#(well not a prompt but gotta slide this into that tag anyways)

[hotluncheddie]

🍓

its basically September oh shit oh shit! so i gotta post my @thefreakandthehair summer fic challenge!

prompt: picking berries | cw: weed | rated: G | part 1/2(?) | tags: domesticity, fluff & steve is pining

-

eddies shirt had ridden up. but, like, just a little. up so his side was exposed, bandages finally removed and skin finally healing. 

steve let his eyes slide to the joint in his hand, watched as it raised itself to his lips so he could inhale. he shifts his head more comfortably against the couch cushion. stretches his legs out so they could slide under the coffee table. his eyes slide back over to eddies side. 

‘your skin kinda looks like bread.’ steve says. ‘or like, dough but with, jam maybe? like there’s for sure berry tones there, along with the, like, the skin.’ 

‘literally what the fuck are you doing in my house right now steve?’ 

steve tracks his eyes up eddies arm, past his hands holding the book on his chest and up to his mouth. eddies lips are quirked up at the corners. eddies mouth looks good like that.. always looks good. 

shit. robin said he needed to stop looking at eddies mouth so much 

shit. eddie asked him a question. 

‘uhhh… keeping you company?’ steve tries. 

eddies mouth slides into a grin. his eyes stay glued to the page but steve swears he can see them sparkle. he feels the sparkle on his cheeks, as if eddie had touched them. sometimes just looking his way steve feels it. he himself covered in sparkle, in the starlight eddie fills his chest with, exposed onto his skin. 

‘well. ok. valid.’ eddie signs dramatically and drops the book so he can look right at steve. ‘make me a pb&j?’ fluttering his eyelashes to sweeten the request. 

little does eddie know just how sweet steve is on him already. 

‘sure’ steve stands up way too quick. taking a second to stare at the carpet real hard. come to terms with the new surrounding that came with the ground being under his feet instead of his ass. 

he shuffles over the worn carpet, purposefully not lifting his feet up to feel the friction on his toes through his socks. he shuffles back over to eddie after reaching the carpet precipice. sneaking a wiggly finger down to poke eddie’s shoulder and zap him with all the carpet static he just collected. 

‘Ow! Fucker!’ eddie laughs, wriggling around on the sofa so he’s on his belly and looking up at steve. steve giggles. 

‘you’re like a worm. worm munson.’ steve giggles again and starts walking backwards towards the kitchen. 

‘stop being weird high. you know how much i like being weird high and i’m not allowed to smoke yet.’ steve hears eddie whine as he starts getting the peanut butter and bread out of the cupboards. but steve can hear the laughter still bracketing eddie’s words. 

he smiles and keeps making their sandwiches. ‘i’m not that high anyway dude. i’m just.. comfortable.’ steve turns to open the fridge and glance back at eddie again. 

eddies been watching him over the arm of the sofa, grin still wild and silly and steve can’t look away. but maybe he is a bit more high than he said because his arm keeps opening the fridge until it smacks him in the chest. 

eddie snorts, finally wiggling back down on the sofa. letting the spell break so steve can look at what he’s actually trying to do. 

his collide with the fridge knocked a couple magnets and a photo off onto the floor. steve dips to put them back and doubles back over with giggles. 

‘god what the fuck? is this you munson?’ steve holds the photo right up to his nose. it’s of eddie as a kid, looking real weird. he’s all zonked out with red smooshed on his hands and face. (think)

‘yeah, ha! wayne had a strawberry hookup from the plant. used to be fucking obsessed with them as a kid. ate them till i felt sick most summers, especially if we got to actually go picking berries. oof. good fucking times.’ eddie says to the ceiling. 

‘strawberry’s huh?’ steve asks as he slides the photo back under the magnet. tapping the corner once before opening the fridge to get out the jam and two sodas. 

‘i’m a sweet guy harrington what can i say?’ steve hears eddie say more softly than they’ve been speaking previously. the fluffy top of his head just visible over the top of the armrest. 

steve smiles while finishing up the sandwiches. feeling sunshine warm he tucks strawberries away on the shelf in him mind labeled ‘eddie munson xoxo’. 

‘sit up sit up. civilised citizens only get to hold the paper plate of harrington pbnj’ steve says, just about getting everything safely to the couch. 

eddie snickers and curls his knees up under his chin, taking the paper plate and a huge bite. 

steve flops down next to him, squishing into the cushions to get comfy and humming at eddie’s choice of movie for them to watch. 

‘Oh fuck.’ steve moans around his bite of sandwich. high pbnj? aces. 

‘sweet and salty just like you’ eddie says under his breath and steve smiles again, taking a sip of soda and a mental note of how the tv light plays across eddie’s pale skin. 

part 2

[gingersnaaps]

sandman

to be taken by sleep really isn't such a bad thing - not when osamu's the one waiting in your dreams.

wc: 3.2k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, dubcon, creampie, breeding mentions, penetration, fingering, sex dreams, sleep paralysis, incubus!osamu vibes, vaguely supernatural, you fall asleep forever at the end, fem!reader with inner genitals

a/n: written for @ultimate-astridwriting's wonderful collab and inspired by my recent stint of sleep deprivation also i feel like i may have strayed a bit from the prompt but oh well

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

You can’t recall when Miya Osamu first started appearing in your dreams.

It was a subtle thing at first: the features of strangers, normally blurred beyond recognition, melded into his half-lidded eyes and soft smile, and you’d catch glimpses of his face in the reflection of windows and out of the corner of your eye. You didn’t think too much of it. You’d read an article somewhere that mentioned how faces in one’s dreams came from the interactions in our real lives, and with how much you’d been frequenting his onigiri shop, you suppose that his appearances were to be expected.

Still felt a little strange for you to be having a dream so intimate, though.

You’re lying on top of his broad chest, one arm on your waist, the other resting gently on your thigh. His thumb rubs tender circles into your skin, stroking softly as you rise and fall with the movement of his chest.

“‘Miya?” you ask tentatively. “How did I end up here?”

He chuckles. It’s a deep, rich, sound, one that reminds you of rivers running steady and full moons in the countryside, the vibrations passing from his body to yours. When he speaks, his voice is low and a little quiet, but with his lips grazing your ear, you don’t miss a single word.

“Call me Osamu.”

The familiarity leaves your face slightly flushed, embarrassment tingling across your skin. He shifts you around in his arms, tilting your body so that you meet his warm, inviting, gaze. The hand on your thigh seems to burn red-hot, and you wonder if he can hear the heartbeat pulsing just inches away from his fingertips.

He smiles softly at you. “You’re a beautiful girl.”

Your heart seizes, malfunctions, pounds erratically-

You wake up in the dark, damp sheets clinging to your skin, heart skipping like a schoolgirl and drunk off the compliment from your dream.

There’s a bad ache in between your legs. You trail a hand down your front, fingers sliding into your pajama shorts to quell your want.

-

Dusk is falling across Tokyo when you head to Miya’s - no, Osamu’s - onigiri shop. Twilight makes giants of the pedestrians, stretches out the shadows that loom tall in the soft gray-orange of the setting sun, the darkened shapes scurrying through the city’s rush hour.

Unlike them, you’re not going home.

A busy schedule meant little time for home-cooked meals, and the food here really was excellent. When you push open the door to his shop, the jangle of a bell sounds somewhere above you, and Osamu barely looks up before a smile settles on his face.

“The usual, I suppose,” he says, beckoning you inside.

You nod gratefully. The atmosphere of the shop is comforting - there’s just a few customers trickling through, picking up their to-go order that he’s prepared. You pick a seat near the window, one that gives you an unobstructed view of the sunset outside.

The chatter dies down as the last customers leave the shop, their onigiri clutched in hand, and a peaceful silence descends on the space around you. He brings out your food just a few minutes later, setting the dish in front of you.

“As requested by my favorite customer,” he says, a wry grin on his face. “Glad to have you back tonight.”

Your stomach flutters at the closeness between the two of you, and you suddenly feel embarrassed - ashamed of how much you’d been thinking about him, of the dreams you’d been having, of the way his touch had left you wanting for more in those same dreams - but it’s a good kind of embarrassed, one that leaves excitement bubbling in your core.

It feels a bit like a crush.

“Couldn’t miss out on the food, could I?” you reply.

“So you’re only here for my onigiri.”

“I- no, of course not."

“Just teasing.”

He smiles crookedly, and for just a moment, there’s a knowing glint that flashes in his eyes - the kind of expression that makes it seem like he’s aware of more than he’s letting on - but it vanishes almost immediately, passing too quickly for you to be sure of anything.

He turns to go back inside the kitchen, lifting up a hand casually to wave goodbye. “See you soon.”

-

Upon your arrival home, the first thing you notice is how very tired you are.

It’s not too out of the ordinary - it was a Monday afternoon, after all, and that had always been your least favorite day of the week - but the minute you crash onto the couch, your eyelids seem to droop with sleep, limbs growing heavy as the room around you swirls into a half-conscious haze.

You’ve still got chores to take care of. There’s dishes from the morning to wash, laundry to fold and put away, a few work emails to respond to that were probably very important, but you just can’t seem to stave off the overwhelming fatigue that seeps through your veins and numbs your entire body.

You need to sleep.

So you let it happen. You let your eyes flutter shut, let yourself relax and melt into the soft cushions of the couch, let your mind go nice and blank and empty.

After you give up the struggle of staying awake, the dreams come quickly.

“Glad to have you back so soon.”

The warm, quiet, voice from yesterday rumbles somewhere above you. You’re laying on his chest again, ear pressed to the soft fabric of his faded black shirt. You make a small, confused, noise, but he just laughs, gently brushing aside your hair, a hand trailing down your body and creeping closer to your inner thigh.

His touch feels electric. Every brush of his fingertips against your thigh, feather-light and teasing, leaves you with your heartbeat thudding in your cunt.

“We’ve gotta get you ready,” he murmurs. “Prep you well enough so that you’ll feel good when the time is right.”

You clench around nothing at his words, and maybe he can feel it with his hand so dangerously close to your pussy, because he smiles lazily and asks, “Are you that desperate?”

You’re not sure whether you should deny it - he can probably tell you are, anyway, but the thought of nodding, of saying yes, ‘Samu, want it so fucking bad - it leaves you with your cheeks flushed hot with shame.

He doesn’t need your explicit confirmation to read the way your body twitches against his, though, and he moves his hand lower to cup around your pussy. His palm is warm, the pressure steady and constant as he holds his hand still against your throbbing cunt. You can’t help but squirm against him, sloppily grinding your clit against his waiting hand, bucking your hips back and forth for any friction you can get. You’re panting, breaths quick and shallow as you feel the drag of the cotton panties in between his skin and yours, and a lewd moan tumbles from your lips. “Touch me,” you mumble, voice thick with arousal.

You look so pretty down there, hair mussed and mouth open slack in a perfect o, getting off all by yourself - he should give you a hand, shouldn’t he?

He nudges your damp panties aside, the thin fabric creasing the fat of your pussy as he brings a thumb up to your clit. His ministrations start slow, circling your clit patiently while you writhe from the pleasure, just barely dipping his index finger into your hole, his long, dextrous fingers skilled and patient as he works to search out the sensitive spots that leave you gasping and delirious.

“I want you dripping,” he says softly, sliding his finger inside all the way to the base of his knuckle. “Want you spread out on my hand, soaking me through, wet enough for me to fuck you full.”

You shudder with anticipation at his words, hips wriggling and rutting against his stiffening cock as his finger drags along the ridges of your g-spot. Every movement of his is accompanied by an embarrassingly audible squelching noise, your cunt already swollen and hot with arousal, your slick running in a cool trail down the crease of your thigh.

He flicks his thumb against your clit, this time more harshly. “ ‘m gonna fill you up so good when you’re ready,” he whispers. “Fuck you until your pussy milks my cock dry.”

Your eyelids flutter, a rush of pleasure crashing down on you as he pops another finger inside. Your hand fists at his shirt weakly, grabbing and pawing at the fabric as he curls his fingers just right inside you.

“You’re gonna feel so fucking good, sweetheart.”

You wake up from your dream as an orgasm ripples through your body, eyes flying wide open as you squirm and thrash on the couch. The pleasure coiling tight inside your core unwinds, pulsing in your cunt as you moan.

The room is dark and empty.

You rub the sleep from your eyes, vision bleary as you reach for your phone - it reads 7:00 AM. You’ve slept for almost twelve hours.

As you get up, swinging your legs off the couch and righting yourself, you notice one intense, overwhelming, feeling that roots you to the couch and leaves your limbs limp and loose:

You still feel so tired.

-

The rest of the week seems to pass by in a blur. You’re so exhausted you can barely think straight, stumbling from your office to your home - and sometimes to Osamu’s onigiri shop - going about your life half-dazed and barely conscious.

The only respite you get is in sleep.

Your dreams have gotten particularly intense as of late, head clouding full of visions where you’re fucked in every position: shoved up against the wall, facedown in the mattress, and even hoisted up on the counter. Through it all, there’s one constant.

Miya Osamu features in every single one of them.

You know his voice by heart now, a low, quiet, rumble that both soothes you and sets your cunt thrumming with anticipation. His silver-gray hair, his round, half-lidded eyes, the softness and the warmth of his body - they’re as familiar to you as your own features by now. You’re pretty sure you’ve even memorized the feeling of his cock buried deep inside you.

In every dream, he whispers the most tantalizing promises in your ear, breathing promises of how he’s gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart, gonna fill you up, gonna breed this pretty pussy until you’re carrying my seed inside you.

And even though you never wake up well rested anymore, you find that you don’t particularly mind. After all, there’s not much you look forward to in your waking hours. Every grating hour you spend working your stupid little job, or attending your lengthy, useless, lectures - it all feels like you’re just going through the motions, like you’re just trying to make it through so that night falls sooner and he can finally come visit you.

The week comes and goes, and soon enough, it’s already Friday.

You stumble in through the front door, a yawn itching at your throat, and you head straight for your bedroom. You pass by the ever-growing stack of dirty dishes in the sink, the stack of bills on the countertop, the laundry you’ve left in the drying machine. You’ll get to it next week.

For now, you just want to sleep.

The bedroom is gloomy and dim, grey light from an overcast twilight filtering through the blinds. The room feels stuffy in the dark, the four walls suffocating the small space, but you don’t bother with turning on the lights. Why would you, when you plan on heading straight to sleep?

You undress clumsily, almost tripping as you pull off your pants and shrug off your blouse, and stagger into the soft, warm, embrace of your bed.

A warm burst of comfort surges through you as the familiar feeling of drowsiness overtakes you. Your eyelids grow heavy, lashes fluttering slightly, the thump of your heart slowing - you’re right on the precipice between the conscious and the unconscious, straddling the border between sleep and waking -

You hear a voice sound from shadowy recesses of your room.

It’s a voice you’d recognize anywhere.

“I missed you at my shop today.”

You open your mouth to respond, but no noise comes out. It’s as if your vocal cords have been plucked from your throat, your voice frozen somewhere deep inside your trachea, and the only sound you can make is that of silence. A bit belatedly, you realize that you can’t move either, your limbs settling uselessly at your side as you lie paralyzed on your back.

A head of gleaming, silver, hair emerges in front of you, and your breath catches in your throat. You’re not sure if this is a dream anymore.

You blink once, and suddenly, you find him in your bed. He’s hovering above you, arms pressed to either side of your head, gazing down with a hungry, hungry, expression. He’s waited all week for this, sweetheart - won’t you finally indulge him?

He pulls the comforter aside, large hands gliding over your body and hoisting up your hips. You feel like a ragdoll in his hands, limp and immobile, and he rearranges your limbs and positions you until he gains easy access to your ready, waiting, cunt - the same cunt that he’s been preparing all week.

He drags a finger through your slick folds, already wet and sticky from the ministrations of the previous few days. There’s no need to bother with prep. He can already feel the way your cunt pulses at his touch, can see the need etched into the gleam of your eyes even as the expression on the rest of your face remains frozen.

His hand glides over his clothed cock, strained and throbbing with need as he pulls it out and strokes slowly, eyes fixated on your body the entire time. His dick is big, flushed almost purple as cream beads at the tip, balls fat and full and heavy.

Osamu’s had enough of waiting.

With a groan, he pops his cockhead into your drooling, twitching, hole, pushing in steady, thrusting all the way into your tightening cunt until he hits your cervix.

“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, face scrunched with pleasure. “So tight it feels like you’re trying to milk me dry.”

He rolls his hips slowly, dragging his cock along the front of your walls, the ridge of a vein pressing right into your sweet spot. Your legs twitch uselessly as he pulls halfway out before slamming his cock back in.

“I wonder if you’d like that,” he muses. He brings a thumb to rest at your puffy, swollen, clit, pressing down in steady circles, his touch unrelenting and firm, sending spasms of pleasure that leave you clenching and gripping down onto his thick cock.

“I think you would. I think you’d love it if I filled you up, if I fucked you full of cum and bred this tight little hole,” he says, the barest hint of an amused smile tugging at his lips. His voice is calm and steady - a striking contrast to his filthy words, his brazen promises.

His slow, steady, strokes quicken, hips slamming roughly into yours, each thrust satiating the want in your cunt. Your walls pulse as if they need to be filled, squelching lewdly as he fucks you hard and deep.

He leans down. His lips hover millimeters away from your forehead, just barely grazing your skin with tender, light, kisses. “Take it,” he whispers, thumb rubbing harshly at your clit. “Take it like a good girl for me. I know you can.”

The kisses he presses to your forehead start to travel down the underside of your jaw, soft little nips and bites with his blunt teeth that leaves a trail of his glossy spit on your face. His mouth finds your ear.

“When I cum, you better not waste a single drop,” he breathes. “Wanna fill you up, make you mine. I want to own this pussy.”

He brings his hand down to pat your stomach where your womb would be, rubbing the soft surface of your skin in tender circles. His balls are aching so badly - he needs to cum, needs that release, needs to stuff your messy cunt.

“Cum with me,” he urges. “Right now.”

The pleasure pulsing inside you draws taught - snaps - and you’re pushed over the edge. If you were still capable of speaking and moving, you’re sure you’d be moaning loudly, hips twitching uselessly as he creams your pussy over and over. He fucks you through your orgasm, spent cock softening inside you as you squeeze his dick. After all, he doesn’t want any of it to leak. He wants it sloshing around in your hole, filling you up until you’re warm and wet and sticky, wants to breed you, to mark you down as his.

You look beautiful with your insides stained white, he thinks.

You can feel your cunt twitching slightly as you come down from your high. He smiles warmly, gives your pussy a little pat -

You blink and he’s gone.

Almost as if he was never there in the first place.

Sleep takes you quickly after that. You’re exhausted from being fucked, exhausted from the constant stimulation, and you quickly fall fast asleep. All is silent and still in your darkened bedroom.

-

The next day, right as the sun starts to drop over the horizon, glinting stars nestled in the sky high above, you find yourself back in front of Osamu’s onigiri shop.

It’s partly due to the hunger gnawing in your stomach, but it’s more out of curiosity than anything. You need to know if it’s real, if he’s real, if the past two weeks were nothing but a fever dream.

And you really want to see him again.

As you push open the door to his shop, you’re greeted with his friendly smile, as usual.

“Same thing again?” he asks.

“Of course.”

The exhaustion hasn’t gone anywhere. You’re still constantly tired, always drifting off during the daytime, limbs weary and worn. When you sit yourself down at the usual spot - the table near the window - that irresistible fatigue seems to creep up on you again.

It’s so calm and comforting in his little shop. The lights are warm, the view is pretty, the quiet chatter of his few customers soothing to your ears. It’s so easy to rest your head in between your hands, shoulders slumping, mind empty of every little unimportant thought, so easy to just close your eyes, so easy to fall into the rose-tinted haze of your nice, pleasurable, dreams.

Osamu comes out of the kitchen in the back of the shop, carrying your food on a plate, and finds you fast asleep with your head on his table.

He’s not surprised. In fact, he’s quite pleased.

In fact, if he has his way, you’ll never have to wake up again.

tyvm for reading!! i really appreciate reblogs and comments - it's part of what motivates me to keep making content :)

here's my masterlist if you'd like more.

[indestructibleheart]

I was tagged by @lilythesilly to post a snippet of a WIP. 

I’m still working (very slowly) to get back on track after a long, long spell of writer’s block. However, I’m quietly poking at something prompted by @landofsonlali, so I’ll share a little bit of that.

Prompt: fresh off a “breakup�� with his fuckbuddy, stevie, david goes to a bar to drink his sorrows away. there, he meets rachel klein: a fellow dumpee who has just split with her fiancé, patrick. as they drink together, david complains about attending his parents’ anniversary party alone in a few weeks, while rachel laments the fact that she’ll be attending a wedding without a date in about a month. naturally, they decide the perfect solution to their problems is to enter into a fake relationship.  both avid fans of romcoms, they make sure to establish several ground rules, the most important of which is: don’t fall in love. but they both find themselves breaking this simple rule in an unexpected way when they meet each other’s exes.

“I’ll have another one of these, please, when you have a chance.”

David waves at his glass with one finger, watching as the bartender nods in his direction. Said bartender — a bearded man who goes by Mutt — takes a moment with the group a few stools down before heading back to David’s side of the bar. He’s holed up in the back, alone, which has been the perfect spot to watch people come and go over the last hour or two. That’s how he knows the bartender’s name, actually. Several people David has since profiled as regulars have addressed him that way. So, that’s either his real name or a very well-known nickname (and, for his sake, David is hoping it’s the latter).

Anyway, Mutt reaches across the bar to take his glass, and David gives him a forced, polite smile.

“Is it business or personal?” the bearded man asks, reaching for the top-shelf whiskey David has been drinking all night.

David blinks. “Hm?”

“The reason you’re drinking alone in the corner of my bar,” Mutt clarifies. He sets David’s glass back down on the coaster in front of him. “In my experience, there are only a few reasons: your job sucks, you lost your job, or you’re having relationship problems. So. Business or personal?”

“Mm, it’s… personal,” David replies, “I guess.”

Mutt nods. “Bad breakup?”

And David can’t help it; he winces.

Because it’s not a breakup.

To qualify as a breakup, a relationship needs to be a relationship, and what he and Stevie had was not a relationship. Well, it wasn’t — isn’t — that kind of relationship, anyway. Because, like, they’re friends. They’re friends who’d happened to fuck around and who’d mutually decided to stop fucking around before they’d literally fucked their friendship out of existence. That is not a breakup; it’s a simple decision made by two, mature adult people. That’s all.

Still, he replies: “Something like that.”

David isn’t even upset about the not-breakup, for the record. 

Is he drinking alone at a bar in Hell’s Kitchen? Yes. But it’s not because of Stevie. 

Well, it kind of is because of Stevie, but it’s not because of their decision. It’s because, today, she told him that she wouldn’t be coming as his date to his parents’ big anniversary party, even though she’d agreed to come as his date before they’d started hooking up. So, now, he’s gotta show up to the ballroom dateless, while his sister totes her latest toy and he’s stuck looking like a fashionable spinster without any cats. It’s just tragic.

And he might be a little drunk about it. 

But, hell, at least he’s not as intoxicated as the redhead who slides onto the barstool beside him with enough force to nearly knock into David’s lap. She’s overdressed for this particular establishment — a bar David had deliberately chosen to avoid his ‘friends’ — which tells him it’s probably not her first stop. There’s that, and also the fact that she’s already cheerfully drunk. Still, her smile is radiant (if even a little lopsided).

“Excuse me,” she says to the bartender, slurring only slightly. “I will take a large vodka cranberry, please.”

“A large, huh?” Mutt gives her a long look, like he’s sussing her out. Apparently, he decides she’s not too drunk because he asks, “You mean a double?”

“Mmhm,” the redhead hums immediately, nodding. “Yes. A double. That’s what I meant.”

As Mutt turns to his selection of liquors, David looks at her with a raised brow.

 “Celebrating?” he asks.

“Mm, nope,” she replies. “My friends took me out to help me forget that my fiancé dumped me.” There’s a pause, and she giggles. “Guess it didn’t work.”

He cringes. “And your friends are… where?”

The woman beams. “Oh, they think I went home.” She holds her index finger to her lips in a ‘shh’ gesture. “I only pretended to go upstairs.” Then, as if in explanation, she adds, “I live just, like, a block over.”

“I see,” he says, hiding a smile as the bartender slides a glass her way and she chirps a ‘thank you, sir.’

After taking a long sip, she extends her hand over towards David. “I’m Rachel,” she says.

“David.” He feels his cheek dimple as he briefly shakes her hand.

“And what brings you to this fine establishment alone, David?”

He purses his lips. “Who says I’m alone?”

“Um,”—she looks around—“My eyes?”

Fuck. She’s got him there. Once again, he finds himself trying not to smile.

“Well, if you must know,” he says, sipping from his glass. “I guess I’m going through a… conscious uncoupling… myself.”

She raises a brow. “So a breakup.”

“We weren’t really together in the first place?” he corrects, voice lilting. “It’s complicated.”

At that, Rachel nods. “Isn’t it always?”

David can’t argue with that, so he simply lifts his glass and takes a long sip. If they’re going to continue this conversation, he has some catching up to do.

“Actually, it’s usually not, for me,” he admits. “I tend to avoid complicated… attachments.”

Rachel smiles. “But she was different.”

“She was — is — my friend,” he explains. “Like, probably my only real one. That’s why we… y’know.”

David refuses to call it a breakup. (It’s not a breakup.)

His new drinking companion nods, though. “To preserve the friendship.”

“Exactly!” He throws his hands out in front of him. “You get it.”

“I think I do,” Rachel replies. “My fiancé was my best friend. Since we were six. We were on and off for, like, literal years… and I think we’d be better off if we’d done that years ago. Just. Decided to be friends. We only broke up because he realized,”—Suddenly, she cut herself off—“I shouldn’t say. It’s personal. But.”

Suddenly, David feels even more secure in his and Stevie’s decision. He doesn’t think they would’ve gotten as far as Rachel and her fiancé did, but still. He can’t imagine sitting down to mourn both their friendship and a relationship — especially since she really is his only real friend.

“Anyway!” Rachel says, holding up her drink. “To… new friends.”

David snorts, but he lifts his glass to tap it with hers.

[mimi-cee-hq]

Laundry Days - Aran x f!reader

Summary: Three times you picked up his underwear and one time you missed doing it.

Genres, other tags: fluff, slice of life, humour, meet cute, domestic fluff, not suggestive lol, married under 25, neighbours to married lovers ;)

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: manga spoiler

This is for @neoheros & @coophi's 2021 Summer Haikyuu!! Writing contest. (Okay I'm pretty shy at first so it feels a little scary to tag you two but here's my piece.) I was going for the married under 25 prompt but ended up doing neighbours to lovers too. :D

Don't mind me spreading the underrated characters agenda as well. lol.

*****

A few articles of clothing spilled out of the dryer and onto your feet. Oops. Your neighbour must have forgotten them. You should've checked first.

Your own damp clothes sat inside the washing machine next to it, waiting for their turn to enter the dryer. It wasn't possible now.

You sighed, retrieving the phone from your pocket and scrolling until you saw the name of the neighbour who lived a floor below you.

Ojiro Aran.

You were sure this was the right person after a second look at your texting history. Who'd bring the garbage to the curb, where the lawnmower was kept, and keeping the duplex's stairway clear were some of the conversations you had with him.

You had yet to meet the guy, but he seemed amicable enough.

After shooting him a text, you thought to give him a call instead. Perhaps he'd think a phone call was strange. However, your clothes were damp and you shouldn't leave them for long. Was he even home?

You sighed. Crouched down, you returned the clothes on the floor back into the machine. A scarf, several socks, and a knit hat made their way back inside. But what was this?

Underwear. Men's underwear.

You scrunched your nose as you lifted it from the cold, tile floor. Was that a hole in it?

Click.

"Sorry I just saw your text!" a tall, dark-skinned man blurted out as soon as the door was unlocked.

"Oh! It's alright! I only texted you a few minutes ago!" you quickly explained, waving your hands in front of you.

You shouldn't have done that. The underwear was hanging from your hand.

"Ummm…" Aran scratched his cheek, eyes retreating from you.

"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry!" you spat out, tossing the incriminating object to him. "It just fell out of the dryer when I opened it so I went to pick it up!"

Once in his hands, he recognized it as the one with the seam coming undone. "I… umm… should probably have thrown this one out."

"Umm… yeah… you probably should." Those words slipped off your tongue before you could catch them.

"I- I guess I'll go now," Aran said hastily.

He shut the door.

You let out a breath. That was awkward. Heat continued to linger in your body and you weren't sure who was more embarrassed by the encounter.

Wait. His clothes were still in the dryer. Did you dare ask him back?

The door slowly creaked open and Aran peeked his head into the room.

"I forgot something, didn't I?" Aran sheepishly asked.

"Yeah." The corners of your mouth lifted into a smile. "Yeah, you did."

"I'm Aran by the way."

"Y/n."

You never thought this would be how you'd meet your future husband.

*****

The office chair in your apartment was a comfortable spot for folding clothes. The webcam caught your face as you chatted with Aran whose image filled the monitor.

You smiled. Your husband was winding down after a long day with the team and decided to check up on you.

"I'm alright," you told Aran. "I miss you though."

"I literally just saw you yesterday!" he said. "I miss you too."

After that fateful yet awkward encounter with him in that laundry room two years ago, you had run into each other more frequently at the front doors of your duplex. Your classes ended at similar times four out of your five school days. You were surprised he even started a conversation with you. You wouldn't have been able to bear the embarrassment. Fast forward to a confession, a kiss and a rock-embedded ring, and you got a small, snowy wedding during winter break.

It was back to the books for you now, and you dreaded it. Chores seemed much better, easier. Plus doing them for your newly-wedded husband? You got giddy about that.

You quirked your brow, lifting a familiar piece of clothing from the basket.

"Hey, I thought you threw this one out," you mentioned to Aran, dangling his underwear in front of the camera.

"I did! That's, uh, probably a different one."

"Just how old are these?"

"Hey! Wait a moment! Are you folding clothes?"

You avoided the eyes on the screen. "Maybe."

"You have your paper due in a few days! I told you I was going to do it after flying back home."

"I know…"

Aran's eyes narrowed at you, a trademark expression of his. "You're procrastinating again, aren't you?" His tone implied disapproval.

"But I'm still being productive!"

"Y/n…"

"Okay, okay. I'll stop." Your foot pushed the basket away, sliding it across the floor. Maybe you could fold them after you hung up.

Aran must have read your mind. "Show me what the laundry bin looks like."

You groaned. He saw right through you. Complying, you removed the clipped webcam off the monitor and directed it at the pile of unfolded clothes.

"It better be like that when I get home."

"Alright," you said with a pout.

"Love you."

"Love you too."

Must he stop you from doing chores? They were a simple reminder you were married to him, as if the gold on your finger wasn't enough to show you.

You were his wife.

A smile snuck into your lips whenever that thought crossed your mind. The honeymoon phase was a peculiar, strange, lovely stage.

Yet it was fleeting.

*****

You groaned as you stood in the middle of the bathroom. Aran's white track pants hung off the counter, the red t-shirt he got for free from first year college laid on top, and of course his underwear, which likely went through hundreds of washes, remained on the floor.

Great.

You rubbed your temples, your headache getting worse by the minute. It was Saturday morning, and Aran, who was nowhere to be seen, had left his mess behind.

I'll clean it up later, he would tell you. You knew his mother had spoiled him, always picking up after him. You understood why he was like this, but why couldn't he just start doing it now?

"Do you have this problem?" you asked your friend through your wireless headset.

"What problem?" she asked.

"Does your husband always leave laundry around on the floor?" You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Aran never picks up after himself."

She laughed. You weren't sure if it was because you were a young, amateur wife or if she understood all too well.

Knowing her, probably a bit of both.

"Okay two things."

You listened.

"One, don't say always or never. That's lying."

"I'm not lying," you snapped back at her. You began to regret asking her.

"Are you sure he never picks it up and always leaves it on the floor?"

You left no comment.

"Exactly."

"Okay fine, but that still doesn't solve the problem. If only he just did it, it would solve everything–"

"Number two," she interrupted.

You groaned at her and she gave an amused snort in return.

"If you weren't picking up his underwear, it means he's dead."

You were aghast.

"You know I'm right."

Still aghast.

"What? No husband, no mess."

"I can't believe I asked you for advice."

"But it's true."

"Ugh," was all you could utter. She had several years more of marriage experience than you, yet you didn't want to acknowledge it.

You hung up the phone after you finished deciding today's outing with her, but you hadn't addressed the issue in front of you. Your head throbbed again.

Sighing, you picked up the underwear.

A few minutes later, the front door opened and you dipped your head into the hallway. Aran shuffled grocery bags through the door and into the kitchen. He yawned, placing the milk, eggs, and other items into the fridge.

A familiar coffee brand peeked out of a bag on the floor. Right. You didn't have your coffee yet because there wasn't any left.

You wrapped your arms around Aran and relaxed against his broad back.

"I can't put the food away like this," he said with a chuckle.

"You left your clothes in the bathroom again."

"Oh shoot!" He dropped a bag and started towards the bathroom but you tightened your grip on him.

"I put them away already," you told him. His body relaxed and he caressed your arm around his waist.

The honeymoon phase was a fleeting phase, novel tasks turned mundane, but your love for him grew deeper still.

*****

Aran was away again, this time at Tokyo in preparation for the Olympics. He eagerly called you during breaks, wishing to see his favourite person – although your hands were full as well.

"I miss you," he told you, his smile displayed on the screen.

"And I miss picking up your underwear," you told him with a smirk.

Like clockwork, he narrowed his eyes at you with a comeback. "Why don't you say you miss me like a normal person?"

"Because I'm your wife. I'm special," you told him as he rolled his eyes. "I wish I could be there though."

"You wouldn't be able to spend that much time with me anyway," he said. "Besides, one of us needs to stay home."

"I know." You smiled.

"I gotta go," he said as Atsumu yelled in the background. Aran blew a kiss at you.

You snorted. How cheesy. You returned the kiss anyway.

Hearing a mischievous squeal behind you, you told him, "I gotta go too."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

After you hung up, you turned around and sighed. A soggy wet diaper sagged on the floor and the little guy jumping in the crib giggled at you as if he did the funniest thing in the world.

You rolled your eyes and smiled before picking up the diaper.

"Alright kid. Let's put a diaper back on you and wash your sheets."

*****

I hope you liked it. This is a little different from what I usually write but I hope you still enjoyed it!

I blame Aran's current concern for giving me this idea along with the person who suggested I write Aran fluff. (As well as the seasoned wife I know who told her husband, "If I wasn't picking up your underwear, it means you're dead." lolll.)

I hope you stick around my blog to check out my other works! My current work in progress is a fake dating Suna series. I can't believe we're on chapter 10!

