue you had as to how he wanted to spend his day - and it was the only opportunity you had to find him. Get him out of his room - talking, if possible - so Harry can search it.

It’s such an easy plan, you could practically do it in your sleep.

“Is he there yet?” inquires a crackling voice from your earpiece, disguised as an earring dangling from your lobes.

“No,” you murmur, voice soft as a whisper, and you’re sure he can’t hear your response until he sighs.

“Takin’ his time, isn’t he?”

“Mhm.”

You pick up your glass of orange juice, raising the cup to rouge-stained lips as you take a sip. When you rest it back down on the table, there’s a light red stain on the glass - you wipe it away with a manicured thumb, leaning back in your seat, legs crossed. Your eyes scan the restaurant again, lingering on any newcomers leaning against the wall in case you can pinpoint the man you’re searching for - wide frame, untailored suits, bald head that shines in the artificial light.

(Complimentary breakfast ends at 10, and it’s 9:48. It’s safe to say that you’re getting nervous.)

Your nerves, however, are soothed just a bit when a familiar figure makes his way into the dining hall - tall and haughty, phone pressed to his sweaty head, Vincent Carfield is the image of a stressed businessman, recently divorced and searching for a young, married woman who’d given him eyes last night. His suit is baggy, buttons of the jacket undone and his white button up has sweat stains spreading from the armpits, visible with his arm lifted up to his ear. Instinctively your back straightens, tugging down the top of your lace top so that the top of your cleavage shows - it seems to be your greatest weapon, dealing with a man like Carfield.

You lower your gaze to your phone clutched in your hand but you can still sense exactly the moment his eyes land on you. In your peripheral vision you watch him straighten up, lips moving quickly before his phone is shoved into his pocket, weaving his way between circular tables until he’s standing beside you, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes never meet yours - his gaze stays on a point eerily similar to your chest.

“Is he there?” Harry questions, and you clear your throat - it’s the symbol you’d decided on to mean yes if you can’t speak.

“Vincent,” you begin, faux smile spreading across your face, and a similar one lands on his features. He reaches for your hand and you give it to him, watching him press chapped, dry lips to the back of your palm, and the urge to scrunch your nose at the feeling is almost overwhelming. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you,” he says, and you drop your hand back to the tablecloth resting on your table. “Can I sit?”

“Of course,” you reply, and he pulls out the empty seat across from you, resting with a soft grunt. “Breakfast ends in a few minutes, though - you’re welcome to have some of mine, if you’re hungry.”

He obliges, reaching to pull your plate to him, and you watch as he picks up your buttered toast, taking a large bite and smacking his lips as he chews. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward ever so slightly. “And why is that?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Vincent tells you, and in your earpiece, Harry snorts at his words - you hope you didn’t jump too hard at his sudden noises in your ear. “I hoped I wasn’t getting the wrong idea at dinner, last night -”

“What idea were you getting?”

“That you were interested in me,” and you tilt your head to the side, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth - if Harry could see the act you’re playing right now, you’d be humiliated. At least he can only hear it. “I saw the eyes you were giving me - not even worried ‘bout your husband seeing?”

“He’s too dense to notice,” you say, a smile tilting your lips up as Harry groans - from his side of the earpiece you can hear bustling mixed with the sound of a door opening, and you assume he’s just entered Vincent’s apartment. He needs at least a half hour, Mark had told you - breakfast ends in nearly five minutes, and you need somewhere else to take Carfield. “You know, Vince - is it okay if I call you Vince?”

“I don’t think he cares what you call him,” mumbles Harry, so quiet you’re sure he’s hardly even intending for you to hear it, “as long as you have your hand down his pants in the next ten minutes.”

Your cheeks flush as Vincent smiles, leaning back in his seat as he finishes off your toast. “Call me whatever you want to,” he tells you, and you can practically hear Harry rolling his eyes through your earpiece.

“Alright, Vince - breakfast is ending in a few minutes, and I desperately hope we can keep talking.” He nods along with your words, leaning in as he pushes his plate to the center of the table - all that’s left is the fruit and the remnants of your eggs. “Do you think we could go up to my room? My husband is off visiting some family members across London - he won’t be home for hours.”

“Hours?”

“Hours,” you confirm, nodding as you take another sip of your orange juice - this time you don’t wipe the lipstick stain off of your glass, and you watch his eyes follow the mark as you lower the glass back to the table. “Can we go, Vince?”

Clearly he isn’t thinking clearly enough to question how curious it is that you’d had similar feelings for him without much trouble at all - instead, he smiles like a boy on Christmas morning. He practically knocks the table in his rush to stand up - you watch a red blush creep up his neck to his ears as he grabs it, steadying the wobbling surface, and you pretend you hadn’t noticed when he holds his hand out for you. You allow him to take your hand in his and he pulls you to your feet, wrapping a secure arm around your waist, palm stretched across your hips so his fingertips creep up the hem of your lace shirt.

“Are you going to our room?” questions Harry in your ear, and there’s a few scuffling noises on the other end that makes you internally cringe as Vincent begins weaving the pair of you between tables that are now emptying as complimentary breakfast reaches its end. “____? ‘Y’goin’ t’our room?”

You clear your throat once, and Vincent glances over at you with an amused glance on his face as the two of you make your way out of the restaurant. “Are you okay, darling?”

The pet name makes you cringe internally and you give him a soft smile as you approach the hallway full of elevators, available to take you to any of the available thirteen residential floors of the hotel - Vincent presses the button to go up, and you wait for the doors to open. “I’m great.”

“Make sure he doesn’t want to stop in his room,” Harry mutters, and you swallow, your smile not faltering. You want to tell Harry to make sure he’s completely quiet in his endeavors in Vincent’s room but you’re sure he already knows - you can’t risk Vincent hearing a strange noise while you’re attempting to distract him.

The elevator doors open, and Vincent pulls you inside with a grip on your waist like a vise. He glances at the array of buttons available to press, and looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s floor 13,” you tell him, and he smiles, pressing the button until it glows.

“Floor 13? That’s where I’m staying, too,” he says, and you nod in mock-surprise -

“What a surprise,” Harry snorts in your ear, and you can’t stop the smirk from spreading across your face.

 ~~

 There’s a thick thigh pressed between both of yours, sweaty palms slid beneath your lace top, and you don’t think you’ve ever found a man’s touch less desirable in your  life - and, for whoever may be keeping a record, this job has required you to get up close and personal with more skeevy men that you’d expected when you’d applied.

The only thing keeping a blissed out look on your face is your focus on the soft noises coming from the other end of your earpiece as Vincent lands wet, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, tongue laving over your skin - hearing Harry’s occasional quiet breathing and muffled noises as he searches the hotel room next to yours makes this entirely worth it.

Against your throat, Vincent moans, and the noise is throaty and loud - you can hear Harry stifling a laugh directly into your ear, and the noise sends a chill rolling up your spine. Clearly, Vincent thinks your involuntary movement was for him - his hands grasp on your tits entirely too hard to be pleasurable and you bite back the urge to tell him so. “Such a dirty girl,” he tells you.

You rest your head back against the wall he has you pressed against with a moan that sounds entirely fake from your throat. You can almost imagine how Harry’s going to make fun of this when he sees you next, and your stomach turns when you think about it for a reason you can’t quite decipher. “Fuck,” you say, forcing your voice to a near whine, and you swear you can hear Harry’s voice hitch through your piece but you’re not sure. “Feels - so good.”

The lie sounds natural off of your lips as Vincent’s knee jabs into your clit - the pressure is a pain rather than a pleasure and your breath hitches as you try not to cry out. He chuckles against your skin, clearly taking your soft sign of pain as an emblem of pleasure, and you shut your eyes as his teeth graze the veins in your neck.

“No way,” breathes Harry, and your ears perk up - had he found something in Vincent’s room? “S’he actually good at that?”

You want to snort at that. Of course he isn’t good but the thought of Harry listening spurs you on more than it should - you roll your hips against Vincent’s thigh with a soft moan, higher pitched than your last one, and the man on the other end of your earpiece exhales.

“That sounded fake,” Harry says, voice soft and light, and you want to slam your head into the wall so he knows that he’s starting to piss you off from next door. “So he’s not makin’ y’feel good?”

You practically freeze. If Vincent wasn’t tugging your shirt up to expose your tits to the cold air of your hotel room, you’re sure you would have forgotten where you were completely. Those words from Harry’s mouth mixed with an edge of venom isn’t what you’d expected him to say at all - on the contrary, you’d think he was fucking with you, trying to work you up to embarrass you if you couldn’t hear his little moans that he’s clearly trying to silence.

Is he worked up? Because you can work with that.

You drop your head back to whack against the wall with a loud moan as Vincent’s clammy lips press to the fabric of your bra. Your hand goes up to press to the back of his bald head, fingernails scratching against his sweaty scalp and you wish - not for the first time - that you were feeling thick, chocolate-toned curls beneath your fingers instead, tugging on them as his tongue lavished you. Though, in your mind, it’s more teeth and grit and anger because you’re sure you’d find a way to be angry with Harry even if his mouth were on your tits - it’s one of your special skills - in every fantasy you’ve had of your partner it’s violent and harsh.

“Fuck,” grunts a voice from your earpiece, and hardly a moment later Vincent groans a similar noise as you rock your hips against his thigh. Thankfully he seems to be getting a decent amount of pleasure just making out with your boobs like a teenage boy and - maybe, if Harry is quick enough in his search of his hotel room - you won’t have to fuck him at all. It’ll be a Christmas miracle (a month early, but a miracle nonetheless.) “Are y’fuckin’ him?”

You whimper, Harry’s voice shooting from your ear directly down to your cunt and your clit and you feel wetness soaking your knickers, pressed against Vincent’s thigh though it may as well be the arm of a couch for how it affects you - the only pleasure you get from Vincent’s hard body against yours is the urge to close your eyes and imagine it’s Harry.

“No, you’re not,” says Harry, and there’s a soft clatter in your earpiece - surely he’s dropped something from the room next door and you tense. Surely Vincent hadn’t heard it, teeth still gnashing against your bra, and he seems too distracted to pay attention to it. “M’hard as a fuckin’ rock, ____ - thinkin’ of you, gettin’ off on my voice, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you exhale, and Vincent glances up at you, thick brows furrowed in confusion. You swallow, focusing on giving yourself a satisfied expression, and he turns back to your chest, seemingly convinced of your pleasure. “Yes - making me feel so good.”

Harry groans in your ear, and you wonder, suddenly, if he’s jerking off - if he’s leaning against Vincent Carfield’s bed, hand pumping up and down his cock as he listens to you. Maybe he’s in the bathroom, or leaning against the wall like you are, his breathing picking up as sweat drips down his forehead - 

“Gonna fuck you,” Vincent mumbles against your boobs, and you scrunch your nose. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Just -” you swallow, and Harry snickers in your ear, the soft laugh breathy and groaning. “Just wait, feels so good -”

“Don’t fuck him,” says Harry, and there’s a few more jostling noises on the other end mixed with another soft moan - you have a sudden image of him, digging through Vincent Carfield’s possessions with a firm hand around his cock and you feel the result of that imagery stricken straight down to your clit like a fucking lightning bolt until you’re crying out, and your orgasm is on you so embarrassingly fast you could sob in embarrassment. “I’m almost there -”

You’re not sure if he means he’s almost about to cum or if he’s almost found something to convict Vincent - you’re not entirely sure which interpretation you’d prefer. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, the words sour on your tongue as Vincent glances up at you with a wicked smile, jolting his thigh further up into your clit, and you furrow your eyebrows at the pain the motion brings. “Fuck, H - Vincent.”

“Y’were gonna say m’name,” Harry hisses, and you squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment coursing through your veins. You almost fucked everything up. “Cum. Let Vincent think he made y’cum - go ahead - do it.”

And - fuck. Who are you to disobey? You grind your core down on Vincent’s thigh with a throaty cry, and your orgasm rushes over you with an embarrassing waterfall of pleasure and shame. Never have you cum so easily and it wasn’t even Harry’s touch - simply his voice, his groans as he listens to you come undone - and, in the end, the only thing to pull you from your high is Vincent’s eyes boring into yours, eyebrows raised and lips parted as he pulls his face from your chest with a most satisfied expression on his face.

You want to smack it off of him - if you hadn’t already cum, that look would’ve stopped you in your tracks. As it is, it slows the aftershocks of your release into dull nothingness while Harry moans in your earpiece, his noises a mere backdrop to the sudden growing sounds of scuffling and jostling, and his sharp gasp is loud enough for Vincent’s head to snap up.

“Did you hear that?” Vincent questions - Harry curses into your earpiece.

“I found something,” Harry tells you, voice dropped to a low whisper. “I found - s’under his mattress - m’calling Mark!”

A small smile spreads across your face at his words. It’s done. He’s found something worthy enough to convict Vincent Carfield, and that’s enough for you to press your palms to his chest, pushing him away from you so forcefully that he stumbles over the carpet, back slamming into the edge of your bed as he falls to the ground. His expression is so confuddled as he stares up at you that, for a moment, you marvel at his lack of self awareness - in an instant you’re reaching up the hem of your skirt to the knife in its holder strapped to your thigh, and you pull the blade out to point at Vincent Carfield, in your ear a myriad of Harry’s delighted cheers of, “I’ve found it!”

 ~~

 Wrapping up a mission isn’t nearly as speedy as you’d like - there’s debriefs and paperwork to complete once Vincent is done and arrested, phone confiscated along with the drugs found in his hotel room by your partner, and physical evaluations to determine whether you’d been hurt, and a long phone call with Mark where he congratulated the pair of you.

Not only for taking down Vincent Carfield, your boss had said, his voice booming and cheerful, but for making it out without killing each other.

If only he knew.

Your plane is set to leave tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn, and if you were more reasonable perhaps you’d heade Mark’s advice to go straight to sleep and set an alarm for 3 AM but you’ve never been too bright in that regard. You finish your last debrief in the hotel restaurant, Harry working diligently beside you, and it’s at nearly 9 PM that the pair of you pack up your work and begin to head upstairs.

The elevator ride is silent when Harry reaches to press the button for your floor. Your room had been closed for you to visit for the better part of the afternoon until Vincent’s had been properly searched, though Harry had gladly given the authorities everything he’d found without a moment of hesitation. Tiredness creaks at your bones but here - standing beside Harry, feeling his gaze boring into the side of your face - you desire nothing less than to go to sleep.

“Good work, Mr. Robinson,” you tell him, and he raises his eyebrows when you turn your head to look at him. “Fairly easy mission, wasn’t it?”

“For you,” he says, and you arch your eyebrow, frown tugging your lips downwards as the elevator begins to move up. “Gettin’ off on Vincent’s thigh was the hardest part - I had t’search the room.”

For a moment you wonder if he’s kidding and certainly he’s only teasing you but you still roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as heat creeps up your cheeks. “Didn’t seem too difficult, moaning and crying ‘bout how hard you were. I bet I could’ve found the drugs in half the time it took you -”

“You couldn’t have,” Harry says, and you exhale sharply. 

“‘Course I could -”

“Wasn’t hidden in plain sight like everything you find.”

“So where were they?”

He pauses, and you smile down at your shoes - surely you’ve got him now. “Hidden in his computer,” Harry says, then, and your smile is wiped away in an instant. Shit, you wouldn’t have found them. “Not so smart now, are you?”

