#I need to get back into the swing of my new schedule and obligations

[luvt0kki]

hello, um so, im pretty busy with uni and having a mental breakdown wasn’t planned this week but it happened.

Ill be less active until Sunday or til mid Feb most likely. I promise and will try to get back to everyone then.

I’m sorry.

I promise I’ll be back with more content. I hope.

- for taglist please go check my masterlist of sway with me and like the post/reply to be tagged. I will extend the taglist. Reminder that I will not tag you if you do not have your age indicated in your bio or an empty blog.

EDIT: 006 of sway with me is a currently a wip and other one shots may be on the way soon.

[karajaynetoday]

hey now, you're an all-star | jack hughes

it took one month of watching hockey for me to write fic. lmao. classic. good vibes.

thank you @littledrummeraussie for proofreading, love you angie 💖

READ PART TWO HERE

READ PART THREE HERE

word count: 2.8k

Warnings:  i don't think it needs any? just forgive my limited knowledge of hockey and canada i suppose? mentions of anxiety related to university? it's a bit angsty bc let's be real, do i ever know how to write anything else?

(This is a fem reader insert)

More writing here (soz that the masterlist is not up to date lol) | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here

You’d known Jack Hughes for as long as you could remember. He stood up for you in the playground at kindergarten, when a bigger kid pushed you off the swings; you returned the favour by saving him from a spider on his backpack. Ever since, you’d always had each other’s backs. 

And for as long as you’d known Jack, you’d been able to tell when he was upset about something. His lips did this thing, not quite a pout, but nowhere near the easy smile you were used to seeing. He’d pull his sleeves down over his hands, and his breathing would be… deeper, somehow. He could never meet your gaze, either. 

You were scrolling through Instagram on your couch at home, where you were supposed to be studying, when you saw a video of Jack from the Devils fundraiser event, answering media questions about his injury and when he’d be back on the ice. He laughed and smiled for the cameras, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. They asked about the all-star game, and you could feel his hesitation in answering. Jack tried to be positive and assure everyone that he had a chance of playing, but you both knew that wasn’t very likely. 

You sent the video to Jack with a comment bagging out his hairstyle, hoping to lift his mood a little, before dropping your phone onto the couch and drawing your attention back to the economics case study you were supposed to be analysing. 

You’d stayed in Toronto for university, while Jack headed off to New Jersey after his draft year. Long distance friendship took a lot of getting used to, but at least you were still in the same timezone, and the NHL schedule meant that Jack was contractually obliged to visit you a few times each year. Quinn too, despite how much he complained about the intensity of hockey mania in Toronto. In fact, the entire Hughes family sometimes made the trek, which you knew your parents not-so-secretly loved. It reminded you of the warmth you felt growing up in each other’s homes, filled with laughter and joy.

The little focus you had for your economics homework was broken when your phone began to vibrate beside you, Jack’s name flashing on the screen. You rolled your eyes with a smile, before leaning over to answer the video call. 

“Good morning, sunshine!” You greeted your best friend, who was already scowling at you. 

“Is it a good morning, though? When all I do is get criticism from my supposed best friend?” 

“It’s not criticism, more… encouragement, I’d say.” You teased back, Jack rolling his eyes at you.

“Encouraging what, exactly?”

“Encouraging you to make better personal style choices, especially related to hair. You are a millionaire, after all. Least you can do is get a decent haircut.” 

“Oh, my apologies. Didn’t realise I was getting encouragement from the queen of high fashion. Is that a coffee stain on that shirt?” Jack’s eyes glanced down at what little he could see of your outfit in the video call, before poking his tongue out at you.

“Hey, I’m a university student. This is high fashion, I’ll have you know. Anyway, why aren’t you at training?” You asked, cocking your head to the side in curiosity. 

Jack’s lips pressed together, and he looked away from his phone and you; you silently cursed yourself for asking the question. Even though Jack had been injured, he’d been pretty dedicated to his rehab and recovery, so it was a little odd for him to be calling you in the morning rather than be at a physio session. 

“More scans this afternoon so no session this morning. Trying to decide if I can play next weekend or if I just have to show up and look pretty.” Jack tried to joke, but you could tell that it wasn’t something he found humour in. 

“Good thing that looking pretty comes naturally to you, J.” 

“Oh, so now I’m pretty? I thought I had shit hair?!”

“You can both be a pretty face and have shit hair, buddy. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Mutually exclusive? Is that a fancy term you learnt at school?” 

You laughed at that, earning a Jack smile in return. You continued chatting back and forth for another 30 minutes or so, before Jack had to go to his scans. 

You managed to get through the rest of your economics homework, but your mind kept wandering back to Jack and his frustration at being injured. He’d been an All-Star before, so it wasn’t that specifically he was frustrated about missing, you were certain. The difference this year was Quinn’s selection in the All-Star weekend, and the building anticipation around so-called “Team Hughes” that would see Jack and Quinn on the same team for the first time in their NHL careers. That’s probably what Jack was upset about, because as much as they chirp each other and are fiercely competitive, there’s nothing Jack Hughes loves more than his brothers. You knew that he’d be in his head overthinking everything and convincing himself that he was letting Quinn down, somehow, despite it being beyond his control. 

The only further communication you got from Jack that day was a thumbs-down text message, which told you all you needed to know. You were sporadically in touch a few times throughout the week, and before you knew it, it was the day everyone was flying in for All-Star weekend.

