#I don’t care if this gets tagged as something it isn’t

[kiwriteswords]

All is Bright

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: apologies to those who have requested things before this! I am working on a few others, but I had to get this one out today! Hope everyone enjoyed their Thanksgiving if they celebrate it! I also would be happy to take holiday requests that are non-christmas!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Grumpy!Female Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Tags/Warnings: Christmas, Alcohol TW, Grumpy!Reader, Hotch with the Praising, Suggestive Flirting,

Sypnosis: When the BAU gathers for Rossi’s annual Christmas party, you’re determined to survive the night with your grumpy demeanor firmly intact. Holiday cheer isn’t your thing, but Aaron Hotchner—your stoic, endlessly patient boyfriend—has a way of melting your resolve.

Rossi’s estate was decked out in its holiday best. Twinkling lights illuminated every corner, and the smell of pine, cinnamon, and whatever culinary masterpiece Rossi had whipped up filled the air. The BAU team, scattered across the sprawling mansion, was in various stages of celebrating—laughter and clinking glasses echoing in the space. You, however, sat on the edge of a couch in the living room, a scowl lightly gracing your face as you sipped your drink.

“Didn’t realize Scrooge made the guest list,” Morgan teased, plopping down beside you. He had a full glass himself, but it was in stark contrast to what you were drinking. The spiked eggnog he had was far too sweet for your liking. You kept it simple and…you with the gin on the rocks.

“Ha, ha,” you deadpanned, taking another sip, waving him off, “I’m just here for the food. Don’t get used to this festive spirit.”

“Festive spirit? That’s a stretch,” Emily chimed in from across the room,  “Come on, admit it—you’re having fun.”

You rolled your eyes. Sure, the party wasn’t awful, but your natural state of grumpiness was a hard shell to crack. And yet, it seemed like everyone was on a mission tonight to tease you out of it.

Well, almost everyone.

You glanced across the room, and there he was—Aaron Hotchner, in all his stoic, composed glory. He was in conversation with Rossi, holding a glass of something that wasn’t eggnog (because, of course, he also wasn’t an eggnog guy). His suit jacket was off, tie loosened just slightly, and the sight of him caused the smallest crack in your armor.

Hotch glanced in your direction as if sensing your gaze. His lips quirked into a small, knowing smile before he excused himself and made his way toward you. Your heart betrayed you with a flutter, but you shoved the feeling down, keeping your scowl firmly in place.

“Hey, sunshine,” he greeted softly, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to tease you.

“Funny,” you replied. “Everyone’s a comedian tonight.”

“Hmm.” He perched on the armrest of the couch beside you, close enough for his presence to feel grounding but not overwhelming. “Morgan giving you a hard time?”

“When isn’t he?” you muttered, glancing at the man in question, who was now laughing with Garcia by the fireplace.

Hotch chuckled lightly. “It’s only because he cares.”

“I think he just likes to mess with me.”

“That too.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping just for you. “You know, you could try smiling. It’s Christmas.”

“Why should I? There’s a whole house full of people here doing it for me.”

Hotch’s laugh was quiet but genuine, the kind of sound you swore could melt even your grumpiest moods. You felt his hand brush lightly against yours, where it rested on your knee, a simple, grounding touch.

“I like your grumpiness,” he said, surprising you. “But I like it even more when I can make it go away.”

Before you could respond, you heard Emily call out from somewhere behind you. “Hotch, do something about her face before it ruins the photos.”

You turned to glare at her, but Hotch chuckled again. “Let��s give them what they want, then.”

He stood, placing his drink on a coaster and offering you his hand. You raised a brow. “What are you up to, Aaron?”

“Trust me,” he said, his tone gentle but playful.

With a sigh, you placed your hand in his and let him pull you up. He guided you toward the doorway leading into the dining room, where a sprig of mistletoe hung, subtle but unmistakable.

“Oh, come on,” you groaned, realizing his plan. “Mistletoe? Really?” You knew you sounded like a defiant child, but really? 

“You don’t like traditions?” His voice was smooth, his expression amused but patient as ever. Why did he have to give you that look? 

“It’s cheesy.”

“Maybe. But I think we owe Rossi for hosting this party.” He stepped closer, his brown eyes warm, his smile soft. “What do you say?”

Before you could roll your eyes again, the team noticed. Garcia was the first to squeal. “Oh my gosh, yes! Kiss her, Hotch!” 

“Might as well get it over with!” Morgan called out, grinning ear to ear. 

“Stop making it a thing,” you muttered, cheeks heating as you shot daggers at your friends. You could have sworn you heard Rossi whistle.

But then Hotch gently tilted your chin up, bringing your focus back to him. His expression was calm, steady, the kind of look that always reminded you why you fell for him in the first place. The soft brush of his thumb against your chin was electric enough to refocus your brain. 

“It doesn’t have to be a thing,” he said quietly, just for you. So nonchalant, like you weren’t the center of attention. “Just us.” 

You couldn’t argue with that. With a resigned sigh, you leaned up, and he met you halfway, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was soft and unhurried. The world around you seemed to fade for a moment, your grumpiness melting away like snow under the warmth of the sun.

When you pulled back, the room erupted in applause and cheers, which immediately brought your scowl back.

“Great. Now it’s a spectacle.”

Hotch chuckled, his hand sliding down to rest on the small of your back. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Better.”

The team’s laughter and cheers didn’t let up, and you glared at them over your shoulder. “Don’t you all have something better to do than act like high schoolers?”

“Not when this is more entertaining than TV,” Morgan quipped, raising his glass.

“You’re all insufferable,” you grumbled, though the faintest twitch of a smile betrayed your faux annoyance.

Hotch leaned in closer, his hand steady on your back. “Do you want to stay here and endure this, or should we disappear for a while?”

Your brow quirked. “Disappear? That’s not very supervisory of you.”

“Supervisory me is off duty,” he replied, his lips just barely brushing your ear. “And I have more interesting priorities tonight.”

The flush creeping up your neck betrayed the calm facade you tried to maintain. “Fine. Let’s get out of here before they start taking bets.” 

You were hoping he meant to leave. Adios. Irish goodbye. But his plans were more of an intermission of sorts. 

The two of you slipped away toward one of the quieter sitting rooms, though not without a few knowing smirks from the team. Rossi’s mansion, as sprawling as it was, offered plenty of places to hide away from the chaos. You found yourselves in a cozy, dimly lit room with a roaring fireplace, the sound of the party fading into the background.

“This better not be where you try to sell me on more Christmas traditions,” you teased, crossing your arms as you turned to face him. Somehow, even this unused room, in Rossi’s mansion, abode for one, was even decked out for the holiday. 

Hotch stepped closer, his gaze soft but focused entirely on you. “No traditions this time. Just us.”

You softened at that, the tension you always carried in your shoulders easing a little. “You’re dangerously close to getting me in the holiday spirit.”

“Is that so?” he said, the faintest hint of amusement playing at his lips. “Should I be worried?”

“Maybe.” You stepped closer, resting your hands on his chest. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently along your skin. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

The kiss that followed was deeper this time, more intent behind it, yet still carrying that steady warmth you always found in him. You lost yourself in the feel of him, the stress and grumpiness of the day melting away completely.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, and you let out a soft sigh. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Am I?” His tone was amused, but his gaze was steady, his hand lingering at your waist.

“Yeah. I can’t even stay mad around you.”

“That’s the goal.” He kissed your forehead, his voice low and affectionate. “I like seeing you happy. Even if it takes a little extra effort.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the sound of someone clearing their throat made you both turn. Standing in the doorway, Rossi grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, though his tone suggested he was enjoying this far too much. “I just came to see where my guests of honor disappeared to.”

You sighed, giving Hotch a knowing look. “I told you they wouldn’t let us escape.”

Hotch chuckled softly, his hand still at your back. “It was worth a try.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Rossi said with a wave of his hand. “But you might want to come back before Garcia starts circulating conspiracy theories.”

Rossi left with a wink, and you groaned, burying your face in Hotch’s chest. “I swear, next year, we’re skipping this.”

He held you close, caressing your back with reassurance, his voice warm with laughter. “Not a chance. But I told you,  I’ll make it up to you afterward.”

You looked up at him, arching a brow. “You’d better.”

Hotch’s hand lingered at the small of your back as the two of you stepped back into the glow of Rossi’s holiday party. The laughter and music were a sharp contrast to the quiet moment you’d just shared, but his steady presence grounded you as always.

Morgan was the first to spot you, a wide grin splitting his face. “There they are! And here I thought you two were off plotting something.”

“Only my escape,” you replied dryly, earning a chorus of laughs from the group.

“Oh, come on, we know you secretly love it here,” Garcia said, her sparkling outfit matching the mischievous glint in her eyes. “Especially when you’ve got him by your side.”

Hotch’s hand tightened slightly at your back, his calm demeanor unshaken by the team’s teasing. “Someone has to keep her from bolting.”

“Someone,” you muttered under your breath, shooting him a side-eye glance. His lips quirked in amusement, his brown eyes soft as they met yours.

The teasing continued as Rossi brought out a tray of desserts, insisting everyone try his homemade tiramisu. As the team gathered around the kitchen island, you felt yourself relax into the chaos, the warmth of their camaraderie chipping away at your usual reluctance.

“You know,” JJ said, nudging your arm with a grin, “you’re almost smiling. Is Hotch rubbing off on you?”

“Absolutely not,” you deadpanned, earning another round of laughter.

Hotch leaned in close, his voice just for you. “Is it so bad to admit you’re enjoying yourself?”

You shot him a playful glare but couldn’t quite fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe. But if you tell them that, I’ll deny it.”

He chuckled softly, brushing his hand along your arm. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

As the night wore on, the team drifted into various activities—some chatting near the fireplace, others engaged in a spirited game of charades. You found yourself by the Christmas tree, admiring the lights despite yourself. Hotch joined you quietly, his presence as calming as ever.

“You’re staring,” you said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. You tried to focus back on the various shiny bulbs hanging from each branch but couldn’t help but look back toward him.

“Just admiring the view,” he replied without missing a beat, his gaze fixed on you.

Your cheeks warmed, and you looked away, grumbling, “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he said, the faintest smirk on his lips.

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him slightly, letting the quiet moment settle around you. For all the teasing, the chaos, and your initial reluctance, you couldn’t deny that being here—with him—made it all worthwhile.

The soft glow of the Christmas tree lights reflected in Hotch’s warm brown eyes as you both stood there, taking in the quiet moment. The sounds of the team’s laughter echoed in the background, distant enough to feel like you were in your own little world.

“You know,” he started, his voice low and thoughtful, “I never thought I’d be doing this again.”

“Doing what?” you asked, glancing up at him. You could feel the shift in his energy. It was something, especially with him, you could pick up on before words even left his mouth. Your usual demeanor softened, recognizing this.

He gestured subtly toward the tree, the party, the warmth of the night. “Celebrating. Finding this... peace. With someone I care about.”

The sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten. Hotch wasn’t one to overshare or wear his emotions openly, so moments like these carried weight. You hesitated, unsure how to respond, the vulnerability in his words catching you off guard.

“Maybe I didn’t mind it as much as I let on,” you admitted quietly, your voice softer than usual, almost reluctant. The confession hung in the air for a beat before you quickly added, “But don’t get too sentimental on me. I have a reputation to uphold.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, his gaze flicking toward you briefly before returning to the road. “Of course. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’ve gone soft.”

As the evening wound down, the energy in Rossi’s mansion began to settle. The team had dispersed into smaller groups—Emily and Garcia were deep in a heated debate over whether "Die Hard" was a Christmas movie, with JJ chiming in occasionally, Morgan was helping Rossi clean up, and Reid had somehow been roped into organizing the board games Rossi insisted on showcasing earlier. You stood near the door, watching it all unfold with a mix of amusement and relief. The night had been more tolerable than expected, but you were ready to call it.

Hotch appeared at your side, his coat draped over his arm. “Ready to head out?”

You sighed, giving the room one last glance. The goodbyes had just about done you in. You tried to hide a comment about likely being called into seeing all of these people before the next few days were over but held back. 

“More than ready. Let’s go before Rossi tries to guilt me into taking leftovers.”

Hotch’s lips curved into the faintest smile, and he helped you into your coat, his hands lingering just a second longer than necessary. 

Once outside, the crisp winter air hit your face, a refreshing contrast to the cozy warmth of Rossi’s house. The driveway was lined with cars, their frosted windshields glittering under the soft glow of the outdoor lights. Hotch walked you to his car, opening the passenger door for you as always.

The drive back to your shared apartment was quiet, the sound of Christmas music on the radio filling the silence. You stared out the window at the snow-dusted streets, watching as the lights from decorated houses passed by in a blur.

The soft hum of the car and the muted glow of passing streetlights filled the comfortable silence between you. Hotch glanced your way again, a flicker of amusement in his gaze as his fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel.

“You were good tonight,” he said again, his voice carrying a warm, teasing edge that made you glance at him with narrowed eyes.

“Good?” you repeated, raising a brow. “Are you about to give me a gold star?”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t break. “If I thought it’d keep you in line, I’d consider it. But we both know you respond to other things.”

Your cheeks burned at the weight of his words, the way his tone wrapped around you. Your stomach flipped at the way his voice dipped just enough to send a pleasant shiver down your spine. You masked it with a roll of your eyes, your tone teasing as you replied, “You’re impossible.” 

“And you love it,” he countered smoothly, his eyes flicking toward you again, steady and unshakable.

Your mouth twitched into a small, reluctant smile as you turned back to the window. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not exactly lining up for the Most Festive award anytime soon.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he said, his voice softer now. “But you showed up, you played nice, and you made it through without biting anyone’s head off. Maybe even a smile or two. That’s progress.”

You scoffed lightly, though his words sent a subtle warmth through your chest. “If you think that’s progress, your standards are lower than I thought.”

His smirk deepened, and he let the silence stretch for a moment before he replied, “I think you know my standards are anything but low. Especially when it comes to you.”

Your cheeks warmed at the weight of his words, but you kept your tone light. “You’re lucky I even went. I could’ve stayed home.”

“You could have,” he agreed easily, his voice steady. “But you didn’t. And I’m glad you didn’t.”

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard for a moment, and you glanced at him, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the passing streetlights. His presence was so steady, so calm, it made your usual defenses falter. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

He gave a small nod, keeping his eyes on the road. “I do. You didn’t have to go, but you did. For me.” The corner of his mouth tugged upward again, but this time, his gaze stayed on the road. “You know, for someone who’s so resistant to the holidays, you play along pretty well when you want to.”

You raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he said, glancing at you now with that steady, unreadable expression, “that I see right through you.”

Your stomach flipped at the way his voice dropped, warm and firm. “Oh, do you now?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation, his tone laced with challenge. “And for the record, you did better than good tonight. You were perfect.”

The car pulled into the driveway of your shared apartment, and the engine’s hum faded as he shut it off. You turned to face him, your heart beating just a little faster under his gaze. “Perfect, huh? That’s a bold claim.”