If anyone is interested, I have a Google form for my taglist.

[snelbz]

Life As We Know It {Chapter 19}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. Occasional surprise chapters could be posted at miscellaneous times. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara’s blogs! >> @tacmc.​

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

A/N: Well, we promised a chapter today, so we decided to follow through on that. Even if we did post a surprise chapter last night. Oh, well. Enjoy! 🙃✨

Cassian sighed as he opened his eyes.

Another year older, another year wiser.

Well.

Another year older, anyway.

He blinked as he looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 7:58. Two minutes before his alarm would have gone off.

He hated when that happened, when his mind woke him up just before his alarm went off. There was no time to go back to sleep, it was perfect sleeping time wasted.

It was bullshit.

With a yawn, Cassian swung his legs over the side of his bed and got up. He stumbled to his dresser and pulled on a pair of sweatpants, just in time for his alarm to go off.

“Fuck you,” he muttered, quickly turning it off before flinging open his bedroom door.

It smelled delicious.

He meandered down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Nesta was icing a giant cake.

Her eyes darted to his.

He blinked.

“Get out!” she ordered.

“What the hell are you-.”

“Out!” she ordered, yet again.

Nyx babbled something at the top of his lungs that closely resembled, YEAH!

He did as he was told, blearily blinking as he stumbled back into the living room. He dragged a hand down his face. “Can I at least have some coffee?”

“In a minute!” She called and he heard quick footsteps, followed by the back door opening and closing. It opened again and she said, breathlessly, “Okay. You can come in now.”

Tentatively, Cassian rounded the corner and he found Nesta placing a platter of cinnamon rolls on the counter in place of the—

“Where did the cake go?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

Nesta was lifting a cinnamon roll onto each of the plates in front of her, cutting the one for Nyx into tiny bites for him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He blinked again, half-wondering if he’d imagined the decorated monstrosity he’d seen on the counter, but he sniffed, smelling the air again.

It mostly smelled like the sweet and spicy scent of cinnamon, but—

No, that was definitely cake he smelled.

“Right…” he said, pulling forks out of the silverware drawer and setting one next to each plate. “You’re up early.”

“Had a lot to do before renovations start this morning. I’m meeting Helion and the contractor at the restaurant at nine.” She sipped her own coffee, not looking at him. Mixing truth and lies, it seemed, since he knew she was meeting the contractor this morning. As for a lot to do, he knew everything at the restaurant was already taken care of. She cleared her throat. “I wasn’t expecting you to be up so early either.”

Cutting into the gooey cinnamon roll, he said, “I gotta be at the bar in an hour. I’m talking with Kallias this morning before my shift starts.”

She set her coffee down and finally looked at him. “You have to work today?”

“Yeah,” he replied, popping the bite of pastry into his mouth. He resisted the urge to moan. “It’s Tuesday. I always work on Tuesdays.”

She hesitated, deciding whether she should speak or not. “But it’s your birthday.”

He couldn’t stop his smirk. He knew there had been a cake.

“And who told you that?” He asked, leaning over to wipe Nyx’s face off. The poor kid had icing all over his face, all the way up into his hair.

“That’s not important,” she said.

“Elain, then,” Cassian went on with a grin.

Nesta pretended like she hadn’t heard him and took a giant bite of her cinnamon roll.

“I’ll take Nyx with me to the bar,” Cassian said. “Viviane texted. She has the stomach flu.”

Nesta cringed. “That sucks. I...wait - you’re taking a baby to a bar?”

Cassian shrugged. “He’ll be fine. I only have to stay until two or so.”

“A baby,” she repeated, blinking. “To a bar.”

“You prefer to take him into a construction zone?” Cassian asked. “One that you’re in charge of? That sounds stressful.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “I can ask Elain to watch-.”

“I’m taking him with me and he’ll be fine,” Cassian said, shaking his head. “I promise.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. And he held up both hands. “I promise,” he repeated.

“Fine. But call me if you need to and I’ll come get him,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I’ll be in my office most of the day, so it’s not like he’ll be running around in a construction zone.”

“And I’ll take the carrier and physically wear him all day, so it’s not like he’ll be running around the actual bar.”

Nesta groaned. “Fine. Fine. But take the pack-n-play, his monitor and toys. He can entertain himself well enough.”

“Okay,” Cassian nodded, finishing off his cinnamon roll. He pulled Nyx out of his high chair, who was now playing with and wearing most of his food, rather than eating it, and said, “I’ll give him a bath while you get ready.”

“Okay.” He was nearly in the living room when he heard, “Cass?” He turned and looked back at her, still not completely used to the familiar nickname from her. She was blushing slightly. “Happy birthday.”

Smiling, he said, “Thanks,” and turned to head up the stairs.

Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all.

*

“Any birthday plans?”

“You’re looking at it.”

Kallias chuckled as he observed Cassian, a wiggly baby strapped to his chest, counting the liquor bottles that lined the wall.

“How old are you anyway?” he continued, wiping down the bartop. “Thirty? Thirty-one?”

“You wound me,” Cassian muttered, scribbling a number down on his clipboard, not bothering to tell Kallias just how close to thirty he was getting to.

“I would say we should do shots to celebrate your big day,” Kallias began, taking Nyx’s outstretched hand. “But, I think your little housewife would disapprove.”

Cassian snorted. “If Nesta Archeron ever heard you call her such a thing, you’d lose a very important body part.”

“Not interested in that, thank you very much,” he muttered. “She ever gonna stop in, so I can see this terrifying woman you’ve told me about?”

“About that…” Cassian pulled Nyx out of the carrier and carried him into the back office, setting him down in the play pen. Grabbing the baby monitor, he made his way back into the front room.

Kallias looked up from where he was cutting limes at the bar. “About what?”

He leaned a hip on the bar and crossed his arms over his chest. “Nesta is going to be expanding the restaurant, adding a bar. That’s actually where she is right now, why I’ve got the kiddo with me. Didn’t really want him in a construction site.”

“Hot nanny couldn’t keep him?” Kallias asked, grinning.

Cassian rolled his eyes. “No, she’s sick. But, uh-.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m gonna be leaving and going over there, managing for her.”

Kallias eyes widened. “Oh. Shit.”

“Yeah. And I’d like you to come over there with me. Be my assistant manager at the new place.”

Kallias stopped cutting, mid-lime. “You do realize we are two out of five people that work here, right?”

Cassian nodded, slowly. “Yeah, I do. And I also know we can hire more people here.”

Kallias looked back down at his half-cut lime. “Assistant manager, huh?”

“It’s in a great part of town, we’d get amazing tips on top of already being paid more,” Cassian said. “It’s an amazing opportunity.”

“So I’d be stupid to say no, then?” Kallias asked, continuing to cut his limes.

“Incredibly stupid,” Cassian agreed.

Nyx’s happy babbling came through on the baby monitor.

“I’ll think about it,” Kallias said, at last.

“Think about it, then tell me yes, because I’m not going there without you,” Cassian said.

Kallias snorted. “You’re a shitty liar. You’re going, whether I go or not.”

“And why wouldn’t you come with me?” Cassian asked, facing his friend. He and Kallias had worked together for years, since Kallias came in at twenty-one, during his senior year of college. “You want to be stuck in this dive bar forever? I know you. You’re a creature of habit. If I leave you here, you’ll be here for the next twenty years.”

Kallias didn’t bother telling him it wasn’t true. He just shook his head. “I guess we better start interviewing people, then.”

*

The day did not go as planned. Cassian had to stay and help out until nearly five-thirty, and by the time Cassian walked in the front door, Nyx was knocked out cold in his car seat. He gently set it down and unbuckled him, carrying him into the kitchen. It smelled divine, like roasting herbs and cooked veggies, even if he couldn’t see anything radiating the delicious smells.

Nesta was also nowhere in sight, so he took Nyx up to his nursery and laid him down, setting the baby monitor back up where it usually sat. He slipped the screen in his back pocket and made his way back downstairs, hurrying out to his truck to get Nyx’s diaper bag and the folded up playpen.

As he was setting it back up in the living room, he heard the sliding glass door open and close and made sure he was making enough noise to alert Nesta of his presence.

“You’re home,” she said, leaning on the doorway. “Nyx asleep?”

“Out like a light,” he said, tossing the few toys he’d brought with him back into the pen. “He had fun though.”

“Good. Dinner is almost done,” she smiled. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” he sighed and took another deep breath in. “It smells amazing.”

Turning, Nesta walked back into the kitchen. “Steak, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted carrots and green beans, and homemade rolls.”

He watched as she took the carrots and green beans out of the oven and placed them next to a plate of steak she must have just brought in from the grill.

Cassian’s mouth was damn near watering.

He looked at the spread as she spooned the mashed potatoes onto his plate. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Nesta tensed, then something like nervous laughter sputtered out of her mouth. “Well, I had to cook red meat for you on your birthday.”

“Does that mean you’ll be having yourself a steak, Archeron?” he asked, taking the full plate from her outstretched hands.

She gave him an amused look. “Hell no. You get both. I have a chicken kabob on the grill.”

Cassian licked his lips as he took his plate to the table. “Consider me a lucky man. Thank you.”

“Of course,” she said, clearing her throat. She piled her plate high with potatoes and veggies before going onto the deck and coming back with a grilled chicken kabob on her plate. She sat across from him. Cassian’s mouth was already full.

“How is it?” Nesta asked, cutting up a carrot before popping it into her mouth.

“Delicious,” Cassian said, mouth full. “So good.”

“If you don’t slow down, you won’t be able to enjoy the flavor,” Nesta said, knowing full well that he wouldn’t listen. Cassian practically inhaled everything on his plate within minutes.

He moaned, stretching back in his chair before running a hand through his hair. “I must say, Nes, you really outdid yourself.”

“Well, it was the least I could do after you worked and were on baby duty all day,” she said, popping a few green beans in her mouth.

They talked about their days as she finished eating. He told her about Kallias’ agreement to move to the restaurant, she told him about the beginning of construction.

They’d kept half the restaurant open, putting up a temporary wall to keep as much noise and dust out as they could, but the sooner the build was done the better. They both agreed on that.

“So, despite your switch with the cinnamon rolls this morning,” Cassian said from where he sat as she rinsed off their plates, “I’m fairly sure I saw a cake when I came downstairs.”

“Really now,” she said, and he saw the small smile on her face.

“Mhmm,” he nodded. “And, you know, I like cake.”

“And why, exactly, would I make you a cake?” She crooned, that little smile remaining.

“Because I’m the world's best roommate and uncle, obviously,” he said.

Nesta laughed as she stood. “Yeah, whatever.”

After exiting through the back door, she returned a moment later with a big, homemade cake.

It was exquisite.

Perfectly decorated and topped with vanilla and buttercream frosting, it read Happy birthday, Cassian!

As Nesta placed it on the countertop, Cassian asked, “Nesta, when the hell did you find time to make this?”

She shrugged. “Stayed up later and got up early. Didn’t have to be too early since you decided to sleep in today, but…” Her words trailed off. “I figured it was the least I could do.”

His mouth tightened, emotion he wasn’t expecting hitting him and he cleared his throat. “You gonna sing to me?” He asked, cracking a joke to break the tension that was slowly growing.

Nesta threw her head back and laughed. “Absolutely not.”

Cassian bit back his retort and the monitor in his back pocket went off, crying coming from upstairs.

“I’ll get him,” she said, standing up. “I’m sure he’s hungry. Will you cut up green beans and carrots for him?”

He nodded, the cake forgotten as he did what he was told, and Nesta returned with a bleary-eyed Nyx a few minutes later.

“Hi buddy,” Cassian said, chuckling at Nyx’s hazy expression. He was already sitting at the table with a plate of cut up food.

The second Nyx saw the display, he was whining and reaching for it.

“Slow down, you need to be buckled into your seat first,” Nesta said, shaking her head.

“I can’t blame him,” Cassian said, as Nyx was strapped into his high chair. “I’m starving when I wake up, too.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Men.”

The second Nyx’s diapered butt hit the seat, he was stuffing his mouth.

“I guess we should wait for him to eat the cake,” Cassian said, looking longingly at the cake.

Nesta chuckled. “No patience?”

“When it comes to homemade baked goods?” Cassian scoffed. “No.”

She snorted, which had Cassian raising an eyebrow. She looked at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, shaking his head. “That was just…cute.”

Nesta didn’t reply, but he swore she could see her cheeks heating as she turned to put the leftovers from dinner away.

Once Nyx’s plate was cleared, Nesta cut three slices of cake. One was barely a sliver, one was mostly icing and one was damn near a quarter of the cake. She took the one with extra frosting for herself, placing the small one in front of Nyx and the larger one in front of Cassian.

Again, Nyx wasted no time scarfing it down. Cassian didn’t either, helping himself to another, much smaller piece afterwards, but not touching it yet.

“You sure you don’t want to sing to me?” He asked, taking a bite of the cake. “It would complete my day.”

Nyx, an impending sugar crash, was already dozing again. Apparently, his day with Uncle Cassian had well and truly worn him out.

She rolled her eyes and wiped the excess cake off of Nyx’s face. Pulling him out of his high chair, she said, “No, I think I’m good.”

“I’m just saying,” Cassian pushed. “If you wanted to really wish me a happy birthday, a song would do.”

Nesta snorted, taking Nyx in her arms and swaying, back and forth. “You’ve never heard me sing.”

“If your singing is as good as your cooking, it must be amazing,” Cassian promised.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Have I told you that you’re full of shit?”

Cassian pretended to debate it. “Maybe once or twice.”

Nesta chuckled, and said no more about it. “Finish your cake, Nazari. This little monster is ready for bed. I’ll put him down. It’s your birthday.”

It wasn’t that putting Nyx to bed was exhausting. Although sometimes it could be a chore, Cassian nodded and took another bite of his cake as Nesta and Nyx disappeared.

In their absence, Cassian cleared his plate.

The cake was delicious.

He knew Nesta was an amazing cook, but didn’t know that her baking skills were just as good. It was the best cake he had ever eaten. He was even considering getting himself a third piece, but decided against it as she rounded the corner back into the kitchen.

She sighed, falling into her chair. “That may have been record time to get him down. He was practically asleep before I’d even pulled the curtains shut.”

“He had a big day,” Cassian said, eyeing the piece of cake on her plate that she hadn’t even touched. “Taught him how to make a mojito. He’s a pro. Maybe we should hire him on at the bar.”

Shaking her head, Nesta cut into her cake and took a bite. She chuckled. “I’m sure that doesn’t violate any labor laws.”

“Nah, we’re his guardians,” Cassian said, waving a hand. “We can certainly get some free labor out of him.”

She rolled her eyes. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re kidding or not.” She took another bite of cake, and Cassian’s eyes dipped to her mouth. He was quiet for long enough that she asked, “What?”

He hesitated but said, “You’ve got a little—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, instead he leaned forward across the small space between them and swiped the frosting that was on the corner of her lips away with his thumb.

Nesta didn’t move.

She didn’t push him away, didn’t tell him to stop touching her, either.

Cassian’s thumb lingered against her lips, and when she looked up, he was already watching her, quietly.

She opened her mouth to say something.

What? She wasn’t sure.

But, when her lips moved, Cassian’s did, too.

He kissed her, softly, slowly, and Nesta melted right into it.

[whumperooni]

Just the two of us

Natsuo Todoroki x Reader

Tags/Warnings: unprotected sex, dubcon, ditzy!virgin!Reader, creampies, manipulation, pseudo incest, big brother/little sister kink, natsuo being a perv

Word count: 7.7k

This was written in response to an anon! It...well, it spiraled out of control so I’m putting this in an actual post. Thank you so much nonny for sending me such a good thirst/prompt!

Reader-chan is aged up!!!!!

It’s not often that Natsuo gets the house to himself. He has a big family- there’s usually someone around to keep him company. Today, though, it’s empty and he’s the only Todoroki on the estate. Fuyumi’s grading papers at a friend’s house. Shoto is training with Deku. Enji is off doing god knows what- Natsuo doesn’t particularly care where his father is. So it’s just him for now. And it’s nice. He’s taken advantage of the solitude and claimed the living room as his own. He’s spread his textbooks and notes all over the floor and brought in a bunch of snacks from the kitchen- some beer and chips and some celery that Fuyumi must have cut up at some point. The tv’s on, but the volume is low so he can concentrate on his work and he’s brought his pillows from his room to make it extra comfy. It’s nice. It’s relaxed. It’s some peace and quiet that Natsuo didn’t realize he needed until he actually received it. Small blessings, he thinks as he munches on some chips and scrawls notes out on a rough draft of an essay. His solitude is only interrupted when the doorbell chimes. Natsuo’s brow raises at the noise and he tilts his head back to look toward the hallway, lets out a soft huff. He doesn’t know who could be visiting- everyone else is still out and about- and he doesn’t remember any of his friends asking to stop by. Maybe it’s a delivery? It’s not that late yet. A hum leaves Natsuo and he stands from he’s been kicked back, wipes his hands on the sides of his sweatpants. He pulls on a discarded hoodie as he goes to answer the door and tugs it on with a yawn right as the bell goes off again. The impatience is a little annoying, but Natsuo manages to keep a frown from his face when he opens the door. Not that it would stay for very long anyway- when he slides the door open he’s greeted by someone that always manages to wipe away his frustration. You smile at him- a finger twirling a lock of your hair- and Natsuo’s heart stops for a moment at the sweet way you chirp out, “Natsuo-nii!” in greeting. Crap, it’s you- sweet, cute, bumbling and adorable you. Shoto’s friend and Natsuo’s shameful lust- a walking, talking fantasy that already has Natsuo swallowing and his self-control slipping. He’s had a thing for you ever since Shoto brought you home for a group study session with some of his other classmates. He’s had a thing for you ever since you started coming over without the other third year UA students accompanying you. He’s had a thing for you ever since you first called him Natsuo-nii in that saccharine voice of yours. You’re his type through and through- cute and clueless and oh so innocent. It’s mean of him to think, but he’s not sure how an airhead like you got into UA- he’s not really even sure how you were the one that managed to claim Shoto’s friendship. It doesn’t matter, really, because you’re here smiling all honey-sweet at him and he’s all too aware that Shoto isn’t- that, for now, the two of you are all alone just like he’s guiltily imagined so many times over these past few months. Natsuo wets his lips and takes a deep breath, offers a smile right back at you. “What’s up?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe. “Are you looking for Shoto? He’s not here.” You blink and he watches as confusion spreads across your pretty face, as your brows furrow and your lips set into a tiny pout. “He’s not? But he told me that he would be home after training…” Your voice comes out bewildered and cute and Natsuo watches you through his lashes as you dig your phone out of your purse and start to scroll through it. “He’s still training,” Natsuo tells you, eyeing the way your head tilts as you frown at your phone. Temptation pricks at him and Natsuo has to guiltily shove it back before he can give into any bad ideas. “At least, I think he is. I don’t know when he was planning to finish.” “Eh??? But we were gonna watch a movie together,” you pout- voice tilting with a whine that should be more annoying than endearing. Natsuo kind of likes it, the way your voice pitches with your dissatisfaction, and he can’t help wondering how your whines would sound under different circumstances. Like a dream, probably. Natsuo offers you another smile- this one a little apologetic- and he rubs the back of his neck, watches as your hips shift to the side and cause your short skirt to flutter across your thighs. God, he wants to run his hand up them. “Sorry,” Natsuo apologizes to you. “You know how he gets when he’s training- he’s probably gotten caught up in it.” Your lips quirk in disappointment and he watches you sigh- arms folding across your chest and your demeanor wilting as fast as a daisy in a desert. He thinks to say something to you- what he doesn’t know- but then you perk up in an instant and flash him one of your so easily summoned smiles. “It’s not your fault,” you tell him sweetly. “I can wait for him to get back! Oh, if that’s okay, of course. Can I wait for him here, Natsuo-nii? Is that alright?” The temptation he had pushed away comes back with a vengeance and Natsuo has to swallow when several bad ideas flash through his mind. Of course you would ask if you could stay in that adorable voice of yours. Of course you would call him Natsuo-nii and flutter your lashes without thought. Clueless girl- don’t you know how weak he is? Don’t you know the danger of being alone with a grown man with impure impulses? Fuck, he needs to keep it together. He needs to behave. “Natsuo-nii?” Natsuo blinks and he clears his throat, smiles down at you while you look up at him with curious eyes. “Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh. “Yeah, of course you can wait here.” What else is he supposed to say, he reasons. It’s not like he can be rude and deny you, turn you away. Natsuo is a nice guy and he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, rebuff someone important to his little brother- that would be a terrible thing to do. He can’t just be impolite. ...right? You light up in an instant at his agreement- beaming up at him and letting out a pleased little noise before beginning to kick off your shoes. Natsuo watches you, knowing deep down that he’s being a fool, and tells himself that he needs to keep it together. He doesn’t think Shoto would appreciate him trying to get handsy with you. (God, he wants to, though) When your shoes are off, Natsuo steps into the hallway and beckons you inside before closing the door and isolating the two of you from the rest of the world. “I was just studying in the living room,” he tells you. “No one else is home so feel free to do what you want.” Your head tilts with surprise- you’ve never been here with only one Todoroki in the house- and Natsuo watches as you hum and rock on your heels. “Can I hang out with you?” you ask, smiling up at him. “It would be weird wanderin’ around by myself.” That’s true. No one would feel comfortable like that, probably. So there’s nothing wrong with Natsuo agreeing to it- nothing sleazy about that at all, definitely not. It’s not wrong when you were the one to suggest it. ...right? Natsuo blinks and he sweeps his gaze over you, takes in your short skirt and candy-sweet smile. He nods and ignores the faint guilt that flits through him as he smiles back at you. “Yeah, of course. C’mon.” Another pleased noise from you and Natsuo has to turn away before his shame and satisfaction can take over his face. His heart pounds a little as he heads back to the living room- your light footsteps following close behind- and Natsuo immediately grabs his beer and downs the rest of it as soon as he plops back down onto the tatami mat. You take the couch and that’s a relief- a disappointment too. ...it’s probably for the best. Natsuo watches as you get comfortable on the couch- a pillow tucked and hugged underneath your chin and your knee high clad legs lazily kicking and stirring in the air as you pull out your phone. Your shirt has rucked up a little from where you’ve scootched to get more comfortable and there’s just a sliver of lace peeking over the waistband of your too short skirt. Natsuo looks away and pulls a pillow over his lap to hide the way he’s beginning to tent his sweatpants. Pervert, he scolds himself. You’re an absolute pervert. (Even with the self-admonishing, though, he’s still so keenly aware of how it’s just you and him in the house, how adoringly you look up to him, and how easy it would be to get you riding his fingers, squirming and mewling underneath him.) Natsuo swallows hard and he reaches for his drink, takes a deep, annoyed breath when he remembers that, oh yeah, he had just smashed the rest of it. He needs another one. “Hey, do you want anything to drink?” he asks. “I gotta grab something from the kitchen.” You blink at him, head tilting, and then you smile sweetly, nod as your dimples flash his way. “Yes, please,” you tell him so very politely. “Just some water.” Natsuo nods and he gathers up his trash, stands up and heads toward the kitchen. He can’t help throwing a look your way as he passes by the couch and it almost KO’s him when he gets a look at cotton white panties peeking between parted thighs. Natsuo swallows hard and he walks to the kitchen stiffly. Think about something else, he tells himself firmly. Think about Fuyumi in her robe and face masks. Think about Shoto coming home covered in slime after a villain attack. Think about dad. Natsuo’s cock wilts as he imagines his family and he leans against the counter, breathes out a huge sigh of relief. Something’s going to end up happening if someone doesn’t come home soon. (He wants something to happen so bad. You probably wouldn’t mind- you’re such a sweet little ditz and he knows he could make you bliss out with pleasure. You’d like it- little darlings like you always end up loving being on your knees, getting your warm holes bred and your mouth filled with big fingers, hard cocks.) Natsuo sighs and he adjusts himself before grabbing another beer, a bottle of water for you. When he steps back in the living room, Natsuo finds you kneeling on the floor and peeking at his notes- face confused but curious as you skim over them. It’s a little cute and it’s an opportunity to get close- something more innocent than his other urges that he can’t help giving into. Natsuo sits down right beside you- thigh brushing against yours- and smiles at you when you look his way, offers you the water you had requested. “Here,” he tells you. He gets a hummed “thank you” in response and he watches through his lashes as you take a sip of water, traces the movement of your throat with his gaze as you swallow it down. He wants to follow that movement with his mouth, trail his tongue up that soft flesh and make you whimper and cling to him. He wants to do so much. “Natsuo-nii, you’re so smart, you know- I can’t understand half of what your notes say!” Of course charming, simple you can’t understand his notes. It’s adorable that you try, though. Natsuo smiles at the compliment, ego shamefully stroked, and he rubs the back of his neck whenever you smile back. “Thanks,” he says with a little laugh. “But it’s hard for me too- all that jargon makes my brain turn to mush after a while.” You nod sympathetically and Natsuo has to bite his tongue so he doesn’t breathe in sharp whenever your hand reaches out and pats his knee. “You should take a break when that happens,” you advise, voice and face solemn. It’s funny to see you serious, like you’re telling him something that he doesn’t already know- like a little kid instructing their older brother on basic things everyone else already has a grasp on. “Mmm, yeah,” Natsuo agrees, still smiling. Your hand hasn’t moved from his knee; he wants to drag it up higher. “I probably should.” You nod again, face still solemn, and Natsuo wets his lips as an idea pushes past the weak hold he has on his self-control. ...there’s nothing wrong with watching a movie together, he reasons. It’s just a movie- that’s it. It’s completely innocent. You’ve watched movies with her before- this isn’t any different. (Except that the two of you are all alone and movies with two people wrapped up in solitude tend to lead to more salacious activities.) Natsuo licks his lips and he offers you an easy grin, sinks further into temptation. “I could use a break actually,” he tells you. “You wanna watch something with me?” Your eyes light up and crinkle as you smile- enthusiasm radiating from you like an easily pleased child. He almost kisses you then, but he holds back and reaches for the remote instead. “Here,” he offers, “pick something out.” A happy little noise leaves you and that has Natsuo fond, smiling. He moves to get more comfortable and leans his back against the couch, watches as you flip through the channels with a concentrated look on your cute, cute face. An idea strikes him when he sees you squirming to get more comfortable- a bad idea that he absolutely should not give into. An idea that he absolutely gives into. It wouldn’t be that bad, he tells himself. She’s so physical anyways- it’s not like she hasn’t done that before and it’s not like you’re going to actually do anything. Natsuo watches you and then he reaches out, pulls you back without warning to rest between his legs- your back to his chest and his thighs bracketing your body. You tilt your head back to look at him- wide eyed and surprised- and Natsuo just shrugs, grabs a blanket to drape over his shoulders. “This is more comfortable,” he explains as if that can dismiss any of the improper closeness. “And I’m cold.” A lie, but you take it with a smile and a giggle. There’s a noise of something like contentment that leaves you and Natsuo breathes in deep when you wiggle closer against him, when you let out a happy sigh. “Sho-chan never wants to cuddle,” you complain as you snuggle in close. “This is nice.” Hell yeah it is. Natsuo hums and he hesitates for only a moment before chancing wrapping his arms around your waist. The smile you flash up at him gets Natsuo dangerously close to grabbing your chin and kissing you breathless, but he’s able to clumsily grasp his slipping self-control and only gives you a smile in return. Soon enough, you find an old movie to watch and your focus goes to that. Vampires and magic capture your attention fully, but Natsuo ignores it to focus on you instead- soft, pretty, cute you snuggled up against him and radiating nothing but warmth and trust. With you so close he can smell your perfume- a scent of vanilla and peaches that makes his mouth water, a scent that further cements your innocence in his eyes and just makes him want to bury his face in the crook of your neck, breathe you in and kiss along your throat until all you can do is moan. Natsuo holds you a little tighter without even realizing and he buries his face in your hair, closes his eyes. He only becomes aware of the action when you let out a curious noise and he has to hold back a groan, mentally scold himself for giving into all his desires without even pretending to put on a fight for the illusion of morality. What’s the point of trying to pretend he’s better than this, though? He’s already gotten off to you before. He’s jerked himself to the thought of you on your knees and your pretty face so innocent as you ask “Natsuo-nii, what’s a blowjob?” He’s cum to the image of you sat in his lap- pleading so sweetly for him to teach you things you’ve been so curious about. He’s fucked his fist to the thought of stuffing your cunny with his cock and making you squeal his name- short skirt flipped up and your soft tits bouncing with each snap of his hips. He’s already thoroughly ruined you in his mind; he’s already came to the thought of losing the grip on his self-control and fucking you speechless. It’s not like he can lie to himself when he’s already spilled his seed over his fist so many times to the thought of you. He knows he’s not better than his impulses and fantasies. And he knows, maybe, that this could be something that’s just meant to happen. Hell, better him than any of the little horny fuckers you call classmates. Natsuo hums and he noses at your hair, skims his fingers along your stomach. “You smell really nice,” he murmurs. “Makes me...hungry.” You giggle a little, dumb and clueless, and you stay still in his hold- not moving even when his hands run down your sides and fall to the tops of your thighs. You don’t seem to mind when he noses down the side of your head and hooks his chin over your shoulder and Natsuo’s lashes lower at the content smile on your face. “You smell nice too, Natsuo-nii,” you chirp, complimenting him in return. Natsuo hums and allows his fingers to trace along your thighs- fingers dipping just over the top to glance along the soft insides. You blink at that, lashes fluttering, and Natsuo doesn’t bother stopping even when you tilt your head his way. You’re not blushing- you just look curious and a little clueless like the naive airhead you are. Even when his hands replace his fingers and his palms cup the insides of your thighs, all you do is smile like the perfect little ditz that you are and lean back further into his chest. Natsuo hums and he accepts your non-reactions as consent, feels the last few threads of his self-control begin to snap and fray. “You’re really cute too, you know,” he murmurs- squeezing your thighs ever so lightly. “Bet all the boys are chasin’ after you.” You do blush a bit this time- pink dusting over your cheeks and your head moving in a tiny little shake. “No?” Natsuo asks, brow raising. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a boyfriend- you’re much too pretty to be single.” Your flush flares oh so sweetly and it’s hard for him not to dig his fingers deep into your thighs, run his hand up high. The “Natsuo-nii” that you half squeak, half whine at the compliment is nothing short of adorable and, really, he’s lucky you’re angled in your lean against his chest, that you can’t feel his hardness against your back. “Come on,” he coaxes- all friendly and teasing like a “big brother” should be. “You can tell me.” You squirm a little and it causes his hands to slide closer to the hem of your skirt, makes his heart beat a little faster. The shy bite to your lip has Natsuo hungry for you and he almost bites his own in want. “I- I don’t have a boyfriend,” you mumble, face turning just a bit like you’re trying to hide a little. “I’ve never...I’ve never had a boyfriend.” Fuck you’re such a sweet, untouched thing. Natsuo swallows a groan and he flexes his fingers against your thighs, tries his best not to just grab onto you. “That’s a shame,” he tells you, voice dipping low. “Cute thing like you should be appreciated and adored.” The pink on your cheeks flare into a darling red and Natsuo feels his lips twitch with a touch of amusement whenever a shy, pleased smile flickers across your face. He’s not really used to you being bashful, but he likes it- likes it a lot, actually. “No boyfriend at all?” he presses with a murmur. “You’ve at least gotten a kiss before, right?” He is, admittedly, disappointed whenever you give a small nod. He is not disappointed, however, when the muscles in your thighs flex and your legs spread just a tiny bit wider, when you only blink whenever his hands dare to smooth down right to the very hem of your skirt. “Kind of?” you tell him- voice uncertain and flush lingering. “Um, Kacchan kissed me on the last school trip but that was only ‘cause Kaminari dared him to.” Your shyness peaks a little, voice growing softer with each word and Natsuo wets his lips when you continue with, “It- It was just a peck. Not a real kiss.” Any disappointment he had fades away and Natsuo leans over you a little bit, cages you more against him and tries not to grin. Careful, a voice whispers in the back of his mind. You don’t want to scare her away. Natsuo hums and he strokes his fingers along your soft thighs, enjoys the small squirm from you that it brings. You still don’t pull away and, god, he’s so certain now that you’d let him do almost anything. “Sounds like a kiss to me,” he muses. “What do you mean by a real kiss?” You squirm more and, god, now his hands are just underneath your skirt. He’s not sure if you notice. He’s not sure if he cares anymore. “Like, um,” you say, a little dumb but still so sweet, “like with tongues and stuff…” You sound like a kid- naive and innocent and without any real knowledge of kisses and intimacy. Maybe it shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does but, god, it makes him feel predatory and hungry. “With tongues and stuff?” he asks- unable to help a little tease. You pout at him, but there’s a smile quirking up on the corners of your lips despite your petulance at being teased and, god, he’s really too weak to hold back anymore. “So you mean,” he murmurs and reaches a hand to cup your face, “something like this.” Before you can react, Natsuo leans down and presses his lips against yours. A surprised noise leaves you at the sudden kiss, but it’s nothing that Natsuo hears- his ears are full with the sound of his blood rushing and his heart pounding hard and fast. You don’t pull away from him. You don’t shove him or try to squirm away. You let yourself be kissed and you flush beneath his hand- startled and confused but unoffended by your best friend’s big brother molding his lips against your. It’s only when he traces your bottom lip with his tongue that you react more than being a passive little doll- you gasp, softly, and press forward just a bit against him, let something close to a whimper crawl from your throat. Natsuo’s free hand finds your other cheek then and he slips his tongue between parted lips, lets it brush against yours and swallows a groan when you instinctively start to kiss back. Such a good girl. Your lips are so soft- cherry flavored and sweet. The wavering, whimpering, unsure noises that you make has his mind reeling with greed and need and, honestly, he could kiss you for hours on end. He wants to do so much more, though. He needs to do so much more. Natsuo hums into the kiss and moves a hand down to the middle of your back, pushes you even closer. The way you tremble underneath his hand is so cute, but it’s even cuter when you curl your fingers against his chest, look up at him with half-shut eyes and flushed cheeks whenever he breaks the kiss. Natsuo smiles down at you- boyish and friendly- and he revels in the way you press your face against his palm, how you let out a wanting- if confused and flustered- sound. “Sorry,” he apologizes, not meaning it at all. “You’re just so cute, you know- I couldn’t help myself.” Your blush flares from sakura pink to rose red and Natsuo takes pleasure in the way you squirm shyly, grip onto the fabric of his hoodie. The “Natsuo-nii” you mumble out is soft and bashful, far from the whine he had expected. He likes it, though, and enjoys the sheer haze pulled over your eyes, the nearly dazed look that plays across your face. “Did you like it?” he asks, smoothing his hand from your cheek to your chin and pressing his thumb against the plush flesh of your bottom lip. Your mouth opens automatically, unthinkingly, and it takes all of his weathered down self-control not to slip his fingers inside that wet, warm hole. “Was it real enough for you?” A soft noise and a hitch of your breath, lashes fluttering with some stray embarrassment. This time the “Natsuo-nii” you mumble is trailed after by a small whine and Natsuo hums at it, strokes his thumb along your bottom lip. He doesn’t bother trying to coax you more- your compliance and the way you're still pressed against him is enough consent for him to capture your lips in another kiss, to slip his tongue inside your soft mouth and muffle the whine that sounds from you. Natsuo kisses you hotly, deeply, wetly. He pours all his pent-up hunger into it and lets his self-control slip away completely, groans into your mouth and pulls you into his lap. You let yourself be manhandled like the dumb, docile, good girl you are and Natsuo grips your hips once you’re seated pretty on his lap, groans again whenever he feels your little mound brush against his hard cock. The gasp that you let out whenever he pushes your hips forward and back to hump against him almost has him snarling- something primitive and rough in the back of his mind getting off on the innocent, pure surprise you radiate as your clothed cunny is made to grind against his dick. You whimper, hips moving on their own, and Natsuo breaks the kiss to tangle fingers in your hair, watch you through half-shut eyes as something like wonder flickers over your flushed face. “I- feels good, Natsuo-nii,” you mumble, head dropping to watch as your hips rock against him. “I don’t- why does it…” A mewl leaves you as you trail off and Natsuo places his hand to your neck, makes your head tilt back so he can nose against the soft flesh of your throat. You shudder whenever he kisses you there and Natsuo hums deeply in satisfaction, licks a little stripe and makes you moan so, so, so quietly. “Feels good because you’re grindin’ against my cock,” Natsuo hums out. “Feels good ‘cause your pussy is excited for it.” Your gasp this time is almost scandalized- cheeks flaring in shock at his words and the way your pussy is starting to throb with a slow, honeyed pulse. Natsuo can’t help his amused grin against your neck and he takes pleasure in the way you whimper whenever he rocks his hips to meet yours. You’re so warm even if he’s done so little- clothed cunny radiating heat as it glides over his hard-on. He desperately wants to feel your warmth with his fingers, slide a digit along your surely wet slit and make you fuck yourself on his fingers until you’re leaking and glazed over. Another gasp as you hump against him and Natsuo places a wet, hot kiss to your throat, breathes in deep whenever your hands grip onto his shoulders. “Sit up on your knees, baby,” he orders in a murmur, pulling his head back to take in the glory of your carmine cheeks and parted, trembling lips. You lashes flutter with the command, some disappointment and reluctance flashing across your already fuzzy face. You obey him, though, and Natsuo’s eyes fall half-shut whenever your hands grip his shoulders tighter, when you do what he says without any thought or protest. Such a good girl. When his hands grip your thighs and push them further apart, a confused noise sounds from you. Another follows whenever your skirt gets flipped over your hips, but the sound you make whenever his hand rubs over your cunny is flustered and surprised- a gasp that morphs into a whimper when the heel of his palm grinds down against your clit. The oh so soft whine of “Natsuo-nii” you let out has Natsuo groaning and he grinds his palm harder against you, narrows his eyes in pleasure whenever your hips buck against his hand. “Call me nii-chan,” he orders, voice low with a growl that wants to sound. “Call me big brother.” You whine again and it’s so loud this time, so needy as your back arches and you grind like a well-experienced slut against his palm. “Nii...nii-chan…” Natsuo closes his eyes at the whimper and he smooths his free hand over his dick- grinds up against his palm in a mirrored movement of your own needy little undulations. “Good girl,” he breathes out. “So good for me.” Another whimper and Natsuo hooks his fingers underneath your panties, tugs them to the side. You squeal a little at that, hips moving in a surprised shake, but you’re quick to gasp and settle whenever he glides a finger up your slit, rubs against your clit. “Nii- nii-chan! Feels- it feels good!” Of course it does- he doubts you’ve felt this sort of pleasure before, that you can even comprehend and keep up with the way your body is building and chasing after an orgasm. He’s going to give you your first cum and, fuck, that’s hot- that’s so hot. Natsuo hums and strokes his finger over your clit, circles it with just the tip of the digit and watches with a half-smile as you gasp and start falling apart so sweetly at his touch. You’re warm- just like he had imagined- and Natsuo breathes in deep as he feels his cock twitch at the thought of sinking into your plush heat, stirring up those hot insides. You shake as he teases the wet hole of your pussy and Natsuo realizes that he wants you to come for the very first time on his cock. With a lick of his lips, Natsuo pulls his hand away from you. Disappointment, petulance cross across your pretty, hazy face and Natsuo huffs fondly at the quick panic of desperation that rises in your eyes, the way you let out a needy whine. He pushes you back from him and down onto your laying on the floor and underneath him- legs sprawled and skirt flipped up, panties slicked to the side to show off your wet, swollen cunny. You whimper as he looks over you hungrily and Natsuo is quick to kiss your confusion and embarrassment away. Your kisses are so frantic- clumsy and overwhelmed and needy as your hands cling to his hoodie, scrabble along his back. He adores your inexperienced attempts at kissing him back, but he loves the way your back arches whenever he slots himself between your thighs and grinds down against you. Natsuo swallows and smothers the moan that you let out whenever his hands push up your shirt and squeeze your soft breasts. He breaks from the kiss, though, to hear your mewls and cute little squeals when he teases your nipples. The way you grip his hair whenever he sucks one of those flushed peaks into his mouth almost makes him lose his mind and Natsuo groans into your soft skin, snaps his hips into a hard grind against your soaked pussy. “Natsuo- onii-chan, feels- it feels-” Feels so good, right? A whine leaves you and you interrupt your own babbling, whimper into his mouth whenever he surges up and crushes his hungry lips against yours. You don’t notice whenever he reaches a hand to push his sweatpants down and out of the way and Natsuo groans whenever his dick slides against your wet cunt. The panicked noise that leaves you doesn’t deter him at all- nor does the way you squirm in uncertainty underneath him. He only pulls his face back from the kiss to look over you when you whimper and he smiles at you sweetly- nice and friendly and so, so warm. The way his face softens helps you to relax a little, but nervousness still claims your expression- eyes wide and teeth nibbling on your bottom lip as you tremble underneath him. “Nii- nii-chan, I’m...I can’t...I’m…’m a virgin.” Your embarrassed, anxious mutter only makes him that much harder. Natsuo’s face softens more even as his lust rises- smile nearly beatific, cock aching- and he hums as his hands reach to cup your face- arms hooking your thighs over the crooks of his elbows and pressing them close to your chest. He kisses your forehead and it’s chaste enough to make you nearly melt, flusters you even more with how it juxtaposes against his hard cock laying against your pussy. “That’s okay,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek and then your lips. “I’ll be gentle.” “W- wait-!” Another kiss to your forehead and Natsuo cants his hips back and then pushes them forward, sinks into your virgin, wet cunt. You clench down around him immediately- a sob tearing from your lips as your tight, tight insides are forced to stretch open to accommodate his dick. It’s hot in you- honeyed and so fucking sweet, syrupy. Natsuo moans as he slowly fills you inch by aching inch- mind hazing over and face burying into the crook over your neck as your plush insides flutter and squeeze around him oh so desperately. He nuzzles you whenever he hears you sniffle and whimper and lifts his head to smile at you- face drunken with bliss and smile so serene as he cups your cheek, grinds into your tight little cunny. “Shh, baby,” he croons, fingers brushing a stray tear from your cheek and comforting you as your face contorts with pain. “Onii-chan’s got you. You’re okay.” It’s horrible, but he gets that much harder whenever you sniffle and whimper, press into his touch in search of consolation. He doesn’t feel bad about it, though- can’t feel bad about it whenever your molten, heady insides squeeze around him in accompaniment to the onii-chan you mumble out. Natsuo hums, satisfied and smiling, and he kisses you sweetly, smiles a bit bigger when he pulls his head back to take in your trembling, pouting lips and wet lashes. Such an innocent little thing. So adorable. Natsuo grinds his hips against you and watches as you squirm underneath him, groans at the hiccuping little sob that sounds from you whenever he rolls his hips back and rocks them forward so he can fill you fully once more. “So tight,” he murmurs as he rolls his hips and sinks into your heat slowly. “So wet. You’re such a good girl.” A soft noise makes its way from your throat and Natsuo revels in how your cunny flutters around his cock, how your body relaxes ever so slightly with the praise. The “nii-san” you sniffle out is sulky- like a kid pouting after scraping their knee- but it’s sweet too- soft and whiny and hot. “Mmm,” Natsuo hums, nuzzling against your cheek, “gonna make you feel so good, I promise.” Another soft noise and then a mewl, your head tilting back and fingers curling into your palms as Natsuo begins to fuck you slowly. He takes the opportunity to latch his lips onto your throat and groans as he starts to suck a dark little bruise, slides his hands up your arms and laces his fingers through yours as you gasp and moan, clench around him. Fuck you feel so good- silken and sweet, scorching with your honeyed heat. You could make a man lose his mind- you are making Natsuo lose his mind. He could stay buried in your pussy forever. Natsuo groans against your throat and snaps his hips against you harder, fucks your pulpy, mushy, perfect insides faster. You gasp and whimper at it, but your cunny clenches around him eagerly- hot insides gripping at his cock likes they’re trying to keep him from pulling out, like they’re trying to suck him in even deeper. “Nii- nii-chan...nii-chan, please- I- feels good…” Look at you- gone from sniffling to begging in just a second. He knew you’d be such a good little girl for him, that a darling like you was made to be fucked. Natsuo hums- low and satisfied- and he noses up your neck and along your jawline, catches the lobe of your ear between his teeth as he fucks you faster. He almost doesn’t want to come- you feel that good around him. He wants to live in this moment forever- this perfect slice of heaven with you moaning and squeezing around his cock, gasping and gripping his hands tight as pleasure starts to build and overwhelm your simple little mind. He doesn’t want to come but, fuck, how can he not? No one could resist your whines and your whimpers, the clench of your pussy. No one could hold back with you mewling “onii-chan, please- more!” No one could keep in control with you panting and unraveling- confused over so much pleasure but so eager for it, so greedy as your mind blanks and all you can do is focus on the feeling of your cunny being fucked and filled by a hard, hard cock. Natsuo grits his teeth as you squeeze around him frantically, struggles to hold back as you whine and look up at him with almost panicked eyes. “Nii- nii-san, feels- feels-” You can’t finish the sentence, can’t even begin to string words together. The way your voice pitches with need and distress has Natsuo’s cheeks flushing as he fucks into your wet, squelching pussy and he groans as you whine, throb around him. “S’okay,” he assures you- drunk on the feeling of your pussy and almost dizzy from your cute, overwhelmed need. “You’re just gonna come, baby. It’s fine; you can do it. Fuck- come for me, baby. Come on my cock.” You sob and your body tries to arch, tenses as you clamp around him tight, tight, tight. He cries out as you begin to come and he fucks into you without thought- primal and frenzied and rough as you cry out his name and dig your nails into the back of his hands, pant and shake and fall apart into a whimpering mess underneath. Natsuo fucks into your pulsing, coming, creaming pussy once, twice, three times and then he trips after you into pleasure- moaning and grinding his hips tight against yours as he fills your cunny with hot, wet, sticky cum. You come again from that like a good girl- pussy fluttering and a sweet mewl slipping from your lips as one orgasm passes into the next- and Natsuo trembles from the overstimulation of your greedy little cunny, groans and buries his face into the crook of your neck as he humps into your cum coated insides. “Fuck, that’s a good girl,” he breathes out- hot and sated and almost lightheaded as you pulse around him sweetly. “So good for me.” A whimper, a mewl. He lifts his head whenever you mumble out a sleepy “onii-chan” and smiles to himself at the dumb, blissed out look on your face, the flush on your cheeks and the soft noise that leaves you whenever he presses a kiss to your lips. “See?” he murmurs to you. “Told you nii-san would take care of you.” Another soft noise- this one nearly thoughtful as you give a tiny little nod. Natsuo hums his satisfaction and kisses you again- slips his tongue into your wet, yielding mouth and coaxes a tired moan from you. He could fuck you again- he’s sure you want him to fuck you again- but he knows that his time is running short, that he doesn’t have enough left to fuck you even more stupid and sweet. Next time though… Anticipation and satisfaction twine through Natsuo’s chest and he grins to himself, runs a hand along your side and kisses you chastely as he slowly, reluctantly slips out from your honeyed insides. The disappointed whine that you let out almost has him sliding back in, but Natsuo steadies himself and slowly backs off of you, strokes his cock as he eyes your leaking cunny oozing out his fat load and then tucks himself away. You don’t move- eyes heavy and cheeks rosy, chest moving with soft little pants as you try to catch your breath. You look like a dream like that- beautiful and tempting; a fucked out doll beckoning even more pleasure. Natsuo licks his lips as his gaze travels over you and he takes a deep, deep breath to try to bolster his self-control, reaches and fixes your panties so your weeping pussy is hidden from sight. “You okay?” Natsuo asks- voice soft and sweet and full of care. A quiet little noise leaves you and he has to hide a smile whenever you sit up- arms trembling and eyes blinking slowly, stupidly before you rub at them with a fist. “I’m...I’m okay,” you mumble- voice faint, drunk with sated pleasure. “Felt...felt good, nii-chan. Was so warm…” Natsuo hums and he smiles as you yawn, looks over you in satisfaction. You blink whenever he touches your face and he can see you practically melt as he pets your flushed cheek. So sweet. Such a good girl. “Why don’t you take a nap in Shoto’s room?” he suggests. “Just until he gets home.” You hum, face turning to nuzzle into his palm, and he takes that as compliance. Natsuo hesitates before sending you off, though, and licks his lips nervously as a bit of panic peeks up through his satiation. “Hey,” he says, voice just a bit louder to grab your attention. You blink over at him, face still so drowsy and sweet, and Natsuo takes a deep breath. “Don’t tell anyone about this,” he tells you- firm but trying to sound like the nice Natsuo-nii that you’ve always adored. Confusion blossoms over your cute little face and Natsuo swallows as you frown, as your brows furrow in puzzlement. “Why not?” you ask so very innocently. It’s cute, but he can’t quite appreciate it while nerves are jittering under his skin. “Because...because they might get jealous,” he lies- though that could be true as well. “And you might get in trouble with your sensei and your parents if they find out.” Your sleepy eyes widen a little at the thought of getting into trouble and Natsuo watches your frown grow, uneasiness creep over your frame. “I- I don’t wanna get in trouble,” you mumble, lip bitten and voice distressed. “I...I don’t want that.” Natsuo nods, relieved by your reaction, and he pets your cheek as you begin to fret over imagined scolding. “You won’t get in trouble if know one knows,” he reassures you. “You just can’t tell anyone, okay?” You squirm, still nervous and frowning, but you nod just the same, curl your fingers into your skirt. “I won’t tell anyone,” you swear, voice almost eager in its sincerity. “I promise!” Natsuo smiles at you and he feels you relax underneath his hand as he nods. “That’s a good girl,” he tells you and pats your cheek. You blink when he leans closer to you and Natsuo takes one last, stolen second to press his lips to yours. “Don’t tell anyone. And...and maybe some other day we can do this again- if you keep your promise, that is.” Your eyes widen at the thought and something wicked and pleased purrs in Natsuo’s chest when you flush and nod shyly, squirm in front of him like an eager little thing. He stands and he offers you a hand, helps you up from the floor. There’s one last pleased noise that leaves you whenever he graces the top of your head with a kiss and Natsuo hums before lightly swatting your tush and nudging you toward the hallway. “Go rest. And remember not to say anything to my brother.” You nod- cheeks flushed and the motion solemn- and Natsuo watches with a satisfied smile as you scamper toward Shoto’s room- legs wobbling and just a little splayed. Well. That was something. Natsuo’s smile twitches into a grin and he sighs in contentment as he flops down onto the couch, closes his eyes and thanks the gods for letting him indulge in such a forbidden temptation, for having you react like such a sweet, perfect little darling for him. Natsuo hardens a bit as he savors the memory of your honeyed insides and he hums as he reaches a hand to smooth over his cock, grins contentedly as his mind flashes through all the other things he needs to introduce you to. Maybe next time he’ll teach you how to swallow him down, suckle around his cock. Maybe he’ll have you wrap your soft hand around him, show you how he likes to be stroked. Maybe he’ll have you ride him until you’re exhausted and unable to move, helpless and easily flipped over to be fucked and filled again and again and again. There are so many things to look forward to. Natsuo smiles to himself and he quietly starts to plot how he can get the house to himself again, how he can coax your sweet, bumbling self into his bed.