You’d managed to persuade your parents that a full-blown neighbourhood party was not necessary, and instead convinced them to accept Quinn’s invitation to a lowkey but nice dinner downtown near the hotel where he and Jack were staying. The dinner was something you were looking forward to all week, but you hadn’t anticipated two things: accidentally deleting half your economics essay the night before it was due and having to stay up until 3am to finish it; and the butterflies that you were feeling when you were getting ready for dinner. Why on earth were you so nervous? Seeing Jack and Quinn after a while was usually something that excited you, not stressed you out. 

You had just pulled on your dress and finished wrangling your hair when your phone pinged with a message from Jack. 

Have you looked at the menu for this place? We need to order a side of the loaded mac n cheese pls and thx 

I thought you were a high performance athlete? But of course, mac n cheese is a MUST

Correct, my body is a temple. A temple of mac n cheese. Mac is a carb, cheese is calcium for my bones. Winners all around. See ya soon x

Xo

It was freezing outside, so you took an Uber from your university apartment to the restaurant. You were running behind, thanks to traffic, and then you almost toppled over on the pavement outside due to the wet weather. Between that and your sleep deprivation, you honestly wanted nothing more than to go home, put your pyjamas on and cry; but you plastered a smile on your face and headed inside the restaurant. 

The hostess greeted you warmly, and offered to take your coat once you established that your parents had already arrived and were seated on a table towards the back of the restaurant, and you could see the backs of Jack and Quinn as you approached them. Everyone stood up to greet you with hugs and kisses, and the butterflies sparked again when Jack pulled out the chair next to his for you to sit down. Jack and Quinn both had nice sweaters on with collared shirts, and you were quietly glad you’d decided to wear a dress rather than the jeans you’d initially picked out. 

“How did your essay go, sweetheart? I know economics isn’t your favourite…” Your mother enquired, obviously unaware of your crisis the night before. 

You gave her a tight-lipped smile and took a sip of the diet coke in front of you (that Jack must’ve ordered for you, no doubt) before mumbling something about getting it sorted and hoping for the best. Your dad swiftly changed the subject to the weekend’s festivities, excitedly asking Quinn about his plans for the All-Star draft, but you could feel Jack’s eyes on you. You met his gaze and subtly shook your head, silently asking for him to save his questions for later. Jack frowned at you, but complied. 

The dinner felt like it went quickly, but also went for hours. Your stomach hurt from laughing (and probably too much mac and cheese), as Jack and Quinn regaled your parents with stories of their seasons and their plans for the next summer off in Michigan, where your two families would join each other for a month or so of adventures. You found yourself smiling as your dad and the Hughes brothers comically argued over who would pay the bill, before Jack excused himself to the bathroom and sneakily paid the bill on his way there. 

Jack and Quinn’s hotel was walking distance from the restaurant, and they excitedly invited you and your parents to come and see the fancy suite they’d been gifted for the weekend. Your mother made some excuse about traffic on the drive home and promised to come and see it some other time, but nudged you in your side as she told you to go and check it out. You were so tired and ready for bed, but reluctantly agreed; your window of opportunity to spend time with Jack was closing, so you figured you may as well make the most of it.

The butterflies in your stomach flitted around as Jack helped you into your coat before you headed outside the restaurant and bid your parents farewell. You fell into step in between the brothers as they traipsed back toward the hotel, conversation flowing easily as Quinn asked about your college classes and you asked him about the latest book he was reading. Jack was silent as you walked the few blocks before arriving at the hotel, and he gently placed his hand onto your back as you were guided through the hotel front door and into the elevator. 

Your jaw dropped when Quinn swiped his key card and you all entered the hotel suite. They weren’t joking about it being fancy, holy shit. 

The floor to ceiling windows had incredible views of the city skyline, with a very comfortable looking couch in the living area facing the view. Two doors at either side of the living room lead to bedrooms with luxurious linens, and the marble bathrooms were impeccably finished. 

Jack was grinning as he watched you take it all in, leaning up against the door frame to his bedroom as you stood near the window and gaped at the views. Quinn had flopped down on the couch and was texting on his phone. 

“Can they gift this to you year-round? I’d like to live here…” You mused, shaking your head at how insane this hockey lifestyle could be. 

“We could probably just buy it for you.” Jack said nonchalantly, as he wandered over to stand beside you at the window. 

“Yeah, if you want. They’d probably charge us more because I’m a Canuck, though.” Quinn deadpanned, earning a laugh from you and an eye-roll from Jack.

“Speaking of, the guys are all catching up in Petey’s room, so I think I’ll head down there. See you tomorrow after the draft, sugar plum.” Quinn pulled you into a hug, and your heart burst at him using your childhood nickname (which came from one ill-fated ballet performance and you insisted you hated, but secretly loved being called). 

You could’ve sworn you saw Quinn wink at Jack before he left the hotel room, but then again, the sleep deprivation could also be sending you loopy. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Jack asked, moving to stand behind you and loop his arms around your waist as you still faced the window. Your heart rate shot through the roof as he pulled you closer, and nestled his head in between your neck and shoulder. You cringed as you realised he could probably feel your pulse beating fast. 

“Sure, but no blaming me if I fall asleep on you, sorryyyyy.” You awkwardly maneuvered yourself out of Jack’s embrace and walked over to the couch, sitting down on it and removing your shoes. 

“The first time we’ve seen each other in MONTHS and you’re going to fall asleep? Am I that boring? Sheesh.” Jack drawled, watching you from where he stood.

“Yes.” You stuck your tongue out at him, but lost it to a yawn which made you both laugh. 

“You know I love you, J. I would happily pull an all-nighter with you, but I don’t think two in a row is probably good for me.”

“Two in a row? What, where you out partying hard last night?” Jack’s voice trailed off as he wandered off into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him. You heard a drawer open and a light thud onto the floor, and your throat tightened when you realised Jack was changing his clothes. God, you’d gotten changed in front of each other a million times. Why was your brain making everything so weird tonight?