“It is,” he said, his hand resting lightly on the gearshift as he leaned just slightly toward you. “But I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

You stared at him for a moment, caught between wanting to roll your eyes and wanting to melt under the intensity of his gaze. “Fine. But if you’re so impressed with me, you’d better make it worth my while.”

His lips curved into that rare, private smile he reserved just for you. “Oh, I plan to.”

The warmth in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you huffed, reaching for the door handle to hide your reaction. “You’d better, Hotchner.”

He chuckled softly, stepping out of the car and rounding to your side to open your door—always the gentleman, no matter how much it flustered you. As you stepped out, his hand found its way to the small of your back, guiding you toward the door with that quiet, steady presence that always left you feeling just a little off balance.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were practically buzzing with anticipation—not just for whatever promises lay unspoken between you, but for the way he always seemed to know how to unravel your defenses with nothing more than a look and a touch.

And tonight, you were more than ready to let him.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[fear-is-truth]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐘 . . . hc .ᐟ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑

tags — fem!reader﹒sfw + nsfw﹒headcanons﹒frat boy! kyle spencer﹒smut﹒

boyfriend!kyle who has a thing for soft, quick nose kisses. he’ll lean in and nuzzle his nose against yours when you’re talking, grinning every time you scrunch up your face in response. then kiss the tip of your nose.

boyfriend!kyle who always rests his head in your lap when he’s tired, completely melting when you stroke his blonde curls.

boyfriend!kyle who shoves your hands into his coat pockets when it’s freezing outside, mumbling, “just keep them there, okay?”

boyfriend!kyle who helps you bake christmas cookies. he’ll sneak a spoonful of frosting, smear some on your cheek, and kiss it off you.

boyfriend!kyle who has been quietly saving up for something he knows you’d love—a vintage record player, a necklace you pointed out once, or concert tickets to your favourite artist.

boyfriend!kyle who loves lazy weekend mornings where you’re both too comfy to get out of bed. he’ll pull you closer, nuzzling into your neck and mumbling, “five more minutes babyyy,” even though it’s already been an hour.

boyfriend!kyle who doesn’t even question it when you start stealing his varsity jacket. he loves seeing you wear it, especially when it’s way too big on you.

boyfriend!kyle who loves sitting with you by the window during storms, wrapping a blanket around the both of you as the rain pours. he’ll trace random patterns on your hand while you pick raindrops on the glass and race them.

boyfriend!kyle who’s the guy who stays sober enough to keep an eye on you and your drink.

boyfriend!kyle who insists on walking you back to your dorm or driving you home after a late night out, no matter how tired he is. “text me when you’re safe” isn’t enough for him—he wants to be the one ensuring it.

boyfriend!kyle who always notices when you’re upset, even if you don’t say anything. he’ll quietly sit with you, hold your hand or rub circles on your back until you’re ready to talk.

boyfriend!kyle who always makes time to help you with random things like carrying groceries, fixing your bike, or figuring out your printer.

boyfriend!kyle who makes you playlists of songs that remind him of you (definitely includes toto)

boyfriend!kyle who takes his studies seriously. he’d spread out his notes and flashcards to help you prep for exams, coming up with goofy mnemonics to make things easier.

boyfriend!kyle who lets you sit on his lap while he plays video games.

boyfriend!kyle who gives the best hugs, warm and firm, like he’s trying to absorb all your stress. he’ll rest his chin on your shoulder and mumble “i love you”.

boyfriend!kyle who takes you to the mall on random weekends just so you can pet the puppies in the pet store. he watches you with the softest smile while a little golden retriever climbs into your lap.

boyfriend!kyle who tries to learn your favorite songs on the guitar just to surprise you.

boyfriend!kyle who holds your face in both hands when he kisses you, lips always lingering and reluctant to part from yours. because you’re the most precious thing in his world.

boyfriend!kyle who adores your little quirks and habit’s, like the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love or the way you always tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re focused.

boyfriend!kyle who insists on holding your shopping bags, even if it’s just one tiny bag.

boyfriend!kyle who sneaks kisses on your temple during movie nights, and holds your hand under the blanket.

boyfriend!kyle who is extra careful about your comfort and boundaries. if you ever seem unsure or uncomfortable, he’ll stop everything immediately. (consent king)

boyfriend!kyle who likes eye contact and lacing your fingers together during soft sex.

boyfriend!kyle who loves it when you tug on his hair during sex, the moans that escape him give him away every time.

boyfriend!kyle who fucks you into the mattress during rough sex.

boyfriend!kyle who loves going down on you.

boyfriend!kyle who is so mindful of your well-being, constantly asking if you feel okay physically, mentally and emotionally.

boyfriend!kyle who always has heartfelt praises for you afterward to make sure you know how much he appreciates you.

boyfriend!kyle who massages your shoulders or back if you’re sore, knowing exactly how to relieve the tension.

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[nickfowlerrr]

crystal clear and smudgy

pairing: personal trainer!lance tucker x curvy!reader / just a little tiny hint of bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. kinda established undefined relationship. no explicit smut but sexual content. talks of working out. just a little tiny hint of bucky x reader. steve rogers has a blink and you’ll miss it appearance. mentions of oral. some shades of degradation at the beginning. cursing. bits of fluff. mention of reader having a degradation and a praise kink. little ooc lance bc he’s way sweeter and a lot more bearable here than he is in the bronze 💀 not edited simply bc i didn’t want to edit it - apologies for any mistakes. if something needs to be tagged pls lmk!

words: 4k

notes: not expecting much interaction for this one but if you do so happen to give it a read, i’d love to know what you think! personally - i really loved writing this one ☺️ as always, reblogs and comments are more than welcome and so appreciated. thank you for reading! 🩵

“Let’s go, princess, one more set,” he orders, standing over you as you lay on the ground, collapsed and completely warn out by the last twelve reps. At this angle you could just lift your leg and hit him right where it hurts.

And he’d deserve it, too.

You’re distracted from the thoughts of kicking your own personal menace by the feeling of him kicking you. Right in your side. Not anywhere near close enough to hurt, but just enough to piss you off.

“Don’t fucking kick me,” you swat at him, “jackass.”

“You just gonna lay there and take it?” he challenges, walking further up your body so he’s standing over your chest now.

By the smirk that curves his lips, you can tell he’s about to say something else as your already hot body heats further under his burning gaze. He knows what he’s doing and you want to hate him for it.

He lifts a foot, holding eye contact with you as he brings it to your chest, pressing down with just enough of his weight to ensure that you can feel it as your mouth goes dry and your head goes empty.

“We both know how well you can take it,” he taunts, stepping just a little harder as your hands fly up to his shoe and push on his foot a bit as a stilted gasp - a gasp and not a moan - leaves you.

A moment later the chime sounds at the entrance of the gym, signaling the arrival of another. Lance’s smirk taunts you a second longer, that glimmer of mischief still twinkling in his eye before he steps over you.

Your eyes follow him as he leaves the weight room to greet whoever it is at the front desk. It’s a Wednesday so you know he isn’t coaching any gymnastic classes, and he stopped taking other clients on Wednesdays after the second time you found yourselves being…interrupted by an early arrival.

Wednesdays were now exclusively reserved for you.

You know how it sounds in your head, but you also know it’s really for no other reason than him wanting to get his dick wet without interruption.

At least that’s how it started, anyway.

After the second time you were almost caught, you refused his advances at the next session. You weren’t risking it. Lance, however, couldn’t have cared less if someone had walked in on you on your knees in front of him, his dick down your throat while you sucked him off. In fact, you’re almost certain he probably would’ve liked it. When he realized you were serious, he rolled his eyes and went to the front entrance, making a show of locking the door as you watched on. He got out his phone and texted his next client that he had to cancel before he came back over to you and shoved his phone in your face.

“There, happy now?” He asked before he tossed it next to you on the bench you were sitting on.

You just looked up at him and couldn’t get a word out before he was dragging you to the locker rooms. Happy maybe wasn’t the word you would have used, but surely satisfied. Especially after the way he fucked you in front of the big mirror across the room. Forcing you to look at yourself, to watch the way he used you, how he made you feel so good and so full of him, his lips pressed against your ear as he spoke the filthiest degradations, with sprinkles of praises when you squeezed his cock just right or made a certain sound that had him groaning deeply and squeezing your soft hips even tighter. And definitely after he fucked you again in the showers. It was slower that time; steamy and yet still rough, and god, just as fucking hot.

You went home with him that night.

And begrudgingly, every other Wednesday night since.

It’s become routine. You meet here, have your training session, and after that forty-five minute mark, it inevitably devolves into you two fucking around before Lance reminds you how much more comfortable his bed is compared to whichever surface you’ve found yourself being pressed against that night.

You assumed tonight would be like any other but as you hear Lance talking, and what sounds like two other men speaking in return, you get the feeling you’re wrong.

You briefly contemplate getting that one last set in before you shoot up, eyes wide at the realization of whose voice it is you’re hearing out there. No way, you think. Shouldn’t he have his own private gym at Stark Towers?

You get to your knees and crawl over to the window of the weight room, peaking your head just up enough to be able to see who it is out there.

You fucking knew it!

Of all the gyms in this city, he had to find his way to this one.

You can’t see his face, but you’d recognize that arm and that voice anywhere. Steve Rogers stands by him, gym duffle hooked over his shoulder as Lance says something you can’t quite hear about punching bags. You sink back down to the floor before any of the three men can spot you.

You don’t know why you feel so embarrassed but there’s a very strong urge threatening to take over you and see you bolting out the back door before anyone can say a word.

…That’s a lie, actually.

You do know why you’re so embarrassed. It’s not only the decision you made but the very real implications of what that decision means…

Because really, who in their right fucking mind would ever turn down a date with the Bucky Barnes?

No one! Never you.

And yet…you did.

You’ve been trying to avoid thinking about what feelings prompted your almost immediate no from the second the rebuff left your lips.

You’re single. You have every right to go out with anyone you so please. And yet, night after night, there’s only one man who runs through your every thought.

The same man who so shamelessly flirts back with any woman in his vicinity - and makes sure you see it every damn time. You always wonder if he can see the ire you try to hide burning in your gaze. If that’s what causes his smug smirk to spread when he spots you. That glimmer of mirth in his bright blue eyes. Ughhh.

The same man who sends you completely unsolicited selfies, thirst traps, and nudes nearly every damn day. If his texts weren’t so damn incessant, personalized, detailed and pointed, you’d almost wonder who else he sends those pictures to.

The same man who calls you whenever he’s bored. At first you thought he just wanted to hear the sound of his own voice, but lately you’ve been wondering if he just wants to hear yours.

The same man whose bed you’ve found yourself sleeping in nearly every damn night the past two weeks. The nights that have put to rest your wonder of who else he gets in his bed beside you.

The same man who -

Is standing right in front of you.

Your wide eyes blink up as you feel eyes on you. Three pairs.

You clear your throat and push yourself up to stand. Lance looks like he’s about to say something but Bucky’s voice cuts his off before he can get a word out. He says your name as a question and has not only yours, but Lance and Steve’s attention as well.

One of their brows furrowed a bit more significantly than the other.

You smile at him and titter nervously, “Hey, Bucky.”

“Hi,” he smiles back. “Steve, this is,” he gestures, providing him your name in introduction. “PR…Relations?” He says, trying to remember your job title again.

“Something like that, yeah,” you laugh.

“So I’ve heard. Nice to finally meet you,” Steve extends his hand to yours in a polite shake, a friendly smile of his own on his face.

“You too,” you say as you shake hands.

Lance says nothing as he crosses his arms over his chest, and you can feel his gaze heavy on you.

“So,” Bucky says as he takes a step closer to you while Steve turns to Lance expectantly. With a bit of what you might be reading into as reluctance, Lance finally peels his eyes off you and Bucky and starts toward the boxing area near the back of the large weight room. “It’s over here,” he leads him.

You’re now standing alone with Bucky, and yet you can feel Lance’s eyes on you still. You think you like it…

Maybe he’s getting a taste of his own medicine. Unlike him, though, you don’t plan on leading anyone on just to see if he’ll care. If that is, in fact, what he has been doing to see if he can get a response from you.

“You workout here often?” Bucky asks.

“Uhm, not really, no,” you laugh lightly. “I prefer home to here but Lance is my trainer,” you nod in his direction, “we have a weekly session.”

“Oh, nice. We’ve heard good things about this place, wanted to come check it out. It usually closes early on Wednesdays, right? We had to call and set this up.”

“Yeah, it’s normally closed around six,” you say, “lucky you guys’ll have a private session.”

“You do private sessions?”

“Hm?”

“Is that why you’re here, I mean? Private session?”

“Oh,” you can feel your skin burning, “uh, yeah. Mhm,” you nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

His lips tilt up at you and you can’t not return the smile as a little silence grows between you.

“Look, before I ask again, I want you to know that I can take no for an answer, I swear,” he says sincerely, looking into your eyes, “but uh, have you given any more thought to getting dinner?”

You take a stilted breath, your brows raising the slightest bit before you blink. You wet your lips before you force yourself to speak.

“I uhm,” you turn for half a second to glance back at Lance, finding his eyes still set on you before you return Bucky’s gaze once more, “I’m seeing somebody, actually. I kinda have been…I’m sorry, I should’ve told you that the first time. I just, uh, I. I wasn’t sure what we were- are,” you shake your head, feeling a bit flustered, “it’s a little complicated, uhm,” you let out a breathy laugh.

“No, please,” he shakes his head, “don’t be sorry. I get it. Complicated.” He rubs the back of his neck, his bicep bulging with the movement of his raised arm and the hem of his shirt lifting just a bit. Gooooooood.

You’ve said no to this god of a man twice now. Hell. You must really be in deep.

“Well, if complicated ever changes, you know how to reach me,” he offers with a light smile. You nod and give a soft one of your own.

Before Bucky has the chance to walk away, Lance is at your side, startling you a bit as you look over to him.

“You finished your last set?” He asks as Bucky looks between the two of you.

“Uh huh,” you nod. He knows you’re lying as he narrows his eyes at you but doesn’t call you out on it- for now at least.

“I gotta stay a little later tonight,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his keys. You watch as he takes his house key off the ring before he holds it out to you. “I’ll be home in an hour or two,” he says nonchalantly as you stare at the key dumbly for a long second before you finally reach to take it.

“Okay,” you murmur almost so quietly you barely hear yourself.

Bucky huffs a smirk to himself in realization before he speaks, “Well, it was good running into you. Have a good night. ‘M sure I’ll see you around again.”

“Yeah, you, too,” you breathe another smile of your own as Bucky passes, touching your arm briefly before making his way over to his friend.

You force yourself to then turn and face Lance completely, your wonder evident in your eyes at his actions. “You want me to-“

“Yeah,” he cuts you off. “You’re gonna end up there anyway, thought I’d save you the back and forth from your place to mine.”