[junhuiste]

twice twice baby (preview)

pairing: jake x gn reader x sunghoon

word count: 2200

tags/warnings: fluff, slight angst, college!au, hockey player!jake, ice skater!sunghoon, sports med assistant!reader, slowburn, mutual pining, cursing, slightly suggestive scenes

a/n: this is just a preview of the bigger piece i plan to publish much later, so it pretty much only has jake, sorry hoonists! also gonna address it here while we’re at it, but i wanna apologize to everyone who sent requests in! i have them all plotted, most drafted and written, but i didn’t realize when i moved back home how busy i would be with work, summer classes, and looking for an apartment! i will have them published before the end of summer though! this piece is coming out before only because i wrote it well before finals week lol

taglist: please let me know if you wanna be part of the taglist!

Being in a parallelogram (or was it a dodecagon? A triangle? whatever) with the two notorious ‘Ice Hotties’ at your college, Jake Sim, the captain of the hockey team, and Park Sunghoon, the world class figure skater, is easy. Geometry isn’t that complicated...right?

As you entered into the arena, a cold blast of air struck, prompting you to jump slightly in your tracks, cursing that it was men’s hockey season and not basketball anymore. Albeit arms shivering, knees wobbling, and barely being able to make any strides at all, you weren’t distraught and to some extent trembling because of the ice rink or the ice packs inside the pouch seemingly glued to your waist, or hell, even the unnecessary air conditioner giving its all. Really, did they need to keep that fucking thing on when it was already polar-arctic-adjacent inside the arena? Probably to keep the rink from oozing into water and having Atlantis actually come to fruition...whatever, fuck the cold!

“Y/N, let’s get on it. We’re a bit late.” The head athletic trainer indicated, speed-walking a little too quickly for your liking, but what were you to do when your chest was heaving upon arrival at the ice center? Suck it up? Collapse and crawl into a ball?

Nodding, even though she was practically scurrying and leaving your curtailing ass in the dust, you heightened your pace despite the fact that your legs were about to give out at any second. Weren’t cold spaces supposed to make a solid more rigid, not turn your legs to jelly?

The both of you finally reached the area where the players were situated to greet the head and assistant hockey coaches.

“This is Y/N,” your trainer (whom insisted you just skip the formalities and call her Mina) motioned to you, slightly yet noticeably panting, “a first year, but they’ve done men’s basketball, women’s soccer and some gymnastics last semester. They know their stuff!”

“Wouldn’t doubt it.” The head coach reaches out to grip your hand firmly.

“Pleasure to meet y—“ once more today you jump, this time not shaken by the frozen tundra or by the vehemently boisterous buzzer, though it was much more thundering than the buzzer at the basketball court for some reason, but by the announcers cheering, “first year, number three, co-Captain, Jake Sim!”

And the crowd? They didn’t just go wild, no, they were literally cacophonous, the ground beneath and the arena stands rumbling, practically rivaling the San Andreas fault. Craning your neck to look around the oval shaped space and just how many students from your school, clad in university regalia, were present to see guys battle it out with plastic sticks on frozen water, even that, the entire scene wasn’t what had your heart nearly palpitating out of your chest.

First year, number three, co-Captain, Jake Sim. Now that was enough to warrant a blood pressure monitor...and possibly a defibrillator.

Almost giving yourself whiplash from turning around too quickly, it was hard not to gape at the boy coasting across the ice, waving at the all too excited crowd. And even through his helmet and from across the rink, you could make out his dark, glimmering irises, like how the sun’s edges would peak through from behind during an eclipse. It was kind of charmingly sickening actually, that someone could be as radiant as he was, under all the bulky gear, even despite the temperature. It wasn’t convenient actually that it had to be men’s hockey this time, that you, as the athletic trainer’s sports medicine intern had to attend the games for. Yeah, it was for credits. Sure, it was for intern experience...but what was the point if you only expected to make a fool out of yourself trying to tend to Jake and his teammates’ possible injuries?

It wasn’t fair, actually, that you were hopelessly in like with Jake Sim and that he didn’t even know your name when you were in the same physics class. To be fair though, it was a class of about 400, an infamous weeder course that crushed the poor souls of innocent underclassmen, so to have him direct any sort of attention your way, even a mere glimpse, would be laughable. That was what happened when you sat in the back, though.

Of course it just had to be Jake Sim that completely bewitched you, and he didn’t have to twirl any fingers or fixate any potions to have you just so damn spellbound. All he had to do was show up to freshman orientation with that stupid inviting grin of his, and that dumb glint in his eye that no one else seemed to possess. No, of course he just had to show up and be almost too cordial to everyone in your orientation group, even though all the other students, including you, could not give a single damn about the campus tour. And yes, of course, he just had to have the masses absolutely enamored with him, both upper and underclassmen alike.

Consider all of that, with Jake’s insane schedule, not that you knew anything specific, just that he had games on Tuesdays and Thursdays, coupled with daily practices, but you were only privy to that information because Mina always gave you the athletic teams’ agendas for the month. So yes, trying to garner any attention from Jake was like floating right smack in the middle of the Pacific, sending some sort of signal through a marine radio, and getting no response back. Not a hint that anyone was coming. No helicopters whirring above, no boats sent out ashore. What would he want to do with the first-aid kid, the person that sat in the back, the person that was paying attention to something else at the moment, and not the fact that they had to observe players carefully for potential injuries?

Well, sorry to Jake’s teammates and Mina, but you just couldn’t pry your eyes off of number three. How he skated in such an agile manner while simultaneously defending assertively was certainly an image now seared into your mind. The way he commanded the court was just so—“You paying attention? Are you okay today?” Mina snapped you out of your nonsensical trance.

“Yeah, yeah of course! Always on my toes like you said...” your eyes told a different story, and deceived you at that.

“And there’s number three, Sim, with the first goal!”

Jake skated backwards to high five his teammates and to prepare to defend, and it was definitely a sight to see him so animated, feeling right where he should be in his domain.

“Ah, I see. Number three is it? I heard he’s a beast on the ice,” Mina nudged and winked slyly at you, “anyway, pay attention ‘cause if your little ice boy gets hurt you know we gotta move quickly.”

It was already enough to have your friends taunt you about your silly adolescent infatuation with Jake, now to have your mentor in on it too? Mina was right though, you were here to wrap ankles and tend to bruised hips, not ogle at the team captain.

“Gotcha. On my toes!” you winked back at her, semi-ready to do your job. If you could predict injuries before they even happened during the basketball and soccer games you should be more than capable of caring for the hockey players. Whipping your head around to finally and legitimately focus on the members, you really wished you hadn’t.

There he was, number three, adept and dodging the defensive players, with the puck sliding in tandem with his stick. Then, it happened all too quickly, in a tenth of a second, too much for everyone spectating to comprehend.

BAM.

Suddenly, Jake was on his back after he and the opposing player too combatively collided into each other. You blinked once and now he was supine on ice, clutching a leg to his chest. His teammates and the referees hastily surrounded him, but you could not watch anymore, you had to do what you were here for.

Running past both the coaches, lamenting what the hells and go go go! at Mina, you dashed to the edge of the rink, about to enter and slip on the ice, but stopped yourself, because you didn’t have skates on. Fuck. Mina and you always ran to the scene of the injury, and you’d only dealt with hardwood floors and grass fields, but never ice. There was no reason for you to just stand around though, as Jake was being lifted by the referees. As much as you wanted to glue your eyes to the catastrophe, you sprinted to the locker room to fetch the cooler.

“Everyone, move!” You shouted at the towering players standing in your way. Setting the cooler on the floor, you directed some of them to assemble a few of the chairs they were sitting on for a makeshift cot for Jake to rest his leg on. Nervously yet rapidly, you dug into your backpack for a splint, pre-wrap, and medical tape.

When you stood back up, Jake and the referees were at the rink’s entrance, with Mina extending her arms to steady him once he transitioned from ice to linoleum. And through all this he maintained the same tender-hearted curve on his face, beaming at Mina and thanking the referees.

One of Jake’s coaches and Mina propped Jake around their shoulders as he hopped on one foot to your nearby station. Assisting them in getting Jake to sit down, you were shaking slightly out of feverishness and hormones, even though it was the perfect temperature for snowfall, but forming a resistance to doing that was almost impossible.

Christ, you weren’t like this when Taehyun tore his ligament last semester at the basketball semi-finals, or when Yuna sprained her toe out on the field, yet it was due to that certain someone that you just could not find it within you to operate as you usually did. It was imperative that you got out of your own head; Jake was merely another athlete you had to tend to and someone you, quite frankly, had to get over, like now.

Once Jake was seated with his right leg propped up on the opposite chair, he took his helmet off and handed it to his coach standing guard next to him.

“Mina, you guys got this?” The coach hesitantly asked your trainer.

“Absolutely nothing to worry about, Coach Kim! We’ve seen worse than this; we’re good, right Y/N?”

You gave Coach Kim a measly thumbs up and he rushed to get back to the rest of the team to continue with the game, deliberating who would substitute in now that their best player was on the sidelines.

While Mina undid Jake’s skates and kneepads, you assessed him before you could get started, asking him what kind of pain he had in his leg, how much it hurt on a scale of 1-10, and if he could wiggle his toes.

Sharp and kind of aching, I think. 8.5-ish, actually maybe just 8. Toes wiggling.

“Um, okay. Good that your toes are still intact, which means you’re gonna be okay, but is there any other part of your body that hurts?” You tried not to sound like a complete buffoon, trying to enunciate your words properly like you did with several other injured athletes; Jake shouldn’t have been any different. He was, though.

“Yeah, I feel like there’s a bruise on the right side of my body somewhere,” he said, motioning to his abdomen.

“Okay...I’m gonna take your shoulder pads off and you have to take your jersey off so we can ice it, is that cool with you?” Your brain was bouncing off the walls at the mention of “take” and “off”. Come on, this wasn’t fucking NASA, although it might as well have been, as he was a universe and a half to you (in a melodramatic way of sorts).

“Yeah, yeah—for sure. Thanks.” Jake flashed an acknowledging smile, to which your cheeks heated up at. There was an injured boy in front of you—no time for shits and giggles and teenage elation.

As you aided Jake in removing his shoulder pads and jersey, he winced a bit, while trying to hide it at the same time. 

“Are you good? I’ll get some ice on that soon, I promise.” You gradually eased into your ‘medic’ mode, trying to expel as much of your nerves as humanly possible.

“Yeah I’m okay, just hurts a bit. Thanks again,” he could not stop giving you that demure yet brazen demeanor, and to be around a smiling Jake meant a tense you, regardless if your subconscious plan to initiate Nerves Exodus was kind of working.

When Mina stood up, all finished with undoing his skates and knee pads, she asked Jake to repeat what he stated about his pain earlier to you back to her. Before walking to where the coaches and other players were, she chaffed at you, with a mischievous lilt to her words, “you can handle it from here right? The star player’s in your hands.”

Audibly, you ‘mhmmed’ her, and when you were out of Jake’s sight, rolled your eyes, making sure she noticed that. You were glad though, that Mina was your trainer and not some old, stern fart like she had when she interned in your same position; it made for much more “effective” mentoring and communication, especially because she left you alone with the athletes, so you were able to think of what to do next for yourself, and if there were ever any mistakes—which there were none of to date—she would help you work through them.

Holy shit, Mina left. It was just you and Jake.

[multi-obsessed-fanfic-writer]

Calculated Risk (Anakin x Reader)

Author’s Note: Here’s the Anakin fic I said was coming out today! Don’t worry, this one is all fluff after the last angst one I posted haha. I hope you guys enjoy! And as always, my tag list/ask box/requests are always open! Thanks so much!

Requested?: Yes, by @cluelessgurl - “I’d love to see a jedi reader coming to Anakin’s rescue during a battle, even though he felt like he didn’t need it but being grateful anyway, just the reader being badass basically lmao. That doesn’t mean the reader doesn’t get a scolding from Anakin after the mission though with some fluff of course.”

Summary: You swoop into battle to help your crush, Anakin, who has vehemently denied the need for any back-up on his mission. 

Calculated Risk

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: None, I don’t think!

“Ready to report a status update.” Anakin’s voice crackles to life on a hologram behind you. Out of curiosity, you turn to see Obi-Wan talking to Anakin.

“Yes?” Obi-Wan prompts, raising an eyebrow. You drift over to Obi-Wan’s side, ignoring the glance he gives you as you train your eyes on Anakin. Yes, you have a crush on Anakin. But it’s not like he actually likes you back, so it’s no big deal.

“A small droid army has intercepted us and we are working our way through,” Anakin says, and you hear blaster shots firing all around him. 

“Do you need...help?” Obi-Wan asks, hearing a few grunts from clones who are getting shot.

“Oh, no, we’re fine. I’ve got this mission completely under control, don’t even worry about it.” Anakin chuckles, refusing help a little too much. You and Obi-Wan give each other a knowing glance.

“Anakin, we can easily send a squad-”

“Obi-Wan, I assure you, I can handle this myself. Ahsoka’s here, too, and she would say the same thing. Right, Ahsoka?” Anakin calls out.

“Master, we need your help over here! There’s too many of them!” Ahsoka’s voice comes ‘off-screen’ from the hologram.

“See? We’re doing just fine on our own. Gotta go!” Anakin quickly ends the transmission.

Obi-Wan turns to you, clearly still not convinced by Anakin’s antics. 

“It’s obvious that he needs a little help, but he refuses to call in more troops. If I send in reinforcements behind his back, he won’t be happy about it.” Obi-Wan grumbles.

“When has Anakin being grumpy ever held you back?” You laugh.

“Well-”

“What if I could offer a compromise?” You interject again, actually happier with your plan than what Obi-Wan wants to do.

“And what do you suggest we do instead?” He lifts an eyebrow at you and folds his arms. You have a habit of getting into trouble just like Anakin, so he probably doesn’t trust your ideas too often.

“Send me.” You grin triumphantly at him.

“Send...you?” He repeats back slowly, turning the idea over in his mind. It’s not a no, so you continue to explain yourself.

“I’m one of the best Jedi Knights, even you can’t deny that. I can be reinforcements. But I’m still not a squad being dispatched to him so he can’t be mad because you didn’t technically ‘send reinforcements.’” You smirk, knowing you’ve outwitted Anakin. Obi-Wan sighs, but you see the small smile he’s trying to hide.

“You have a fair point...and Anakin is always happy to see you, so he won’t be upset that you’ve been sent.” Obi-Wan thinks out loud.

“What?” 

“What?” 

“I’m...gonna go now.” You murmur, still not sure if you heard him correctly.

“Okay, stay safe. And...keep Anakin out of trouble, please.” He sighs. You grin wickedly at him.

“You’re telling me that?” You ask.

“That’s true, you egg on his antics... Still, you know the difference between reckless stupidity and calculated risks that need to be taken.” He groans, motioning for you to leave already.

“Sure, Obi-Wan. I’ll see you once I save Anakin and complete the mission!” You laugh, running to the hangar. You climb into your speeder and take off from the cruiser, headed toward Anakin.

~+~

Upon your arrival on the planet, an imperial bomber greets you. You try to maneuver your ship around the blast, but unfortunately, it takes out one of your wings and your speeder starts to go down. 

As the ship plummets to the ground, you (as gracefully as possible) flip out of the top of it and land on a nearby rock, not too far from the battle. You watch as your ship makes contact with the ground and blows up. Sigh, you suppose you’ll have to take a ship back with the others.

You slide down the rock you’re currently on and join in the battle, taking down droids as you fight your way to Anakin and his crew. 

You spot Anakin fighting near Ahsoka, getting pushed back by the sheer amount of droids trying to overwhelm them. That’s the thing about the empire. They may not have good fighters, but they had a lot of them.

“Anakin!” You call, flinging your lightsaber like a boomerang through the sea of droids. You call it back to your hand with the force and find that you have successfully cleared a path to Anakin. You decide to take your chance while you have it and run to him.

“(Y/n)? What are you doing here?” Anakin grunts, still fighting off droids. You deflect a blaster shot that was aimed at him while he’s preoccupied.

“Helping you, duh.” You make a face, jumping into battle next to him. The two of you work flawlessly together, making quick work of the droids.

“I said I didn’t need reinforcements.” He sighs.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not reinforcements. I just came here to see you, of course.” You wink at him, taking down another entire line of droids. Anakin watches in almost-awe as you fight off the droids, much more efficient than the rest of his crew, and maybe even him. He’d never admit that, though.

He watches you do a backflip over a droid, slicing it straight through the middle as you land behind it. This elicits a chuckle from his lips.

“Always one to put on a show, huh?” He smirks, glancing over at you as if he wasn’t just staring.

“Only if I care who’s watching,” You flirt, giving him a quick smile as the two of you fall back into sync.

It’s only a moment later when you speak again.

“Bend down,” You tell him.

“What?”

“Bend down.”

“Why?”

“Just do it!” You groan. Does he always have to question you? You never question his antics.

“Fine!” He crouches down and slashes at the feet of droids for a moment. You grin wickedly and use his back as a stepping stone, propelling yourself forward as you slice straight through a line of at least five droids.

“Gotcha!” You laugh, continuing to have fun despite being in the midst of a battle. Anakin shakes his head at you, but you see the small smile gracing his face.

“Always so dramatic with your fighting,” He tsks.

“Says Anakin Skywalker, the man who always has to have a dramatic entrance.” You tease him. He’s silent for a moment.

“...Touché.”

~+~

Once the battle is over, you look over to Anakin who had made his way across the battlefield while fighting. He’s walking over to you, and he doesn’t look quite happy.

“Before you get mad-” But before you can even finish your sentence, he roughly grabs your wrist and yanks you over to the side of the group that was forming to get ready to leave.

He lets go of you and turns around to look at you, his eyes scanning all over your body. You suddenly feel slightly self-conscious.

“Um...Anakin? Are you checking me out?” You try to tease, but your words seem more shy than bold like you intended. 

“Checking you out for injuries, yes.” He huffs, but you see a slight blush rise to his cheeks, making you feel a little bit triumphant for at least a small victory.

“We have a medic for that.” You muse, growing bolder now that you know you’re not the only one slightly flustered.

“I know but- you could’ve gotten hurt, (Y/n). Why did you come out here?” He seems slightly distressed even after he concludes that you definitely didn’t get any injuries.

“I came to...help? Didn’t you hear me when I arrived?” 