“Oh, you dick -”

The elevator doors open to your floor and Harry pushes himself off the wall, stalking out of the elevator and you jump to follow him, picking up the pace to walk beside him as he begins down the hall towards your hotel room. It’s entirely too easy, falling back into an arrangement of bickering with him as though nothing had happened - as though you hadn’t cum with his voice alone, and you’re nearly positive that he had, too.

He stops in front of your hotel door, digging in the pockets of his pants for the room key, and you cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t know why you’re actin’ so high and mighty,” he tells you, voice biting as he shoves the key card into the door’s slot - it beeps red, and he tries again. “As f’you didn’t cream your fucking pants jus’ listenin’ t’my voice.”

“I’m not acting high and mighty,” you retort, praying the burning sensation in your face isn’t visible to him but you doubt you’re that lucky. “You don’t have to be such a douche all the time - and, by the way, you came in your pants, too, didn’t you.”

It’s not a question, and Harry flings the door open, letting you walk in before he follows. In an instant, before you can march into the bedroom area to huff at how pissed he’s getting you - it is what he’s best at - there’s a tight grip on your wrist, turning you around so fast your head spins, and before you can object, Harry has you pressed against the door, hands caging you in on either side of your head.

His face is so close to yours you can smell the alcohol on his breath that he’d had while you two worked, mixed with the scent of his mint toothpaste and his shampoo, curls dropping into your face as he wedges his leg between both of yours, thigh pressed against your cunt. It’s just as Vincent had done but so different, so much better, and it tears a whine out of your throat right off the bat.

Your urge is to lean in, clash your lips together in a fury of tongue and teeth but you don’t want to make the first move - Harry can take the lead and you’ll follow, and that’s more than enough for you. So you simply drop your head back, breathing heavy as you stare into his eyes, nearly cross-eyed to meet his gaze. 

“Fuck you,” you tell him, and the words lack the venom you’d yearned for. It’s filled with more desperation and neediness than you’d anticipated, and you feel your stomach flip-flop at the smirk that spreads across Harry’s face. “Fuck you.”

His hands drop from against your head and for a moment you fear he’s going to pull away, that he’s doing this just to fuck with you but then his hands are on your legs, fingertips dancing up and down your outer thighs, fingering the hem of your skirt, and you jolt under him. “You’re so responsive,” he tells you, and you roll your eyes, dropping your head back against the door. “I love getting y’worked up.”

“Shut up,” you groan, feeling his fingers working your skirt up your legs, and the fabric brushes over the edge of your knife, still fastened to your thigh. 

“Like makin’ y’angry.”

“Shut up,” and finally Harry leans in, mouth slamming against yours until your teeth grind against his and your lips part with a shocked gasp. His tongue slips between your lips, your hands reaching up to bury in his curls and hold his face to yours. His palm slides up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist and your cheeks burn as the cold hotel room air assaults your skin, goosebumps popping up in their wake. You whimper into Harry’s lips and he pulls away, palms smoothing up and down your thighs before you feel his fingers hook against the top of your knife, and he tugs the blade out of your holster.

You watch with wary eyes as Harry brings the blade up to his eyes, examining it with narrowed eyes, his other hand still resting on your thigh, fingertips rubbing circles into your skin harsh enough that you’re sure you’ll find bruises tomorrow in the shape of his hands. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him and his eyes turn to yours, smile tugging his lip up.

“Y’look a bit excited, there,” Harry says - an acute observation, because you’re practically creaming your fucking panties. “Like seein’ me with your knife?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Harry flips the knife in his hands until the blade is just an inch from the spot between both of your eyes, your orbs crossing to see it. “What are you -”

Before you can finish the question Harry presses the knife forward, the sharp edge of the plate pressed to your cheek, and you inhale sharply, swallowing thickly as he increases pressure against your skin. Fuck, this shouldn’t excite you - he’s not half as good as you are with blades - and you’re sure if he keeps going he’s going to slice you either by accident or on purpose, and it disturbs you how much that thought turns you on.

The blade drags down your skin, tracing along your jawline with pressure light enough to feel like a breath and hard enough to catch yours in your throat - Harry’s watching it with darkened eyes, watching as he lowers it down your throat, tracing it along your neck and the veins.

You drop your head back against the door with a thud, feeling the cool metal on your skin, sweaty from being pressed against him and the heat that encompasses your body until it’s all you can feel, and Harry’s just watching, watching the knife run across your skin.

Your eyes, fluttered shut, shoot open when a sudden burning sensation overtakes the top of your chest - you glance down to see Harry pulling the knife away from you, the tip decorated with just a smudge of dark, red liquid that’s mirrored on your collarbone.

“Did you -?”

“Oops,” Harry says as you bring your fingers to the small nick he’d given you, wiping away the drops of blood that spread on your chest. You raise your narrowed eyes to glare at him and you’re trying - trying so hard - to be furious with him, to get angry, to push him away and yell at him - but, fuck, feeling his thumb rub across the cut on your chest only increases the ball of pressure in your lower abdnomen as you look at him.

Your lips clash once more, more intense than before as you whine into his mouth - Harry’s free hand hoists your thigh around his waist, and when his lips move down to bite at your throat, the hand still clutching your knife pulls back before he slams the blade into the door next to you, surely taking a few of your stray hairs. You yelp, jolting your head back as you whip your head to the side to stare at the knife stuck in the door barely an inch from the side of your head, and Harry lifts his head with a smirk.

“You assho -”

Before you can finish Harry’s hand is wrapped around your throat, cutting off your ability to speak and you can’t help but moan at the pressure even if the noise is choked and gasping - Harry grins, moving his other hand down to your hips until he’s helping you to roll against his thigh, clit rubbing against the fabric of his pants. You tighten your thigh’s hold around his waist, pressing his torso closer to yours, and he, in turn, tightens his grasp on your neck.

“Y’like m’hand on your throat, hmm?” Harry questions, voice low and raspy like how it had been in the middle of the night except more, better and intense, and you whimper in affirmation. “Can’t even talk - can’t even say anything.”

When he finally loosens his hold on you, you gasp for air and bring your arm up to wrap around his neck again, fingers scraping through his scalp to tug his lips back to yours. Your other hand drops to the front of his pants, palm smoothing over his bulging erection before your shaky fingers begin tugging his zipper down.

“Can I tell you something?” says Harry, then, as you fumble to undo the button of his pants until you can shove your hand into the fabric, fingernails dragging along his cock through his boxers - his hips jolt into your hands.

“Yes,” you murmur in response, hand jerking up and down his dick and, even through a layer of fabric, he grunts into your lips.

“I didn’t cum,” he says, and you move your head from his, furrowing your eyebrows. “Didn’t cum, even when I heard y’with Vincent -”

“You -?”

“Didn’t wanna cum when I wasn’t buried in your cunt,” and you gasp sharply as his hand on your throat slides down your body until it’s shoved into your panties, cold fingertips dragging along your soaking folds that drip your ambrosia into his grasp. “Even f’you sounded so good, moanin’ for me - almost pathetic -”

You tighten your grip on his hair until he’s crying out, fingertips pinching your clit in your panties and you jerk your hips into his grasp at the sharp punishment. “Don’t call me that -” you moan, trembling hand pulling his boxers down over his cock while he smirks.

“Pathetic -”

“Fuck you, Harry -”

“Whimperin’ like a baby -”

You move your hand from his hair to his face, grip bruising as you grab his chin in your palm. Your fingertips squeeze his cheek as you force his head to stare at you - the lazy, cocky smile that adorns his features makes you want to throttle him, and your fingers flex against his face.

“What?” Harry questions, tone mocking and it fuels the anger in every crevice of your body as you glare at him. “Gonna hit me?”

Yes, you want to say - before you can even open your mouth, though, Harry leans in, teeth nibbling on your earlobe as he exhales, his words low and breathy, “Do it.”

Who are you to disobey him?

You bring your hand back and smack it down on his cheek with a satisfying slap that reverberates through your hotel room. His head is slapped to the side, exposing his side profile to you, and you smooth your palm over the red mark already blooming on his cheek in the shape of your handprint.

“You like to be hit, do you?” you inquire - for a moment, just a second, you feel some semblance of control over the situation, wrapping your fist around his cock once you’ve pulled his boxers down over his length. He hisses, dropping his head back, lips parted in a silent cry when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of his cock, precum dripping down his member. “Never would’ve guessed.”

And you do it again, bringing your hand up to slap his face and it tugs a louder grunt from his mouth, pressing his body further into yours until all you can feel is him, chests pressed together and cock rubbing against your cunt through the fabric of your lace panties. You bring your hand back to give him another slap but then his fingers are pulling your drenched knickers to the side, bulbous tip of his cock nudging through your folds for only a split second before he pushes himself inside of you, sheathing the entirety of his length until he bottoms out, balls pressed tight against your skin.

You can’t help but sob out. It’s, really, not your fault - you can tell how it spurs him on, but before he can keep fucking you like how you’ve dreamt of he’s pulling out completely, taking a half a step away from you, cock tall and leaking. The emptiness you feel is overwhelming, even if you’d only had him in you for a few seconds at best, and objections immediately rise in your throat.

“What the fu -?”

Then he’s grabbing your throat, using his grip as leverage to force you around, cheek smushed against the wooden door frame and back pressed to his chest. His palms smooth up and down the globes of your ass, pulling the cheeks apart until the pressure burns and you throw your head back with a cry. Then he pulls his hand back - lands it back against your ass with a cracking slap that makes you jump against him - and he doesn’t give you a second to beg him to fucking do it again before he’s sliding his cock back into your folds.

“Fuck,” he practically shouts, the noise crackling and broken with arousal practically dripping from the syllable, and you drop your forehead against the door with a cry. “Fuck, so tight - knew y’would be -”

“Move, please,” you beg, tone sobbing and desperate, and Harry obliges without another second to spare - pulls out and thrusts back in, pace brutal and desperate right off the bat until you’re quivering, legs trembling when he’s only been going for a half a minute.

Oh my god. Holy fuck, it feels so good, better than you could’ve ever pictured it, his hand smoothing over your ass before landing periodic slaps to the plump skin - his hand landing on you hardly overpowers the sound of his hips smacking against your ass, filling you until you’re crying for it before leaving you empty and diving back in. You can’t do much else other than stand there on quivering legs that feel incapable of handling your weight and take it, pushing your hips back into his with every thrust until you’ve worked yourselves into a rhythm that makes your fucking head spin.

“Harry -” you gasp as he grabs hold of your hips, pulling them upwards until his cock is slamming into the sweet spot buried inside of your walls that makes you sob out, cheek slamming into the door over and over with the force of his pounding. “Harry - God -”

“What?” he practically hisses, the word full of desire and contempt in the most delicious way possible, and your knees would give out if not for his bruising grip on your hips, keeping you flush against him. 

“Har - choke me, please, want you to - to choke me -”

He stutters a groan at that, moving one of his hands from your hips - he delivers one hard smack to your ass before he’s trailing his hand up your back and around to the front of your throat, squeezing your neck once experimentally just to hear the way you moan at it before he tightens his grasp. Your resulting whimper is caught in your throat, pressing your palms to the door you’re leant up against as Harry just fucking laughs from behind you, thrusting himself into you like he was fucking born for it.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy,” Harry says, then, and he almost sounds in awe as he squeezes your throat tighter, tight enough that your vision goes fuzzy and your head feels light. “So filthy - knew y’would be - an’ so - so - fuckin’ - tight -”

With every word he punctuates his meaning with a particularly hard thrust into your cunt, and the hand on your hip slithers around your body until he’s pressing two fingertips to your clit, rubbing shaking, hard circles against the sensitive nub that has you jolting, arms shaking as you attempt to keep yourself up. “Oh my god,” you practically cry, and the voice sounds far away as he briefly releases his hold on your throat - a firm slap is delivered to the side of your face as you’d given him, the motion forcing your head to the side, and you sob out harder. “Fuck - do it again, please -”

He obeys you, bringing his palm back to slap your cheek again before he wraps his hand back around your throat. “M’gonna cum,” he tells you, words throaty and laced with neediness - you push your hips back against his, a loud, long whine bursting from your throat as his fingers never give up on their assault to your clit. “M’gonna fill y’up - y’want that?”

“Yes!”

“Want me t’fill you up?”

“Yes, Harry, please -!” You come undone around his cock just as his hips stutter to a close - there’s a ball of pleasure that bursts in your core, spreading warmth and euphoria through your body like a wildfire attacks a forest. Your forehead slams against the door with a moan that borders on a scream, nails scratching against the wood as though searching for something to hold onto, to ground yourself, because surely you’re far away - in fucking space - because there’s no way on Earth you could feel this good.

Behind you, Harry’s hand on your clit wraps around your waist, holding your body taut to his as you feel him spurt ribbons of cum inside of you, his release filling you up and it only prolongs yours, aftershocks rolling through you mixed with his warmth spreading through your body. His head drops against the back of yours, breath ruffling the hairs at the back of your neck, and when you finally regain the ability to breathe you’re fucking heaving, gasping for air, the once-simple process labored and desperate.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, and then he pulls out of you - you can feel his cum beginning to trickle down your inner thighs, and that mixed with the sudden emptiness in your cunt makes you exhale a low whine. Your pussy flutters around the sudden air invading it, the loss of a certain appendage filling you up glaringly obvious, and you slump against the door. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, and your knees are shaking when Harry unwraps his arm from around your waist, leaving you to fend for yourself as you try and steady your body. “Fuck.”

You hear, then, Harry walking away - surely stalking deeper into your room, perhaps lying on the bed, kicking off his shoes and beginning to tug off his shirt. You feel sudden embarrassment and heat coursing through your body as you tug the bottom of your skirt down over your ass and the tops of your thighs, walking on shaking legs into the bedroom area of your hotel room -

(Your knife can stay in the door until morning. It is, for all intents and purposes, the least of your priorities when you can’t even think straight.)

Harry’s eyes are on you when you make your way into the bedroom section, leaning up against the doorframe to hide the quivering in your legs, and you hope it looks decently natural but you’re sure it doesn’t, judging by the way his lips tremble upwards as he glances down at the shoe he’s focused on untying.

“I’m gonna shower first,” you tell him. Your throat burns with the energy of speaking after screaming your lungs out and your voice is crackling and raspy - you cough into your elbow, hoping it makes your voice sound a bit less fucked-out than it is, but you’re sure you’re not that lucky.

“Fine by me,” Harry says, kicking his sneakers off onto the ground, and he collapses onto his back onto the bed with a sigh. His pants are still undone and are pushed down his thighs, boxers pulled up over his cock, and you feel - decidedly strange, watching him post-coital, at the way his eyes shut, limbs spreading out over the mattress with a grunt. “M’takin’ the bed, though.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “What -?”

“Y’can hardly walk from how hard I fucked you. I think I deserve it.”

And - well - you can’t quite argue with that logic.

~~

TAGLIST (crossed out urls meant they didn’t show up)

@nineteenfiftyone​ @harryslilkat​ @galacticferns​ @ficrecrry​ @morethanamelodyy​ @hoeeforstyles​ @bunny-munchkin-luvs-music​ @mintchipstyles​ @sstarkme​ @thecitiesintheseas @harry-styles-l​

[hispipsqueak]

Burned

Enji Todoroki x F!Reader - NSFW

A/N: So @cozykozume​ wanted me to name this “Cooling Down the Fire Daddy” so there’s that. Anyways, in case you didn’t know, I LOVE Enji Todoroki....like an extraordinary amount. Which is hilarious, because I started the series hating him but I digress. So here’s one of my favorite things I’ve written and also one of the longest posts because I just...I am just so soft for this man. <3 Pip

WC: 4.5K

TW: unprotected sex, feelings, slight size kink, oral (f receiving), drunk sex, slight angst if you squint, slight authority kink (good girl etc.)