Your eyes narrow at his attitude. You’re used to his cocky self assurance and the way every word seems to be laced with a taunt, but this isn’t that. He seems…you aren’t sure. But definitely off.

“I’m gonna end up there anyway?” You question, defiance and annoyance both nipping at you at once.

“Yes.” He readily supplies, taking a step closer to you, invading your space in a way you don’t normally mind when you’re alone.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because that’s what this is.”

Oh god, you think. Maybe he heard you say you were seeing someone. Maybe he knew you were referring to him and maybe he doesn’t want you thinking this is anything more than sex. You’re not seeing someone. It’s not complicated. If you ignore the calls and texts and mid day and late night and early morning rendezvous and the cuddles and showers and pet names without malice or sarcasm reserved for only you, then yeah.

Yeah.

It’s just sex.

It’s not like either of you have ever said it’s anything else, you remind yourself.

You swallow down your embarrassment as your eyes flick toward your shoes. You spot your water and think to grab it and go. You don’t really have anything else to say. Just a lot to think about.

You don’t have time to do anything, though, before Lance’s hands come to hold your jaw, tilting your face up and forcing you to meet his eyes. They’re dark, his usual glint of taunting playfulness now gone. In its place is something much more heated, more serious. If you didn’t know better you might even say possessive…

“Because you’re mine,” he adds, voice deeper and lower as he takes another step to you. His eyes flash from your own to your lips and it’s not another second before he crashes his into yours, kissing you hard. His hands hold your head as he keeps you near him while you can do nothing but kiss him back. It’s not too long but still borderline desperate. You two don’t really kiss all too often and never this intently unless he has you stuffed full of him - and never have you kissed at all in front of anyone before.

Part of you knows he’s probably just putting on a show, wanting to prove something to who he perceives to be competition, and part of you doesn’t care. But a smaller part of you thinks maybe, just maybe, it’s not so much to prove something to Bucky - but to prove something to you.

You pull away after a second, but staying close enough to still breathe him in. You’re dazed and he knows it as that cocksure smirk spreads across his lips again after he looks into your shining eyes.

“Hydrate,” he tells you, letting you go. “I’ll stretch you out when I get home,” he winks, earning a gawked face from you as he starts to walk backwards over to the boxing side of the room. God, you pray they didn’t hear him say that. You chance a glance their way and see them already caught up in a sparring match, paying you and Lance no mind.

You see his slight annoyance at your preoccupation with what they might have heard and it makes you realize that this very random run in with Bucky might have changed the course of…whatever it is this situation has been. Is?

You have certainly never seen this side of Lance before. You again wonder what it means for him because you know well how he is.

This isn’t the time or place to figure it out, though. You give him another look and nod. “I’ll see you…then, then.”

You grab your water and go for your bag on the bench beside you, tossing the key he gave you in there and grabbing your own set to hold. You give him one more fleeting look before heading for the door, it’s like you’re trying to read his mind with every glance and you are getting absolutely nothing.

-

It’s not far from the gym to his place and you’re there within fifteen minutes. It’s a little weird unlocking his door and walking into the empty home, but you’ve been here frequently enough to not feel entirely out of place.

You refill your now empty bottle with the water from his water cooler and drink some more as you set your bag down on the couch.

You don’t know how you should wait for him, or what he’s expecting, but you’re sweaty and he’s not currently here on top of you distracting you from that fact, so you decide on a shower.

You head to his bathroom and strip down before grabbing your towel - wait no, not your towel. It’s just the towel you tend to use when you shower here. You grab it from the shelf with the other folded towels and drape it over the towel bar near the shower. You start the water and let it run for a bit while it warms before you step in.

You grab your loofah - that you only keep there for emergencies - and wash with your body wash. Again, emergencies. Once you’re clean and refreshed, you let yourself enjoy the warmth of the water gently beating down on you. And you let your mind wander.

‘Because you’re mine.’

Lance’s voice runs through your mind and sends a feeling through your body like no other. He’s never said that before. So definitely. So serious. And that kiss…

You take a deep breath and try to relax some more.

The more you think, the harder it is to deny.

God, you really are here all the damn time. And going over your daily routine you realize just how much Lance fits into it. You don’t know how you didn’t see it sooner, maybe you didn’t want to, but the truth is starting to creep up on you. This isn’t just sex.

But ah, can you really say that? All you two do when you’re around each other is fuck. You don’t think there’s been a single day you’ve spent with him that you didn’t do something sexual. So maybe…maybe you’re wrong.

Maybe it’s more of a friends with benefits type thing? You’re certainly past the point of just being fuck buddies.

But friends doesn’t feel entirely right either.

You know now, and truthfully you probably knew after getting asked out by Bucky the first time, that this is more than any of that.

You feel things for him. Things that aren’t just sexual attraction or kinship.

You don’t find yourself wondering what your friends are doing at random times of the day, smiling to yourself at the prospect of seeing them soon, no… Only with him.

You don’t find yourself craving the warmth or hold of your friends when you crawl into bed at night… Just him.

You don’t get butterflies when your friend’s contacts show up on your phone with a new message or a call… Only with him.

You don’t feel the way about your friends that you do about him.

You love your friends, yeah. But it’s not the way you-

You stop yourself before you can finish the thought.

You turn off the water and grab the towel off the bar outside the shower door.

You wrap yourself up and dry off best you can before walking out to his bedroom.

Realizing you might want to commit to a real relationship with someone and declaring that you might possibly be in love with them are two very different things. And you’re still not sure you’re ready to do the former, let alone the latter.

Do you really need to do this? To address it at all? You don’t think so. No. You don’t think you will.

So what if it is just sex? It’s been working for you both so far. You can’t deny you have feelings deeper than that for him, but you really don’t want to talk about it tonight. Maybe ever, you think petulantly.

Here’s the facts:

One, you think you really like Lance. Like, like like.

Two, you know you don’t want to get involved with anyone else - including, just as a reminder, Bucky fucking Barnes. Which again, is insane to admit.

And three, label or not, you can’t argue with him. He was right.

You’re his.

You sigh and resign yourself to the bubble of discontent sitting deep in your stomach. You’re so over it.

You think about grabbing something from his kitchen to eat but decide you really don’t have an appetite for anything. You forgo clothes, sure you’ll be rid of anything you put on when Lance gets home anyway, and get into his bed.

The second your head hits the pillow, exhaustion hits you full force. You’re beat. You try to fight it for a few minutes but eventually lose out and fall asleep in the blink of an eye. Lance’ll wake you up when he gets home.

-

It’s a tickle along your side that rouses you lightly. Your eyes open so slightly, still thick with sleep as you notice the darkenedness of the room. You’re groggy but you feel his featherlight touch again, ghosting from around your bottom, over your bare hip, and trailing up your side. You know it’s him. You’ll work through your sleep in a second, you tell yourself.

You wonder if he knows you woke up; he’s being so quiet. And he’s keeping his touch so soft. He’s laying beside you as you’re turned into him, laying on your side. You still don’t have the energy to move, still half asleep.

You make a little noise as his touch tickles up your side again and you shift into him further. You’re surprised as he shushes you and pulls you in closer. You can feel him looking down at you in the near blackened room as your face is now in his chest.

You let out a soft, sleepy moan as he gently fondles your tit in his hand, squeezing lightly, just feeling you as his thumb brushes over your peaking nipple. Your brows furrow as you turn into him to be closer and another delicate sound slips past your lips. You’re hushed again as he rescinds his touch, dragging his hand back down your body once more.

You rest a hand on his chest as you relax further into him. His hand finds its place on your thick thigh, moving your leg to rest across him.

He’s bare under the sheets, you feel him. He’s half hard and you’re expecting him to slip inside you any moment.

“Been thinking about you all damn day. Driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he seems to grouse to himself as he whispers aloud, pulling you closer yet. His skin seems a little damp and you can smell his soap. He must’ve showered.

You almost force yourself to open your eyes but you’re stopped by the feeling of Lance’s lips pressing softly against your temple as he hugs you into him. He always claims it’s you who searches him out in the middle of the night to cuddle into him, but clearly he plays a part in the way you always seem to wake up tangled in one another, too.

“Lance,” you murmur sleepily, unable to open your eyes if you’d wanted to.

“Shhh,” he hushes. “Don’t talk, just sleep.”

You don’t argue, you just turn more into him; content to do just that.

But you’re even more surprised when not very long after you both settle, you feel his breathing even out as he falls completely asleep with you in his arms.

No sex.

Hmm.

This, whatever it is…

It’s complicated.

Clearly.

But clearly, it’s not that complicated.

[hoonjayke]

Ni-ki — Late Night

CHARACTERS: — Ni-ki x Reader (f)

SUMMARY: — Your nights have never been the same since Riki, a mysterious boy, started visiting you daily at your part-time job at the local convenience store.

GENRE: fluff — part-timer reader x flirty ni-ki

WARNINGS: none, just pure fluff.

WC: 1,3k — masterlist

— Author Note: Just a small fluff scenario that came to mind. It's been a while since I wrote something, so I hope you guys like it <3 If there are any errors please lmk.

The night was quiet as a random program played on the convenience TV. You often looked at the clock wondering if Riki would come today too. Anxiety was at its peak as you stared at the door with no sign of the boy.

Ever since you met Riki, your nights at the convenience have never been the same. What was once a simple part-time job became one of your favorite parts of your day because of the small interactions with the boy.

At first, he didn't say much, he just bought some candy or something to drink while looking at you for a few seconds. His gaze was so penetrating that you became aware of his presence after a few days.

The glances evolved into small smiles and polite greetings. He didn't want to disturb your work, but he couldn't help but notice the way you seemed to be nervous by his presence and how cute it was.

“It’s cold today, isn’t it?” It was the first time he spoke and you felt your heart skip a beat at his deep voice. "Yes." Was all you could say before his chuckle cut through the air. “Be careful, so you don't get sick,” He looked at the tag on your uniform to know your name “y/n.” The way he said your name seemed so delicate that you felt it in your bones.

The fact that he knew your name but you didn't know his was a mystery you wanted to solve.

The other day you were determined to ask his name, but you were surprised when he introduced himself. “The usual?” You asked and he smiled showing you a different energy drink “Today I wanted something different.” You reached for the drink when you felt his fingers lightly brush yours. “I’m Riki, by the way.” You felt butterflies in your stomach when you saw his deep gaze and the smile forming on his lips.

“Nice to meet you, Riki.” You gave him a sweet smile “Good to know the name of our best client.” His laugh warmed your heart. You really had developed a crush on the boy who showed up every day at the convenience store "Nice to meet you too." He responded while you both maintained visual contact before he went out after paying.

Since then you had been waiting for Riki even if the conversations only lasted a few minutes. Deep down you felt pathetic at how quickly you developed a crush on Riki, but he had such a natural charm that it was inevitable.

You wished you had the courage to ask for his number, but you knew you probably wouldn't be able to.

"Goodnight." Your thoughts were interrupted by the familiar voice of Riki entering the convenience smiling as always.

"Goodnight." You said as you watched how he looked even more handsome today. His parted hair and the black jacket were the perfect ensemble for you to feel your heart stop.

'He looks so good' You thought while he focused on the drinks session. You ran your palms over your vest trying to remove any trace of sweat. It was shocking how his presence could make such an impact.

“Oh, it ran out of that energy drink... I'll get that one.” He muttered to himself as he grabbed a different drink and your eyes met when he decided to walk to the register. “If you want, I can see the storage room if there's another one.” You commented and he shook his head. “It’s okay, I don’t want to give you trouble.” He put the drink beside the register and with his hands in his pocket he looked at you as if he wanted to say something.

“What time does your shift end?” Your eyes opened in surprise at the boy's mischievous question. Your heart was beating so hard you were afraid he could hear “Approximately in 1 hour.” He approached the counter and leaned in, his hands grabbing the edges. “Wanna go to somewhere nice?” You almost couldn’t believe you were hearing Riki ask you out.

“And where would it be?” You asked, your eyes shining with curiosity and he bit his lip trying to contain his smile at your cuteness. “There's a new food truck near the park, and I wanted to try it out... with you.” You immediately smiled and nodded “Sure, I’d love to.”

Riki smirked and paid for the drink before touching your fingers. “I’ll wait here.” He sat in a chair near the window so he could see you straight on. "Okay." Your cheeks heated up as he looked calm watching you in silence.

As more customers arrived, he waited patiently to pass the time, while you mentally cursed yourself for choosing such a normal outfit today. If you were going out on a date with Riki you should be more dressed up.

Your shift flew by with the small talks with Riki and the service in general. Before the employee arrived to take your shift, he was already outside leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. You left the convenience and ran your hand on your skirt trying to remove any wrinkles.

He looked you up and down, giving you a small smile, noticing how worried you looked. He approached slowly, standing in front of you ── was he that tall? “Don’t worry, you look beautiful.” Your cheeks flushed when you heard the compliment, “Thank you.”

Riki lightly touched your cheek with his thumb, stroking the spot before tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear “Do you like spicy food?” He asked and you felt your insides churn at the action.

"A little bit." You responded, trying to maintain eye contact and failing miserably. Riki smiled, scratching his nape “Good, I guess you’ll like the food there then.” You smiled as you decided to walk to the location that was close to convenience.

On the way you talked and you felt an inexplicable joy because you were finally able to have a decent conversation with Riki. It wouldn't be a few seconds or minutes, but finally a long and nice talk.

••••

During the entire date, you discovered that he was Japanese and that he loves dancing. He also finally got to know more about you, like your hobbies and how you worked at night to earn extra money. The weather was great, and the food was good, everything seemed to work together for your first date to be perfect.

“One question," You started a new topic "why did it take so long for you to talk to me?” You questioned him after feeling more comfortable after the meal. He gave an embarrassed laugh as he poured more drink into his glass. “I didn’t want to look like a weirdo or get in the way of your work, you know?” He gave you a quick look “What about you? You always seemed excited whenever I went there, but you didn’t say anything.”

You were surprised by Riki's response and laughed shifting your attention away. “It’s just... not that simple for me to initiate small talk, even though I'm excited.” He chuckled seeing your cheeks turn pink after your response. “Was it that obvious?” Riki nodded with a smirk. “Yeah, it’s cute.”

Riki definitely knew how to press the right buttons to speed up your heartbeat.

Time flew by after the long conversation and you felt like you two automatically clicked. The walk to your building wasn't long, making you a bit sad having to say goodbye to him.

When you saw the facade of the building you looked at Riki “Thank you for today, it was really nice.” He smiled and asked for your phone to save his number. “See you tomorrow?” He asked anxiously as he bit his lip looking into your eyes expectantly. “Of course.” You smiled, saving your number in his phone too.

“Sleep well.” Riki held your hand and kissed it there, caressing the spot with his thumb with such a tenderness that melted your heart “You too.” He smiled and waited for you to enter before leaving.