“I didn’t need the help-” 

“Anakin I was literally here. I fought the battle, too, and I saw how many enemies there were. You needed the help.” 

“I...I didn’t want it to be you, though.”

You’re hurt by his words. Your brows furrow and you start to turn away from him. If he’s going to be like that, then you’ll just leave. You don’t have to put up with this.

“No, wait! Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that…” He grabs your upper arm to stop you. He rubs the back of his neck nervously as you turn to look back at him.

“How did you mean it, then?” You hum skeptically.

“I...I just worry about you, that’s all. I didn’t want you to get hurt because of me, I wouldn’t be able to take the guilt.” He murmurs, much quieter than he was before. You turn back to face him fully again, stepping just slightly closer to him than you were earlier. His face is downcast to the floor.

“Why?” You ask him, tilting his head up to meet your eye.

“I like you.” He blurts out. This makes your eyes widen in surprise. You didn’t think he’d be so...blunt with it.

But once again, before you can continue he tries to explain himself further.

“I like you, (Y/n), and I don’t want to be the reason you get hurt. I wanted to handle myself so that you...well, you wouldn’t have to come down here and you’d be impressed by me getting it done all by myself.” He explains, almost rambling at this point. You put a finger to his lips, successfully shutting him up.

“Ani, I’m already impressed by you every day. You don’t need to take on an entire droid army to impress me, but I do appreciate the thought.” You giggle, pressing a feather-light kiss to his cheek. You see his face flush again and you smile at the thought of making him feel this way.

You see movement in the background and you look behind Anakin to see some boxes shifting slightly to block the two of you off from the rest of the group.

“What are you doing?” You ask Anakin, knowing that he’s definitely using the force to do that. 

“Just moving some boxes in the way of prying eyes so I can do this.” You don’t have time to react before his lips are on yours. You kiss him back eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck as his arms snake around your waist. 

Once the two of you pull apart for air, there’s a goofy grin on both your faces. 

“I was wondering when that was going to happen,” You giggle.

“We’ll have to keep this a secret from the Order.” Anakin breathes out, the smile not leaving his face as he takes your features in from up this close.

“I’m willing to take the risk.” You smile at him, kissing him again. He melts into your touch.

“Good, because I am, too.” He kisses you one last time. You finally break away from each other, knowing that staying here too long would cause suspicion.

“See you on the ship, Anakin.” You wink at him and walk toward the boxes, shifting them back with the force as you join the group again.

Anakin trails behind a bit, a dumbstruck look still on his face. You’d tell him to be more subtle, but it’s only Anakin’s squad of clones and you know they wouldn’t say anything. That, and it’s too cute for you to ruin.

