#(because i really enjoyed two of my three courses and even the third one was a topic i enjoyed)

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Love Me Again

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: smut

Exes to lovers - this was requested so I hope you like it!!

To be completely honest, Lando doesn't even know what happened that night one year ago. He knows very well that he drank too much, got drunk like never before and that the next day he lost you.

You came to his apartment and found a hair band in the bathroom that wasn't yours. Lando knew whose hair tie it was, but he tried to hide it from you and convince you that it was yours. Of course with that, he only made things worse. The fact that he decided to lie about it hurt you even more.

You threatened to leave him immediately if he didn't tell you what happened the night before and who spent the night in his apartment. It didn't take long for Lando to break down and tearfully tell you that one of his girl friends spent the night at his place after going out. The morning after, he barely remembered anything, but he could have sworn that he hadn't even kissed her, let alone slept with her.

His only fault was that he brought her with him to the apartment and let her sleep there, but even that was more than enough for you to break your heart into a thousand pieces.

You knew which female friend it was. You never even liked her and even though Lando always told you that you had no reason to be jealous, it annoyed you that she was throwing herself at him every chance she got when the two of you were together.

She was too close to him for your liking and then when you heard that she was the one who slept over at his place that night when he was dead drunk, it was over for you.

Lando cried, despaired, begged you to forgive him for months, trying to convince you that for him there was only you, but you couldn't get over your pride and forgive him. In the end, you even believed him that maybe there really wasn't anything between the two of them, but the trust was broken between the two of you and it couldn't be fixed anymore.

Since you two were together for two and a half years before you broke up, you were very close to his family. They adored you and considered you a member of the family. They couldn't believe that you broke up, even they begged you to forgive him, but even though you decided not to, you still remained on good terms with them and continued to hang out from time to time.

And just like that you found yourself on a huge luxury yacht celebrating Mila's third (idk how old is she??) birthday together with Lando and his family. It was a three-day celebration in the small circle of family and for the sake of that you decided to remain calm and behave normally around Lando.

It wasn't easy for you to be so close to him yet so far away. It was even worse for him, but he enjoyed having you around. Of course he tried in every way to reach you, approach you, talk to you, he did everything just to get your attention. From time to time he would succeed, you would find it funny how he tried everything, so you would give in and engage into a conversation with him.

On the last night, everyone went to bed pretty early because they were exhausted from celebrating, swimming and sunbathing for the past three days, but you weren't so exhausted, so you decided to stay in the lounge area of ​​the yacht and be with yourself for a while. The sky was beautiful, full of shining stars and the feeling was so peaceful. You closed your eyes for a moment, but not for long because you were soon startled by none other than Lando's voice.

"You decided to sleep under the sky tonight?" He asked making himself comfortable on the sofa next to you.

"No, I was just enjoying looking at it."

"With your eyes closed?" He mocked.

"What else do you want other than to disturb my peace?" You roll your eyes sitting up from the lying position.

"I was very hot, so I couldn't sleep. Thought I'd come here to the pool to cool off" He says looking at the pool in front of you.

"It's like" You take a look at your phone to check the time. "Almost 1 a.m. and you're going to get in the pool now?"

"Yeah, wanna join me?" He smirks.

"No, thank you." You laugh rolling your eyes at him again.

He gets up from the sofa and begins to remove his shorts, leaving only his boxers on. You were a little embarrassed and you didn't expect him to start undressing in front of you, so you cleared your throat and looked away.

"C'mon, it's nothing you haven't seen before, y/n" He mocks seeing how flushed your cheeks got.

"I'm going to my room, you have fun" You say getting up and fixing your oversized t-shirt that served as your night gown.

"No, come on, stay, keep me company." He pleaded before stepping into the pool. "Please?"

It didn't take long for him to persuade you to stay, because you secretly wanted to, you just didn't want to admit it so you sat down on the edge of the pool dipping your feet into the water as you watched him slowly threw himself in. Diving under the water he swam closer to you.

"You enjoying yourself?" You ask paddling your feet.

"It would be even better if you jumped in with me" He says placing his hands on the edge on either side of you.

"Not a chance" You resist pushing him a little with your feet. He chuckles biting his lip and taking your foot in his hand pulling you to himself a little.

"Lando, don't you dare" You warn him when you feel yourself slide down a little.

"You're not wearing any shorts?" He asks tilting his head to the side to peek under your t-shirt. You gasp quickly closing your legs and pulling your shirt down.

"You're so inappropriate, get away from me" You push his chest with your feet pushing him away from yourself only for to swim back to you again.

"Did you have any fun these past three days?" He asked curiously.

"I did, I have always enjoyed spending time with your family. It was good to see everyone again."

"Even me?"

You stop and sigh softly at his question not wanting to look him in the eye. it still hurts, stings. You'd be lying if you said you weren't glad to see him. You still love him after all, but you're still not sure if you want to forgive him.

"I'd rather not answer that"

He can't hide the hurt look in his eyes after your statement, but he also doesn't want to push you away from him by bringing certain topics up again.

"Well, I'm sorry to tell you, but I had a talk with Mila today and she told me that I am all you talk about. She says it's getting too much even for her to listen to you" Lando being Lando, of course, turns everything into a joke just to lighten the mood. You can't help but burst out laughing at the nonsense that he was saying just to say something.

"There we go, that's the laugh I wanted to hear" You blush at his caring words hiding your face in your shoulder. He takes a risk and places his hands over your knees slowly pulling them apart to stand between them and you surprise both of you when you let him.

"Lando.." You sigh hesitantly when he slowly puts his hands on your waist and pulls you closer to him.

"Please, let me" Before you could even ask him let you what?, he pulled you down into the pool with him. You gasped and your skin crawled as the slightly cold water soaked your t-shirt making it clung to your body.

"Oh my God, oh my God!" You were breathing rapidly trying to grab the edge to get out, but Lando pulled you by your waist closer to his body.

"Hey, it's okay, it's okay"

"You're completely crazy" Your mouth complains, but your body responds differently to his touch especially when he moves one of his hands from your hip to your leg making them wrap around his torso.

"That's better" He says quietly glancing at your lips. You have to admit you feel a little uncomfortable, especially with his lips less than two centimeters away from yours. You haven't been this physically close to each other in over a year and you've almost forgotten what it feels like to feel his skin on yours. "It's just me" He whispers and it somehow calms you down when you remember that it's Lando, your Lando.

"Lando, you can't do this.." You say, but wrap your arms around his neck hiding your gaze in the crook of his neck. Your gesture encourages him so he hugs you tighter and gently kisses you on the cheek.

"Baby, I miss you so much" Your heart trembles at his choice of words. "I'm losing my mind without you" His voice breaks when you look at him and he moves your hair out of your face. Your fingers make gentle circular motions over the back of his head as you press your foreheads together.

"I swear only hope that one day you'll love me again keeps me sane" He continues.

"I've never even stopped" You quietly confess.

Even if he tried, he couldn't describe the feeling of hearing that from your mouth. He felt as if he had come alive again after such a long time.

He couldn't hold back anymore, everything in him was dying to feel you, to kiss you so he crashed his lips against yours and kissed you the way you kiss a person you love more than your life, but haven't been able to touch in more than a year.

You didn't even think about resisting anymore, you gave in and kissed him back with the same force. He walked with your legs still wrapped around him to the edge of the pool pressing against you with your back against it. His hands quickly slipped under your shirt exploring your body again after so long enjoying the sound of your moans.

"Please..please tell me that no one..has touched you..no one but me" His voice was quivering as he tried to get the question out to which he wasn't sure that he wanted to know the answer to.

Lando was your first. First in everything basically. And he was so proud of it. He loved your innocence and the fact that no one had ever made you feel the way he did. You were all his and that's why he had a particularly strong protective feeling towards you. And he probably would lose his mind if he heard that someone else had touched something that only belonged to him.

"No one but you" You panted making him go feral.

His hands went under your butt gripping it before his fingertips moved your panties aside. He grinded his crotch into yours nibbling at the skin of your neck.

"Lan.." You moaned wanting more, but hating to ask for it. Luckily he knows your body like the back of his hand and knows what you need very well so he slipped his middle finger inside of you. One was soon replaced by two making you throw your head back giving him full access to bite and suck on your neck.

"Fuck.." He hissed as the aching feeling in his cock kicked in desperately needing to be touched. "Baby, I need to feel you or else I'm going to explode" He grunts.

"Let's get out of the pool, yeah? We can't fuck in here"

He lifted you up from the water sitting you onto the edge before getting out of the pool himself. You took off your wet shirt leaving yourself only in soaked panties and a bra. He looked you in from head to toe before pulling you to him and laying you down on the sofa hovering over you.

As he pulled his boxers down and his cock sprung off you looked down at him with a slight concern in your gaze and he noticed it.

"What, baby? Is everything okay?" He asked leaning down to kiss you caressing your cheek.

"Yeah, it's just..it's been a while.." His gaze softened and he smiled pressing a kiss to your forehead to calm you down.

"We'll take it slow, okay?" He assured you. He pulled down your bra taking your tits out and attaching his lips around your nipples and with every passing second of him doing so you were getting wetter and wetter. He then took his cock in his hand rubbing his tip over your pussy up and down a few times hissing at the sensation.

He stopped at the center and felt you getting nervous as your breathing quickened. "It's alright, baby, I know you want this, I can feel how wet you are. I'll go slow, I promise."

He slowly pushed the tip in planting kisses along your jawline to distract you from the pain. He pushed a little further and you squeezed your eyes whimpering and holding your hands against his chest.

"It hurts Lan, it's too big.." You cried out trying to close your legs so he put his hand on your cheek gently caressing it. It took everything in him not to cum right away at you complimenting his length.

"Shh, I know, baby, but you have to let me in okay? We'll make it fit, yeah? Like we always used to" He cooed you pushing your legs further apart. "Just a little bit more and it's fully in. You can take it, love, I know you can."

Little by little and he pushed all of himself in staying still until you felt comfortable enough for him to move. "That's it, just like that, baby, always such a good girl for me" He was so impatient to fuck you, to cum all over or inside you it didn't matter to him, but he decided to take his time with you because he wanted you to feel good above everything else.

Once the pain was replaced by the feeling of pleasure, he started thrusting in deep and fast stretching you out in the way only he knew how. When you felt confident enough you wrapped your legs around his torso to push him even deeper.

"Does it feel good?" He asked and you nodded. "This reminds me so much of that time I fucked you on the couch in my parent's house."

"Ohh, Lando” You moaned.

"Where anybody could've walked in on us and see me pounding you from behind. Fuck, you have no idea how much this turns me on.." He groaned.

"I missed all of you, missed fucking you, feeling you squeeze my cock, playing with your pussy, oh" His words were coming out as broken sobs struggling to last as long as possible. "I feel you clenching are you almost there, love?"

"So close"

"Yeah? You're drenching my cock baby. You're so tight, fuck, I'm gonna cum in seconds."

"Ohh..yes yes, ahh"

"Oh shit baby.." Once he saw you slide you hand down to your clit and start playing with it, he lost it. His body shuddered, his cock twitched inside you and he came undone. He kept moving slowly until both of you rode out your orgasms.

When both of you came to your senses he started hugging you and kissing you as if you were going to run away every second. You leaned your head to the side and watched him smiling.

"So..does this mean you're mine again?" He asks tracing his fingertips over your collarbones.

"It does not, but" You emphasize. "If you try a bit harder maybe you can change my mind"

"Understood. Let's get you cleaned up for round two then"

"Lando, that's not what I meant…”

[sylusxyou]

Sylus saying reader is short/too short and we say put some inches into me then?

omg my first request and it's a little scandalous! happy to oblige :) honestly, i got a little carried away with this one. not sure if it's exactly what you were looking for, but hope you enjoy. thank you for the request! word count: 1.5k content: just suggestive, use of kitten and sweetie, short reader hehe, reader can be gender neutral and non-mc

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

You were sure that Sylus placed his most used cookware in the highest cabinets just to make it difficult for you to grab. To be fair, most of your adventures in his kitchen resulted in burnt ingredients, hand cuts, or just plain bad food. You were determined, however, to surprise him with a decent home cooked meal. Three times this week you had practiced cooking baked scallops in your own kitchen. It was Sylus’ favorite dish and also the bane of your existence. 

The first two times you made it at home, it was completely inedible. The third time it actually tasted decent, but there was still room for improvement. You were sure you would get it right this time, especially with the state of the art cooking appliances in Sylus’ kitchen. 

None of that mattered, however, when you couldn’t even get a baking dish down from the cabinets. Since Sylus was so tall there was no step ladder in sight. You stared up at the stack of baking dishes and silently cursed your parents for passing on their lack of height to you. 

There was no other option as you were the only person in Sylus’ residence. Just as you began your climb onto the counter you heard a throat clear behind you. 

“What’s going on here?” The deep timbre of his voice never failed to send a chill down your spine. 

You slid off the counter and turned to face Sylus. “Why are you back so early? I thought you were going to be out most of the night.” 

“Last time I checked,” Sylus began to walk towards you, “this is my home. I don’t think I’m required to announce when I’m coming and going.” 

The closer he got to you, the deeper the blush grew on your cheeks. He hadn’t even said anything flirtatious or suggestive. Just his presence flustered you and he knew it. 

“Of course you don’t. But now you’ve ruined your surprise.” 

This made him quirk an eyebrow, “My surprise?” 

Sylus was now right in front of you. You stood with your back to the counter and peered up at him. ‘Damn tall people.’

“I was going to cook you dinner.” You reached behind you to grab the recipe sheet and hand it to him. “Baked scallops. Your favorite.” 

His grin was wide, filled with unadulterated joy. These were your favorite smiles to get from him. Though he never said it, you were pretty sure you were the only one who got to see them. 

Sylus looked over the recipe sheet and tapped you on the head with it before placing it back on the counter. “That’s very thoughtful of you, kitten, but you don’t have to do that.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him and crossed your arms across your chest. “I know you’re saying that because you don’t think I can cook something edible.” 

“Can you blame me, sweetie?” He gently placed his hands on either side of your face and brushed his thumbs across your cheeks. “The few times you’ve tried to cook with me, it didn’t really end well.” 

You swatted his hands away. “I’m aware of that. But I’ve been practicing.” 

“You’ve been practicing?” 

“Yes, you can drop the skeptical tone.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket and scrolled through your photos. When your last try had turned out decent, you decided to snap a photo. It certainly wasn’t restaurant quality presentation, but you can tell that the scallops are well cooked. You showed the picture to Sylus. 

He looked at the photo and then back at you. “That’s not bad. I guess I’m willing to risk it. How long until it’s ready?” 

“I haven’t even started.” You pointed up the the high cabinet where the baking dishes were stored. “You keep your dishes way too high up.” 

This made Sylus chuckle, “I have to keep fragile items out of harms way. Would you like some assistance?” 

“Yes, actually, I would like that.” 

His large hands grabbed your shoulders and turned your around. Before you could ask what his intentions were, he grabbed you by the waist and lifted you up. 

“What are you doing?” you shouted. 

You could hear the smile in his voice when he replied, “Put your feet on the counter, kitten.” 

You did what you were told and Sylus’ hand rested on your ass, presumably to hold you in place. 

The contact burned into your skin through the fabric of your shorts. “Somehow I feel like you have ulterior motives. You could’ve just grabbed it yourself.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” His hand gave a gentle squeeze.

You tried to compose yourself as you grabbed the baking dish from the cabinet. “You can let me down now.” 

“Lean back and I’ll grab you.” Sylus stretched his arms out and you slowly lowered yourself down to be cradled by him. He gently placed your feet on the ground and leaned into your neck, placing soft kisses across the length of it.

It was completely unfair how easy it was for him to make you melt. You knew you had an effect on him has well, but he was able to keep it together more masterfully than you. Just once you wanted to see him flustered. 

You gently pushed on his shoulders, removing his lips from their exploration of your neck. “Maybe you should keep your baking pans in a lower cabinet.” 

“I’m sorry, kitten. Sometimes I forget I’m not the only one using these spaces anymore.” Sylus ran his hands up and down your arms. “And the person sharing them with me has such a small reach.” 

The smug grin on his face told you he was intentionally pushing your buttons. “I’m not that short. You’re just freakishly tall.” 

“Freakishly?” He raised an eyebrow. “No need to be hostile. I’m always happy to lend you my extra inches to reach the places you can’t.” 

You couldn’t keep your eyes from widening. The way he quirked his head when he noticed your expression made you wonder if he realized exactly what he just said. Sylus was no stranger to innuendo but he usually shot for something classier and less obvious. This wasn’t exactly his style. Then again, he was hardly naive and much more skilled at keeping his composure than you. Perhaps it was intentional after all and he was feigning ignorance.

Well, two could play at that game. You couldn’t let this opportunity pass you by. Usually when Sylus said something suggestive you would blush and change the subject. Now was the time to be bold if you wanted to get a reaction out of him. 

You tucked the baking dish in your hands under one of your arms and ran your free hand behind Sylus’s neck, lightly dragging your nails up and down. “If you take me to your bedroom you can show me just how deep your extra inches can reach.” 

There it was. It was slight but it was unmistakable. Sylus’ eyes widened just a bit, his shock at your response momentarily visible to you. He shook it off quickly, however, and dipped his head with a chuckle. “My, my, my. You have gotten bolder, kitten.” 

You fought the blush rising in your cheeks now that Sylus’ composure returned to him and shrugged. “I figured it was a good chance to give you a taste of your own medicine.” 

“I like it. And you know what?” Sylus grabbed the baking dish tucked under your arm and placed it on the counter behind you. “I think I’ll take you up on your offer.”

His arms caged you in between him and the counter, his face mere inches from yours. “What do you mean?” 

Sylus’ voice was a low, hot, whisper against your skin. “Why don’t we skip dinner and spend the rest of the evening in my bedroom. That’s what you really wanted, right?” 

“N-no!” You grabbed the baking dish from behind you and held it up in front of you like a shield. “I worked way too hard to learn this recipe. We are not skipping dinner.”

Sylus placed a chaste kiss on your cheek. “Okay, kitten. We won’t skip dinner. I would hate for your hard work to go to waste.” He backed away from you, eyes still locked on yours. “Besides, scallops are a great aphrodisiac.” He grinned at you and began walking out of the kitchen. Over his shoulder he called back, “Let me know when dinner’s ready.” 

You stood in place for a few moments, your face moving from blushing to completely red. You had wanted to be bold, to make him feel this way. With hardly any effort at all Sylus had flipped the script on you. Now you were left wondering if you had started something you hadn’t intended. As you began working on dinner you couldn’t keep your thoughts from wandering to you and Sylus in his bedroom. You hadn’t planned anything for desert but perhaps you’d have some after all. 

[bweeeb]

SWEETNESS

PEDRO PASCAL × READER

Summary: After an interview, the casua thing between you and Pedro ends up making the public suspect that he is not denying someone who is twenty-three years old.

warnings: nothing major, very cute, age difference but both are adults (obviously), bad writing maybe. Enjoy.

— So, according to the recordings, I think we all saw how close you two have become. How has that been?

You and Pedro smiled at the woman, who seemed to be around 35, interviewing you both.

The curiosity in her eyes was obvious.

— I think it’s been time well spent.

Pedro said, laughing and glancing at you, who was already laughing even before speaking.

— I think our characters demanded a connection of...

— Hatred and anger.

Pedro interrupted you, and you laughed loudly.

— Yes. That’s why I’ve been spending the past few months figuring out which tool is best for channeling hatred towards someone.

— Our makeup team has been covering up all the damage we’ve been doing to each other.

Pedro added, and your extravagant laughter made him laugh as well. You two really were doing some damage to each other, but that was your little secret.

— You can clearly see you can’t stand being around each other.

— No, we can’t.

You said with a smile, waiting for the next questio

— And the movie tackles a delicate theme about relationships and age gaps. What made you both accept such controversial roles? Especially you, Pedro...I’m sure you’ve broken all the minds of 20-something girls with this film.

— He definitely has.

— I don’t know what it is with you all nowadays, thinking an old guy like me is attractive. The conversation shifted back to you and Pedro, and the interviewer smiled with amusement. The chemistry between you two was undeniable, even more than you realized.

— Because you’re a man, you give off the feeling of being a man but don’t have to prove it. You know what I mean? You understand me?

You asked the interviewer, who nodded, agreeing that it was indeed a big difference.

— Of course, I’m a man, but an old one.

— Shut up and answer the question.

You said, laughing, as Pedro gave you a mock-offended look in his usual dramatic way.

— Honestly, I wasn’t going to take the role. When I got the audition, I just said, "Nope." But a lot of people kept telling me I’d be the perfect Nick for the book adaptation, and I hate disappointing my fans.

— So you still wouldn’t date someone in their twenties? Maybe?

— No.

Pedro quickly denied it, and you wanted to roll your eyes but didn’t.

— And you, darling?

Nice deflection, you thought, almost laughing at him.

— Ahm, I gave it a lot of thought, especially about the nude scenes I was informed of before accepting the role. I didn’t want to freak out my family. But once I learned more about the characters, I discovered the adaptation was from a book I love, so I couldn’t say no.

— That’s amazing. I heard you even got a real piercing for one of the scenes in the movie. Are you wearing it now?

The question was directed at you, and you smiled painfully, moving your hair away to reveal the piercings you got during filming.

— I added thirds and a helix. Yep, these guys are fine. — You pointed at the piercings farthest from the cartilage. — But I’ll be honest, this one is hurting a lot right now. I was even going to ask if someone could help me after this because it didn’t hurt this much when I got it done.

You laughed, and both the interviewer and Pedro looked at you with concern. Pedro leaned closer, moving your hair from your neck.

— Oh, crap, darling, it’s swollen. You need to take care of this. — He said in such a calm voice that even if the interview ended right then, the audience would already be glued to the screen. — Do you want to stop?

— I’m fine, thank you.

Without even realizing it, you brushed your thumb against Pedro’s wrist, where his hand rested on your neck to examine you.

Later, the interview was posted, and you almost laughed at how fast the channel edited it. Your ear was still throbbing like it was being pierced again, and lying on the couch, you felt like crying—not because it hurt that much, but because you hated the feeling of discomfort in your body.

— Darling?

You heard Pedro call you and looked over the back of the couch to see him smiling at you.

— Now I’ve finally wrapped everything up. No calls. Ugh. — He flopped onto the couch, and noticing your silence, he looked at you oddly. — What’s wrong?

— Nothing.

You denied it, not wanting to worry him.