H/N = Hero Name

When you stepped into the meeting that morning you weren't sure what to expect.

"Welcome back!" Midnight's cheery voice cut through the air, her eyes bright. You smiled at her as the rest of your colleagues responded with a variation of greetings and welcome's. You had been on a six month long mission across the globe and arrived back yesterday. Though you were slightly jetlagged, you were ready to throw yourself back in the grind of hero work.

As you took your seat your eyes roamed to the largest figure in the room. Endeavor had stayed silent, his eyes trained on the brief documents in front of him. Hell, you weren't even sure if he had noticed you had returned. Your heart sank slightly.

What did you expect? It had been six months, six long, confusing months since that night of booze and desire. Six months since you had felt his large hands wrapped around your body, his lips pressed against your neck hungrily as you grinded against him.

Fuck. You cut another glance at him. His eyes were narrowed as he read over the papers in front of him and his face was in it's permanent scowl. If he noticed you at all, he was doing a good job hiding it. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by Hawks swaggering in the room. 

"Hey h/n! Long time, no see! How was the mission?" He called out, pulling you into a friendly hug. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Enji shift. 

"Great. Managed to bust the kingpin and shut the entire operation down. Glad to be back though". You smiled back at the winged hero. He nodded, before taking his seat right next to the flame hero.

"Mornin' Endeavor!" his cheery voice rang out.

Enji grumbled a greeting, his eyes not looking up

Eraserhead cleared his throat from the head of the table.

"Let's get started."

You couldn't help zoning out as the dark haired hero discussed the current mission. You forced your eyes to stare at the file in front of you and not the man across from you. You were so focused, you almost didn't hear your name.

"H/N, you will be working with Endeavor."

Your eyes widened, and your head snapped up. You finally dared to look at Enji who's expression hadn't changed. As Eraser concluded the meeting, you steeled your nerves and walked to the flame hero.

"Endeavor, I-"

He cut you off. 

"Train. I will not be dragged down by you because you haven't sparred properly in six months." 

Your demeanor steeled. 

“I wasn’t just partying it up over there. I was working.”

If he cared, it didn’t register on his face. His turquoise eyes were fixed at the spot above you instead of meeting yours. Without another word, he turned to leave. You felt your face grow hot. Determined to not show emotion, you pursed your lips, grabbing your things to head back to your apartment.

---

“Endeavor, you lucky dog.”

Endeavor looked up from the paperwork on his desk with a bored expression.

“What are you talking about Hawks?” His voice was tinged with annoyance as he looked back down to the documents from the intel team.

“Stop pretending you aren’t thrilled to be working with H/N. She’s the BEST, and between you and me, she’s definitely one of the most beautiful heroes.” The blonde faux-whispered, tossing back his head in a chuckle.  Endeavor fixed him with an aggravated stare.

“I have no desire to work with H/N. She has been on a mission for 6 months, so we are at a disadvantage anyway, since I doubt she was actually working all of that time. Especially since her behavior is comparable to yours.”

Hawks cocked a bushy brow.

“Deny it all you want, big guy. Your body language is different when you’re around her. You should ask her out. I’m sure she’d say yes. Some girls like the mean and broody type.”

Smoke emitted from the corner of Endeavor’s desk, where his hand rested. Clearing his throat, he attempted to put it out, but not before the annoying bird hero noticed.

With a smirk, Hawks headed towards the door. 

“Don’t screw this up, Endeavor!”

----

What Hawks didn’t know is Enji had already screwed this up. Before you left, six long months ago, you and Endeavor were on relatively friendly terms. Well as friendly as one can be with the hotheaded flame hero. It was you that convinced him to go out that night with the other pro-heroes. And when the night ended, he had walked you home.

Surprisingly, he could be a gentleman when he wanted to be.

The walk home had been quiet, though you and Enji both had a bit to drink. Emboldened by the alcohol, you finally had turned to him.

“Enji, why do you try to push us away?”

Your boldness surprised him. It wasn’t a surprise he could come off a bit stoic, at best. Yet no one, especially newer heroes, called him out on this behavior. It was just “how he was”. Before he could stop himself he blurted out,

“I don’t wish to hurt people anymore.”

His face heated up and you could see a crimson blush rising up towards his ears. In that moment, you could see a glimpse of Enji, not Endeavor.

This wasn’t to say Enji wasn’t attractive. Yet, him exposing himself, allowing vulnerability? That made your heart jump in your chest. Turning away, you thought about what he meant. You knew his family had been estranged from him, his kids not a frequent presence in his life. You had seen a few gossip magazines detailing how his kids often avoided their childhood home, and you had read about Rei’s hospitalization. You imagined how lonely he must feel, though if there was truth to any of those rumors, you could see why they would be wary.

“This is your home, yes?” 

His voice broke your train of thought. You looked up and realized all too soon the two of you were outside your door. Your hand rested on the door handle and you imagined him sitting in a quiet living room, a house empty.

“Would you like to come in for a bit?” Your voice was squeaky and unsure and you were surprised when he grunted in affirmation. 

Wordlessly he followed you into the apartment. Somehow, without speaking, you could both feel it. The loneliness that bonded you, the freedom of being vulnerable in the dark blanket of the night, these moments allowing you to breathe and just be without expectation and titles. Because here, you weren’t pro-heroes, you were yourselves, seeking the tiny bits of comfort the other could provide. 

As you entered the apartment, the silence between you intensified. Your stomach was buzzing with nerves and as you looked up at him, you could feel the anticipation of who would break first. His hands found your hips and pulled you towards him, and soon his lips were on yours. He tasted like the scotch he had been drinking, warm and rich. His hands were hot where they met your skin, and you pressed closer in his embrace. Rough stubble scratched at your skin and you kissed him deeper, desperately wanting to let him in and lose yourself in him at the same time.

Your back pressed against the wall, and his fingers grazed the bottom of your shirt. Breathlessly you finally broke apart. Looking in each other's eyes, you unbuttoned your shirt, fingers trembling in anticipation. He took this as his cue to pull off his own, and you admired his strong muscles, littered with scars. You could feel his eyes roam your body as you undid the last button, leaving you in a simple bra and pants. His hands, hands that could throw buildings and fight villains, were gentle against your skin, slowly running over your belly to the edge of your bra. When you didn’t protest, he tugged at the clasps, letting it fall off your shoulders to the floor.

He pressed hungry kisses to your shoulder, slowly working his way down. His touches were gentle, as if you would break if he wasn’t careful and his mind raced, wanting to explore every inch of you. A soft moan escaped your lips as he nipped at your neck. Enji’s body tensed, and his grip tightened as he kissed lower, desperate to hear more of your sweet noises. 

His pants were painfully tight now, and you seemed to understand, because he could feel your small fingers working the latch on his belt, tugging his slacks down and exposing the tent in his boxers. He let out a low groan as your fingers wrapped around his clothed cock. Enji was a lot bigger than anyone in general, though he never really thought about it until now, when your hand was struggling to wrap completely around his thick member. 

 Maneuvering his hands from your hips, he cupped your breasts, pressing aching kisses to them. He sucked bruises into your skin, and bit back a groan as your fingers found their way under his waistband. Enji wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you up, and you nodded to the general area of the bedroom. Nudging the door open, he gently rested you on the bed. Sliding your pants over your hips, leaving you exposed, a thin pair of black panties being the only barrier between the redhead and your sex.

His hands gripped your things, parting you open and he placed a soft kiss on your belly. He worked his way lower, hooking his fingers under your waistband and dragging the material over your curves before tossing it off the bed. Tracing over your soft mound with his finger, he pushed open the lips of your cunt. Like a man starved, he buried his face in your pussy, his tongue devouring your slick.

Your hands gripped his red hair and he groaned into you. Pulling your legs over his shoulders, he fucked you on his tongue, before sucking your throbbing clit between his lips. Eyes rolling back, your breathy moans filled the apartment. You felt yourself climbing higher and higher, so close to euphoria as you grinded on his face.

“Fuck...delicious.” He growled into your cunt. His fingers gripped your thighs, almost painfully and the vibrations of his voice pushed you over the edge. Your thighs squeezed around his head and your back arched off the soft bed as you cried out his name. He continued his assault on your cunt, slurping down your juices as your fingers tugged his locks, gasping at the overstimulation. Still, Enji continued to drown himself in you, your sweet taste like nectar of the gods. He wanted so much more of you, to stay here for hours, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you. He could feel the muscles in your thighs tense as you came again, your body trembling from the impact.

Pulling away, he kissed your lips, the taste of you on his tongue. Your tongues entwined, as your arms wrapped around his neck, feeling the muscles of his upper back flex. Too soon and yet not fast enough he broke away, positioning himself between your legs, his massive frame towering over you. His hands rested on the bed on opposite sides of your face as he looked down at your body. Your lips were puffy from his kiss, parted slightly. Your eyes were glassy, half-lidded and hungry for more. You met his gaze and inhaled, giving him the slightest nod. He lined his cock up with your entrance, gently pushing the head in. You gasped at the stretch, and after a moment rocked your hips, spurring him to continue. Easing his cock in, he gritted his teeth at how tight your cunt wrapped around him. His hands moved to your hips as he pulled himself out of you, leaving the tip in before thrusting back into you.

Gripping your hips, he bounced you on his cock easily. Moans fell from your mouth, stuttering each time he bottomed out in you. One hand left your hip and gripped the headboard as his heavy balls smacked against your ass. Enji groaned as your legs wrapped around his waist, forcing him deeper. The headboard creaked under his force as he pounded into you, your moans of his name spurring him on, making him want to give you all of him. Your small hand ran over his chest, the dark hair soft under your fingers as you dug your nails in his skin. You felt overwhelmingly full, his thick cock filling every crevice inside you.

Enji’s fiery eyes roamed  your body, watching as your breasts bounced with each thrust. He could practically see the bulge in your belly from his cock and as lewd as the scene was, there was something so beautiful about you in the throes of passion. His name dripped from your lips like a mantra and he could feel the desire, the want that you carried, begging him to give you everything he had. Your fingers danced across his muscles, a touch so intimate. A touch he hadn’t felt in years.

With a crack, the wooden headboard began to splinter as Enji unloaded into you with a shout. Your body felt heavy as he shot white ropes of cum deep inside you, some spilling out around his cock and onto your sheets. With a final groan, he stilled, slowly sliding his softening cock out of you and collapsing next to you on the bed.

It was silent, except for the sounds of both of you breathing hard, your chests rising and falling in tandem. Enji could hear his heart thumping wildly and he turned to look at you. Your eyes were closed, breathing labored but slow and you sleepily turned towards him, laying your head on his massive bicep. 

The next morning, he was gone. The only evidence that the night had even happened was the crack that ran across your headboard and the glass of water on your night stand. Enji avoided you during hero meetings, always somehow on a busy patrol when you called, his assistant taking your message, yet again until you gave up trying.

When the months-long mission was offered to you, you accepted it without hesitation. Enji didn’t attempt to say goodbye.

-----

Now, Enji was torn. 

There was no getting out of this. He thought about reaching out to Eraserhead to ask about working alone, though he knew the sleepy hero would ask questions he didn’t want to get into. Enji furrowed his brow as he swung again at the punching bag in front of him, taken to training in his private outdoor home gym rather than the regular hero gyms to avoid you, though you hadn’t made any more attempts to speak to him.

He jabbed at the bag. This was ridiculous. He was a pro-hero. Allowing this to interfere with his work made him weak, and Endeavor was not weak. 

He wasn’t weak.

Enji threw a few more punches, shaking the sweat off as he reached for the bottle of water behind him. 

“Enji.”

He stiffened.

“Enji Todoroki, I don’t know why you are ignoring me or what I did to you, but we need to talk about what happened.” Your voice was clear, stronger than it was the day of the meeting.

He took a swig from his water bottle, biding his time. Finally turning around, he faced you. You were in a simple t-shirt and track pants, probably coming from a workout yourself. Your eyes were ablaze, demanding to get answers. Enji felt a stabbing pain in his chest as he compared the image of you now, to the image of you from that night.

“I have nothing to say. We will work on this mission, and be civil to each other. That’s all.” Enji attempted to push past you and you turned on your heel.

“You know what? Fine. You want to pretend you didn’t feel anything that night? That meant nothing to you whatsoever? Was it just to hook up, get your dick wet and leave? Because you didn’t need me for that.” Your tone was angry but Enji could hear the hurt in your statements. Facing you, he glared down.

“What do you want from me? To be your boyfriend? I’m not that man. Try Hawks, he’s into that sort of nonsense. I don’t need or want this trouble in my life anymore.” Enji’s voice was hard, the tone he used for villains or the press. You searched his face, seeking the man from that night. Enji, not Endeavor.

You thought over his words. “Enji...what are you so afraid of?”

The tone of your voice shifted. Softer, easier. He remembered how he felt when you begged for him, when you showed your desire for him through each touch and kiss. He finally looked into your eyes, eyes so full of earnest curiosity. Why couldn’t you just make this easy? He swallowed hard.

Fat droplets of water splashed onto his arms, and no sooner did he notice that the sky opened up, sheets of rain pouring over the two of you. Without thinking, he gripped your hand tugging you to the house. Even though it wasn’t a far journey, you were both soaked, and he could see you shivering. Grabbing a towel from the linen closet, he wrapped it around your shoulders. You murmured a thanks, standing awkwardly in his doorway.

He reached for your hand, leading you to the laundry room. Your hands were small in his and he tried to not focus on his heartbeat that pounded in his ears. 

“Wait here.” He grunted, leaving to grab clothes for both of you. He grabbed one of his, then thought better and dug around for anything Fuyumi or Rei may have left. No luck. He sighed, returning to the room where you were sitting on top of the washer.

Thrusting the clothes into your hands, he left to give you some privacy to change as he pulled on his clothes. A few minutes later he heard you giggling. You stepped out, drowning in his way too big shirt. The shirt extended nearly to your knees. The sweatpants he gave you were sliding off your hips and he glimpsed your thighs as you attempted to pull them up. Shrugging, you let them fall to the floor, your legs exposed.

“Sorry, but I don’t think they will stay on. Luckily, your shirt hides everything important.” You said, looking down. Enji mentally disagreed, since any inch of skin he could see would be burned into his brain forever.

Tossing both your clothes into the washer, he set the timer and then it was silent. You spoke first.

“I thought I did something wrong.”

Enji turned to you, Your gaze was fixed on the washing machine, though your eyes looked distant. You continued.

“I thought maybe you thought it was a drunken mistake.”

“I wasn’t drunk.”

You turned. Enji’s cerulean eyes were downcast at the laminate flooring. You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off.

“I’m not good at this. I’m not stupid, I know the rumors about my family that people say. They aren’t all lies. I did fuck it up. I did a lot of bad, terrible things and pushed them away. Rei, and the kids...they didn’t deserve any of the pain I caused them.”

His shoulders sagged, the weight of his past overtaking him. “I did, I do love them. But I understand why they had to leave.” He sat on the small couch in the corner.

Enji felt your hand cover his, your thumb rubbing circles over his knuckles. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

“Enji...doing shitty things doesn’t make you a shitty person. You can’t punish yourself forever.” Your voice was soft, soothing. Enji finally met your eyes.

“I’ve already fucked that up. I fucked this up. I don’t want to hurt people I care about anymore. It’s easier this way.”