Obi-Wan was right about you being the one to take calculated risks that you deemed worth it, and you’ve never been more sure about anything: Anakin is a calculated risk that is more than worth it.

~~~~~

Tags: @spideyboipete @rowley-with-ackerman @official-hitmxn @anakinlove

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 11.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), big dick namjoon serving us tripod realness, dom!joon, and when i say dom i mean both dominant AND domestic : ), impregnation kink, daddy kink, praise, dom!jimin, sub!reader in both of these scenes, lingerie kink (m wearing), copious teasing, very light spanking, french kissing, lapdance, the jimin scene is filthier than the tags give it credit for ngl, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing/eating, aftercare (as always) 

banner designer @jamaisjoons​ | thank you everyone in the sfhs server, you bring me so much joy, motivation and good ideas | AND finally thank you to the anon that suggested [redacted] jimin i legit replanned everything just to make that his prompt

DAY TWELVE

The mattresses in the room of bunk beds are surprisingly comfortable. The metal springs squeak a little if you move too much, but you wake up feeling well-rested.

“Not too bad, right?” Hoseok chirps, swinging out on the ladder and jumping down onto the floor with a thud. Using his laundry from the day before, he unceremoniously swaps his sleep shirt and boxers for some deep green skinny jeans and an orange sweater. Namjoon, more modest and distinctly more sleepy, grabs his clothes and stumbles back to his own room.

“The beds? Better than I was expecting for sure.”

Hoseok smiles warmly as you hop down the ladder and arrive on steady ground again, toes curling into the carpet. He fiddles quickly with a chunky watch, doing up the links. “Breakfast is downstairs if you want it.”

You throw him a teasing grin. “Not if you’re making it, thanks.”

He has the good graces to pretend to be offended, before tugging you into a playful side-hug, ignoring your squeak of surprise. “No, you cheeky fucker, Jungkook bought pancake mix. He texted me saying there’s plenty for everyone.”

“Jungkook making breakfast?” you ask dubiously, but the warm image of pancakes for breakfast makes your stomach growl. “Let me get dressed real quick and I’ll come down.”

Jungkook, it seems, is starting out the day cheerful as ever. He gives you a big grin when you, Namjoon and Hoseok come down for breakfast, and he makes sure to dish up the biggest pancakes for you, before taking the second biggest for himself.

Jin raises a teasing brow when you come down accompanied by the two men, Namjoon still with his hair ruffled up awkwardly from his slumber. “Long night?” he questions with a cheesy wink.

Hoseok catches on to the teasing nature, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Sadly, Namjoon wanted a rest day, so we didn’t enjoy any funny business.”

Jungkook watches the three of you closely, lips tightening just a little bit before he breaks out into a cheeky smile. “I think Y/n would have been too tired out to do anything more anyway.”

You choke on air, a forkful of pancakes blessedly not in your mouth yet. Beside you, Hoseok chuckles awkwardly. “Goodness, JK, we heard enough yesterday. The gym walls are not as thick as they should be.”

Instead of blushing like you are, Jungkook puffs his chest up. “I’ve never heard Y/n scream like that with any of you guys. Then again; I bet you haven’t made her squirt like I did.”

This time you aren’t so fortunate, coughing on a mouthful that you’d anxiously stuffed in to keep yourself occupied. You send Yoongi a grateful look as he slides you a glass of water.

“Jesus, Jungkook,” Jin grimaces, “we’re trying to eat breakfast.”

You keep your eyes down, confused by Jungkook’s behaviour and more than a little embarrassed.

When you hear Namjoon speak up, his voice is strangely tensed. “That’s really not appropriate.”

A heated pause. “This is literally a porn show,” Jungkook states defensively, “sex is the whole reason we’re here. I think everyone’s forgetting this is a competition about being the best in bed, I’m just- You know what, never mind, pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“You just what?” Namjoon questions. It’s unlike him to be argumentative, and you shift in your seat, taking another sip of the ice-cold water. “Did you really make us all pancakes just so you could gloat? Y/n is a person, not a video game, Jungkook. Have a little respect.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, but when you glance up, the frustrated rolling of his eyes and furious stabbing of his fork in a pancake speaks volumes.

Yoongi pinches his brow. “Jin-hyung, can you pass the syrup? Thanks.”

Namjoon stares expectantly at the youngest Gentleman for a few moments, before letting out a light huff and returning to his food.

Silence continues for a moment or two before Taehyung pipes up, voice tiny in the oppressive tension. “How many people still have to do their prompts this week? I haven’t done mine yet.”

Yoongi sends him a lightly exasperated look. “Really?”

Taehyung gives a small shrug, glancing to the camboy sitting beside him. “I mean… I don’t think we need to be explicit but this show is about sex. I feel like it’s equally bad if we don’t talk about it at all, you know?”

“The kid’s right,” Jin allows with a wry grin. “I’ve done mine. Tuesday; though I suppose some of you saw.”

Jimin cocks his head, lost. “Saw? Uh, yes, I haven’t done my prompt yet. Actually, uh, if you guys wanna take part, stay in the lounge tonight. I need an audience.”

You send him an inquiring look. “What about me?”

Jimin lets out a short laugh. “Your participation is kind of mandatory. Please stay in the lounge too.”

You appreciate the slow brushes of conversation that ease the tension away. “Am I an audience member or a volunteer?” You grimace suddenly. “Wait, fuck, it isn’t like a circus act or something, right? You aren’t a magician?”

“Don’t worry, the show won’t be that kind of magic,” he promises.

You go to reply, but your attention is caught by the way Jungkook is openly glaring at Namjoon like he’s waiting for something. “Kook?” you question.

Jungkook’s eye twitches. “Why aren’t you saying anything now, Namjoon? So they get to talk about sex but I can’t?”

Jin sucks in harshly through his teeth, sending a look of alarm to the youngest. “Okay, break it up, that’s enough. Jungkook, any more smart comments and you can leave. We’ll talk privately if you need it.”

Jungkook lets out a bitter scoff, but Namjoon is already rising hastily, banging the edge of the table in his haste to get up. “I’ll go,” he urges, “you all can enjoy your breakfast in peace.”

Nobody seems to even breathe as the sounds of Namjoon’s footsteps fade away, a door upstairs shutting harshly.

Yoongi has his face bent, thumb and forefinger pressing to his forehead, like a headache is coming on. “What the fuck was that?” he muses tiredly.

Jungkook doesn’t answer, staring at his pancakes like he’s trying to make them burst into flames.

You bite your tongue harshly, unsettled by how tempers flared so quickly. Unsure of what to do, you stare at Jungkook for a moment. You don’t want it to seem like you’re picking a side, but he has five others around him, and Namjoon is upstairs alone. You slide your chair out, quieter than last time. “I’m just going to check on him. Jungkook; you’re fine, I’m not angry.”

He breaks out of his death stare at his breakfast to send you a look of bewilderment, but Yoongi is already clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Well, I am,” the second eldest declares, and you rush upstairs before the scolding begins.

Namjoon answers, albeit reluctantly, when you knock on the door and call out to him. He’s well and truly awake and alert now, hair combed down sullenly, the purple looking more faded than ever against the rich blue of his long-sleeved t-shirt. “Are you okay?” he asks with a tired frown.

Your brows lift automatically. “That is the exact question I came up here to ask. Can I come in?”

His bedroom is even more tidy than usual, now that he hasn’t been sleeping there. You sit down on the edge of his bed, feeling an unsettling swirl of dread.

“I’m sorry about Jungkook,” is the first thing out of his mouth as he sits down beside you, shoulders hunched like he’s making himself as small as possible.

You shake your head slowly. “You shouldn’t apologise on other people’s behalf. He’ll say sorry if he wants to.”

Namjoon pauses for a moment. “Then I’m sorry about contributing to the uncomfortable atmosphere.”

Despite the situation, your mouth quirks into a grin and your eyes soften. “Forgiven. I’m more worried than angry, you know? About the both of you.”

Namjoon lets out a sigh, eyes dancing aimlessly around the room, no doubt pondering complex concepts at the speed of light like he usually was. “This is probably to be expected, right? Tension. I didn’t think I’d be the one involved, though.”

“Ah, it wouldn’t be a reality show without some drama,” you allow, scooting back on the bed so you can tuck your feet up, crossing your legs. “We’ve just gotta move past it, I guess.”

“Didn’t it make you uncomfortable?” Namjoon blurts suddenly, cringing at the volume of his voice. “Him talking about you so publicly like that?”

You run your tongue along the inside of your cheek. “It took me off guard for sure. I don’t know; I guess sex is kind of our currency in here, you know? Him being so, uh, bold about it out of nowhere is pretty weird, though.” You shrug it off. “Maybe he slept bad last night.”

Namjoon searches your face. “I’m too much of a prude, aren’t I? Things like that bother me, so why did I sign up for a porn show?”

You turn to face him, brows knitted in sympathy. “Just because others are more open doesn’t mean being modest is a bad thing. Don’t let Jungkook’s bad mood make you believe that you don’t belong on the show or that you need to change. Okay?”

The two of you share a tender moment of eye contact, before Namjoon laughs shyly and turns his head away. You grin at him. “What?”

“It’s stupid,” Namjoon deflects, “it’s not the time.”

“Not the time for what?” you press. “Tell me; I’m curious now.”

Namjoon’s eyes dart up, pausing briefly at your lips. “I just… I really wanted to kiss you.”

Your heart swells, but you keep your face open, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “Then you should kiss me.”

All the breath leaves his lungs in a rush, but before he can inhale again, he’s propelling himself forward, wide hands cradling your jaw steady so your lips can join, a little uncoordinated but perfect nonetheless.

The small whimper of surprise is muffled by his lips, but you quickly melt into him, hands clutching at the front of his shirt for stability.

You can taste the remnants of breakfast, the sweet stickiness of maple syrup on his lips. You deepen the kiss to seek out more of the flavour, breaths escaping your nose as you don’t dare part for a second. Namjoon seems equally enraptured, shy flicks of his tongue making your head spin.

You lean in until your wrists are pinned between his chest and yours, and then lean in more, wanting to be close. Like oxygen to fire, the more contact you get the more desperate you become, and when his hands lower to lift you easily onto his lap, grinding you unconsciously against his erection, you feel ablaze.

“I need to-nm-do my prompt,” Namjoon murmurs out, teeth catching on your tongue with how deeply you kiss.

You swallow, leaning back slightly to take a breath in. “We don’t have to now,” you assure, moving your hands up to stabilise yourself on his shoulders so that he cranes his neck up to chase your lips. “Or have you graduated from Hoseok’s School of Sexual Prowess already.”

You smile down at the way his eyes flutter shut with a crooked grin, delicate crescent moon lash line a deep brown against his tanned skin. His lips are flushed and swollen, and he swallows like a man parched before he speaks, blinking blearily up at you. “I prefer to learn on the job,” he quips hoarsely.

You grin, leaning down to nudge him slightly to the side with your nose, giving you a better angle to leave a trail of light kisses from the corner of his mouth to the top of his jaw, tugging on his earlobe just enough that you feel his dick twitch against you. “What’s it gonna be, then? Am I a naughty student? Slacking receptionist? Do I need to sign for a package, delivery boy?”

The chuckle Namjoon lets out is pained and reluctant. “Was that what you were hoping for? It’s a bit more romantic than that.”

“Romantic is good,” you assure, letting his arms on your hips hold you steady as you lean back and search his face. “Do I get any more clues? Tell me something.”

When he blinks up at you, there’s something open and earnest in his gaze, like he’s left behind that shy boy that blushes at any mention of sex. “Let me show you, love.”

He cradles your back and lays you down on his bed so delicately it takes your breath away. Without speaking, he presses his lips to yours again, and once again you feel unanchored in an ocean, kept floating by the pressure of his proximity. Slower than usual, you move against each other; his hands bracing him up by the pillow, your leg hitched up over his waist to keep him close. Between the soft cushioning of his bed and the solid heat of his body, you feel secure and safe, eyes closed so that he fills your other senses entirely.

The sweetness of the maple syrup on his tongue and lips has long since melted away, but it leaves behind his natural flavour, one you think you prefer more. Aftershave still clings to his cheeks, tingling your nostrils, but past it is the bright candylike scent of his orange blossom shampoo, and they mix dizzily as the ends of his hair brush your skin.

Need begins to pool between your legs, but it doesn’t drive you, instead staying muted in the background like the pleasant heat of a bubbling jacuzzi, hips rocking lazily without any true purpose as you focus on the shocks of pleasure when your tongues connect.

It’s impossible to tell how long the two of you stay like that, no urgency or haste, just enjoying the intimacy and closeness of shared breaths and swollen lips. When he trails a hand down to slip under your shirt, even his slightly calloused fingertips running up your side is enough to make you whimper, sensitised to every touch.

Namjoon groans when his palm covers your breast, gripping it and swiping a thumb over your stiffened peak, arousing even through the fabric of your bra, his mouth only leaving yours for the second it takes to push your shirt over and off, connecting again with a small grunt of need.

Though Namjoon’s body is hot like a furnace against you, the open air still causes you to shiver, arching your back so Namjoon can blindly locate the hooks on your bra, able to slip it off you in no time at all.

This time, when his teeth tug at your lip and you feel the uninhibited contact of his fingertip tracing a circle around your nipple, it’s like a spike of electricity straight to your core, igniting that spark of full-blown arousal. Namjoon’s lips quirk against yours when you let a moan catch in your throat.

When he shifts down, you’re expecting his mouth on your breast, or perhaps him to sit up to take his own clothes off, but he doesn’t go nearly that far. Instead he presses your jaw up, exposing your neck but laying kisses on the underside of your chin first.

Perhaps it’s that you weren’t expecting that touch, or perhaps such a unique place isn’t used to that type of attention, but his swollen lips caressing just below your jaw feels magical, eyelids fluttering as he sucks so, so gently.

His hand never leaves your breast, massaging the flesh, tracing where your regular skin pebbles into the dusky areola, nail dragging teasingly over the bud, and your mind is working itself into knots trying to process all the sensations he’s stirring in you.

If his first time was thrilling, this was nothing short of electric, neon bursts of colour behind your eyelids the only thing you can see. As his kisses slowly venture lower, dipping to the base of your neck, pulse throbbing against him, you picture your nerve endings like purple strands of electricity in a plasma ball, lighting up with every touch of his fingers, lips and tongue to your skin.

“Na-Namjoon,” you gasp out, swallowing to ease the dryness in your throat, “don’t tease, I need you.”

Namjoon shifts lower, but not low enough, chin resting on your chest as he looks up at you with a pleased smile, clearly satisfied with his improvement from last time. “But love, there’s no rush. We have the rest of our lives, remember? To have and to hold,” he rumbles lowly, pressing  two light kisses to the top of your heaving breasts, “til death do us part.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

Namjoon’s lip twitches. “Oh,” he repeats playfully. Goosebumps break out on the tops of your arms at this sudden brazenness. He’d clearly been doing plenty of talking with Hoseok, and to see his hard work pay off in your pleasured reactions probably gave him a burst of confidence. “Are you going to be patient for me now, love? Let me savour you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, so you just nod shakily.

Satisfied with your response, Namjoon quirks a lip before using the very tip of his tongue to trail a circle around your nipple, just wide enough that the bud strains for his attention. Your fingers clutch his sides, annoyingly still clothed, as he moves to the other one, still giving your nipple a wide berth. “C-come on, Joonie,” you complain hoarsely, “I need more.”

When he looks up at you from below his lashes and sucks one nipple slowly into his mouth, tongue pressing it against his upper teeth, you hiss sharply, releasing the air in a breathy moan. Namjoon suckles at you gently, still languid but no longer avoiding your most sensitive areas, and the hand not propping him up begins rolling the other one between his fingers, making you shudder.

You’re so wet between your legs it’s growing uncomfortable, and so you cant your hips up towards him, hoping he gets the message. He tuts at you, but pulls off your nipple with a wet pop and sits up to undress further.

Namjoon shucks his own shirt without ceremony before his fingers find your waistband, and you let him slide off your pants and underwear as you lie back and enjoy the sight of his thick chest and smooth stomach, a trail of dark baby hairs disappearing past his jeans that you didn’t remember noticing the first time you slept with him.

He takes off those jeans, his boxers too, and joins you on the bed again, running a warm palm up your side. “I want to taste you,” he announces simply, carding a hand through his hair to keep it out of your face.

“Fuck, please.” You watch with wide eyes as he lies on his stomach, hands dipping under your thighs to lift and part them. The exposed air has you clenching instinctively, and you swear you can see his eyes dilate at the sight. “Namjoon,” you whine, back arching in impatience.

“Shh, love, I’ve got you,” he assures, peppering kisses from just below your knees, down your thighs until you can feel his breath on your core. “So beautiful.”

You can barely breathe, head propped up on the pillow to stare down the plains of your chest and stomach to the insanely attractive man between your legs. Though you’d grown fond of the kinkier, wild scenes - in fact, your dreams at night had taken a turn since joining the show - something about seeing Namjoon so at his element in this domestic atmosphere has you dripping.

Like he has all the time in the world, he locks eyes with you and blows a wave of slightly cool air over your folds. You breathe out a groan, sending him what you hope is a convincing-enough pleading gaze. He smiles placidly, licks his lips, ducks his head even further, and-

And blows another stream, this time narrowed and colder, directly over your clit. You shudder and buck instinctively in his grip, his hands on your thighs keeping you spread.

“Come on,” you gasp out, “Hoseok’s made you into a fucking demon!”

“Oh, trust me,” Namjoon murmurs, “Hoseok’s version was way kinkier than this. I’m trying to be romantic and sensual.”

You shift again, fruitlessly trying to wiggle your hips closer. “It would be really fucking romantic if you would actually put your mouth on my-ah!”

Just like you know Hoseok would (you don’t know whether to thank him or curse him for this), Namjoon strikes when you least expect it, and when you most need it.

Though his mouth is small, his tongue is no less nimble, darting deeply through your folds to collect your juices and using them to slurp harshly at your clit. You jerk, hand shooting down to latch in his hair, but he continues that constant, unyielding vacuum until you’re squirming hopelessly beneath him, finally pulling off with the slightest graze of teeth.

“Happy now?” he retorts, swollen lips glossy with your slick. His hands tighten on your thighs. “Hold them.”

Invigorated by his command, you rush to grasp the backs of your knees, keeping your legs up and spread for him. “Fuck, so good, Joonie, w-want more.”

Now with two hands freed, it’s no surprise when two fingers find their way into your wet heat, twisting inside you with every smooth thrust. His chin is smeared with your wetness when he lowers it to continue laving his tongue over your sensitive clit, but he groans sinfully into you, like he’s getting just as much pleasure from it as you are.

Once he really gets going, he’s merciless, his fingers so thick that you don’t even need a third one to really feel him filling you, hooking up to rub at your g-spot every now and again to hear the involuntary whimpers you give out.

You hold onto your own knees for dear life, writhing under him as a hot coil tightens inside you. “Fu-fuck, Joonie, I’m getting close.”

His mouth detaches from your clit for a bare moment, enough for him to pant out a groan and stare lustily up at you. “Don’t cum yet,” he instructs lowly, “you’re going to cum on my cock this time, love.”

You whine, biting your lip harshly to try and distract from the building pleasure. “Then you have to- have to stop, Joonie,” you shudder out reluctantly.

To your surprise, Namjoon is even more begrudging than you are, tugging out his fingers to chase a last few indulgent licks up your seam before he finally sits up to kneel, panting. “Are you ready for me?”

You feel yourself grow impossibly wetter at the sight of him grasping his length, slipping it through your folds to slick it up. “Yes, god yes, I need it, need your cock,” you garble.

Namjoon’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, before he presses his head to your entrance, sinking in barely an inch to test your reaction. “Can’t wait to fill you up, love,” he admits, abs clenching with the effort it takes to sink in slowly. “Fuck a baby into you, my perfect girl.”

Your heart races at his words, clenching around. “God, yes, Joonie, please.” Though all the Gentlemen were well aware you were on birth control, there was something wildly erotic about the thought of it. “Fill me up, wanna be good for you.”

Finally he bottoms out, and your thighs shake at the stretch. With your hips tilted up, it almost feels like he’s fucking right into your stomach, so deep your mind struggles to process the sensations. He heaves a few breaths, giving you a chance to squeeze around him experimentally and grow accustomed to him filling you so completely.

You mumble out your permission for him to move breathily, the air punched out of your lungs when he pulls out only to drive deep inside of you in one slick thrust. Your mouth drops open once he begins to thrust, holding onto your knees for dear life as they tremble uncontrollably.

“God, look at you,” Namjoon pants out, chest heaving with excitement or exertion, perhaps a mix of both. One of his palms presses against the top of your stomach, increasing the pressure of his cock inside you. “‘Be so beautiful with my baby inside you, love, tummy swollen. I’ll take good care of you, would you like that?”

You have to squeeze your eyes shut to put all your focus into speaking. “Ye-yeah, I want that, Joonie,” you manage to articulate, his length keeping your mouth watering whenever he’s inside you. “Gonna be such a good daddy, Joon.”

Like a switch being flicked, Namjoon suddenly jerks, going rigid. Your eyes open blearily when he stills inside you, and you moan openly at the fucked-out look on his face, his eyes lidded and hair wild.

“S-say that again,” he commands, and your mouth drops open at the desperate grate to his voice.

So Namjoon liked to be called… “Daddy,” you whine experimentally, grinning when his cock twitches, hips juddering. “Want you to fuck me, Daddy, please move.”

“God, love, so fucking perfect for me,” he makes out before he starts off again with a renewed vigor, hands kneading at your breasts, at the flesh of your hips, at your ass as he lifts you up to meet his every thrust.

The feeling of him fucking into you so intensely has you feeling delirious, unsure if the ringing in your ears is actually the sounds of your own cries, torn from your throat with every slap of his balls against your ass, the weight of his hips jerking you into the pillow more and more every time.

You feel the pressure of his body hovering just above you, the angle of his thrusts changing, then suddenly his mouth is on your breast again, sucking harshly at the nipple. With the way your body moves beneath him, he can’t help but scrape his teeth against you a couple times, but it just makes the pleasure soar higher, neon starbusts of colour behind your eyelids when you squeeze them closed.

“Close again,” you warn desperately, losing the grip on one of your knees due to the sweat gathering there. With one up and one down, the angle changes again, and you reach out blindly to latch onto his upper arm, screaming at the heights of pleasure. “Can I cum this time, Daddy, please let me cum!”

“Fuck, give it to me, cum for me,” he growls out around your breast, and you see stars.

The orgasm that rips through you is powerful enough that all your senses fade suddenly away, unable to feel anything expect a rush of pleasure all the way down to your toes, boneless yet convulsing as he pistons his hips into you once, twice, three more times until he’s taken by the way you clench tightly around him.

He laps clumsily, wetly at your nipple as he spills inside you, before the two of you are completely drained of energy. Panting, heaving, you don’t even manage to catch your breath before you’re falling into slumber, Namjoon still inside you.

--

“He told us to wait here, right?” you ask anxiously.

There are six of you gathered on the couches in the lounge. Television off, the silence is weirdly uncomfortable. Perhaps that’s just because you know that everyone is waiting here not only to see Jimin, but to see what Jimin is going to do to you.

Hoseok, tucked into the smallest corner of the couch on the right, huffs lightly at your question. “He’s Jimin, Y/n. Either he’s up there primping or he’s just making you wait to be obnoxious.”

Perched beside him with a glass of whisky, two fingers full, Yoongi sends a droll glare to Hoseok. “Bold words for a man who’s choosing to watch the show.”

“I’m curious, sue me.”

“I think we all are,” Namjoon adds, curled up beside you in the central position of the three couches. “I think the only one that knows his prompt is Tae.”

Taehyung turns to answer, propped up against Jin’s side on the left, but the eldest interrupts, a crease of worry between his brows. “Not all of us, it seems,” he points out. “Don’t you find it strange that Jungkook isn’t here?”

“Does he know?” Taehyung wonders, fingers dipping into his pocket to reach for his phone.

Yoongi frowns. “He knows. He asked me not to make him anything for dinner tonight. Said he wasn’t feeling well. Didn’t seem like he was sick, just… distressed. I think you should talk with him, Jin.”

Jin sucks in a breath, pauses, and exhales again, jaw flexing. “Sure.”

The six of you lapse into a slightly strained silence again, before Namjoon gets restless, shifting beside you until he finally clears his throat and looks up at Yoongi. “What is for dinner, hyung?”

“We didn’t really have much for lunch, so I’m thinking steak and pasta,” the doctor offers up. “There’s some carbonara sauce in the pantry that looks good.”

Taehyung coughs nervously. “Do we have steak? I didn’t think there were-”

“We had plenty this morning when I checked,” Yoongi cuts in evenly. “Should I be aware of any recent developments?”

The masseuse pouts, leaning further into Jin’s side like he’ll protect him. “Well… It’s just that I feel so bad for Mango! The kennel I bought online isn’t as insulated as I hoped it would be and I know she gets lonely.”

Yoongi groans, going lax on the leather of the couch. “So you figured she’d what? Cuddle with the steaks?”

“I just figured maybe if I gave her nice food she’d cheer up,” Taehyung adds, “and it was just two! Are you mad at me?”

“No, I guess I’m not. Jungkook isn’t eating anyway, and…” Yoongi grins. “As penance, you can have plain pasta and watch the rest of us enjoy our perfectly cooked steaks.”

Taehyung throws himself against Jin dramatically, but even as he moans in misery, a relieved smile crooks at his lips. “I suppose,” he drawls begrudgingly, and once again a light atmosphere fills the room, like everyone’s just sighed out a breath of relief.

You lean onto the arm of the couch, facing Taehyung. “Tae, Jimin’s prompt isn’t too, like, intense, right?”

He cocks his head. “What do you mean? For him or for you?”

“Uh…” Your mind whirls blankly, cheeks heating up as you draw the attention of the other guys. “For- for me. So far some of the scenes have been pretty taxing, and I guess I just didn’t expect such a jump up from Week One.”

Instead of laughing or teasing, the others go a little solemn, perhaps even bashful. “Jimin’s isn’t super crazy, Y/n, don’t worry,” Taehyung assures quickly.

Yoongi bites down hard on his tongue, jaw popping. “We didn’t go too hard on you, did we?”

You suck in a breath. “I mean- No, not individually. It builds up though, you know?” Something niggles in the back of your mind, something you’ve wondered for a while. “Do you guys talk about it?”

Hoseok hesitates. “About fucking you?”

Your cheeks are on fire as you curl up small in the corner. “Not- Not that specifically, but just… Do you guys discuss who goes when and who has what? I kinda wondered why you spread yourselves out, if it’s just a coincidence or if you- Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“We kinda do,” Hoseok admits freely. “Like, obviously we don’t all sit down in a room brainstorming or something-” You don’t miss the way Taehyung and Namjoon instinctively lock gazes, though you can’t quite read their expressions. Hoseok continues, “but we do chat with each other and try and give each other space.”

Jin shrugs easily. “Yeah, like, I’ll just say in the groupchat, ‘I’m planning on doing my scene outside, look outside at your own risk’ or whatever.” The eldest stiffens as he’s fixed with several glares of alarm, including your own. “What? Were we not meant to tell her about the groupchat?”

Your mouth drops open. “You guys have a groupchat without me? I wanna see!”

“That defeats the purpose of you not being in the group chat,” Yoongi points out, though his grin is more sheepish than mischievous.

You make a noise of exasperation, ready to protest further, but before you can open your mouth the doorbell rings.

Everyone freezes.

After a moment, the doorbell rings again.

“You should go get it,” Taehyung supplies helpfully, eyes on you. “Might be interesting.”

Your heart picks up with the cool thread of adrenaline. It’s time. All eyes are on you as you sit up and make your way out to the foyer, the tile cool under your bare feet.

Though the door is a rich mahogany, clouded glass panels on either side betray a dark figure, perfectly still. Even though you can barely see the outline, there’s no deny the expectant tilt of their head belongs to none other than Jimin.

By the time you pad up to the door and turn the knob, his hand is outstretched to ring the bell a third time, and his mouth parts in surprise before giving you a pleasant beam.

You’d been wondering if he was meant to be a delivery guy, a mechanic, something along those lines, but your first glance over him proves you wrong.

His blue hair is glossy enough to reflect the light of the lamp above the doorway, curled in graceful swoops on his forehead and temples. Though he always wore makeup, it was clear he’s set to impress, with a bold russet red lip, powerful black eyeliner and a spot of gold under each eye.

He’s taller than usual, and you glance down automatically, to be greeted with the most gorgeous black heels, stiletto points giving him an extra few inches of height. The shoes make his legs look a mile long, and you suck in a breath as you follow them up, realising they’re completely bare, the only adornment a sinfully tight pair of black fishnets that dig in to his thighs and calves.

In fact, all he seems to be wearing otherwise is a black trenchcoat, falling to mid-thigh and with the sash tied so tightly it accentuates his narrow waist.

All put together, he looks like sin personified, the kind sailors drown for. You can’t help but want to dive in yourself. Trying to go along with the roleplay, you play dumb. “Do I, uh, do I know you?”

Jimin’s smile broadens as his arm falls, hand resting snugly on his hip. “You will soon, sweetness.” Usually one for pinks, nudes and clear glosses, seeing him suddenly in a deep red makes you realise just how full his lips are. You miss the feeling of them on you. “Did Taehyung not tell you I was coming?”

“Did Tae-?” You clear your throat, unsure how to proceed. This Jimin was Amazonian; bruisingly pretty and intimidating in his grace. “I guess not? Was he supposed to?”

His eyes crinkle empathetically, darting past you into the foyer. “Let’s talk inside, shall we? I’m not exactly dressed for the outdoors.”

“Oh, fuck!” you blurt instinctively, and you swear his lip twitches before you’re backing away hastily, ushering him inside. “I’m so sorry, please come in! Do you want me to take your coat? I don’t- I don’t know what you need.”

Jimin steps inside and closes the door behind him in one smooth motion, punctuated only by the click of his heels on the tile. He reaches out to pat your cheek, only somewhat condescendingly. “No wonder, sweetness, you didn’t even know I was coming.” That isn’t quite true, but in the scheme of things, you may as well not have known he was doing his scene tonight at all for all it’s helping you. “Why don’t you lead me to Taehyung? I assume he’s here.”

“Of course he’s- I mean, yes, he’s here. Right this way.”

The two of you only have a short trip to the lounge, where no doubt the other five have been straining their ears to eavesdrop, but every strike of his heels against the floor behind you has the hairs on the nape of your neck standing on end.

In the lounge, the guys are all turned around in their seats to shamelessly ogle Jimin, Taehyung the only one without the gobsmacked look on his face - though even he takes in an unsteady breath at how gorgeous the man looks.

You make your way to him, standing awkwardly in front of the couch that him and Jin share. Turning back to face Jimin, you can’t help but match Taehyung’s reaction. Jimin looks even more radiant in the decent lighting of the room. You can see now his trenchcoat is a lush fabric, slightly thicker than silk, and deeply matte. Around the inside of the collar is a faint embossed silver logo, promoting Chanel as the designer of that piece.

Ignoring the stunned silence of the room, Jimin slinks immediately to Taehyung, tipping his chin up with his knuckles. “Did you not tell Y/n about me, hm?” he questions with a faux pout. “Kept it a secret, our naughty Taehyungie.”

The masseuse wilts pleadingly under Jimin’s gaze, and the responding wicked grin makes you think that Jimin probably told him to keep quiet, only to tell him off for it now. “Sorry, Minnie,” Taehyung mutters nonetheless. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Did you now?” Jimin lets go of him, stepping back. “I suppose we should get down to business, then. Are you all leaving, or do I have an audience tonight?” Glancing around imperiously, you watch as his eyes dart back and forth, smile faltering. His breath catches, eyes dull with disappointment that he quickly masks under a broad smile. “It’s just the six of you, then?”

Your heart aches as you think of the missing person still upstairs in his room. “Yeah, it’s just us.”

Always the professional, Jimin moves on without comment. “Well, then, sweetness; take a seat and get comfortable. You’re a lucky girl tonight.”

Your mouth feels dry even as it waters. Taking your seat beside Namjoon again, you watch in rapt anticipation as Jimin slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, fiddling with something on it as he strolls slowly into the center of the room, just in front of the television.

“We have a few rules,” Jimin announces. “No heckling, no getting drunk while I’m here, and no touching unless I give you permission. They’re simple, so I expect you to follow them. Got it?”

With his back to the group as he sets up his phone, you’re unsure who exactly he’s addressing, but some of you make general hums of confirmation, all the attention on Jimin.

When the music starts - a deep, thrumming beat with a sensual pace - you can see the change in him immediately, even from the back. His shoulders adjust, head tips back slightly like he’s letting it run through him, and his fingers find the knot of his sash.

You can barely comprehend the fact that Jimin is about to dance for you, breath caught in your throat when his hips begin to sway and the fabric of his trenchcoat loosens, slipping down just enough to reveal the tops of his shoulders, bare except two skinny black straps.

Following the groove of the music, he rocks his head back, hips shifting side to side, and lets the coat fall an inch at a time. A tight black bodice is revealed, structured leather with a soft velvet trim that covers most of his back. Sleeves dangling right at the ends of his fingertips, the coat dips just below the swells of his ass, which are clad in a racy g-string, a thicker band of lace low across his hips and a narrow one running down the middle of his cheeks. Letting the coat go completely, the last of his back silhouette is exposed, the leather garter straps that hold those fishnet stockings up.

“Shit!” Yoongi hisses under his breath, hands glinting in the light and whiskey glass significantly emptier than before. A dark patch spreads across one leg of his pants, evidence of him spilling his drink.

Though he was quiet, Jimin picks up on it, and turns smoothly, lightly surprised and heavily amused, watching Yoongi squirm in embarrassment as he approaches.

If the view from the back is breathtaking, seeing Jimin full-frontal is another level. The bodice has clearly been tailored for someone with a flat chest, but the shape no less speaks to the feminine style of a bra, roughly triangular leather covering the upper half of his chest to meet the smooth velvet straps. The whole piece is just short enough that it leaves a stripe of skin between fabrics, his hipbones jutting out gracefully and guiding your gaze lower, where the front of his lace panties strain with the size of his length, the tip threatening to peek out the top.

He’s hard, you notice with a start, and from the hazy look on everyone’s faces, they’ve noticed it too. Jimin likes this.

When he’s standing in front of Yoongi, towering over the other in his heels, he reaches out a hand silently, eyes darting to the glass in Yoongi’s hand.

The elder gulps, holding it up, blushing as Jimin wraps one hand around Yoongi’s wrist, and takes the glass from him with the other. In a graceful swill, he downs the last of Yoongi’s whiskey, not even wincing. Teasingly, he bends down to place the empty glass directly over Yoongi’s crotch, making him hiss.

Like he has all the time in the world, Jimin straightens up again and tugs the wrist in his grasp higher. Locking eyes, Jimin parts his lips and wraps them around the base of Yoongi’s thumb, sucking off the spilt liquor.

Yoongi groans lowly, cheeks stained red as his eyes flutter shut in a mix of pleasure and humiliation. As Jimin makes his way through all of Yoongi’s fingers, bobbing his head obscenely and swirling his tongue, you think you see the empty glass wobble on Yoongi’s lap, like his cock is twitching in his pants. Fuck. It’s not even you getting the full weight of Jimin’s attention and you already feel dizzy with need.

Once he’s done, Jimin lets go and Yoongi’s hand falls limply to his side. Satisfied, he moves to the center of the room again, hips fluid with the flow of the music.

A cursory glance around the room shows that you’re not the only one heavily affected. Beside you Namjoon is restless, shifting back and forth from spreading his legs to ease the pressure, and clenching them together to try and hide the bulge in his pants. Hoseok looks pale, eyes wide and locked onto Jimin’s ass as he walks away from their couch.

On the other side, Taehyung and Jin are significantly more shameless; Jin rests a hand on the back of Tae’s neck and tugs at the curls of hair there as the younger boy ruts against his thigh, curled into his side even as the two of them focus on the attraction in the centre of the room.

You can only imagine how fucked out you must look too, wriggling against the couch cushion seeking friction with your heart thudding in your chest. The effect is only heightened when Jimin locks his eyes to you and begins to dance.

One day, a few of you were gathered in this very lounge, having enough drinks to get a bit silly and uncoordinated. Jimin had told you all a little bit about his dancing career. From what he’d said, you formed this mental image of him in soft makeup and satin shoes, dainty but powerful in front of an adoring crowd. The way he spoke about music - too much of a heavyweight to be as incoherent as the rest of you - made it seem like it was his greatest love, a match made in heaven.

Though now pirouettes and grand jetés had been replaced by spread legs and lidded eyes, you could still see that passion he spoke of. It enchanted you like a snake charmer or a siren, and arousal entwines endlessly with awe in your stomach.

After what feels like the shortest eternity, the music of the first song fades out, and Jimin straightens up, exhaling a breath like he’s releasing its hold from his body to make room for the next.

The tune that fills the room next has a decently higher tempo than the first one, each beat punctuated by a clap, and he grins when he hears it, stalking forwards.

Between Jimin and the rest of you is a coffee table, and he makes his way around to Taehyung and Jin, eyes sparkling at how Taehyung straddles Jin’s thigh, blinking up at the dancer owlishly.

“Oh, baby,” Jimin coos, “enjoying the show?”

Taehyung nods, not shy but too wound up to speak.

At the lack of verbal response, Jimin grins, perching himself on Jin’s other thigh, making the eldest hiss. “Taehyungie,” Jimin calls in a sing-song voice, fingers winding into his hair, just above Jin’s, “you still haven’t paid me for my services, you know?”

“H-huh?” Poor Taehyung looks barely coherent, interrupted from his grind and staring weakly at Jimin’s glossy lips. You can’t imagine you’d be faring any better in his situation. “What- How do I pay you?”

Jimin faux pouts. “Normally I’m very expensive,” he admits lowly, but the room is silent apart from the music, and since it’s just playing from his phone, it doesn’t impede the rest of you listening in. “But I like you. I’ll take my payment tomorrow. You know what I mean, right?”

Taehyung nods dumbly, obediently, making the dancer grin wickedly.

Fixing his attention on Jin, Jimin trails his fingertips up his thigh and traces the outline of Jin’s cock in his makes, making him groan. “Take good care of my baby tonight, won’t you?”

Jin sucks in a shaky breath, eyes darting to Taehyung, but the curly-haired boy just whines and buries his face in the crook of Jin’s neck, a wordless display. “You got it, Min.”

From the other side of the room, a click of the tongue catches your attention. Hoseok is straight-faced, extricating himself from the corner of the couch to stand up and make his way out.

Jimin swiftly stands in front of him to impede his way. “Where are you going?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes with a shrug. “I came, I saw, I sated my curiosity. I’m not interested in waiting in line to be fondled, thank you very much.”

Jimin seems to have forgotten the music, eyes gleaming as he faces off the dom. “Poor baby too impatient to wait, hm? I’ll let you jump the queue,” he finishes in a husky voice, grinning.

Hoseok eyes the doorway behind Jimin, huffing impatiently. “Nice try. I’m not interested.”

Tipping his head to the side, Jimin’s brows lift in a mix of surprise and bemusement. “I’m inclined to disagree,” he says, taking a step closer so that only a sliver of air parts them. Hoseok stiffens, stubbornly avoiding looking at the dancer. “I’d venture a guess that you’re leaving so suddenly because you’re a little too interested.” Slow enough that Hoseok has plenty of time to refuse, Jimin runs his knuckles all the way down Hoseok’s front, brushing over his crotch. His grin widens, flashing white teeth. “Hmm.”

Hoseok scoffs and pulls himself away, neck and forehead slightly red. “Don’t get too cocky. It was from Taehyung, not from you, peaches.”

Even from the other side of the room, Jimin’s instinctual reaction is clear as day. His shoulders drop and his lips part, lashes fluttering before he can control the response.

If you didn’t miss it, Hoseok certainly didn’t either. He barks out a laugh, back in power again, and steps to Jimin’s side to pass him. “Knew it. Don’t miss me too much, then, peaches.”

Even as Jimin is shuddering at the petname again, Hoseok rears his hand back to smack Jimin’s ass with a sharp noise of impact, Jimin jumping forward with a startled squeak. “No touching!” the dancer hisses, one ass cheek already flooding with a sweet candy pink.

“Apologies,” Hoseok says with a teasing grin, already at the doorway, “I’ll see myself out.”

Jimin makes an indignant cry, but the older man is already bouncing up the stairs cheerfully. Determined to get the sexy atmosphere back, Jimin takes a deep breath and turns back to you all with a rueful smile, but it falters when the music fades out, the second song ending. “Ah,” he murmurs, “show’s over, kids.”

Namjoon, the only guy that hadn’t received any personal attention, sits up with a frown. “Wait, already?”

Jimin shrugs, smiling at him sweetly. “Sorry, Joon. Last song’s a private dance. Maybe another time.”

A private dance. Your breath quickens as Jimin turns off the next song that randomly came up on shuffle, collects his phone, and hitches his coat off the floor with the point of a stiletto, gathering it under his arm.

The others quietly start to stretch, sit up, Yoongi going to fill up his glass again. By the time Jimin makes his way to you, Jin has already lifted Tae up with a single arm under him, carrying the younger upstairs as Taehyung sucks shamelessly at his neck. Namjoon is slower to move, probably still a little worked up and edged from the show, but he joins Yoongi in the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone.

Once Jimin is directly in front of you, your breath stops. He’s gathered the lightest sheen of sweat from dancing, or perhaps that’s just the highlighter on his cheeks, and his eyes are hazed from the excitement of performing. He silently reaches a hand out to you with an enticing smirk.

You furrow your brow in confusion. “Not here?”

“I did say private. Unless you want me to fuck you where everyone can see?”

You gulp at the thinly veiled threat. “We can go.” You take his hand and let him lift you up with effortless strength, pausing when he looks at you expectantly. “Did I do something…?”

Jimin beams like you’re a cute but stupid pet. “I haven’t been here before, remember? Show me to your room, sweetness.”

“Oh!” You rush past him, hands catching to guide him out and upstairs. The thrill of excitement speeds your steps, and in no time at all he’s placing his coat and phone on your desk, guiding you to sit on the end of the bed.

The third song starts with the familiar smoothness of Beyonce’s voice, an older pop song that holds up still, and Jimin slips off the black straps of the bodice, another set directly below them. Arms tucking behind him, he begins to undo the clasps one by one.

“You were being very well behaved, you know, sitting there and waiting for your turn,” he muses, fiddling with the fabric behind him. “Now you get a reward.”

You don’t know what to say in response, just nodding wordlessly, but it seems he is content with that. After a moment, you notice the top half of the bodice pull away from his chest lightly, revealing not plain skin but more lace, matching the panties that struggle to cover his cock. He approaches you as he undoes the last few at the base, and slips smoothly between your legs, letting it fall to the side.

In front of you in all his glory, Jimin looks gorgeous, the inky swoops of his tattoo peeking out from under a sweet black lace bralette, the skinniest straps holding up the delicate cups. In the center is a tiny black satin bow, and you think you feel your heart give out a little at the sight of it.