— Look at me and say that.

He raised an eyebrow and laughed, sitting cross-legged on the couch.

— Nothing.

— Come on, baby, your ear is hurting, isn’t it?

You murmured your agreement. He then places a hand on your neck and places a kiss on your lips, you move closer, deepening the kiss until he pulls you into his chest, on the side that didn’t hurt.

— I’m sorry about this.

— It’s not your fault.

— No, but you seem exhausted by the pain, and I’m sorry for that.

— Thank you. Have you seen what everyone’s saying?

— I haven’t.

— You’re a terrible liar. They’re calling you a liar. You laughed, feeling comforted in his embrace.

— Me? A liar? Yo nunca mentiría.

— You’re a liar and ridiculously hot when you speak Spanish. “Oh, I’d never date anyone in their twenties,” and two seconds later, “And you, darling?”

— What’s wrong with that?

— Friends don’t call friends “darling.” Like, we’re friends who hook up, but you get my point.

You thought for a second and worried you’d sounded over the top in the classification you seemed to be giving you two.

— You’ve been the most argumentative exception I’ve ever made.

He said, and you nodded in agreement.

— I hope I am. I’d hate to find out another young woman took my spot as a legend.

— Legend for what?

— For being the youngest person in the world to hook up with the ridiculously hot Pedro Pascal. You said, and he laughed loudly. You didn’t know how far this would go, but you intended to enjoy the sweetness of that man for as long as it lasted

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I hope everybody enjoy this.

Requests are opened!

[purplecoffee13]

The Silent Type*

Summary: “Harry, the quiet guy in the office, has silently admired you during your time working for the firm. Now that your work there is done, Harry finds that he can’t let you go just yet…”

Wc: 5k

Tropes: colleagues (ceorry/nerdrry)

Warnings: SMUT, overstimulation, daddy kink, switch sub/dom dynamics, oral, choking

A/N: SUP Y’ALL!!!! God I have just been waiting to be able to write again! I still have some exams coming up next week, but I spent all evening writing this one shot because I have been dying to get back into it😋 This is my first time writing a more subrry tinted fic, so I hope you enjoy it!

General Masterlist

if you want to support me more than liking or sharing, you can consider buying me a coffee!

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Harry has never been one to talk much.

It is one of the reasons why he chose the career of software developing. Most of it, he could do on his own.

It wasn't so much that Harry hated people, he just preferred his own company. More people tend to complicate things, and Harry is a more logical guy.

That was until he met you.

About three months ago, the company for which Harry worked had started their expansion, and he was to lead the people transferred to that section of the firm. With the expansion also came new employees, and that’s where you came in.

You had been temporarily hired by the company to weed out applicants, and assist the current HR manager to help with the job interviews.

Harry still remembers that first day when you walked into the office, all nervous and fidgety. He had spotted you through the glass walls of his office, and couldn't physically tear his eyes off of you.

It wasn't until your third day helping in the office, that you actually met Harry. You had no idea what to think of him. Well, besides the obvious, of course. He was ridiculously handsome, and from the way he was staring at you, you figured that maybe he was thinking something like that about you too.

But he didn't talk.

Your first time meeting consisted of nothing but a gruff 'nice to meet you' from Harry's side, and no input in the rest of the conversation whatsoever. It was only a couple days later, when you asked the HR manager about it, that you found out that's just how he was, that he didn't really talk to anyone. From that moment on, there had been a surge of motivation to let him make you the one exception.

Harry was just fascinated by you, and he had no idea why. You were a ball of energy, talking so fast you'd think someone had clicked on your 'sped up' button, and you were chaotic, all over the place. The amount of times he watched you bump into people was impossible to keep count of.

Then, one day, you bumped into him. It should have angered him, the spilt coffee on his pants. But he had an extra suit, and you looked so worried, he didn't want to make you feel worse. You still felt bad, though, so you decided to make it up to him, and started getting him coffee every morning.

By the end of the first week, he looked you in the eyes when he thanked you. By the end of the fourth, he'd ask you how you are and recall things you'd told him. By the end of sixth, he told you things about his life, and by the end of the tenth week, you were having longer conversations with him.

It was difficult to keep up the small talk with him in the beginning. You soon found out that his lone wolf attitude may had something to do with his awkwardness. You thought, perhaps people weren't willing to work through that, and eventually he just stopped trying.

Such a prospect made you sad, and it only motivated you more to get to know him better. Of course, the longing glances, and standing unnecessarily close to each other with his knuckles barely touching your arm, those things helped too.

There was an undeniable tension between the two of you that you found incredibly difficult to decipher. The way he'd let you catch him looking at you gave it away quite clearly, but the lack of any real initiative confused you.

Had you read it all wrong? Did he even think there was something there too?

Unfortunately, there was no way to find out, as your assignment at the company was coming to an end. Today had been your last day, and tonight is a launch party to officially celebrate the expansion of the company.

You were a little sad to leave the company, especially since you really liked the people working there. It is why you are most excited for tonight.

Wearing a long yellow dress—it is your favorite color—you stride into the building. You are mesmerized by all the balloons and how pretty everyone looks. Wearing expensive suits or classy dresses. You immediately realize you might be a bit too happily dressed; everyone is wearing darker colors.

It does make it easy for everyone to spot you, though. By the time you've gotten your drink, five people have already walked up to you. About half an hour into the party, the CEO of the company takes the stage to give a small speech.

"I would like to thank everyone who has participated in making this expansion go as smoothly as it did. Your work does not go unnoticed." He says through the microphone. Everyone claps for a few seconds, and the man waits to go on until it is quiet again.

"Now, I have a special announcement to make. I have wanted to make this expansion happen since I began working for this company in 1988. Now that I finally have, I feel that my job at this firm is done. And so, I have decided to retire from my position as CEO."

Your eyes widen at the speech; you had no idea this was even a thing. By the sound of the gasps and murmurs traveling through the room, you deduce that the news is unexpected for the rest of the company as well.

"It is also with great pride that I present the new CEO of our company, chosen after careful consideration. If mr. Harry Styles could please join me on stage."

Your mouth falls open at the mention of Harry's name, and you are certain you will never be able to close it again when you see him walking onto the stage. He wears a black suit, perfectly tailored to his body, and the sight of him has you concerned that you may be drooling.

The bald man hands the microphone to Harry, who does not look very pleased to be on stage; it almost seems like he is regretting his decisions. Until his eyes meet yours, that is when you see him let out a breath.

"Thank you, Mr. Johnson." He says, breaking eye contact to look at his former boss.

Right, that was his name, Johnson.

"I look forward to leading this company into more successes, and I promise that I will put my heart and soul into it. I have worked at this firm ever since I graduated college and they offered me a job during my internship, and it is safe to say that I have not regretted that decision a day of my life. I have always been loyal to this company, and I will remain loyal to you. Thank you."

You are perplexed. Why did he never tell you about this? You are very happy for him, but you do find it weird. It also makes you doubt again. Did whatever you had been building up the last months not mean as much to Harry as it did to you?

Well, it doesn't really matter, you're gone after tonight anyway.

Once the shock of the news has calmed down a bit, the party resumes as normal. Most people visit Harry one by one to congratulate him on the position, but you steer clear from him. It is no use, after tonight you will probably never see him again anyway.

Time passes, and you think you're ready to go home. There was a file in the office you forgot to sign earlier today, so you head up to do that first. The office is entirely dark when you walk out of the elevator. It's kind of eerie, so you are quick to turn on the lights.

It takes you a few minutes to find the file, since the receptionist placed it on someone else's desk. You find it on your colleague's desk, and walk over to the receptionist desk to sign it. Laying it on the keyboard of her computer, you pray that she won't displace it again, and make your way back to the elevators.

A loud shriek escapes you when Harry suddenly walks around the corner. He covers his ears at the high pitched sound, shocked by how much he scared you. With your hand on your chest you try and steady your breathing.

"Jesus, you scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry, didn't mean to." He says, a bit of worry in his tone. You look up at him.

"What are you even doing up here?"

"I was looking for you." He shrugs.

"Why?" Your eyebrows furrow, that same old tension in your stomach settling like it does every time Harry looks at you for longer than two seconds.

"You've been avoiding me." He answers casually, and you feel your heart drop. You didn't think he'd catch onto it.

"Congratulations by the way, for being the CEO. That was definitely a surprise." There is a bitterness in your tone. It is Harry's turn to frown. He hears the condescension, but his mind can't seem to come to a conclusion. Why are you angry? It's so hard to tell.

This is why he doesn't do people.

"You're mad that I am CEO?" He guesses, and your mouth falls open, much like it did when Harry's new position got announced.

"What?! Of course not! I'm very happy for you." You sputter out. The last thing you'd want him to think is that you don't want him to be happy or satisfied or successful.

"But you're still avoiding me." He repeats slowly. "You know, I didn't tell you about it because no one was supposed to know. I had to sign for it and everything. It's nothing personal."

The painful grip that his potential distrust in you had on your heart releases at the sound of his words. You could have known that it was due to something like that, you work in HR after all. That fact alone makes you realize how invested you unknowingly had become in Harry.

"I...I figured." You give him a weak smile. Harry's eyes search for yours, holding onto your gaze once he has found it. You stay like that, staring at each other for a while until you break the silence.

"I'm heading home. I don't think I'll see you again, so good luck. I'm sure you'll do wonderfully."

With much difficulty, you manage to look away from Harry and walk past him. At least, you try to, because halfway through, Harry's hand grabs your arm. You stop in your tracks, looking back at the man who stopped you. The man who has been sending you mixed signals for the past few months.

"D– do you want to join me in my office?"

You refrain from the shiver that threatens to run down your entire body, and nod. Harry's hand slides down your arm to your hand, and he intertwines his fingers with yours before he leads you to the glass doors that belong to him. On your way there, he flicks off the lights, leaving the two of you in the dark.

The city lights light up the otherwise pitch dark office that belongs to Harry, for now. He will be moved to the CEO's office when he starts his new position.

You don't say anything as Harry closes the door, or as he walks to the closet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. You wait in anticipation of what he's going to do.

But then he sits down. He just sits down on his chair.

You stand there, staring at him, utterly confused about this man and his intentions with you, while he obliviously pours the whiskey into the glasses. In that moment, there is a switch inside of you, one that says: fuck it. This is your last day, you need a way to release this pent up tension, and you probably won't see him ever again after this. What have you got to lose? Nothing.

You walk over to the desk and sit down on it, extremely close to Harry. The split of your dress shows your bare, freshly shaved leg, and he seems to notice. His eyes pull to your legs like magnets, and he has to force himself to look you in the eyes as he hands you the glass of whiskey.

You try your best not to smirk at the effectiveness of your plan, focusing on your next move instead. Straight for the kill.

"So, why am I here, Harry?" You ask nonchalantly, taking a sip of your whiskey. It tastes quite strong, and it takes you a lot of effort not to have an expressive reaction to it.

"What?" He asks, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

"Why'd you take me here?" You ask again, setting down your glass at the table before moving to stand in front of him. "To admire the view?"

Harry looks out the window, but his head shoots back to you when he notices you're sinking onto your knees in front of him. He thinks he may have forgotten to breathe as he observes the lustful look in your eyes. His eyes travel down to your tits, even more visible from this angle.

"Because I've admired it every day for the past three months." You continue. Harry swallows, frozen by the overload of his brain and the sensitivity of the growing constraint in these pants. "Why don't you take your pants off for me? Just enough to give me your cock. I like you in this suit."

Harry doesn't let another second fly by before he is unbuckling his pants, sliding it down just enough for you to have access to his cock and his balls. Your mouth waters at the size and girth of it, your cunt getting wetter with every passing moment.

You shimmy forward, leaning over his cock and grabbing it with your hand. Harry sighs at the minimal contact, making you feel even more powerful. Looking up at him through your lashes, you ask him one more question.

"You'll hold my hair, won't you?"

With that, you take Harry in your mouth as far as you can, before pulling away from him. A gasp leaves his mouth, and his eyes fall shut as you pump him with your hand while your mouth kisses and sucks on the head of his cock. You begin licking and kissing down his cock, while your hand softly feels up his balls.

Harry feels like he is in heaven already, and he forgets everything around him. It is only when you completely remove yourself from him that he opens his eyes again, and he sees. Catching on quickly, he leans forward and gathers your hair, twisting it around his palm.

Satisfied with Harry's obedience, your mouth attaches itself to his cock again. You take him slowly, teasingly, and move your head up and down. With every movement, you take him an inch deeper.

"Oh, f–fuck!" He groans out when you gag on him because you took yourself too far too fast. You steady your breathing, which is a bit more complicated as you can only breathe out your nose. You resume sucking him off for a bit longer, bobbing your head down a bit faster. The small sounds that leaves Harry's lips, along with his scrunched up face, gives you enough indication that he is approaching his climax.

So you remove your mouth from his cock.

He lets out a whine at the loss of contact. If your panties weren't wet before, they certainly are now. You smile at the state of him; desperate and needy for you. The fact that you've managed to make him fall apart like this makes you incredibly horny.

"I want to take all of you in my mouth, daddy." You tell him, looking up at him with your big eyes. "You'll have to help me."

You went out on a bit of a limb when you decided to call him daddy, but he doesn't seem to mind at all. In fact, Harry's eyes light up and his jaw slacks at the mention of the pet name.

"Shit– anything, sweetheart. Whatever you need." He croaks out.

"I need you to fuck my mouth." You respond sternly, not wasting any time and taking him between your lips again. You push yourself down his cock as far as you can, breathing deeply before moving your hand to Harry's hand, which is holding onto your hair, and pushing your head forward to indicate that he needs to push his cock down your throat.

Again, it doesn't take him long to listen, because Harry's hips thrust forward, his dick gliding into your throat. You moan at the force with which he pushed, and keep your mouth wide open as you let Harry navigate your head.

Once he fully understands that you are allowing him to let him use your mouth, the true fun begins. With the firm grip he has on your head, he pushes you up and down at an ungodly speed. Your jaw is already tiring from its locked position, but you power through it because the sounds that leave Harry's mouth make up for it.

"Fuck baby, such a good mouth. Never had anything like this... Jesus!" He pants out as he begins to thrust up into your mouth, and you feel like you might pass out. Suddenly, he pulls you away from his dick.

You frown, and realize as he is grabbing for a tissue that he is avoiding messing up your face. You don't stand for it, though, and wrap your lips around his cock again just in time for him to come inside your mouth. You take him deeper and feel the way his sperm shoots in the back of your throat.

"Fuck! Shit, shit..." The not so wide arrange of curse words are the only thing Harry is capable of saying as he dumps his load inside your mouth. The fact that you were so adamant about having his sperm in your mouth made his orgasm even more intense.

Your mouth lets go of his cock with an exaggerated plop, and you swallow every last bit of him, grinning at his fucked out face.

"That was... amazing." He sighs, his gaze flicking from your mouth to your eyes. You hum in agreement, and get up from the floor as he pulls up his pants. You are about to walk away, when Harry grabs your wrist.

"Where are you going?"

"Home." You answer with a smile, but Harry's grip on you only tightens. He shakes his head, his lips pouting.

"No, you need to stay. Let me make you feel good too." He protests. You squint your eyes at him.

"I don't need to do anything."

Harry's eyes widen. "You're right. But just let me make you feel good before you go, please? It's the least I can do."

Your mouth slowly forms into a grin, glad to have him where you want. Well, almost.

"Beg me."

Harry scoffs. "Are you serious? I don't really do begging."

You shrug, smiling at him. "That's fine. My vibrator can get me off too."

You take a few steps towards the door, while Harry contemplates his decisions. However, those were all clouded by the sole moment to please you the second you mentioned your vibrator. The image of you getting off like that is too much to bear. He needs to do it for you.

"Stop." He says. You turn around, and walk back to him as he gets out of his chair and gets on his knees. Grabbing your waist, he pulls you closer, his nose digging into your dress. His hands run up and down your legs, and it is making you weak in your knees.

"Please, let me eat you out baby. I'll do anything to make you feel good. I need to taste you so bad, please let me pleasure you."

You swallow, eyelids ready heavy, as you sigh out. "Alright."

Harry grins at your admittance of defeat, and stands up. He leads you to sit on his desk, your dress hiked up. He removes the stuff behind you, so that you can lean back entirely in case you want to, and waltzes over to his chair.

Spreading your legs, he rolls himself closer to you, and assesses your soaking wet panties. Chuckling, he leans to the side and grabs a pair of scissors, before he cuts the skimpy material from your body. You'd say something of it, but the sight of him admiring your pussy like this is too fascinating to interrupt. So, you keep quiet.

When Harry's thumb suddenly presses on your clit and begins to rub it, you can't help but gasp. His touch feels too good, and that blowjob got you really worked up.

"You have no idea how many times I've fantasized about this." Harry says, marveling at how reactive you are being.

"Me too."

His eyebrows rise up. "Yeah? Tell me more, baby."

You bite your lip, too obsessed with the pet name he's given you. It sounds so sexy coming from his mouth. He awaits your response with bright eyes, lazily rubbing your clit.

"Your arms... I'd think about them so much. And your hands, I'd imagine you choking me with them. They're so big..." You begin, and you know that you could go on for hours if you had to tell him about everything you've thought about doing with him, or doing to him.

Harry doesn't say anything, instead responds with two fingers entering your pussy. You moan at the feeling of his large fingers pumping in and out of you. It feels way fuller than your hand already. His two fingers is the equivalent of your three fingers.

"We can definitely make those fantasies come true..." Harry says softly. "But first, let's make you come, hmm?"

You nod, your head falling back and allowing yourself to fully indulge in the pleasure Harry's giving you right now. You let yourself lay on his desk, wrapping your legs around his shoulders.

"Fuck, that feels good– oh fuck!" You shriek out when Harry tongue begins attacking your tongue after he adds a third finger. He speeds up the movements of his hand to match those of his tongue, and holds onto that tempo until your mind can't conjure up any more words to speak to him.

With the control entirely out of your hands, you let Harry guide you to your orgasm, which washes over your body like a tidal wave. You unconsciously push Harry's head further into your pussy with your legs. With an arched back, you moan at the sensitivity of your clit.

Harry lets you take a minute to catch your breath before he pulls on your arms to have you sit up straight. He is smiling sweetly at you, and your heart warms at it.

"You okay?" He asks, kissing your hands. You nod, trying to ignore the flutters in your heart at the way he is being so gentle.

"Thank you for letting me make you feel good, baby." He says, getting up and leaning into your face. His nose brushes against your cheek as he plants his lips on yours. Your arms wrap around Harry's neck as you kiss him deeper, too caught up in how good he feels and how much you want him.

You're never this greedy. You've never felt like you needed a man's cock inside of you. Like it was the only feasible option. You feel it driving you crazy, and you're sure it is the only reason you say— no, ask:

"Please, fuck me."

The grin that forms on Harry's lips makes you feel like you should regret what you said. A grin like that usually belongs on your face in situations like these. But you need him so bad, you don't really care that you are the desperate one this time.

"Oh, you're begging now too, huh?" He says cockily. You glare at him, pissed that he's acknowledging your neediness and mocking you for it too.

"It's alright baby, I'll give it to you. 'M cock's already hard again from watching you come like that. So fucking sexy..." He says. He pulls his pants down and lifts you off the table, turning you around to the glass windows and pushing your hands against them. "Bend over a bit and speak your legs for me, baby."

You do as he says, biting your lip at Harry's hand that pushes away your dress and roams over your ass. He positions his cock at your entrance and pushes himself into you, sighing in pure relief. You shut your eyes tightly at the size of him filling you up.

"Fuck, you feel good baby." He says, slowly beginning to move in and out a bit. You let out a soft 'yes', causing Harry's jaw to clench. He spanks your ass, watching as it bounces from the impact, and his cock twitching at your yelp.

"Perfect fucking ass... perfect fucking girl, aren't you?" He groans, now lazily thrusting into you. He wants to give you time to adjust, but he learns your wishes when you begin to push yourself back into him.

"Ah, I see. Greedy girl wants to speed things up, hmm? Your wish is my command." He mocks, but does speed up his pace. His hands hold your waist as he begins to pound himself into you, your ass shaking at the impact. He spanks your ass again for good measure, obsessed with the way it moves.

You nearly lose yourself in how good it feels, but you know that he can get deeper than this.

"I want to ride you... want to feel you in my tummy." You spit out, hoping he understands what you're saying in your croaky voice.

Harry listens, pulling himself out of you immediately and taking a seat in the chair. You turn around and walk over to him, throwing your legs on both sides of his lap, before grabbing his cock and sinking yourself down on it.

It goes smoother this time, but Harry's really deep now, just like you wanted. The sensation is everything to you, and it isn’t hard to tell how good it feels for him too. Glad to have a bit of the control back, you start to bounce on his cock.

Harry’s eyes travel over your body, fascinated by the way you are moving above him. His hands travel to the straps of your dress and push them down until he can get your tits out of the top part of your dress. He begins to massage them as you keep impaling yourself on his dick over and over again.

"Fuck, daddy, you feel so good... so good for me. Listening to me. Knew this was the best way to fuck you... you love it." You slur happily. Harry nods profusely at your words, jaw clenched and moaning out in pleasure.

"Yes, needed it so bad baby. You're fucking daddy so good..."

You smile at how caught up Harry looks in his pleasure, like he doesn't know what to do with it. You, however, do know what to with it. You grab one of his hands and wrap it around your throat, before you do the same to him. With his hand on your neck and yours on his, you begin to fuck him as fast as you can.

"Ah, fffuck... shit! Holy shit!" He yells out, and automatically thrusts himself up into you, reaching an even further level of deepness you had never thought possible. That along with your hands on each other’s necks, is enough to know that your climaxes are near.

"Come inside me daddy." You pant out, and he does. It is as if your permission set him off. You smile in delight at the feel and knowledge of his cum being so deep inside of you.

You fuck Harry through his orgasm, and even after. He squirms in his seat. "Wait— too sensitive."

"I don't care, I haven't come yet. Don't you want to make me feel good? Have me coming around your thick cock?" You say sensually, and Harry nods. "Words."

"Yes– fuck! I want you to come, please come around my cock. Please, please..." He begins to beg, a tear rolling down his cheek.

Your toes curl at his whiny voice, and soon your juices are gushing all over his cock. Your pussy contracting around him seems to set Harry off even more, as you feel even more sperm spraying out of his dick and into your walls.

You ride out your high until you can't move anymore. You sit there, forehead pressed against Harry's as you both come down from what just happened.