After this date, you knew that your story with this mysterious boy was just beginning.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: my gut said go full self-indulgent so I did.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Your phone lights up again. You’ve already waited too long. You can’t avoid this any longer and in that moment, avoiding Lloyd’s family is a bigger priority. You get up, thankful to be away from Lloyd’s wandering touches, and excuse yourself to take the call. You don’t miss the scathing judgment from Gwenyth, but you don’t care either. 

You go out into the hallway and try to keep your voice down. There’s enough chatter that you’re not entirely concerned. You answer and close your eyes. 

“Hi, mom--” 

“Where are you?” She demands. “You said you would be here. I’ve been waiting. Calling. Your sister too. We’re all worried--” 

“Mom, I’m sorry. I missed my flight--” 

“Oh, yes, I couldn’t put that together,” she snaps. 

“I’m sorry, mom. Really. I know—I messed up again. I really wanted to come but that was the only flight--” 

“It’s not that you couldn’t make it, it’s that you couldn’t even let me know! I’ve been in shambles, thinking the worst. I check the flights to make sure there were no crashes, I’ve been looking through news reports.” 

She starts to devolve into breathy sobs. You feel horrible. Your guilt overwhelms your self-pity. Suddenly being stuck with these rich snobs isn’t so bad. Your mother has spent half her Christmas worrying over you, and know her, you wouldn’t be surprised if she actually tore some hair out. 

“I know I should have called. I’m sorry, I’ve been trying to figure something out,” you lie, poorly since the defeat is in your voice.  

Your mother has always been your kryptonite. She’s not cruel like Gwenyth, but her disappointment is devastating and all too easy to earn. She just wants the best for you but you’ve never managed the best. 

“So you can come?” She sniffles. 

“Um, not today, but I’m looking at tomorrow.” Another frail falsehood. “I promise, I’ll let you know--” 

“Sweet pea,” Lloyd’s voice undercuts yours and you cringe. You put your finger up and turn to signal him to hush. 

“Yeah, mom, I’ll try for tomorrow and if I can’t get there--” 

“Mom?” Lloyd echoes with a smirk. 

You shake your head. 

“Who’s that?” Your mom asks. 

You grimace and glare daggers at Lloyd as he comes closer. You outstretch your arm and put your hand just below his chest.  

“Mom, it’s just--” 

Lloyd easily reaches past your resistance and swipes the phone. He puts it on speaker with a tap of his thumb as you lunge at him. He grabs your arm and forces it up. Nearly dangly you from it as you lash with the other. 

“Is this mom?” Lloyd asks brightly. 

“Um, hello? Who is this? Where’s my daughter?” 

“Mom, I’m here. Lloyd, give me the phone back--” 

“Boo, what’s going on?” She asks. 

Lloyd looks at you with a mischievous grin and mouths ‘boo?’ with a tweaked brow. You shake your head again and plead. 

“Mom, it’s nothing--” 

“I think I spoiled the surprise,” he speaks over you. “We’re going to be coming tomorrow.” 

“We?” She ekes out, you hear the worry mounting in her voice. 

“Please don’t be mad at Pixie, she was just being a good girlfriend. We stopped by my family’s house and oh boy, the snow we got up this way,” he tuts in a very convincing monologue. You’re stunned into silence at his act. He sounds like a decent person but you know better. “And you know, everything was so hectic as we tried to dig out that it just got all ahead of us.” 

“I’m sorry, who are you? Boo?” She asks desperately. 

“Mom--” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should’ve started with that. I’m Lloyd. Her boyfriend.” 

“Boyfriend?” You mother breathes, “boo?” 

“Yeah, mom, er,” you wrench your hand free and smack Lloyd’s arm. “He’s um, going to come with me, so uh--” 

“I’ll be there, both of us, with bows on,” he promises. “Please, allow me to apologise from the bottom of my heart for keeping your daughter from you. You can’t blame her. It was entirely me. I am not a morning person and she can only do so much to keep me in line.” 

You grit your teeth as you squint at him. How does he sound like such a dweeb? Well, looking at him with that mustache, he kinda is one. 

“Oh, well, that’s lovely, very nice,” your mother coos, “I can let everyone else know. Oh, boo, you could’ve told us--” 

“Again, that’s on me,” Lloyd preens, “I thought it would be a nice surprise.” 

“It is, it is,” she assures. “Oh, it will be so nice to meet you. We’ve never met any of Pixie’s men.” 

“Mom,” you groan. 

“We never really thought she had any. She’s always been so focused on work, and before that, it was school--” 

“Mom,” you jab Lloyd’s ribs as he smirks bigger and bigger, then snatch the phone from him. “Promise, we’ll get there but uh... gotta go. Love you.” 

“Love you too, boo. Oh and it was nice meeting you, um--” 

“Lloyd,” he supplies and sticks out his tongue. 

“Bye.” You hit end and put your phone in your pocket.  

Your agitation peaks and you can’t help from shoving Lloyd. It barely affects him which annoys you more. God, he is such a little—big turd. 

“Why would you do that?” 

“What? I just did you a favour.” 

“A favour? You just dragged my family into this bullshit--” 

“Well, hate to break it to you, boo,” he emphasizes the last word as he grabs your hands and pulls them away from his stomach, “but they’re going to have be. We promised mine a white wedding.” 

“You are so--” 

“So...?” He prompts. 

“Urgh.” 

“Oh, don’t be so grumpy. It’s a ticket out of this place. Literally. So you just let me know where I need to book tickets and I’ll pull a few strings--” 

“Strings? You couldn’t pull these earlier?” 

“On Christmas Day? Please, even I can’t do that but the day after Christmas, my guy’s getting into the punch right now, he’ll be just tipsy enough--” 

“You are torturing me,” you accuse. 

“I really can’t deny that,” he snickers as he lets you go. “Now tell me where I’m booking these tickets too and I’ll hop right on that...” he looks you up and down and bites his lip, “as much as I’d like to hop on something else.” 

You huff, “Toronto.” 

He twitches, “Toronto? As in... Canada?” 

You nod and roll your eyes. 

“Wait, Pixie puff, you’re Canadian?” 

You tilt your head and look at him. You shrug, “what does that matter?” 

“Well, I thought you type were supposed to be nice, first of all.” 

“Just make the call,” you sneer and cross your arms. “You’ve already mangled this Christmas, may as well put it out of its misery.” 

“Why don’t you do the same for me, huh? I’m suffering, Pix. Just give it a squeeze” he gets closer. You flutter your lashes then he wiggles his hips. “These pants are killing my circulation. I told you, I don’t wear underroos.” 

“Back up before I lose it,” you warn. 

“I’m close to losing it too, baby face,” he groans. 

“Make. The. Call.” You demand. “And I’ll happily break the news to your dear sweet mother that we need to go get ready to fly out.” 

His expression sobers and he exhales heavily, “Pix,” he utters quietly, ���sometimes, you’re scary. Don’t... don’t piss off mom too much. Please.” 

“Book the tickets, honey poo,” you chime in an acidic tone, “and I’ll make sure mommy’s not crying into her champagne.”  

You poke centre of his chest and bounce on your heels before you spin away. Your mother’s disappointment might be like arsenic but Gwenyth’s is the exact antidote you need. 

❄️

“I know a girl in Toronto. A few actually,” Lloyd says over the steering wheel. He’s tasked with driving back to the hotel since you imposed sobriety on him as punishment for the day. “Strange, you’re nothing like them.” 

“I don’t care,” you grumble. 

“Ugh, your wheel is too low,” he mutters as he stops at a red and tries to adjust it. You don’t respond.  

You just want to lay down. Your head is pounding from the lack of sleep and Lloyd managed to book you an early morning flight which will curtail any meaningful sleep. You close your eyes and ignore his fussing. 

Finally, he steps on the gas. “So, Canada, you grew up with those geese, huh? Explains the bite--” 

“What?” 

“I read somewhere they have teeth--” 

“Why the heck are you moaning about geese for?” 

“I hear it now. Couldn’t place it before. I thought Minnesota or somewhere but when you’re angry, you get this twang--” 

“Be quiet,” you let your head drop back again. “I’m getting a migraine.” 

“Aw, baby,” he coos. 

“Lloyd,” you growl. 

“I can make it better. I read somewhere that you can massage it better. Oh, and you know, orgasms--” 

“You read a lot of nonsense for someone who I never see reading,” you drone and prop your elbow against the door to cradle your head. 

“There’s a wealth of information on the internet when you’re not scrolling porn,” he chuckles. You let out a disgusted noise. “Don’t worry, pixie. I’m committed to this. Me and you, we’re going to get our piece of the pie and make off like bandits.

"So you let me play the loyal husband. I’ll get you all spread out and loose, I’ll rub your head and your shoulders, then my hands might wander a little bit more...” he hums. “I’ll touch the peach a bit, I just can’t help myself, but I think you’ll be ready by then.” 

“Don’t you dare touch me,” you snarl. 

“Ah, come on, flying is so stressful and after the day we had, we both need that release--” 

“How many more times do I need to tell you to stop?” 

“And how many times do I need to tell you I won’t? It’s fate now, Pixie.” He clucks and slowly turns. You lift your head and look up at the hotel sign. “Hey, if you like the long game, I can go along with it. Make it hurt so good.” 

“Do you ever think of anything else?” 

“There’s a constant undercurrent that never really leaves my mind,” he shrugs as he parks. “But I’m great at multitasking.” 

You grumble and shake your head. It sends a throbbing pulse through your skull. You undo your seatbelt and drag yourself out of the car. As the door shuts, you wince. Then Lloyd’s and you feel the nausea start to crawl through your guts. The lack of sleep, the stress, the alcohol, it’s a perfect recipe for a deadly migraine. 

You do your best to push through as you make your way up to the room silently. Lloyd is not so quiet. He’s rambling about something; a shirt? You don’t know and you don’t care.  

You take out the room and enter the hotel suite. You drop the key and your purse and shed your coat. You hang it on the hook on the back of the door and tread further in. You don’t stop until you get to the bed. You ease yourself down and bury your face in the pillow. 

“Pixie,” Lloyd’s worry puts you on edge. You raise your hand and wave him off without lifting your head. “You need some Advil?” 

You shoo him again with your fingers. You popped some with your last glass of wine. You probably should’ve opted for water. 

Your alarm is set. You will have to awake before the sky shifts that slightly lighter shade of grey and try again. You know better than to trust Lloyd, but you’re putting some faith in him to get you home. 

You feel the bed dip behind you and Lloyd’s mutters and grumbles creep into your ears. You move the pillow over your head and hug it against your ear. You tune him out as you urge your mind down to the depths. In your bouts, there is no relief, but sleep can at least dull the agony. 

Your brain turns to sludge as the steady pounding evens out to a tempo. You drift into the muddy no man’s land between waking and otherwise. You’re conscious enough to feel the pain, but you're detached enough to bear it. 

Time crumbles around like sand in a glass. Your mind swirls with churning recreations of the day behind you. Most of them fractured and nonsensical. Voices without words, faces without names. 

A shiver washes through you as a tickle flutters down the back of your thighs. The cool sensation flows over your skin. You shudder and cling to that tenuous state of dissociation. A jolt forces you out of the void. 

You roll over and throw your arm out. It bounces off of Lloyd’s shoulder as your eyes slit. You yipe as you find him tugging at your pants. You kick and amplify the siren whining in your head. 

“What are you doing?” You rasp as you flail at him. 

“Relax, pixie stick, I’m just trying to help you relax. You can’t sleep in this,” he peels your pants down your legs and you swat at him again. 

You look down and find your sweater gone, only your bra to conceal your chest. You quickly hide behind folded arms. “What the hell?” 

“Damn, Pix, you never said you had a dump truck he untangles the fabric from your ankles. 

You whimper and push yourself up on your elbows, you bareness secondary to your irritation. “Get way from me.” 

“Just let me rub you down,” he begs as he runs his hands up your calves. “Promise, I’ll be a good boy. I kept my dick strapped down, baby.” 

Your eyes flit down unthinkingly. He’s in only his briefs. The rest of him is exposed; his fur-trimmed chest, his thick but firm stomach, and his muscled legs. You look him in the face and he winks. “Made you look.” 

“Stop, please,” you flick your fingers at him. 

“You got me struggling,” he begs as his hands trail further up and he kneads your thighs. “I’m hurting like prom night and you been grinding on me in a tack ballgown all night--” 

“Ew--” 

“It’ll make you feel better--” 

You catch his fingers as he traces the edges of your underwear. As you curl up, the weight of your head thunks own at the base. Urgh. 

“No--” 

“I’m just going to rub you down like a good boy. That’s it,” pushes against your hands. “You can even keep these on.” He runs his thumbs along the front of your panties. “They look fucking delicious anyway.” 

“Lloyd.” 

“Shhh,” he hushes you and shoves your hands off of his. 

Before you can stop him, he straddles you. He puts his large hands around your skull and you whine. H works his fingers into your scalp as he continues to shush you and presses his thumbs to your temples. The warmth of his tough makes you sigh. You hate that it feels good. 

“Just like this, baby,” he purrs as he keeps you pinned under him. “Just relax.” 

Your eyes roll back as you shatter to pieces. In this state, you have no strength to fight him. Besides, why should you stop him when it feels so amazing? 

[thatnonameuser]

Ok y’all hear me out. I wouldn’t mind being a darling for Kalim, Leona and Malleus b/c they are rich. Maybe not Malleus b/c Lilia is like an annoying mother in law.

So what if a darling is high maintenance? (like wanting designer, having money to get their hair done and stuff)

I can see Lilia “beating” the high maintenance out of the darlings LOL

I also wouldn’t mind, the economy’s in shambles and being pampered and spoiled by the wealth of the rich boys for the rest of my life, I already think they’re hot so it’s not like it’ll be hard. (Though if I had to learn the fae language I would just combust)

So you’re high maintenance, wanting to enjoy only the finer things of life and nothing else. Well…..

Leona Kingscholar

Oh really? Well, if it’s that easy to buy your affection then expect his wallet to be in your lap before you finish your sentence. 

Leona’s a prince who doesn’t even keep an eye on his wallet. (Seriously, he just tosses it at Ruggie and goes about with his day), so if you ever bring up some money problem, he’ll just toss his wallet at you and just not ask for it back. Plus, his royal blood is actually good for something, so putting you in the lap of luxury others can’t access is easy for him. 

Expect to be his pillow for a while though, he’s not a nice guy so you gotta pay him back somehow….

Gift Preference - Doesn’t have one. He either gives you what you ask for or something that marks you as his. 

Kalim Al-Asim

Oh, you like expensive things and just expensive things? Here you go! 

Kalim already loves giving you gifts, and he never really bothers to look at the price tag when it comes to anything, and you could just say a word and he’ll get you the most expensive option of that word. Want a bag? Have one made with leather so expensive and rare, that this one is the only one in existence. Want a necklace? Have a jewelry store full of them with jewels so big, heavy and expensive they weigh a pound each! Want a new wardrobe. Et cetera, et cetera. 