Even in his pretty lingerie, he’s no less intimidating, and you shudder at the feeling of his eyes locked onto you, feeding on your reactions and pinning you to the bed.

“You like it?” the dancer asks, voice rough with arousal. You nod quickly, still too stunned for words. Jimin hums, winding a hand around the back of your neck. “Show me how much you like it.”

Before you can suck in a breath, his mouth descends on yours, and a shot of electricity runs through you as he spares no time for pecks and caresses. This kiss is nothing short of filthy, his tongue runs over your teeth, he bites your lips, he sucks on your tongue. You do your best to reciprocate enthusiastically, but there’s no question who’s in charge.

With how deep and primal it is, there’s no surprise when you feel your shared spit begin to collect in the corners of your lips and run down your chin. Jimin doesn’t stop, but lowers his mouth to lap it up, pushing it back in and continuing to fuck his tongue into your mouth.

You moan hopelessly into the kiss, hips rocking on the edge of the mattress fruitlessly and fingers holding on to his neck and shoulder for dear life. His teeth are sharp, nipping mercilessly at your bottom lip until your eyes sting, but it only serves to drive more need.

The music in the background livens up as it reaches the chorus, and suddenly the thought of the song finishing and him leaving you high and dry comes to mind. You tug yourself away from him, sucking the spit off your swollen lip. “Jimin,” you gasp out, “I want you.”

Jimin grins. Though his gloss is all but gone, the colour on his lips remains intact. “You aren’t gonna let me finish my dance, sweetness?”

“Wi-Will you still fuck me after the song ends?” you ask, feeling stupid for needing confirmation.

Jimin lets out a soft but condescending coo, hands squeezing your cheeks together so that your lips pout. “Poor baby just wants to get fucked, does she? Baby just wants a cock in her.”

Even as he mocks you, you can’t even defend yourself. “Please, Jiminie.”

He places a single light peck over your protruding and obscenely swollen lips. “Let’s make a deal; I’ll dance for the rest of the song, and if you can keep your hands to yourself, I’ll let you cum when I fuck you. Sound fair?”

At this point, you’d agree to anything, and both of you know it. “I can do it,” you insist even as your voice wobbles.

Instead of answering, Jimin begins to move, following the momentum of the music. Your hands lie at their sides, the duvet cool against your heated flesh.

He starts out easy, stepping back to give himself more space and slowly lowering into a crouch, the heels making his calves pop. Running his hands down his chest, fingers slipping under the lace, he sighs out like his own touch gives him unspeakable pleasure.

You grit your teeth. Watching him touch himself just makes you want to touch him more. He widens his legs, showing the place where the lacy band narrows down below his balls into a thin string. Whether it’s the angle or just the amount of moving he’s done, the tip of his cock has nestled up higher, poking out just to the side of his hip. Shamelessly, he runs a single fingertip over it, tapping so you can see the clear strands of precum that cling.

You let out an unsteady breath, relaxing slightly as the song begins to build to the final chorus. Not long.

Unfortunately for you, Jimin recognises the changing keys as well as you do, and he stands up smoothly, slinking towards you.

Instead of settling between your knees this time, he turns his back to you and bends down, folding himself in half to fully bare his ass. Hoseok’s handprint still pinkens the skin of one, and the sudden desire to reach out and see if it’s as warm to the touch as it looks overcomes you. You hiss and fist your hands in the fabric of the duvet cover, making Jimin stretch up with a laugh.

Merciless, Jimin widens his stance, choosing to sit on top of your lap, ass grinding on you. You can imagine this movement would be much more unbearable for a guy, but you still feel your resolve unravelling, taken by the fluidity of his hips, the lace accuentuating his slender waist, the pressure of his head as he tips it back onto your shoulder.

“This is so unfair,” you complain shakily, and are rewarded with the musical giggle Jimin lets out, bubbling from his arched throat right into your ear.

Luckily, the chorus ends, and the final notes settle down. Jimin’s hips still and he turns his head, lips just about brushing your cheek. “Good job, sweetness,” he praises warmly, “can I have another kiss?”

Your jaw jerks automatically before you catch yourself. Though it’s fading out, the song technically hasn’t ended yet. “Not yet.”

Shameless even as his ruse is exposed, Jimin just beams and twist around so that he’s straddling you face-on. He lowers his mouth to your collarbone, nibbling at the skin there as the beat fades and the overlaying instruments peter out. Though it must only be ten or fifteen seconds, it feels like forever as he rocks himself against you just like Taehyung had done to Jin - albeit less desperate and more strategic - and licks at the bite marks on your neck.

Finally, it goes silent, and you exhale deeply, hands automatically coming up to rest on his hips as he laughs lightly at your successful efforts. “I’m impressed,” he admits, “guess you get your reward after all, sweetness.”

So relieved that the heat between your legs will get some attention, you barely take notice of him standing up off you, at least not until he slips his cock fully out of the panties.

His cock, straining with being left unattended so long, is a far deeper pink than the mark on his ass, particularly around the head. He sucks in a breath through his nose as he strokes himself, before blinking down at you.

“Clothes off if you want me, sweetness.”

You could guarantee you’ve never undressed so quickly before, frantically enough that your hips are hot from the friction of tugging down your pants. You take no note, however, just spreading your legs wantonly as you eye up his cock.

“Fuck, look at you,” Jimin curses, bracing a hand on your hip as he lines himself up. “Don’t even need stretching, do you? Looks like Joonie opened you up for me already.”

Your cheeks burn, but there’s not enough time to dwell on the embarrassment, as Jimin holds you down with his grasp on your hip and bottoms out in a single thrust.

Even though he’s right, the sudden fullness has you gasping a moan, almost falling onto your back. You prop yourself up and widen your legs further, eyes locked on the sight of his cock, nestled underneath by the lushest black lace, buried deep inside you. “Fuck, please move.”

“My pleasure,” he coos with a sweet smile, before the smile drops to a slack pout of lust, snapping his hips with a deftness that you now know is due to his background as a dancer.

You fight to keep yourself sitting up, one hand around the back of his neck as he fills you with every stroke, but the angle isn’t quite right, and you find your pelvis shifting to find it.

Jimin notices your frustration, and wordlessly pauses, grips your thighs and tugs you forward so that you’re flat on your back, ass over the edge and held up by his upper body strength. Without you even processing the change, he’s returning to his ruthless place, and you sob from relief at the way your insides come alive with pleasure, so much stronger than before.

“Fuck, right there! Right- ungh, yes, Ji-Jimin,” you pant out, feeling unbearably hot all at once with the intensity of it.

Though part of you is still sore from the scene you had with Namjoon earlier, your swollen walls only increase the drag of him against your sensitive tissue, and you quickly turn incoherent, tongue so thick in your mouth that you open it, panting as your fingers clutch the duvet to anchor you.

“That good, huh?” Jimin notes with a laugh stuttered by grunts of exertion. Normally, you’d protest or retort, but with your ankles wrapped around him and back arching off the bed, there’s nothing on your mind but the enveloping urge to cum.

Rather than reply, you just let yourself drown in the sensations, vision going black as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Your orgasm comes so fast that you don’t even notice it approaching, can’t even warn him. It’s like a clap of thunder, making you go stiff with a scream before turning completely boneless, legs slipping down off him weakly.

Jimin curses as you squeeze around him, but fucks you through it thoroughly, only slowing down once you begin to fuss, shivering and wriggling away.

Dazed from the sudden onslaught of pleasure, it takes you a few moments for the fog in your brain to clear. Once you do, you glance down and realise Jimin is still achingly hard, dripping with your slick and the remnants of Namjoon’s cum, but none of his own. He strokes it lazily, gaze searching your face.

So exhausted from two intense scenes in one day, you don’t think you could manage to jerk him off or give him a decent blowjob, but to leave him hanging would be cruel. Instead, you fumble to slide yourself off the bed, landing a little too hard on your knees.

“What are you- oh, Y/n, fuck,” Jimin exclaims lowly as you blink up at him and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out. He gets the message easily, speeding up his strokes as his tip bounces on your tongue, brief sparks of the salty tang of your shared arousal.

He must have been close before, because it doesn’t take him more than a minute to fall over the edge, cumming into your mouth with thick spurts. A shame it couldn’t have been inside you a different way, but you nonetheless chase his cock, blade of your tongue dipping into his slit to make sure you’d gotten every last drop.

Jimin swears lowly, stroking your hair back fondly as you swallow, and helps you stand up on wobbly legs.

Leading you to the bathroom, Jimin sits you on the closed toilet seat as he runs a bath. Having slipped off his heels somewhere back in the room, he unhooks his garters as he waits for the tub to fill. With one leg resting on the high edge of the tub, rolling down the fishnets one at a time, you once again are silenced in awe of his beauty.

It feels unspeakably intimate to watch him unclasp the bralette, slip off the panties, and slowly take his makeup off, easily locating the makeup remover he’d borrowed from you that very first night.

Your eyes sting a little as you’re reminded of that time. It feels like an eternity ago, even though it’s just under a fortnight. You’d thought he was so intimidating back then. Though he still had the power to command attention, you’d seen enough of the kindhearted, thoughtful and sensitive man beneath that the Jimin two weeks ago felt like a very different man.

“Water’s ready.”

You blink yourself out of that train of thought, letting Jimin help you carefully into the tub, joining you on the other side, legs tangled. “Thank you,” you manage to say, still feeling a little out of it after a tiring day and a good orgasm.

Jimin beams, glancing away to obscure some of his face. It’s clear to you that the lack of makeup has him feeling a bit vulnerable. His skin is flushed red - either naturally or from exertion you couldn’t tell - and his brows were softer, eyes looking smaller without the shadow that emphasised them. He wasn’t any less beautiful like this, just more human. Comforting, in a way, as he passes you a washcloth and begins to lather himself up in strawberry-scented bodywash.

“Hey, Y/n,” Jimin starts, but his voice sounds weirdly stilted and unlike him.

“Mm?”

“My, um, my…” He lets out a light cough, avoiding your gaze with an air of forced aloofness. “Granny keeps asking about you. She’s convinced we’re dating, but that’s, uh, I’ve assured her we aren’t. She really liked you, and whenever we chat she asks to speak to you, and, um…”

You feel more coherent than you have in a good couple hours, sitting upright. “She does?”

Jimin laughs ruefully. “I never really knew how to ask you if you wanted to speak to her, or if I should even ask you at all-”

“So you thought now, while we’re both naked in a tub after you fucking my brains out is the right time?”

Jimin’s cheeks colour more as he splutters. “You can say no, I just didn’t want you to… I don’t know. You can say no.”

You beam at him. “I have one rule.”

“What?”

“I’ll hang out with Mrs. Park on one condition.”

The blue-haired boy stares at you warily. “Which is?”

You lean forward with a deadpan expression on your face, making him grimace in worry. “You let me sleep in your bed tonight,” you explain gravely, “I’m running out of options for this Bangasm Bomb thingy, and it’s only fair after you just took me out of commission like that.”

Jimin laughs in relief, throwing his head back with a joyous grin. “Deal! Don’t scare me like that.”

You return his smile, heart swelling from the fondness you hold for him. “Of course I’ll chat with your grandma, Jimin. I love her. She reminds me of you a lot.”

You may have said too much, but Jimin goes lax against the opposite end of the tub, smile never leaving his lips, and you don’t regret it for a second.

[sweetsubharry]

do you have any friends to lovers au full of fluffy?

Yes I do!! It is a favourite of mine so be warned there’s 36 fics in this rec!! Isn’t friends to lovers fluff just the best??  💖

Please stay safe and read the tags!!

It's A Start by Magiic_Shop

“This is dangerous, love,” Louis smirked, his lips pressed against Harry’s shoulder blade.

“Why’s that?” Harry asked.

“Because,” Louis’ smirk grew into a smile, “I might never want to let you go.”

Harry shifted against Louis, reaching up to cover Louis’ hand on his stomach with his own, “Then don’t.”

--

Or, the one where Harry can't sleep at night, and because of that, neither can Louis. Louis thinks it could be the start of something.

everything i can arrange, every part of me you change by orphan_account

“Don’t you try that shit with me,” Niall spits the second he reaches Louis, pulling off the hood with force. “What the hell is this?” He plops down next to Louis on the empty bleacher and unceremoniously pushes a sheet of crumpled paper in his face.

Netflix and Chill Buddy Application

It’s like no matter how hard Louis tries, he can’t seem to run away from this stupid fucking flyer. All the girls (and some of the boys) in every one of his classes have been talking about it all week. It’s on every wall of every building on campus. Louis went for a jog last night and he nearly tripped and died over a loose one on the football track.

[Harry needs a big spoon and Louis refuses to let anyone steal his position. Based on this post.]

One Plus One Is Also One (Sometimes) by justgotowisharder

“Dear Mrs. Sissy,” Anne read out loud and Harry only wanted the ground to swallow him up, “you asked me to write about my hero but I don’t have a hero, I have a superhero. Superheroes are better and have superpowers. My superhero is Louis Tomlinson.”

(Or the one where Louis Tomlinson isn’t really a superhero, but he’ll always do everything on his power to protect his baby Harry)

Love You But I Gotta Let Go by FallingLikeThis

Harry’s father is never going to be satisfied with anything that he does. But maybe that’s okay when his best friend is there, always cheering him on anyway.

Prompt 947: The despair of ever living up to his standards.

Pour Your Heart Out by hrrytomlinson

Louis is his soulmate. Or at least Harry thinks he is. Louis feels the same as Louis. But there are a lot of people named Louis in the world and this Louis might not be the Louis. It’s besides the point though, because Harry knows he can’t allow himself to get close to any boys. He just can’t and he’s told himself this multiple times. He has to simply stay away from Louis Tomlinson. But he can’t. Harry Styles can never stay away from Louis Tomlinson. It’s physically impossible for him to. 

Take This Sinking Boat and Point It Home by goodgirlfaith (boomersoonerash)

Five times Louis Proposes to Harry and the one time he doesn't.

Just Ask Me To by TellMeThisIsNotLove

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers.

“Of course I’m telling the truth!” Harry doesn’t even care that he sounds exasperated.

“Oh my god.” Louis grabs the wall behind him as if looking for support. His body slides down against it until he’s sitting crouched on the floor.

He mumbles something but Harry can’t really figure out what it is. He crouches down, and looks desperately at the breaking boy in front of him.

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers. “You were not supposed to–”

“I was not supposed to do what? Tell me please,” Harry urges, taking Louis’ hands gently in his.

Or the X Factor era canon fic where they learn how to be a couple and that not everyone is going to be on their sides especially those with plain white t-shirts and saccharine smiles.

Burning Skies by emeraldharry 

They both watched as ice and fire danced across their palms, hypnotized by the small things they could do with their powers. Snowflakes swirled around each other as the mist twisted about like a small tornado, while the fire in Louis' hands swayed and twirled gracefully—bright and warm and beautiful.Before, Harry couldn't even think of touching him with the fear of turning his skin to ice. Now, he knew that Louis wasn't some ordinary human to shy away from. Louis was bright, fiery flames, a body of powerful waves of heat. Louis was everything he was not, his polar opposite, but it was all the more reason that they fit together just right.or[Mutant au: Harry likes to think he's normal. Except, normal boys don't freeze everything they touch. Louis thinks he's perfect just the way he is and shows him just that. Zayn is a telekinetic, Liam is a rising YouTube star, and Niall is the best human best friend there is.]

I see the love light in your eyes by larrycaring

For as long as Harry can remember, Louis has always been his best friend.

There are a few constant things in Harry’s life: his family, this town he’s grown up in, and Louis.

He had his other friends, of course, but Louis had always been and still was the person that Harry was closest to. Maybe it was due to the fact that they live next to each other, and that, since the first night they’d talked, when he and Louis shared a conversation on their conjoining roofs, they instantly hit off, and a friendship developed. Or maybe it was that Louis was always so cheeky, almost the opposite of Harry, but it complimented Harry’s slow and thoughtful way of life perfectly. Either way, it just kind of happened.

or an AU where Louis and Harry are very much in love. Featuring football & late night rendezvous.

you fit me better than my favourite sweater by brightbluelou

Harry didn't mean to fall in love with his best friend, and he definitely didn't mean to get pregnant. Despite that, it’s probably still the best thing that’s ever happened to him. And after that, well. It just kept getting better.

or; the one where Harry and Louis are friends-with-benefits and Harry unexpectedly gets pregnant. Harry never wants to stop getting pregnant after that, but Louis thinks seven kids is probably enough.

put your head on my shoulder by wayfared

Niall gives Harry until the end of marching season to either a) make a move on Louis Tomlinson or b) get the fuck over him. Either is easier said than done. Basically, your High School AU with a drum beat.

My Only Sunshine by DontLetHimGo

Harry and Louis have known each other since the start of everything.

When Harry is only a few weeks old, and Louis is two, the older boy is immediately intrigued by the little person in the carry cot. Jay knows that it will be difficult to keep her son away from her best friend's little boy.

baby, hold on to my heart by icaarusfalls

Here was the dilemma: Louis and Harry were out with their mates window shopping because there was nothing else to do and Louis brought an antique ring, hoping to pawn it off to get some quick cash. It was a small, old thing, all rusted and gold, but it had its charm. The owner didn't take it because of the minuscule crack down the middle of the jewel, so Louis just shrugged and handed it to Harry without a thought.

—•—

Louis gives Harry a ring as a joke, but Harry starts wearing the ring everywhere he goes.

So Put Your Hands In (The Holes of My Sweater) by Kat_rawr

“Are you gonna kiss me then?” He asks so quiet he isn’t even sure Louis heard him.

“I think it’s bad luck if I don’t.“ Louis’ breath is hot on Harry’s skin in the cold air. They stand in the dark; Louis’ face only lit up by the yellow-ish light from the street light a few metres away. The light over the door of their building hasn’t worked in years.

“Okay,” Harry says, and of course his cheeks heat up. There are definitely butterflies in stomach and his mouth is definitely dry.

or,

Harry and Louis go on a lot of not-dates.

It's the Sun In Your Eyes by Bearandleonardwrite

Harry's not the best with relationships. Then he finds Louis.

(Basically; Harry's insecure and hurt, but Louis loves him anyways and knows how to help.)

Sun-Dappled by QuickedWeen

Louis and his best friend Harry are in their seventh year at Hogwarts, facing down their future together. Louis has been in love with his best friend for as long as he can remember, and he begins to feel a sense of urgency as the second semester begins. Finally he hatches a plan to tell Harry about his feelings on Harry's birthday.

Stop Making Tired Excuses by midnightskies

Louis hates many things; cold tea, countdown, tuesdays, and university, but most of all he absolutely, categorically despises Eric Davidson, current boyfriend of Harry Styles. 

nonstop earthquake dreams of you by lumineres

And there's heat behind it, blazing, plasmatic, like stars crashing together, like an explosion in space, like a supernova, like a black hole--everything else sucked out of existence. There's no bed and there's no pillow and they're not lying down, just floating somewhere, somehow, and there's no room and there's no X Factor house and there's no Niall snuffling or Liam's deep, even breathing and there's no wind or traffic outside and there's no hum of the heating unit and it's all just Louis. All encompassingly Louis.

or, harry falls hard and finds louis already at the bottom

every december (your star lights the sky) by larrystomlinsons

Louis needs a date for the Christmas dance and Harry is the wingman that has feelings for him.

Counting The Steps Between Us by zarah5

AU. So, yeah. That year abroad helped Harry establish that he is in love with his best friend. Now, if Louis would stop treating him like a little brother, that would be awesome. (Additional ingredients: a collapsing tree house, a lot of pining, the other three boys as Louis' new best mates from university, and a camping trip. Serve hot.)

waiting on the sun by midnights

A third year counselor at Camp Weehawken, Louis just wants to get through the summer without accidentally professing his love to Harry during movie night.

ft. night swimming, lots of cuddles, and even more fluff.

Right From the Start (You Know I Got You) by FallingLikeThis

Louis grows up protecting Harry. Harry loves him for it.

Let Me Give You My Life by midnightskies

Gemma has one rule for Louis while he stays with her family at Christmas; not to hook up with her little brother, so of course that's the one thing Louis does.

deep in my heart i know there's only you by ballsdeepinjesus

"Will you do it?” Harry whispers. Louis has to lean closer just to hear him. He furrows his brows and shakes his head, not knowing what Harry means. “Would you donate for me?”

Louis is dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, I thought you just asked if I’d donate my sperm. Can you repeat yourself?”

[harry and louis are best friends who engage in some platonic baby-making. very platonic.]

You Are The View by larryftnoctrl

Louis is running out on time for his photography assignment and Harry looks lovely in red. It only made sense.

the most beautiful thing by sunflowergolden

“Well, I came prepared of course. I actually have a full on suit with me.”He had to be joking. “Lou, you have to be joking. There’s no way you took a full on suit with you all the way from the States.”“I was raised right, H. You never know when you’re going to need it, so you take it with you. In case a cute boy asks you out.”or, the one where louis and harry have been friends for a while, but they live 5.404 miles away from each other, and louis goes to stay with harry for a week

Take Me As I Am by lovelarry10

“Suppressant? But… why would I need a suppressant? Alphas don’t take suppressants.”

“You’re right, they don’t.”

****

Secrets. Lies. Deception. Betrayal. Self-discovery.

Alpha. Omega. How far will they go to hide the truth?

don't call me baby by 28sunflowers

A short and cliché roommates AU inspired by To Be So Lonely, where they’re both oblivious to each other’s feelings and Harry gets sad and jealous over nothing. It works out in the end.

Spin Me Like A Record by zarah5

Uni AU. Sometimes, Louis poses as Harry’s boyfriend. It doesn’t mean anything. Really.

Take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic by larrycaring

Call him hopelessly romantic, but Harry was convinced Louis was the one for him. He had never really believed in love at first sight until his special person had come along and stolen his heart. And really, as soon as he had first met Louis on the train, Harry had felt something. Their love, at first sight, had started when they had met, and it had never ended since they had found each other. Harry hadn’t known it back then, of course, but even during his first encounter with Louis, he had felt that fluttering feeling from deep down inside, when Louis had first smiled at him. It had been like gravity had moved, and nothing had mattered more than him.

or even in a magical world, Louis and Harry's love is the most magical and beautiful thing in the world, Zayn is the smart Ravenclaw who falls for his best friend, Liam's true feelings are revealed and Niall is Niall.

or my first Larry Hogwarts AU that I just had to write.

Close your eyes (and let the word paint a thousand pictures) by larrycaring

They were attached at the hip as soon as they met on the Hogwarts Express. They became good friends within the first week of school, and from that day on, Harry just kind of snuck his way right into Louis’ heart. It’s just his charming side, his genuine and caring personality, his stupid puns (and now pick-up lines) that make Louis laugh his ass off, and his bravery and determination. His endless support and loyalty, his friendship… Everything about him, Louis loves. Merlin’s beard, he’s truly gone for him. And he doesn’t know how to tell Harry.

or another Hogwarts AU where Harry thinks it’s a good idea to use cheesy pick-up lines to reveal his feelings to Louis.

Faking It by TheCellarDoor

A uni AU in which Louis has been Harry’s best friend since he offered him cubed fruit on the playground, and they spend more time cuddling in their dorm beds than they do apart, but it’s not like that. Or is it?

Aka Harry pretends to date his best friend to escape unwanted attention from a too insistent classmate and hopes it won’t blow up in his face. Featuring embarrassing dildo accidents, awkward boners, longing, first times, late night conversations, emotional discoveries and Niall as the exasperated friend with bad advice.

Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by 1Diamondinthesun

Harry spends most of his time in an empty house or a lonely darkroom, dreaming of leaving his small town for art school. He's invisible to most people. And then Louis Tomlinson sees him. Life will never be the same.

Or, the American high school AU loosely inspired by She's All That.

A Real Work of Art by lululawrence

“I don’t understand,” Liam said for probably the fiftieth time in ten minutes. “You have to explain again how this is a bad thing.”

“Leeeeyummm,” Harry whined into the phone as he leaned his head onto his desk. “I felt like this year was my year for getting his attention, you know? That senior year I would finally get Logan Thompson to realize I exist! But he’s in almost every single one of my classes, Li. How am I supposed to survive that?”

“Easily,” Liam answered, with the same matter of fact tone his voice always took when Harry was in one of his fits. “He doesn’t know you exist, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Right?”

Or the one where Harry calls on an old friend, the super popular Louis Tomlinson, to help him change his look to capture the heart of Logan. Things only mostly go as planned.

wanna taste your heart, don't interfere by orphan_account

Harry still remembers how unsure he felt when he first told Louis, how self-conscious he was. Louis had been nothing but understanding and kind, though, reassuring him that nothing’s going to change between them, that they’re still best friends regardless of sex. Harry had been mostly relieved at that, because he really doesn’t want to lose Louis as a friend over this, but another part of him had been a bit sad because… well, because nothing changed between them. Or rather, there is change, but it’s completely one-sided as far as Harry can tell.

This change being him not getting enough of the way Louis smells. He just can’t help it, is the thing, unable to stop himself from trying to subtly press his nose against the fabric of Louis’ shirt by his shoulders. He still smells like faint cologne and sweat, which is enough to make Harry start feeling slightly dizzy.

(harry presents as an omega, louis is his alpha best friend, and there are hidden feelings that just get harder to control.)

Picture Perfect by LittleBubbleStyles

an AU where Louis Tomlinson is a misunderstood football player, and Harry Styles is a misunderstood photographer. Somehow, they're understood together.

this is a wip but it is updated regularly, almost finished, and I highly recommend it!!

[snarkwrites]

ssw | sweetpea; wondering what his kiss feels like. | fluff.

NOTES:

Okay, so.. Apparently my brain likes to torment me. Because earlier, I was going to outline the next chapter for my Sweetpea x Andrews!OFC fic Gangsta and my brain threw out a casual, “But have you considered.. Using the Lodge!OFC you were planning to use with Reggie Mantle.. With Sweetpea?” and this kind of.. came.

So.. if enough people are interested, I may be considering actually writing them a fic or doing more of these little things based around them.. and trying to delve more into possibly pairing Alyssa with Reggie? Because when I wrote their oneshot I felt like there was potential there too... Also, this one shot is a direct result of me, watching dirty dancing reenactments on tik tok and my love for the movie + the fact that Riverdale does musicals every season...

Anyway, enjoy?

PROMPTS:

taken from either [ HERE ] or [ HERE ] give or take. It could be one or the other or a mix of both at my own choosing.

the way he says your name / his fingers sliding between your own / wondering what your kiss feels like - these are the inspo prompts used for this oneshot.

FANDOM / CHARACTER

Riverdale / Sweetpea x Lodge!OFC, Marlena

OTHER WORKS SWEET PEA X MARLENA ARE USED IN

None BUT.. That could change, idk..

WARNINGS

Intense sexual tension. Arguing back and forth as a love language until someone snaps. Mutual crushes that turn into something more.. This one is absolutely safe for the kiddos aside from a few swears and the like.. Oh and one barely elaborated on incident of thigh riding / dirty dancing.

TAGGING

There’s absolutely no one on my Riverdale taglist. If you want to be on it, please let me know. Or add yourself to the link below.

OTHER STUFF

[ faq | sfw masterlist - safe for the kiddos but read with caution | tag list ] 

“I swear to God, if she doesn’t give me more, I’m going to fall asleep. Is this really all we could find to participate in the musical for you guys?” My sister's question drew me out of a silent stare war with Sweetpea across the auditorium. He rolled his eyes and I stuck out my tongue at him before turning my attention back to my older sister, sighing as I glanced in the direction of the stage up front. “ She’s not that bad.. I mean at least she had the guts to try out for a part?” I mused quietly, shaking my head. Disappointed at myself because I hadn’t signed up.

Stage fright is one hell of a deterrent. And I knew that if I had tried out, no matter how well I knew the movie we were doing our musical adaptation of this year, when opening night came and those curtains opened and I saw all those people sitting out in the seats? I was going to freeze. I’d completely ruin the show. I didn’t want that.

The best I could do was at least offer to do costumes for Kevin. I told myself that behind the scenes was still helping and being supportive but deep down, ugh.. I wanted to do so much more.

If I were half as brave as my older sister Veronica is when it comes to this kind of stuff… Everyone has their fears though. Mine just happen to be public speaking in front of large audiences. My sister tells me constantly that it doesn’t make sense because I can go all over competing in dance stuff and there’s a crowd there, but.. When I’m dancing, I’m focused on footwork. On steps and the music and the way it makes me feel. I don’t have to speak.

This is also ironic when you take into consideration I am not a shy girl by any stretch of the imagination. I’m actually quite vocal. But when it involves speaking in public?

I freeze. I shut down and in turn, I wind up looking like an idiot.

I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I didn’t notice that Veronica had gotten up out of her seat and walked over, taking the seat right beside Kevin. They were whispering back and forth. I laughed softly because knowing my sister, she was probably telling Kevin that Leah needed to find a better attitude or Kevin needed to find a better person to play Baby Housemann.

Oh, if only I had one tenth of a clue.

My sister came back over, sinking down into the seat next to me. “Feel better now?” I asked her, barely hiding my amusement as I said it. She giggled and nodded. “Much better. I want you to remember how much you love me…” she muttered.

I raised a brow. “What’s that even mean?”

“Just wait.”

“What the hell did you do, Ronnie?”

“You’ll find out, Marlena. Just wait.” Veronica wouldn’t give me any more of an answer than that. Grumbling to myself, I settled back in my seat and tried to focus on the ongoing argument between Leah and Kevin from the stage.

Rolling my eyes at her audacity. Literally anyone could’ve done her part better and she had the nerve to demand Kevin to change everything to fit her? Refusing to work with him on anything? Putting down the script when it was the same one they used in the movie?

Just the thought of it had me shaking my head and muttering to myself about the entitlement and audacity. Veronica gave a soft laugh and leaned in, mocking the way she’d delivered her last line and the fact that she wanted pretty much all her dialogue changed and constantly needed reasons why her character did anything they did.

“Marlena! Hey, Marlena, where are you?” Kevin was calling my name. I looked up from the whispered conversation I’d been having with my older sister Veronica and raised my hand, waiting.

“C’mon. I want to try something. Leah’s just not cutting it for me as Baby.” Kevin called out to me as he gave Leah an irritated dirty look. Leah threw down her script and walked out of the auditorium in a huff. “This is a stupid idea for a musical anyway. Nothing’s gonna top what the seniors are doing. Good luck, jackass.”

Veronica gave me a nudge and with a soft laugh, she leaned in, smiling as she whispered into my ear, “You were born for this, Marlena. Dirty Dancing is your all time favorite movie.”

“Excuse me? I thought we both established it was Crybaby. Then Grease. Then Dirty Dancing.” I teased, standing in a hurry. My sister’s rebuttal to this was to point out with a soft laugh that I definitely had my own special vibe and type of guy. I poked out my tongue at her and turned away. Making my way towards the front of the auditorium where Kevin stood.

Once I was up there, Kevin pressed a copy of our class’s script into my hands. “Congratulations, you’ve been promoted from costumes.” he smirked at me. “I have a feeling about you and this part. As a director, I’m going to go with my gut.”

“But I didn’t sign up..” I shuffled my feet. 

“ Yeah, well, the ones who did from your class obviously don’t care enough to bother showing up to practice or don’t care enough to give their best when they actually bother to come and we’re rehearsing.” Kevin shrugged. Taking his seat.

Alex, the guy who’d been cast as Johnny Castle, walked over. Wrinkling his nose at me as soon as he stood in front of me. Arms folded over his chest as he asked Kevin in a snobbish tone, “So we’re seriously just letting stage crew have parts now, Keller? Is that what this is? I thought you were going to help us make our musical better, not make it a massive failure.”

“Asshole.” I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes as I stepped up to him, jabbing a finger into his chest. Giving him a piece of my mind because holy hell did his holier than thou attitude ever irritate me, “I’ll have you know, I probably know this movie line for line. I can probably do all the dances blindfolded, in a wheelchair. Who the hell do you think you are anyway? I saw you in Romeo and Juliet. I have never fallen asleep so fast in my entire life.” I smirked as I went quiet, rolling my eyes at him.

Alex chuckled and rolled his eyes right back at me, making the dismissive remark in response, “Did I ask you to speak? Did I address you directly? No. I didn’t. I was talking to the director. Don’t you have costumes to make or something? You’re holding up rehearsals.”

Out towards the back of the auditorium, I heard my sister cheering me on. Clapping and whistling. Telling me to give him hell and telling Alex he was awfully full of himself for someone who got a thumbs down by a New York theater critic over the summer.

I took a deep breath and glanced down at the script in my hands. Starting to read over it. Ignoring the argument between Kevin and Alex for the most part. Just trying to get myself in character while I waited. 

Alex grumbled and stormed back over, standing near me. His posturing tense and a supremely annoyed look in his eyes as he gave me half a second’s glance. Kevin gave the cue to start and Alex read his line first. 

“Look, spaghetti arms. This is my dance space. This is your dance space. I don't go into yours, you don't go into mine. You gotta hold the frame.”

Before I even got a chance to read off my line, Kevin was standing up. Making his way towards us. “You two are supposed to be dancing together. Marlena, you need to stand closer. Alex, you need to deliver the line in more of a teasing tone. Like you’re trying to taunt her. Playful. Not like you’re actually being an asshole. Like you’re flirting with her.”

“She’s not my type.” Alex rolled his eyes as he glanced at me. I glared up at him, a hand on my hip. Dangerously close to exploding all over again. I kept everything I’d been about to say to myself though, and with a deep breath, I listened as Kevin gave us both advice. Smirking to myself a little when he lit into Alex for being a drama queen.

After Kevin finished telling us what to fix, we prepared to try again. I stepped closer. Found myself glancing out in the crowd. My eyes settled on Sweetpea. 

I found him watching the whole thing play out with an amused smirk. His arms folded over his chest. Holding my gaze boldly. Daring me to look away first. I refused. If  I looked away first, that gave him the upper hand. I was not about to give him that.

,, That jackass. Look at him. All smug.. Ugh, I just wanna punch his stupid sexy face.” the thought surfaced and I quickly did my best at shoving it out again. I found myself thinking about a heated argument we’d had in the hallway earlier.

I found myself kind of drawing parallels between him and the character Alex was supposed to be playing but doing a terrible job at playing. I couldn’t work with the performance Alex was giving, he wasn’t giving me anything to work with. 

Somewhere in the midst of it all, I found myself replaying my earlier argument with Sweetpea. Stepping closer to Alex. Doing my best to play at a lack of experience in dance, despite my vast experience and love for it. Getting immersed in the role. Imagining myself as the character Baby.. And not Alex but Sweetpea as Johnny Castle.

Alex delivered his line a second time. His delivery wasn’t much better. Kevin grumbled to himself and made his way over yet again. This time, Kevin’s problem with the scene had absolutely nothing to do with me.

He addressed me first. “Please, please please.. You have to play Baby. You have to.” he gave me a pleading look. “I’m prepared to beg, okay?”

I pretended to mull it over. Smiling as I nodded. “Okay, alright.. I can still do costumes though, right? Because I already have a ton of ideas drawn up..” I shuffled my feet, giving Kevin a pleading look.

“Yeah! Definitely. You’re the only one I trust to do the costumes right, Marlena.” Kevin answered quickly.

He turned his attention to Alex and they got into a heated argument. Alex blamed his performance on me and the fact that I seemed standoffish and that I wasn’t up to his level and shouldn’t even be sharing a stage with him to begin with. Insisting that Kevin should at least give Josie McCoy a chance to play Baby in our play. She already had her hands full with the senior class musical and her performance during intermission and Kevin pointed that out.

“Josie can’t do both musicals and intermission twice, Alex. That’s asking way too much. Even from her, man. Marlena is Baby. You can adapt to that or you’re welcome to leave.” Kevin stood firm in his decision.

Alex eyed me and I stood taller. Smirking up at him. More than a little amused by the entire thing. He chuckled. Shrugging as he tossed down the script he’d been holding in his hands. “Fine. Try to find somebody else to do a better job at playing Johnny. See how that works out. I’m done. I refuse to participate in this mockery.”

He stormed out of the auditorium.

My sister Veronica and Josie McCoy shared a look and a nod. Veronica stood. Josie shot up out of her seat also and the two jogged over to Kevin. Getting him off to the corner of the auditorium. As the three of them whispered back and forth, I stood there, shuffling my feet. Reading ahead in the script.

Taking it all in.

Honestly enjoying the fact that I was going to be playing Baby Housemann in the junior class musical immensely more than I thought I would. ,, until opening night when you’re on stage in front of everyone and you either freeze, bolt out of the room or throw up everywhere.” my mind taunted.

I shoved out the intrusive thought.

Kevin chuckled out loud. Getting so excited that he didn’t keep his voice down when he spoke up. “Your minds, I swear. Yeah, we’re gonna try that. Right now, actually.” Kevin told my sister and Josie. They smirked at each other and as they walked past me, Veronica gave me a wink.

And almost as soon as she did, I braced myself. Because I have the sneaking suspicion that my sister was up to something. And if that something had to do with a certain Serpent reading against me as Johnny Castle?

I was literally going to die. I’d be totally doomed.

,, maybe not.” and even the surprise optimism had me laughing at myself because I knew better.

“Sweetpea, can you come up here, man?” Kevin called out.

I tensed just a little. Took a deep breath. Suddenly I knew exactly what my sister had been up to but my question now was why had Josie taken part in the whole idea? I thought she was dating him? They were hot and heavy at Cheryl’s party a few weeks ago and they went places together a lot …

I prayed for a portal to another dimension to open in the stage and take me out. If my sister has even slightly hinted that I may or may not have feelings for the giant jerk to anyone I swear to God.. I’ll die.

Sweetpea hopped over the chair in front of him and walked down the long aisle, stopping where Kevin sat in the front row. The two were whispering back and forth and more than one time, Sweetpea glanced back at me. Smirking. Chuckling as he listened to what Kevin was telling him and rubbing his chin as he pretended to think something over.

Sweetpea looked over at me and shrugged as he answered Kevin. “I can try. I’m not makin any promises though because I don’t dance and I’ve never seen this movie.”

“Just trust me. You’re as Johnny as Johnny gets, Pea.” Kevin encouraged. I wanted to kick him so badly at that moment. Did he seriously have to encourage Sweetpea? There had to be someone else… anyone else. Someone I didn’t have a massive crush on and yet also want to strangle.

I pretended to stick my finger down my throat and gag, as per usual when Sweetpea locked eyes with me again as he walked towards where I stood..

 ,, because God forbid you let him even get an ounce of suspicion that you have a crush on the guy.” my brain was at it again with the taunting. I pushed it all down deep and took a deep breath or two.

“You did this just to be an asshole.” I muttered.

“No, I did this because Kevin’s my friend. Not everything I do is about pissing you off, princess.” Sweetpea chuckled as he said it. Adding in a quieter tone, “Just because you’re Marlena Lodge… That doesn’t make everything about you.”

My jaw set and I glared up at him. Taking a deep breath or two. Reminding myself that despite Sweetpea now reading as Johnny Castle, I still loved this movie and I wanted our class’s play to be worth watching. That I couldn’t mess this up. I couldn’t let Sweetpea taunt and torment me into messing this up either.

I didn’t want to disappoint Kevin because he was one of my best friends. He was depending on me to at least try to do my best here.

Kevin gave the signal for us to start from the top of the scene.

I stepped closer. My body brushing against Sweetpea’s. Sweetpea mirrored this and grabbed hold of my arms, pulling them out in front of me just like Patrick Swayze did in the actual movie as he recited the line.

And the tone in his voice, oh my god.

“Look, spaghetti arms. This is my dance space. This is your dance space. I don't go into yours, you don't go into mine. You gotta hold the frame.”

I responded with my line. Stepping closer, even throwing in an accidental mis-step on the top of his foot on my own. 

Kevin continued to sit, watching us rehearse. By the time we got to the scene where Johnny is telling Baby that he got fired, I could feel more people’s eyes on us. And I swallowed hard, trying not to focus on being watched and how that felt, but instead, on the script. On what I had to say and how I felt like it needed to come across.

And maybe, in my own mind, I was imagining how I’d act if I were in Baby’s shoes. Having just argued with my father about the guy I was in love with only to turn and find out that despite my own optimism at convincing the guy to do the right thing, nothing worked out the way I wanted at all.

Sweetpea must have caught on to my anxiety because he muttered quietly, “You good, princess?” as he covertly brushed his hand against mine. Clearing his throat to get my attention and keep me from getting nervous and blanking out or bolting off the stage.

I gazed up at him a second or two, finally nodding. Managing to ground myself somehow and I tried my best to convince myself it was not because Sweetpea’s fingers laced through mine. Almost as if he’d caught hold of my hand to keep me from leaving.

,, He’s just doing that because it’s in the script. You’re supposed to be having a heated discussion and you’re about to walk away upset. That’s the only reason he grabbed your hand. It has nothing to do with the fact that you kind of freaked out a little and lost your focus.” I reminded myself grimly as I caught up to where we were on the page and took a deep breath, preparing for my turn to speak.

As I delivered my next line, “So I did it for nothing.I hurt my family, you lost your job anyway-- I did it for nothing!” I wanted to disappear into the stage floor when my sister stood up in her chair, clapping and whistling. But the way I said it sounded so wistful. Disappointed and bitter. Like I was truly hurting.

Sweet Pea said his line. “No, no, not for nothin', Baby! Nobody has ever done anything like that for me before.” and I paused. Staring up at him. Blown away because he sounded so sincere too. Like for a second or two, this was really taking place and it wasn’t just some silly rehearsal. Like he meant what he was saying.

But I knew he didn’t. We tolerate each other at best. At our worst, we’re at each other’s throats constantly. Finding any and all excuses to rip into each other or push the other’s buttons. Because it’s just what we do.

But his tone. The look in his eyes when he delivered the line. The way his eyes fixed on me, searching. Waiting.

“It’s your turn, princess.. Cat got your tongue?” he muttered under his breath to draw me out of my own inner turmoil.

I took a deep breath and scanned the page. Finding my next line. “You were right, Johnny. You can't win no matter what you do!” and I could feel him staring as I said it. Biting his lip when I lazily punched at his chest because it felt like the right thing to do in the heat of the moment to show how upset the character was. I shook my head and dropped my eyes. “You were right.” I muttered in a quieter tone.

Sweetpea reached out, rough fingertips gripping my jawline. Guiding my eyes back up to meet his as he replied with the next line, “You listen to me. I don't wanna hear that from you. You can!”