After a minute or two, you decide to pull out. Slowly but surely, you manage to get Harry's dick out of you without hissing too much at the sensitivity of every single body part down there.

You lean against the desk, too wobbly to stand on your own, and you let Harry wipe you clean with the tissues on his desk. After cleaning himself up, he stands up and positions himself in front of you.

"Hey." He says. Your hand cups his jaw and your thumb wipes away the tear that is far down his face now.

"Hi." You tilt your head. The both of you burst out laughing, still surprised by what went down just now.

"That was really good." He says once the laughter has died down. You nod in agreement.

"Good enough for a repeat?"

Harry pretends to think it over, before he responds: "under one condition."

"And what would that be?" You quirk up an eyebrow, intrigued by his vagueness. He smiles at you so wide that you wonder if his mouth might be hurting.

"You let me take you out on a date first."

You roll your eyes, pretending not to be amused as he chuckles at your reaction. But the second you see the look on his face and the sincerity behind it, you realize that he is being quite serious about this request. You bite your lip, wanting to kiss him right then and there.

"I would love that."

[itneverendshere]

thinking of how rafe wouldn’t want you to work while pregnant

that man would be so stressed, since day one!! and bartender!reader would noooot give him a break, still covering bartending shifts even tho she was the manager bc she simply enjoyed doing it every once in a while. and he's like ?????? will you sit your ass down PLEASE. but you're not listening, if there's ONE thing the pregnancy hormones gave you was extra attitude. somethin' along these lines:

rafe could feel his jaw clenching as he watched you across the room, rolling your eyes for the third time in the past five minutes. you were doing it on purpose now, deliberately ignoring him while standing behind the bar, mixing drinks like you weren’t six months pregnant.

the bartender had called in sick, and you, the manager, jumped in and covered for him. rafe crossed his arms, leaning against the counter, and tried not to look too annoyed, but fuck if it wasn’t hard.

you still had that spark in you, that independence that drew him in from the start, but now it just made him worry like he never thought he could.

“you’re gonna give me a heart attack, y’know that?” he called out, his voice carrying over the chatter around the country club.

most people were too busy with their drinks and golf gossip to notice you two bickering, but anyone paying attention could see that familiar dynamic. you doing whatever you damn well pleased, him trying to keep his cool, which he never really could when it came to you putting yourself at risk.

you glanced at him over your shoulder, hands moving like second nature as you garnished a drink.

“’m fine, baby” you told him, voice as breezy as ever, the huge bump pressing against your shirt nothing more than an accessory. “it’s just a couple hours.”

there was that old habit of yours—acting like everything was fine when you clearly weren’t. or maybe you were, but that wasn’t the point.

the point was, you shouldn’t have to be there.

“you say that, but i know you’re gonna be hurting later,” he muttered, pushing off the counter and walking around to your side of the bar.

his hand landed gently on your waist, thumb brushing the small of your back like he always did when he wanted to get you to stop for just a second.

“c’mon, baby. just take a break, you don’t need to be on your feet like this.”

it wasn’t that you didn’t want help, you’d worked through that over the past couple years, but that stubborn streak was still there.

“i’m not a porcelain doll,” you reminded him, rolling your eyes again, “i’m not gonna drop dead because i’m pregnant.”

he felt his stomach drop when those words left your mouth.

"jesus christ, woman," his eyes widened in exasperation. "don’t say that shit.”

“alright, my bad,” you gave in, “didn’t mean it like that.”

rafe sighed, his hand still resting on you. he hated when you talked like that, you didn't have to remind him how capable you were.

of course he knew. 

"promise me you're taking a leave starting tomorrow," he practically begged you despite attempting to sound firm, but that undertone of worry had been his constant companion ever since you'd found out you were pregnant. 

"next week," you sang back, not bothering looking up from the drink you were finishing. 

you were still in work mode, determined to keep things running smoothly despite the fact you should’ve been at home, resting.

"tomorrow," he insisted, leaning in closer.

you turned to face him, eyes narrowing.

"next week, or you’re not getting sex for the next three months. now get outta my bar.”

rafe blinked, his jaw going slack as he stared at you, completely blindsided. 

“what—"

“go on,” you gestured toward the other side of the counter with a flick of your hand, “out.”

his mouth opened and closed a couple of times, like a fish.

"but… baby," he whined, his voice dipping into a tone that could only be described as kicked puppy. “just—wanna make sure you’re okay. that you’re safe, and you’re not overdoing it. you can’t kick me out, i need to be around you.”

you gave him that look, the one that told him he was pushing his luck. "rafe, i swear to god—”

he let out a long, dramatic sigh, but started to back off, lifting his hands in surrender.

"alright, alright, ‘m going," he grunted, dragging his feet toward the exit like a kid being told to go to bed. but before he did go, he turned back one more time, his eyes pleading. "i’ll be outside if you need me."

"of course you will," you muttered, shaking your head with a half-smile. you knew he wasn’t going far, probably far enough to hover and peek through the windows, pretending to give you space but unable to help himself.

"i love you, stop spiraling," you called out after him.

he paused, turning back to look at you, his expression softening.  

“love you too.”

[wosohours]

commitment - leah williamson x reader

You always heard about “don’t date athletes” and “athletes are players," but of course when good advice comes your way, you ignore it.

It was a bit insane to think that you could start talking to the one girl who could not be bothered with being in a committed relationship. That gut feeling telling you “Don’t get too close”, “Don’t entertain her”, or “Don’t fall in too deep” but you once again ignored it.

Honestly, you could not help it. It was like a craving to be around Leah all the time. It almost felt like an obsession of wondering, “What is she doing?”, “Where is she?”, “Is she thinking about me?”

Constantly checking your phone to see if she messaged you. Looking at her social media every hour on the hour. You were in deep and you knew it would eventually lead to hurting yourself. Yet, being someone with the typical heart-eye delusions, the thoughts in the back of your mind kept saying, “She will change for you.”

Trying to distance yourself never worked because every time you were at a safe enough distance she kept pulling you right back in. Leah knew that she had some type of hold on you and constantly used that to her advantage.

Just last week she was barely texting and calling you back. You understood that she was not obligated to do so since you two were not officially together, but you were most definitely a little…maybe even a lot more than “just friends.” The dates, the romantic gestures, and the PDA all confirmed that but you could never understand her constant pushing and pulling.

Leah knows exactly how to make it up to you though. She texted three days ago saying how sorry she was not keeping in contact, how she misses you like crazy and how she planned a whole day for just the two of you. You were strong this time, wanting her to feel how she makes you feel by not texting back and declining her calls those three days. Yet one slip of weakness and here you are right back in her bed.

____________________

“I missed you so much you have no ideas.” Leah tells you as she feathers kisses all over your face as you both lay in bed naked.

“Oh really? I would not have guessed.” you said as you sat up from her chest and moved away from her a little. She froze looking at you with that cute frown that is usually stuck on her face and said, “Baby I told you I am truly sorry, I really mean it. I have just been a bit busier since the launch of my third book. You know this.”

Leah wraps an arm around your waist pulling you back down closer to her. “I am here now though, aren’t I?” You hesitantly relax into her and say, “I know but a simple text or any sort of reply would have been nice. I just missed you.” You can feel Leah smiling against your hairline after she lays a soft kiss there. “I missed you too babe.”

After a moment of you two just enjoying each other's company she says quietly, “How about we get up, you come shower with me, and then we can go out and get some breakfast?”

____________________

Once again the cycle repeats itself with Leah distancing herself. No longer answering calls or texts. Although it hurt, you thought it would be best to leave things the way they were to protect your peace, even pushing yourself to be petty enough to block her number. It was almost like you were putting her up to the test to see how far she would go to get your attention.

Although she did swipe up on one of your Instagram stories of you in a tight shirt with no bra saying, “I’ve seen it, now delete it,” but you ignored that as well.

____________________

Since being friends with Leah for many years you have grown closer with some of the Arsenal girls and with them loving your company, a couple of them have asked you to join them in celebrating the end of their USA tour at a local pub. People are either mingling by the bar, doing karaoke, or sitting around the reserved private table in the back.

Currently, you are at the bar getting a drink and you can feel Leah’s eyes burning into the back of your skull.

“What’s going on with you two? You have been more grumpy than usual,” Katie teases Leah as she sits in the empty seat next to her. “She's ignoring me,” Leah sighs, still looking at you.

“What have you done this time?” Alessia asks from across the table. “I’ve been kind of avoiding her again. I don’t mean to but I don’t know what I’m doing.” Leah replies.

“Have you tried talking to her about how you feel? Do you actually want to have a serious relationship with her?” Katie asks.

“No, I haven't talked to her. Every time I try to talk about us my mouth goes dry and all of a sudden I can’t think, and of course, I want something serious with her I’m just nervous,” Leah shakes her head and looks down at her fidgeting fingers.

Lia, who has been listening to the conversation from her seat next to Alessia, speaks up, “Well you might need to tell her soon because the bartender is flirting with her heavily.”

This causes Leah’s head to shoot up in your direction and sees the bartender smiling at you and reaching her hand over to rest on your forearm. “Yeah, not happening.” Leah quickly stands up from her seat and pushes past people to make her way over to you.

When she gets to you she gently wraps an arm around your waist not to startle you and pulls you back into her chest. She gives her glare that she usually saves for the pitch to the bartender, making her quickly release your arm and turn her attention to another customer waiting at the other end of the bar.

Leah smiles when you relax into her and she whispers in your ear, “You’ve been avoiding me.” You slowly turn around until you are face to face with her and say. “Hurts doesn’t it?”

“I deserve that. Why don’t we go have a chat and I will explain myself?” Leah says, moving her hand to grab yours. “Really? You want to talk now and here?” you scoff.

Leah just nods and gently pulls your hand so that you follow her out to the back patio of the pub. She sits on a bench that is a little bit away from the loud building and pulls your hand down to sit next to her.

“You know you shouldn’t just flirt with anyone, she could've just been charming you into being her next one nightstand,” she says.

“Hmm, pot meets kettle huh? You would know,” you scoff pulling your hand away from hers.

“No, I wouldn’t, because we are more than that,” she firmly replies.

“It sure doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”

“I know,” she sighs, focusing on her shoes, “but I can explain.”

You look at her and slightly nod your head giving her the indication to keep talking.

“I love everything about us. I love how we are with each other. How easy it is to be around you and the connection that we have. I’m just scared of the reality of us being together because it seems too good to be true,” she confesses. “Don’t get me wrong I do want to be with you and I am serious about you but there is this nagging feeling in my head that I am going to screw it all up.”

You grab her hands gently and say, “That’s completely understandable Leah, I wish you would have communicated with me about how you felt earlier. However, you can’t make future assumptions about something you or we haven’t even tried yet. Neither of us has any idea of what could happen but it doesn’t mean push away and hide from it.”

You continue, “You are looking too far into the future when you should be focusing on right now. That self-sabotaging brain of yours is going to stall you for great things one day.” you giggle pushing her head away making her laugh too.

After the giggles die down she says, “You are completely right. If you allow me to give this…us another try I am willing to put my all into it. I just ask that you give me that reassurance.”

“I can give you that, but you have to promise to communicate with me.” you nod raising your hand to move a piece of hair out of her face.

“I promise to communicate my feelings to you,” she replies leaning into your hand.

You smile and stand up from the bench pulling her up with you to give her a hug resting your head against hers. Leah pulls back a bit to give you a few quick pecks on the lips causing you to giggle and move away.

“My girl,” she whispers, pulling you back against her and laying one last kiss on the side of your head.

____________________

Since that day Leah has kept her promise of communicating more and you have kept yours by reassuring her when she needed it. She even asked you to officially be with her a couple weeks later and it had felt as though something shifted in the air.

She was constantly texting, calling, and wanting to be attached to your hip. When you too were with each other in person she would constantly cling to you but you were okay with it since that is what you were wanting from the beginning.

[snowstormarts]

i just thought of a idea but, you dont gotta do it. But imagine this, Betty x a insomniac reader

To be honest I normally only ever written stuff for "Male Character x reader" but I wanted to try myself at something new. See if I like it, especially since I really love Betty's design and she seems like such a sweetheart ^^

I don't have Insomnia myself so I'm sorry if this isn't 100% correct also no Beta Reader here

"Sleepless nights become easier with you"

[Betty x Insomniac GN!Reader] [Divider Credit]

You had Insomnia for as long as you can remember, at first you had hoped it was only a temporary problem. Something that would go away with time but weeks turned into months and month into years. And now here you are, tired and sick of it you tried every sleeping tip in the book; warm chamomile tea, milk & honey, white-noise machines and even sleep medicine but nothing seemed to work out long term. They would work for a week, sometimes when you're lucky even months but then you would wake up again in the middle of the night and falling asleep was seemingly impossible and another sleeping tip was crossed off your list.

So maybe that was why, when you got the Dateviators you decided one night to just use them on your bed. You had nothing better to do and the last two objects that you woke up pretty much fell asleep midway through your talk, so they weren't the best conversation partners but hey, third times the charm!

What you didn't expect was to find a fellow Insomniac, it was quiet ironic that your bed, Betty and you shared the same problem. You had a nice night, just talking away, at first she tried to help you get back to sleep. Fluffing her pillows up, humming a gentle tune and even suggesting to get Teddy from the closet, since his Fairy tales have a quiet soothing effect, she can attest to that.

But as nice as those suggestions were, they just didn't work out and you had to confess you rather enjoyed hanging out with her, her voice was quiet nice. Maybe that was why, the next night you awoke her instead of doing your usual tossing and turning first.

"Hello there sweetheart, another bad night?" You nodded as she sat down besides you, running her hand through your hair. It was nice, it made you feel warm and then she started to talk about her day, the few dreams she had and you two joked about them. Whispered teases were thrown around as to not wake the others ("You dreamed of me? How sweet of you!" "Oh, you wish sweetheart!"), new inside jokes between you two were born and you felt the buried spark start to burn brighter in your chest and you knew, this was the start of either something beautiful or disastrous.

Now whenever you met her your heart would start to speed up, in your eyes Betty was practically glowing whenever it be under the light of the sun or the moon and the way her laugh made you practically melt into a puddle. You knew then and there that you had fallen for her hard and fast but you weren't sure if you wanted to take the leap to confess yet. Doubt and questions filled your mind; what if she was only polite to you because she's your bed? What if she just saw you as friends and nothing more? Would that ruin your friendship? Would she hate you and you would drift apart?!

Of course those thoughts made your Insomnia just worsen over the days to come, now sleeping even three hours sounded like a foreign concept to you. It took hours to fall asleep and once you finally drifted off, you could only sleep maybe thirty minutes before having to do the same song and dance again and again through the whole night. You know it got really bad when even Nightmare spared you for a night and instead sat you down for a talk about rejection and the fear of being abandonment.

So when yet another sleepless night plagued you (it was 3 in the morning to be exact) you decided "Fuck it, my morning self will have to deal with whatever happens next." and decided to talk to Betty before you could chicken out. At first you two stared at each other, silence hung heavy between you before a sigh broke the silence and your eyes met one another.

"Sugar, be honest with me...You've been acting strange around me and not the usual sleep murmuring, kicking type of strange that I am used to. No, I mean the way you avoided me, leaving when you can't sleep, avoiding looking me in the eyes as I try to talk to you and running off as soon as you see me...Did I do something wrong?"

You shook your head quickly; "No, no that's not it! I just...I had a lot on my mind that I needed to sort out and then I had to come to terms with it. It was just a very big mess but now I am ready to tell you what's been going on or well, as ready as I can be..." Nerves creep up on you, self doubt whispered in the back of your mind that sounded familiar but you shook them off.

You held Betty's hands gently between your own, taking a deep breath, you looked into her gorgeous, brown eyes and hoped she couldn't see how nervous you were.

"Betty, you are the best person I know. You've listened to my problems, tried to help me and stayed with me through the roughest of sleepless night up, you told me that I could wake you up when I couldn't sleep and you were, which by the way I will still refuse to do. You deserve your beauty sleep but what I wanted to get at is, you're amazing...Like really amazing and I just have to get this off of my chest before my nerves win and I will run out and scream into Koa."

"Sweetheart...You don't mean?" Betty whispered, her thumbs caressing the back of your hands, encouraging you to go on.

"Yes, I do...I love you, I love you so, so much and I wanted to ask you. Will you be my girlfri-mgh?!" Before you could even finished your question, you were pulled into the best kiss of your life, her warm, soft and surprisingly strong arms pulled you closer and you both reluctantly only let go each other to catch your breath.

"...So that was a yes, right?"

"Sweet bed sheets, yes. It was a yes, I love you too, Sweetheart!" Relief flooded your body as you heard her giggle, both of you fell back against the fluffed up pillows and for the rest of the night you both slept through it, peacefully.

[cece693]

Okay, I just got this idea and I couldn't get it out of my head. So, you know how Hannigram's whole thing is about understanding and feeding into one's dark/immoral side (I can't find the words to explain my brain process, but stick with me). What if Hannigram has a third partner that sees that and enjoys it, but to a sick, obsessive, self fulfilling way. Like, don't get me wrong, they find Hannibal and Will attractive and fuckable, but what gets them going and keeps their relationship alive is murder and tableaus (basically the reader wanting to have a murderer show them their significance through blood and gore.) Don't know how this idea comes across to you guys, but that's how this fic was born.

MURDER IS OUR LOVE LANGUAGE

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: matthew develops an attraction to the reader, hannigram doesn't like this, jealousy, reader doesn't get his hands dirty, that doesn't mean he's innocent though, reader is such a tease, no explicit mention of cheating, but emotionally cheating can be discerned

You always thought love should cost something. Not flowers wilted in a vase or rings crusted with diamonds, but weight—bone‑heavy, irreversible proof that someone scraped the marrow of their soul out just to show you its shape. Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham understood that language better than anyone else. That’s why you’d slipped so easily between them: a harmony stitched from hunger, empathy, and rot.

Tonight the three of you stand ankle‑deep in snow that glows foxfire‑blue beneath a half moon. The tableau is simple—almost quaint by their standards. A hunter strung from an ironwood, his ribcage cracked open like a cathedral door; lungs spread and frozen into two translucent wings. “Psychopomp,” you named it, because Will taught you words have gravity, and Hannibal taught you gravity can be bent.

Will kneels to photograph the crystalline blood‑flakes dusting underneath the hung corpse. His breath fogs around the lens, eyes shining with the fever that once scared him but now feels like prayer. But Hannibal watches you instead, catching the little tremor of fascination that runs through your fingers.

“Do you approve?" he asks, voice velvet over steel.

You drag a gloved fingertip along the cold cartilage, feel it click like piano ivory. “Approved, stamped, and filed under ravishing. You boys really do know how to flirt.”

A crease of satisfaction ghosts across Hannibal's mouth. Will rises, cheeks pinked by cold and arousal alike, and slips behind you, arms looping around your waist. “Then give us our grade.”

“Ten out of ten for artistry.” You lean closer so they hear the grin in your voice. “Eight for theatricality—you’re slipping, Doctor Lecter." Hannibal’s answering hum thrums down your spine. He adores being challenged, more so when that guarantees your place beside them.

Murder isn't just a bond you three share, it's the foundation of your relationship. You found Will and Hannibal handsome, fuckable, even lovable—but that wasn’t why you stayed. You stayed because every tableau, every splatter, every shuddering breath drawn in front of carefully displayed viscera made you feel seen. Loved in a way words would always fail.

Yet lately, you've felt that ache of familiarity creeping up your spine, whispering about routine. Hannibal notices first, of course, though he doesn't voice it. He simply adjusts his compositions, each kill growing more extravagant, more desperate to retain your awe. Will sees it too, reading your disinterest in the micro-tensions of your posture and the subtle way your attention strays.

And then you meet Matthew Brown.

Having gone to congratulate Alana on her position as the new director at BSHCI after Chilton's 'tragic' demise, you walked down the corridor with a bottle of Folle Blanche to celebrate the news, but was stopped by a man.

He appears out of a utility alcove like a conjured spirit—tall, muscular, with hair the color of autumn leaves cropped close to his skull. His badge reads BROWN, M. but his grin is all teeth and appetite. “Doctor Bloom apologizes,” he says, voice pitched just above a purr. “Her meeting is running long. I'm tasked to bring you to her office."

You don't speak, rather studying him the way you study every living thing: searching for the fracture lines where something tender might leak out. He meets your gaze without flinching. There’s a brightness in his eyes you recognize—an ember forever looking for oxygen.

“Oh,” you murmur, stepping into his orbit, “That's unfortunate. Please, lead the way."

The corridor yawns ahead—white‑tile ribcage, fluorescence buzzing like flies in bone. Matthew’s stride is loose and confident, a man perfectly at home among the medicated damned. “You bring brandy to a psychiatric ward often?” he asks without turning, voice velvet over a razor.

“Only for promotions.” You watch the flex of his shoulders under the thin cotton scrubs. “Most people settle for flowers. I prefer spirits—they keep better company.”

A low chuckle. “I imagine you’re excellent company yourself.”

“Depends how you define excellent.” You let the words hover, bait‑sweet. He bites.

“I like stories that end in blood.” He glances back; the grin widens when you don’t recoil. “Does that qualify?”

Oh, darling, you think, the ache of routine already easing under your sternum, that’s the prologue. After a few minutes, you reach the elevator meant for administration, yet Matthew guides you down a maintenance stairwell that reeks of bleach and ancient rust. He taps an access card; a steel door unlatches with a hiss.

“Short‑cut.”

Inside, the room is nothing more than storage: linens, old restraints, crates of expired morphine ampoules. But also, there's a patient transport gurney parked beneath a bare bulb, mattress stripped, its straps unbuckled like a half‑dressed lover.

Matthew steps close enough that you feel the heat of him through winter wool. “I’m a fan,” he murmurs. “of your work.”

You arch a brow. “My work?”

“Cathedral wings in Minnesota. ‘Psychopomp’ in the ironwood grove.” He names them unerringly, each syllable dripping reverence. “You leave fingerprints in the stitching, you know. Empathy that’s inverted. I study it. I want—” He swallows, lashes flicking down. “Lessons.”

It takes effort not to shiver. “How thorough a pupil are you, Mr. Brown?”

“As thorough as you need.” His breath ghosts your cheek. “Show me a cut; I’ll make it sing.”

Some distant part of you registers risk—Alana two floors up, Hannibal and Will somewhere in Baltimore most likely feeling the shift in your attention like changing barometric pressure—but the greater part thrills. You lift the bottle, letting the neck trail down the line of his sternum until it settles against his belt buckle.