You wrapped your arms around him. The two of you made quite a sight, the smaller figure cradling the large man. You stood in front of him and he let himself relax into you, his head resting on your chest. He could smell your scent, warm and comforting, even under his shirt. Your fingers grazed his hair, holding him to you. Enji thought of the nights where he lay in bed, allowing himself to imagine your body next to him. 

He was tired of being strong.

“Enji...I can’t say everything will be perfect. But punishing yourself before it starts isn’t going to do anything but cause more pain.”

He could feel your heartbeat, a steady rhythm that matched his breathing. He was aware of his hands around your body, your soft strokes in his hair. He thought about how it would feel to have your touches, hold you in his arms every day, every night.

Enji allowed himself to fall.

He raised his head, his lips meeting yours. With each kiss he silently told you his hopes, his fears, and his apologies. In turn, you gave him comfort and acceptance. He pulled you onto his lap, so you were straddling him, kissing you hard to make up for the months of missed opportunities. 

You kissed for what felt like forever, never wanting to stop. His hands slid down your back and across your thighs, going under your shirt. 

“You look so good in this. Wanna see this more often.” He whispered, a smirk on his face. You giggled and he had the desire to hear all of your beautiful sounds. In time, he reminded himself.

“Enji, are you flirting with me?” You teased and he pulled you close in another kiss. His hands wandered across your soft skin and he could feel the hardened peaks of your nipples through the thin cotton of the shirt. He kissed down your jaw, and your fingers grasped at his hair, causing him to groan into your neck.

“You tease me so much, Y/N.” He growled out as you grinded on his lap. You could feel his cock stir through his joggers, and you felt yourself growing wetter on his lap. He pulled your shirt up to your waist, exposing your thin panties to him. He could feel your arousal through the fabric and ran his thumb down the dark spot over your cunt. You let out a soft whimper and his eyes blazed with hunger.

 Pulling your shirt above your tits, he took one in his mouth, sucking harshly. He grazed your nipple with his teeth, causing your back to arch. He switched sides, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. Your hips rocked against his bulge, more prominent now and he pulled away from your chest.

“I want you Enji.” Your voice was soft and seductive, and Enji felt your words go straight to his cock. Picking you up, he carried you to his room. The lights were dim and you didn’t have time to look around before he dropped you on the bed, pushing your legs apart and lapping at your cunt through your drenched panties.

“Already so excited, sweet girl. Taste so good for me.” Enji murmured into your pussy, pressing kisses and bites to your thighs. You whined, attempting to push down your panties and he laughed, a low chuckle that rumbled in his chest. 

“So eager, aren’t you?” 

You pouted at him. “It’s been too long and I’ve missed you so much.”

Enji was grateful for the dark room hiding the blush that spread across his face. He busied himself by dragging your panties down at an agonizingly slow pace, taking the time to admire your legs, his fingers skimming the skin causing shivers to go down your spine. Enji turned to take in the scene. Your body, draped across the sheets, mouth parted, eyes full of want staring up at him, silently begging for him. He had pictured this many times, many sleepless nights, but the reality was so much better.

“So beautiful.”  HIs voice was quiet, and his heart thumped wildly. He was nervous, even though he had already been with you once before. This time felt so raw, so much more real. He wanted to be with you in every way he could, in any way you would let him and he could tell you wanted the same.

As he pulled off his shirt, your hands slid into the waistband of his pants, grazing over the head of his throbbing cock. He groaned as your fingers slid over the sensitive head, smearing precum down the shaft. You pushed down the rest of his clothes and he kneeled between your legs. Both of you were quiet, and you could feel the excitement in the air of doing this, being with each other completely. It was vulnerable, it was scary, but he trusted you to be there when he fell. And in turn, you trusted him to be yours.

Pushing into you, your breath hitched. He felt your body clamp down on him, and he slowed, easing his way in. Your nails dug into the skin of his biceps and you gasped as he bottomed out in you.

Pressing his forehead to yours, he searched your eyes for discomfort. Instead you gazed at him with complete adoration, bright eyes completely infatuated.

“You’re perfect, Enji.” Your voice was quiet and breathy, but clear. In response he pressed a harsh kiss to your mouth, trying to explain every emotion he felt, words he couldn’t say just yet. As you kissed, he rocked into you, his thick cock dragging against your walls. Your soft moans were swallowed by his kisses, and the stinging marks left on his arms only drove him crazier. He fucked into you faster, feeling your tight cunt squeezing around him, wanting so badly to stay inside you forever.

Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and the room was filled with your sweet sounds, interspersed with his praises.

“Taking me so well. Such a good girl. Fuck, so beautiful.” Enji gasped out, his high imminent. Each thrust had you seeing stars and you felt like your body was floating. Moving his hands from the sheets, he slid over your clit, teasing your body. You clenched around him.

“Fuck, right there,don’t stop!” You gasped out, grasping at the bedsheets, your back arching off to meet his thrusts. Enji complied, his rhythm speeding up as he toyed with your clit and you cried out, your body squeezing his cock like a vice. You gushed around his cock, and he fucked into you faster, feeling his body heat up. With a groan he slammed into you, holding you down as he spilled into you. His hips stuttered as he filled you with every drop, and soon the room was filled with panting as both of you struggled to catch your breath.

Easing out of you, he grabbed a towel, cleaning you up before collapsing next to you. You were both quiet and you were reminded of the time before. Nervous, you turned to him and made eye contact.

“Are you staying this time?” Your voice was small and Enji saw your fingers threading the sheets, nervously.

“It’s my house.” He responded seriously. Caught off guard, you burst into laughter. He watched you amused. You looked gorgeous and he would never get used to the sound of your laughter filling the house that had been quiet for too long.

Catching your breath, you turned back to him.

“What I mean is...do you want to do this? Together?”

Enji looked at the bed that was no longer empty, felt the life and warmth that filled the house, exuding from you just being there and entwined his hand with yours.

“Yes.”

[beespeaks]

Just in case...

Stu Macher X Reader 

Stu gets nervous before his party and decides to come see you in case anything goes wrong...

Aged up characters in college/uni

Tags: Swearing, mentions of murder, character death, basic Scream plot with added character and it’s in college though that’s not mentioned, Making out, angst

Warnings: mentions of murder/violence, major character death

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You were laying in bed, book in hand, trying to process the day. Casey Becker and Steve Orth had been murdered the night before, and if you were being honest, that scared you. From what everyone had said at school and what you had heard on the news, it had been a pretty violent death too. You didn’t understand who could ever do something like that and why? What could have possibly possessed someone to do that? It wasn’t right. 

You tried to push the thoughts away and focus on the book in your hands but you couldn’t shake the fear swirling in your belly. You were home alone and that just made it worse. You usually craved the nights your parents would go away and leave you alone, but tonight you wished there was someone else here with you. 

Stu was having a party tonight, and he pointedly didn’t invite you which just made you feel worse. In fact, he went out of his way to uninvite you and tell you not to come. You weren’t sure why he didn’t want you there or what you had done to upset him, but you pretended you didn’t care, laughing it off like it was no big deal. You hated parties anyway. 

A tapping on your bedroom window pulls you away from your thoughts and the neglected book in your hands. There was silence for a second as panic mounted in your gut and then you saw another flash against the window. Someone was throwing something at your window. The only person who ever did that was Stu. You hoped. 

Shakily, you padded across the floor to the window and peaked out into the night. It was hard to make out anything much but when you saw another flash against the glass, you knew it was Stu. This flash was green. He was throwing Skittles again. When you had asked him why, he said they were more fun than pebbles.

You sigh and slide the cool glass up the frame and peer out just as a red Skittle goes flying past your head into your bedroom. 

“Fuck!” Stu curses. “Sorry!” He stands on the pavement outside, a sheepish look on his face. He’s hunched in on himself, almost like he’s cold. 

“Can I come in?” He calls, his voice sounds strange and yet it still comforts you just like it always has. You shut the window and run down to let him in, trudging back up the stairs before he even gets in the door and refusing to look at him. Just because you hadn’t planned on going to that party, doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck that he didn’t want you there. 

Your bedroom is cold when you return and it feels smaller with Stu leaning against the doorframe behind you. 

“Y/N.” Stu starts and you turn around to look at him. He looks conflicted and small somehow, even considering his tall frame. Something is definitely bothering him and you want to ask what it is. You don’t though, something tells you that you don’t want to know. 

“Why wasn't I invited to your party?” You ask instead, you decide you can ask him about it tomorrow. Stu looks surprised by your question, it probably hadn’t occurred to him that it would bother you. Part of you thinks that’s sweet. 

“You don't want to come. Trust me.” Something dark laces his words but you brush it off, choosing instead to let his words irritate you. You cross your arms over your chest and glare at him. 

“How do you know? I might have wanted to.” Stu smiles slightly but his eyes still won’t meet yours, he keeps them trained on his shoes. 

“It sucks. You would hate it.” He murmurs and you scoff. 

“So, that’s why you’re here then, your party sucked so you thought you’d come and annoy me. How did you know I wouldn't have plans? I could have gone out tonight despite the curfew.” You almost yell. Stu is one of your best friends and there is defiantly something more there, but he always treated you like a second choice. A backup plan. He was always off with Tatum - his actual girlfriend, or Billy Loomis. The only times he ever had time for you was when no one else was around. You were sick of being a secret. 

Stu sighs at your outburst and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m glad you were home.” He whispers. It’s quiet, you almost miss it but it changes something. All the anger and hurt you had been holding onto vanishes and you finally take a proper look at the blonde boy in front of you. 

The usual loud, goofy idiot is quiet and he looks like he might break any second. He’s standing as close to the doorframe as he can, like he needs to it to hold himself up. His eyes are on anything but you and even from here you can see his breathing is uneven. 

“Stu? What’s wrong?” Taking steps towards him, you reach your hand out and touch his shoulder. He flinches slightly before leaning into your touch. “Stu, look at me.” You keep your voice low and soft, like you're talking to a frightened animal. Shaking his head a few times he turns his head slowly to you. His blue eyes are scared and sad and something else that breaks your heart. Now that he’s finally looking at you, his resolve starts to crumble. You were always the one thing that could break down his defenses. You were the one person he never had to pretend with. You were his safe place. 

“I’m scared, Y/N.” His voice breaks and then he’s crying, almost hysterically. Deep, laboured breathes and attempts to stop. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a hug as fast as you can, wanting to make him feel even a little better as soon as you can. 

His arms wrap around you instantly, his face buried in your neck as he sobs. He’s shaking and digging his nails into your back but you don’t care. You have no idea what it is that could have him this upset. Stu has always been sensitive and he’ll cry at any sad movie the two of you watch, but even you’ve never seen him like this. 

“It’s okay, Stu. It’s okay.” You whisper as you press a kiss to his temple. He doesn’t tell you, but this is all he needed. All he ever needed. 

He does whisper something into the crook of your neck though. You don’t catch what it is until he pulls himself away from you to look into your eyes. He swears your eyes are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. His own eyes are still red and filled with tears. 

“I love you.” He whispers and you gasp softly. If he had told you this any when else, you would have called bullshit and told him there were easier ways for him to get laid than fucking with your emotions. But the look in his eyes and the way he holds onto you like a lifeline, you can’t believe it’s a lie. You also can’t lie to him. 

“I love you, too.” 

His lips are on you before the words are even fully out of your mouth. A passionate, heated kiss filled with unspoken words and over a year of holding yourselves back. Your hands grip in his hair and his knead at your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. You cling to each other like you don’t need anything in the world as much as you need this, like he’s the oxygen you’ve been craving, like you’re the rain after the longest drought. 

The two of you move backwards and fall down onto the bed, never letting go of each other. He’s on top of you now and his lips are traveling to your neck to leave open-mouthed kisses and whispers of ‘I love you’ over and over again. You whisper it back every time. Even if you don’t know why he’s falling apart, you know that’s what he needs to hear to keep him together. 

Just as his lips are back on yours, softer and slower now but still as passionate as before, you hear a ringing. Stu pulls back and curses as he pulls a cellular telephone from his back pocket. He looks defeated and scared again. 

He doesn't answer the phone, just switches it off and slips it in his back pocket with a sigh. You don’t know why, but you know he’s about to leave. Maybe it was Tatum. She is his girlfriend after all. The reminder pangs in your chest. 

Stu’s blue eyes meet yours and you can’t find it in you to ask about Tatum or push him away like you should when he kisses you again. Softly and sadly. A kiss full of ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I love you’ and something that feels like goodbye. 

He pulls back to rest his forehead against yours and just breathe in your familiar, comforting scent for a moment longer. 

“I love you.” He whispers before getting up and leaving the room. He doesn’t look back.

When the phone rings in the middle of the night and your friend Randy recalls the events of Stu’s party, you collapse onto the floor as everything clicks into place in ways you really wish it wouldn’t. It felt like goodbye, because it was. 

Stu Macher was dead and you were always going to think about the fact that you saw him last. You could have stopped him, if you had just asked him one more time if he was okay. Just one more time and he might have told you what was happening. One more time and he might still be here.

At least now you knew why you weren’t invited to  his party.

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating J.D.

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous and @poruchik-logy​)

(Sorry about the inactivity lately. With the holidays coming up, I’ve been a bit busy. Plus, I’ve written a post or two on my other blogs which means no post on this one. Anyways, hope you enjoy!)

- You meet J.D. when he transfers to your school. You’re in study hall when you just so happen to look up and make eye contact with the boy while glancing around the room. 

- For the rest of the period, you feel like someone's watching you, and lo and behold, every time you sneak a glance his way, his eyes are on you. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he was looking, he just raises an eyebrow at you when you turn and meet his gaze. 

- You spot him in the lunchroom later that day and ask your friends about him though they don’t have much information besides his name and where he moved from which they got from one of their teachers forcing him to introduce himself to the class. He was a mystery …and boy were you intrigued. 

- You have your first conversation at the local Snappy Snack Shack. You’d just popped in to grab a little junk food, only to find him stalking through the store in his black trench coat. You figured you’d dance around each other until one of you left but before you knew it, he’d sauntered up to you and interjected that you looked familiar. 

- Before you knew it, the two of you had introduced yourselves and began a sort of flirtatious conversation. He bought you a slushy and offered you a ride home on his bike which you coyly accepted after a moment of nervous hesitation. 

- It was that same night that he returned to your house, rapping at your window and damn near giving you a heart attack. Even though it was terrifying at first, it was also sort of endearing and you soon found yourself joining him outside.

- Now, It’s your choice whether or not you sleep together that night. If you do then consider yourself kissed and claimed from then on. If you don’t, he’ll continue to show up at your house or hang around you at school until he gets what he wants. You. 

- You suppose that your first date happened at the Snack Shack so from then on, the two of you were sort of seeing each other. Well, one of his favorite things to do with you is not be at home so the two of you were hanging out in an empty lot.

- The sun went down and you were sitting in the dark, the glow of the moon being the only thing lighting up your date. You were sitting down and he was lingering on his feet somewhere behind him, sorta pacing from what you could hear. 

- He knelt down beside you and you turned your head to look at him, only to immediately get pulled into a kiss that all but had you melt into the floor. It was passionate and somewhat rough, exactly what you’d expect from him. And you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

- Well, he most certainly isn’t letting you go after that. I hope you like him babe because you’re not getting rid of him anytime soon. 

- This man is fully willing to makeout with you in public. So yeah, there’s a lot of Pda.

- His hands are pretty much on you at all times.

- Pecks on the lips. He loves when you just give him a kiss for no reason at all.