“Not quite. Had a disaster that involved accidentally deleting my entire essay, sobbing for an hour, then staying up until 3am to write the whole thing. Living the dream, as per usual.” You rattled off, trying to sound nonchalant about, even though just thinking about last night made you nauseous with anxiety. Your nonchalance was clearly unconvincing, as Jack came back out of the bedroom clad in a hoodie and sweats and bee-lined for you, his face covered in concern. 

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s fine, I promise. All part of the college experience.” You weren’t sure if you were trying to convince yourself or Jack more. He couldn’t either, but instead of pushing the issue, he threw a hoodie at your head and laughed when you looked offended. 

“I’m definitely falling asleep if I put this on, by the way. You know I love being cozy. Cozy is my natural state of being.” You pulled your hair up into a loose bun using the hair tie on your wrist, before pulling the black Devils hoodie over your head. 

Jack slotted himself beside you on the couch and reached his arm over your shoulders, finding the remote with his other hand and navigating the ridiculously large TV onto Netflix. 

“Fine by be, sugarplum. I’d rather know you’re getting sleep here than send you home to stress yourself out more.”  Jack mused, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your arm while he found the latest season of a TV show you both loved to watch and pressed play.

“I’m not stres - it was just one essay - I promise I’m fine.” You sputtered, tripping over your words when Jack locked eyes with you, his gaze empathetic but all-knowing. 

“Besides, I’m not the only one in the room worth worrying about.” You said softly, nudging Jack’s side gently. Jack rolled his lips between his teeth, and sighed; he put down the remote and pulled his hoodie sleeves over his hands. 

“But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. You’re not letting anyone down, though. Quinn doesn’t think that.” You continued, softly, not wanting to cause tension. 

Jack sighed deeply again and pulled his arm away from you, leaning forward and rubbing his face with both hands. 

“You don’t know what Quinny’s thinking, sugar. And it’s not just Quinn, it’s the fucking journalists, and Bratter’s vacation being ruined, and goddamn Michael Bublé being disappointed in me, and - just - fucking all of it.” Jack exhaled deeply, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. 

You didn’t know what to say, because you could tell that Jack wasn’t in a mood that you could talk him down out of. But you could tell he needed comfort, needed reassurance, needed to know that you still had his back. Ever since kindergarten. 

You grabbed the back of Jack’s hoodie and gently tugged it, and he leaned back against the couch. You tapped Jack’s legs next, and he moved them up onto the other side of the L-shaped couch, so he was properly reclining. You paused, trying to figure out how to position yourself without being literally on top of Jack, but while your brain was running a million miles a minute, Jack’s hand found yours and yanked you towards him gently. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, before adjusting yourself between Jack’s body and the side of the couch. Jack’s arm found a home over your hips and settled gently on your stomach, pulling your back against his chest. You felt his breath on your neck as you both wriggled around, trying to get comfortable.

 

“Is this okay, sugar?” Jack’s voice was barely a whisper, directly into your ear. You didn’t trust your voice not to squeak a response so you simply nodded, trying desperately to calm your fast beating heart.

You rested your hand on top of Jack’s and gently squeezed, feeling yourself starting to lull to sleep. Despite the butterflies and your heart jumping out of your chest, you somehow had never felt more at peace, right in this moment.

This was safe, this was calm. This was home. 

[david-goldrock]

So at the entrance to my Moshav there's a new sign and on it is written: "Hello! you arrived home! slow down!" And every time I read it, inside, I die a bit I have no real logical explanation And the sign is right, it is definitely important, And with most seriousness It's just that each time I read I want to die a little A kind of need to puke And I think it is also related to the playground

I went there with my dog, just when it was built A new playground, impressive, flaunting in quality The swing doesn't creak, and even the carousel has a safety belt This is a prestigious building, directly from the catalog Designed to the satisfaction of the parent who's got no time to worry And while I'm there with the dog between slides and swings Just in me all of a sudden worries rose It's just that - until recently, there were woods here instead of a kindergarten So I couldn't not wonder - where this year will we be doing... Shavuot? Or the Ash Layla - when the older kids kidnap the younger kids - where is this able to be done now?

Now that the youth club has a busy schedule so Between spinning course to equipment Pilates, does anybody think of the younger fellas? And understand, I am one who accepts change as a blessing I just don't get in what way did they decide to build a sidewalk here And while I sink in wonderings, a parent passed across me with his toddler son

I waved hello, in order to fulfill one's obligation, but my dog, he didn't understand, that they are from the square It roared towards the kid in a usual energy burst in order to give the kid the traditional "lick to the face" greeting, but the father got scared, and preached in a solemn voice "Is this your dog? how come it isn't tied up? look at the sign! don't you know it's not allowed" I tilted my head across my neck in an involuntary twist I told him "excuse me, sir, since when is this moshav so bourgeois?" and suddenly it hit me

Yes Feelings that sit in the stomach for years It's you - the people of the square You had ruined us from the inside, you turned all of us to a bunch of pricks A slowing bump in front of a public playground?! we all fell victim to the same ruse!

For, ever since the beginning this probably was the plan, no? a dirt road turned to a boulevard, a tractor turned to a company car, It can't be that all that happened coincidentally when you came to the moshav

The bikers. They are no longer children, cycling back from the sea through the fields, but 30-year-old high-tech guys in dry fit and sunglasses that say "I have enough money not to be dazzled even when I'm doing sport"

You lured, you lured us, the people of the square, just like the story of Adam and Eve, and the tree of knowledge was sold, to the highest bidder, not for the fruits, which one can eat from, but for THE GROUND THE TREE SITS UPON. We sold our souls, the simplicity's gone, a neighbor became a stranger

And now, former Tel Avivians, demand we'd attach every dog a collar?