“Earn the toast.” you whisper.

Matthew’s eyes flare. He reaches behind, produces a folded surgical towel already blooming rust‑brown. Inside: a scalpel, clean and eager. “Patient tried to gut me with that yesterday,” he says, offering the handle. “Barely nicked skin. Shall we finish the gesture?”

You test the weight—balanced, hungry. “Where?”

His hands frame his own torso, bare stretch of forearm exposed. “There’s an anatomy lab one level below. Cadavers, tools, no cameras.” He leans in. “We could write a first chapter.”

You imagine formalin fumes, greenish light, bone saws waiting like choirboys. Your pulse pounds, but jealousy is currency, and you are a banker.

Sliding the blade back into his pocket, you lean forward, lips a mere inch apart. "Soon," You promise. "But first, show me something worth teaching."

Matthew’s pupils dilate—dusky rings swallowing color—yet he nods, swallowing whatever reckless plea trembles on his tongue. The promise of soon burns hotter than a kiss. He slips the scalpel away, tucks the towel back into the linen cart, and straightens as though dismissed by royalty.

TIME SKIP

You arrive home late—Hannibal still with clients and Will whisked away by the FBI—giving you time to set your plan into motion. Matthew speaks about death the way priests speak about God, reverent and fascinated, but never quite understanding. You find his fervor charming, his lack of restraint oddly invigorating. Matthew is nothing like your carefully refined lovers; he is raw, volatile, but most importantly—new.

Fingers trailing to your lips, you let the faint smear of his cologne linger, before rubbing your thumb across the lapel of your coat until the scent bled deeper into the weave. Matthew’s aftershave was a cheap blend—sandalwood, camphor, a top‑note of something medicinal that clung like disinfectant—but beneath it lay adrenaline, hot copper, the musk of fear edged with hunger. You could still taste it when you pressed two fingers to your tongue.

In the study you drew the blackout curtains, then laid your phone on the desk. A single new message from Brown glowed on the lock screen: Tell me what color you want the insides, and I’ll match the shade exactly.

Reverent, breathless. A priest awaiting scripture.

You didn’t answer. Anticipation was the holiest silence.

Instead you crossed to the cheval mirror and shed your coat, draping it carefully so the scent wouldn’t escape. You peeled off your gloves next, holding them flat in your palm. Their leather was dusted with chalky residue from the stairwell wall—Matthew’s back had pressed there when you’d leaned in, hemmed him with your shadow, promised soon. You lifted the gloves to your face and inhaled.

Raw. Volatile. New.

The words pulsed through you like second heartbeat.

Hannibal and Will arrived an hour later, the door downstairs making noise, yet you remained silent. Your fingers continuing to drift idly over the piano keys, letting your lovers know exactly where you are. Muted notes thumped against the keys as you let one fingertip fall, then another—toneless, more rhythm than music. Each click announced I‑am‑here and, more provocatively, come‑find‑me.

The townhouse echoed with boot steps. Coats rustled. A door latched. Still you played—click, click, click—until Will stormed into the music room like a hunting dog off leash.

“You could answer when we call,” he snapped, damp hair plastered to his forehead. Rain or sweat—you couldn’t tell, but the scent was pure agitation.

“I was occupied.” Click. You never looked up.

Hannibal followed, slower, shutting the parlor doors behind him with the finality of a vault. He removed his gloves finger by finger, gaze crawling over you. “Busy with what?” The faint tremor in his voice belonged to a man suppressing the urge to bare teeth.

“Or whom,” Will corrected, pacing a tight circuit around the piano bench. “You reek of hospital disinfectant and someone else’s cologne.”

You finally lifted your eyes, meeting Will’s with a lazy smile. “Smell is such a subjective sense. You sure it isn’t imagination?”

Will planted both palms on the piano keys, trapping your hands beneath his. His pupils were blow‑black, jealousy flicking like a lighter. “Who touched you?”

You shrugged, the gesture making your wrists grind under his weight. “A friend. We talked anatomy.” You cocked your head, letting your gaze drift down Will’s throat—tracking the jump of his pulse. “He’s enthusiastic.”

“Matthew,” Hannibal supplied before stepping closer. “The scent matches his locker in the sub‑basement.” He inhaled at your hairline, lips almost grazing your crown. “Camphor and old fear. All that just from a hug?”

You laughed, breath warm against his cheek. “A near‑kiss, maybe. I could feel his pulse through my coat. Like a rabbit between a wolf’s jaws.” Your words were soft; their effect was napalm.

Will’s grip closed, bruising. “Did he taste you?”

“Not yet.” You slid one trapped hand free to trace the seam of Will’s lower lip. “But he wanted to.”

A flash of motion—Hannibal’s hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so your throat arched. “You allowed desire to linger on your skin,” he murmured, jealousy silky and cold. “Why?”

You hissed at the delicious sting. “Because it’s a mirror. I watch you watching me, and I feel alive.”

Will’s fingers left the keyboard to clutch your waist, hauling you off the bench. The piano stool clattered aside. Your spine kissed the baby‑grand’s polished edge; Hannibal’s body pressed from behind, sandwiching you. You sensed the taut reins of their control fraying. “Have you pictured him alongside you?” Will’s voice was an acid snarl. “A new toy so you can discard us?”

You let a breathy laugh slip, tilting your head just enough that Hannibal’s lips skimmed your pulse. “Discard you? Darling, I’m not insane. Even the gods keep their oldest monsters close.”

Will loomed closer, the twin lines between his brows cut deep. “Then why entertain him at all?”

“Because first kills taste different,” you whispered. “Don’t you remember? The bright, copper rush before skill dulls it down to routine? Matthew carries that thrill in every heartbeat. I want—” Your lashes fluttered as Hannibal’s teeth grazed skin. “—to taste it again.”

Hannibal’s hands slid down, thumbs hooking your belt to keep you still while he spoke against your ear. “Do you crave novelty or worship?”

“Both,” you confessed, arching when Will’s thigh crowded between yours. “He’d bleed a rosary if I asked. Maybe I’d let you string the beads.”

Jealousy cracked across Will’s face—equal parts fury and hunger. He grabbed your jaw, forcing your gaze to his. “You belong to us.”

“Then prove it,” you challenged, lips curling. “Stake your claim before the altar-boy rings his bells.”

The provocation snapped the last thread.

Will’s mouth crashed onto yours—open, savage, tasting of storm. Behind you, Hannibal set his teeth to your shoulder, most definitely leaving a mark in case you decide to give into Matthew.

Your breath stuttered, pleasure and mischief tangling in your throat. You could feel the bruise blossoming beneath Hannibal’s teeth—a violet signature no cheap cologne could mask. Will’s hand fisted in your hair, wrenching your head back until the chandelier light flooded your vision.

“Say it,” he growled, lips a razor’s breadth from yours. “Whose?”

You swallowed a laugh that tasted like lightning. “I’m yours.”

Hannibal’s tongue soothed the bite, the low rumble in his chest equal parts pride and warning. “Pluralize, beloved.”

“I’m both of yours.” Your gaze flicked between them—Will’s eyes blown black, Hannibal’s molten gold. “For now.”

Will’s nostrils flared; jealousy flashed like sheet‑lightning. “For always.”

“Convince me,” you whispered, deliberately arching against Hannibal’s front, grinding spine to mahogany and hips into Will’s thigh. “Make me feel it.”

Will answered with teeth, biting the hinge of your jaw—claim staked in living flesh—while Hannibal’s palm slid to your throat, a velvet collar of intent. “You feel this?” Hannibal’s thumb graced your pulse, languid as a garrote. “That’s our music. We dictate the tempo.”

“And if I prefer a faster rhythm?” You let the taunt drip like warm resin. “Matthew’s heartbeat was—”

Will cut you off with a brutal kiss, swallowing the name like poison. “His heart stops tomorrow,” he hissed against your lips. “Yours keeps playing for us.”

“You’ll stain it ultramarine?” you panted, half‑mocking, half‑pleading. “The shade of a drowned lung?”

Hannibal chuckled, dark silk. “We’ll give you a cathedral of blue—lungs fanned like wings, every vein a ribbon for your hair.”

A ripple of desire shuddered through you so hard the piano strings thrummed in sympathy. “Then show me now,” you dared, voice hoarse, “how a maestro rehearses before opening night.”

In a single movement Will gripped your thighs, hoisting you onto the piano. Wood groaned beneath sudden weight. Hannibal pressed in from behind, caging you between bodies and black lacquer. “Hands on the keys,” Will ordered. You obeyed, fingers splaying across ivory. The cold bite of the keys grounded you—one wrong twitch and you’d crash a cacophony through the quiet, an exquisite risk.

Will leaned forward, breath searing your ear. “Play something.”

“What?”

“Anything,” Hannibal murmured, lips ghosting your nape. “We’ll accompany.”

You struck a hesitant chord—D minor, aching and unresolved. Will matched the rhythm, mouth descending to the hollow of your throat, sucking a bruise in perfect meter. Hannibal’s hand slid lower, fingertips tapping your ribs in sync, each note an incremental invasion.

Another chord—A minor. Will’s teeth. Hannibal’s palm cupping you through fabric.

You gasped, a discordant trill that made both men smile—predators harmonizing over prey willingly caught. “Keep playing,” Will commanded, voice a rasp of thunderclouds. “You stop, we stop.”

Challenge accepted.

Your hands shook but you kept the melody staggering forward—something baroque and broken, exactly befitting three monsters starved for novelty.

Hannibal’s free hand found your chin, tilting it until you met his gaze. “When the lungs bloom blue,” he promised, “we’ll lay them here, across these keys, so every note tastes of devotion.”

Will’s answering hum vibrated against your sternum. “And you’ll play us a love song on them.”

Your pulse hammered wild arpeggios under Hannibal’s thumb. “Then I’ll need a full octave,” you whispered, voice frayed with want. “Both lungs together.”

“Greedy,” Hannibal chastised, though delight shone in his eyes.

“Insatiable,” Will corrected, teeth grazing your ear. “Exactly how we like you.”

You struck another chord—E minor—and let the resonance wash through the room. It was met by the low, feral sounds of your lovers devouring jealousy and turning it into worship against your skin. Tomorrow, Matthew’s lungs would sing ultramarine under moonlight. Tonight, the three of you composed the overture—each gasp, each bruise, each trembling key a promise that art would always cost blood, and love would always demand more.

[neeeooon]

Heyy can I request bllk guys reacting to their S/O being really sweet and soft spoken but becoming toxic while playing video games (e.g, screaming, cursing out players, crashing out when they lose)?

also can you include nagi,the itoshi brothers,nikko and ness? Thank you <3

yessss i had fun with this one so i hope you enjoy!!

when you’re a serious gamer ;

bf bllk x gn!reader. cw: cursing, pet names (from u)

nagi seishiro

-> you don’t like playing with nagi because you know you can get.. intense.. and you don’t want him to see that side of you

-> however. you’re watching him play a shooting game where he suddenly gets ganged up on and killed repeatedly, and you cannot stop your fingers from twitching

-> “nagi?” “mm?” “can i borrow your controller and headset for a minute?” “hm? oh, sure.” “thank you, baby..! WHICH ONE OF YOU FOUL MOUTH FUCKERS KILLED MY BOYFRIEND?!”

-> nagi watches, eyes slightly widened, as you shoot and kill every single player within the one minute you asked to borrow his controller

-> “y/n?” “yes, baby?” “you can keep the controller :)”

itoshi sae

-> sae never really played video games growing up, so you decided to introduce him to the basics, including one of your favorites. minecraft

-> you don’t remember minecraft being this hard

-> “sae don’t hit—AAAAAA” and you, along with all your stuff and half your house, are blown up by a creeper. “oh. those green ones explode?” “yes.” “are you dead?” “yes.” “oh. my bad.” “it’s. okay. :).”

-> but after the third time, it is no longer okay. “SAE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! SWIM TO THE SURFACE!!!” “how do you sw—oh. am i dead?” “YES.” “and i had your stuff?” “YES.”

-> your final straw and mistake of the day, taking sae to the nether. “okay, now make sure you don’t accidentally hit—SAE, NO.” he hits the piglin. “oh, why are they all hitting me?” you turn the game off after that :)

itoshi rin

-> though he was clueless at the beginning, rin is really good at video games. and it pisses you off

-> you previously won the last two games of sword fighting on wii sports resort, but rin got the hang of it quicker than you expected, and was now beating you in round three

-> “are you going easy on me, y/n?” you’re so in the zone you can’t even tell if he’s trying to talk smack or being genuine. “rin, i love you, but please shut ya mouth before i shove my wii remote into it.” “!!!”

-> he won, and it took everything in you not to throw your remote at the tv screen as he chuckled at your angry expression. “you’re a good teacher, y/n.” “don’t even.”

niko ikki

-> “oh my fucking god, i swear i’m gonna jump into the fucking screen, strangle your avatar with my charging cord, and burn your house to the ground!” “y/n?” “WHAT.” “… we’re playing roblox..”

-> yes, you were playing roblox. and some kid was trolling you for continuously falling off the ledge of the training section you’d originally joined for niko

-> “i can play roblox, i swear.” “i know you can!” “I SWEAR IM NOT THIS BA—FUCK OFF, MATTYSINGS69!!!”

-> he can’t help it. niko just laughs and laughs as you continue to bully this child online. in your defense, the kid is cussing right back at you, so you’re even

-> “i didn’t know you were so violent 😭” “pls don’t leave me over my gaming rage.” “don’t worry.. mattysings69 deserved it—“ “RIGHT?!”

alexis ness

-> poor baby is traumatized

-> the two of you were enjoying a peaceful date, playing animal crossing in his room, when some bozo visiting your island picked your tools up from off the ground

-> you can barely contain your rage. “ness?” “yeah?” “please cover your ears for a moment? :)” “.. okayy.?” “thank you :) PUT. THE TOOLS. DOWN.”

-> when the player didn’t, you used some more… creative words, some ness had never even heard of until just then. in the end, you got your tools back

-> “y/n?” “oh, yes, ness?” “… are you well?” “of course! of course :)”

[createserenity]

Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship dynamic fascinates me and what fascinates me even more is how people perceive them, partly because I seem to have a much more optimistic view of their dynamic than a lot of what I read suggests they do.

With that in mind I started trying to unpick how I see their dynamic and why and what I ended up with was a series of rambles on various aspects, including confidence, trust, silliness and what they ask of each other. This one is about what they ask of each other and why their relationship isn't some weird one-sided thing where Crowley gives Aziraphale everything he could possibly want or ask for.

I see a lot of posts and things suggesting Crowley always rolls over and does anything Aziraphale asks of him. I don’t know to what extent most people really believe this or if it’s just a fun joke (and I’m not saying that’s bad, I think it’s a fun joke too, I love reading all that stuff and it makes me laugh). The point I wanted to make here though is that I don’t think it’s true and also why I don’t think it’s true.

Everything from here on out is my opinion, but I won’t keep stating that in order to make it more easily readable, just take it as a given. If your opinion is different that’s absolutely fine, I love that we can all see this stuff in different ways depending on our experiences and personalities, it’s why the fandom is so fun. (It’s also why my opinion on so many things in season two ricochets wildly from one theory to another).

So back to Crowley and Aziraphale – I don’t think Aziraphale walks all over Crowley, or certainly not to the extent that people sometimes think he does. Also Crowley doesn’t and wouldn’t allow himself to be walked all over anyway. Why is this even relevant? Because I’ve seen people say that in the final 15 minutes Aziraphale finally asked Crowley to do something that pushed him over the edge and that Aziraphale was shocked when Crowley didn’t roll over and do it because Crowley always does what Aziraphale asks. This isn’t at all true for a start, but also this view tends to include a second assumption, which is that their relationship is one-sided and Aziraphale never does anything for Crowley, that he dismisses him and takes him for granted, which also is not true in a lot of ways. I think it’s a fundamental misinterpretation of their relationship dynamic.  

First of all why can Crowley’s actions be interpreted as just rolling over and doing whatever Aziraphale wants? Well, the answer to that is three-fold – firstly Crowley is a genuinely unselfish in many ways, he does things for people because that’s the way he is, it doesn’t make him a pushover, it just makes him nice. Secondly he loves Aziraphale deeply. Whether he knows it or not doesn’t matter, he cares for Aziraphale and wants him to be happy. This isn’t the same as being a complete doormat, it’s simply compromising with the person you are in a relationship with and occasionally prioritising them over yourself. Both these things come together in the third thing, which is that Crowley’s love language is acts of service – he enjoys doing nice things for Aziraphale, he enjoys rescuing him, or going along with him and letting him have his own way, so why not do it? The point is he’s never railroaded into it by Aziraphale, it’s always a deliberate choice. He is literally saying, I will do this thing for you because I love you and I enjoy making you happy and this is something I feel I can give to you.

How does Aziraphale see this behaviour?

Well that’s a tricky one, because in many ways Aziraphale is the more complex character, not least because he changes the most over the course of their history together. Is there a slight element of him taking Crowley for granted in some of their interactions, especially in season two? Possibly, but mostly I don’t think that’s it at all. When someone gives you things because their love language is acts of service you develop a (mostly sub-conscious) confidence in that relationship dynamic and if you also have confidence in yourself (which Aziraphale absolutely does – I’ll write more on this another time) then when you want something you ask for things. You ask not because you learn to expect, but because you think you’re worthy of asking and you think that your relationship is strong enough to stand up to the ask. I ask my husband for things all the time, sometimes they’re things I know he’ll give me – these are easy asks (I don’t just mean physical objects, I also mean acts of service such as helping me with something), sometimes though I’ll ask for things knowing he probably won’t give me that thing or without having a clue what his answer will be – these are harder asks, the sort you don’t do early on in relationships because they might break it either in one go or over time. Sometimes a hard ask results in me getting what I want, sometimes it results in a bit of back and forth before I get what I want, sometimes I get a no and I’m temporarily annoyed or upset, sometimes I get a no and I accept it because I knew it was the most likely outcome.

The point is that I ask, and so does Aziraphale. You ask because you have confidence that you are worthy of the ask and also that your relationship is strong enough to bear the request, even if the answer is no. Can a no still be annoying or upsetting? Yes absolutely. Can a no still be wrong on the part of the other person? Also yes. The point is that sometimes the no isn’t wrong and it doesn’t necessarily break the relationship. By the time season two comes along Aziraphale is confident enough in his relationship with Crowley to feel it can bear the weight of him asking.

So what happens when he asks? Does Crowley roll over?

Well no, he doesn’t. One big example of this is right at the beginning of the series, in episode one. Here Aziraphale makes a massive ask of Crowley and he knows it’s a big ask. Even before he tells Crowley what the problem is he’s aware of the possibility of a no. “Is it something I can help you with?” Crowley sayss, and Aziraphale merely shrugs. It’s not because Nina is there, she’s gone by that point. It’s also not because he doesn’t have faith in Crowley’s ability to help him, he always has faith in Crowley’s abilities (this is a whole other thing on trust). What he’s doubting is whether Crowley will help him. It’s why they’re meeting in the café, not the bookshop. He wants to break this one to Crowley a bit at a time – there’s a problem and I need help. I want your help, it’s why I called you, but you aren’t going to like it and I’m not even sure whether you will help so I’m establishing that I need help first, rather than showing you Gabriel immediately, so that you aren’t completely surprised when I present the whole problem to you.

Once they go to the bookshop and Crowley is confronted with Gabriel he offers the help he feels able to give by saying that he’ll drive Gabriel somewhere and dump him. He’s stating his willingness to help (which is important later), but for now he’ll only help in one specific way. What he isn’t willing to do is any more than that, not even for Aziraphale.

Help me take care of Gabriel. Help me sort this mess out, Aziraphale says, and what does Crowley say? No. Absolutely not. You’re on your own with this one. Even after Aziraphale practically begs him for help, complete with puppy dog eyes and the magic word, “I’d love you to help me,” Crowley still says no. That is not the reply of someone who lets themselves be walked all over or who rolls over every time the angel they’re in love with flutters their eyelashes.

Okay so what about the fact that he returns? Well, the stakes have been raised: for a start Aziraphale is now directly in danger, which alters the balance in favour of helping him, and remember he was already willing to help, he said as much, but he was previously only willing to help in one way. Now that’s changed. Doing things you wouldn’t normally do for someone you love when the stakes are raised is a perfectly normal rection in a relationship and does not indicate an unhealthy dynamic. Crowley has now realised that getting rid of Gabriel is no longer an option - his preferred plan (dumping Gabriel somewhere) will no longer work, so the only choice is now Aziraphale’s plan of keeping him in the bookshop and taking care of him.

This is why he returns.

A quick note on the call

Just backtracking a bit here – when Aziraphale calls Crowley to ask him for help Crowley agrees to be over in two minutes. It’s instant, no questions asked and at first glance looks like Aziraphale calls and Crowley comes running just because. But nope. Later we are very clearly told that Crowley knows something is wrong the moment he picks up the phone and Aziraphale starts speaking, “This was your ‘Something’s Wrong’ voice.” Crowley already knows there’s a problem and what do you do when your closest friend calls you and tells you about a problem? You try to help. Whether that’s advice, comfort, physically going around to help out or whatever the situation calls for. Of course Crowley says he’ll be there in two minutes, he doesn’t exactly have anything else on and his friend has just indirectly told him something is wrong. He’d be a pretty shitty person/entity if he didn’t agree to drop round and try to help.

So what about the 'I was wrong' dance?

This whole interaction, that many people say indicates how under the thumb he is actually shows us the exact opposite. What’s the first thing Crowley says when Aziraphale asks him to do the dance? “I don’t do the dance.” This tells us a hell of a lot about their relationship dynamic up to this point – for a start Aziraphale has clearly done the dance before, at Crowley’s request, and he lists off the occasions. The dance is silly and slightly demeaning and Aziraphale has done it several times for Crowley, whilst Crowley has never done it, yet somehow we read this whole scene as Crowley being the whipped one? Um. No. Also heavily implied in Crowley’s, “I don’t do the dance” statement is, You’ve asked me to do this before, I’ve always said no because I don’t want to. You’ve always accepted my no before and I want (expect!) you to accept it this time.