- Rough, passionate kisses. He asserts his dominance by hooking his arms around you and pulling you into a searing kiss until you can’t breathe.

- He definitely calls you “woman” and a ton of other pet names ranging from cute to just plain annoying. 

- He never would have imagined a girl like you would actually put up with him for so long …but boy is he thankful you have.

- He’s a little shit and that’s just something you’ll have to live with. He’s blunt, conniving and sarcastic, but he does care about you.

- He pretends like he doesn’t give a shit a lot of the time but he does, more than he cares to admit.

- Surprisingly enough, JD actually really likes cuddling. You’ll usually lay with your legs intertwined and your head resting against his chest while he wraps his arms tight around you. 

-  Jason's father sort of ignores him, they aren’t very close and certainly not close enough to be sharing affection besides; maybe, a pat on he back or something similar. So he craves attention and affection.

- He yearns for you to touch and love him but he doesn’t know how to tell you that he wants you to suffocate him with your own body. He’ll just try to repeat whatever it is he did to make you touch him or touch you until you do something to him.

- Hugs from behind.

- Husky whispers in your ear. He does it on purpose because he knows what it does to you.

- Motorcycle rides. 

- Trying to get him to quit smoking. It never actually works but he; somewhat, tries to cut down on it for your sake. He thinks the fact that you care is sorta amusing. 

- Cutting class together.

- Going shooting with him. The beer bottles and porcelain plates kind of shooting, not the Ram and Kurt kind of shooting. 

- Dark humor. Although, sometimes you genuinely don’t know if he’s joking or not. 

- He can always seem to make you laugh, even if it makes you feel guilty to laugh at some off the stuff he says.

-  Hearing an alarming amount of gun and bomb facts. 

- Going to Snappys Snack Shack with him.

- Junk food binges.

- He’s kind of a stalker if I’m being honest. He follows you around without you knowing, finds out everything he can about you, etc. You’re sort of like an obsession of his and that can be good or bad depending on the situation and to what extent you know about his feelings. 

- He knows practically everything about you, ranging from your birthday to where you are at pretty much any given time.

- He’s not too great at all that lovey dovey shit but he tries. It might take him a little while to get the hang of it but he eventually will. 

- Getting him to play the sax for you.

- Having his hand on your thigh whenever he’s driving. 

- Making out.

- Hickeys.

- He likes when you wear his clothes, it’s like marking his territory without getting in trouble for making your neck different colors.

- Listening to morbid music.

- Deep existential conversations. What else do you talk about with your girlfriend besides the meaning of life and why society will ultimately cave in and destroy itself in a violent revolt?

- Late night phone calls from him. Be prepared to rush to your landline at three a.m. so that you don’t wake up your parents. You can’t even really be mad at him because he’ll just immediately launch into either a spiel about how he missed you or ask what your opinion on Manchurian candidates are; successfully silencing you in bewilderment. 

- Getting random knocks at your window whenever he decides he just has to see you. 

- Your parents either love or hate him, there is no inbetween. He’s generally pretty good at playing the role of the upstanding young man who cares a lot about their daughter; that parts real of course, but occasionally a parent will just get a bad vibe from him and his charade; though convincing, just won’t work on them. 

- If that’s the case with your parents then you’ll sort of be forced to sneak out if you want to see him, which he’s particularly good at helping you do. 

- Getting kept away from his father. He tries to keep your interactions to a minimum, especially if you have a much different personality than to the man.

- Incredibly jealous though he’ll always try to hide just how upset whatever situation you’re in makes him. He makes jokes and “forgets about it” as soon as you join his side, convincingly acting like nothing happened or that he saw nothing wrong with it but staying up the rest of the night wondering what he can do about it. 

- Possessive. You’re each others, aren’t you? He’s yours and you’re his. Everybody belongs to someone and the two of you belong to one another. 

- Is he protective? What do you think? If you ever complain about a person bothering you, he’ll almost immediately ask if you want him to kill them. You think it’s a joke. It’s not. 

- Although it may seem like he does things just for his own benefit, he would genuinely do anything you ask of him. Sometimes he’ll surprise you with the lengths that he goes to make your life easier and happier. 

- He’s hot tempered and kind of an asshole so the two of you are; most likely, almost constantly fighting. You’ll usually be yelling at each other or arguing passionately which is a problem because he thinks you’re hot when you’re angry. He’ll usually wind up trying to kiss you which succeeds in making things worse and having you give him the silent treatment/break up. 

- He tries his best to give you your space but the instant you want him back, he’s all over you. He usually never actually apologizes but he doesn’t force you to when you’re in the wrong either so you suppose it’s fair. 

- I love you’s are few and far between. He doesn’t really want to make himself seem too vulnerable so you only get them on rare occasions. 

- The two of you tend to not talk about the future. He wants to be with you forever; which is obvious, and he wants you to be his; which is also obvious. But you don’t know if you’re entirely sure you can handle him. So, you try to just enjoy the time you’re spending together and not think about how things may end. 

- You’re either the Bonnie to his Clyde or his blissfully unaware darling. Pick your poison. 

[alreadyblondenow]

Easy come, easy go

“I’m saying, we’re not going to be okay when we’re apart. I’m not sure if I could give the same efforts you’re about to offer in the future,”

Pairing: Jeno x female!reader Genre: SMUT, FLUFF, ANGST. Enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, summer love WC: 3,038k Warnings: female reader wears lipstick, jeno putting on lipstick to you, swearing, mentions of parties and one beer, but no alcohol consumption, high school graduates so it the summer before college starts. Unprotected sex, mentions of making out, breakup, couch sex, mentions of other idols.  A/N: I’m in a jeno mood for days already now ughs

It all started this summer, where your cousin Haechan introduced you to some of his friends to somehow help you make new friends over the summer. Having new friends is nice of course, who wouldn't want that. But meeting Lee Jeno and being nice to him was the worst decision you made so far. He was annoying, rude, has poor eyesight and seriously you don't understand why girls go crazy over him. It's like he is this walking nightmare the whole summer that you try to avoid at all costs but you just can't because he and Haechan are best friends.

"The guy likes you. Jeno is not usually "rude" to girls, in fact, he's good with girls. So just have more patience with him," Haechan explains after you rant your heart out during a house party. "Fix your lipstick its smudge- I'll go get you a beer, wait here" and so you did, you took out your phone and your lipstick, trying to re-apply it under the dim lights and neon lights, then suddenly someone bumped your shoulder so hard and spilled their drink on your thin blouse.

It was Jeno. And instead of saying sorry he let out a small laugh and pretended that he didn't do it on purpose. "You look like a clown- uh, your lips... here let me get that for you-"

"Fuck you. Don't touch me," you said sternly and walked away. Leaving Jeno completely speechless and worried because he really did fucked up this time.

You looked for the nearest bathroom and wash away the beer from your blouse but it's useless. The beer stained already it's so obvious, not to mention your face is a mess and Jeno was right you look like a clown because you didn't notice you put on too much lipstick earlier. "Fuck" you murmured and got a tissue to wipe away your ruined makeup.

"Y/n, it's Jeno uhm... Can you please open the door so we could talk, and I could apologize sincerely" he rests his head on the door while holding on to the knob, waiting for you to open it. Thankfully, you did but not because you're being soft this time, you only opened the door because sooner or later you have to deal with him and you rather talk to him in private.

"What?" you asked without meeting his eyes and trying to re-apply your lipstick again but this time you're sure you'll get it right.

"I really didn't mean it earlier. I have poor eyesight and as you can see I don't have glasses right now, so that's why... I'm really sorry." he explained, short but you know it's the truth. He wouldn't come and find you if he didn't want to apologize.

"Apology accepted," you leaned on the mirror and continue to what you're doing but to your surprise, he came closer, grabbed you by the waist gently, and took the lipstick out of your hand.

"Turn towards me," you do as you're told, he then lifted your head, and then you watch him put a little pigment on his middle finger, just enough for your lips and just how you like it. Is he really this good with girls that he even knew how to apply lipstick? "Part you lips," he requests.

But it was a request that made the atmosphere a little warmer and it both made your hearts beat so fast.

Gently then he dabs his finger lightly on your lips, carefully putting enough color into it and careful not to ruin it again for the second time. And when he's done, you simply locked eyes and that's when you saw that he does like you.

Then he kissed you and stopped the world for you. Everything turned silent even though the party music outside the bathroom was blaring and everyone seems to be shouting. It was a quick kiss but it felt so good and right at the same time that Jeno asked for more and wanted to deepen the kiss but you stopped him.

"Okay okay. I understand now," you giggle and erased the pigment on his lips with your thumb. "Let's take it slow," you said and smiled at him but the man who's smiling so big in front of you reached out for the doorknob and locked it. You would be lying if you say you don't want him to kiss you again.

A few days after the kiss, Jeno didn't stop teasing you in front of his friends but it got lessen. A few days later, the little crush grew and grew until Jeno decided he really wanted to try and make things work with you. He can be so annoying to the point that you wanted to punch him, but you know that he's serious when it comes to his feelings. Jeno can be a real asshole sometimes, but the man knew how to make you happy and smile privately.

After the first month of summer, you and Jeno had the time of your lives and spend your precious time together privately. Night swimming in his house, sneaking out to make out during parties with friends, you visiting him during his work and wait for him until its closing time. The first month was beautiful and you didn't expect you would have a great time with someone you used to hate. Even though you hide what relationship you have from everyone, you and Jeno love the privacy and to be honest you don't care if he doesn't flex you to everyone. The man loves you and that's what's important.

“Welcome, beautiful”

Jeno said with a big and teasing smile as you enter the coffee shop his family owns and where he usually works whenever he’s free. “You here to see me? I knew it, you always had a crush on me” he teases further.

“No dumbass, I’m here to buy Haechan a cake,” you said, scanning the displayed cakes and avoiding to look at Jeno’s handsome smile. “I’ll take the birthday cake, and three candles please”

You watch Jeno put the cake and secure it in a box, with the three candles as requested. Giving it to you before he accepts your payment, "You're really not here for me? While I think about you every second of the day?" he pouts and crossed his arms.

"Oh you're annoying, see you tonight" you rolled your eyes but left a smile before you leave him.

Tonight is Haechan's birthday and everyone at home was busy preparing for the party including you. It's a sleepover, only Haechan's closest friends and a few family members were invited that's why you're lucky you get to sleep with Jeno tonight, you just have to plan out how you can sneak out without the others seeing you.

As the party started and guests started arriving, you and Jeno barely talked to each other because you were busy talking to your relatives. But he never let you out of his sight, he was watching you from afar and listing the names of the guys who talk to you tonight in his head. And when all family members came home and everyone who stayed are all drunk and sleeping, you went downstairs to where Jeno is sleeping and brought him a pillow and a blanket.

"Thought you forgot about me already, hi" he waited for you on the couch while he's laying comfortably there with all the lights turned off and only the light from the swimming pool illuminates the room.

"Don't you want to sleep somewhere comfortable?" you whisper and sat on top of him, legs on both of his sides.

"Now that you're on top of me, this is my definition of comfort" he smiled so sweetly and reached for your face to cup it and kiss you. "Let's sleep here tonight," he whispered and pulled your body closer to him. Lips moving, tongue swirling on each other while your hands are intertwined. Letting yourselves enjoy this quiet night for this busy day kept you both apart from each other for so long.

"Jaemin was too friendly with you earlier,"

"I didn't notice- wait, you were watching me the whole time?" you whispered back.

"Of course I'm watching you,"

"Well if we go out in public he wouldn't be so clueless, and you wouldn't end up hating your friend"

"I like the privacy we have. Plus do you realize how much teasing we'd get from Haechan?" you agreed to him and placed your head on top of his chest to listen to his heartbeat. "You know when I first saw you my heart beat so fast that I ended up being rude to you instead of acting cute," you feel the vibrations of his giggle and hear him well. It was just a few words, a sincere gesture and, a little honesty but it made you feel something deep inside that made you confess your love to him.

"I love you. I know it's too early to say it, but there I said. I love you," you hide your face on the side of his neck and feel him soothe your back.

"I was planning to say it first, that's not fair. But, me too. I love you too." he searched for your eyes and flashed a handsome smile at you. Tracing your lips as he remembers the first night he kissed you for the first time. Then you came closer to him for a kiss but the moment heated in no time and the next thing you know you're pulling down Jeno's shorts and palm his big cock through his boxers briefs.

He let out guttural sounds, proof that he's loving the pleasure but careful enough not to be heard so you kissed him and caught all his moans as you continue to work on his cock and eventually started grinding on top of him.

"Are we really having our first on a couch?" he whispered in between kissing, hands started to undo the buttons from your sleepwear. Finally exposing yourself to him, "beautiful as always," he murmured but you rolled your eyes on him, making you both giggle quietly. You removed his shirt and proceed to kiss his very hot body, kissing him on the neck, his collar bones, abs, and most importantly, his sensitive nipples that made him part his lips when your tongue made contact with it. "You're going to be the death of me," he said and slipped his hand inside your thin shorts to palm your ass. You then took initiative, to remove your shorts and throw it on the floor. Now that you're both only in your underwear it made you even more excited.

Slowly Jeno let his hand wander around your body, touching your boobs for the very first time and brushing his fingers oh so softly on your nipples and make them hard just like what you did to his. Until you intentionally came closer to him so you're boobs are near his face and did not hesitate to suck it until both of your nipples are swollen.

"When was the last time you had sex?" he whispered beside your ear and the way he asked you just made you breathe in deeply and let out a small moan.

"Let's just say that it's been too long that you will think you're fucking a virgin,"

"It's going to be a long night then," he said and immediately put two fingers inside you which made you hold onto his shoulder and grind on his fingers. "You were right," Jeno felt how tight you were and became more excited that he moved his finger deeper and curled them, massaging your tight walls and watching you enjoy the pleasure that he give you while you're on top of him.

Then he removed it and you let out a heavy sigh because of frustration, you were so wet by this time and you see his boxers briefs stained with your pussy juices and you swear, you wanted to get mad at him but now is not the time. "Put your fingers back in please,"

“You were so close to cumming, don't you want to cum on my dick instead?" he asked you, pulling his hard cock from his boxers briefs and reaching for your hand for you to palm it and feel how big he is. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you look at how big he is and you knew right then and there that he will feel good. So you position yourself comfortably on top of him, touching yourself for a few seconds before you let him line his cock on your hole.

"Just go slow," he said before you sink down and take him whole. Lips parting and eyebrows furrowing as you take him and let his big cock stretch you out. And when it's finally in, you breathe in and out heavily before you move your hips and make you both feel good.

"Oh fuck" he croaked and place his hands on your waist pulling you closer to him so he could keep you close. "Go slower," he whispered beside your ear then watch your pussy swallow his dick. The sight of it just made him want to fuck you hard tonight, break you and make you scream but he can't.

From the tip of his cock right to his balls, you were that deep that you were both losing your minds at that very moment. His hands roam around your body but it mostly stays on your ass, caressing your butt cheeks and teasing your butthole for a few times so you clench around him. "That's cheating," you joke and kissed him.

He pulled you in for a hug and focused on how you fuck him. Yes, fuck him. And this time a little faster and deeper that he's already on edge and making faces already. Faces that he does whenever he's about to have a mind blowing orgasm that he rarely gets. "K-keep fucking me like that," he said with deep groans, one arm around your waist and one arm reaches for your clit.

"Baby, you don't have to do that- fuck that feels good, mmm" his fingers were enough to make you crazy that you ended up fucking him faster, that the couch creaks already and anyone who is awake can definitely tell you're fucking on the couch.