Say, why did you come for anyway?

I know, you wanted a silent surrounding, so you left the city, 'till now, legitimate, a completely reasonable situation, but here - ended the change in your life, when you forced the moshav, to fit itself, to you And like every colonial conqueror in his coming to a distant continent, you forced upon us a foreign and disconnected culture A loud culture, that simultaneously demands silence

"Hello, you arrived home! Slow down!" I KNOW, I need to slow down! And I, I see all now is clear - Not for a shouty and punchy sign, and not for an excessive and retarded slowing bump either, I know that I need to slow down, because in the Moshav, there's no reason to go quick

Moshav, is not a city, after going down from the highway, when the smell of the cowshed goes up in the air, it's time to turn the pot to a low fire, and to shed one's worries, to let the body unfreeze in front of the banana plantation view It's a bit difficult to explain - a moshav is different. It's free dogs, it's an unfinished road, and every hole in it rocks the car like a baby in its crib

To live in a moshav is not paying entrance fees, it's not a municipal matter that can be found on one's ID, to live in a moshav meant to give oneself to meaning Leave the dog alone, what about the kid? does he not deserve a childhood?

There's no need for slowing bumps and signs when one knows the neighbors, the laws are, unnecessary, punt the playground back to the land of the bourgeois, let your kid get the ability to invent devices for himself

That he'd fall down on his face, that he'd open his chin, that he'd cry, that he'd laugh, that he'd will face it, that he'd rant; That he'd be intrigued, that he'd get in danger, that he'd *unintelligible*, that he'd roll over, that he'd sneeze, that he'd get in trouble, do you understand?

What matters isn't where do you live, what matters is how

All that, wasn't said, obviously, I was satisfied with mumbling "yes yes, of course" but, I felt as if the message comes through.

We parted our ways, the dog by my side, the banana plantations in the background, silence, twilight. and in a passing glance between me and the dog it told me with its eyes "The time has come for them to put a sidewalk here, my legs hurt"

[rotationalsymmetry]

Btw, overview on CFS self-care:

1. People with CFS have limited spoons/spell slots/whatever, and get hit hard for overextending. (Apparently especially hard even by spoonie standards I think? Not sure.) When someone with (suspected/definite) CFS has variable symptoms, some relatively good days and some very very bad days, going from feeling relatively good to very bad (eg needing to take a nap when they don't normally) in a short period of time, etc, that's a good sign that they are frequently overextending. The way I used to figure out my spoon budget (cfs self help dot org calls this the energy envelope, this method is from them) was to track my activity for 2 week, then take the average. (Some things are hard to compare, and some things you're just not going to do the same amount of every day, so do your best. For instance, I noticed if I had multiple social events planned for one weekend, I was always canceling the third one whether I wanted to or not, so I started planning no more than two events per weekend.) (if you've got eg a job with set hours that you can't quit, well, do your best you know?)

2. If you want to try to do more, make very, very small changes and only make a change once every two weeks, and go back to your previous level if things get worse. For instance, if you walk a mile every day, increase to 1.1 miles and see how that goes. Do not do this without having done step 1 first and gotten to a point where you don't have huge good day/bad day swings, you need to be able to tell if things are getting worse! (It's also ok to not try to do more at all.)

3. When you feel like you need to rest, rest. (Again caveats around obligations you really, truly, cannot get out of. But skip things when you can. Or get someone else to do it.)

4. Rest before you feel like you need to rest on a set schedule. If this is new to you, try once a day, for at least 10 minutes, lying down. Often people have problems with this because their mind goes to stressed/scared places; if that happens, find a way to not do that? Happy music, a body scan or a sleep meditation, reading something first so your mind will be filled up with thoughts of your blorbos, whatever. If that seems to help, you can consider making it a longer period of time and/or have more frequent rests.

5. Like with everything else, stress makes CFS worse so stress relief activities are good. Deep breathing. Progressive muscular relaxation. (This can count as your rest.) Restorative yoga. (Ditto, if it's what I think of as restorative poses (restful! Lying down!) and not a random collection of sitting stretches that are getting called restorative for unclear reasons.) Whatever.

6. Do it differently: sit in the shower, sit while waiting for the light to change (folding stool ftw), use a wheelchair or scooter, order groceries online, do vacuuming in a wheelie chair, whatever. Using a grabby thing to pick up stuff on the floor. Keeping your kitchen pots and pans on the stove -- in general, stuff stored between your shoulders and your knees are easier to get to than stuff higher or lower. Relax with your feet elevated rather than on the floor. Buy the lettuce that's already been washed and cut up. (I hear some spoonies swear by baby food? Whatever works for you.)

7. Get someone else to do it or don't do it at all.

8. Emotional management: CFS can make people more emotionally reactive/mood-swing-y and strong emotions can make CFS worse. Fun! CBT (for feelings, not to keep from having CFS) helps some people. Finding out what works for you can be an ongoing project.

9. Dealing with people: I don't know what to say about this, mostly the people in my life have been pretty cool? For mostly pretty cool people, cuing them on how you expect them to act can help (like, if you don't want advice, sounding very matter of fact when talking about having cfs can help.) that website I keep mentioning has more to say on this. Part of this is FOMO (fear of missing out), I don't know what to say, that sure is A Thing.

10. If you want to go down the rabbit hole, there's a variety of supliments and alternative medicine stuff that some people will swear by. I like cfs self help because it's not selling supplements but you do you. My doc recommended a couple so at least some have some evidence behind them.