And again, it sounded so real. Emotional. Like we were really having this argument. I was really getting into this. Probably a little too much for my own good. I sighed and shook my head sadly. Biting my lip as I stepped away a little and continued to shake my head, arguing back, “I used to think so.” and after a second or two, adding in a quieter tone, “Now I don’t know anymore.” even though it wasn’t in the script.

Sweetpea was staring at me. Thoughtful. Intent. Almost as if he were actually seeing me and not all the stupid things he’d written me off as from the word go on the first time we met. He cleared his throat and that shit-eating smirk was back again. “Not too bad, huh?”

“Jackass.” I muttered, mostly to myself. Still a little dazed.

Kevin called for a break and made his way over.

“Okay, we’re going to take this all the way from the beginning tomorrow. I wish I’d done this sooner. We’re going to have to practice the lift next. Because the lift is iconic. We have to pull that off or I’m gonna want to punch myself in the throat.” Kevin was excited, rambling away a mile a minute.

Sweetpea spoke up. “What about my part in the senior musical?”

“You can do both. We’ll move the junior musical to a different night. You have to do this. C’mon…”

Sweetpea grumbled and finally muttered with a shrug, “Okay, alright. Fine. Shit. I’ll do it. But I’m not wearing tights, are we clear?”

“You really haven’t seen the movie at all… have you?” I scoffed as I gazed up at Sweetpea. He mimicked me and shrugged. “I’ve seen bits of it. But I know one thing and that’s dancers wear tights. I’m not wearing tights. Not happenin.”

“For your information, you big idiot, Patrick Swayze does not wear tights a single time in this movie. At least not that I remember and I’ve seen it a thousand times... Suit and tie, maybe.”

Sweetpea grumbled and raised a brow.

“Not for the whole movie, damn it.. Black jeans and a black shirt will suffice for most of it. You can even wear your leather jacket, you big man-baby. Johnny Castle wears one in the movie.” I answered. Stepping closer to him to sort of get a visual read on his measurements so that when the time came I at least kind of had an idea of what worked. Sweetpea chuckled, dragging his fingers through his hair as he gazed down at me. “See something you like, princess?”

“I’m trying to figure out what I’m gonna need for your costume, dingus.” I replied as calmly as possible.

“Ya know, you could always just measure me… Right? Or ask me my size?”

“Oh you’d enjoy that entirely too much. And I’d have to touch you. No, nope. No thanks, I’ll pass.”

“I’m gonna have to touch you anyway. That lift or whatever it was that had Kevin rambling just now.” Sweetpea barely hid his amusement as he stepped even closer. A hand at my hip. Lingering.

For a second or two, I was lost in his eyes and totally oblivious to anything going on around us and then Kevin shattered that by starting the last song of the musical and calling for everyone to take their places.

And from the crowd, Fangs spoke up.

“Hey babe.. What if we got all the extras from the clubhouse scene to come in through the crowd? Just like the movie?” Fangs was smirking at both Sweetpea and I as he spoke up. Enjoying this entire situation way too much.

“Fangs, you brilliant and beautiful man, this is exactly why I love you so much.” Kevin smirked as he rubbed his chin and called out. “Okay, if you were an extra in the clubhouse scene, go to the doors of the auditorium. When Fangs gives the signal, you’ll come in. Dancing.”

He turned to Sweetpea. “You go with them.”

Sweetpea managed to break the staredown we had going on and he nodded. Grumbling as he walked towards the front of the auditorium.

Everything went pretty well until we got to the part where I was supposed to run to Sweetpea and he was supposed to lift me over his head. I took off, running towards him.

I missed the mark. Wound up with my legs wrapped around his waist, clinging for dear life while he staggered back just a little. Both of us arguing about whose fault it was that we messed up.

Kevin cleared his throat.

“You guys need more practice. Maybe you could rehearse together?”

Sweetpea and I glanced at each other, mulling it over.

“Fine.” Sweetpea ground out through a jaw tightly clenched. A glance at Fangs revealed that the reason he agreed without a huge fight was probably something to do with the way Fangs was giving him a demanding look.

“Fine.” I answered. Swallowing hard.

Trying to pull myself together because frankly, I was still all sorts of stirred up from the way he’d actually caught me and the fact that no, I hadn’t wanted him to put me back on my feet at the end, either.

I spoke up again. “We can do it at the bunker.” I suggested. Trying to think of a neutral place that didn’t favor either of us heavily. A place we could hopefully be alone and focus. And probably scream and shove and storm away to cool off if things got too heated.

“8 work for you or does daddy let you out past your bedtime, princess?” Sweetpea taunted, smirking at me when I glared and rolled my eyes.

“ I do what I want.” I scoffed at his parting jab. 

From behind me, my sister spoke up. “Are you ready, Marlena?” as she looked back and forth between Sweetpea and I with an amused grin.

“Yeah. We need to get going.” I answered.

 As my sister and I walked out of the auditorium, my sister gave a soft laugh. “That wasn’t so bad, huh? I knew you could do it.”

“Oh shut up.” I grumbled, managing a weak smile. “We haven’t made it to the night of yet. Don’t jinx this. Remember what happened last time I had to get up in front of people and talk in any capacity?”

“Marlena, that was kindergarten. Maybe it’ll be different.”

“Veronica, I threw up everywhere. And not gracefully, either. It was a full on projectile vomit.”

“That was something. The chemistry between you and Sweetpea in there. I felt like I was actually watching the movie.”

“He’s an ass. And he hates me, remember?”

“Yeah, well.. It didn’t look that way to me, Marlena. If he hated you, he wouldn’t have been standing so close the entire time… or the way he grabbed your hand?” my sister questioned.

I shrugged it off. “Can we change the subject?”

“Why? Afraid I might be right?” my sister teased, as usual.

TIME SKIP

“Okay, if he’s not here in ten minutes, I’m leaving. This place gives me the creeps.” I muttered to myself almost the exact second that I managed to find a spiderweb with my face and shriek about it.

Low chuckling from behind me had me turning. Finding myself body to body with Sweetpea as he tried not to laugh.

“Do you talk to yourself a lot or do I make you that nervous, princess?” he taunted. I gave a light shove and stepped away, pouting up at him. Quick to argue that he didn’t make me nervous, not at all, not even a little.

Despite knowing that the truth of the matter was yes. Yes, he made me extremely nervous. Because he was so distinctly my type and I just longed for what I knew wouldn’t ever work out between us because we were entirely too different.

“In other words, yes. I make you that nervous.” Sweetpea’s jaw set in a line and I flinched a little. Not wanting to fight with him.

I quickly changed the subject, nodding to a little tv and dvd player I’d rigged up earlier and the brown paper bags with Pop’s logo on the front.

“We need to rehearse. Not whatever this is.” Sweetpea was still irritated.

“Yes, well.. You’re never going to realize just how huge a part of the story Johnny Castle is until you’ve seen the movie.”

Sweetpea rubbed his chin in thought. “How long is this fucking movie?”

“Maybe two hours? C’mon… Or do you have a hot date waiting?” -the hint of jealousy that crept into my tone was enough to make me tense up a little. Pray to God he hadn’t picked up on it. Lucky for me, he didn’t seem to, instead, he was already digging into the grease stained paper bags, grabbing himself a burger and fries.

Sprawling on the little twin sized bed.

I dug out my own food and sat down, close to the edge of the bed, careful not to sit too close to him because I didn’t want to crowd him or annoy him or give him the wrong impression.. Or in my case, the right impression though I’d die before admitting that to him. 

After hitting play on the DVD player, the opening title splashed across the screen and I smiled, settling into my chosen seat just a little more comfortably.

About thirty minutes into the movie, I could feel his eyes fixed on me. I turned to look back at him, a brow raised. “What?”

“You know every single line.”

I felt my cheeks burn a little, shrugging it off as I nodded. Answering through a mouth full, “When we were little.. Veronica and I used to watch this movie whenever it was raining or we were sick. We’d get cozy in one of our rooms with snacks and blankets and we’d just like… imagine life being that simple. Doesn’t help that Johnny Castle is - to quote my sister, “Totally your kind of man.” “ I gave a sheepish laugh and took a handful of my fries, raking them through my milkshake.

Sweetpea rose to sit. Leaning in a little. Extending his arm and wiping his thumb over the corner of his mouth as he cleared his throat. “You had some milkshake…” before falling silent all over again. Staring at me for seconds that seemed to stretch infinitely. It  felt like everything fell away. All that remained was that thick tension. The flickering of the candles I’d lit earlier against the wall. The tension got to me. It had everything I wanted to say but couldn’t find the nerve threatening to come out.

“I don’t bite, ya know.” he muttered quietly. Pulling away a little. That look in his eyes again. 

It hit me. He honestly thought I disliked him. Or thought that I was better than him. Nothing could be further from the truth and realizing how he must have felt and what probably fuelled most of the comments and the arguments between us was the fact that he thought I viewed him as a lesser person somehow… that really got to me.

“I, uh.. I didn’t want to crowd you.” I managed to get the words out after a few seconds. Not daring to look at him. Desperate for a rewind button so maybe I could go back in time to when I first met him and salvage everything.

Desperate to tell him how I really felt.

Especially when I remembered what Veronica mentioned earlier about the way Josie just shut him out.

“Oh.”

The movie caught our attention again. After a minute or two of sitting poised right at the edge of the bed like I’d been and longing to really get comfortable, I settled in the sliver of space next to him. Trying not to think about the fact that the bed being as small as it was gave us literally no space and we were forced to touch.

Thirty minutes passed. Sweetpea sat up.

“ I think I get it now.” he muttered.

“Yeah?” I was getting lost in his eyes all over again.

“Mhm.” he affirmed. 

I sat up and so did he. “It’s cheesy as hell, but… I get it. Kinda know how the guy feels.” Sweetpea’s gaze settled on his hands and he chuckled to himself, the sound almost bitter.

“I’m sorry. I heard about you and Josie breaking up.”

“We didn’t. You can’t break up with someone if they never wanted to be with you to begin with.” Sweetpea answered. He tensed up a little and I sighed. Wishing I hadn’t opened my mouth.

That tension between him and I doubled.

In an attempt to make things just a little lighter, I slipped off the bed. Held out my hand.

Sweetpea eyed it warily. 

I insisted, “Oh come on, please? Just one dance. You did say we had to practice. And I dance, so I can definitely tell you that if we don’t at least somewhat connect, we’re going to be awkward and it’s going to look bad.”

Did I really just do that?

The scene where Baby goes to Johnny’s cabin and spends the night was just beginning and I swallowed hard as soon as I glanced back up at Sweetpea and realized that he was staring at the television in a daze. I cleared my throat to get his attention.

“You want me to dance with you.. Like that. Okay.” Sweetpea towered over me. Closing the space between our bodies before I had a chance to back out of what I asked of him. His hands went straight to my hips. Holding my body in place against his as he chuckled, looking down at me. “You’re the one who wanted to dance, princess.”

“Yeah.” I managed to stammer. Breathless. Helpless thanks to the way his fingers dug into my hips and held me against him. But when they started to move up and down my sides, oh… I felt myself shiver at the touch. Melting against him on my own. I’d been trying my best not to give in and do that.

I trained my eyes on the front of his plaid shirt because I didn’t dare look up at him.

His leg slipped between mine and I bit my lip. Breath catching in my throat all over again as I rubbed myself against his thigh. My usual careful,guarded filter was gone.

All I cared about was doing whatever I could to show Sweetpea that what he thought I felt towards him wasn’t true.

His hands settled across my ass. Fingers digging in as he gasped quietly. A groan slipping out as he muttered in a daze, “You really are a good dancer, huh?”

“I, uh… I compete. My parents are huge on pushing my sister and I into competitive activities, whether we want it or not.” I babbled.

It must have bothered him that I wasn’t looking at him because he gripped my jaw, guiding my gaze up. “But you like dancing. I can tell.”

,, maybe it’s just dancing like this with you.” the thought came. I stopped just shy of actually letting it slip out. I sighed and smiled, nodding in agreement. Because that was so much easier than everything else I wanted to do or say. ,, besides,” my brain continued to taunt, “why on Earth is he going to want you when he could have literally anyone else?” and the thought had me pouting a little.

I didn’t think he was aware of it.

“What?” he asked. Tensing a little. Loosening his grip on my body just a little bit. Seeming as if he wanted to step away from me. Before I had the chance to talk myself out of it, I melted against him all over again. Raising my arms to slip them around his neck.

“Nothing.” I answered after a few seconds.

“You were pouting again. That’s kind of a thing you do when you’re upset, you’re not getting your way or you’re annoyed.”

The fact that he picked up on that had me raising a brow. Scoffing. About to argue that I didn’t pout all the time, but keeping quiet because I knew he was right.

But how -and when, had he noticed?

“Dreading the fact that I’m going to get up there on stage and see everyone watching and I will panic.” I muttered quietly because a half truth was better than the whole truth or a complete lie.

If I told him the real reason I’d been pouting, well.. That would’ve opened up a can of worms that I’m not sure about opening. God I want to. But if I just lay it all on the line…

I can’t.

Sweetpea raised a brow. He started to say something but he went quiet on me. Thinking.

“But you’re so loud.” he finally spoke up.

I pouted up at him, giving his chest a light smack. “I ought to step on your foot, sir.”

“Won’t hurt. Boots are steel toe.” Sweetpea smirked as he said it. Sticking his tongue out at me.

He dipped me and I hadn’t been expecting it. I gasped and he chuckled. “Not so bad at this dancing shit, hmm?” he questioned as he pulled me back up. His hands moved up and down my back before settling on my ass again. Squeezing when I rocked myself over his thigh just a little before I could stop myself because what he was doing was getting me worked up.

I sighed a little. Melting all over at the way he touched me and held me. Admitting with a quiet laugh, “You’re actually not. And I can teach you more..” trailing off and going quiet.

“You can, huh?”

His voice was this perfect mix of gravel and silk and I had to clench my thighs just a little. Found myself praying to whatever God might exist that I didn’t get too excited and leave a wet spot behind on his jeans. Because that would definitely seal the embarrassment and awkwardness factor. And I didn’t want that.

I was staring intently at his chest again when he tucked his fingers beneath my chin and tilted my head. “Careful what you say, princess. I might actually take you seriously.”

“I’m being serious. I don’t mind at all.” I babbled and instantly, I wanted to punch myself in the throat for it. This awkward version of myself wasn’t me but for whatever reason, Sweetpea seemed to bring it out. All my insecurities seemed to come rushing to the surface. Taunting me with the knowledge that there was no way he’d ever be interested in me beyond the convenience of a good screw. Knowing that even if he were, something would go wrong somehow.

He dipped me again. This time when he pulled me back up, our faces bumped against each other and when my mouth brushed against his, I couldn’t stop the quiet gasp that came. His fingers dug into my body just a little more and we were staring at each other.

Dazed.

“Pea?”

“What’s up, princess?” he muttered after a second or two. Blinking as if he were trying to focus.

“Nothing.” I muttered. Losing my nerve and my train of thought. Pushing down everything I’d been about to say all over again.

“ Why do you do that? Just say whatever it is you want to say.”

“Oh, I don’t think you want me to do that.” I muttered, mostly to myself. My gaze trained on anything and everything but his. He guided my face up and licked his lips, his eyes darting down. Settling on my mouth. “What if I do?” he muttered in response after a few seconds.

“Okay, fine. I was wondering what..” I trailed off. Frustrated. Laughing at myself and shaking my head. “Forget it. It’s stupid.”

“Tell me, woman. Damn.” his tone was firm and I swallowed hard as I looked up at him.

He was going to keep at it until I said something and right now, I was drawing a blank on any other convenient things I could say that were less controversial than what I’d stopped myself from saying.

,, maybe if you say it, he’ll know that you don’t hate him.” the thought came.

I took a deep breath. Shaky.

“I was wondering what your kiss feels like.” I muttered, my voice dropping so low that for a second, I didn’t think he heard me.

His jaw dropped. One hand left my ass and raised. Dragging through thick dark hair as he tugged. His mouth opening and closing.

“What? You kept asking… I.. You don’t have to. I didn’t want to make it weird.” I babbled nervously. When he started to chuckle, I looked up at him with a brow raised. “Gee, thanks.” I pouted.

Stepping away. Because if I didn’t put some distance between us right then, I was going to keep digging the hole deeper.

He reached out and grabbed me by the hips, pulling me against him all over again. Rocking himself into me clumsily. His face inching closer and closer to my own. Our mouths were on a collision course and neither of us bothered to stop it from happening. His lips settled against the corner of my mouth clumsily. His tongue traced the outline of my lips and I shivered and melted against him like I’d been before. Clinging. My arms around his neck again. Fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck before settling my hand across to rest and pull his mouth back against mine.

My lips parted, granting him access. His tongue slipped past my lips and he melted into me this time. Deepening the kiss. Using his grip on my ass to pull me up his body slightly. I sighed as the kiss broke, my tongue rolling over kiss swollen lips. Staring at him as I tried to wrap my head around what just happened.

How badly I wanted it to happen again.

“Well?”

I bit my lip. Trying to formulate words. Anything. My brain must have short-circuited because I came up with nothing, despite all the opening and closing of my mouth as I attempted to answer.

I’m not sure what possessed me to do it or why I thought it was a good idea, but I was grabbing hold of the back of his neck. Pulling his mouth back against mine greedily. Taking total control of the kiss this time around. Making him chuckle into the kiss. 

As we pulled apart to breathe, he repeated his question.

“Better than my wildest dreams.” I blurted out quietly.

“So you dream about kissing me?” he asked, tucking his fingers beneath my chin so that I couldn’t do what I tended to when a subject got to be too uncomfortable for me… I swallowed hard and admitted in a hushed tone, “Among other things.”

He growled out the word “Fuck.” and pulled me up his body completely. Deepening the kiss to a point where I almost forgot to breathe a time or two. I could feel myself getting light-headed. The kiss broke and we pulled apart, breathing heavily. I melted against him, dazed. Still trying to get my head around the turn the night had taken.

“It’s getting late, princess.”

“It is.”

“I should probably get you home.”

I pouted a little. Holding onto him just a little tighter. “Unfortunately.” I muttered.

He scooped me off the table and carried me out of the bunker. Sitting me on the back of his motorcycle. I wrapped my arms around him and leaned against his back, the Serpent patch scratching at my skin a little.

The drive back to the Pembrooke took almost no time and as soon as his motorcycle stopped at the curb, I pouted a little. Rolling my eyes at the literal ivory tower.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I asked as I slipped off the back of his motorcycle.

 He grabbed hold of my hips, pulling me against him. Leaning down and stealing another deep kiss. “Mhm. Definitely, princess.”

I practically floated up the stairs leading into the lobby of the building. And I leaned against the wall, waiting on the elevator. Trying to pull myself together. Smiling like an idiot.

[jordanstrophe]

A Change of Heart part 3

CW: Whumper turning caretaker, Injured whumpee, whumpee afraid of caretaker, whumpee being considered merchandise, recovering from a cauterizing, broken ribs, mild stripping, rough caretaker, some medical whump

((Prompt tags! Idk if you still want to be tagged here, as it started as a prompt, so if you no longer want to be tagged here, let me know))

part 1 and  2 

Darius sat on the metal rail on the side of the road. He held Felix in his arms, holding him close to his chest, a hand holding a cloth to the wound on his side. Felix laid his head limply against his shoulder, tilting it to the side. He was breathing heavily, face sweating, eyes half closed. 

He couldn’t move.

He let out a tiny whimper, almost inaudible. Darius tucked his hair out of his face,  dabbing his forehead off with his sleeve. “Just hold on, they're almost here...” Darius whispered. He kept glancing back and forth down the empty road, then down at the phone he was struggling to grasp, wedged in his elbow so he could hold Felix.

Finally, a car pulled up, slamming on the brakes with a screech in front of them.

“It’s about time!” Darius yelled, sliding an arm under his legs to pick him up.

“Ehh, you’re welcome?” A woman hissed, slamming the side door open. Darius laid Felix in the back of the van, he winced in pain as he was set down. 

“My goodness Darius, he needs to go to a hospital!” The woman scolded. 

“No, we can’t Janis, I shouldn’t even have him. We’ll both get taken, probably killed if we go to a hospital.”

“So what are you going to do, huh? Take him home? Stich him up yourself?” She threw her hands in the air.

“Yep!” He said, cracking open a water bottle, pulling Felix up enough to tilt it to his lips. Felix choked down a couple of gulps before he was out of breath, wrenching his head away. Darius soaked up a cloth in his hands with the remaining water and cleaned up as much blood from his side as he could. Felix let out a whine, his whole body flinching, instinctively grabbing Darius’s wrists to pull him away. 

“Sssh, no no, you gotta hang on son, be tough...” Darius tried to soothe, prying his fingers off his wrist and laying his hand back down. Felix twisted his head to the side to hide his face in the seat, eyes squeezed shut, his body visibly cringing with each stroke of the cloth. 

Janis shook her head as she climbed into the drivers seat, stepping on the gas. “Janis! Easy! Try and not jostle the car please.” Darius complained. “Yeah yeah.” She waved, easing down on the gas. 

“What even happened, Darius?  One day you’re calling me up about this nice paying job you got, and you’re soooo happy with, and now you’re running off with this half dead kid and you're drenched in blood. Who is he, what happened?” She snapped.

“I’ll explain later...” He muttered, pulling out a fresh bandage from a first aid kit. 

“Jeez, you’re both a mess.” She shook her head. She drove them to a well kept home, mowed lawn, a fresh garden with a swing on the porch. 

“Clear?” He asked.  “Clear enough.” She shrugged glancing around the road. 

“Alright kid, up we go.” Darius grunted, hoisting him up in his arms.

Felix tried to lean out of his grasp, but he was quickly lifted anyway, letting out a small cry. “Please.. Please don’t hurt me...” Felix pleaded with a weak voice, forcefully being held against Darius’s chest.

Darius wanted to assure him he was only trying to help him and promise he wouldn’t hurt him, but he knew the night would still be a painful process. His wound was horrific, burned and infected. He couldn’t answer his question, he only let out a guilty sigh. The silence only made Felix more uncomfortable, as he slightly squirmed around in his arms, regretting it immediately as he cringed, curling in on himself from the pain shooting through his side.

"Easy. Just lie still." Darius instructed. 

The inside was just as clean and delightful as it was on the outside. Light colored furniture, plush carpets, the pleasant tick tick tick from a grandfather clock. Darius wasted no time climbing the stairs into the bathroom, using his foot to uncurl a folding chair tucked against a shelf. He gently sat him down, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Stay here for a minute please.” He instructed, turning the bath on full blast, and closing the door behind. The cool air slowly turned warm from the steaming bath behind him. The running water felt loud, ringing in his ears. Felix struggled to look around, trying to find someplace to slip out. The window was much too high, he could try and stand to slip out the door, but walking would be painful.

He stood up anyway, his legs trembling beneath him, his side screaming at him to just stop and rest. He gasped when he fell forwards, slamming onto the door, gripping the handle for support. His wrist instinctively turned the knob, as his weight resting against the door pushed it open, as he hit the ground. He cried out, biting his sleeve in an effort to numb the pain, as pain pulsed through his body. He whimpered into the floor as he blinked his eyes open, his vision swaying like he was strung upside-down, tears started trickling down his face.

Darius climbed the stairs, hands full of medical supplies. His face froze when he saw the bathroom door was open. He dropped everything in his hands that clattered to the floor in a heap, as he sprinted to the door, wrenching it open. It swung open to reveal Felix laying on the floor in the doorway even not moving.

Darius pulled him up into his arm, hoisting him over his shoulder, and bending down to put him back in the seat. He took his face in both his hands, using his thumb to force one eye open to check his pupils. He gently leaned his head back against the chair, he was barely conscious, being silent and still. He collected the pile of supplies back into his arms, slipping into the room, as he used scissors to cut his shirt off. It was shredded and soaked in blood anyway... 

He took an arm around his waist, arching his back off the chair enough to wrap a Vaseline soaked cloth winding it tightly around his ribs. He could feel a rib was crooked, most likely broken. Great... What else could possibly be broken in this mess. Felix still didn’t stir, head tilted back against the chair. He didn’t stir when Darius lifted him in his arms, laying him in the warm tub. He kept the water shallow enough it didn’t reach his wound, as he pulled out the detachable showerhead to rinse him off. 

He kept the water at a comfortable cool temperature, often spraying it on his own forearm to make sure it wasn't too cold or hot. He kept one hand on Felix’s chin to keep his head straight as he rinsed his hair out of all the dirt and blood, dark bloody water fell around him off to mix into the rest of the bath. Darius wanted a shower himself after spending a night in the hot forest, but he had priorities first. 

“Hey.” He heard a voice behind him. “Mmm?” He twisted his head. “How’s he doing?” Janis asked. “Might have some broken ribs.” He sighed. “Sure you can’t take him in?” She asked.  “Positive. He’s merchandise... Damaged goods in the eyes of the state. He has to stay here for now, until I figure out what to do with him.” Darius sighed. “What about family? Doesn’t he have a home we can just drop him off at?” She asked. “No. He shouldn’t. People who get shipped there don’t have any family. They're the last of their kin, that way no one looks or fights for em when they get taken away.” He sighed.

“That’s messed up. Why did you work there again?” She shook her head. Darius let out a sigh, popping the drain in the tub with a swishing sound. “I had the skills and the pay was good.” He shrugged. “If they call, say nothing. Say you haven’t heard from me at all in the past three days. Okay?” He asked. “Okay...” Janis sighed. “I’ll make you two something to eat, you must be starved.” She muttered, wandering off. “Thanks.” He nodded, looking back at Felix, who was unconscious now, head tilted to the side. 

“We’ve got one big ride ahead of us kid. Closest thing I’ll get to riding a roller coaster.” He chuckled. 

((Prompt tags! Idk if you still want to be tagged here, as it started as a prompt, so if you no longer want to be tagged here, let me know))

Tag list: @grizzlie70  @alien-octopus  @lave-whump @amethysts-sideblog @pyromilka @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight @yet-another-heathen @princessofonward

[winchester19-67]

Taking Care of You

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Passing out, Little bit of angst, Fluff

Word Count: 1,774

Square Filled: Bed Sharing (Fluff Bingo)

Square Filled: Bed Sharing (Dean Bingo)

Request by @theichabbieclub:  Hello !!! Can I have Dean Winchester x reader? Reader has been so caught up in her work that they forget to eat. They get extremely lightheaded and stumble a little. Dean steadies them and he is worried when he finds out they forgot to eat. While he is making food they faint and land (luckily) on the couch. When he's done, he comes back,at first he thinks that they're just laying down but he kinda freaks out when he realizes that reader is unconscious. ( I forget to eat sometimes) THANK YOU🥺💚

A/N: This was written for @spnfluffbingo, @spndeanbingo, and @supernatural-jackles​ Bi Weekly Writing Challenge with the prompt. “We found each other. That’s all that matters.”

“Take a break.” You jump a bit and you turn around to see Dean walking into the library.

“I can’t,” you mumble before looking down at the book that you have in your hand. Dean walks over and carefully slides the book out of your hand before setting it down onto the table.

“Yes you can,” Dean says. You roll your eyes a bit before leaning over, but Dean blocks you before you’re able to grab the book off of the table.

“Dean…”

“How many hours of sleep have you gotten since yesterday?”

You take a deep breath. “I don’t know. Three maybe.”

“Go take a nap.”

“Dean, you and Sam told me that you need my help with this case. You two can do your part now please let me do mine.”

“You won’t be able to help at all if you keep running yourself into the ground.”

“I’m alright,” you tell Dean stubbornly as you turn around to walk over to a bookshelf. You’re halfway there when you lose your balance and almost fall to the floor.

“Woah!” Dean hollers as he throws his arm out to catch you before you face plant. He helps you to get your balance and you give him a grateful smile.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Dean says. “Now please go take a nap or eat something or whatever it is you need to do to take care of yourself. I’ll take over for a while and you can relax.”

“No,” you tell him. “Dean, you won’t hardly let me hunt anymore and I get it because I keep you both distracted because you worry about me too much. Fine. I’ll give up hunting. But I will not give up helping you and Sam and you are going to have to get that through your thick head.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not saying that you should quit helping us,” Dean tells you softly. “You have no clue how much Sammy and I appreciate everything that you do for us. All I’m asking is that you slow down a bit to take care of yourself.”

“I promise you that I am taking care of myself, Dean.”

“Okay, then, what all have you eaten today and don’t you dare lie to me.”

You think about it for a while before you answer Dean. “I guess that I’ve kind of forgotten to do that today.”

“(Y/N),” Dean tells you as his eyes widen a bit.

“Sorry, but it isn’t exactly a priority to me right now.”

“If you were actually taking care of yourself then it would be,” Dean tells you. “Take a seat. I’m going to go cook you something to eat.”

“Dean…” He ignores your arguing and turns to walk on out of the library anyways. Sighing, you grab the book off of the table once more and open it up.

As you read, your eyes start to lose their focus and it almost looks like the room is spinning. You get the same light-headed feeling that you’d had earlier when you tripped, so you decide to play it safe and sit down in one of the chairs in the library. It isn’t long until the entire room looks like it’s spinning once more before everything goes black.

“You didn’t give me a specific request for anything, but I know you said that you like tomato soup when you don’t feel good, so I hope that’s okay,” Dean tells you as he walks into the library carrying a bowl. Dean frowns when he sees that you’ve fallen asleep in one of the chairs. He knows that you need rest but he also knows that you need to eat while your soup’s hot. “(Y/N),” Dean says softly as he sets the bowl down onto the table in front of you. “(Y/N), sweetheart.”

Dean reaches over to gently push some hair out of your face and he frowns a bit when you don’t move. “(Y/N), you need to eat,” Dean tells you as he pushes at your shoulder a bit. He still doesn’t get a reaction out of you and his heart starts pounding a bit when he realizes that you’re not just asleep.

“Hey!” Dean hollers as he moves you a bit harder than he was. A small gasp escapes you and you slowly open your eyes. Dean lets out a breath of relief when your eyes open. “You scared me there for a minute, sweetheart.”

“I was only asleep,” you mutter as you let your eyes slide shut once more.

“Hey, don’t go to sleep until you’ve eaten a little something for me,” Dean tells you softly as he helps you to sit up a bit. “I don’t want to argue with you, sweetheart, but I gotta tell you that you weren’t just asleep. You passed out on me.”

“No I didn’t,” you mumble.

“Yes you did and now you need to try to stay awake so that you’re able to get some food in you,” Dean tells you. “I promise that I’ll let you go to sleep if you’ll eat a little bit.”

“Fine,” you sigh as you lazily reach over to grab the spoon. You have to admit that the soup feels good going down your throat, and yet the thought of curling up underneath your warm blankets and going to sleep is even more appealing. “There. I ate a little bit and now you have to let me go to bed.”

“Half the bowl,” Dean says.

“Another spoonful,” you argue.

Dean sighs. “If you eat all of it then I’ll carry you to bed and I’ll even lay down with you,” he negotiates.

“Fine, I’ll let you win,” you smile up at him.

“I know how to get my way with you,” Dean smirks as he leans over your chair to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Yeah, you think that you know me soo well,” you tease as you take another bite. When every drop of soup is gone from the bowl, you look over at Dean and hold your arms up at him. Dean chuckles as he walks over and bends down to take you into his arms. You wrap your arms tightly around his neck and you lay your head over onto his shoulder.

“Your room or mine?” Dean asks you softly.

“Doesn’t matter,” you mumble as you completely relax in Dean’s arms.

“Don’t go to sleep on me yet, sweetheart,” Dean chuckles as he carries you into his room. He carefully lays you down onto his bed and you curl up on the side that he usually sleeps on. “Scoot,” Dean laughs as he pushes you over before laying down beside of you. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in tightly to him.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” you whisper into Dean’s chest.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, pretty girl,” Dean tells you softly. “But I do want you to start doing a better job of it yourself. You can’t keep running yourself down like that.”

“I know,” you breathe out. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“I worry about you.

“I know.”

“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“I know.”

“You know a lot then,” Dean teases as he tucks your head underneath his chin. You giggle and hide your face in the side of his neck.

“How on earth did I find you?” you ask him.

“Actually, I think that I’m the one who found you,” Dean says.

“Well, one of us is wrong here and it isn’t me,” you tease.

Dean chuckles as he pulls the blankets up over you. “We found each other. That’s all that matters.”

“Agreed,” you tell him as you snuggle down deeper into his arms.

“(Y/N), sweetheart, we honestly do appreciate you helping us out but you have got to promise me that you’ll take a break every once in a while. Get out and have some fun or take a nice long bath. Eat something.”

“I get so focused on helping you and Sam that I forget to take care of myself sometimes.”

“Well, please don’t do that anymore because you honestly scared me today.”

“I’m sorry,” you frown.

“It’s just… Sweetheart, you didn’t ask to be thrown into this life yet here you are and you deserve to take a break and do the things that you love to do.”

“You didn’t ask to be thrown into it either and yet you still don’t take a break.”

“Yeah, but I could have gotten out of it if I wanted to.”

“So could I,” you tell him softly. “If I have to start taking better care of myself and doing the things that I love to do then so do you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I do that everyday anyways,” Dean tells you.

“Oh, like what?” you ask him.

“Taking care of you,” Dean says softly. Your heart melts a bit and you turn your head up so that you can see his face.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Dean smiles softly. “I mean, someone has to do it because you suck at it.” Dean grunts as you elbow him playfully and you let out a small laugh.

“I’ll do better at taking care of myself,” you tell him. “Although I don’t know why I would want to because you obviously do a much better job at it then me.”

“Ah, she admits it,” Dean laughs as you roll your eyes a bit at him.

“Go to sleep, Winchester.”

“Alright, but I’m getting up tomorrow and I’m going to cook you a big breakfast and you are going to eat so that you don’t scare me like that and pass out on me anymore.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“Brat,” Dean chuckles as he presses his lips gently to your temple.

“I’m your brat,” you giggle. “Dean, thanks for letting me sleep in your bed.”

“Like you’d have it any other way,” he chuckles.

“Your bed’s more comfortable then mine is though.”

“They’re the same thing.”

“Yeah, but you’re here to hold me and that makes it more comfortable.”

“And I couldn’t hold you just as well on your bed?”

“Yeah, but my bed doesn’t smell like you.”

“It should with how often I sleep there.”

“I don’t make the rules.”

“What?” Dean chuckles.

“I don’t know. I’m too tired to make any sense,” you yawn.

“Well, then go to sleep,” Dean chuckles as he kisses your lips. “I’m right here to take care of you if you need me.”

You smile and you let your eyes slide shut, mumbling one more thing before you let the sleep pull you under. “I’ll always need you.”

Tags: @polina-93 @adoptdontshoppets @justanotherwinchester @blue-pink-green @spnbaby-67 @deanwanddamons @defenderrosetyler @mlovesstories @akshi8278 @idksupernatural @hobby27 @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @therollingstoners

[chloelucia13]

Chapter 14: Suzie, Do you Copy?

Pairing: none for the moment (currently Jonathan Byers x (kinda) Platonic!Henderson!reader)

Prompt:  You always thought Hawkins was the most boring town of all, stuck in a vacuum void of excitement and entertainment. Well, it seems that way until the world decided to flip upside down, literally.

Chapter Summary: Dustin’s return to Hawkins had overjoyed you, but other than that, there was no change to the normal routine of your summer. At least, that’s what you thought.

Warnings: Mostly fluff, spoilers (obvi), language, mentions of violence, injuries, pretty chill tbh

Word Count: 2764

A/N: AHHHH, I’m back finally! I’m so sorry I took so long to update this story! Hopefully I’ll be able to get back onto this series and update it regularly like I used to, but I can’t make any promises. For the time being, I hope you enjoy and make sure to keep an eye out for any updates! As always, my taglist and ask box is open! 

Tags: @just-my-fandom​, @nightbu-g​

You couldn’t recall a time you had woken up earlier than nine a.m. in the past month.

In all honesty, you had considered just sleeping in until the very last minute scramble to get dressed, rush out the door, and get back before Dustin got home.

Unfortunately that plan could not be executed as your mother woke you up, knowing you well enough that she could predict your plans.

And that was why you were at the mall at 10 a.m., your gaze focused on the floor as you made the trek over to Scoops Ahoy. Surprisingly, there was a small line in the shop, considering it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

As you finally stood at the counter and lifted your head, Steve visibly relaxed, his “customer service” persona fading. “Oh thank god, it’s just you,” he sighed, leaning against the counter.

“Just little ol’ me,” you hummed, absentmindedly rubbing at your eye. “God, has the day already gone to shit for you, Steve?”

“Well, he’s already struck out twice if that’s any indication,” Robin piped up, peeking through the window that peered into the back area.

“Twice? Didn’t you guys open just an hour ago?” 

“Don’t rub it in,” Steve huffed, a frown sinking onto his features.

“Fine, fine.”

You and Steve had grown close in the past six months, sharing a special bond that you honestly needed. Though you couldn’t decide if the bond grew from him literally saving your life, or from your significant others (well, for Steve at least) dating each other rather than you two. Both, probably.

“Are you here to order something or just to bully me?” he spoke finally, pulling his ice cream scooper from his makeshift-holster. 

“Right, right. Just a pint of cookie dough and a pint of strawberry,” you instructed, pulling a ten out of your pocket.

He nodded and began scooping the two pints of ice cream. “Who’s the cookie dough for?”

“Dustin.”

He looked up at you, his brows furrowed in confusion. “He’s coming back today?”

“Yeah!”

He sealed the lid of the cookie dough pint. “No one tells me anything!”

You rolled your eyes. “Steve, I told you this two days ago.”

You heard Robin let out a laugh in the back room and Steve pressed his lips into a line. “Do you want ice cream or not?!”

You laughed. “Come on, you know you’d never deprive your two favorite people of ice cream.”

He rolled his eyes and finished up the second pint, sliding both of them over to you as you handed him the $10 bill. “Do you work today?”

“Unfortunately. I’m just hoping I’ll be home before dark tonight because they’ve been fucking keeping me for hours after closing.”

“Doesn’t the pool close at like five?”

“Yup,” you huffed, popping the ‘p.’ “And, to top it all off, I’m stuck with Heather  and Billy today.”

The two of you cringed simultaneously. “Can’t say I’d rather be you.”

“Thanks for the support.” You took the change from Steve and stuffed it into your pocket before cradling both pints of ice cream in your arms. “Well, I gotta drop these off at home and then sit in the sun for a few miserable hours. I’ll call you when I get home.”

***

Your soul nearly left your body when a chorus of screams erupted in the kitchen as soon as you stepped in the front door. They fell silent a moment later, though, and a voice echoed out, “Oh, it’s just you.”

With a hand clutched over your chest, you rolled your eyes. “Sorry to disappoint you guys with my presence, but can we avoid killing me the next time you see me?” you huffed, still struggling to take in a proper breath.

We thought you were Dustin,” Lucas explained, a party blower between his teeth.

“Yeah, I figured.” You brushed past the group and put the ice cream in the freezer. “Can someone make sure that Dustin gets his ice cream? I won’t be able to see him until later tonight.”

“I can,” Will spoke up, raising his hand in the air.

“Finally, someone I can count on.” You grabbed the drawstring bag that held all of your items and slung it over your shoulder. “How’s Jonathan enjoying his job at the newspaper?”

There was a small silence. “You haven’t talked to him about it?” Mike spoke up, and Max swatted his arm.

You shook your head, the healing scratch on your eye beginning to burn slightly. “No, not yet. We’ve, uh... We’ve both been too busy. We haven’t talked in a couple of weeks.” More like a month.

There was another silence before Will spoke. “He likes it. He has the dark room all to himself,” he explained, his voice gentle and hesitant.

“Good. That’s good. Tell him I said hi, or something.” You cleared your throat before turning to the group and giving them a smile. “I gotta head to work. You guys have fun, okay?”

***

God, you felt like vomiting.

Everything seemed to be going wrong today, like you forgetting to bring your sunscreen and sunglasses, Billy and Heather’s constant pestering and gossiping, Billy ignoring his job so he could flirt with Mrs. Wheeler, Mrs. Wheeler completely ignoring you so she could flirt with Billy, the dozens of kids that had coined multiple nicknames for you and your scar, and the 101 degree temperature that was unrelenting.

Luckily, though, the day was close to coming to an end. Most of the crowd had thinned, excluding a couple of kids who spent the whole day there anyways and adults who insisted on lingering until they absolutely had to leave. 

The shriek of a whistle startled you from your thoughts, your head slipping from your hand and making you lurch forward slightly. A group of muffled cackles sounded to your right, and you rolled your eyes. “Can I help you, or are you just here to make my life a living hell,” you grumbled, snapping your gaze over to Billy and Heather.

“Well, I was gonna ask if you wanted a water, but I guess not,” Heather huffed, stubbornly crossing her arms over your chest.

You gave her a doubtful glance. “Were you really?”

She laughed. “No. Now get up, It’s my turn on deck.”

With a huff you stepped down the ladder and tucked your book and raft under your arm. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Billy step closer. “Billy, if you push me in the pool you’re gonna wake up with no fucking mullet tomorrow.”

The pair just laughed behind you condescendingly, and you stomped away with a scowl etched on your face.

Ever since the... altercation that occurred months ago, Billy had kept his distance from you. It was a relief, knowing that he wouldn’t test your limits for the sake of his own health. But that didn’t stop him from sprinkling in some teasing every single time he spoke to you.

The hot concrete stung the soles of your feet, and you picked up your pace so you could get to the office before your feet blistered.

“Hey, no running!”  You froze at the voice, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Slowly, you turned on your heel to face the source. 

Jonathan stood behind the fence, his hands in his pockets and a shy smile on his face.

“Jonathan?” you whispered, tilting your head slightly as if you were a dog. 

“Hey Y/N,” he hummed, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot.

A small smile settled on your face and you walked over to the fence, a silent sigh of relief leaving your lips when your feet settled on the grass that bordered the fence. “Hey! W-What are you doing here? I thought you got out the same time that I did?”

“I do, I just uh... I wanted to go on a walk.”

You nodded. “Oh, okay.”

“And I uh, I wanted to see you. Just see how you were doing, I mean.”

You let out a small chuckle, hooking your fingers through one of the chain links in the fence. “I’m doing good. I mean, as good as I can be sitting in the heat for five hours straight with no sunglasses. How have you been?”

“I-I’m good. Isn’t Dustin back in town?”

“He is, he just got back today. I haven’t seen him yet, though. How’s your job at the paper going?”

“It’s good, really good. I’m enjoying it a lot.”

“That’s good to hear.”

The two of you stood silently, avoiding each other’s gaze except for the spare glances you’d risk. 

“I should get going,” Jonathan spoke finally, a hint of reluctance in his voice. 

“Right, yeah,” you hummed, clearing your throat. “It was good to see you, Johnny.”

“You too.” His mouth opened as if he wanted to say more, but he decided against it, giving you an awkward wave before walking away.

You lingered there for a moment, an all-too-familiar ache in your chest as you watched him walk away from you.