But this time Aziraphale doesn’t accept the no. Just like Crowley wouldn’t go along with his plan earlier, Aziraphale now won’t go along with Crowley’s no. Clearly he has done so in the past, but this time their dynamics are different. They’ve been much more open about their friendship for the past four years, they’ve both accepted that they are at least close friends, if not more. They’ve saved the world together and saved each other. They both acknowledge they “carved (this existence) out for ourselves” and that brings strength to their relationship. Now that Aziraphale has more confidence in what they are to each other, he takes that confidence and tests the limits of what Crowley will do for him, to push them more towards equality. Why should he always be the one to do the dance? Crowley responds by acquiescing not because he would just roll over and do anything for Aziraphale but because he recognises three things. Firstly that Aziraphale is pushing and that this is new and that this means something to him in the context of their relationship, secondly because he reluctantly accepts Aziraphale’s point that it isn’t really fair that he never does it, and finally because the request for him to do the dance isn’t about him refusing to help (Aziraphale was never certain he would), it’s about the fact that he’s broken Aziraphale’s trust by refusing to help (which is a slightly and very subtly different thing). To illustrate this, right before Crowley does the dance, just after he says “fine,” he gets this very brief, soft look on his face – this is him acknowledging to himself that Aziraphale deserves this dance, that he loves the angel and that he’s doing this because of both those things – he could have continued to insist on a no, he clearly has before, but this time he chooses not to.

I will do this thing for you because I love you and I enjoy making you happy and this is something I feel I can give to you.

All right, what about the car thing?

What about it? Lending your car to the person you love is very normal. Ok so the car means more to Crowley than a normal car does to us, but the point still stands. Aziraphale is making a reasonable request here. Does he expect a yes? Absolutely, because he also knows it’s a reasonable request given where their relationship is. Does he flirt to get his own way? Hell, yes. Does Crowley know exactly what Aziraphale is playing at? Also a hell yes. And Crowley totally plays up to it, he’s not as opposed to it as he claims. He’s playing up his “no” and his grumpiness for effect, to encourage Aziraphale’s silly flirtiness. Look at the difference between this no and the no he gave Aziraphale earlier. There’s no anger here, there’s no real sense that he thinks Aziraphale is asking too much, he’s playing a role in their relationship and they’ve both played this game before. Look at that little slap of the hand, which Aziraphale responds to equally playfully. The game even continues after Muriel turns up at the shop, when it’s already quite clear that Crowley is going to let Aziraphale use the car (he’s already taking the plants out). Even in the back-room Crowley still teasingly grumbles about trains whilst Aziraphale smiles flirtily, and Crowley playfully withholds the car keys when Muriel interrupts them. They both know Aziraphale is going to end up with them, there’s no point to him not directly handing them over in spite of the interruption, it’s just an excuse to tease Aziraphale back. I mean, look at him – he spends the rest of the conversation wiggling his hips, grinning smugly and confidently handling the Muriel problem by talking about love. Aziraphale’s very overt reaction tells you all you need to know about the dynamic of this one.

Two can play at this flirting game, angel.

But he follows him around like a little puppy!

Well, yes and no. Sure he follows him around whilst he goes around asking all the shopkeepers to the meeting, but he does that because it’s fun for him. He’s curious, Aziraphale is acting oddly, doing something he’s never done before and Crowley wants to know what it is. He’s always found him fascinating – what silly and ridiculous thing is the angel up to now?

Also wanting to hang out with the person you are in love with isn’t at all strange or a sign you are in some sort of weird relationship where only one of you calls the shots. It’s normal. Crowley knows Aziraphale has a tendency to be silly or do unexpected things and he wants to watch him do them and also flirt with him whilst he’s doing them. Looking grumpy and reacting to Aziraphale’s silliness with disbelief is how Crowley flirts-without-flirting. Both of them know, understand and like that dynamic, and he has that role not because he’s unhealthy levels enthralled with everything Aziraphale does but because of the levels of trust they have spent millennia establishing.

What Crowley doesn’t do is wait around for Aziraphale. Look at the scene where Aziraphale daydreams about Job. In that scene he’s aware Aziraphale has something else to show him (the record clue), but he doesn’t stick around whilst Aziraphale ignores him. He could have sat down somewhere in the shop and waited – he’s got an eternity, waiting an hour or so is no big deal, but waiting around like that would suggest he really is a doormat, just waiting for the next time Aziraphale shows him any attention. He doesn’t do that, instead he goes off and does… well, something. There’s a lot of speculation over what it is, but whether he goes off to read Pride and Prejudice or just wanders off to find something more interesting to look at than the back of Aziraphale’s head, he’s clearly saying here that he has a life outside of whatever Aziraphale wants to do.

Also side note - you know what else he doesn’t do for Aziraphale? Adjust his driving style. Aziraphale clearly hates it, it makes him nervous and he even asks Crowley to change several times whilst they’re in the car together, but Crowley never does. This is how I am angel, accept it or don’t, but this is the line and I’m not changing this for you. Related to this is his refusal to accept Aziraphale altering the Bentley. Aziraphale tries to persuade him, “But it’s pretty,” and Crowley really isn’t having it. It’s another hard line and he’s not going to let Aziraphale cross it.

Anything else?

There’s a few other examples that I’ve seen listed in the, “Crowley does whatever Aziraphale says/wants” evidence piles. Things like Aziraphale assuming he’s going to get the drinks in the pub. Well, someone has to get them, and it makes perfect sense that they both assume it’s Crowley here because he’s the one more comfortable with pubs. Having a role that you take on within certain situations in a relationship is healthy and normal, imagine how exhausting it would be to debate who is going to do every little thing all of the time.

In the first series the coat cleaning is another example often cited, but this is something Crowley is perfectly happy to do. Aziraphale is flirting, which is delightful, and he’s not being asked to do anything difficult or dangerous. I will do this thing for you because I love you and I enjoy making you happy and this is something I feel I can give to you, which is totally different from, you always ask, I always give, and you always take.

What about Aziraphale. When does he give?

All the damn time. We just don’t notice it as much because Crowley asks different things of him. His love language is acts of service towards others, but he doesn’t really ask or require them in return. Sometimes he gets them from Aziraphale anyway (Holy water anyone?) Also notably in the Globe Theatre when he’s clearly the one pushing the Arrangement, and Aziraphale more or less agrees to do his work for him (“That doesn’t sound like hard work”) even before he’s asked, before they’ve gone through their little dance of Crowley pushing and Aziraphale supposedly-reluctantly agreeing.

The other things Aziraphale gives Crowley are much more nuanced, and much less measurable to us as the audience, but he gives them constantly, or more or less constantly, throughout their relationship. He gives him acceptance (although he occasionally partially withdraws it, such as in the bandstand scene), his silliness (which is more important than it first appears), a safe space (not just the bookshop, but also a safe space for Crowley to air his real views without fear of consequence, which is important irrespective of whether or not he persuades Aziraphale to agree with him), his physicality (by 1826 he’s really in Crowley’s space so much of the time) and most importantly he gives Crowley himself. Crowley constantly pushes Aziraphale to grow as a person, it’s one of the original reasons he entertains developing a friendship with him. What he asks of Aziraphale is for Aziraphale to think – really think – about what he believes. And Aziraphale does so, but only for Crowley. Humans have constantly questioned religious beliefs throughout history, they’ve written books, made speeches and even had wars over religious doctrine and the problems, inconsistencies and absurdities within it. Crowley is saying nothing to Aziraphale that he won’t already have indirectly heard from humans and dismissed or ignored. But when Crowley says it, he thinks and he changes. That’s what Crowley asks of Aziraphale and it’s what Aziraphale gives him.

What was the point of all this waffle?

Well, honestly there isn’t much of one. Only that their relationship is much more balanced than some suggest and I think I just wanted to spell that out. It also has an implication for the final 15 minutes. There’s no way Aziraphale goes into that with some sort of fake confidence that he can persuade Crowley to follow him to heaven simply because Crowley always follows him – Crowley doesn’t, he has very clear limits that he enforces with Aziraphale and Aziraphale knows this. He might feel confident for other reasons (such as thinking Crowley will be happy to be an angel again) or something else entirely different might be happening (so many theories!) but I’m pretty sure it’s nothing to do with thinking Crowley always does what he asks, because he very clearly doesn’t.

It's also why Crowley waits around afterwards to watch Aziraphale leave. It’s a way indirectly of saying one final time, I love you and I enjoy making you happy… but this is something I cannot give to you.

[penkura]

Christmas Gift

Summary: You and Zoro exchange your Christmas gifts for each other.

Note: I had to write Zoro of course, and this ended up being a little more self indulgent than I originally planned lol. But I hope you guys enjoy it. :)

Christmas with Zoro has always been your favorite time of year. Of course your birthdays are fun, but the holiday season makes things feel different when you two exchange gifts. He always acts like it’s a pain but the gifts Zoro has given you are always appreciated and more thoughtful than you expect, especially from someone who says it’s annoying to go shopping.

Your favorite thing each year is to see how flustered you can make your boyfriend. Even though you’ve been together for several years, Zoro never expects anything much from you, yet you always outdo yourself and cause him to feel like his gifts aren’t as good.

They always are to you, but Zoro still feels like you do better with the whole gift giving thing.

It's no different this year, when you two meet up once again, though it’s the last year you’ll be doing this as a dating couple since you’ll be getting married next year, as long as everything works out.

The earrings Zoro gives you this year match the three he wears, it’s the first time he’s giving you something like this (ignoring your engagement ring), but you love them all the same. He almost forced you to open your gift first, it was that important to him this year, for the two of you to match like that. You were so excited to see them that you hugged Zoro briefly before running off to the bathroom to put them in with a grin, making him roll his eyes with a smirk before he follows you.

“Figured you’d want a set since you got that third piercing.”

“Of course I did! That’s part of the whole reason I wanted them!”

Once you’ve gotten the earrings on and checked them out, you turn around and hug Zoro again, which he returns.

“You’re the best~ I love you~”

“Yeah, yeah,” he might roll his eyes again, but there’s a real smile there, “Its just some earrings, nothing that special.”

“But they’re special to me since we match now!” you pout while Zoro laughs, before you remember, “Oh!! You need to open your gift, Zoro!”

He tries to stop you when you grab his hand and drag him back to the living room, but doesn’t fight you on it. Zoro let’s you take him back and make him sit on the couch before you drop the gift bag in his lap.

“Now your turn!”

Zoro really does hate the whole gift giving thing, but the excited nervousness you have every time is cute. You’re always hopeful yet anxious that he’ll like the gift you’ve picked out for him, this year is no exception. You keep watching while he pulls the tissue paper out and eventually the gift, giving you a slightly confused look before you start to explain.

“So, you never wear a hat or gloves when it’s cold—”

“I don’t need them.”

“—but,” you let out a sigh but still smile, “I thought maybe a scarf wouldn’t be a problem, so I made you one.”

Really he’s surprised you haven’t made him anything like this until now, though he should’ve expected it by now, especially with how badly cold it’s gotten.

It’s a very simple scarf, he’s not sure about if it’s crochet or knitting since he’s not good at telling the difference, but you found what seems to be the perfect mossy green yarn and included black in it. Nothing fancy or intricate, you were probably worried the whole time you made if he’d even wear it anyway.

You’re still nervous obviously, starting to bite your lip because you think Zoro doesn’t like it, until he finally puts it on, causing you to grin once again when he looks at you.

“Well?”

“Hmm,” there’s no problem with the colors, you made sure of that, but you do adjust the scarf to where it’s wrapped around his neck once, “Now it’s perfect!”

Zoro throws an arm around your shoulders and pulls you against him, kissing your head and making you giggle at him.

“Thank you, I do like it.”

“Good! …will you wear it to my parents’ house tomorrow??”

“Seriously?”

“Please???”

You might have to promise him several things to get him to wear the scarf the next day, but Zoro does agree to it eventually. Giving gifts and having to deal with your parents talking to him all day is still a pain, he’s only willing to deal with that part of the holidays because it’s you.

[uranometrias]

✮ꜜ : ❛ now i see daylight : spencer reid x fem! reader

pairing: spencer reid x fem! reader

summary: three weeks have gone by since your last encounter with reid. you'd both been doing an exceptional job of pretending that the other didn't exist. you felt like it was only fair. he didn't have the right to talk to you any type of way, and you supposed in his mind, you didn't have the right to behave so jealously. three weeks of no ground being made, that is, of course, until a conversation with rossi helps to screw your head on straight

content warnings: love confessions. reader definitely has anxiety and a fear of romance/relationships, BUT she fights her fear! i also think it's fair to say that she views telling spencer about her feelings as facing her fear, regardless of his response! this is part two to 'guilt is a motherfucker'.... i'm so sorry it's taken forever, but i've actually preparing to enlist in the army && haven't had a lot of down time. i've got 10 drafts to prove it, but i tried my best to make this longer than part one, and i hope that you guys enjoy it.

Grow up.

Those words had haunted you for about three weeks. It'd been that long since the day you and Spencer had sort of... drifted apart. You refused to blame yourself, despite knowing full well this whole ordeal was majorly your fault. Okay, all of the blame very well rested on your shoulders, but you were stubborn. You'd been that way forever.

Maybe you were the childish, scared, and jealous little girl he'd accused you of being. That wasn't your job to figure out, because he had no business speaking to you that way. Who did he think he was? You could hit him right in his stupid little face. That last thought of violence seems to follow you.

Especially as you sat as your desk, leg bouncing furiously underneath as you counted the seconds until he was away from the kitchenette. Your cup of coffee was dwindling, and you still had a few more files to get through, before you'd give yourself room to slack off. You needed more caffeine, but the newfound thorn in your side was taking up space, using up all the sugar as he made his third cup of the day.

A more mature person might have questioned why you didn't just go up there anyway. He didn't own the kitchenette, and it wasn't like you had to say anything at all. It was meant to be cut-and-dry, you were both mature adults, you could interact as such. Except neither of you were quite as mature as you affronted. You could just picture the screwed up expression he'd offer you if you chose to approach.

You were certain your face was already twisted up, showing off your own annoyance, and he wasn't even near you.

You'd been berated by Derek, Emily, and Penelope over your petty streak, all three parties really driving in the point that you were behaving like a toddler throwing a tantrum. They had a point, but you also refused to accept any such criticism about your behavior. Partly, because you hated correction, and you didn't want to think about the possibility that all of your friends were on his side.

But you think most of your refusal to accept your part from any of them had a lot to do with the fact that they weren't the ones who'd been so callously humiliated, and they weren't the ones with feelings for someone who obviously knew, and was perfectly content flaunting such knowledge right in your face.

God, you could punt him like a football.

You needed to work on your insult creativity, these were starting to get repetitive. You shake all thoughts of assault out of your mind as Dave begins to approach your desk. Rossi wasn't stupid, he like everyone else had noticed the significant decline in attention passed between you, and Reid. But unlike the rowdier members of the team, he and JJ had elected to go the route of silent but deadly.

They'd cast the both of you disapproving looks when in rare form you'd allowed your spat to affect your job. Their clear disappointment in you exceptionally loud. Times like those were sparce, you really only ever objected obedience when Hotch insisted on partnering the both of you up. Which had luckily become much more rare in the last few weeks.

"Still pouting, angioletto?" he asks, and his ability to read right through you seems to make your pout deepen. "It's been three weeks, don't you think it's time to talk about it or move on?" he questions, and there's no judgement there. It's what you like the most about Rossi, he seemed to have fallen into the role of paternal figure incredibly well. He gave you the tough love that you often needed.

But he never disrespected your boundaries, he never went too far. He'd always say just enough to nudge you in the right direction.

"Maybe." you agree, and it's true. You know it's time to put this situation behind you in one way or another, but you refused to cave first. You didn't want to give Spencer the satisfaction of it, and once again you're made aware of just how petty you really were. "But I don't want to." you voice this thought to Dave, who offers an unamused expression. You narrow your eyes in his direction.

"He's the one that started it..." you exclaim your side for the umpteenth time. Rossi's expression doesn't morph, but there is a bit of disappointment swimming in his eyes. It makes you avert your gaze quickly, you could feel the first pinpricks of guilt slicing at you. "It's true." you insist. Rossi waves a tired hand at you, ushering you to proceed, and you find yourself grateful for the chance to vent.

Everyone else knew too much about the behind the scenes to let you get a word in edgewise. Rossi was basically a clean slate. "If he knew all along, what he thinks he knows..." you stop long enough to look towards the kitchenette. He's still there, which is a relief, you'd be pissed if somehow he managed to overhear this. "Then why would he come over here and flaunt it. Was he trying to rub it in?" you demand.

Silly you for thinking that Rossi would be any less on your ass than the rest of the team. He was David Rossi after all, one of the founders of the BAU, a smart man that could read you like a picture book. "You finished?" he asks, and your mouth parts. You weren't finished, but you don't tell him that, he looked like he was ready to lecture. You offer a curt nod, and he hums under his breath.

"What exactly were you expecting from him, Y/N?" he asks, and you blanche. You weren't expecting anything, you'd never expected anything from Spencer. "I mean just stick with me here... put yourself in his shoes for one second." he prompts, and you huff. Those were big shoes, probably uncomfortable. Still, you play along as you wait for Rossi to proceed. "Would you wait around for two years for someone to finally realize that they want to be with you?" he asks.

You hope that it's rhetorical, because the answer for you was probably a lot different than the one he was expecting. You also feel the urge to correct him, you didn't take two years to figure out you liked him, you'd known since your first day. Your issue was verbalizing it, because you cared about your bond. Spencer was nice, he was the sweetest person you'd ever met. You liked seeing him get excited about the things no one else seemed to care about. He was different.

He was your friend, and you had always admired him.

"I wasn't making him wait..." you voice the correction. "And I didn't need time to realize anything..." you trail off, and realization seems to set in for Rossi. He sighs deeply, head shaking as you continue on your tangent. "I liked him back when all the girls in the unit still looked at him like he was some freak, and I'm not saying it entitles me to anything... I'm the dummy for being a chicken, but he didn't have to be so mean." and you're certain that's the root of it all.

Your feelings were hurt.

"Ah, well haven't you heard? Boys are quite stupid." Rossi offers, and you think he only said it to get you to laugh. It works, because you do chuckle, and it makes Dave's shoulders relax just slightly. "Talk to him, Y/N." he presses, and you find yourself looking across the bullpen. "It's the right thing to do." and you know he's right. "And who knows, it might even wind up being for the best." he offers, and you blanch. You nod your head, and Rossi beams proudly.

"You're right." you agree audibly, and you're fidgeting in your chair.

"You are coming this Friday aren't you?" Rossi pries, and you've gone nonverbal, head nodding once more as he mimics your action. "See if you guys can't get this squared away before then, won't you?" he asks, and he's leaving you with a gentle pat on the shoulder. You stare after Rossi with a mixture of disdain and appreciation. Leave it to the old man to get you off your ass. Your eyes are drawn to Spencer as he draws closer, you know he's not coming to you.

It was a byproduct of your desk location, but it wouldn't hurt to use it to your advantage. When he's within earshot, you take the first step. "Spence?" you try, and you expect him to ignore you, to keep walking like the sassy bastard that he is, but he shocks you. He seems to mirror your feelings with his own surprised expression. "Can we talk?" you try, and it's the cliche thing... but you don't have it in you to be poetic. He stops abruptly, head nodding stiffly as he does so.

You feel like you need to stand up, having him stand over you feels too much like you're being cornered or something of the sort. He takes a small step back when you do so though, and the tension seems to only grow tenfold. You mask your disappointment in his retreat easily, instead standing up a bit straighter, sticking your chin out as you prepare to bite the bullet and be the bigger woman. It was utterly humiliating having to bring yourself back to Earth like this.

"Sure." he finally verbally answers your question, you take that as a cue to get on with it. Your patience for back and forth seemed almost as thin as his.

"Maybe it's three weeks too late..." you begin, and his eyebrows furrow. "And I know we've got this new rhythm of pretending we don't exist to each other," and his face betrays how wrong he finds that statement. His face pinches up like he's smelled something bad, and he wants to remind you that the only reason you hadn't spoken was because you hadn't had the guts to own up to the fact that you had feelings for him, but he digresses. He wasn't here to pick a fight.

"But, I'm sorry...." you spit the apology out and it feels hollow. You know you have to do better, so you proceed before he can shoot you a disapproving glance. "I really am." you insist, and despite the fact that you had only just begun to feel guilty about the whole thing in the last few minutes, you meant it. "I never should've acted like that, and I never should have let this go on for so long." you express.

Across the bullpen, Rossi, Penelope, Derek, and Emily are huddled up watching the exchange, not so discreetly. You're none the wiser to your growing audience, but Spencer sees them clearly. Not that they were really aiming for subtlety. "It's not my business what you do outside of work or who you do it with." and your nose curls, mostly because you want it to be your business. You want to be valid in your aggravation, more than that you wanted to be his. How annoying.

Your leg starts to shake just barely, and you look like you'll crumble to the ground at any moment. Spencer notices all of these ticks, and stores them into the part of his brain that's full of things specific to you. "So I'm sorry that I was being a jerk." you offer, and Spencer's face doesn't show any signs of whether or not he believed you, so you continue. "I'm happy for you." you clear your throat, and feel embarrassment setting in.

"Thanks, Y/N." his head tips to the right as he appraises you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes you in. It's not a menacing sort of glance. He seemed to be waiting for something else, you weren't sure what more could be put into your apology, there was no way you were about to give an outright confession, that'd be humiliating. Instead, you avert your gaze, and it seems to be enough of an answer to whatever internal question he had. "That actually means a lot."

You don't smile, mostly because you're not sure what the actually means, he seems to notice the way your expression changes just slightly, and he's quick to correct himself.

"I just mean that your approval does mean a lot to me." he says, and you relax. You can't quite beam, you're still not up for it, but you offer a small smile, one that could count more as a grimace than anything else, but you weren't in the headspace to monitor your facial expressions. You were growing bothered all over again, and you had to do everything in your power to ensure that this time things didn't end with another three-week break between you and Spencer.

"Really?"

Spencer's nose curls now, he's an expressive guy. His facials said a lot more than his words could at times, and you note that this particular expressions reads somewhere between confused and surprised. Those were almost synonyms in the grand scheme of things, right? "Is that a real question?" Spencer asks, and despite the tension that hung over you at the start of the conversation, with this question you witness the way his guard drops. It was liberating in a way.

"I asked it didn't I?" you quip, but there's no real bite behind your words. Spencer seems to note this, lips pressing together firmly.

"You're important to me." he promises, and you hate that his first reaction is to validate you. Your anxiety-riddled mind would convince you that he secretly thought you were fishing for praise, which was the farthest thing from the truth. Still, you love Spencer, platonically and otherwise, and you're certain that's why you're mimicking his words back to him so quickly.