Though you might learn about the fact he wants to have you fitted for some special jewelry for your wrists and ankles, but they’re solid gold and encrusted with rubies! That’s good enough for you, right?

Gift Preference - Anything and Everything. Just ask. Or don’t. Either way, He will still give it to you.

Vil Schoenheit

Oh, you’re high maintenance, so is he, so you’ll get along just fine.

You can’t tell me Vil doesn’t touch anything that could sully or damage the perfection he’s spent years cultivating. You want to be high-maintenance, perfect, that's his entire lifestyle. 

So, if you want to be spoiled. Fine, he knows exactly who to call and they’ll drop everything as soon as he calls them. You want to get your hair done, he has a hairstylist on speed dial that can turn straw-like hair into silk. You want a massage, he knows a very exclusive place that can make every limb of your body feel like a soft putty. You want designer clothes, all it takes is a phone call and you’ll be measured and fitted by the designers themselves. 

He might make a date out of all this with you, accompanying you on all these wonderful excursions. 

Gift Preference - High fashion and self-care. All his gifts make you all the more perfect. 

Neige LeBlanche

You like to buy expensive things?....Is 150,000 thaumarks a month okay or…?

Neige doesn’t notice the fact you’re probably only with him for his money. He doesn’t mind if he does because he doesn’t care. You like nice expensive things, he’ll make sure you can get those nice things. He’ll send you enough money to make sure you can keep up with your tastes without issue. If the money he sends isn’t enough he’ll double it, triple it even, all for you.

Just remember that if he ever ‘slips’ that you’re only really affectionate when he’s giving you something, you’ll be in some hot water. 

Gift Preference - While I personally believe that Neige prefers to make homemade gifts for you, you being high maintenance means that he’ll give you those alongside the hundreds of thousands of thaumarks for your allowance.

Idia Shroud

You just want him because he’s buying you stuff. That’s pretty shallow. Yes, he’ll still buy them for you.

Idia’s a little self aware that you would be bought solely on what the expensive luxuries he gives you. And is he going to be mad about that? No. If it keeps you close, it keeps you close so take what he can give. If anything’s wrong tell him so he can buy something better. He knows that you’re just here with him because he’s giving you stuff, but he’ll combust without your attention. 

Gift Preference - Tech-based gifts, top of the line and exclusive consoles and electronics. It’s his specialty and he can hide cameras in them to watch you when you’re away.

Malleus Draconia

You enjoy being surrounded by wealth and luxury? Then he’ll bury you in a mountain of it, you deserve all of it.

Malleus is so devoted to you, so no price is too great. To him, as the prized jewel of his hoard you deserve so much. So much he can’t even give you so he’ll give you as much as you’d like. All you have to do is ask, and if he can’t figure out how to get it, he’ll go to Lilia to ask for help on how to get it. 

In exchange he asks for nothing. All he wants is to bask in your radiance. But much like all the priceless treasures he’s given you, you are precious. And precious things need to be protected lest they be stolen. And he won’t allow you to be stolen. 

Gift Preference - Jewels, not just in jewelry, he’ll give them to you raw and polished and all of them are bigger and heavier than the last. Have a favorite gemstone? He’ll give you a mountain of those. Nothing’s too much for you. 

*                        *                        *                        *

Also about Lilia….. (did I make him a boy mom? I feel like I did)

Lilia is aware that your high maintenance behavior is exploiting the love your suitors have for you. But if that’s the price to buy your willingness, he’ll keep quiet. If you’re not being difficult in response, then he’ll keep out of it. 

But if you’re being a demanding little princess, denying them while they spoil you, then that behavior is getting beaten out of you.

Turns out the fae super hate greed. So even if Lilia doesn’t like it he’ll put up with it for the greater good, but if you plan on being difficult then you’ll be taught a wonderful lesson on selflessness. The Fae way. And that’s the least painless way. He’ll only let up on you, if one of his boys comes to him about him being too hard on you. 

*                        *                        *                        *

[niallerspayno]

Heat of the Moment (Louis Tomlinson x reader) - Fic Request

Anonymous request: I’d really love if you wrote about Louis and you getting into an argument

and

Anonymous request: Could you make a version of the bus with Louis? I have the impression that he is very rough type.

Tags: Smut!

The night ends in the same controlled chaos it began with. A throng of fans had waited hours outside the venue, and you’d pushed through with the boys, Paul leading the charge. The excitement, the noise, the adrenaline—it’s all part of the job. Now, the six of you are crammed into the tour bus, the hum of the engine a welcome contrast to the earlier chaos.

You’re leaning against the counter in the tiny kitchenette, a bottle of water in hand, laughing at something Niall’s just said. He’s mid-story, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief, and you can’t help but giggle when his Irish accent thickens as he imitates Paul’s gruff voice.

“That was spot on,” you say, nudging him with your elbow.

Louis steps into the space just then, his presence filling the small area like a storm rolling in. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you and Niall from the corner of his eye as he grabs a Coke from the fridge.

“Good one, mate,” Louis finally says, his voice sharp, cutting into the lightness of the moment. You glance over at him, confused by the edge in his tone, but Niall doesn’t seem to notice. He just grins, pats your shoulder, and heads toward the back lounge.

The moment you’re alone with Louis, the temperature in the room shifts. He leans against the counter across from you, his gaze locked on yours, the Coke unopened in his hand.

“Having fun, were you?” he asks, too casually.

You blink, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Nothing. Just seemed like you and Niall were having a grand old time.”

You laugh, incredulous. “Are you serious right now?”

Louis shrugs, but his jaw tightens, betraying the casual front he’s putting on. “Just saying. Don’t reckon you two need to be so friendly when, you know... certain things are meant to stay private.”

The words hit you like a slap, and your stomach twists. “Unbelievable,” you mutter, pushing off the counter. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

But you don’t get far before his voice follows you, sharp and accusing. “Of course you’re not. Why bother, right? It’s not like it matters to you anyway.”

You whirl around, the anger bubbling to the surface as your voice rises. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you. The guy who decided we have to sneak around because ‘it’s easier this way.’”

The argument is brewing now, the tension thick in the small space.

“You think I want to sneak around?” Louis snaps, his voice rising to match yours. He steps closer, closing the distance between you, the Coke bottle still clutched in his hand. “This isn’t exactly my dream setup either, love.”

“Oh, don’t you dare,” you fire back, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re the one who said, ‘Let’s keep it quiet, yeah? Just between us.’ Like it was so bloody inconvenient for anyone to know!”

“And it’s worked, hasn’t it?” he retorts, his blue eyes blazing. “But not if you keep carrying on like that with Niall.”

“Carrying on?” you repeat, your voice dripping with disbelief. “He was telling a story, Louis. I laughed. You don’t get to turn that into some conspiracy against you.”

Louis lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Right. Just a laugh. Nothing more to it, yeah? You’re always so good at pretending none of this matters.”

Your breath catches, his words cutting deeper than you expected. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm, “that I’m the one who’s got to watch everything I say, everything I do, just so we don’t slip up. Meanwhile, you’re out there acting like you don’t care.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, anger boiling over. “You think I don’t care? Are you serious right now? I’ve done everything you asked, Louis. I’ve played along with all of this—hiding, sneaking, pretending like it’s nothing when it’s not!”

“Then maybe this was a mistake,” he shoots back, the words slicing through the air.

It’s like the floor drops out from under you. For a moment, you just stare at him, his chest heaving, his face hard but tinged with something you can’t quite place—regret, maybe, or fear.

“Fine,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best effort to hold steady. “Maybe it was.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Neither of you moves, the weight of the argument hanging between you like a storm cloud ready to burst.

“Great,” Louis finally mutters, stepping back. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

You shake your head, swallowing hard as you turn on your heel and storm toward your bunk, every step heavy with frustration, hurt, and something else—something raw and unresolved.

...

The bus is eerily quiet now, save for the low rumble of the engine and the occasional creak of the chassis. The others are all asleep in their bunks, the faint sounds of steady breathing drifting through the narrow hallway. But you’re wide awake, your mind replaying the argument with Louis on an endless loop.

You can’t take it anymore.

Sliding out of your own bunk as quietly as you can, you make your way toward the back of the bus where Louis’s curtain is drawn shut. For a moment, you hesitate, your hand hovering just inches from the fabric. You tell yourself this is a bad idea, that you should just let it go and sleep it off. But you don’t.

You pull the curtain back just enough to slip inside, the dim light from the corridor illuminating Louis’s sleeping face. He’s on his side, one arm tucked beneath his head, his features softened by sleep.

“Lou,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the bus.

He stirs, his brow furrowing before his eyes blink open. For a split second, he looks confused, but then he sees you, and his expression hardens.

“What are you doing here?” he mutters, his voice low and groggy.

You kneel in the cramped space, your heart pounding. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Not my problem,” he replies, turning his back to you.

The coldness in his tone stings, but you don’t back down. “I’m not leaving,” you say firmly, your hand resting on his shoulder. He tenses under your touch but doesn’t move away. “We can’t leave things like this, Louis. I hate it.”

He sighs, rolling onto his back to look at you, his blue eyes shadowed in the low light. “Why do you care?” he asks, his voice quieter now, laced with frustration. “You made it pretty clear earlier that it doesn’t matter.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you whisper, the knot in your chest tightening. “You know it’s not.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours as if he’s trying to decide whether to believe you. Then, finally, he reaches up, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “You drive me mad, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

“You’re not exactly easy to handle yourself,” you reply, your breath hitching as his hand slides into your hair, pulling you closer.

The tension that had been simmering between you all night explodes in an instant. His lips crash against yours, the kiss desperate and hungry, as if it’s the only way to burn away the anger and frustration still lingering between you.

Louis doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath. As soon as your bodies press together, he flips you beneath him with a roughness that sends a thrill straight through you. The bunk is cramped, the walls pressing in around you, but none of that matters when he’s this close, his weight pinning you down, his mouth hot and insistent against yours.

“You drive me insane,” he growls against your lips, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. “Sneaking around with Niall, laughing like I’m not right here—like I don’t see everything.”

“I wasn’t—” you start to protest, but he cuts you off with another searing kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what you do to me.”

You swallow hard, your pulse pounding as his words sink in. There’s no mistaking the fire in his eyes, the raw intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“I wasn’t trying to make you jealous,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with equal parts defiance and desire.

“Well, you did,” he mutters, his hand sliding beneath your shirt, the rough calluses on his fingers sending shivers across your skin. “And now I’m going to remind you who you belong to.”

The possessiveness in his tone should probably annoy you, but instead, it sends a surge of heat straight through you. He doesn’t wait for your reply, his lips trailing down your neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin as you arch beneath him.

“Louis,” you gasp, your hands fisting in his shirt, trying to pull him closer, but he’s in control now, and he knows it.

“You’ve got no idea how much you wind me up,” he mutters, his voice muffled as he works his way lower, tugging your shirt up and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your stomach. “But you’re mine. Got it?”

“Yours,” you breathe, the word tumbling out before you can think to stop it.

“Damn right you are,” he growls, coming back up to capture your lips in another bruising kiss. His hands are everywhere—gripping, exploring, claiming—and it’s all you can do to keep up, your body responding to him with a desperation that matches his own.

Louis’s hand presses over your mouth as you arch beneath him, your muffled moan swallowed by his palm. “Shh,” he whispers, his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear. “You don’t want to wake them, do you?”

The warning is sharp, but his voice holds an edge of amusement, like he’s relishing the power he has over you. Your heart pounds against your ribs, every nerve in your body alight with sensation. The cramped bunk feels smaller than ever, his weight pressing you down, his hands rough as they roam your body.

You nod beneath his hand, your breath hot and quick against his palm. His blue eyes burn into yours, a mixture of challenge and heat. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his tone dark and possessive, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

His fingers trail down your side, dragging over your bare skin with enough pressure to leave you squirming. The cool air of the bus bites against the heat of your flushed skin, every touch from him a maddening contrast between soft and rough, tender and demanding.

“Look at you,” he mutters, his free hand slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. “You’re so desperate, aren’t you?”

You try to shake your head, but he doesn’t let you. His thumb presses against your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Don’t lie,” he growls, his fingers teasing you with agonizing slowness. “I can feel it. You’ve been like this all night, haven’t you? Thinking about me. Wanting this.”

A muffled whimper escapes from behind his hand, your body betraying you as you press against him. The knowing smirk on his face only makes it worse, his cocky confidence fueling the fire building inside you.

“That’s what I thought,” he says, his voice barely audible, more vibration than sound as his lips brush against your throat. His teeth scrape along your pulse, sharp and deliberate, drawing a gasp from you that he quickly silences with a stern look.

“Quiet,” he warns again, his hand tightening on your hip. “Unless you want the others to know what we’re doing in here.”

The thought sends a flush of heat across your cheeks, but the thrill of the risk only heightens everything. Your senses are overwhelmed—the smell of him, the faint spice of his cologne mixed with the salt of sweat; the sound of his breathing, rough and uneven in your ear; the way his hands and mouth move like they’re staking a claim.

When his fingers finally dip lower, finding you soaked and ready, he groans softly against your neck. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he mutters, his voice rough with restraint. “So ready for me.”

You bite down on his palm to keep from crying out, the pressure of his touch sending sparks through your veins. He works you expertly, his movements precise and unrelenting, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

Your hips buck against him, your body chasing the release that feels just out of reach. He leans down, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “Not yet. I want you to hold on for me, love. Think you can do that?”

You shake your head frantically, your breaths ragged behind his hand. He chuckles softly, the sound low and dark. “Too bad,” he says, his fingers moving faster now, pushing you closer to the breaking point. “But you keep quiet, yeah? Can’t have the others finding out how loud you get for me.”

The knot in your stomach tightens, your body trembling beneath him as you teeter on the edge. He’s relentless, his touch driving you to the point of no return, and when you finally crash, it’s like every nerve in your body ignites at once.

Your muffled cry is swallowed by his hand as you shudder beneath him, his body pressing you down, holding you together as you fall apart. The intensity leaves you breathless, your skin slick with sweat, your limbs heavy and shaking.

Louis doesn’t let go immediately, his fingers easing you through the aftershocks as his lips press soft, lingering kisses along your jaw. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice soothing now, though the possessiveness hasn’t faded. “You’re mine, yeah? Say it.”

You nod weakly, your voice barely above a whisper as you finally manage to speak. “Yours.”

You’re still trembling from the aftershocks of the first wave, but Louis isn’t finished with you yet. His lips trail down your neck, soft at first, but then they grow more urgent, more demanding as his hands move back to your body, caressing and pulling you closer.

“Did I say you could rest?” he growls in your ear, his voice rough, still thick with desire.

You shiver, the remnants of your orgasm still buzzing through you, but you’re already so hot, so aching for him. Your body responds before your mind can catch up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer as he hovers over you.

Louis chuckles low in his throat, a sound that’s almost predatory, and his eyes lock onto yours, his expression dark and full of purpose. “I love how eager you are. But you’re not in control here.”