11. Exercise: complicated. Physical activity is the main thing that causes people to go outside their spoon budget, so be careful, but often people find they can do some degree of physical movement that seems to be beneficial. Stretching is usually safest, and things like rolling your shoulders or ankles, gentle movements. Strength exercises that you can do without elevating your heart rate or crashing later might be beneficial -- focus on stuff you can do sitting or lying down, or very short opportunistic bits of exercise you can do like standing on one leg while you wait for the microwave. Generally for people who can walk, small amounts of walking are very good. For people who are bedbound, there's some stretches and stuff that can be done in bed. Be very cautious about exercises (or chores, errands, etc) that increase your heart rate. I've found I can generally handle 1-2 flights of stairs per day, but not always if I'm already having a rough time and 3+ in one day is pretty much always bad for me. Be aware that walking uphill is different from walking on level ground.

12. Break it up: oh, I probably should have put this way up higher, oh well. Often people with cfs notice they can do more if they do it in smaller chunks, eg 15 minutes of checking emails, five minute break, another fifteen minutes. Or do some of the dishes, break, then some more. Or not getting dressed right after showering.

13. Time of day: I can tolerate way more in the late afternoon or evening than the morning, for other people it's the opposite.

14. Sensory sensitivities: some of us are sensitive to things like light or noise, so things like keeping the lights dim, wearing sunglasses, or wearing earplugs can help. (I find having headphones play white noise/nature sounds actually works way better than noise canceling.) Be careful of socializing in loud places, following a conversation takes energy and it takes a lot more when there's a lot of background noise. Likewise for phone conversations with a lot of static etc. unfortunately trying to understand someone with an accent can use more energy (or I assume following someone speaking a language that isn't your first language), that can't necessarily be avoided but you can plan for needing more rest around it.

Hello my fellow cripples, how do I get diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome? I am almost certain I have it but would like to know what to expect when I go trying to get diagnosed with it

[mysterioushogwartsrequests]

Hello! Can I request an imagine with Draco and a Slytherin! Reader where they both are totally in love with each other and maybe one day in class Draco is being particularly needy/frustrated one day and she’s his partner and sees he’s super hard and she teases him but when class is over he asks the reader to give him a blowjob because he loves her mouth and he’s just so whiny and he later spoils the hell out of his girl at Hogsmeade!

This is literally SOOOO LONG!! I don’t know why I wrote so much, but I just really wanted to include all that stuff, lol. My excuse for the length is that I hit a 1,000 followers about two days ago so this is the celebratory piece! 

This goes without saying, but this piece contains a lot of sexual content so please do not read if you are underage or uncomfortable with said topics. I also wrote this in a different perspective because I wanted to try it out so I hope you enjoy!

Warning: SMUT, Oral (Male Receiving)

Title: Princess

                                                 ϟ ϟ ϟ

It was a warm summer’s day, close to the start of the new term. These past few weeks at Malfoy Manor had been tense and Draco often found himself rather stressed . A large part of him felt guilty for leaving his mother at home in the presence of Lord Voldemort, but another part of him felt grateful to be out of his sight. Finally, he could escape the Dark Lord’s watchful eyes, but he could not escape the plan set for him to complete.

Draco’s eyebrows knitted together as he squinted towards the merchandise wall inside Twilfitt and Tattings. Even when he was not around, Draco could still sense the Dark Lord’s influence and the constant reminder of the outcome if he were to fail. However, as he thought of better ways to mend the vanishing cabinet, something caught his attention.  

“Draco darling,” You called to him, stepping out of the changing room with a small smile on your face. Draco’s eyes widened in an instant, a lump forming in his throat as he examined the champagne dress clinging to your body. It was a delicate number with thin, spaghetti strap sleeves attached to the cowl-neck gown, the silk fabric shimmering softly as you stepped onto the podium.  

With a content hum, Draco pushed himself off the wall, his grey eyes locked with yours in the shop mirror as he walked towards you. He rested his hand against your waist, his fingers tenderly sliding down to feel the smooth silk against them, “You look ravishing,” he whispered against your ear, pressing a kiss against the shell of it before stepping back to get a better view of you.  

You smiled satisfyingly, taking a moment to admire the all-black ensemble he wore and how it slimmed him down in all the right places. He stood in a black turtleneck and a fitted suit jacket, his left hand in the pocket of his slacks while the thumb of the other swiped over his bottom lip. A string of questions crossed through Draco’s mind, “When would you wear this?” he thought, tapping his finger against his chin.  

Surely, there was no surprise ball this year, he would’ve heard by now. “Would you wear it on a date?” he questioned, imagining a scenario where the two of you ate dinner at a fancy restaurant, illuminated by just candlelight. “Even better,” Draco trailed off, his eyes lingering over your arse as you admired yourself in the mirror, looking over your shoulder to see the diamond detail that connected the open back, “What would such an expensive piece of clothing look like on his dormitory floor?”  

Draco recalled the conversation he shared with his mother a week prior, where she had counseled him after a particularly difficult day. Narcissa Malfoy had an interesting way of comforting her son. Of course, she sat and listened to him, holding him as he cried, a mixture of guilt and failure coursing through her veins as she fought against the Dark Lord’s plans for her beloved son. The next day, however, she entered Draco’s room with a smile and presented a brand-new wardrobe for him as a start of term gift.  

Pulling himself away from his thoughts, Draco gave a gentle smile and looked up at you, instantly meeting your hopeful eyes.  

“Oh, those eyes” 

“I’m not sure if I should get it,” You admitted, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout as you hopped off the podium and halted in front of the platinum-haired boy. Closing his eyes, Draco took a deep breath, captivated by the intoxicating smell of vanilla radiating off your body. An exquisite aroma, packaged in a —hand-blown— glass perfume bottle with delicate golden leaves painted onto it, finished off with your initials carved at the bottom of it.  