"You're important to me too."

He takes a second to stare at you, and you stare right back. You're careful not to show any signs of timidity or awkwardness, things were finally starting to look up. "I..." he begins, and you stay silent to allow him the time he needs to get whatever was on his chest off. "I'm sorry." he says, and you're surprised. It was the last thing you'd expected from this conversation, you're certain your surprise is evident plain as day on your face.

"Yeah?" you feel it's only fair to press him onward.

"Jealous little girl." he cringes as he repeats it, and you wince because it still hurts. "That was-" he shakes his head. "It was out of line. Plain and simple, I guess I was just a little frustrated, but that's not your fault. It wasn't fair of me to come at you in that way." he begins to ramble. "I wouldn't want you to feel... mocked or belittled by me." and you blink. Mostly because that was exactly how you had felt, but how did he know. It's then that you finally feel the beady-eyed stares.

You look over your shoulder just in time to witness the group dispersing, Penelope grasping a file in her hand as she scurried in the opposite direction. Derek picking up a file folder, and Emily focusing all her attention on the drink sloshing around her mug. You really hate profilers, this is the loudest thought in your head as you turn back to Spencer. "It doesn't matter if I felt justified then, or even if I feel justified about it now." and it makes you snort.

Classic Spence.

"D-Do you forgive me? Are we okay?" he asks, and his voice has grown a bit fainter. If you listen hard enough you hear the echoes of the Spencer you first met. Even with all his strides, and the confidence he gained, there was still that small part of him that felt like the nerdy boy that everyone overlooked. The one that talked too much, and was constantly silenced with looks or snide remarks whenever he rambled for too long about some niche subject.

You think this train of thought is what gets you to see Rossi's point of view. And who were you to get in the way of someone who clearly was ready for someone as amazing as Spencer. You didn't know much about the woman, aside from the fact that she was constantly making coffee, and staring at Spencer. You didn't know how long she'd worked at the bureau, you didn't even know her name, but you knew that she was brave. She knew what she wanted and got it.

Unlike you.

You suppose 'snooze you lose' is your burden to carry from this ordeal. At least you'd gotten your friend back though. And that was enough, it could be anyway. You nod your head at his question, offering a half smile. "We're okay, Spence." you promise, and he seems relieved. His smile is one of those rare ones, the gorgeous kind that Spencer reserved for special occasions. He then visibly and audibly lets out a quiet sound of relief, and it makes you relax.

"Hey, Spence, can I get your help?" JJ is calling, and your pulled from your bubble. The world is still spinning, there's still work to do, pressing matters that needed your attention. You felt a little lighter, offering another half smile as he offers you a sheepish glance. He's heading towards JJ as you sit back down at your desk. Your leg bounces despite the perceived 'win'. It only takes you a moment to wonder why, reality sets in, and you realize your shortcomings.

You'd failed the test twice.

Twice you'd had the chance to be the most open and honest with Spencer, only to let your nerves or fear of rejection get in the way. The jealousy is gone now though, instead replaced with a brief feeling of self-aggravation. You hear Dave's stern voice in your head. 'Talk to him, Y/N.' and you frown. Hadn't that been what you'd done? You'd talked to him, so why did you still feel so bummed.

Why don't you just talk to the guy? Look him in the eye and tell him straight up how you're feeling? Derek's question from three weeks prior slaps you like a ton of bricks. You supposed that was the end goal, wasn't it? The only way to relieve yourself of all this anxiety and all the big feelings you were having a hard time digesting. You're back to pouting, mostly because you've got no idea where to start.

You pick up one of your files, and flip it open, hoping to bury yourself in work. Every time your mind tried to stray to Spencer or your feelings, you'd switch files, until all twenty-five on your desk had a dent in them. Your hand was cramped, and you know that soon enough you'll need a cup of coffee. Emily approaches your desk, hands centered as she leans forward, eyes right on you.

"So how did it go?" she asks, and you cut your eyes at her. "Tension's all gone, so it must have gone well, right?" she's grinning down at you. "I told you if you told him the truth, you'd have nothing to worry about." Emily proceeds, and you're shaking your head back and forth.

"Emily... Emily, no!" you exclaim, and her smile drops.

"No? What do you mean, no?" she demands as you exhale.

"I still haven't told him, and I'd really appreciate it, if you'd lower your voice." you hiss as she pouts. "Maybe it's just not supposed to be." you shrug, and Emily looks visibly disgruntled with your thoughts. "I'm just saying... we're okay, because we apologized." you explain. "I don't want to risk making it awkward again, because I think I have feelings." and now you're being purposely dismissive.

"Oh, so now you're not sure?" Emily questions, and then she's clicking her tongue against her teeth. "No. I don't buy that." she denies, and she's stern, but discrete. "Don't do this, Y/N. Don't be that girl." she pleads. "There's nothing worse than regret. It eats at you until there's nothing left, you don't want to look back, and think 'what if!'" and that's twice you're hearing something of the sort. Wasn't there some quote about hearing important things twice? You're not sure.

"If you like him-" she pauses, head still shaking from side to side. "If you love him... like it seems, you owe it to yourself to tell him. What's the worst thing that could happen?" she questions, and you scoff. "No, realistically." she insists. "Realistically tell me what the worst thing could be? And not from that place where your irrational fears sit." she deadpans, and you feel attacked, it makes you look away.

"In the two years of you knowing Reid, do you actually think that he's the kind of guy to break you down to nothing if he doesn't feel the same?" she asks, and the answer when presented to you like this is no. "So tell me what it is that you're really scared of?" she presses, and you don't understand why everyone's so worked up over this. Why the whole unit seemed to be invested in you expressing your feelings.

"I don't want to mess it up..." you shrug your shoulders. "I don't want to make it weird." you offer, and Emily's unmoved by your answer.

"You managed to do that without saying a thing." she retorts, and you feel like you've got no room to speak, no voice to rebuttal with. "Let me be your shrink for a second." Emily is your friend for moments like these, where her clear allegiance to you shines through. "Talk to me." she prompts.

"Why are you so invested in this?" you inquire. "Why does it even matter?" you huff.

"Because it matters to you." she answers. "What? You didn't know that's how this team works?" she asks, and you huff out a puff of air through your nose. "This isn't about us playing matchmaker... it's about you realizing that you've got a few bad beliefs about romance... and friendships.... and relationships that are going to keep you all by yourself if you don't start speaking your mind." she shrugs.

"And despite the way you curl into yourself back here at your desk, we both know you don't really want to be alone." and you think you might cry, it makes you wince. "You owe it to yourself to try, but ultimately the decision is all yours. I just think you'll feel better if you take Reid aside, and tell him the truth about how you feel." she seems done, and you don't know how to respond. Emily pats your shoulder as she rounds your desk, before heading back across the unit.

You really hate profilers.

By the time you're heading home for the night, you and Spencer hadn't spoken again. You'd been so buried in work that you'd skipped lunch to get things done. You'd gotten a comment from Hotch about that, wondering if you were feeling alright. You knew that he knew the truth, even as you told him a fib. Hotch though, was discrete enough not to make you feel scrutinized by exposing just how obvious you were. You couldn't get Emily's words out of your head.

You didn't feel angry with her, and your embarrassment had managed to go away within the first forty minutes after she'd left you alone. You knew she was right, but it still didn't make things easier. It was almost like you forgot how to speak whenever the time came to really express yourself. You supposed that was why your apology had been so flat. Feelings weren't your strong suit, and you'd learned to express them by lashing out. A less than healthy way to live.

You liked that the team didn't speak to you like a child or treat you like you were incapable. Instead, they talked to you like an adult, gave the truth to you in a way that sliced through all your stubbornness and attitude. As you head towards the elevator, you hear footsteps, and look just in time to see Spencer making his way towards you. His satchel hangs off his shoulder, and he looks relieved, an emotion that you knew all too well by the end of a work shift.

You hoped there wouldn't be any cases that drug you back to the unit, all you wanted was a shower and a nap in your own bed.

Stepping into the elevator, Spencer trails you. He takes one side of the elevator, while you huddle up in the other. He offers you a tired smile as the doors slide closed, you offer him a smile right back. It's weary, mostly because you were drained, but partly, because Spencer had been the object of your thoughts the entire day. Especially after Emily's blunt speech. You were drained. The anxiety of keeping the secret far outweighed any fear of rejection now.

"Hey, are you alright?" he addresses you, after noticing the way you seemed lost in your head.

"Hmm?" you hum, and he repeats himself. It snaps you out of your mind spiral, and your head nods. A lie. "I'm all good, Spence." you reply, and he looks disappointed, but not surprised. "Thanks for asking though." you add a second after, and he offers you a dry little nod of his head. The elevator is back silent, and you hope the doors open quick. You might drown if the tension grew any thicker.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." he says, and you blank. Your confusion is clear as day on your face. "Earlier..." and your still not understanding. "I wasn't telling you that you were important to me, because I was expecting anything in return." he explains, and it clicks. "If it made you feel weird, I'm sorry. It just felt like the right way to express my point then." he proceeds, and you don't know how to collect yourself. "So, I'm sorry." and you want to scream.

Mostly at yourself for being so infuriatingly inadequate at expressing your thoughts and feelings.

"If you want, we could just pretend I never said anything?" he offers, and you don't answer quick enough. The elevator slides open just as the words are settling inside your head, and he's stepping out into the parking deck without another word. You sit there in the elevator for a moment, the door sliding shut after a moment, but you don't move. You feel like you're at a crossroads, almost at a point of no return. If you let Spencer leave now... like this, there would be no coming back.

There would be no room to gain some balls later, and try again. It wouldn't be fair to him. It wouldn't be fair to yourself.

You feel like hyperventilating, thoughts everywhere. Love had never been a subject you really understood. You'd always sort of saw it as this concrete construct. Unchangeable, always either black or white. A gloomy, gray, existence that could cut you up and spit you out. Love could turn you into a hollow version of who you once were. Love could break you down, and make you nothing. But then you think of your team. JJ and Penelope, Hotch, Dave, Emily, Derek. Spencer.

They were the rarest and purest examples of love in your day-to-day life, weren't they? You'd never quite met anyone who had your back more than your team. They fought for you, they fought with you. They believed in you, pushed you to be the best you that you could be. So why was it so hard, what were you scared of? Was it the notion of getting Spencer, and staining him? Blowing out that light inside him the way you'd witnessed for so long?

Was that a life worth living? Was it a chance you could take?

And then you huff, because damnit... you were tired of waiting. You were tired of anxiety, and uncertainty, and insecurity, and pain. You're certain that is why you hit the button to open the elevator. Gracefulness is not on your side as you practically sprint out into the car park, your eyes scanning hopefully for the familiar silhouette of your friend. When you spot him, you release a quiet noise of relief. "S-Spencer!" you hear the echo from your shout, and cringe.

But it doesn't matter, because he turns, he stops, and he's looking at you. His eyebrows are raised, hands gripping his bag, as you start to run. You ignore your fatigue, and your desire to run and hide, and instead run towards something for once. You don't stop running until you're past the point of 'personal space', you want to hover, you want to be in his space, because it was the only way you could possibly get through this. He looks a bit unsure, and still a bit grumpy.

You hope by the end of this that's no longer the case.

"Spencer, I don't want to forget about what you said." you're trying to catch your breath, bouncing up on your heels. "I don't want to pretend you never said it." you add, and Spencer's surprised expression has the hairs on your arm and neck ready to stand on end. "I-I actually want to know what you meant." you admit. "Because, I know what I meant when I said it... and it's not something that I take back." you express, and you can hear blood rushing in your ears.

"What did you mean?" Spencer asks, and you blanche.

"I asked you first." the obvious retort, and Spencer exhales loudly, but there's no annoyance, no exasperation. Only amusement, like always.

"I've done enough talking, haven't I?" he asks. "I want to know what you're thinking." and his voice is so soft, full of tenderness that you feel like you're being serenaded. You feel like you've got a knot in your throat also, almost like you'll suffocate if you don't get your thoughts out. "I promise I won't leave you hanging." and you're not sure what he means by that, but it helps. It makes your heart stutter-step, and you need to catch your breath, because you can't believe this is actually happening, or that you're actually here.

"I-" you play withy your fingers, and you have to inhale deeply to ensure you don't chicken out. "Spence, I didn't tell you that you were important to me, because you said it first." you promise, and he nods, but he doesn't say anything. His eyes are syrupy, alluring, and beautiful, still twinkling under the dingy, flickering lights of the parking deck. "I said it because you're all I really think about." you admit, and his eyebrows furrow, and you're scared.

"And the last three weeks... I've been so mad at you." you blurt out. "I was the one that acted like a child, but I was angry with you, because I thought that you were making fun of me... and all the feelings I have for you." you exhale, and you look down at the ground, because the nerves that come with your words are overwhelming. "I was jealous, I acted like a child, but it was only because I thought you were rubbing it in my face... I thought you were being cruel."

Spencer's long lashes blink rapidly, but he's still stone silent. Probably because he knows that you're still not done. "And that wasn't fair of me, because I know you, Spence. You're not that type of person, but I just I couldn't reign myself in, and I acted immaturely because I was scared... and then just now, in the elevator... I almost did it again. I almost let you think that I don't care about you... but I do. Spencer, I have feelings for you." and you clear your throat, legs shaking.

"I'm in love with you, and I'm not... this isn't some trick or ploy or cry for help. I understand if you're mind is elsewhere... and I'm so sorry if the way I've been acting ruined everything, but I-I love you okay? That's what this has all been about. I'm sorry it took me so long to say something, but there it is." and you gasp, chest heaving now that you were finished. You finally look up at Spencer again, and he's staring you down. It doesn't feel hypersexual or heady with tension.

Instead, it's like the first intake of air into your lungs after being under water for so long. You supposed that's what the truth did, you supposed that's what your feelings for Spencer did when you allowed them to exist. "You mean that?" he asks, and you huff.

"Of course, I mean it. I mean it so much, I think I'm going to be sick." and despite himself he laughs, a bright beam following after it. He takes a small step towards you, and you feel crowded, the body heat from you both warming you up from the inside out. Still, despite how outwardly calm he looked in comparison to you, you managed to spot the shyness, the anxiety that rested in his own eyes. He looked unsure, almost like he was being careful not to ruin the moment.

"Do you know how long I've been wanting to hear you say that?" he asks, and you're shocked, stuck, surprised. You don't know if this is in your mind or if you just got lucky. "Have you ever-" he's got this gleeful look on his face. "There's this quote by Lao Tzu..." he stammers, "Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart, and the senses." he quotes, and there are no butterflies... you think that might be a good thing.

"I don't know if there's been a time since I met you that you haven't been on my mind." Spencer explains, and there it is. "I think that's why I snapped the way I did, I don't think I ever imagined a scenario where we'd be here." he admits, and it pains you to know that he thought that way. "It was-" he motions between you both. "The thought of us being something was sort of just something I believed would always sort of just be a thought." Spencer's glowing red.

The blush coats his ears, cheeks, nose, and neck. His eyes are brighter, and his hands twitch at his side, almost like he's restraining himself. You think you only notice, because you're doing the same.

"I want to be with you." he says this so faintly you're almost unsure you heard him correctly. Your eyes widen, and your surprise is obvious. He takes a small step forward, and he's crowding you. It's nothing like the movies, in fact, the closer he gets to you, the more you're able to see the shyness in his eyes. He reaches out, and his hand ghosts over your side.

"Spence-" and the you that you were just an hour earlier, the one too scared to tell him the truth almost feels like she never even existed.

"Can I?" he asks, and your eyes drift to his hands that are inching closer to your body. You nod your head quickly, and he doesn't look amused. "I want to hear you." he says quietly. "I want you to tell me that I can." he adds, and you find yourself nodding anyway.

"Y-You can." you promise. "But I don't want you to pretend." his eyebrows furrow again. "Please don't do this if you don't mean it." you say, and Spencer's hands drop to your side, there's no wandering fingers, in fact it feels like he wanted to touch you for the sole purpose of keeping you from shaking any longer.

"Y/N, I want to be with you." he repeats it more firmly this time, and he's looking directly at you. It's intense, the eye contact more than anything else. He sounds sincere, and that makes you nervous.

"But what about..." and you trail off, because you don't know what to label the pretty woman he'd been entertaining. Spencer chuckles quietly, and his head shakes from side to side.

"She was nice." he reiterates the words he'd said three weeks prior. "But, she's not you... I don't think anyone would've been able to fill your shoes." he says, and you squeeze your eyes closed, because God, Spencer was so good with words. His hands are on your face, brushing at your cheeks as you shed a few long overdue tears. "Are these happy tears?" he asks hopefully, and your eyes shoot open. Your head nods, and you're not sure why you're so quiet.

Maybe, because life had thrown a curveball and surprised you in a good way. "Happy tears." you agree, and he presses his lips together, thumbs still working to keep the tears at bay. "I just can't believe-"

"Please do." he cuts you off, before you can get it out. "Believe this, believe me." he almost begs, and you hum. "Can I kiss you?" he asks, and you don't answer him, instead you surge forward and press your lips to his. You're certain security is getting a full view of the action, Spencer kisses like he wants to inhale you, and it's nice.. It's more than nice, his kisses are surged with emotion, every ounce of affection that his words had been drenched in was felt in the kiss.

Had breathing not been a factor, you might have stayed there. When you pull back to inhale, Spencer's got this twinkle in his eye that makes your nose scrunch up. "What?" you press, and he grins at you.

"You love me..." he breathes it out, and you're not sure if he's stating it or asking, but you suppose now that the cat's out of the bag, saying it again is nothing.

"Yeah. I love you, Spence." you promise, and he's quick to lean in and peck you on the lips. "D'you love me too?" you ask, once he's pulled back, and his hands move up, cupping both sides of your face as he drags his thumbs up and down.

"I love you." and it sounds like a promise.

So you believe him.

 "It’s a profoundly strange feeling, to stumble across someone whose desires are shaped so closely to your own, like reaching toward your reflection in a mirror and finding warm flesh under your fingertips. If you should ever be lucky enough to find that magical, fearful symmetry, I hope you’re brave enough to grab it with both hands and not let go.” ― Alix E. Harrow

[kjhbsies]

Playing for Keeps

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Football Player!Ellie x Classy fem!reader

synopsis: As you and Ellie started to get to know each other, deeper connections started forming. And before you knew it, you were falling deep with the university's football team captain in ways that you couldn't even imagine, opening up your heart with the possibility of love at an unexpected time. But just as you began to put down your defenses, your world was shattered by the devastating revelation. Knowing that the kiss that sparked romance between you and Ellie was nothing more but a cruel bet orchestrated by her teammates.

wordcount: 4, 147 PART I: PART II : PART IV author's note: hello, guys! sorry for taking this long to update another chapter. I've decided to make this in four parts since it'll take much longer to publish if I fit everything in here. I just want to express my gratitude for your support of my stories. Lately, I've been struggling to find the inspiration and energy to write, and I couldn't finish everything in just one sitting. To add, I've been very busy with schoolwork and everything, hence why it took so long to upload the third chapter. thank you so much for understanding, and happy reading!!

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After the game was done, Ellie, along with her teammates, was bombarded by different school journalists to ask about the game. Everyone was encircling her, watching her speak passionately about the different strategies and plans that her team came up with while they were playing. She made sure to express gratitude to her supporters, along with Joel, Dina, Jesse, and you, of course.

Everyone watched Ellie in awe as she walked away as if entranced by her whole being. She has this magnetic aura that no one can resist. Even you.

The whole locker room was buzzed, as everyone was singing their university’s hymn after winning, tapping and praising everyone for their cooperation and relentless training.

“And of course, for our best captain, Ellie Williams, we couldn’t forget about the little speech you’ve said earlier. It was… heartwarming.” Alex looked at Ellie with a pout while hugging herself. Everyone roared in laughter, making Ellie smirk and shake her head.

“Well, I’m about to make my second win for the day, fellas!” Ellie exclaimed.

“Are you sure?” Alex wiggled her eyebrows. “I already have the 50 dollars in my pockets; I’m just waiting for you to fulfill the challenge.”

“Transfer that to my account tonight because the party won’t be over until I kiss Y/n.” Ellie laughed loudly before dabbing her teammate beside her. Everyone expressed their excitement for tonight’s party, not noticing the presence of the three players from the Golden Lions, who had heard their conversation from the start.

The laughs and cheers in the locker room stopped as Ellie spotted the opposing team’s captain, Natalie, along with her two teammates standing at both sides. They didn’t even bother changing their uniforms, and Ellie could tell how pissed they are. And so she put on her cocky smirk, as she strides to them.

“There’s a sign that it’s only for the Rising Phoenixes’ locker room. You three don’t belong here. You know why?” Ellie leaned at Natalie, “Because you all are losers.” She smiled before standing straight.

Natalie scoffed. “You should really enjoy your victory today, Williams, because it won’t be too long.”

“Oh yeah?” Ellie’s tip of her tongue traced the insides of her cheek, watching them with an amused face,

“Maybe we can’t beat you in football-”

“Yeah, that’s a fact. You’ve tried everything today, and props for that because I could see how you all struggled to take me down. But failed, embarrassingly.”

“But I know something that could ruin you.” Natalie continued before smiling. “You should take care. I’ll see you soon… tonight.” She took one look at all of them before walking away swiftly.

Ellie’s eyes trailed their steps until they were gone from her sight. She scoffed, finding the interaction ridiculous. Paying no mind to it, she just shrugged and laughed without giving a single fuck about her rival’s speech.

Besides, no one could ruin her.

…Right?

Ellie has been fidgety the whole time. She couldn’t tell if it was her nerves fucking with her because she was about to do something that half of her mind has been telling her not to, or that her veins had been pumped with so much energy and confidence to do it.

She’s asking you out. Finally. And she’s going to take you inside the stupid, crowded club that her coach rented for the night so that they could celebrate with whoever they like, as long as they wanted to. He’s got the drinks all settled and even rented the best DJ in the town. But Ellie somewhat cursed herself for inviting you to such a shitty place because that is not an ideal first date.

“I told you, it’s fine.” You smiled at her before touching her leather jacket-clad arm.

“It’s not well thought off. I mean, I never really considered that taking a girl out to an after-party would be great. We could go somewhere else if you want to, tonight. Like a— like a dinner in some private hotel, maybe?” She blabbered.

“No, no, I’m good.” You shook your head. “I want to meet your friends, too, okay?”