Without warning, he flips you over, your chest pressing against the cool, soft sheets of the bunk. His hand is at the small of your back, pushing you down as he hovers above you, his breath hot against your skin. You’re so exposed in this position, so vulnerable, and the way he’s taking charge makes your pulse race.

“Don’t even think about making a sound,” he murmurs, his voice barely a breath in your ear. “You’re going to be quiet, right?”

You nod quickly, the air thick with tension. His hand slides down your spine, the heat of his touch sending a shiver through you. “Good,” he says, his lips trailing a line down the back of your neck.

Then, without any more warning, he’s back between your legs, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts and yanking them down, leaving you completely exposed to him. You gasp, your breath catching in your throat, but you bite your lip, trying to stay silent as he continues.

He spreads your legs apart, the movement possessive, and you feel the cool air of the bus against your damp skin. Louis watches you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip, his eyes never leaving yours as he positions himself.

“You’re mine,” he says again, his voice almost a growl, and you feel the weight of his words, the authority behind them.

And then he’s inside you, all heat and friction as he drives into you hard, filling you completely. You suck in a breath, your hands gripping the edge of the bunk as your body tries to adjust to the sudden force.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust, not that you’d want him to. Louis is relentless, his rhythm pounding, pushing you forward into a frenzy, and you can’t help but let out a breathy gasp.

He immediately places his hand over your mouth again, silencing you before you can make a sound. “I said quiet,” he warns, his tone a low rasp. His hips snap against yours with force, the pressure making your whole body shake as he takes control of every movement, every part of you.

The world outside the bus disappears. There’s nothing but the sounds of your bodies colliding, the rhythm of his thrusts filling the small space, the harsh, desperate need building between you. You can’t think, can’t do anything except feel, feel the heat of his body against yours, feel the way he’s forcing you to come apart with every stroke.

Your body burns with every passing second, every inch of you drawn tight, coiled and straining as he brings you closer. The only sound you’re allowed to make is muffled behind his hand, but that only makes everything feel more intense, more urgent. You can feel yourself unraveling again, the pleasure building faster this time.

Louis can tell. He slows his pace just enough to draw it out, to make you ache, make you beg without words, until you’re almost pleading for release. And when he finally picks up the pace again, it’s overwhelming.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite down on his hand to keep from crying out. Every inch of you is on fire, your nerves a tangled mess of pleasure and desperation. You can’t hold back anymore.

“Please,” you manage to gasp, your voice muffled but desperate. “I—Louis, I—”

“Shh,” he breathes, pressing his palm harder against your mouth as he slams into you, his pace unforgiving, relentless. “I know, love. I know.”

And then it’s too much. Your body shudders beneath him, the tension inside you snapping like a tight wire, and you come hard, your whole body shaking in release. The only thing that grounds you is the firm press of his hand, keeping you quiet as your mind spins in a haze of pleasure.

Louis doesn’t stop, not even when you’re trembling beneath him, your body still pulsing with the aftermath. He continues to move, his pace unyielding, pulling you closer to the edge again as he chases his own release.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his hand finally leaving your mouth as he holds your body close, pressing you against him, the sweat slicking both of you. “You’re perfect.”

His thrusts get more erratic, and with one final push, he reaches his peak, his body tensing as he groans your name, the sound rough and guttural, like a man finally getting what he’s been craving.

You collapse beneath him, your body spent, both of you breathing heavily in the quiet of the bus, the only sound the distant hum of the engine.

Louis takes a moment to catch his breath before collapsing beside you, his arm pulling you close, his fingers running through your hair.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet,” he mutters, his voice a low rasp, full of that same intensity. “But for now... let’s just get some rest.”

You nod, your body still humming with the intensity of the moment, and let yourself relax against him, the weight of everything—your bodies, your emotions, the tension that had been building all night—finally starting to settle.

...

The next morning soft hum of the tour bus engine is a steady background noise as you try to fall back asleep, your body comfortably nestled against Louis’s. The warmth of his arm around you is grounding, though the weight of your secret makes everything feel a little heavier than it should. You’ve been sneaking around for weeks now, and it’s only a matter of time before someone catches on.

You’re caught somewhere between waking and sleeping when you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps—heavy and purposeful—outside your bunk.

Liam.

Your heart leaps in your chest.

Louis, still blissfully unaware, remains completely still, his arm tight around your waist. He doesn’t even stir. You freeze, holding your breath, but the panic starts to rise when the sound of footsteps gets louder, closer, until the soft knock you’ve been dreading comes.

“Oi, are you two up yet?” Liam’s voice, playful but tinged with annoyance, comes from the other side of the curtain.

Shit.

Louis shifts slightly, but his hold doesn’t loosen. “Just stay still. Don’t make a sound,” he murmurs into your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

You barely breathe, willing yourself to remain calm, but your pulse is racing. And then… the curtain is yanked back.

The world outside is suddenly exposed, and the weight of reality crashes into you in that one terrifying moment.

Liam stands there, blinking in confusion, his eyes flicking from you to Louis. His mouth opens as if he’s about to say something but nothing comes out at first. Behind him, the rest of the band—all four of them—are gathered. Zayn, arms crossed and looking thoroughly unimpressed, is standing beside Harry, who’s wearing an amused grin, clearly enjoying the sight. But it’s Niall who catches your eye last. He’s leaning against the side of the bus, a smirk tugging at his lips, as if he already knows exactly what’s been going on.

Liam is the first to break the silence, his voice incredulous. “What the actual fuck?” His eyebrows are furrowed, and you can see his mind working overtime, trying to process the sight in front of him. “You two… really?”

Louis, ever the cool-headed one, just raises a single brow, his body still pressed against yours like this is just another normal morning. “Morning, mate,” he says smoothly, stretching lazily, as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

You, on the other hand, are frozen in place. You can’t hide your embarrassment, the heat creeping up your neck as you stare at the four of them, each one taking in the scene in their own way.

Harry chuckles first, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Well, well, well,” he says, leaning back slightly as though this is all one big joke to him. “Didn’t think we’d be waking up to this. You two been keeping this little secret to yourselves, huh?”

Zayn crosses his arms, the look on his face more unreadable than anything else. He glances at Louis, then at you, and simply shakes his head, barely hiding a smirk. “Never thought you were the type, mate,” he says to Louis, his tone a mix of sarcasm and amusement.

But it’s Niall who surprises you the most. He doesn’t look shocked at all. In fact, he just leans against the wall with a shit-eating grin, as if he’s been waiting for this moment. “Guess we all know who’s been sharing a bunk,” Niall says, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Should’ve known.”

You want to die. The entire band is standing there, staring, and you can’t even hide your face.

Liam, still in disbelief, takes a step back, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t even know what to say,” he mutters, half to himself. “What the hell is going on in here, Louis?”

Louis’s smirk doesn’t falter. “Nothing you need to worry about, mate. We’re just getting some rest, that’s all,” he says casually, like it’s no big deal. He adjusts himself, pulling you closer for effect, clearly loving the chaos.

“You two are unbelievable,” Liam mutters under his breath, though it’s not exactly in anger. It’s more like he’s resigned himself to the absurdity of it all.

Harry leans forward, clearly enjoying the moment. “Come on, mate,” he says to Liam, a teasing edge to his voice. “You know Louis. He’s always the one to keep us on our toes.”

Zayn just shrugs. “Not surprised, honestly,” he says, his tone a bit dry. “We’ve all been on this bus for months now. Could’ve seen this coming.”

Liam, still trying to process, looks at you with a raised brow. “How long has this been going on?”

Louis, completely unfazed, shrugs. “Long enough,” he says with that familiar devil-may-care attitude. “You lot need to lighten up. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Niall chuckles, crossing his arms and looking at you both. “Yeah, mate, don’t act like we didn’t all know. Just surprised you kept it under wraps for so long.”

Liam just gapes, his face going a little red as if trying to figure out what to do with himself. “This is insane. Are you kidding me?” He pauses, looking at the three of them and then back to you and Louis. “Can you, like, not keep it down a bit? We’re all trying to sleep, yeah?”

Louis grins widely. “Sure thing, mate,” he replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm, not an ounce of shame in his demeanor.

Liam throws his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t even know why I bother with you,” he says, shaking his head as he pulls the curtain back over the bunk. “Just… keep it quiet next time. I don’t need this on my conscience.”

As the curtain slides back into place, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The bus seems quieter now, but the tension is still thick in the air. Louis, of course, is the first to break the silence. He pulls you back against him, his voice low and playful.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” he says, flashing you a grin. “We survived the interrogation. And now, we can get back to our business, yeah?”

You want to strangle him for being so carefree about the whole thing, but at the same time, part of you can’t help but laugh at how little he cares. This is Louis Tomlinson, after all.

[spacesquidlings]

Feline Plight

Being a cat was hard work. And after a long day of hard work every cat deserved to be spoiled with attention, which is exactly what Sylus expects from his girlfriend and caretaker

Pairing: Sylus x MC Tags: Fluff, established relationship, yes cat caretaker event Notes: And who would have thought my SECOND Sylus fic would be a cat one too? Guys I'm on a roll here and he's slowly invading my brain. I promise the next Sylus fic will not be him as a cursed cat BUT in the meantime please enjoy clingy cat Sylus <3 He seems like he's perfect for cuddles (also first appearance of my OC who's Sylus' partner, Ivy. More to come in the future <3 )

Life was so incredibly hard when you were a cat.

Having to spend all your waking hours getting into mischief; shoving the phone from your partner’s hand and trying to snatch birds from the air.

Begrudgingly beginning to care for all of the kitties at the café, spoiling them with fancy toys and expensive treats and scratching behind their ears when they bump their heads against your leg.

Struggling to get attention from your partner without telling them you want attention. Smacking them with your tail as you walk past, or willingly standing in the pouring rain so they’ll dry your ears and tail with a towel and brush out the knots in your fur.

Trying to find the comfiest spot to nap during the day, your bed no longer the perfect place to rest. Now it was piles of clean laundry and the corners of couches.

And after a long, hard day of being a cat, you deserved to be spoiled. To have your ears scratched and to be held gently by the person you cared for the most.

At least, that was what Ivy told herself as she ran her fingers through Sylus’ hair. He’d been a menace all day while she had worked herself to the bone, and the fantasy that not only was she his girlfriend, but someone incredibly precious to him was her only consolation after an exhausting day.

Well, that and his comforting weight as he snuggled against her chest.

“It’s just so hard being a kitty, isn’t it?” Ivy cooed, narrowly dodging the swat of Sylus’ tail. “Playing with the other kitties and taking naps all day and getting up to all sorts of shenanigans.”

Sylus lifted his head just enough for his gaze to meet hers, the corners of his eyes narrowing as his brows drew low. He was scowling, but with his big fluffy ears and how he had sprawled himself out over her and nestled his face against her chest, she couldn’t find even a scrap of fear. Especially not when his tail gave the slightest flick, the tip curled like a question mark.

“Aw, my poor big kitty.” She scratched behind his ears and his expression softened despite her teasing words. “You’ve had such a hard day.”

He hummed, nuzzling her hand gently when she tried resting it against his cheek. “I’ve worked very hard, my lady. I’ve earned a reward.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to try and stifle the smile curling on her lips. ‘My lady,’ like they were characters in a period drama. Like she could be a princess and he her rogue knight. Like she could be something so precious in his eyes.

He gave her a languid smile, blinking slowly as his tail gave another flick. “I think you’re enjoying this as much as I am, my lady.”

He was saying it to tease her, without question, but she didn’t mind. He looked so content, and she felt so comfy with his warmth seeping into her bones and his soft hair between her fingers. He was draped across her like a weighted blanket, and it was more soothing than she would admit aloud. Even if she hadn’t been attending to magical cats all day long this would have been enough to lull her into serenity.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, keeping her voice measured and soft. His grin was enough to send her into a fit of fluttering giggles, wingbeats of laughter flittering in the air like hummingbirds darting between silken flower petals. But she had to control herself. Or at least try and control herself.

It lasted for all of one minute. At the most. When he was near she could not seem to contain her mirth, and laughter bubbled like the golden sparkle of champagne. Even when he was being utterly infuriating, she could only liken the feeling to being light as gauze, to feeling silly and free and breathless. It made her smile, made her laugh. And when he smiled as his eyes alit on her, she could only smile wider, pleased with whatever joy she had given him.

Maybe she was a fool, but maybe he was too.

“You might be enjoying this too much.” But his eyes sparkled, delight clear as the shimmer in their ruby depths. She didn’t need the flick of his tail or the twitch of his ears to tell her he was enjoying himself. “This is supposed to be about me, my lady.”

“And I can’t enjoy taking care of you?” She was smiling too wide now. Mischief danced on nimble toes, following the rhythm of her heart’s beat.

Sylus grinned, cocking his head to the side like he was examining a bird. “Clearly I’m not the only cat up to mischief.”

“Oh hush.” She gave his cheek a playful pinch, and his brows rose as if in challenge. “Maybe I’ll just stop cuddling you. I have to get up and clean myself up anyways.”

She pulled her hand away, pressing down on the sides of the couch cushion to lift herself up as she feigned getting up. Lightning fast, Sylus’ tail wrapped around her wrist, yanking it forward so she lost her balance and tumbled back.

“Excuse me?” His eyes seemed brighter, his ivory brows drawn low. The lines of his face seemed sharper, more severe, his steely glare a stark contrast to how he had snuggled his face against her chest.

Ivy bit back another giggle, and she caught the flicker of his expression, no more than the flit of a gauzy butterfly wing. A twitch at the corners of his lips, a fracture in his ire.

It made her smile a little wider, that crack in his facade. She wanted to push a little further, and she felt dizzy with silliness as she tried to goad him. “I’m trying to get up. I’ve had a long day and I need to shower and get something to eat.”

“Oh I don’t think so.” He readjusted, somehow putting more of his weight on her than he had before. She felt like she was being smushed into the couch, flat as a pancake as he settled. She supposed that was the cat part of him now, always finding a new way to distribute his weight as uncomfortably as possible when he was being annoying.

“You’re still my caretaker, too. Which means you have to take care of me.”

“And what exactly does that entail, my sweet kitty?” Mirth was soapy bubbles dancing in sunlight, laughter chasing after each pop.

His brow arched at the teasing name, but the harshness of his scowl melted away, leaving only a playful smirk behind. His tail was still wrapped around her wrist, and he dragged it forward until her palm was settled on the top of his head.

“You can start with this.”

Ivy rubbed his head slowly, scratching gently behind his ears like she had been earlier. “Like this?”

His eyelids drooped, his tail uncurling from her wrist to sway gently like wildflowers dancing in a breeze. “Mmmhmmm.”

His head lowered, the heat of his breath seeping through her shirt and into her skin. As she traced her other hand over his back she could feel his muscles untangling, the remaining tension he had been carrying with him slipping away like beads tumbling from a broken chain.