Another one of Draco’s thoughtful gifts.  

“And why is that?” asked Draco, his hand resting against the side of your neck, his thumb rubbing small circles against your jaw. The dress was cut just right, the tight, draped bodice granted him a wonderful view of your breasts, but he looked away to halt the tightening of his pants.  

“I’ve got no occasion for a dress like this,” declared a slightly defeated (Y/N), taking another glance in the mirror, “Well, we’ve still got the goodbye dinner with your parents” You recalled, running your hands down your hips, unintentionally catching Draco’s attention as he remembered the family dinner he had forgotten about. 

“That settles it then,” announced Draco in a chipper tone, “I’ll buy the dress,” he grinned, stepping towards his girlfriend, but halting by the display of diamond accessories. With a glance over the merchandise, he pointed at a necklace set with a pair of earrings, receiving praises from the shopkeeper. Taking the necklace from the older wizard, Draco walked over to (Y/N), “turn around,” he uttered and you happily obliged, watching him as he placed the delicate piece around your neck.  

“Draco-” you began to protest, but he only pressed a kiss against your cheek, clasping the necklace and letting his fingers linger at the back of your neck. The necklace was a breathtaking, diamond necklace with seven glittering emeralds spread evenly across the center.  

“The bracelet and earrings will do nicely as well,” Draco said, nodding his head in approval and signaling for the shopkeeper to begin ringing them up. You opened your mouth to protest again, but Draco placed his finger against your lips, “I believe you recall what I’ve told you, hm?” he teased, raising a questioning eyebrow as (Y/N) nodded, fighting back a smile, “Then, let Daddy spoil you, Princess.”  

There was no denying the power Draco’s tone held over you. His words shot straight between your legs, the feeling of his lips pressed against the side of your neck making you fall against him, finally becoming aware of his erection now pressed against your thigh. 

“Let's finish up so we can go back to the Manor,” you proposed, shifting your thigh ever so slightly to provide him with some much-needed friction. Draco bit his lip and gave a stiff nod, stepping away from you before you could tease him further.  

“Go change,” he ordered, the cocky smirk returning to his lips, “You’ve got five minutes.” Running back towards the dressing room, you peeled off the dress and stepped into your usual clothes, practically sprinting out of it once finished. After a hasty checkout, the two of you exited the shop hand-in-hand, the bag containing your gifts swinging in Draco’s other hand.

                                                             ϟ ϟ ϟ

This school year proved to be the most difficult one yet. N.E.W.T.s we’re now less than a year away and it was never too soon to begin revising. You, however, found it quite difficult to focus on school these last few days. Despite his constant reassurances that he was all right, (Y/N) found some of Draco’s recent behavior quite odd. This strange feeling first arose the week you stayed at Malfoy Manor, where the four of them sat cautiously at a table with Draco’s aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange. You had always had a good relationship with Draco’s relatives, but it was clear to you something was occurring under wraps, something Draco did not want you to know about. Noting his hesitation whenever you brought up the subject, you decided against prying any more information out of him and returned to your studies. Your dedication to academic achievement, much to your surprise, did not go unnoticed by the new Potions Master at Hogwarts, who had heard all about you and Miss Hermione Granger, the two top students of the sixth year.  

Horace Slughorn was a portly, older man, but very gifted with potions and an excellent Professor. Upon arrival, he sought out some of the school’s most promising students and invited them to his office for an elegant dinner. One morning, during breakfast, your owl dropped the intricately decorated envelope right in front of your plate. You had no chance to conceal the envelope from your curious boyfriend, the same one that had tried, without succeeding, to get invited to said dinner.  

However, to your surprise, Draco was not upset. Instead, he pressed a gentle kiss against your temple and muttered the words, “You deserve it, baby girl.” The pet name sends chills down your spine, a smile playing at your lip as his hand rests upon your knee, the cold metal of his rings easing any sort of tension in your body. His left hand rested against your jawline, his slender fingers twiddling with the pearl earring, admiring the small ruby motif encrusted right above the hanging pearl.  

(Y/N) leaned her cheek against his palm, setting the invitation down on the dining hall table, “Are you sure, Darling?” you questioned, taking the time to rest your hand over his, “I might not be able to fit it into my schedule...” you admitted, thoughts of Draco’s mysterious disappearances crossing your mind. Bringing your hand up to his mouth, Draco pressed a soft kiss against the back of it before leaning to press one against your lips.  

“I think,” he started, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes, “You should go show them what the brightest, most caring, and, without a doubt, sexiest girl in Slytherin House has to offer” Draco praised, giving your thigh a small squeeze before dipping to steal another kiss from you, “How does that sound?” He asked sweetly, showering you with yet another kiss, this one against your forehead.  

It was no secret that Draco Malfoy and (Y/N) (L/N) were truly and undeniably in love. Often, the corridors were filled with the incessant whispers of jealous girls who longed for Draco’s attention, but he paid no attention to them. The Slytherin Prince only had eyes for you, the only constant ray of sunshine in his life. Whenever he looked at you, he reminded himself of his vow to keep you completely satisfied, and the only reward he wanted was seeing that gorgeous smile on your face. You were everything to him. You were the only one who knew about his previous family troubles, the one who would hold him when he cried during the late hours of the evening. The one who would fix his tie the second it seemed out of place, the one who would rub his shoulders whenever you noticed him bent over his assignments.  

He would do everything and anything to ensure you felt like the luckiest girl in the world because he knew you, out of all people, deserved it the most.  