Ellie scoffed, faking her sudden nervousness with a quivering smile. The thought of you meeting her friends who knew about the bet involving you makes her head suddenly spin. She never really paid much attention to what would happen tonight, and it suddenly made her want to back out. She’s been cocky the whole day, bragging to everyone that she could just do it without batting an eye just like what they did to any other girls she’s been with before. Besides, that’s what everyone knew Ellie for.

But not this time; it’s different.

Something is looming behind Ellie’s back like a storm waiting to pour and wash her away, maybe even leaving her devastated. Maybe they were right — the field was her kingdom, but despite owning different battles, there was something Ellie couldn’t have — you.

“This is my first time going out with a girl. Yes, I don’t usually go to clubs, but, something bad is not going to happen there, right?” You raised your eyebrows, waiting for her answer. Ellie swore she could feel a mini heart attack.

She answered with a shaky chuckle, “Yeah, yeah. It’s all safe.”

You beamed, “Great! It’s a date, then?”

“Yeah. It surely is.” Ellie offered a warm smile before walking to you. She touched your arm, down to your delicate hands, holding it gently, slowly intertwining her fingers to yours. Her heartbeat tripled as she stared at it, a warm feeling gushing through her veins. For a minute, she completely forgot her sole motive.

Seeing how every inch of you fits perfectly onto hers made her want to just throw everything at the window and just be with you.

Everything was going well until Ellie decided to just think of the many possibilities to ruin it all.

You never really hate going to clubs, but if you’re going to pick between going into one or listening to Abby explaining astrobiology and neuroscience for hours, you’d pick the latter.

You are welcomed by the loud beating of sounds in the speakers, as well as the buzz of noises between the people dancing and drinking, of which 99% of the population you don’t know. Being with Ellie made you two the center of attention as you walked inside, and suddenly, you were conscious of every single thing in yourself.

Maybe your choice of dress wasn’t appropriate for this, or maybe they could sense how weird it was for Ellie to be hanging out with you, which is why they were staring.

Ellie must’ve noticed how your fingers toyed with the hem of your dress, and that’s when she took your hands into hers. She squeezed it as she looked at you with a smile.

“Hey, don’t be tense.”

“I know, it’s just… everyone is staring.” You gave a glance at those girls who looked like they would rip your heart from your chest if they had a chance.

“They’re staring because they wish you were them.”

You looked at her and smiled. Ellie slowly put her right hand on your waist, carefully guiding you as you two walked slowly. Your heart leaped at her action, and you swore you could feel your hands sweating.

Ellie’s eyes caught her teammates drinking in a corner, and staring back at her was Alex, with her cocky grin and playful eyes. Ellie’s heart thrummed as she smirked, holding the glass of alcohol to greet her. But Ellie wouldn’t let her see right through her. So she gave her best to show a cocky smile as if her head wasn’t full of so many thoughts about this messed up game.

“Oh, hey!” Dina greeted the two of you. Beside her was Jesse, who was eating a slice of pizza messily. “Congratulations, bitch!” Dina hugged Ellie tightly, squeezing her.

“That’s alright.” Ellie pushed her friend off of her.

“Congrats, man. That was good.” Jesse went on to raise his fist, and Ellie went on to bump it.

Ellie scoffed. “Didn’t even have to break a limb for me to win.” She said in a mischievous tone, which made the three of you roll your eyes.

Dina shook her head before turning her attention to yours. “Hi, Y/n. How are you?”

You smiled at her, “I’m fine. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you two.” You took a peek at Jesse, who nodded at you. “Hi, Jesse.”

“Hey.” He answered with a mouthful of food.

Dina turned at her with a glare. “What did I tell you about not talking while your mouth is full?” She hissed.

Jesse was about to open his mouth, but Dina immediately smacked him. He then went to raise both of his hands in defeat and slowly walked away.

“I’m just gonna go get our drinks. Will you be fine with her?” Ellie touched your arm.

“Yes, yes, no problem.” You nodded, and Ellie did too, before slowly walking to where Alex was.

“Oh my god, it’s great to see you again.” Dina grabbed your wrist, and you two sat in a lounge.

“I know, I’ve been really busy these past few months. I’ve just been wondering why I never see you in uni.”

“Tell me about it. My schedule is fully packed.” She rolled her eyes. “By the way, you and Ellie, huh?” Dina nudged you lightly, making you smile.

“Yeah… I guess. I mean, is it always hard tagging along with her? Ever since I’ve walked inside, everyone’s been eyeing me, and that is not a good thing.” You glanced at those group of girls who were staring at you while whispering at each other.

“You’ll get used to it. I mean, it’s Ellie.”

“Right.” You nodded.

“You know what’s crazy?” She asked, and you raised both of your brows, waiting for her to continue. “Ellie thought you were straight.”

Your eyes and mouth widened in disbelief. “What? No way!”

“Yes, way.” She nods repeatedly.

“I’m not!” You laughed. “I like both genders.”

“Figured it out when you can’t stop staring at Ms. Nina.”

“Ms. Nina.” You two say in sync before laughing loudly. “She’s hot, though.”

“I know.” Dina smiled.

You sighed, looking at Ellie. And Dina seemed to follow the line of your gaze.

“Do you like her?” Dina asked you, making your head turn to glance at her.

“I…” You opened your mouth, trying to form a single sentence to answer her question. But you couldn’t.

Dina’s eyes softened. You two shared a meaningful stare at each other.

And both of you knew that you were in so deep with Ellie.

Ellie reluctantly walked beside Alex while she was pouring drinks into the glass.

“It’s just one click away, and then it’ll be transferred to your account.” Alex showed her phone.

“Please shut the fuck up and don’t ruin this for me,” Ellie said sternly.

“I’m not, cap.” Alex scoffed. “I would like for you to succeed, even though it’ll cost some money for me.” She shrugged.

“Then go away and let me do it in peace. Don’t stare at me like a creep.” Ellie glared while picking up the drinks.

“How do I know if you did kiss her? I mean, it’ll be too much if we all watched, right?”

“I’ll kill you. Really.” Ellie’s jaw clenched. “I’ll ask her to go out later. You can send the money if you can’t see us for an hour already.”

“Right.” Alex laughed.

Ellie took one last glare at her before going over to where you and Dina at.

“Well, be careful, okay?” She overheard Dina.

“Why?”

“I-”

“Hey, I’m back.” Ellie sat beside you. She gave you and Dina a glass. “It’s tequila, I think.”

“You think?” You smiled before taking a sip.

“What were you two talking about?” She smiled before looking over at Dina, who was staring at her with dead eyes. Ellie’s jaw clenched as she stared back, the two of them fighting with no words being exchanged.

“Nothing.” You answered. “Just stuff back then at the camp.” You gave a tight-lipped smile.

Ellie nodded, falling silently. Quietness fills the air for a minute, and you can sense the thick tension forming in the air. Your heart thrummed, feeling like you’d be sick. You took a huge sip from the glass, wanting to drown the thoughts of you liking Ellie away. Hell, you don’t even know if she’d reciprocate your feelings. She’s Ellie. The mighty Ellie Williams that everyone thought was out of your reach.

She’s far up high, and you’re… just there.

“I’m gonna go find Jesse,” Dina said, standing abruptly. “Take care.” She says silently, her eyes lingering on you for a hot minute that Ellie notices.

You two were sitting side by side, watching Dina until she went to the sea of people, finding her boyfriend. You can sense Ellie getting tense, and you can’t fully comprehend why.

“If she says anything stupid, don’t believe her,” Ellie says, looking at you.

“What kind of stupid thing will she say about you?” You chuckled, finding her ridiculous. “Have you done something?”

Ellie swore she could feel her heart jumping in her chest for a second. Her breath hitched at your question, and she thanked the universe that you couldn’t see how her reaction mildly changed because of the dim lights. “No, nothing.”

“Good.” You took a sip once again, shoulders slacking down in relief.

“How are you feeling so far?” Ellie leaned toward you as the music got louder, and everyone just started dancing.

“Still doing great. I like watching people do wild things.”

Ellie snickered, “Well, that’s clubbing for you.”

You laughed.

“Wanna dance?” Ellie stood up, offering her tattooed hand at yours.

“Why yes, darling.” You smiled, and the two of you squeezed each other on the dance floor.

The music switched up to your liking as ABBA started playing. You took a huge sip of one of the drinks that the waiter offered to you, and Ellie watched in amusement. After finishing your glass, Ellie dragged you to the middle.

She sways her hips playfully, making you laugh hard. You took her hand and spun her around, almost making her trip. Ellie has never laughed genuinely like this but is glad to experience it with you. After minutes of tossing around, swaying each other, and singing your hearts out, you two decided to stop breathlessly.

“That was so good. I never expected you to dance!” You nudged her playfully.

“Me either. This is so fun.” Ellie plopped down on the chair, resting her head on it. She felt you sitting beside her, mimicking her position.

The two of you didn’t speak for a second, eyes only trained at the ceiling while still catching your breaths. Ellie took a glance at your flushed face and could swear that you were glowing. For a minute, she debated asking you the one thing she wanted to do ever since.

“Do you wanna go out?”

You craned your neck to look back at her, meeting her green eyes. “To do what?”

Ellie shrugged, effortlessly lying her way through it. “Unwind.”

“Okay.” You stood up, and so did she. And the two of you slowly walked through the door.

Ellie glanced back, meeting two pairs of eyes staring right at her.

It was Dina and Alex, with opposite reactions painted on their faces.

You and Ellie sat on a bench, feeling the wind blowing through your hair, making you slightly shiver.

“Did you have a good time?” Ellie asked, looking at you.

“Yes. More than I ever expected.” You smiled, staring right back at her. “But I do have a question and it’s been bugging me after Dina and I talked.”

“What is it?” Ellie immediately sat straight, the sick feeling starting to rise in her throat again.

“Why did you think I’m straight?”

Ellie stared at you for a second before loudly bursting out in laughter. So hard that she started to clench her hands at her stomach, as she could feel it hurting.

“What’s so funny?” You asked frustratingly.

Ellie stopped, wiping the tears from her eyes before looking at you again who was now pouting. “Well, for starters, you look like one.”

“Oh fuck,” You squeezed your eyes shut while chuckling. “I’m not, though. Just to clear things up. I’m a girl kisser but I never kissed one.”

“Then you’re not a certified one.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yup, you still have to kiss a girl to prove it.” Ellie nods repeatedly.

“Then who’d you suggest, hm?” You looked around, trying to spot someone. “That girl?” You pointed out the one who was arguing with her friend outside the house.

Ellie grimaced. “Nah. Think about someone close to you.”

“Abby?”

“No, Y/n.”

“Oh! Nora!”

“No,” Ellie whined. “Like- like me!” She exclaimed, pointing her fingers at her chest.

Both of your brows rose, shocked at what your friend had said. “Like you, huh?” A small smirk started forming at the corners of your mouth.

Ellie’s freckled cheeks blushed hard, something that she had never experienced for years. She quickly looked away, unable to speak for a minute. “Would you kiss me?” She asked, her voice getting smaller.

Your head whipped to her side, looking at her. She’s still staring at the road in front of you two, refusing to gaze back at you. You lightly bit your lips before answering, “Yeah. I would.”

Caught off guard by your answer, both of your hearts raced at what you’ve said. Ellie felt a subtle change in the atmosphere between the two of you. Your eyes showed a mixture of curiosity and amusement that Ellie could not decipher.

The idea of kissing Ellie has never once crossed your mind. Sure, sometimes you’d think of her before you go to bed or admire her while she’s not looking, but that’s completely normal, right? Right?

Still, at the back of your head, you couldn’t stop thinking what her lips would taste like. Does she kiss gently or roughly? Will she hold your cheeks or your hand? And why does the thought of it make you feel something?

As the two of you sit quietly, Ellie wrestles with a feeling of conflict. She’s supposed to do it – just simply kiss you, walk away like she always does, and then she’ll get the money. She’ll get to prove to everyone that she can get whoever she wants.

And then what will she do after?

Ellie’s heart suddenly turned cold. She could imagine you resent her if you knew that everything was just a mere bet. That your kiss equals to her pride, nothing more. With each passing second, the weight on Ellie’s chest grew heavier, and her breath was rigid as she tried to weigh her decisions before taking action.

Ruin her image, or ruin your friendship?

As Ellie’s mind races with doubts and fears, she feels a hand gently touching her cheek. Ellie’s eyes met yours, and with a fleeting moment, before she could even register what was happening, you kissed her.

Ellie suddenly stood still, eyes widening for a bit before realizing that you were the one who initiated the kiss. At that moment, Ellie felt a surge of warmth roaming around her veins, and before she knew it, she was returning the kiss with so much passion and longing, something that she never knew she could feel with someone.

Your lips were soft, and they seemed to fit Ellie’s perfectly. Her hands were slowly raising your face, cupping both of your cheeks to deepen the kiss.

This was your first time kissing someone, not to mention that it was Ellie — the girl who was in everyone’s wet dreams. And to your surprise, it did shock you that your lips had found a rhythm that perfectly matched with hers.

You slowly broke the kiss, trying to grasp air as it left you breathless. You looked at Ellie, whose expression you could not decipher. You started to panic, thinking that you had overstepped her boundaries.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know why I did that.” You said, shaking your head repeatedly while looking at her.

“No, it’s fine,” Ellie said, holding both of your hands as she sensed how her reaction may have looked from your perspective. But before the two of you can say anything, the loud roaring of a car has caught both of your attention. You two realized that it was coming in front of you as the blinding lights of it were getting nearer.

You held your hands up to your eyes as you were squinting to take a look at the car before it stopped.

“What the fuck?” Ellie cursed under her breath as she saw a familiar figure.

It was Natalie, with a smug smile painted across her face.

“Williams!” She said with a glee expression.

Ellie stood abruptly, irritated by her unwanted presence. You looked up at the two girls before walking beside Ellie, holding her arm with both of your hands. This made the blonde girl, the Golden Lions’ team captain, Natalie, catch her attention.

“Ah, I see. Did you finally do it?” Natalie asked, flashing her teeth.

“Did what?” Ellie asked in a stoic tone, not grasping what she was talking about.

“The bet!” She exclaimed happily, gesturing both of her hands in the air.

Ellie felt herself drowning with a bucket full of ice. Her eyes immediately widened, and her palms grew clammy, while a cold sweat trickled down her forehead. Ellie felt the grip of your hands that were clinging onto her arm were slowly getting lost. She took a glance at your face, a wave of a creeping sense of dread clawing up her throat, making it difficult to swallow as she found you staring at her with a mixture of deep curiosity and anger slowly seeping into your veins.

“What bet?” You asked in a hushed voice.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry.” Natalie scratched her head. “I didn’t know that she hadn’t told you about it.”

“Fuck you, man!” Ellie lunged forward, fisting Ellie’s shirt with her strong grip that the girl almost lost her balance. Ellie’s jaw was clenched, her other hand was shaking with so much anger, and her vision was almost turning red as she struggled to contain her madness.

But Natalie did not waver, instead, she still looked at Ellie with a challenging stare. “Why don’t you tell her?”

Your heart clenched, and a sense of doubt was gnawing at her mind, slowly fully consuming her brain. “Tell me what?”

Ellie did not speak, instead, she kept her eyes trained on Natalie for a minute.

“Ellie, what was she saying? What bet is it?” You walked beside her, pulling her shoulder to make her look at you. This made Ellie drop Natalie.

A heavy weight settled in your chest, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you searched for Ellie’s eyes, but she wasn’t– or couldn’t look at you. A deep sense of shame washed over Ellie’s mind, feeling like her conscience was slowly eating her out fully. Ellie wouldn’t look at you as she was afraid to see your face. She couldn’t bear facing what she had done. She’s afraid that it might hurt her much more than it does to you.

“Ah, since she can’t tell you, I will.” Natalie interrupted, making your head whip at her. “Ellie and her teammates were betting that she could get to kiss you for fifty dollars.” She smirked before looking at you from head to toe. “It must be insulting that you only cost fifty fucking dollars when you look like that.” Natalie walked to Ellie, whispering in her ear. “I want you to remember this day, Williams. You might beat everyone in football, but no one is going to stay with you because you are a heartless fucker.” She said before walking away.

You looked at Ellie, a sense of loss filling your heart, leaving you with nothing. Small tears started streaming down your face, making you somewhat unable to see. You felt as though a sharp dagger had plunged into your chest, leaving you gutted and raw.

“Was that true?” You asked, almost in a whisper.

Ellie bit her lips, her chest feeling tight as if a weight was pressed down on her heart, making her unable to breathe. “I…”

A small sound of notification sound from her phone stopped her from talking. It was a notification from her online bank account. The screen displayed the amount of “50 dollars” with a note:

“Take her to bed, and I’ll double it. ;)))) -A”

You looked at Ellie with bitterness and resentment.

“Listen-”

You shook your head, stepping away from her.

“You are not the person I believed you to be.”

©kjhbsies

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[forest-hashira]

hi everyone! this is my part of the tea party exchange event being held by @pixelcafe-network today! my assigned giftee was @arkhams-siren, so i hope you enjoy this! 💜

wc: 896 | cw: just fluff, first kisses, a little bit of whiny gojo

Dating Gojo Satoru was a rush. He could have anyone he wanted, and countless people clamored for his attention practically every second he was in public. But he’d chosen you, had pursued you, made sure there was no doubt in your mind that you were the one he wanted.

“Just gimme a chance,” he’d nearly pleaded. “Three dates, that’s all I’m asking. If you really don’t wanna do this after that, I won’t push it anymore. I promise.”

And so you’d agreed. The beaming smile he’d given you was more than worth it. Leading up to your first date, though, you were a little uneasy. Not because you didn’t want to go – nothing could’ve been further from the truth, in fact – but because you were sure he’d regret asking you out after just one date; would he realize you weren’t who he thought you were? Would he think you were boring and grow tired of you? Would you do or say something stupid and make a complete fool of yourself in front of him?

All of those worries wound up being pointless, of course. The date was perfect. You laughed together all throughout dinner at the izakaya Satoru had said he wanted to try, and more than once you caught him watching you over his sunglasses with a look that bordered on adoration in those startlingly blue eyes; it made your cheeks burn every time. He insisted on walking you home, wanting to make sure you arrived safely because, “Can’t have anything happening to you before our next date, can we?”

The second date was just as lovely. He took you to an ice cream shop that had some of the strangest flavors you'd ever heard of – things like sweet corn, ginger, pear and blue cheese, wasabi, vanilla and sriracha, even salted butter – alongside flavors you were used to seeing, like chocolate, matcha, and sweet red bean. Somehow you managed to convince him to get the goat cheese and cherry flavor, and you got the chocolate caramel swirl. After one bite of his own he practically begged you to switch with him, and it didn’t take you long to cave. When you tasted the ice cream after swapping cones, Satoru made a face when you said you liked the flavor. “Cheese and ice cream should not mix,” he insisted; you just laughed and took another big bite.

Your third date was a konbini run and then a movie. Satoru focused on finding candies you guys could smuggle into the theater, while you grabbed a few onigiri – You have to eat some real food before you load up on sugar, ‘Toru – to eat on the walk to the theater. Honestly, you weren’t even completely sure what movie you were seeing; it was some action movie you’d heard Satoru gushing with Yuji about a few days before, so when he suggested it, you obviously said yes. It turned out to be more entertaining than you expected, even though you realized after you arrived that it was the third in a franchise; it had you a little confused on a few of the plot points, but the fight scenes were well choreographed, and Satoru’s excitement more than made up for your lack of understanding.

When the movie ended, Satoru pulled out his phone to call Ijichi to give you both a ride, but you made him put it away.

“It’s his day off, and it actually feels alright outside,” you said. “Let’s walk for a bit.”

Eager to spend more time with you, he agreed, and the two of you began to make your way down the sidewalk, roughly in the direction of your apartment. He didn’t hold your hand, but you felt his fingers brush your own with every step, which was almost as nice. 

Just a few minutes later, practically without warning, it started pouring down rain; it had been impossible not to notice the clouds in the sky, but they hadn’t seemed all that threatening. Within just a few seconds, you were soaked to the skin, but rather than getting frustrated, you just laughed.

Satoru looked down at you when you laughed, confused. He was still dry, his infinity protecting him from the downpour, though thankfully nobody else was paying enough attention to notice, too focused on racing indoors to get out of the rain. 

You took his hand, tugging lightly in hopes that he’d drop his infinity. “Dance with me!”

“What’s gotten into you?” he asked, arching a brow behind his sunglasses.

“We’re already out here. Might as well have some fun,” you shrugged, still smiling. 

He was silent for a moment, then laughed, dropping his infinity and letting the rain soak him, too. The two of you laughed and danced down the sidewalk for a bit, splashing in puddles and catching each other before you could slip and get hurt. Eventually, the two of you found an awning to duck under, a little breathless but still grinning.

“So,” he started, giving your hand a nervous squeeze. “Is this our last date?”

You couldn’t help it; you let out a soft huff, rolling your eyes. “You dumbass,” you sighed, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down into a kiss. “What do you think?”

Satoru gave you the biggest, dumbest grin you’d ever seen. “I think we’re going to dinner next week, angel.”

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[midnightquips]

That Old Feeling

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: It's been years since you've seen Bucky Barnes. You didn't plan to see him, but he definitely didn't look surprised to see you. Something's different, though. The looks. The heat. Maybe it's always been there. Maybe... you've just been too blind to see it before.

Themes: AU Thunderbolts, teasing officemates, possessive Bucky, friend's ex, Thunderbolts chaos (a consistent theme), friends-to-lovers, college crush so pining

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex

Author's Note: Because I have been so delayed with this. Here's an entire Chapter drop!!! Also things are progressing. I think I forgot to stress that since this is an AU, Bucky does not have a metal arm. He has a tattoo sleeve instead which kind of fits more here!

💫 That Old Feeling Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 3

Part I – This Isn’t a Date

“It’s not a date.”

You say it for the third time that day. Out loud. To your reflection. To your closet. To your traitorous heart that’s been fluttering since Bucky Barnes texted you I’ll pick you up at 7 unless you chicken out.

And of course as someone who maintains pride, or at least hopes to show a facade of it, you hadn’t answered yet. Your phone buzzes again on the bed behind you. You don’t check it. Not yet.

Instead, you stare down the pile of clothes you’ve dumped across the floor. Three dresses. Two pairs of jeans. One unreasonable jumpsuit you forgot you owned. Everything either screams too casual or trying too hard.