And when the most awaited moment comes, he pushed you away so he could pull out and pump his cock and let his cum land on his stomach. With heavy breaths and a weak body, Jeno looked at you so lovingly at the other side of the couch. Reaching for his shirt to clean his cum so you could go back to your comfort on top of him.

"I'm sorry you didn't cum,” he said softly, sitting up to reach for you and kiss your shoulders as you busy yourself to wear your panties and sleepwear again. Jeno did the same before you two squeeze your bodies on the small couch. Laying bodies to bodies, sharing one blanket and keeping each other close the whole night.

And when the morning comes, you woke up alone on the couch with the blanket perfectly covering your body from the morning breeze.

Days after that fateful night, you and Jeno find ways to have sex whenever you can and enjoy the second month of summer together doing the things you want to do together, going on places and making unforgettable memories. But just as your relationship was going well, you didn’t expect it to fall right before your eyes.

While you were walking hand in hand on the street just after he ends his shift at the cafe and promised to walk you home, you were reminded of the following things you have to deal with just before this summer ends. And because you’re preparing for your college move-in next month, you mentioned it to Jeno for the first time with excited eyes and high pitched tones. “Am I boring you? Sorry, I was just excited” you said. And then he stopped walking.

“I’m not good with long distance. I love you but I know myself, I could end up cheating and hurting you-“

“Where is this coming from? What are you saying? What are you implying?” you asked, question after question because you have no idea why he’s acting like this. You didn’t expect that your excitement for your college dorms will spark something that will ruin your day.

“I’m saying, we’re not going to be okay when we’re apart. I’m not sure if I could give the same efforts you’re about to offer in the future,” he avoided eye contact and clenched his jaw. You’ve never seen him cold like this before.

“So in other words you’re telling me that eventually, we will break up? You just can’t say it to my face because you’re a coward who would rather give up than try the whole long distance shit first?”

Unfortunately, he nodded. And you don’t know why you’re still holding his hand so let him go and walked away.

“Y/n- fuck,” he followed you and tried stopping you, “let's not do this tonight please, it's so sudden,”

You closed your eyes and tried so hard not to cry in front of him. He just kept on saying the wrong words and it's breaking your heart.

“I would rather accept this sudden situation than let you hurt me slowly on the following days.” you shook your head and show him your disappointment. And what hurts you the most is he didn’t even tried to fight for you, or say he's sorry or admit that he’s wrong. He just let you walk away and throw everything that you built tonight.

A few days after your break up, Jeno regrets everything he did that he even tried reaching out to you and Haechan. But he was too late. You left because you can’t stay there and wait for him to chose you again, only to have the same answers that you get on the night you broke up.  

[after-witch]

Baby Mine [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Baby Mine [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis:  The first time you laid eyes on your child, you knew: You had to get out. Set in the ‘White Picket Fence’-verse. 

For request: Something with Overhaul + the reader’s children and manipulation (I’m sorry I accidentally deleted the original message so I don’t remember the exacting wording!)

Word Count: 3328

notes: yandere, stockholm syndrome, abuse

From the instant you laid eyes on your daughter, the moment your gaze took in her fresh, wet skin and her small, blinking, uncomprehending eyes, you knew: you had to get the fuck away from Chisaki Kai.

The realization was instant, like a flash, peeling away years of manipulation and training and forced self-acceptance of your situation. Years of justifications and excuses that had wormed their way under your skin, forcing you to see the bright side, to see his side, and let yourself get wrapped up in its candy-coated, fluffy cotton bullshit--gone, ripped away with brutal, exacting force. All that was left was the stark realization, a single driving force shoving you forward: you and your daughter were going to get out.

That was four years ago.

Four years of agonizing pretending. Of forcing yourself to put back on the coat you'd worn before, the false version of yourself that loved him and accepted him and excused everything he ever did to you. It was hard. It was harder to pretend that you accepted this than to actually accept it, to indulge in his control. But every time your resolve weakened, it only took a glance at your child to remind you of why you couldn't just give in.

You had to get out, not for yourself, but for her. To give her a normal life. A life where she could be free, where she could have friends, where she could run outside and not be limited to the house or, if the weather was nice, the secure, high-fenced backyard that Kai had only built within the last year.

Four years of pretending. Four years of planning. And, most difficult of all, four years of waiting. Trust was not easily given by Chisaki Kai, even to the mother of his child.

So you waited.

You waited for Kai to move you two--no, three now--into a house, a real house; not in a populated suburb (another broken promise that you swallowed deep, deep down) but an offshoot of some protected compound in a remote area, where it could be secure and guarded. But what mattered is that its doors connected to the outside, not to some unknown underground bunker.  You could manage, if you were connected to the outside.

You waited for Kai to ease up on the restrictions that built up around you during your pregnancy, rules to keep you under a far more watchful eye, rules that made it harder to find a way out. Inches of trust, gradually earned, which made it possible for you to think concretely about escape.

You waited for your daughter to get old enough to run, old enough to survive without needing to be fed every few hours, old enough to know how to stay quiet when told. Watching her grow up only made you want to leave, more. She had a personality now. Stubborn but accepting when she knew she wouldn’t win; sweet in her own way, an unusual way, likely one that came from a lack of interaction with anyone but her parents and a handful of trusted Shie Hassaikai members.

It was one of those trusted members--you never have learned their name, a secret Kai (nor they) were willing to give--that would be your key to escape.

 They loved your daughter, too, in time. They were drawn in by her precociousness, her insistence on formalities and pleases and thank-yous. But it was her bubbliness and inherent interest in the world and people around her that made them decide to love her, too.Her big eyes and bubbling laugh when you two were allowed in the yard, sometimes under this member’s supervision. 

To your daughter’s delight, they didn’t simply watch you like the handful of others did; they joined in the fun. Just a few weeks ago, she’d convinced him to push her so high on the swing set that she’d gone all the way around--even your heart briefly froze until she’d emerged on the other side, cackling with delight, safe and sound.

They were loyal to Overhaul. Of that there was no doubt. Had they killed for him? Maimed? Tortured? You tried not to think about the things that were done in Overhaul’s name.

Yet they’d betrayed him, all for the sake of your daughter. Part of you feels bitter that they wouldn’t betray him for the sake of you--but then, what was that saying? Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

It was with their help that you were finally able to secure that last necessary piece of the puzzle for your escape: getting out of the secured, monitored gate surrounding the house unnoticed. He told you in hushed, intense tones that he would be on watch duty the night of your escape, that he would take care of the other member assigned that night, and that all you had to do was get out the door at the agreed time with your bag, your daughter, and a good pair of walking shoes. He would drive you as far as he could, and then you two would run, run, run after that.

It was going to work. Your daughter was going to live her life, a real life, not one carefully constructed in captivity. What would you do first, once you were free? The thoughts sometimes made you so giddy that you pinched yourself to calm down. So close, so close to the finish line, and you must be vigilant.

Tonight. You and your daughter are going to leave tonight.

Your daughter is in her bed, tucked in safe and secure. Her eyes are already closed, and Kai is sitting at the edge of the mattress, as always, smoothing down her hair and pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. You watch from the doorway with your arms casually crossed, a small, tired, end-of-the-night smile on your lips. It's all so normal, so domestic, isn't it.

"Good night," he says, so soft and sweet that, if you hadn't been pulled out of your deluded coping mechanism, you might find it endearing. Instead, your thoughts scream: This will be the last time you ever see her, you fucked up piece of shit bastard. Oh, do you have a potty mouth when your 'husband' can't hear you...

He leaves your daughter to her dreams and clicks off the little lamp on her nightstand. When he crosses the doorway, you make room and he lets you slide your arm around his, linking yourselves together for the walk to your shared bedroom.

"Tired?" He asks, and you nod. You are tired. Not for the reasons he thinks, and not for the reasons you'll give, but the telltale darkness under your eyes belies the stress of planning your escape from a years-long ordeal.

You sigh, as soft and sweet as his voice was earlier. "Mmhmm. She didn't want to focus on her lessons today. I got a bit frustrated. Sometimes I don't think I'm cut out to be a teacher." By now you're in your bedroom and you casually take off your day clothes, dropping them in the labeled hamper in front of the closet. Your stomach twinges with the memory of how he used to look away when you took off your clothes.

But that was long ago, and now he continues the conversation casually as the pair of you strip and change into your respective pajamas. You slip a pink nightie with ruffled bottom over your head as he

"You just need more practice. Are you reading the lesson books before you start class?"

I wouldn't have to read any lesson books if you let her out of this house, if you let her out of school, if you weren't--you stop your thoughts, afraid that they might show on your face. Afraid that you might lose everything at this last, crucial moment.

But you know you look frustrated, so you roll with it. "Yes," you say, voice just the right amount of annoyed in retort. "But if she doesn't want to sit down and focus, me reading the lesson beforehand isn't really going to help, is it?"

He stares at you, and you wonder in a flash if you went too far. But in the next moment, he's simply continuing to button up his shirt. "Is it going to help our daughter learn if you take out your bad day on your husband?" His voice is dripping with the natural condescension that once had you questioning whether or not it was okay to be upset that he'd kidnapped you, and you hate it. But at least it's a sign that he bought your excuses.

You feel a warm flush of shame at the way his condescension still makes you feel less-than. You slide yourself into bed, under the covers, instinctively grabbing the book on your end table and staring down into it like you could simply disappear inside the pages. You can't mess up anything right now. The weight of what you need to do tonight feels so heavy and you can't stop your hands from trembling slightly.

"Sorry," you whisper, voice thick with emotion. "It's just hard sometimes. I feel in over my head."

It's Kai's turn to slide under the covers, though he doesn't bother grabbing his own book. Instead he gently pushes on your hands until you set the book on the covers. You know he wants you to look at him, so you do. He looks so gentle, so calm. Did he kill anyone today? Did he insult some hapless victim who crossed his organization, spewing venom with his words, before kissing your daughter goodnight hours later?

His gloved hands tip your chin up and it's a familiar feeling, an intimate feeling, when he pulls you in for a kiss. When he pulls away, he's smiling softly, indulgently. You aren't in trouble. You're good.

"I'll come home for lessons tomorrow and see what I can do. Would you like that?"

I'd like you to drop dead and make this easier on us, you think.

"Yes, Kai."

You smile. You nod. You let out a shaky sigh and lean your shoulders against his, picking up your book and signaling an end to the crisis. He lets you read quietly for a while before turning off the lamp on his side of the bed; it's a wordless signal that you already know: time to sleep. You're a dutiful wife and you put your book away and turn off your lamp and then turn back to your husband and whisper,

"Good night, Kai."

**

You wait until he's deep asleep to ease your way out of the bed. Every step you take in your padded socks makes you cringe. Will the floor creak? Will you make too much noise? Will you have to come up with a half-assed excuse as he comes to, groggily asking what you're doing? You feel like you can't breathe, but you do breathe, soft and shallow as you make your way to the bedroom door.

 You didn't dare keep anything related to your escape in your shared bedroom. The door feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as you ever-so-slowly open it, keeping your head turned towards the man sleeping on the bed all the while. He doesn't stir. He simply continues to snore, even as the door opens enough for you to slip out.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you cross the hallway and into the spare room that you used as a playroom and, lately, a makeshift school. The bag you packed is in the closet, tucked behind bags of school supplies that you'd asked Kai to pick up in order to make sure that your escape bag didn't stand out. You grab it swiftly, along with your daughter's outdoor shoes, and make your way to the most dangerous element of your escape: your daughter's room.

She did so well. You remind yourself to praise her once you're away from the house, once you're in a car and making noise isn't a life or death dilemma. You built up the idea of your escape bit by bit over the past few weeks. You couldn't tell her that her father was a monster who kidnapped you, but you could prey on her desire to see more, to go beyond the rules established in her father's domain.

Don't you want to meet other kids? Go to the beach, feel the sand underneath your feet? Meet... your grandma? We'll just take a secret trip, you and me, and then come back to Papa when we're done. Then he'll see that it's safe to leave and come with us next time. But you have to keep it a secret. You can't tell him a thing, or we won't be able to go. You can keep a secret, can't you?

You kneel next to your daughter's bed and gently wake her up, whispering her name and stroking her hair, so she slowly opens her eyes in confusion before her gaze lands on your face and ah, a smile--it's just mom.

"Mama?" She asks, a bit too loudly for your liking.

"Shh baby," you say. "Yes, it's mama. Are you ready to go?" You see the tentativeness, the childish confusion in the way she nods. She doesn't know what real life is yet, she doesn't have an inkling of the freedom that she's lost, but she will.

You don't bother changing. You have a pair of clothes in the bag and you'll change when you're in a safer space. For now, you take her hand and lead her down the staircase, your chest tightening with every step. You can't help but glance back at the still-open doorway leading to your bedroom. You pray to whatever is listening that he won't wake up. Each step is a step closer to freedom. Each step is a terrifying risk that you or she might slip, might make noise, might wake him up.

Your spirits lift when you reach the bottom of the stairs. All you have to do is get out the door and he'll be waiting there with the key and a getaway car and freedom.

You clutch your daughter's hand, your own palm now sweaty; you nearly trip on a toy you forgot to pick up earlier, but thankfully the light in the entryway was turned on (you must have forgotten to turn it off) and you see it just in time to avoid disaster. You squeeze your daughter hand and turn the corner that leads to the entryway of your home--

Where Chisaki Kai is standing, waiting for you, his eyes practically illuminated by the glowing lamp light.

You drop the bag.

"No," you say. "No." Your mind suddenly feels fuzzy, like its buzzing, drowning out all of your thoughts with a pure denial of what you see in front of you.

"How--how did you--" you sputter, unable to continue voicing your question. It was all planned. It was all practiced. You pretended, you waited, you planned--for four years. How? How did he know?

He doesn't have to answer. You know the moment that your daughter's grip slips out of your hand and she runs up to her father, feet thumping on the floor. She clings to his side and doesn't look at you, and he runs a hand through her hair without taking his eyes away from your shaking form.

Of course she told him. Of course she told her papa that you wanted to leave. She loved him. Why wouldn't she? It was all she'd ever known. You were breaking the rules, breaking the structure that dominated her life since she could remember. 

"Please don't be mad at me, mama." Your daughter whimpers against Kai, and you can hear the tears in her little voice, and your heart aches for her in so many ways.

"I'm not," you whisper. "I'm not mad at you, baby." You're just sad, so sad. It hurts. All of it.

"Sweetheart," Kai says, voice surprisingly calm despite the events, "go back to bed while I help your mother unpack your things, all right?"

Your daughter nods and suddenly she's against you, hugging you in a tight, childish way; you only have enough energy to pull your arm around her, limp and heavy, patting her back without really feeling it before she scampers up the stairs.

You're left alone. With him.

He approaches you slowly and you feel like an animal. There's wildness hammering in your heart and the thought comes up, unwillingly: could you still run? Escape on your own? And hope that some day, your daughter escapes and finds you? But the thought of leaving her behind is impossible to indulge in for more than a second, and you know that without her, your life isn't worth living. The thought of abandoning her to Kai Chisaki brings up an immediate sense of revulsion and guilt and shame.

"What were you thinking?"

You aren't looking at him, but you don't have to be looking at him to know that he's glaring at you. Looking down on you with his gaze filled with righteous justifications. You glance and--yes, he is, but there's something darker, something you’d forgotten, underneath. Your stomach suddenly feels loaded with weights and your legs move backwards, pulling you away from him, away from the anger that feels like it's radiating off him in waves.