”You make an excellent point, Mr. Malfoy,” You grinned, nodding your head in agreement, and flinging your arms around his shoulders. A soft smile crept up Draco’s lips as his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly against his chest and placing a kiss at the top of your head.  

“Don’t I always?” teased Draco, running his fingers through your hair as the other students exited the Great Hall and made their way towards the classes. Rolling your eyes at his response, you placed your hand against his cheek, stealing a kiss from him this time and rising from your seat.  

“We should go,” you announced, stretching your hand out for him to grab, which he happily obliged, rising from the bench and escorting you to your classroom.  

                                          ϟ ϟ ϟ

 A week had passed since Slughorn’s dinner party, the memory of the evening still fresh in Draco’s mind as he tapped his fingers against the wooden desk. Needless to say, he was not particularly pleased with the events of last Saturday. One of Slughorn’s guests had taken quite the liking to you, practically undressing you with his eyes during breakfast hours, something Draco found incredibly disrespectful. He recalled the way Cormac McLaggen eyed you this morning when you bent over to kiss your boyfriend goodbye, skipping out of the Great Hall without a care in the world.  

Draco clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as his eyebrows knitted together, sparks of frustration igniting within him. Not only was McLaggen ogling you like you were his last meal, but he was also casually brushing up beside you in the corridors, shooting Draco arrogant smirks when they locked eyes.  

Oh, how he would love to jinx that insufferable look off his face. Yeah, that’ll show him.  

He should have been paying attention to Professor Flitwick discussing the proper hand movement for the Gouging Spell, but the thoughts of McLaggen badgering you when he was not around boiled his blood. In hindsight, it was a good thing he was neglecting this lesson because the prospect of gouging a large hole through Cormac seemed very appealing. 

You were particularly busy this week and did not have a lot of time to spend with Draco. Sure, the two of you bid your usual goodnights in the Slytherin common room, but your studying had kept you away from Draco. Due to this, Draco Malfoy was left very touch starved and found himself daydreaming of your earlier rendezvous around the castle.  

Draco turned his head towards you, his face relaxing at once as he watched you diligently taking notes, as usual. You had your bottom lip between your teeth, gnawing it softly as your quill scratched against the parchment. With a content sigh, he admired your concentration and wondered how a person could be that gorgeous. He was, truly, the luckiest man in the world when it came to you.  

He supposed that one could not blame McLaggen for falling for you- I mean, who wouldn’t? Any person would be swept off their feet if you entered the room wearing those silk dresses you were oh so fond of. Draco glanced down at those pretty, pink lips of yours, his eyes practically rolling to the back of his head as you parted them, tongue swiping over your upper lip as you added the final details to your diagram.  

Biting his lip, Draco forced his attention towards Professor Flitwick, but it was already too late. The thoughts of you, sprawled across his bed at Malfoy Manor were enough to replace his earlier frustrations with feelings of lust.  

“Stop,” thought Draco, closing his eyes to contain his feelings, but it was no use. Your lips made an “O” shape when you finally grasped the Charms concepts, making goosebumps appear on Draco’s skin as he shuddered.  

What he would do to have you begging for him right now.  

His pants grew considerably tighter and he couldn’t help but feel grateful towards the school uniforms. The robe he was wearing did a decent job at hiding his current problem, but he knew it would be noticeable when he stood. However, that did not stop him from hearing the way you called his name in the back of his head.  

“Please, Draco...”

“Fuck,” cursed Draco under his breath, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, a slight touch of pink dusting his cheeks. Unable to keep his eyes away, Draco looked back towards you, scanning the soft skin of your neck, and noting how awfully bare it looked. With his self-restraint wavering, he subtly slid down the bench you shared and rested his hand on your knee, something he did quite often. However, you did not question him until you felt his lips against your neck and a hand wrapped tightly around your thigh. Turning your head to face him, you were surprised to see him with his hand over his mouth, his eyes averted from yours as his fingers danced against the smooth skin of your inner thigh.  

“Draco,” you cooed, but the only response you received was a rather harsh nip at your neck, “Draco, someone will see…”  

“I don’t care,” Draco snarled against your ear, “I need this bloody class to be over…” He murmured in a much softer tone, his hand rubbing circles against your thigh and inching closer to your clothed heat. But once you turned to scold him, you noticed the dark, red blush that painted his cheeks and felt his hot breath fanning against your face.  

“Are you alright?” you asked cautiously, innocently rubbing your thumb against his thigh, but that only made Draco twitch in his seat, and his reaction suddenly lit the bulb over your head. Your lips curled into a smirk as your hand moved closer to the bulge on Draco’s pants, turning your attention towards the front of the class as you continued your movements.  

Luckily, the two of you sat at the farthest end of the Charms classroom, away from any overly inquisitive eyes. You were certain nobody would notice, if Draco kept his cool, the two of you would be in the clear.  

“Couldn’t even wait till class was over?” You tutted, delicately tracing your fingers over his crotch, and smirking as he shifted in his seat, “Be careful, I don’t want us to get caught.” You added, firmly cupping his erection through his slacks, a wide grin spreading across your face as he doubled down and hid his face behind a book he propped up. It was honestly quite surprising to see Draco this way. Usually, he would be the one teasing you to no end, but you were currently in control and that was enough to light the fire of your arousal.  

“D-Don’t stop,” Draco pleaded under his breath, biting down on his thumb to hold back a moan as your palm worked to release the built-up tension. Encouraged by his dick twitching underneath your hand, you quickened your pace and watched as he parted his lips, struggling to keep any sound from coming out. As his breathing grew more ragged, you felt his abdominal muscles tense up against your touch, indicating that his release would wash over him soon.  