“You’re an awfully demanding kitty,” she mused. She slid her hand up, playing with the feathersoft baby hairs at the nape of his neck. “I’ve been petting you for a while and it’s still not enough.”

“Just be patient, kitten.” His voice came out muffled, the lilt of his laughter nearly lost in the fabric of her shirt. “I’ll take care of you soon, but I need to recharge right now.”

“Oh? And how will you take care of me?” She threaded her fingers in his hair, pressing the palm of her other hand against his shoulder blades and rubbing slow circles into his skin.

He hummed, and it felt almost like a chuckle. “How else do you take care of a troublesome kitten?”

She snorted. “If you’re going to try and give me fish treats I’ll pass.”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something else, then.”

Ivy snorted, giving his side a quick pinch. “Take your time recharging. You’re going to need it if that was the best idea you’d had.”

Sylus nestled closer, laughter echoing through the hollows of her bones and across the rivers of her veins and the lightning in her nerves. She could feel his smile even through her shirt, and the arms he had wrapped around her seemed to tighten along with his growing contentment.

She continued to run her fingers through his hair, pausing only to scratch around his ears, or trail both hands up and down his back. The even rhythm of his breathing lulled her, softening the edges of her thoughts to something fuzzy and gold. He was so warm, the strength in his arms steady, his weight a comfort against her.

Drowsiness draped itself over her like a second cat, lured by Sylus’ embrace and the solace his closeness gave. She couldn’t even imagine joking about getting up now, couldn’t imagine getting up at all. She was too comfortable, too content, with her big fiendish kitty holding her close.

The cherry on top was when a pleasant rumble began reverberating through his chest, its echo filling the hollows of her bones.

Purring.

He was purring.

Pressing a hand to her mouth, Ivy struggled to stifle her smile. He was so content he was purring.

No. Not just content. He was happy. Sylus was happy.

In her heart there was sunshine cresting the horizon at dawn, staining the sky in the blushing pink of flushed cheeks, in the deep red of cherry-stained fingers, in the soft violet of blooming flowers. It was warm, and fuzzy, and bright. It was the morning and all the hope and excitement that first touch of gold would bring.

It was something so small, and yet it felt so precious to her, that she had made him happy. That he felt content and safe lying here with her.

“I know you’re smiling, kitten.” The soft cadence of his voice stirred her from her reverie, her heartbeat jumping as she returned to the present.

He lifted his head, and she saw that his eyes were still lidded, heavy with sleep. His hair was mussed, from her dragging her fingers through it, from nuzzling against her while he got comfy. The smile he gave her was equal parts sweet and sleepy and teasing, like he had a joke on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t remember it as he waded through his dreams.

“What’s made you so happy?” He spoke with a low tenor, rough as sandpaper at the edges from the sleep he teetered at the precipice of.

“I was just thinking…” She trailed off, skating her fingertips over the edge of his soft ears. They twitched, but he only arched his brow, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards like a lopsided crescent moon.

“Really?”

Ivy rolled her eyes, giving his ear a light tug.

“Easy,” but he was laughing, batting her hand away. “They’re sensitive.”

She stuck out her bottom lip. “You were being mean.” 

“Apologies, my lady.” The wicked curve of his smile told her that he wasn’t sorry at all. “Tell me. What were you thinking about?”

She lifted her chin, flicking her eyes to the wall behind his head so she did not have to look at him. “Maybe I don’t want to tell you anymore.”

“Hmm…” His gaze was quickly growing keener, sharp as a predator. “And what if I want to hear it?”

“Maybe you should have been nicer!”

“Aren’t I being nice right now?”

She huffed. “I don’t know if I would call this nice.”

“Well what about now?” He asked, stroking her side gently. “Is this nice?”

Ivy pursed her lips, but did not respond.

“What about now?” He nuzzled his head into her palm, his lips skimming over the inside of her arm in a featherlight kiss.

Whatever resolve she’d had crumbled like over-baked cookies. He was surely trying to tease her, but this was nice. Being snuggled with him in the twilight between night and day, when for a little while it could just be them. He wasn’t the leader of Onichynus, and even with his cursed cat ears and tail he wasn’t really a cat either. He was just Sylus, and he had sought solace in her embrace as she so often did in his.

“Honestly?” She pushed his bangs back from his brow, warmth fizzing against her fingertips as she brushed them against his skin.

He watched her curiously, his head cocking to the side. Her gut instinct was to look away, but she wanted him to know she was sincere, even for something silly. He cared about holding her gaze when he was being honest, and she wanted to do the same for him.

“I hope this isn’t because of the curse,” she gave a little wave, gesturing to how he had draped himself over her. “I hope you’ll still want this when the curse is finally lifted.”

Sylus arched a brow, a flicker of mischief in the sharp curve of his lips. “And what is ‘this,’ kitten?”

“It’s…” She ground her teeth together; oh he was so infuriating. He was going to make her say it in precise detail.

“Yes? Use your words, sweetie.”

Her face burned as furious as a wildfire. “That you’ll still want to be close, and you’ll want to cuddle with me like this and let me play with your hair…”

Her words trailed off into a quiet whisper, her face so hot she felt like her skin was a riot of flame and heat. She anticipated a snort, a quirk of his lips, the light touching the sharp points of his teeth as he laughed.

No laughter came, no teasing chuckles that sent a flurry of embers through her belly as her entire body caught flame. Instead, she watched as his smile softened, turning into something gentle as the touch of quicksilver moonlight that turned the darkness of night gauzy and holy.

He moved with a feline grace, leaning over her so she could feel the tips of his bangs tickling her brow. His breath fanned over her lips, so close, like he was on the verge of kissing her.

“Sylus?” This response was not what she had expected.

Now he did chuckle, but there was no teasing lilt in his voice, no sharp glint in his eyes. He was still soft, his eyes a candle-flame of warmth. His hand searched for hers, fingers intertwining as he drew it to his lips.

His eyes, red as rubies glowing with moonbeams, held her gaze fast. He brushed a kiss to the back of her hand, and she could feel the bloom of his smile against her skin. The warm rumbling from before returned, the reverberations of his content purrs spreading like sunshine across the sky.

“You’ve spoiled me, kitten.” His words tickled her skin, and soft giggles bubbled from her lips. He smiled wider, kissing the backs of her fingers before continuing. “I’ve gotten so used to your devoted attention, I don’t think I’ll be able to go a single day without it anymore.”

The ruby of his eyes darkened. He watched her keenly over their clasped hands, both devilry and earnestness at war in the spilled-wine red of his eyes. Another kiss, little more than a phantom touch of his lips to her skin, and yet it made her whole body tingle like static shock.

Ivy’s chest felt tight, like she could not draw breath, like her heart no longer fit. She wanted to hold him closer, wanted to hold him so tightly and never let him go. That would surely ease the ache in her heart, would stop the splintering of her ribs.

Instead she reached with her free hand to brush back his hair, fingers lingering against his cheek.

“Then I’ll look forward to spoiling you every day.”

His eyes widened, bright as starlight. Then he lowered her hand, cupping her cheek as he leaned closer. She could feel the flutter of his lashes against her skin, feel the reverberations of his words against her lips. She smiled as he kissed her, tangling her free hand in his soft hair to hold him close.

“I look forward to it too, my lady.”

[unhingedangstaddict]

super late Fuck It Friday post (it's technically saturday now but who cares!) I was tagged by @quintessenceofdust88 and @typicalopposite n This is from the upcoming chapter of All Of You, All Of Me (Intertwined) my bucktommy mpreg fic

“It- it did help, last night when you said you just needed some time that you weren’t leaving leaving. But I- I’m scared all the time that you’re gonna leave, Tommy. And a promise a month ago and telling me you aren’t going to one time isn’t enough. I- I need more.” Tears started sliding down Evan’s cheeks. “I can’t live like this, Tommy. I can’t spend everyday afraid that you’re going to just up and leave again and take my daughter with you. I need you to do something, say something, give me something to believe.”

“Evan,” Tommy didn’t even know what to say. He’d been scared from the start that he’d mess things up again. He knew their communication skills needed work, and they hadn’t been putting in much work yet. Tommy had been failing to keep promises he made when they got back together, and while he wasn’t solely to blame, he hadn’t been taking enough blame to begin with, and this was on him.

“And part of me hates that I’m even saying any of this,” Evan continued, not giving Tommy the chance to speak. “Part of me feels like I should just be grateful to have you back and I should just take what I can get where I can get it. But we agreed our communication needs work, and so this is me communicating what I need. Because we can’t keep going the way we’re going, and I want us to work. I want to have a family. A real family. Not two people who fucked each other and happened to end up having a kid, but a couple that loves each other and respects each other and their child who grows up in a house full of love.”

“Evan, I want that too.” Tommy insisted. “And I- look I know I’ve not been working nearly as hard as I should be on working on the things I said I would when we got back together. I’m not proud of it- it kills me to hear how much pain you’ve been in, and it makes me sick to realize I didn’t notice you were in pain sooner. And I- I don’t know how to fix it, but I promise I do want to fix it and I will do anything and everything I can.” Tommy felt tears stinging his eyes. “Just- just tell me how to fix it, Evan, tell me how to fix us.” Tommy pleaded as tears slid down his cheeks.

“I don’t know how.” Evan shook his head as tears continued flowing freely.

not tagging anyone because it's an ungodly hour and friday is most certainly over

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

you get what you give | franco colapinto

💾 synopsis: It’s 1997, and you’re in your last year of high school, working at Hot Topic, living in a one-sided feud with the boyish, too-charming Gap employee across the hall. Then the universe decides to ruin your life by making him your coworker. tags: kind-of-enemies-to-lovers, teen drama, 90s aesthetic, fluff (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) | (around 3.7k words) | (nobody fact-check this, please, i was born in 2003, and i'm not american)

The first time you saw Franco, he was across the food court, leaning against the Gap counter like he was in a catalog. Some preppy kid with khakis that probably cost more than your entire paycheck, laughing at something a coworker said. Meanwhile, you were stuck behind the register at Hot Topic, trying to explain to a middle schooler that no, they couldn’t return their Metallica shirt just because their mom found it “too satanic.”

It wasn’t hate at first sight. Not exactly. It was more like… an allergy. Like every time you looked over at the Gap, there he was: Mr. Perfect Hair, smiling at customers like he actually liked them, folding sweaters like he loved his job. And every time he noticed you looking, he’d wave. Wave. Like you were best friends or something.

Alex, your coworker, thought it was hilarious. “Maybe he has a crush on you.”

“Or maybe he’s just annoying.”

“Both can be true.”

You ignored him, because whatever Franco’s deal was, you didn’t care. It’s not like Hot Topic and Gap were at war or anything, but they might as well have been. You sold fishnet tights and Slipknot hoodies. He sold pastel cardigans and golf hats. Oil and water. Cats and dogs. People who get the vibe and people who definitely don’t.

It became a thing, though. The waving. The smirking. The way he’d send clueless Gap customers to your store “because they seemed more… alternative.” You started sending preppy moms his way just to balance the universe.

But it all came to a head one Friday, right after you’d clocked in, when your manager pulled you into the back room.

“Got some news,” she said, all chipper like it wasn’t going to ruin your day.

“What?”

“We’re short-staffed, so I hired someone. He’s got retail experience, great attitude –”

And then, like the universe had it out for you, Franco walked in.

“Hey!” he said, all teeth and dimples, like this was some meet-cute and not a complete disaster.

You just stared.

It’s not every day your entire worldview gets flipped upside down, but here you are, staring at Franco in the Hot Topic break room like he’s some alien who crash-landed in the wrong parking lot. He’s got that same stupid perfect smile on his face, like this is totally normal. Like he belongs here. Spoiler: he absolutely does not.

“Hey,” he says, like it’s a regular Friday and not the start of your personal hell. “Guess we’re coworkers now.”

Coworkers.

Coworkers?!

You whip around to face your manager, who’s calmly flipping through a clipboard, completely oblivious to the emotional collapse happening two feet away.

“Is this a joke?” you ask, pointing at Franco. Like maybe someone’s about to jump out with a camera and yell: Gotcha!

“No joke,” your manager chirps. “Franco has retail experience, and he really impressed me in the interview.”

You look back at him. He’s still smiling. Why is he still smiling?

“You interviewed him?”

“Of course! We’re short-staffed, and Franco’s going to be a great addition to the team.”

You don’t even know where to start. The khakis. The tucked-in polo. The fact that he probably doesn’t know the difference between Nirvana and Nine Inch Nails. This guy is going to sell chokers?

“You’re kidding,” you mutter, but no one’s listening.

Franco finally speaks up, still with that ridiculous, infuriating charm.

“Don’t worry, I’ll fit right in. I mean, how hard can it be?”

Oh, he’ll fit right in, all right. About as well as a cat fits in a mosh pit.

It starts with the name tag.

Franco’s first obstacle as a Hot Topic employee isn’t even a customer – it’s the little plastic rectangle that refuses to clip onto his perfectly pressed shirt. After a solid minute of fumbling, he finally slaps it onto his chest, crooked, looking way too proud of himself for such a small win.

You, meanwhile, are trying to decide if it’s worth quitting your job just to avoid this nightmare.

“Maybe untuck your shirt,” you suggest, glaring at him. “You look like you’re about to sell Bibles.”

He looks down, confused. “But isn’t this the uniform?”

“No. The uniform is not looking like you have a trust fund.”

He untucks the shirt, but it doesn’t help much. He still stands out like a Gap model in a Halloween store.

And then the customers start rolling in.

The first one is easy: a kid looking for a Blink-182 tee. You grab it from the shelf, hand it over, and move on. Franco watches like he’s taking notes for a science experiment.

The second one? Not so easy.

It’s a girl with jet-black lipstick, multiple nose rings, and an attitude. She narrows her eyes at Franco, who’s manning the register for the first time.

“Do you have this in an extra small?” she asks, holding up a spiked belt.

Franco looks at the belt like it’s a snake. “Uh… let me check in the back?”

“There is no back,” you hiss from across the counter.

“Oh. Right. Um…” He flashes the customer his best smile. “We don’t have it in extra small, but maybe a small could work?”

The girl rolls her eyes so hard you’re worried they might get stuck. “Forget it,” she snaps, storming out.

Franco turns to you, bewildered. “Was it something I said?”

“It was everything you said.”

But it doesn’t stop there.

Later, he mispronounces Misfits as The Misfits. Then he spends five minutes explaining the return policy to a guy who clearly just wanted to buy a patch and leave. By the time someone asks him about gauges, he’s looking at you like he’s about to beg for help.

“Are you sure there’s no training manual?” he asks.

“This is the training,” you shoot back. “Sink or swim.”

But the thing is, he doesn’t sink. Not completely, anyway. Somehow, between the awkward stumbles and clueless questions, he manages to charm almost every customer. Even the goth kids seem to tolerate him, if only because he’s so obviously out of his depth.

And when your manager comes by to check on him, he’s suddenly the picture of professionalism, rattling off sales numbers like he’s been working there for years.