He suddenly grips your chin with brutal force and yanks your jaw forward, forcing you to look at him.

"I had to kill one of my most trusted men today because of your..." His eyes dart back and forth for a moment, before he spits out the apparently perfect description of your escape attempt. "Hysteria. An absolute waste of potential, all because of your ridiculousness."

Your mouth is dry. Your voice is hoarse. But you speak up, anyway. You've already lost everything.

"It's not ridiculous to want to get out of here." 

The weight of the years seems to press down on your shoulders, pounding into your bones, screaming in your ears. 

"It's not ridiculous to--to want to take my daughter away from the man who kidnapped me and forced me to pretend like I was happy here, like I was happy living in some--" you cough, needing moisture, but not daring to stop to swallow lest you lose your courage. "--glorified dollhouse while you tell me what to do and what to wear and how to act and when to fuck you and when to have a baby and fuck you, fuck you, just fuck you Kai. I hate you. Oh I fucking hate you."

You don't notice as your voice gets louder, emboldened by the adrenaline that's been crashing through you since you opened the bedroom door, until his hand is gripping your upper arm in a show of brute, vise-length strength.

"Lower. your. voice." 

His grip strengthens until you cry out, and then it gradually loosens without letting you go completely.

For the next few moments, you do nothing but stare at one another. Your mind feels hazy, darting from thought to thought. It was all for nothing. The last four years, all for nothing. But you think about your daughter, about what she may have been able to accomplish outside of these walls, and even the fantasy of a free life for her made it worth something--didn't it?

It's his voice that lowered, now, as he lets you go completely and straightens himself up. All business now. But what business will he engage in, this time?

"Perhaps you do need a vacation," he says, finally. Firmly. He's made a decision.

You wonder if he's lost his mind and you're about to ask as much before he continues.

"Did you know this house has a secret room? It's nice and quiet. The perfect place for you to recuperate until you've regained your senses."

The room, the room, the room.

Your hand instinctively claps against your mouth as you cry out.

After all, you don't want to wake your daughter up with your screams.

[kaizokuwritings]

If you still accept requests, how about Nr. 24 from the kisses list with Law?

Have a good time and hopefully you'll find your flow again! :)

I'm so sorry to answer you so late Anon! I hope you like it, and there is a bit of a suggestive theme towards the end of the writing, I hope you don't mind. 𓆩♡𓆪

━━ kisses + op boys edition

╰ law part ! w/ fluff & bit suggestive | w.c > 0.5k

You were getting colder and colder in the bed you shared with your boyfriend. It was the same cold that woke you up. You tried to pull the cover towards you without waking your sleeping captain next to you, but he was totally wrapped around the comforter and seemed to have an iron grip on it despite his sleep. You had even tried to roll yourself into a ball to get some warmth back, but nothing was working, and you were starting to freeze.

Soon, when you still couldn't sleep, doubt crept into your mind. Law was not snoring, nor was he making any noise that could be considered sleep. You sat up sharply and squinted. You looked at the figure of your suspicious boyfriend and the small smile on his face proved you right. ❝I know you're not asleep. You are the most deceitful man I know. You dare to leave your girlfriend out in the cold.❞

You may have said this in a tone of irony, but you were a little offended that your lover would let you freeze like that. However, he didn't take note of your teasing and pretended to be asleep again. ❝Trafalgar D. Water Law, you're going to share this blanket with me or else—❞ ❝Or else what?❞ , his voice cut you off, ❝you'll ignore me like you did today?❞

You looked at him, slightly shocked, not understanding what he was talking about. Then, you finally understood that Law was making you pay for not having spent your day with him. Yet, it was the daily chores that had kept you busy all day, and he knew it. But Law is a cunning man, capable of doing anything to frustrate you. And he had found a golden opportunity.

Your angry face seemed to amuse him a lot and he said, ❝I didn't get a kiss, so you don't get a cover.❞ His smug look annoyed you to no end but you wanted to play his game. Then you leaned a little more, taking support on his chest to come to deposit a first kiss on his cheek, then to make drift deliciously your lips on his skin until his mouth. While looking at him and smiling, your lips touched his gently. They started a waltz that they now know by heart: it's soft, deep and long enough to take your breath away.

Law's hands then gently let go of the blanket to come behind your back, under your top. His warm hands made you shiver and you repressed a moan when his hands drifted to your breasts. Before going any further, and to give him the change of his part, you grabbed the blanket while giggling and twisting you in this new heat.

That comforter brought you some solace in the bitter cold, but what warmed you the most was the sleepy, warm smile Law gave you as he turned to hug you. He will always be the one cover that can always warm you even in the coldest moments of your life. And that's why you both wrap yourselves together in this cocoon of warmth.

➠ more of kisses

[rodrickcult]

headcanons for being rodrick’s best friend:

warnings: mentions of drinking and sex + kinda strong language ?

english is not my first language so forgive eventual mistakes! hehe

- you both wouldn’t hesitate to get in a fight if you hear someone insulting the other. you once got detention after punching some dude because he said rodrick will never go anywhere in life and rodrick waited in his van outside school then picked you up and almost cried at the sight of your black eye, but then he grabbed your chin and after analyzing your face he came to the conclusion that you looked cool as hell like that

- taking you to buy ice cream and paying because “she got a black eye for me, so it’s on me this time” and the cashier giggles

- everytime someone mentions that they find rodrick cute you start telling them how kind, sweet and funny he is despite the fake persona he puts on around girls and when they question if you like him given how well you speak of him you just reply:”what? no! i’m advertising him”

- rodrick on the other hand just laughs at their faces and says “she’s way too good for you” or “if you ever make her cry consider yourself dead” but if you actually start dating the person he will act ridiculously friendly like “heyyyy *name*, you are such a perfect match, that’s what i’ve been saying you know. i’m so happy!”

- you borrow each other’s clothes so often that sometimes you look down at your dirty black converse and can’t remember if originally they were yours or his

- you tattoo small silly things onto each other and you definitely have the löded diper logo somewhere on yourself

- you love to sing along to songs together. you either do it in his room, pretending you’re playing at a concert and end up listening to some guilty pleasure songs that you wouldn’t dare to jam to if someone else was there to see or in heffley’s kitchen: rodrick sitting on the counter mimicking the drums and you jumping around mimicking the guitar, susan sometimes changes the song without asking so you suddenly start hearing ABBA and rodrick gets soo annoyed lol

- you also do that to cheer yourselves up, if one is sad about someone/something the other will put up a mini concert and act silly until they manage to bring out a laugh (you use his drumstick as a microphone)

- amazing AMAZING chemistry. like he’ll say something like “remember the turtles thing” and you’ll instantly understand what he’s talking about. also same childish sense of humor.

- he truly thinks you’re the coolest person ever, whenever you do something that he finds rad like burp really loud or talk about that time you broke into one of your friends’ ex house because she wanted to take some of her stuff back and he didn’t let her he looks at you in awe and gets flustered because “my best friend is so freaking cool woo-hoo!!!!”

- you love staying at this house because it’s filled with love and chaos in a positive way, whenever you have to go home you’re sad and to survive the fights or the cold silence you cling to the fact that you’ll be at his house again soon. rodrick knows that and always wants you to stay a little longer, so his house ends up being a second home for you

- sitting in the back of his van talking about literally everything

- if you can’t find a significant other you go to prom together as friends and just take the most stupid pics that you’ll look back to and smile. and halfway through the party you’re already bored and just go outside and listen to your punk music

- you get ABSOLUTELY mad at bill at the talent show, you yell in his face that löded diper is nothing without rodrick and you proceed to rip off the paper with the band name that they attached to the drums

- rodrick feels a bit better when he hears your words and you two sit in silence for a while with his head on your shoulder

- then greg convinces their mom to let rodrick play, rodrick hugs you and you two jump up and down in excitement, you thank greg a million times

- you obviously record the exhibition just like you always do. you were there since their first small concert

- you always add your little comments that make rodrick feel so special when he rewatches the videos, like you truly care and are really a fan of their music

- *zooming on rodrick twirling the drumsticks around his fingers in the backstage, waiting for löded diper to be called on stage* “here we can see a drummer in his natural habitat... i’m glad i’m far away because i know by experience that he kinda stinks... anyway you will notice that he’s a bit nervous... and for what? hate to admit it but he’s great at what he does”

- “i hate her” he says to himself while watching the tape, while not being able to stop smiling because he’s so lucky to have you as a friend

- taking care of each other when you’re drunk !!

- he forgets how to do stuff so you have to drag him to his bed and take off his shoes and jacket

- instead you start questioning life and he has to reassure you that you’ll be okay. oh and you absolutely can’t stand. literally zero balance. so it’s so funny when both of you are drunk because who’s gonna be the stable one while walking home?!

- “god i can’t stand you two” – the friend that has to take your annoying asses home

- meeting him at the public swimming pool and dipping because that place is almost as bad a school

- greg asks you what do you see in him since you’re his friend and also a girl, you say you can’t reveal too much because that would be working with the enemy but you assure him that rodrick can be a kind, funny guy and growing up he’ll notice

- greg still thinks you’re a freak for willingly spending time with his brother

- rodrick’s girlfriend finding your clothes in his room and the both of you having to explain it’s just an habit and there’s nothing malicious about it

- rodrick forgetting about you for a week because he’s so obsessed with impressing heather, he comes back saying sorry a million times and saying that he realized it’s not as fun when you’re not around

- rodrick’s mom shipped you guys for a while and even his dad admitted that you were a good match (which he didn’t mean as a positive thing shxjdhd), but after realizing you two are just friends susan felt sad because that meant she had to witness rodrick acting like a douche to impress girls for a bit more

- one of you definitely walked in while the other was having sex with someone lmaoososos

- you couldn’t stop laughing about it when you met afterwards

- “nice c*ck/t*ts (your choice) by the way”

- “SHUT UP but also, thank you”

- you can’t say no to the other’s ideas no matter how stupid they are. rip

- being grateful for the other because “i truly couldn’t have survived school without you”

- eating A LOT of junk food

- going to the cinema to watch horror movies, sometimes he can’t sleep afterwards so you have to hold him and it’s so funny to you

- arguing every once in a while and when his voice rises of a few octaves you can’t help but laugh

- “yo, STOP LAUGHING.”

- “ok squeaky toy”

- “we’re done”

- “noOOOO”

- when it’s more serious one of you always ends up looking for the other and both say sorry

- “i can’t really stay mad at you. i just don’t see the point”

- you’re gonna give speeches at each other’s weddings if you decide to marry and it’s going to be SO chaotic :’)

- WAIT ALSO matching tattoos !!!!

- basically he’d do anything for you and you’d do anything for him and it’s a bond for life babeyyyyyy

(shorter but still cool part 2)

[early2000smovieimagines]

Meeting and Dating Ron Weasley

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- Technically, you and Ron didn’t meet until fourth year but the redheaded boy had been in love with you since the moment he saw you, which was during first year at the magical school. 

- While he was certainly too shy to approach you, he did do quite a bit of staring and talking to Harry about you; though he tried to pretend as though he couldn’t care less every time he realized how in love he sounded. 

- So fourth year comes around and he’s still just as infatuated with you; and just as emotionally stunted about it, as ever. But then, it happens.  

“Hey Ginny.” 

- You waved at the redheaded girl as you passed with a few of your friends, causing her older brother to stare at her as though she’d suddenly sprouted another head. 

“How do you know y/n y/l/n?!” Ron immediately asked after you were far away enough not to hear. 

- He spent the rest of their walk questioning her as to how she knew you and how you met and if you were close and blah, blah, blah. Ginny only got him to lay off after she started teasing him for being in love with you, but even then he still sent a few hesitant questions her way, all the while insisting he wasn’t all that interested. 

- Ginny is very pleased with her newfound power. It was like the cat who got the canary the first time she brought you over and introduced you to her blushing brother. Ron could have killed her yet “kissed” her at the same time; not literally.

- Even though you now know each other and are on friendlier terms, he’s still nervous and awkward around you. He’s always messing up his words, stuttering, tripping over things, staring, etc. He’s awful with women if you weren’t aware.

- And yet, you still seem to like him, and over time he does start to relax, even though he still has his moments.

- Ron never actually asks you out, you just sort of have a silent agreement. You start to spend more alone time together, you don’t date anyone else, you share awkward yet almost tender moments, etc. Your relationship status is later solidified with a; long awaited, kiss and a kiss alone.

- Ron is very much so a spontaneous “I’m just gonna kiss her and deal with the consequences later” type of person. He’s bad at expressing his feelings with words so he’ll do it with his actions, and he’ll do it quickly before he has the chance to stop himself; usually after a surge of emotions.

- So, in typical Ron fashion, he heard some guy mention how he was thinking about asking you out, and realized that you never did establish that the two of you were an item. He immediately started to think about how much he’d hate to see you with another guy and how much he cared about you.

- Because of that, he was quite distracted when he finally saw you again. He fidgeted and seemed to be lost in his own thoughts as you walked together but just as you were thinking about saying something to him, he turned and laid one on you.

- Although you were a bit flustered and certainly very surprised, you kissed back and smiled at him as the two of you pulled away.

“I’ve been waiting to do that.” He admitted, his less confident personality returning as a blush creeped its way onto his cheeks.

- It’s in that moment that you’ve realized that you’ve fallen in love with a dork. A wonderful, beautiful dork.

- Though it tends to make him flustered, Ron is definitely a fan of pda. In the beginning of your relationship, he’s a bit defensive about it, like when his friends chuckle at you kissing his cheek or make faces at him while he’s got his arm wrapped around you, but he learns to ignore it and just brush them off. 

- Handholding. 

- Leaning your head on his shoulder. Perhaps it’s because it’s you initiating a type of affection or because it shows that you’re comfortable with him, but either way, he loves it. 

- Hugs. That’s all this boy wants. Just wrap your arms around him and let him hold you close goddamnit!

- You giving him kisses on the cheek; or anywhere else? Unparalleled. Never stop. 

- Abrupt, passionate kisses. 

- Snogging. He’s certainly a bit clumsy at first but you don’t mind; you probably are too. 

- He has a few select terms of endearment that he likes to use: darling, sweetheart, woman, my girlfriend. He doesn’t mind pet names but please stick to a simple “babe” or “honey” and not something like “won won” (shudders). 

- Ron sleeps on his back most of the time so you’ll just usually lay your head on his chest while he wraps his arms around you. That being said, he isn’t particular about the position, and since he has a habit of snoring, you may want to try spooning. 

- Do you know how long he’s waited to brush your hair behind your ear or wipe something off your face? That little action is so important to him and even he doesn’t really know why.

- Bridal carrying and piggyback rides. Ron’s a strong boy and he likes showing it off, and feeling you holding onto him.

- Getting your food stolen.

- Playing chess. 

- Dates at Hogsmeade. Sometimes the two of you just wander around and get yourselves a little privacy from every bodies prying eyes; and third wheeling.

- Going to the three broomsticks. If Ginny is there, he will immediately ask to leave and you oftentimes find it too amusing to be annoyed.

- Obviously, Ron doesn’t have a ton of pocket money so the two of you don’t do anything too expensive. A lot of your dates consist of roaming around the castle and the grounds together, finding somewhere to sit and just enjoying each other’s company.

- Sitting in the courtyard together.

- Cheering Harry on at Quidditch together and later cheering him, Ginny and Harry on with Hermione.

- Exaggerated stories. He’s always trying to impress you and make himself or what he’s done seem cooler than it really is.