***

After rinsing off, getting changed, and making a final check of the area, you were finally off for the night. You could feel your shoulders nearly weighing your entire body down and your eyelids were extremely close to falling shut at any moment. Silently, you made the trek through the parking lot and over to your car. 

You hopped in the driver’s seat and fished your key out of your bag before putting it in the ignition and twisting.

And twisting again.

And one more time.

Shit.

You slammed your hands against the wheel and let out a groan, throwing your head back against the headrest. “Of course. Of fucking course,” you grumbled.

Then you began to weigh your options. The first idea that came to your mind was walking home, but you quickly decided against it as you were too exhausted and it was too far. 

Your next idea was to walk over to The Hawkins Post and see if you could catch a ride with Jonathan. But you knew that wherever Jonathan was, Nancy would also be. For a moment, you contemplated swallowing your embarrassment and fear and just do it, but again, you decided against that option.

Then you thought about using the phone in the office to call Steve, but you had no idea if he was even home.

And after running through all of the ideas in your mind, you last ditch plan walked past your peripheral.

You shoved all of your disgust down and hopped out of your car, rushing to try and catch up.

“Billy!” you shouted, trying to stuff your keys back in your bag as you jogged over to him.

He stopped and turned to look at you, part-confusion and part-annoyance wrinkling his features. “What?” he huffed.

“Can you, um...” You shifted awkwardly, the reality of the moment catching up to you. “Would you mind giving me a ride home? My car won’t start.”

He rolled his eyes, fishing a pack of cigarettes out from his leather jacket. “Y’know, any other night I’d love to, but I’ve actually got plans tonight. Call a tow truck or something.”

“Billy, please.” Your shoulders slumped. “I don’t live that far from you.”

“Who said I was going home?” 

Your jaw tightened and you pulled your bag higher up on your shoulder. “I’ll pay you $20. Just please.”

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend to do it? I saw you talking to him earlier.”

“He’s not my boyfriend! Goddammit-” You cut yourself off, taking a deep breath and scrubbing a hand over your face. “$50.”

He stood there a moment, placing a cigarette between his teeth as he silently debated it. “Fine. But you’re paying me upfront.”

You bit your tongue and refrained from snapping at him, instead pulling your wallet from your bag and handing him a $50 bill. He snatched it from your fingers and shoved it in his back pocket before nodding his head over to his car and heading that way. 

Though the anxiety from asking him was gone, it was replaced with the anxiety of being in a vehicle with a man who very clearly hated your guts. Your brain was nagging you to just walk home, but you pushed the annoying warnings away and got in the passenger seat.

Billy had exited the parking lot before you even had a chance to put on your seatbelt, the engine roaring as he tore down the empty streets. The ride was silent other than that annoying engine, his godawful music, and your heart racing so loudly and harshly that you felt as if you were about to have a heart attack.

Whether it was your panic or your swarming thoughts, you had zoned out for the first few minutes of the ride. When you finally came to, you realized that you were nowhere near your house. “Did you take a wrong turn?” you mumbled, brows furrowing confusedly.

He scoffed, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. “No, I have an errand to run,” he explained as if you were stupid, as if you were already aware of his plans.

Oh my god, he’s gonna kill me.

You gulped, gripping onto your drawstring bag. “What errand?”

“Well, I had already made plans with Karen before you decided to ask for my help, so you’re tagging along.”

Your jaw dropped and you turned in your seat to face him. “You’re making me sit in the car while you hook up with Mrs. Wheeler? You said you were gonna take me home!”

“I did, but I didn’t specify when.” He was grinning from ear to ear, and you had to move your hands under your thighs so you didn’t smack that look off of his face.

“You motherfucker. Literally.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up and get in the back seat. I don't want her seeing you.”

It was your turn to scoff. “Excuse me?” 

“I said-”

His words were cut off by a large object hitting the windshield, making both of you jump and causing him to lose control of the vehicle. The car spun off of the road and collided into a tree on your side, making Billy’s head collide into his door and crushing your door into your body.

A slew of curses and grunts fell from your mouth as you worked your way out of the seat, feeling your ribs ache with each breath as you finally got out from between the door and the center console. You sat down on the center console and gripped onto the back of the seat for balance.

“Oh, no,” Billy grumbled from beside you, eyes wide as he took in the damage. The stereo still spat out a distorted and garbled sound that resembled the music that were playing earlier as Billy tried to restart the car, to no avail. “Piece of shit.”

You finally glanced over at him. “You’re bleeding,” you wheezed out, watching the blood drip down his forehead and into his eye.

He reached up and touched the wound, pulling away and glancing down at his fingers with disdain. “Shit.” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel before shoving his door open and crawling out. You followed behind him, collapsing to the ground beside his feet. You gripped onto his arm and heaved yourself up.

Billy left your side to attempt to pry the passenger door open, only for a spew of expletives to fall from his mouth. “Yeah, I’m good, thanks for asking,” you huffed, leaning against the car and clutching your right side as he stomped past you and over to the front of the car.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, leaning close to the windshield and gliding his finger along the spiderwebbed glass. “What the hell?”

A strange ooze clung to his finger, stretching between his hand and the windshield with a strong elasticity. “Fuck.”

A rustling in the shrubs near the building you stood by attracted both of your attention, your heart leaping to your throat.

“Who’s there!” Billy shouted, his body standing straight up.

“I don’t think it’s a who,” you grumbled, reaching for your pocket knife in your back pocket.  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

As you opened your mouth to explain, Billy fell to the ground and was lugged away by a snaking vine. You screamed, but before you could move onto the car and off of the ground, a similar vine wrapped around your legs and dragged you through the dirt

[stusbunker]

Brother Knows Best

A Supernatural Fan-fiction

Featuring: Sam Winchester/ Plus-sized!Reader

Written for: @lukn4inspo​ for my 800 follower Celebration

Word Count: 1679

Warnings: Floof, Dean playing wingman, self esteem issues

    It had been months since he had seen her in person, and the sight of her crawling out of her truck just to beam up at him with her gorgeous smile hit Sam straight in the chest. 

    “How was the trip?” he asked once he shook the cobwebs out of his thoughts.

    “Not bad, yours?” She shrugged just before she snuck her arms under his for a quick hug. Sam held on a little longer than she seemed to, enjoying the way her plush body pressed to his.

    “The usual, straight through with a lot of Zeppelin,” Sam replied.

    “At least you got to sleep?” She offered, optimistic as she rounded the rear of her vehicle to grab her bags. Sam caught up quickly and took what could only be her weapons from her, it was so heavy.

    “Uh, just listened to a podcast actually,” Sam said, almost as an afterthought.

    “Nice! I just caught up on mine on the way. What are you into these days?” She tossed her bag over her shoulder and listened intently as he rattled off the ones he had checked out. When he got to the ones he listened to regularly she beat him to the punch, listing three out of the four right along with him.

    “You like true crime, how did I not know that?” Sam chuckled.

    “Am I into True Crime?! Boy, I practically only do cases where I can get a peek at some serial killer paraphernalia, if not the actual crime scenes,” she balked.

    “Ever been to the Lizzie Borden house?” Sam kept going.

    Dean watched them from the doorway of the motel room, shaking his head. 

     Dean glared at Sam across the booth, his brother’s eyes had gone glassy as he watched her hips as she rushed out of the diner and back to surveillance detail. This was going to be a long one, Dean thought to himself as he slurped his coffee loud enough to draw Sam out of his little revelry.

    “Really?” Sam’s face pinched in annoyance.

    “You should go with her, see if you find anything,” Dean suggested over the rim of his mug.

    “What? Come on, man, she’ll be fine,” Sam looked at Dean like he was crazy.

    “Oh I’m sure she is, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go, eh?” Dean waggled his eyebrows.

    “Stop. It’s not like that,” Sam rolled his eyes and went back to his egg white omelette.

    Dean chuckled and started counting off reasons with his fingers. “She’s cute. She’s single. She listens to the same creepy ass podcasts you listen to. And she called you about the case.”

    “Just, stop, okay? Sure, she’s great, but it’s just a case,” Sam shrugged. “It doesn’t mean she’s interested in me like that.”

    “Aren’t you? Interested in her?” Dean pressed, head cocked knowingly.

    Sam bit his lip and set down his cup for a refill from the waitress. The table fell quiet as they said their thanks and returned to their meals. 

    Was he? Sam didn’t usually allow himself the novelty of romance. He’d been through too much. He’d lost too many people to think it was in the cards for him. Hunters don’t get happily-ever-afters. Sure, she was smart and resourceful. And Sam did get warm in the cheeks whenever she smiled. Sam introspected until Dean dropped his silverware and blinked at Sam with slow disbelief. 

    “Once this is over, you’re asking her out or I’m doing it for you,” Dean spat out under narrowed eyes.

    Sam rolled his eyes again. “Fine. I’ll talk to her. Okay? Geez.”

    Dean grinned and patted Sam on the shoulder. “That’s more like it, Sammy.”

    Sam stood awkwardly at the edge of the booth, Dean refused to slide in another inch.

    “Hey, Y/N, would you mind scooting in for Sam? I want to keep this leg elevated,” Dean asked, playing the injury card. They had wrapped up the vengeful spirit and had gone for drinks to celebrate an early night off the job. 

    “Sure? Actually, why don’t I,---” she stood and eased out off the bench seat, brushing against Sam as he moved to take her place. “If that’s cool? I just wanted to grab the first round, since you guys drove in for the assist.”

    Sam swallowed as she looked up at him, eyes playful and full of gratitude. 

“That’d be great, thanks.” Sam awkwardly patted her shoulder before he dropped onto the old vinyl seat. 

    Dean waited until she was out of earshot. “Have you ever spoken to a woman before? Did I just invent every person you’ve ever slept with? Because what the hell was that?!”

    Sam flinched and eyed Dean in annoyance. “Shut up. She was--- it was--- I was just really close to her,” Sam trailed off. “Anyway, you can shut up about your knee, you’re fine. You drove here fast enough.”

    Dean shrugged. “Well, I’m not as young as I used to be, Sammy. And neither are you, so pace yourself, alright?” Dean nodded, tapping his temple and gesturing to Sam’s junk.

“You are disgusting.” Sam pointlessly looked to the heavens for help.

    She quickly returned with a round of shots in her hands and three beers clutched to one breast. Sam tried not to oggle as she leaned down to disburse the drinks, but her tank top was askew from her efforts. Dean chuckled and drummed on the table.

    “That’s what I’m talking about! Bottoms up!” Dean toasted her and polished off his shot.

    Sam stilled as she rested her hand behind his back and leaned in. “You gonna let me in or do I have to pay a toll?”

    “Oh, sorry, here,” Sam slid to the farthest reaches of the bench, retreating from the welcoming give of her body as it brushed against his shoulder. He didn’t catch her look of confusion.

    “Let’s go, you two, gotta keep up!” Dean pushed their shots closer.

    They drank and talked, laughter and stories flowed freely long into the night. Sam kept to beer, mainly because Dean had blatantly stolen his shots. She trailed off after the third round, bringing them water and beer instead.

    “So, where to next, champ?” Dean asked her, fingering through the bottom of a bowl of popcorn.

    “Who knows, not gonna start looking until check out time tomorrow,” she answered, playing with the straw in her glass, and followed up asking pointedly of Sam. “You guys heading back to your fortress of duo-tude first thing?”

    He chuckled at her jab and nodded, sighing. “Yeah, as long as nothing pops up between here and there.”

    Sam glanced at Dean and Dean’s eyes dropped to the table, assessing the graveyard before them. “You know what, why don’t I just clear these out of the way. Don’t need to give the staff more to---,” Dean’s voice dropped to a mutter as he rather obviously left Sam alone with the girl.

    “Glad to see his leg is better,” she murmured, a smile dancing around the tip of her straw.

    “Yeah, it was just hollow, needed his hunter fuel to fill it back up,” Sam agreed, dimples on full display. Sam poked the side of his cheek with his tongue, considering if he should keep talking. “You know, I told him I would talk to you after the case. He threatened to ask you out for me if I didn’t.”

    “Damn, big brother goes that hard to get you some, huh?” She laughed, but the nervousness was palpable.

    “I guess,” Sam huffed, feeling the conversation was balancing on the edge of a knife.

    “Well, it’s a good thing you talked to me then, cleared the air. Don’t have to worry about Dean butting in anymore,” she nodded, swallowing. She wouldn’t look at Sam, his stomach dropped.

    “Hey.” Sam spun to face her completely, his knee bent at an awkward angle in the narrow booth. “Want to get out of here?”

    “You’re serious?” She balked. “I thought that was your way of letting me down gently.”

    Sam’s face twisted in concern and he shook his head. Before he realized it he was leaning towards her, her face still a mask of skepticism. The telltale rumble of the impala’s engine revved in the parking lot, which Dean hardly ever did. Sam closed his eyes and shook his head.

    “And apparently my brother is as tactless as ever.” Sam sighed. “Mind taking me back to the motel? I mean, unless you wanted to---?”

    She looked defeated. “Sam, are you sure this isn’t Dean tricking you into being stuck with me? Like a joke he’ll use against you in the future?” Her doubt tore through him; she’d been hurt before, more than he’d realized.

    Sam dropped a hand to her thigh. “What? No, Dean even said you were cute. He’s just a little too---enthusiastic, sometimes.”

    He waited for her to believe him, nervous for an entirely different reason than he had been all night. She put her hand on his, squeezing as she looked into his eyes. Sam saw a deep pool of emotion and he couldn’t help but lurch forward and give her the only true reassurance he could. His lips met hers in an earnest kiss. Sam forgot to be scared and worked to be honest. To prove to her that she was who he wanted. 

That this was real.

    She quickly caught up, mouth opening to accept his graces. When she pulled away gasping, Sam couldn’t help but grin. She rested her temple against his cheek as their fingers intertwined on her lap. 

   “Okay, okay, twist my arm why don’t ya?” she teased.

    “I mean, you are basically rescuing me from walking back,” Sam reasoned. “My hero.”

    “Wow, you really are gonna lay it on thick now, aren’t you?” She blushed and shook her head, giving him a playful kiss.

    “Pretty thick, yeah.” Sam bit his lips, but couldn’t stop himself from continuing. “But mostly long.”

     She gave him an impressed cocked eyebrow.

    “Hey, Sam?” She leaned in and whispered in his ear, “wanna get out of here?”

Prompt #8 of 8

Sam and plus size reader where he’s smitten?

Tagging:

@flamencodiva​​ @dolphincliffs​​ @dontshootmespence​​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​​  @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis​​ @cosicas-cuquis​​ @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @defenderrosetyler​​ @ericaprice2008 @princessofthefandomrealm @awesomesusiebstuff​

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 17

17/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: Nisei adjacent | T | 5.7k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

Scully meets the Mufon women, who clue her into their shared fate; Mulder accompanies Scully to the OB-GYN after her car breaks down; A mysterious voicemail appears on Scully's machine.

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

The murder of Mulder’s father--and attempted murders of the agents themselves--went the way of many X-Files, becoming another everlasting thorn in their sides. Skinner wasn’t happy with them, but he pitied them, so it was a two-week paper pusher assignment and then they were back at it. Lightning strikes, allusions to immortality from a mortal man, too many prisons and too much death; the calendar advanced, time marched on, and they saw it all but it couldn’t touch them. Wouldn’t, more like. Emotionally stunted, that’s what they are. Holding onto too much pain to process any.

And then comes Mulder’s $29.95 tape and its path to Allentown; a Japanese diplomat, a dead man, and a list of Mufon members wait in its wake. All of which lead Scully to Betsy Hagopian’s doorstep.

These women--whom she has never seen before, nor could not pick from any crowd--know her. They swear. She is one of them, they say, as if that’s supposed to snap everything into perspective. As if the semblance of belonging somewhere will make her spill her guts. But no; she wants to be nothing but herself, and sometimes not even that.

Then there are dozens of cars outside and women surround her, speaking of a place she didn’t know she knew until they said it. A blank slate flashes in her mind; an echo from some past life. She doesn’t believe in reincarnation, so how can that be?

Then the women--these strange women--speak of men & mysterious tests, and a drill sears Scully’s brain, and she’s coming apart, and is this annihilation or healing?

These images--she can hardly call them memories--expand until she’s living inside them. She is doubled, the victim and the spectator. She sees herself on a medical table, a tube spiraling from her belly button. It’s nonsensical, there’s no procedure of the sort. And then, before her unblinking eyes, her stomach grows. Inflated like a balloon. Her warped form...it looks pregnant, and her old fear comes back as a bitter taste in her mouth. Surely this is something seen in a dream, impossible to be reflected in any reality.

The rattle of metal pulls her back to the present. Every woman standing before her holds a capsule containing a microchip, barely perceptible to the eye. Marked...they have been marked. She has too, they say. They have all the scar, and it’s already been established that she is one of them.

Scully’s swept up by the crowd and taken to Betsy Hagopian at Allentown Medical Center. She’s unsure at this point whether she’s investigating the murder case or some vastly larger conspiracy. Or if those are even distinguishable.

She watches as the nurse slides Betsy into the MRI machine, wonders how Betsy feels about them being there as she disappears from view. Scully once thought of making oncology her specialty, back when she was bright-eyed and believed she could save the world. That path would have been paved with pain, sure, but there would be victory, and above all, hope. Her current job fails to put her in such close contact with miracles.

We’re all dying because of what they do to us, Penny Northern says. And how ironic it is, Scully thinks. She and Mulder want the truth--the proof--of some atrocity greater than themselves, and they may have it...once she’s packed into a coffin. How’s that saying go? Be careful what you wish for…

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

The scar at the base of her neck had never stood out to Scully. She can’t see it, and her hair covers it anyway. She had felt it in the shower once, shortly after her return, but she wrote it off as a bug bite. No one had ever commented on it until Penny Northern and the Mufon women; not Missy, not Mulder, not her mother…

Missy had noticed it during one of their face-mask nights in the weeks after the return, but she chose not to say anything, figuring it wasn’t worth adding to her sister’s worry. If she had seen it again recently--known that it hadn’t gone away--she would have said something.

Mulder...well, he never noticed it, and holy shit, he would have given anything for a situation where he could have. Scully never wears her hair up, he’ll blame it on that though it's fruitless. Really, it’s on him. He has a mental map of the places he’s touched her--and the places he won’t. Her neck is on neither one. He hasn’t gotten there yet.

Margaret Scully never saw it, and frankly, she would have thought it was something inappropriate to mention and wished her daughter had worn a turtleneck that day. What else can be said about that?

Thus, as autumn breaks over Washington, the agents crowd into a Bureau lab with Pendrell (or Agent Nerd, as Mulder prefers to call him) to address the intruder put into Scully’s body. Scully’s calm, cool, and collected, but Mulder winces as Pendrell’s tweezers pierce her skin. He’s never had the guts (nor the patience) for the medical profession.

“Yep, I’ve got something,” Pendrell remarks, dropping it into a petri dish. Mulder inches closer to get a good look at the object, and sure enough, it’s a microchip. He’s met with the urge to pocket it and run so that his partner would never have to see it.

Instead, Pendrell presents the dish to Scully. “It looks like a computer chip to me,” he tells her. “Something manufactured.”

Scully squeezes the object between her thumb and forefinger. She looks to Mulder. “This must be what made the metal detector go off in Santa Fe.”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, I remember.” The handsy men at airport security still make his blood boil.

As Scully’s eyes meet Pendrell’s, he feels like he’s staring directly into a spotlight. And he’s not used to having the spotlight on him. “So it’s man-made, you believe?” she asks, as in need of an answer from him as she ever will be.

He blushes. “Well, I don’t know of manufacturing plants on any other planet, but it does look pretty technologically advanced.” He takes the dish over to a microscope and peers through. “I can’t say I’ve seen something of this complexity before.”

Pendrell moves aside so Scully can take a look. She’s not accustomed to using this sort of magnification for anything other than microbes, but the intricacy of the wiring speaks for itself. Loops upon loops upon loops of electric current, all contained in a space smaller than a pea.

She looks up. “It’s like it was storing something…” The idea of her thoughts being catalogued by some malevolent stranger is too terrifying to voice. Both men’s mind’s land on it without any prompting.

Mulder lays a hand on the small of her back and steers her away from the microscope. “We’ll get this all taken care of, okay?” he murmurs. “Pendrell will pinpoint the manufacturer, then we can track them down and help Betsy Hagopian and all those women.” He intentionally leaves out mention of Scully herself. She hates being helpless, he won’t frame her as such.

“Okay,” she squeaks out, and Mulder feels her shiver beneath her buttoned blazer.

Having received his command from Agent Mulder, Pendrell watches him usher Agent Scully out of the lab with complete control over the situation. It’s as if Agent Mulder knows what he’s doing, comforting Agent Scully with such composure. And right in front of Pendrell, too! Pendrell kicks himself for...well, being himself.

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

At ten to four, Scully grabs her purse and unclips her key ring as quietly as possible. Mulder’s in the midst of typing up a report about the Japanese diplomat who sold him the $29.95 tape, and she’d hate to ruin his flow. How alarmed Skinner would be if a Fox Mulder field report didn’t read like a Whitman poem! He’d probably assume the bounty hunter got to his agent.

She straightens her blazer and swings the purse over her shoulder. No need for a coat yet, her usual work attire combats the mid-October chill just fine. As she edges toward the door, the guilt of leaving Mulder without a goodbye stops her in her tracks. He knows about her appointment--knows she has to leave early--but still...it feels wrong to walk out without a word.

Hand against the doorframe, Scully tosses her hair over her shoulder. Her partner types at his desk with the ferocity of a teenage boy playing a video game. He even looks like one, with those wiry glasses. She can’t help but smile...these are the ordinary moments she will miss one day.

Setting her lips in a line, she pipes up--”I’ve gotta go, Mulder. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He’s instantly snapped from his trance. “Whoa whoa whoa.” He lays his glasses beside the computer, rubs the red mark on his nose. “Let me walk you down.”

“That’s not necessary,” Scully assures, one kitten heel out the door. “I can navigate the parking garage on my own.”

Mulder pops up from his chair, rounds his desk. “Well, the parking garage, yeah. But haven’t you heard that the Hoover Building is unaccustomed to beautiful women roaming its halls? Who knows what might happen if I send you up there by yourself.”

Scully gives him the unamused smirk he’s fishing for, tries to ignore the way his sleeves cuff over his elbow. “I only have to go through the lobby. I think I can hold any admirers off for those twenty steps.”

“You’re right, I should have faith in you.” He ruffles a hand through his hair. “At least let me escort you to the elevator.”

“If you must.” Scully turns sideways.

He slides past her, winking as he does. It’s infuriating, really, how smooth he can be when he wants to.

Scully follows him down the hallway, wondering if she’s finally grown into the giddy teenager her mother feared she would be. He hits the up button for her, then clasps his hands together--the only time he’s ever been the epitome of patience.

“I hate to pull you away from your next masterpiece for Skinner,” Scully teases, trying to break his gentlemanly bit.

“Oh, an artist knows no timetable,” he responds, barely taking his eyes off the elevator door. He taps his foot...they always joke that the FBI takes an elevator tax out of their paychecks for making it go all the way to the basement.

Scully looks at the floor. A moment ago, she felt like the object of Mulder’s affections. Now, she’s shut out again.

At the sound of the doors gliding open, she steps in. No need to wait for passengers to disembark; nobody comes down here. She hits the first floor button, offers Mulder a weak smile. “See you--”

He sticks his hand out as the doors begin to close and ducks into the space, taking his place beside her. She should have known...his goofy grin confirms that he’s been planning this all along. They begin their brief ascent to the next floor.

“You know, I’m having deja vu, but I’m gonna say this anyway,” Scully starts. “You’re crazy, Mulder.”

“And I’m sure I’ve said this before Scully, but it wouldn’t hurt to hear it again--thank you,” he replies.

Scully rolls her eyes, but god, this is much more fun than being alone. The elevator banks on the landing, and she looks to her partner as the doors open onto the lobby. “Did you lose your faith in me, or did you never have it in the first place?” she asks, taking extra long strides to keep up with him as they make their way toward the parking garage.

“What, about the whole holding off your admirers thing?”

Scully nods.

“I figured back-up wouldn’t hurt.” He slips his hands in his pockets, giving himself an air of pretension. As Scully watches him, she gets the notion that it’s all carefully calculated. It makes her feel both powerful and annoyed. She is the damsel, and he is framing himself as prince charming, though she is not in distress.

They make it to the parking garage and take another elevator up to Scully’s level. “Skinner’s gonna want that report before you leave tonight, you know,” Scully tells him, surprised that he has followed this far.

“I’ll burn the midnight oil if I have to,” he replies casually. And she can’t argue with that, cause she knows he will.

While he looks for her car, she takes a long glance at his face. He spies her sedan, and they set off in that direction.

“You don’t have to baby me,” she reminds him, almost apologetic. “I made it through med school and Quantico. If anyone is capable of--”

“It’s not about whether you’re capable, Scully. You are. But you should never have had to go through all that in the first place. It’s not fair, what you’ve dealt with.”

“Life’s not--”

“--fair. Yeah, I know, that’s why I don’t believe in God,” Mulder deadpans.

Scully gives him the infamous look. He shrugs. “It’s the truth!”

They make it to her car, and Scully lays a hand on the driver’s door. “Alright, Mulder. It looks like we’ve both learned something about each other. Very productive conversation.”

“Good thing I came all the way down here, huh.” He flashes a smile that would disarm a scorpion. Scully feels it in her core. She tightens her grip on the door, pulling it open.

“Bye, Mulder,” she prods, sliding into the driver’s seat.

He salutes her. “Bye-bye.”

He stays at the front of her parking spot as she cranks--or rather, tries to crank--her car. The engine gurgles at her in protest. One twist, two twists, three twists, nothing. She pulls the key out of the ignition and opens the door.

“It won’t start...battery’s dead, I think.”

Mulder leans against her door. “Let me try.”

Scully shuffles herself into the passenger’s seat and he settles in, finding himself squished against the steering wheel with her seat settings. He laughs and jams the key into place. The engine won’t give under his hand either.

He rests his elbow on the console and stares at his partner. Her eyes darken. “I don’t have jumper cables, do you?”

“I’m not a jumper cable man, no,” he mutters.

Scully knocks her head against the back of her seat, covers her face with her hands. “My appointment’s at 4:30. I got the latest one of the day…”

“Okay, okay, no problem.” Mulder taps her shoulder. “I’ll take you.”

She uncovers her face. “But what about the report…?”

“You really think Skinner’s gonna be surprised by another late report?”

She bites her lip. “Fine, fine. It’s off 6th Street, I’ll tell you how to get there.”

“And we can pick up jumper cables on the way back,” Mulder adds.

“Perfect.”

They hop out of the car and head for Mulder’s. Scully watches him out of the corner of her eye--he’s striding along, completely unbothered by this inconvenience. She is struck with the notion that he is a better person than her in some crucial ways.

“Do you have your keys?” she pipes up, always bringing reality into the picture.

He taps his pocket. “Right here.”

“You’re saving my ass, Mulder--thank you.”

“I was the ass hero of Oxford. I’m glad to be of service.”

Scully shakes her head, her smile eclipsing a laugh.  “Please don’t ever tell me the story behind that, ” she giggles.

“Your loss.”

And as she looks over at him in the dingy parking garage, she knows that this is exactly where she’s meant to be.

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

He wasn’t planning to go in with her--he expected that she’d make a fuss about it if he asked, and it wasn’t his business anyway. He’s surprised, then, when he pulls into a spot at the clinic and she raises an eyebrow when he doesn't turn the engine off.

“Are you coming?” she asks, one leg sticking out of the car.

“Y-you want me to go with you?” he stutters.

Scully shrinks back. “Were you planning on going back to the office? I’m not sure how long the appointment will take, but I hate to make you drive all over the place.”

“No, I was just gonna chill in here. I thought you wouldn’t want me…”

“Oh.” Scully’s out of the car now, her purse swung over her shoulder. “Well, it’s just an ultrasound, so you can come if you want. I bet you’ve never been to an OB-GYN before…”

Mulder shakes his head. “Never had the pleasure. You know I’m all for new experiences, though.”

“Come on, then.” She slams the door closed and starts walking toward the building, playing hard to get in her own little way.

Mulder cuts the engine, locks up the car, and jogs after her. Not a usual occurrence, but he likes the role-reversal.

“So is there anything I should know,” he pants as he catches up with her, “before I walk in? Is there some kind of universal girl code that governs these places?”

“The only naked women you’re about to see are in anatomical diagrams, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

“Oh, so it’s not a communal kinda thing?”

“Jesus, Mulder. That’s a male fantasy if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Hey, men have urinals and locker rooms, it’s only fair that women have some arena for comparison too,” he attests.

Continuing the role-reversal, Scully holds the door for him. “Clearly, we have different priorities,” she says as he strides through. He chuckles at her as he enters, feeling no insecurity about standing out. He’s not the lone man in the waiting room, but he is the only one without a visibly pregnant wife.

He looks around while Scully checks in. The room, he feels, is misleadingly similar to any other doctor’s office. Daytime housewife fodder on TV, issues of magazines that are barely from this decade, and posters preaching about the flu shot...some unsuspecting man might walk in here because he stubbed his toe and walk out with images in his brain that’ll haunt him for the rest of his life.

He takes a seat at the far edge of the room, Scully joining him a moment later with a clipboard.

He points at the entry to the back--“I feel like they should have a sign on that door that says ‘beware: health class flashbacks ahead. And not the good ones.’”

“If you’re a woman, it’s no flashback,” she tells him, focused on filling out the forms. “It’s just what you deal with everyday.”

“Okay, but imagine men had to go to a place like this, and you had to go back there.”

She looks up. “Mulder, you know I do autopsies on dead bodies, right?” Then, with a smirk--”Besides, I’ve never known you to be squeamish about naked women.”

“Right, but this is like...I’m used to looking at the completed painting, and now I’m seeing the paint-by-number. Not so pretty.”

“Maybe you should go sit in the car…” Scully says with a hint of a tease.  

“I digress.” He glances absentmindedly at what she’s writing, then looks away.

Scully notices and meets his eye. “You know what I’m here for, right?”

Without intending to, he read it off her paper. “Follicle ultrasound?”

“Yes, but do you know why? ”

Mulder holds his mouth open like he’ll catch an answer that way. “Uh…” he starts, classic caught-off guard college student.

Scully jots the last marks on her forms. “To check my egg reserve and see if anything’s changed since the last time. To see if there’s any possibility of me having a biological child, essentially.”

“Huh,” Mulder hums dumbly. Way to make an asshole of himself, cracking jokes at a time like this. He wishes it were socially acceptable to walk around with tape over your mouth.

“I’m sorry, Scully. I didn’t realize the situation was so dire.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

It’s funny she says that, because at that exact moment Mulder is thinking about how it is his fault, and where’s the nearest bridge? He realizes then, too, that maybe she wants him there so she’s not alone for whatever the results say, and boy, this is more than he bargained for when he offered to drive her.

He turns to her, his glance far shyer than usual. “So this is the follow-up to your first ultrasound?”

Scully nods. “It’s been almost a year.”

“But you…” he tries to arrange the words in as courteous a manner as possible. “Are you still premenopausal?”

Scully crosses one leg over the other. She’s pleasantly surprised that he cares about this. “No, I’m on birth control to regulate my cycles. But that doesn’t matter if I don’t have enough eggs left for potential fertilization. Fertility and menstruation are not necessarily linked.”

“But there’s an upside to that, right? Aren’t there health risks with early menopause?”

“Yep.”

Mulder’s not sure whether she’s answering his first question or his second one. He lets it be, and good thing, because a nurse calls Scully’s name moments later. He follows her into the back like an eager to please puppy, playing it cool until the nurse pipes up.

“Mr. & Mrs. Scully, how are you?”

“Not married ,” Scully clarifies, amused.

“Oh,” the nurse takes a stray glance at her clipboard. “I’m sorry.” She gestures toward Mulder. “You are…?”

“Fox Mulder. I’m her partner.”

“Oh, okay. I see. Gender-neutral language, very inclusive.”

“He’s my FBI partner,” Scully grumbles, giving Mulder a punch in the bicep for his purposeful vagueness. “I work at the Bureau.”

“Ah. Makes sense.” The nurse waves them into an exam room then closes the door behind herself. As she reads over Scully’s chart, Mulder’s presence makes less and less sense to her, and she addresses her patient with pitched confusion in her voice.

“So you are here for a follow-up antral follicle count...?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The nurse reads from the chart. “Your first one was roughly eleven months ago and indicated low fertility. Five follicles were counted.”

Scully nods.

“But since then, you’ve started hormonal birth control and now have stable menstrual cycles, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” The nurse makes note of this, then looks to Scully. “If you could come with me for a moment, we’re gonna get your weight, and then Dr. Zapolsky will be right in for the ultrasound.”

Alone in the strange room, Mulder’s met with fascination, not fear. He’s never seen an exam chair with stirrups in real life, and it makes him chuckle, reminiscent of birth scenes in slapstick comedies. On the counter is a 3D model of the uterus, which is pretty cool if he’s being honest. Remove the labels and it’s a modern art piece...and he means that with all due respect. His reproductive system would not make a nice decoration, that’s for sure.

He’s reading a poster about each trimester of pregnancy when Scully and the nurse come back in. Did you know that babies can be frightened by loud noises while they’re still in the womb? he wants to ask, but Scully knows everything, so she probably already knows that.

Scully settles into the exam chair as best she can. She locks eyes with Mulder, and he winks at her--again. It puts a genuine smile on her face, which has never happened in this room. The nurse exits quietly, but they are still there, and so is the smile.

They don’t speak at first. Silence is good when it’s comfortable, they have learned, and it’s always comfortable for them. Until Mulder begins to worry that Scully’s head might be spinning with dark thoughts, and he can’t have that. He thumbs toward the poster. “Did you know that loud noises can frighten babies through the womb?”

Scully’s gaze falls upon him, warm and light. “I’ve always thought that was just an old wife’s tale. I never saw it demonstrated during my obstetrics rotation.”

“Well, it’s on the poster. It’s gotta be true,” he wisecracks.

The door opens, and the majestic Dr. Zapolsky saunters in.

“Let’s ask Dr. Zapolsky,” Scully suggests.

“What’s that?” The doctor rolls the ultrasound machine to the center of the room.

“We were wondering if it’s true that babies in the womb can spook at loud noises,” Scully explains.

“It’s on the poster,” Mulder adds.

“Oh! Yes! But not until around 28 weeks.” Dr. Zapolsky sits down on her stool. “You never saw that during your rotations?”

Scully shakes her head.

“It presents as a kick, and as long as the exposure to the noise is not continuous, it’s harmless.”

“Good to know...I guess,” Scully finishes, wondering why Mulder fixated on that of all things.

Dr. Zapolsky scoots toward her patient. “How are you doing, Dana?”

Scully musters a smile. “I’m okay. Much better than I was last year at this time.”

“And who is your guest…?” she asks, swerving toward Mulder.

“Mulder, my partner at the Bureau. My car went dead, so he had to drive me.”

“Ah! Hello Mulder.”

Mulder nods. “Nice to meet you.”

“I see you’ve gained some weight since your last visit,” Dr. Zapolsky tells Scully. “That’s a good thing--fueling your body allows it to put energy toward ovarian function.”

Scully tries to accept this as a compliment, though she’s been conditioned not to view it as one.

The doctor continues. “And you’re doing well on your birth control? Any problems with it?”

“Nope, everything’s working out.”

“Wonderful.” Zapolsky clasps her hands together. “Looks like we’re all set for the ultrasound. Go ahead and lie back.”

Scully does so.

“I’ll need you to pull your waistband and underwear down. Let me get you a sheet for cover.” She slides over to the cabinets and pulls out a disposable blue blanket, which she drapes over Scully’s bent knees.

Mulder turns his head away as Scully shimmies off her skirt of choice--black, pencil, from the clearance rack at J. Crew, per usual.  Not that he’d be able to see anything since she already has cover, but he’s not risking any disrespect. Scully’s not paying attention to him, and it’s a testament to the trust they have developed.

Dr. Zapolsky grabs the ultrasound wand and takes it under the sheet, using the image on the monitor to guide it into place. “Everything feel alright?” she asks Scully, who nods.

The three occupants focus intently on the screen; two of them have a clear sense of what they’re looking for, and one has no idea. A few circles appear on the monitor, narrowly standing out from the background.

“There they are, right?” Scully inquires with tension in her voice.

Dr. Zapolsky nods. “Those are your follicles. What do you notice?”

Scully’s eyes search the screen. “There’s not many.”

“I’m afraid not. Six. One more than last time, but not the improvement you would need.” Dr. Zapolsky frowns. “Two low antral follicle counts qualifies you for a diagnosis of primary ovarian insufficiency. There’s no clear treatment plan, it simply functions as a label for your condition.”

Scully sits with this numbness as her doctor removes the ultrasound wand and cleans up. She wants to look at Mulder, read his face, but he’s over her shoulder and she can’t bend that way just yet. She takes a breath and pulls her skirt back on.

“So there’s no hope, then?” Her voice shakes. “Of carrying a child with one of my own eggs?”

The doctor finishes washing her hands and turns back toward her patient. “There’s a five to ten percent conception rate for women with POI. If you’re dead-set on it, IVF using an egg donor is your best option. Personally, I don’t recommend it at those odds. It’s very expensive and can take quite a physical toll.” She pats her patient’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Dana.”

With tears threatening to break her composure, Scully cranes her neck toward Mulder. He’s her escape hatch, but he’s not doing much better. His hands are squeezed into fists, his eyes dark. “I’m sorry, Scully,” he murmurs. “You don’t deserve this.”

And even if he’s right it doesn’t make any difference, because this is what she’s gotten, and this is what she must deal with. Gravity’s full brunt bears down on her body and spirit, and she wonders once again if God intends her for heaven or for hell.

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

The sun is sinking below the horizon by the time Scully sets her keys on her front table. If she wasn’t exhausted before, she is after buying jumper cables and using Mulder’s car to start hers. She hears clanging pots and pans and can only hope it’s her sister home from the lunch shift.

Forcing her tired body into the kitchen, Scully finds Melissa at the stove. The smell of marinara sauce wafts through the air.

Missy looks away from the boiling pasta she’s stirring. “Hello jellybean!” Neither one of them knows where the new nickname came from, but neither one is against it either.

“Hey Missy,” Scully says as she plops into a dining chair. She slides off her heels and stretches her toes.

“How was your day?”

“Alright,” Scully sighs. “Paperwork and then my ultrasound appointment, but my battery died so Mulder had to take me.”

“Oh my goodness!” Missy turns the heat down on the stove and strides over to her sister. “I forgot that was today...how was it?”

Scully looks up through her lashes. “Not good, Missy.”

“No?” Missy slides into the adjacent chair. “Were your counts still low?”

Scully nods, picks a piece of lint off her skirt. “Too low. Doc says I have primary ovarian insufficiency. Basically, it’s highly unlikely I’ll be able to have a child with my own egg.”

“God…” Missy sandwiches one of her sister’s hands between both of hers. “I’m so sorry. That’s not what you wanted to hear, I know.”

Across the way, the boiling water sings a siren song, and Missy reluctantly makes her way back toward it. “You’ll have to accept my condolences in the form of food cause I’m too far into this to stop now.”

“Oh, I will.” She’d be having a salad or...well, probably nothing, if Missy wasn’t here. Scully leans back, examines the ceiling, then rubs her eyes. “Did you know that babies can spook at loud noises through the womb? At 28 weeks, at least.”

“No, I didn’t,” Missy answers with gusto, happy to distract her sister.

“Mulder read it on some poster, and I didn’t think it was true, but it turns out it is,” Scully rambles.

“Mulder read it...?” Missy echoes. “He went in with you?”

“Uh-huh.” Scully’s immune to the usual implications of her sister’s curiosity. She’s had too much of a day to argue that Mulder isn’t as integral a part of her life as he is. “It was nice...I was happy not to be alone.”

“I’m sure,” Missy says, pouring the ravioli into a colander. “Mulder’s a good guy.”

“Mm-hm.” Scully chews the inside of her cheek. She can’t discern whether she’s failing to repress a feeling or experiencing one anew, but it’s in that ballpark.

Having put the pasta in a serving bowl, Missy spoons sauce over it like she’s auditioning for a cooking show. “There was an interesting voicemail on the machine when I got in,” she begins.

“Yeah? A telemarketer? Scammer?”

“I don’t think so. It’s odd, but it sounds quite urgent.”

Missy hits a button on the answering machine. A gruff voice fills the room. “Hello, this is Agent Feniston from the California Bureau of Investigation looking for a Ms. Scully. I am contacting you on behalf of the California Department of Social Services foster care system. Please get back to me as soon as possible at 619-555-1334. Thank you.”

It does sound legitimate, Scully can’t argue with that. She raises an eyebrow at her sister. “You were in California for a while, weren’t you?”

Missy pops a ravioli into her mouth, wipes some wandering sauce off her lip. “The Bay area, mostly,” she says between bites. “The 619 area code is--”

“San Diego. I remember, that’s what our number started with when we lived by the shipyard.”

Missy nods. “I know I’m considered the free spirit in this family, but no child of mine is running wild in California. Let’s clear that up right now,” she chuckles.

“I mean, we don’t have any details,” Scully says. “They probably just need you to testify whether some friend of yours is stable enough to resume custody of their child.”

“Does that sound like something that would warrant a call from the Bureau of Investigation? ” Missy challenges, scooping a hefty portion of pasta into a bowl and handing it to her sister.

Scully takes it and grabs a fork. “If they couldn’t find any other way to contact you.”

Missy stops, looks at her sister with a pointed glare.

“What?” Scully shrugs.

“Darling,” Missy continues, “no one I knew in California has this number, nor any way to determine that I’m living with you.”

Scully lifts the fork to her mouth, freezing before it makes it there. “You think the call is for me?”

“I think it’s a possibility,” she says, taking a seat across from her sister.

Scully scoffs. “I haven’t been to California in ages. There was a case in Marin County, but it’s been two years now.”

“That’s funny,” Missy muses. “I was living there then.”

“Can we stay on topic, please?” Scully tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m not fond of having a random call from the California foster system on my answering machine.”

“Then call Agent Feniston back, and it won’t be random anymore.” Missy gets up, glances at the clock, and grabs the phone off its receiver. “It’s only 3:30 in Californiaaaaa,” she sing-songs, dangling it in front of her sister.

Scully pouts, but lets the weight of the phone rest in her hand. “Can you play the voicemail again? I need the number…”

Feniston addresses them for a second time, and Scully taps the keypad in concert with his directions: 619-555-1334.