You glare at him as she leaves, impressed.

“What?” he says, grinning. “I’m a fast learner.”

You groan.

It’s halfway through Franco’s second shift when the universe decides to really test your patience. You’re at the register, ringing up a pair of fishnet gloves for a kid who can’t be older than twelve, when you hear the sound of trouble brewing near the band tees.

“Oh, my God,” someone laughs, loud and mean. “Do you even know who that is?”

You look up and see them: a group of older teens, all decked out in leather jackets and studded belts, surrounding Franco like a pack of hyenas. He’s holding up a Black Sabbath shirt, looking a little like a deer caught in headlights.

“Uh…” Franco starts, clearly scrambling. “Yeah, of course I do. It’s… uh… classic rock, right?”

The tallest guy in the group snorts. “Classic rock? Bro, this is Sabbath. Tell me you’re joking.”

You can see Franco’s face turn red from across the store. You should probably step in, but there’s a part of you that kind of wants to see him squirm. He’s always so confident, so perfect. It’s nice to see him stumble for once.

But then one of the girls pipes up, flipping her bright purple hair over her shoulder. “I don’t know why they even hired you. You don’t belong here.”

That hits a nerve. You shove the cash drawer closed and storm over before you can think twice.

“He belongs here more than you do,” you snap, stepping between Franco and the group. “Unless you’re planning on buying something, get out.”

The tall guy raises an eyebrow. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem is you harassing my coworker. Go be a jerk somewhere else.”

There’s a tense pause, but eventually, they back off, muttering insults as they leave the store.

When they’re gone, you turn to Franco. He’s staring at you like you just pulled him out of a burning building.

“Uh, thanks,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well…” You shrug, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Can’t let them scare off the new guy.”

He grins, that same easy, infuriating grin. “So you don’t hate me?”

“Don’t push it.”

You turn to walk back to the register, but you can feel him watching you, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel annoying.

It’s after the dinner rush, which is mostly just bored teenagers roaming the mall with nothing better to do than browse graphic tees they can’t afford, when Franco starts humming. It’s faint at first, just a couple of notes, but it’s enough to get under your skin.

You lean over the counter, glaring at him while he pretends to be absorbed in folding a pile of shirts he definitely refolded twice already. “Are you seriously humming The Cure right now?”

He looks up, wide-eyed, like you caught him committing a crime. “Uh, maybe?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Why?” He shrugs, all innocent. “What’s wrong with The Cure?”

“Nothing.” You grab a stack of bandanas and toss them onto the shelf. “Just didn’t peg you as a fan.”

“Well, I’m full of surprises.” He grins, that boyish, can’t-you-just-love-me grin that’s probably charmed a hundred Gap moms into buying extra polos. It makes you want to throw a mannequin at him.

But then he says, “You know, my mom hated this kind of music. She used to blast Hanson in the car and call it ‘family bonding.’”

You freeze mid-fold, staring at him. “No. Not Hanson.”

“Yep.” He leans against the counter, totally unashamed. “Full-on MMMBop era. It was brutal.”

You snort before you can stop yourself. “That’s horrifying.”

“Tell me about it.” He shakes his head like he’s reliving some great tragedy. 

And now you’re laughing, actually laughing, and you hate how easy it feels. It’s not supposed to be easy with Franco. He’s supposed to be the enemy, the preppy intruder in your kingdom of chains and leather. 

The store quiets down again, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence between customers. You’re at the counter, sorting through returns, when Franco asks, “So, how long have you been working here?”

You don’t even look up. “Too long.”

“Like… since it opened?”

“Not that long.”

He chuckles. “You just seem like you’re good at it. Like, you know exactly where everything goes, how to deal with customers, all of it.”

You pause, caught off guard by the compliment. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”

“I’m serious.” He leans against the counter, closer than he needs to be. “It’s cool. You make it look easy.”

For a second, you don’t know what to say. You’re not used to this version of him – the one who’s not joking or smirking or trying to win people over.

“Well,” you mutter, focusing way too hard on a stray thread on your sleeve, “someone has to hold this place together.”

“Guess that makes you the boss, huh?”

You look up, and he’s smiling again, but it’s softer this time, less Gap-commercial and more… real.

“Yeah,” you say, meeting his eyes for a second longer than you mean to. “Guess it does.”

And just like that, you’re back to folding shirts, pretending your face isn’t warm, pretending you’re not replaying the way he said it in your head.

“Hey,” Franco says after a minute, breaking the silence. “Thanks for not letting me completely crash and burn today.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

But he just laughs

A few days later, you’re mid-shift, reorganizing the clearance rack and silently judging whoever thought mixing Korn and Nirvana shirts was a good idea, when you hear Franco call your name.

“Hey!” He’s jogging over, holding a black eyeliner pencil in one hand and a spiked cuff in the other. “Okay, hear me out.”

You look up, already regretting your decision to give him the time of day. “What.”

“I was thinking.” He plops the cuff down on the counter like it’s Exhibit A in a trial. “Maybe I need a vibe adjustment. You know, to fit in better.”

You stare at him, waiting for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, you burst out laughing. “You? Adjust your vibe? You are the Gap vibe.”

“Exactly,” he says, unbothered by your mockery. “Which is why I need to commit if I’m going to survive here.”

You shake your head, going back to your rack. “You’re insane.”

“I’m serious!” He grabs your arm, dragging you toward the accessories wall. “Help me out here. What do I need? Eyeliner? A chain wallet? Should I dye my hair black? What screams ‘Hot Topic employee’ to you?”

You yank your arm back, glaring. “First of all, no one dyes their hair black on a whim. Second of all, even if you doused yourself in black nail polish and combat boots, you’d still look like a golden retriever.”

He blinks at you, confused. “A… golden retriever?”

“You know what I mean.” You gesture at him like he’s Exhibit A now. “You’re too happy. Too friendly. Even if you dressed the part, you’d still give off this, like, boy-next-door energy.”

“Wow.” He folds his arms, smirking. “Didn’t realize you’d been analyzing my vibe so much.”

You groan, shoving past him to grab a random shirt off the rack. “Fine. You want help? Put this on.”

He takes the shirt, holding it up with a frown. It’s oversized, black, and has some vaguely satanic-looking band logo on it. “This is… a lot.”

“Exactly.” You throw a studded belt at him for good measure. “Now go try it on.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t argue. He just shrugs and disappears into the fitting room, leaving you to wonder if you’ve actually broken him.

When he finally comes out, you almost choke. The shirt hangs loose over his frame, the belt is slung low around his waist, and he’s added the spiked cuff for good measure. He looks ridiculous.

“Well?” he says, holding his arms out like he’s presenting a masterpiece. “What do you think?”

You tilt your head, trying to suppress a laugh. “You look like a lost theater kid trying to go goth for Halloween.”

He grins, completely unoffended. “So… nailed it?”

“Sure.” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Except for the part where no one here is going to believe you’ve ever listened to anything darker than Matchbox Twenty.”

“Ouch.” He puts a hand over his heart, pretending to be wounded. “You’re brutal.”

“And you’re hopeless.”

But as he stands there, grinning like he’s actually proud of himself, you realize something weird. He looks kind of cute.

“Alright, fine,” you say, tossing a pack of black nail polish at him. “You want the full experience? You’re painting your nails next.”

He catches it easily, still smiling. “Whatever you say, boss.”

It’s the end of the night, and the mall feels like a ghost town. The food court’s shut down, the arcade’s lights are dimmed, and you’re counting down the minutes until you can lock up and go home. Franco’s behind the counter, you’re halfheartedly restocking chokers when he says, “Hey, can I ask you something?”

You look over your shoulder. He looks serious, which is rare for him. Too rare. “What? You need me to explain the difference between Slipknot and Korn again?”

“Ha-ha.” He leans on the counter, “I’m being serious.”

You roll your eyes but put down the chokers. “Fine. Ask away.”

There’s a pause. He’s tapping his fingers on the counter, like he’s working up the nerve. Finally, he says, “Why do you hate me so much?”

You blink at him, trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke, but his face is all earnest curiosity.

“I don’t –” You stop, because of course you do, or at least you did. But now? You’re not so sure.

He’s still looking at you, waiting, and for once, you don’t have a snarky comeback. You just shrug. “I don’t hate you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, but there’s no edge to it. “When I first started here, you looked like you wanted to set me on fire.”

“Yeah, well, you kind of deserved it.”

He laughs, and the sound fills the empty store in a way that makes your chest feel weird. “Fair. But… why?”

You chew on your lip, debating whether or not to tell him the truth. But something about the way he’s looking at you – like he actually cares about your answer – makes you cave.

“Because you’re you.”

“Wow.” He raises an eyebrow. “Great explanation. Totally clears it up.”

You groan, leaning back against the wall. “Fine. Because you walked in here all… perfect. Perfect smile, perfect attitude, perfect everything. And this place? It’s not supposed to be perfect. It’s messy, and weird, and full of people who don’t fit in anywhere else. You showing up felt like…”

“Like I didn’t belong.”

“Yeah.” You exhale, relieved he said it so you didn’t have to. “Exactly.”

He’s quiet for a second, and you’re about to make a joke to fill the silence when he says, “You know, I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere.”

That shuts you up.

“Not at Gap, not at school, not even at home half the time,” he continues, voice softer now. “But here? I don’t know. It’s different. And it’s not just because of the music or the clothes or whatever. It’s… you.”

Your heart skips, and you hate how easily he can do that to you. “Me?”

“Yeah.” He looks up, meeting your eyes, and suddenly it feels like there’s no space left in the room. “You make it feel like it’s okay to not be perfect. Like it’s okay to just… be.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Words are stuck somewhere in your throat, and all you can do is stare at him like he’s said something impossible.

“I probably sound like an idiot,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I mean it. And if I have to spend every shift here proving that I belong, I will. Because, honestly? This is the first place that I've ever felt comfortable in.”

Your chest feels tight, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close he’s standing. Too close. Not close enough.

“Franco…” You’re not even sure what you’re about to say, but he cuts you off.

“I know. I’ll shut up now.” He steps back, flashing that same boyish grin that used to drive you insane. “Just thought you should know.”

And before you can respond, the store phone rings, breaking the moment.

You grab it, mumbling something about it probably being the mall office, but your hands are shaking as you pick up.

When you hang up, Franco’s already by the door, keys in hand, waiting to lock up. “Ready to call it a night?”

You nod, swallowing hard.

“Cool. See you tomorrow, boss.” He winks, pushing open the door and stepping out into the empty mall.

You watch him go, your heart still racing.

It’s been a few weeks since The Conversation. You and Franco have been in this weird limbo ever since – like you’re both too scared to bring it up again but also too aware of each other to act normal. He still grins at you like he knows a secret, and you still pretend it doesn’t make your heart race.

But tonight, something feels different. The shift was slow, the music quieter than usual, and now the two of you are the last ones left, locking up the store.

Franco leans against the gate, twirling the keys around his finger like he’s in a teen movie. “So,” he says, breaking the silence, “what’s your excuse for staying late tonight? Organizing the chokers by shade again?”

You shove the gate into place and glare at him, though there’s no real anger behind it. “What’s your excuse? Waiting for me to do all the work as usual?”

“Obviously.” He flashes that stupid grin, but this time there’s a bit of anxiety behind it.

You should brush it off, make some sarcastic comment and walk away, but instead, you lean against the counter and cross your arms. “You’ve been acting weird.”

“Me?” He feigns innocence, pointing at himself. “I’m not the one who’s been dodging eye contact for three weeks.”

“Yeah, because you’ve been staring at me like a creep,” you shoot back, but your voice is softer than you mean it to be.

He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you in that way that makes you feel like you’re under a spotlight. “So… are we gonna talk about it?”

“About what?” You know exactly what he means, but you’re not making this easy for him.

“About this.” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. “Whatever this is.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “What’s there to talk about? You’re annoying, I tolerate you, the end.”

“Uh-huh.” He steps closer, his grin turning softer, almost shy. “And that’s why you blush every time I call you boss?”

“I do not blush.”

“You so do.”

You groan, turning to fiddle with the register just to give your hands something to do. “Why are you like this?”

“Because you like it.”

Your head snaps up, ready to argue, but suddenly you’re tired of pretending.

“Okay, fine,” you say, throwing up your hands. “Maybe I don’t hate you. Maybe I even… like you a little. Happy now?”

He blinks, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually admit it. “Wait, really?”

“Oh my god.” You bury your face in your hands. “Don’t make me say it again.”

He laughs, soft and disbelieving, and when you peek through your fingers, he’s standing right in front of you.

“For the record,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like you too. More than a little.”

Your heart does this stupid flip, and before you can chicken out, you grab the lanyard around his neck and pull him into a kiss. It’s quick, clumsy, and absolutely perfect.

“Wow,” he says, breathless. 

“Shut up.”

But you’re smiling, and so is he.

“Okay,” he says after a beat, grinning like an idiot. “But just so you know, I’m totally telling everyone you kissed me first.”

You groan, shoving him playfully. “Don’t push your luck.”

He laughs, grabbing your hand before you can pull away completely. “Too late."

[jelly-fish-wishes]

Maybe number 1. “Good morning” kiss with Luigi giving Mario a kiss on the cheek, when they were kids? Just like siblings sometimes do to each other (like me and my brother). I think that would be cute.

How about I make it slightly angsty with a touch of comedy

REMEMBER FOLKS, THIS IS PLATONIC. NOTHING ELSE.

[azure-clockwork]

I love three houses discourse because I'm pretty sure everyone just picks their route based on which house leader they're the most gay for and then tries to defend their pick by pointing out the other sides's war crimes via twitter memes. Reader, all four of them do substantial quantities of war crimes. So many. We're just here because the woman with Issues and a big fuck-off axe said so, and then we gotta justify everything she did in the name of dismantling the class system. I mean, I'm here for that, but you could also try justifying Charm Man uses poison and perfidy to try to stop racism, A Sad Little Meow Meow gives no quarter instead of doing therapy, or the Thicc Pope tries to bring back her mom via human experimentation, depending on your tastes

[yourinaudiblename]

ughhhh why is gender so hard to figure out. my body is like boom gender dsyorphia but won’t tell me noone about my identity

(I accidentally made an entire vent in the tags lmao)

[autistic-katara]

there r fics that make u insane (so amazingly good it’s removed ur sanity) and then there’s fics that make u insane (you need to fistfight the author for how they did a specific thing that caused u to rant for hours)

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

one thing abt being disabled/chronically ill that some people don’t get is that sometimes body maintenance that ensures you have the absolute minimum amount of function can also be something that takes away a lot of control and autonomy. you can argue till the cows come home that making those decisions to try and help yourself (or realistically to try to make sure things aren’t worse than they already are) is something that exhibits control and autonomy and stuff, but they can be so limiting in practice because they’re things that take up so much time but have to be done to do anything else

[guckies]

All that pain and suffering and for what?!? That’s at least 12 hours of my life I’ll never get back!!