- You’re constantly making jabs at each other and lovingly laughing at the other person. How can you not tease him for being in love with Viktor Krum, it’s the only way you can make yourself feel better about his obsession.

- You can practically see the hearts in his eyes when you laugh. He loves seeing and hearing it so much.

- Compliments and flattery. Is it so you’ll do his homework? Is it genuine? The world may never know.

- Making sure he actually does his work and does it well. He would be lost without you.

- You and Hermione talking about your mutual struggles with the boys. Ron and Harry watch from afar, agreeing that your little gathering makes them nervous and wondering what you’re saying.

- He likes when you try to teach him things, it gives him an excuse to be close to and watch you.

- He’s always encouraging you and reassuring you that you’ll do great and that you can do it. He’s so sure of you that you almost feel sure of yourself.

- Although he tries to not let you know just how much he is, he’s very impressed and proud of you at just about any given moment. He’s never met someone as amazing as you.

- Sometimes he surprises you with just how much he listens. Oftentimes at random, he’ll mention something that you once said and surprise you with just how much he’s taken to remembering; sometimes purely because it came out of your mouth.

- He’s always a bit speechless when you give him a gift. Once he’s over the shock, he’ll give you a “bloody hell, thank you” and a kiss on the cheek.

- Ron’s taken on Voldemort and countless other dangers and yet you’ll still have to be the one to kill the spiders in your relationship.

- Showing him muggle stuff. Oh Godric, the amount of time his father spent asking you about the muggle world when you first visited....

- Spending summers at the burrow and writing to each other; even though he teasingly pretends that he won’t.

- Ron is the youngest Weasley boy and Molly’s a momma bear so expect to be sweetly scrutinized and then made into a part of the family.

- The twins and Ginny teasing the two of you; though they do tease him more when they’re alone with him.

- You should probably apologize to Harry I’m advance because this boy never shuts up about you to him.

- Lightly touching and checking on each other’s injuries. He’s very gentle with you when you’re hurt, he treats you like you’re made of glass.

- Ron has always sort of felt like he was second best to Harry and most of his brothers so he loves when you pay special attention to him. Listening to his stories, praising him, having eyes only for him, it all makes him feel so much better about himself.

- Trying to help him smooth things over with people; especially when it comes to Harry and Hermione. It’s awkward to not be able to talk to them because your boyfriend keeps you right by his side so you try to fix things as soon as possible.

- As we all know, Ron is an incredibly jealous person and when he gets jealous, he can get a bit nasty. He’ll most likely interrupt you and make you choose between him or the guy, wanting you to prove that he’s more important to you than them by going with him. 

- Afterwards, he insults the person he’s jealous of, maybe accidentally somewhat insulting you in the process, and tries his best to make you think the other person is a git. 

- Ron is constantly jumping to defend your honor and is always ready to fight someone to do it. He may act like an ass to you at times but he really does love you and your safety is his top priority. Nothing is going to mess with his girlfriend. 

- The two of you have quite a few fights, all of them varying in intensity. Ron isn’t good at expressing his feelings so that’s usually what leads to fighting: him just not being able to communicate properly. Sometimes you have quick, hushed arguments, leaning in close to each others faces. Other times, you’ll be having loud and harsh ones filled with insinuations and insults you don’t mean. 

- You usually give each other space, whether it’s out of respect or because you both refuse to speak to the other one first depends on the situation. He asks Harry how long he thinks you’ll stay mad at him and oftentimes asks the boy to talk to you for him, mainly to see if you’re still mad. His apologies are stilted but he does give them and knowing how he is, you usually accept them. 

- There aren’t a ton of I love you’s in your relationship, given how awkward he is most of the time; particularly when you’re younger, but he will occasionally blurt it out without thinking. 

“Bloody hell,” he’ll say in awe. “Godric I love you.”

- While times certainly get tough in the future, he’s been in love with you since he was eleven and there’s no sign of it stopping any time soon. You’ll stick by each others sides and when the dust settles, you’ll start to build that life he’s been fantasizing about. 

[keijislove]

Dance the Night Away: Peter Parker X Reader

A/N: This ain’t following any particular timeline – let’s just say... idk, after Far from Home, maybe?

WARNING: use of the ‘P’ word (Flash being Flash)

Peter walked down the hallway amidst the chatter, trying to reach his locker as the crowd grew thicker and thicker, making it impossible for him to even see properly. Which was until a hand seized his wrist and pulled him through, letting go of him as he smashed into the storage compartment with force enough to make his brains rattle.

“Oops, sorry,” you said with a sheepish smile.

Peter had turned to thank whoever it was, but, catching sight of you, he groaned. Not that he didn’t like you – you and Peter had been best friends since you were eight years old. Recently, however, a banner had been put up by the senior girls announcing that prom would be taking place the following Saturday. And with only about five days left, you had taken to pestering Peter into going, hoping that if you’d fling the question unexpectedly, Peter would get scared into answering. You had, however, no luck so far.

“Y/N, I know what you’re going to say,” Peter warningly began, “And I don’t wanna hear it.”

“But I wanna say it,” you said, “And that I shall. Peter, come on! It’s a crucial life experience! I mean, you’re studying all the time these days, and I get it, you have a clear view of your future, and I’m happy for you. But pleeeaaaaaaase, just do it for me? It’s one night, Peter, come on! One night where you have to let go and just have fun! After that, we can go back to making circuit boards together like we used to, but just this once? C’mon, don’t tell me you’re turning me down.”

As you took a deep breath after this whole rant and Peter took one look at your sincere smile, he sighed.

“... Fine,” he mumbled.

Your eyes grew wide. Surely you’d misheard?

“What?” you asked, “Louder, please?”

“Fine!” Peter bellowed loudly so that a dozen heads turned in your direction and people began snickering.

Not caring in the least, you flashed a wide smile before engulfing Peter into a huge hug, speaking, “Thank you so much! It’ll be the best experience of your life, Peter!”

“Yes, that means better than your spiderman stuff,” you whispered in an undertone as Peter said a disbelieving, “Come on!”

Needless to say, you had finally convinced Peter to go to prom. Now came the hard part. Truth was, you had liked Peter since you were both, what, fourteen? Convincing Peter to go to prom was a task for the strong, but asking him to be your date? No way would he feel the same. Peter had never ever hinted, that your relationship could be more. In fact, he felt rather frantic to prove it couldn’t be more – something that convinced you that you did not belong together and that, someday, you would have to get over this silly little crush. Still, seeing Peter go to prom with any girl who made him happy was enough for you.

“Right, now that we’re going,” you said the following morning, when he’d found you standing next to his locker, waiting for him to arrive.

Peter sighed, “Mm hmm?”

“We need dates,” you ignored his disinterest.

“Do you have one?” asked Peter.

“It.... it’s complicated,” you muttered.

Peter crossed his arms, “Listening.”

You shot him a glare before sighing and telling him, “There’s... there’s this boy I like. I was really hoping he would ask me to homecoming back then, and I turned down anybody who asked me just to chase that blind belief. Guess what? He didn’t ask me. And I know he won’t now, but I don’t know... something inside me still hopes he would.”

“So, you’re scared to say yes to anyone in case he asked you but scared to say no to everyone in case he doesn’t ask you?” Peter clarified, causing you to laugh.

“Sounds about right.” you muttered, “But hey, enough about me, what about you? We need a date for you. Do you have anyone in mind?”

“Not really,” Peter shrugged.

“Okay....” you said slowly, “Well, I’ll just list off people you would be happy with as they come to my mind... maybe you can ask one of them.”

“Fire away.”

“Okay... well, there’s Emma Jones from my biology class,” you began, “And she’s really nice.”

“Not my type.”

“Oh,” you frowned, “Okay... Alyssa from P.E?”

“The one who said spiderman sucks? No thanks.”

“Zoe from English?”

“Nope.”

“Ava from chemistry lab?”

“Meh.”

“... MJ?” you asked in defeat as Peter incredulously looked at you (A/N: sorry MJ, I love you <3).

“Okay, fine,” you snapped, “I’m done helping. Let me know if you find someone?”

Peter gave another nod as the two of you made your way to class.

------

You were panicking. Two days were all that were left, and so far, you had turned down countless boys including Flash Gordon who had swore and made rude hand gestures at you as a way to handle rejection. You didn’t know what was wrong – why was this impossible hope of Peter asking you still clouding your possibilities of a relationship?

Peter knew nothing of this – yet he annoyed you. If he was too blind to notice that you were madly in love with him, why did the very sight of his face make your brain go empty?

Now with one day left and nobody to ask you, you slumped moodily throughout the day, not talking and sitting silently at lunchtime, stabbing your potatoes pretending that it was your feelings for Peter.

“Okay you’re freaking me out now,” Peter said as the two of you were walking home and you still hadn’t opened your mouth.

“No date – again. God, this is just like homecoming,” you groaned.

Peter looked surprised.

“I thought a lot of guys asked you?”

“They did!” you moaned, “It’s just – that guy, I don’t know why he has this effect on me. It’s like – we weren’t meant to be together or maybe I wasn’t meant to go out with anyone ever.”

“Hey, that’s not true,” said Peter with something new in his expression. Behind the terribly unconvincing ‘concerned best friend’ mask, you saw a flicker of something... smugness? No, you were dreaming. You hadn’t eaten all day – this was probably a side-effect.

“You know what, I’m gonna grab a sandwich at Delmar’s,” you muttered, “I haven’t eaten since morning. Do you want to come?”

“Sorry, I promised May I’d come home,” he sheepishly said, “She wanted me to go get an outfit with her.”

“Oh,” you snickered, “Good luck with that. See you tomorrow!”

“See you.”

And with a heavy heart, you walked away from your only chance of having the person you cared about most as your date to prom.

--------

“Oh god, what was I thinking?” you muttered, staring the reflection of you in a(n) F/C dress with your hair styled <inert preferred style here>.

“This is stupid!” you said to no one in particular, before taking a deep breath and walking to the apartment across from yours and knocking on the door.

The door opened to reveal Peter.

“Oh, good you’re here, this will take just a second, May wants to –” he stopped abruptly, staring at you with eyes round as saucers.

“Um,” you began, he still kept staring.

“Earth to Peter, you still in there?” you snapped your fingers in front of his face as he blinked and turned a delicate shade of red.

“You – you look nice,” he managed to choke out.

“Thanks...?” you said, walking inside and taking a seat on the couch.

“Okay, um, M-may will take us there in her c-car, she’ll be h-here any moment, let’s just w-wait.”

“Pete, you having a stroke or something?” you asked in concern.

“No, I’m fine.” (A/N: he’s not 😉)

As if she had sensed Peter’s need to be rescued, Aunt May came walking into the room. She stopped at the sight of her nephew staring slightly at you, who was examining a coffee mug on the table. Smiling to herself, she cleared her throat.

Both of you jumped in surprise.

“We’re ready to go,” May stated, as the two of you got to your feet, following her to the car.

----------

“This was a mistake, wasn’t it?” you asked, looking at the doors of your school gym which were closed ominously.

“Why?” asked Peter in surprise, “I thought you wanted to go?”

“I do,” you admitted, “But – we don’t have dates, it’ll look so... lame.”

Peter scoffed, “Y/N, do you really need the dimwits that attend this school to justify how many cool points you have?”

“Not exactly,” you said in surprise, feeling slightly better.

“Yeah, come on, let’s just do it. Together, okay?” asked Peter as you nodded.

You both took nervous, deep breaths before pushing the doors open to reveal the commotion inside.

--------

You two were walking across the gym, interestedly examining the decorations ang pulling faces at the couples which were making out, till you bumped into something hard.

“OOF!” you groaned, falling to the floor.

“You okay?” Peter asked hurriedly, pulling you to your feet. As you both turned to look who it was, you were surprised to see Flash standing there with his mouth hanging open.

“No way,” he said, gaping, “HEY EVERYONE, LOOK! IT’S DATELESS L/N AND PENIS PARKER!”

You groaned as a million heads turned your way and slowly, the laughter broke out, jeers of the obscene names Flash had called you now echoing off the walls.

“Haha, real funny, Flash,” Peter said sarcastically, but once he saw your near-tears expression, he seized your wrist and pulled you out of the gym into the open.

“Come on,” he pacifyingly said, “Don’t cry over him, Y/N! He’s not worth it.”

“This is homecoming all over again,” you groaned, struggling to contain your tears, “School dances were never meant for me. Let’s just – let’s just go home and finish making that model spaceship we were working on.”

“Sounds like a worthwhile night to me,” Peter shrugged, tossing a brave smile your way, “You don’t need prom to be happy, you know. Let’s go.”

And so the two of you walked home, talking amongst yourselves, being the best friends you’d been since eight.

Best friends.

The sound of that word made your blood boil hot. How naïve were you? This was absolutely perfect – a million guys on the planet and you chose to fall for one who would never see you the same way.

As your apartment building came closer, Peter cleared his throat and spoke, “Wait in the living room with May for ten minutes. I have a surprise for you.”

“Seriously?” you asked, taken aback.

“Yeah, why not?”

“What is it?” you asked curiously.

Peter cocked an eyebrow.

“Kinda missing the point of a surprise if I told you what it was.”

“Makes sense,” you agreed, “Okay, but make it quick. I’m dying of curiosity.”

“You’ll live for another ten minutes,” Peter assured you.

Your curiosity was now bubbling to the surface like boiling water threatening to spill. You thought of what Peter could possibly have to surprise you, and you stopped to sit on a couch in the living room next to Peter’s aunt.

After exhausting every possibility (each as unlikely as the next), Peter finally dragged you ti the door of his room.

“... I’ve seen your room before, you know,” you laughed slightly.

“That’s not the surprise,” Peter playfully rolled his eyes, “Okay, close your eyes.”

“Jesus, Peter,” you snorted as his hands placed themselves over your eyes, “You are such a drama queen.”

“Open them... now!”

And you opened your eyes to see that the usual clutter surrounding Peter’s room had been cleared away, leaving some space for god-knows-what in the middle of it.

“Wow, you finally cleaned your room!” you exclaimed, “That is a surprise.”

“That’s still not the surprise!” Peter whined, “C’mere.”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you close as your brain clouded with confusion. What the heck was going on?

Peter threw his phone aside as a light waltz began playing through the air. Peter placed one hand on your waist and the other one to grab yours as your confusion cleared away.

“You said you wanted to go to prom,” Peter stated as you two swayed on the spot, moving slightly to the music, “You didn’t say where. Now we’re away from judgy eyes, we can be weird.”

“Seriously, Peter?” you giggled at his dorkiness, “I never knew you were so cute.”

The words had slipped from your mouth before you had time to think them through. You were praying he didn’t hear you, but a hitch in his breath made your heart drop.

“You – you think I’m cute?” Peter asked, blushing furiously.

“Well,” you sighed, there was no backing out of this, “... Yeah, I do.”

You looked down, refusing to meet his eyes.

“And the guy you wanted to get asked by...?” Peter didn’t need to finish his question; he knew you understood.

“Yes,” you whispered, tears brimming at the corner of your eyes once more.

You sucked in a deep breath and looked up, “Look, Peter, I know you don’t feel the same and it’s honestly okay –”

“Shut up,” Peter mumbled, his lips brushing over yours. Your lips brushed together a few times as the both of you melted into the addicting sensation, not aware of the surroundings, not caring in the least. To Peter, all that mattered in that moment, was you.

You two pulled apart after a while, both blushing like crazy with no idea what to do next. It was you who spoke first, shyly.

“I – I think it’s a good thing we’re alone right now. That would be an embarrassing yearbook photo.”