You mutter, “It’s just dinner. Just catching up. Just…” You trail off, picking up a black blouse and holding it against your chest. “God, I hate this.”

Across the room, Yelena’s head pops into frame on your phone. Still on FaceTime. Still watching.

“You’re spiraling,” she announces.

“I’m fine.” You insist

“You’ve tried on five outfits in the last twenty minutes and rejected all of them because, quote, ‘he already saw me make out with him in a wrap dress so now I need to be casual and sexy but also indifferent.’”

You scowl. “I said that in confidence.”

Why do you even bother telling her anything?

“You have no confidence. That’s why I’m here.”

You groan and flop down next to the phone. “Why am I nervous? It’s just Bucky.”

Yelena raises a brow. “You mean the man who’s been in love with you since junior year?”

“He wasn’t in love with me.”

“Oh my God,” she says, deadpan. “You’re delusional.”

“He was dating Claire.”

“Exactly. And still looked at you like you were the main event.”

You ignore her comment and throw a pillow at your phone screen. “I should cancel.”

“You’re not canceling. You’re going. You’re going to put on the soft green dress because it brings out your eyes, you’re going to wear perfume that makes men stupid, and you’re going to eat pasta with a man who wants to worship the ground you walk on.”

You pause. “That was… oddly supportive.”

“I’ve been working on my delivery.”

You laugh despite yourself.

“I don’t want to make it weird,” you murmur.

Yelena softens. “Then don’t. Just enjoy it. Let him be charming. Let yourself flirt. You can overthink tomorrow.”

You nod slowly.

And by 6:50, you’re standing at your front door wearing the short green dress and the perfume that does, in fact, make men stupid.

You’re ready.

Slash that. You are so not ready.

Bucky knocks at 7:02.

You open the door and your brain short-circuits. He’s wearing a button-down shirt and rolled sleeves. He has a clean shave, wearing soft cologne and on his face is a grin that’s way too smug for this hour.

You should be immune to it. Unfortunately, you’re not.

“Hey,” he says, eyes dragging over you slowly, appreciatively. “Damn.”

You blink. “What?”

“You look really…” He trails off. “Are you trying to kill me?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re dramatic.”

“I’m suffering.”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m barely holding it together.”

You snort, grabbing your purse and stepping outside before he starts waxing poetic about your jeans.

He walks you to the passenger door and opens it like a gentleman. You raise a brow.

“Trying to impress me?”

“No. Just trying to make sure you don’t run.”

You settle into the seat. “Still too early to say that won’t happen.”

He takes you to a restaurant tucked between a wine bar and a bookstore. It smells like garlic and truffle oil, has low lighting, real linen napkins, and a menu full of things you can’t pronounce but definitely want to eat.

“Fancy,” you say, sliding into your seat.

“You deserve fancy,” Bucky says, like it’s the easiest truth in the world.

Your stomach flips. You try to play it off by ordering something you’ve never tried and calling him a show-off when he asks for a bottle of red like he knows what he’s doing.

The first half hour is actually… easy. You fall into banter like it’s muscle memory.

He teases you about the time you accidentally burned microwave popcorn in the dorm kitchen and blamed it on Claire. You remind him how he once spilled Gatorade in your laundry basket and acted like it was no big deal until your bras turned neon blue.

“You were such a menace,” you say, laughing.

“You loved it,” he fires back.

You sip your wine to hide your grin. “I tolerated it.”

He leans forward. “You flirted with me all the time.”

“I did not.”

“You called me ‘asswipe’ for an entire semester. That’s a pet name depending on how you view it”

You choke on your drink.

He grins. “I think you liked me more than you admit.”

You shake your head. “I think you’re rewriting history.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. But if I’m right…”

You arch a brow. “You’re not.”

He leans back, sipping his wine, eyes twinkling. “Still not denying you flirted.”

You scowl. “It’s not flirting if I wanted to throw you out a window.”

He murmurs, “You sure you didn’t want to ride me out that window?”

You nearly spit your wine again.

He looks far too pleased with himself.

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“Behave.”

“Can’t. You’re too distracting.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. And somewhere between the bread basket and dessert, you forget why you ever wanted to keep this casual in the first place.

Part II –  You're Not Who I Remember

Bucky has no business being this nervous.

He’s gone on plenty of dates in the last few years. A few were good. Most were forgettable. None of them made his hands shake when he reached for the steering wheel. But tonight? Tonight is different.

You aren’t just some date. You’re you. The same girl who used to glare at him over a shared dorm kitchen table. The same one who always won your arguments because you were meaner and quicker and entirely too fun to lose to. The same girl he used to flirt with just to get a reaction—even when you pretended it didn’t land.

Back then, you never seemed to notice. And maybe that was safer.

But tonight, the way you look at him when you open the door. There’s a sharp once-over followed by a look you tried to hide and it makes his whole chest feel too tight.

He couldn’t even believe you said yes to this night in the first place.

The restaurant is a gamble. Intimate but not over-the-top. Warm lighting. Real candles. Good wine. It’s an ambiance that implies I’m serious but not I’m proposing.

When you slide into the seat across from him, he nearly forgets how to speak.

And then you smirk at the wine list and call him a show-off, and suddenly, it’s like being twenty again. Except this time, he isn’t letting you slip through his fingers.

You talk more than he expects. Not just the surface stuff. You tell him about your job, your ridiculous boss Alexei, how Yelena convinced you to go to therapy and then started showing up with emotional homework like it was a group project.

You laugh. You roll your eyes. You tell stories with your hands and sometimes reached for your wine glass so fast you nearly knock it over.

He wants to kiss you right there at the table.

Not because you look hot—which, fuck, you did—but because being around you was fun. Familiar. Real. Something he’s longed for a while.

You’re still you, but sharper now. Softer in ways he couldn’t have permission to see back then.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until you snap your fingers in front of his face.

“You listening or fantasizing?”

He swallows at being caught, but remains honest. “Both?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile lingers.

The food is incredible. He doesn’t remember half of what he ordered because you keep brushing your knee against his under the table. And to be honest, he initially didn’t think it was intentional. Not at first. But then you shift again, and it stays. It’s a light press. Not demanding but just enough to make him catch his breath. He risks a glance at you.

You don’t look at him. You just keep talking, cool as ever.

He swears under his breath and adjusts in his seat.

“Problem?” you ask, sipping from your glass.

“Nope,” he says, hoarse.

He sees a flicker of a smirk. Liar.

When the check comes, you reach for your purse, but he already has his card out.

“You paid for lunch when we got coffee last month,” he lies.

You raise an eyebrow. “That never happened.”

He shrugs. “Well, now it did.”

You stare at him for a long second, then lean back and say, “You’re trying to get laid.”

He smiles slowly. “Is it working?”

Your expression doesn’t change, but your legs cross under the table, brushing against his again.

He takes that as a maybe.

By the time you walk out together, the night air cools everything but the space between you.

You don’t take his arm. You don’t even touch him. But when he unlocks the car and opens the passenger side, you pause.

“This was fun,” you say.

His pulse skips. “Yeah?”

You look at him then, slower. More direct. “Yeah.”

And just like that, he couldn’t wait to get you home.

Not to get in your pants. Not yet. He just wants to walk you to the door again. Just be near you. Just see what you’d do this time.

And if you kiss him again… Well. He wouldn’t be pulling away first.

Part III – Do You Want to Come Up?

The ride home is mostly quiet. It’s not awkward though. More like the kind of quiet that stretches between two people who’ve said all the right things and are now trying not to think about what comes next.

Bucky drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift. You can’t stop looking at it. The same hand that touched your waist last night. The same one that brushed your thigh under the table tonight.

You’re not thinking about his fingers. Really, you’re not.

“Did you have fun?” he asks, glancing over.

You nod, keeping your voice level. “Yeah. Surprisingly not terrible.”

He chuckles. “Wow. Be still my heart.”

“I mean, you didn’t spill anything or talk about your protein intake, so honestly, exceeded expectations.”

He hums. “You did try to look hot for me. That’s gotta mean something.”

You fight a smile. “You implying I don’t look hot everyday?”

“You could wear a sack and I’d still think you were hot.”

You roll your eyes, amused. “Shut up.”

He grins but doesn’t push it.

When he pulls up in front of your place, he puts the car in park and doesn’t move to open the door right away. You hesitate.

“I’ll walk you,” he says.

“Bucky—”

“It’s not a move. Just manners.”

You arch a brow.

“Okay,” he amends, “it’s like, 70% manners.”

You sigh in defeat and let him follow you to your door.

The elevator ride from your building lobby to your apartment floor is quiet. He stays a step away beside you but it’s close enough that you can feel the weight of his gaze on you.

When you stop at your door, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t leave.

You turn the key halfway before glancing at him. “You good?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

But he still doesn’t leave. You look at him again and he’s just watching you. And for a second, you don’t feel silly or nervous or over-caffeinated with anxiety. You just feel seen.

You clear your throat. “So… thanks for dinner.”

He steps closer. “Any time.”

You should say goodnight. But instead, you find yourself asking, “Do you wanna come up?”

It slips out before you can stop it. It’s soft, uncertain but dangerous.

He stills. “Are you sure?”

You’re not. But also you also are.

You nod. “Just for a little.”

He follows.

Inside, you drop your bag by the door and kick off your shoes. The air is still, thick with everything left unsaid. Bucky hovers in the entryway for half a second, like he’s waiting for permission. Then he moves.

He closes the space between you in two long strides, his boots thudding softly against the hardwood. His hands grip your waist steadily. Before you can blink, you’re spun with startling ease until your back meets the door with a soft thud. Then his mouth crashes into yours.

It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s desperate.

He kisses you once, slow and plush. Then again, firmer. His hand rises, fingers threading through your hair, cradling the back of your neck as his thumb strokes your jaw. The move isn’t just possessive—it’s anchoring. He tilts your head just where he wants it, keeping you there, locked in place as his lips brush yours again and again.

You try to chase the kiss, but he pulls back just enough to smirk. His tattooed hand glides down the curve of your waist with maddening slowness, the intricate ink of his sleeve dark against your skin. He squeezes your hip before traveling higher, over the swell of your breast. He cups you through your dress, thumb brushing deliberately across your nipple. You gasp.

“Been dreaming of this for so long. Feeling you like this.” He whispers.

His mouth finds your neck, hot and open-mouthed, his teeth grazing your pulse as his fingers tease and knead your breast, coaxing it into a tight ache. Then his mouth trails lower. He nudges the neckline of your dress down with his nose, breath ghosting over newly exposed skin, lips trailing the upper curve before closing around your nipple through the fabric.

You moan, arching into him.

He groans in response, sucking lightly through the cloth, tongue circling, the heat of it radiating straight to your core. He switches sides, lavishing equal attention until you’re squirming in his hold.

His free hand finds your thigh, hiking your leg up to wrap around his waist. You feel the hard press of him, straining through his jeans, and your hips grind involuntarily. His teeth scrape again, this time at your collarbone, and you feel the way his breath hitches.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmurs, voice thick, lips brushing against the tender skin just above your breast.

You shake your head, breathless. "Don’t stop. Please."

A growl rumbles in his chest. His hand trails lower, fingers curling around the hem of your dress and pushing it up with purpose. He sinks to his knees, his eyes locked on yours as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear.

You gasp as he slowly drags them down your legs, knuckles brushing your thighs, gaze dark and reverent. He lets them fall to your ankles, and you step out, bare and trembling.

He rises again, mouth crashing into yours, hand gripping your thigh to hike it back up around his waist. He presses you tighter to the door, one hand keeping you open for him, the other sliding between your legs.

You gasp as his fingers find you slick and wanting.

He doesn’t hesitate. Two thick fingers plunge inside you, deep and precise. Your cry catches in his mouth as he captures your lips in another kiss. This one rougher, wetter, urgent.

He kisses you through it, mouth pressed firmly against yours, swallowing every moan and whimper. "That’s it, baby," he groans into your mouth, his breath ragged. "So tight around me. You feel so fucking good."

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on as the rhythm of his hand builds. His thumb strokes your clit in tight, knowing circles, and your hips stutter forward against his palm.

"You gonna come for me like this?" he whispers against your lips, kissing the corner of your mouth, dragging his tongue along the seam as you nod frantically. "Yeah? You gonna fall apart while I fuck you with my fingers, right here against the door?"

You cry out again, the tension winding tighter, the heat coiling deep in your belly. His tattooed arm braces you securely, muscles flexing under the ink as he thrusts harder.

“Bucky—”

He cuts you off with another kiss. “Give it to me, baby. Let me feel it. Let go."

Your orgasm slams into you, fast and ferocious. You moan into his mouth, hips jerking, your whole body trembling as he works you through it, praising you between kisses.

“Goddamn, look at you,” he growls against your lips. “So beautiful when you come.”

He kisses your cheek, then your temple, holding you like something precious.

When your legs finally stop shaking, he helps you steady yourself, thumb brushing sweat-damp hair from your forehead.

You laugh breathlessly, heart pounding. “Okay,” you murmur, “that was not just a little.”

He grins, his mouth swollen, eyes bright with pride. “Guess I need to work on my self-control.”

You pull him in for another kiss but this one slower, but no less intense. Lips glide, teeth scrape. Tongues tangle. It’s messy, greedy, and hungry.

He groans into your mouth, fingers flexing on your waist like he’s still holding back.

When he finally steps away, it’s like tearing something vital. But he cups your face, eyes soft, and presses a kiss to your cheek. It’s more gentle, reverent.

Then he leaves.

And you stand against the door, barefoot, still trembling.

You close it behind him.

And whisper, again:

“Fuck.”

Taglist: @enchantingwitchballoon @emilyswortwellen @tellybearryyyy @kiatjuddae @Luannastylinsonlupin @OtterlyCanadian @winchestert101 @bxtchboy69 @biggestfangirl @luannastylinsonlupin @Sebastians-love @fveapplestall @snhoe @ruexj283 @avengersfan25 @in-omn1a-paratus @avengemepercy @staley83 @starstruckfirecat @otterlycanadian @wickedfun9 @toalltheboyswhowastedmytime @keira-kaz2y5 @highhopes1008

[nataliesmugshot]

Between the Bars | natalie scatorccio x reader

pairing -> natalie scatorccio x reader, college au

summary -> Part THREE of Last Goodbye, damn... also the streak of Jeff Buckley titles has been broken, Elliott Smith title this time :glee: After days of silence, cold sheets, and missed calls, reader lets Natalie back in — hoping her promise to stay means something. But by morning, she’s gone without a word (yikes).

warnings: angst, toxic relationship dynamics, hurt/no comfort, a/n: Part three to my last fic :3, y'all.... idk about this one so, sorry its ass, but anyways be warned, this MIGHT be the final part. enjoy heh

The laundry’s been piling up for days. The clothes she left behind are still sitting in the dryer. You keep meaning to take them out, but somehow it feels like admitting things have changed — like folding them would make it real. She’s not here anymore. She doesn’t want you. 

Not really.

Her voice used to feel like comfort. Now it just feels like punishment.

You press play on the answering machine and hear her say “I love you” like it still means something. Like she still means it.

But you know she doesn’t.

If she did, she wouldn’t have left you here to rot — wouldn’t have let you stew in a house that still smells like her shampoo, with pictures of the two of you still hanging on the walls like you haven’t been left behind. 

For the first time in days, you get up and go to the fridge.

The light flickers on, harsh and sterile, and that’s when it hits you — you haven’t bought groceries since she left.

Mostly-empty takeout boxes and half-used condiment bottles clutter the shelves.

There’s an unopened bottle of mustard near the back.

You hated mustard.

Natalie used to call it “the perfect condiment,” swearing it made everything better — eggs, fries, even grilled cheese.

You’d pretend to gag every time just to make her laugh.

Now it just sits there.

Untouched.

 A monument to something stupid and perfect and gone.

You grab the only clean mug from the drying rack and make yourself some tea — not because you want it, but because you’re cold. Because you’re always cold now.

You clutch the ceramic between your hands, letting it burn your hands, letting you feel something that isn't her absence. 

When the phone rings, your first thought is that it might be her again. One of the quiet calls. The ones where she never said anything — just listened, like that was enough.

You stopped asking who it was after the third or fourth time. You always knew.

The phone rings again.

Once.

Twice.

You don’t think — you run.

Down the hallway, socked feet sliding on the floor. You nearly trip over yourself reaching the table, grabbing the receiver like it’s a lifeline. Your hand trembles as you pick up the receiver.

“Hello?”

A pause.

Then a voice that isn’t hers — chipper, indifferent.

“Hi, this is a reminder that your payment is past due—”

You hang up.

Hard.

The silence after is unbearable. Louder than the message. Louder than the dial tone. Louder than anything.

You stare at the wall for a long time. Mug still in your hand. Tea sloshing quietly. You set the mug on your nightstand and curl into yourself.

The spot — her spot — the one you’ve been sleeping in since she left, doesn’t smell like her anymore.

Doesn’t feel like her, either.

Just cold sheets and the shape of someone who isn’t coming back.

The phone rings again.

You don’t move at first. You just stare at it from the bed, curled into yourself, tea gone cold on the nightstand. You’re too tired to hope. Too tired to hurt all over again.

You let it ring.

Then, just as the machine picks up, you hear it:

“Hey, I—”

You bolt upright. Your hand fumbles with the receiver, nearly knocking the whole thing off the table.

You can hear wind on the other end. A car passing. Her uneven breath. She’s drunk — slurring just enough to soften the edges.

“Hello?” you ask quietly, interrupting her.

“Hey, uh— I’m on your street. Can—could I come over?”

Your heart jolts.

Of course she’s here. Of course she’s doing this.

“What, come over so you can sleep with me and leave in the morning? Don’t you have a boyfriend now?”

You don’t mean for it to come out so bitter. But it does.

Another pause. You hear her swallow.

“No,” she says, a little too fast. “No, I just— I wanna see you. I… I miss you.”

Silence again.

“I won’t leave,” she adds. Softer. Almost gentle. “I swear. I just wanna be close to you again. Please baby.”

And that’s what does it.

Not the words, but the way she says them. Like she’s fragile. Like you’re the only thing keeping her from breaking open in the street.

And you want to believe her.

You always do.

“Um— yeah. Yeah okay. Door’s unlocked.”

You hang up before she can say anything else.

You leave the door cracked open and sit on the edge of the bed, heartbeat loud in your throat. You don’t even touch the tea. It’s cold now anyway.

A few minutes pass. You start to wonder if maybe she changed her mind.

Then—

The door creaks.

Soft footsteps.

Then she’s standing in the bedroom doorway like something out of a dream you promised yourself not to have anymore.

Her hair’s windblown. Eyes glassy. Cheeks flushed in that way you used to kiss without thinking. She’s wearing your old hoodie — the one you thought she took by accident. Maybe it wasn’t an accident at all.

“Hey,” she says, like she didn’t tear you in half the last time.

You nod. You don’t trust your voice.

She steps closer, slow, like approaching something wounded.

And when she touches you — hand brushing your knee — it’s gentle. Like she thinks you might break. Like she already knows she did.

She crawls into bed beside you like she never stopped knowing how. Her arms wrap around your waist, forehead pressed to your shoulder.

You turn to face her — too fast, too eager, too desperate to pretend you’re not already unraveling.

She’s so close.

So warm.

You whisper her name like a question.

She answers with a kiss.

It’s soft. Slow. The kind of kiss that pretends it means something. The kind that tastes like everything you used to be and everything you’re still trying to heal over.

You kiss her back like maybe it’ll fix something.

Like maybe if you give her enough, she’ll stay.

She pulls you on top of her.

And you let her.

She pulls you in like she never stopped, like she’s been thinking about this the entire time you’ve been apart. Like she never left.

Her hands are familiar. So is the way she breathes your name — soft, wrecked, reverent.

And for a moment, you almost believe it means something.

She kisses you like she’s trying to forget.

Clothes come off in the dark, slow and clumsy and quiet. Not rushed — not this time. It’s softer than it should be, gentler than you expect. She holds you like she’s still yours.

And you pretend that’s true.

When it’s over, she stays close. Fingers trailing lazy patterns across your skin. Her breath warm against your neck. Like this is safety. Like this is home.

You close your eyes and try not to cry.

Because you want to believe her.

Even when you already know better.

You wake slowly, blinking against the soft gray light bleeding in through the blinds. Your body aches — the kind that feels like closeness and regret.

You reach for her without thinking.

Your hand brushes cool sheets.

You tell yourself she might be in the kitchen.

Maybe making coffee.

Or out on the fire escape, smoking like she used to when she couldn’t sleep.

You sit up, the blanket pooling around your waist, and listen.

No clink of mugs.

No hiss of the kettle.

No familiar creak of the window hinge.

Just silence.

You call out softly:

“Nat?”

No answer.

Your heart stutters, but you stand anyway. Move through the apartment barefoot, like if you don’t turn on any lights, it won’t feel as empty.

The kitchen’s still. The counters untouched. The kettle cold.

You check the fire escape.

She’s not there either.

Not even the faintest trace of a cigarette.

You move back to the bedroom on autopilot, already knowing, already feeling it in the hollow of your chest — but needing to see it anyway. And there it is, the bed.

Half-made. 

Her side empty and cold.

Again.

No warning.

Just her scent on your pillow, fading fast.

Just your own arms, wrapped tight around yourself like that’ll hold everything in.

Last night replays in your head — her hands, her voice, the way she said “I won't leave” like she meant it, like she wanted to try and fix things.

But she did.

She always does.

And this time, it hurts worse than before — because you let her do it.

You let her in.

You believed her.

You let her touch you like it meant something.

And she left anyway.

You sit there for a moment too long. 

Still. 

Numb. 

Like if you don’t move, maybe this won’t be real.

But it is.

And then it hits.

Not slowly — not gently.

All at once.

Your chest caves in like something inside you gave up. A broken sob tears its way out before you even realize you’ve opened your mouth.

And then another.

And another.

You double over, hands clutching the sheets she slept in — the same ones she abandoned — and cry like you’re trying to force her out of your body.

It’s not soft.

It’s not cinematic.

It’s ugly. It’s heaving. It’s raw.

Your throat burns. Your stomach aches. You gasp between sobs like you just can’t get enough air, like the weight of her absence is crushing your lungs.

You cry until your voice is hoarse, until your fists ache from clenching the sheets, until your body goes limp with exhaustion.

And when the silence finally returns — thick, suffocating — it feels like it’s swallowing you whole.

Because she’s not coming back.