Fighting to keep the small sense of composure he had left, Draco gripped (Y/N)’s wrist and halted her movements. It took him a minute to catch his breath, but when he did, he spoke in a low whisper, “Wait...” His eyes never met yours because if he looked into those beautiful eyes of yours, he would not be able to control himself. And although the prospect of taking you over the desk seemed quite promising, he did not fancy the idea of letting the rest of the student body see you bent over in such a vulnerable state.  

That was only for him, of course.  

“What’s wrong, Darling?” You teased letting your fingers trace over his crotch again, but he only clicked his tongue at you. Draco knew you too well, he knew you were only trying to rile him up again, but he could not let that happen, not right now. With adrenaline coursing through your body, you leaned towards Draco and let your breath fan against his neck before licking a stripe behind his ear, “Didn’t want to come all over those expensive slacks of yours, hm?” You murmured, gently nipping his earlobe, and taking his momentary lapse of strength to palm his erection once more.  

Draco gritted his teeth once again, pulling your hand away from his pants, “I said wait,” he growled, his lust-clouded eyes finally meeting yours, “You do know how to follow instructions, don’t you?” He asked in a much harsher, more desperate tone.  

“Depends on who’s giving them.” You replied sarcastically, placing your free hand on his knee with a smirk.  

However, Draco did not get a chance to shoot his response back at you. Once the bell signaling the end of class rang, he shot up off his seat and gathered both your belongings before taking your hand and hastily pulling you out of the classroom. A few students stared as the two of you rushed down the hall, blushing in embarrassment as you stumbled after Draco.

His hand gripped yours tightly, leading you towards the Prefects’ bathroom, and stuttering out the password once the two of you arrived. Flinging your book bags across the floor, Draco turned and stalked towards you making you step back until your back hit something solid.

“Think you’re funny, are you?” sneered Draco, pinning you against one of the cubicles, his thigh pressed firmly between your legs and his right forearm braced beside your head. Replicating your earlier movements, Draco dragged his tongue underneath your ear before taking the lobe between his teeth, making you gasp. “Why don’t we put that filthy mouth of yours to better use?” He cooed, blowing a puff of air against your ear, and admiring it as it turned red.  

With a sudden burst of confidence, you gripped his robes and pulled his face towards yours, breaths mingling together, “I think,” You muttered, leaning your lips close to his, “That’s the best idea you’ve had all day…” Looking up at his half-lidded eyes, you crashed your lips against Draco’s, fingers immediately tangling themselves in his hair. Draco returned your kiss eagerly, his hands cupping your arse underneath your skirt and pulling your body flush against his.  

You could feel Draco growing more impatient by the minute. His hands were grabbing desperately at your skin, squeezing every inch of bare flesh he could feel. Longing to have you closer to him, Draco slipped his hand underneath your thigh and hooked it over his hip, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. Your back arched off the wall, hips grinding against Draco’s as your tongues laced together in a heated kiss. Tugging at your tie, Draco reached to unbutton your blouse and pulled it open, exposing your bra-clad breasts.  

He pressed his lips against the base of your neck, biting and sucking encouraged by your moans beside his ear. One of his hands held your thigh firmly while the other kneaded your left breast, pulling the fabric of your bra down and taking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You gasped harshly, bucking into him, and digging your fingers into his hair, messing up the parts that remained previously neat. Draco rolled his erection against your soaked panties, smiling down at your face as his hands kneaded your clothed breasts, “So pretty,” he murmured, captivated by your flushed face and the shameful sounds passing through your lips.  

Your hands reached up to grab his face, pulling him down for another kiss. This time, using the momentum to switch your positions so Draco’s back hit the stall door, earning a small moan of surprise from him. Grinning up at him, you pressed your lips against his neck and slid your hand down the front of his body, cupping him firmly as you sucked the sensitive skin. 

Draco let out gasping breaths as you moved your hand, his fingers digging into your waist, “On your knees,” commanded Draco, trying to regain some sort of control over the situation. You obliged happily, dropping down to your knees and lazily running your fingers over his thighs before reaching up for his belt. After fiddling with the buckle, you took your time sliding Draco’s slacks down, purposely neglecting his throbbing dick hidden in his underwear.  

“Don’t be a tease,” snapped Draco, gripping your chin harshly, “Suck,” He commanded firmly, releasing you as you pulled down his boxer briefs. Draco’s thick length snapped up towards his lower abs, almost slapping you in the face when it sprung out of its constraints. Almost drooling at the glorious sight of his cock, you took it in your hand, running your thumb over the pre-cum leaking out of the reddened tip. Draco bucked his hips forwards, hissing at the light touch, and looking down at your concentrated expression as you slowly pumped your hand.  

Lolling your tongue out dramatically, you leaned forwards and gave the tip a kitten lick, earning a frustrated groan from Draco. Satisfied with his discomfort, you gave the swollen tip another kiss before taking his length fully into your mouth. He let out a strangled gasp in response, his eyes squeezed shut as you enthusiastically licked up his length. Sealing off your lips, much like a vacuum seal, you bobbed your head up and down his shaft, tongue swirling around it as Draco trembled underneath you, his hand over his mouth attempting to stifle the sounds coming out of it.  

Draco looked down at you, unable to control the string of low moans and grunts spewing from his lips. The sight of your plump lips stretching around his cock made him lose the few ounces of coherent thoughts he had left in his mind. Draco let out another strangled moan, throwing his head back against the stall door as you swirl your tongue around his shaft and use your hand to pump the base of his cock. His hand flew to the back of your head when you moved to take all of him in your mouth, your nose brushing the trimmed tufts of hair as you choked around him, the contraction of your throat making him groan out your name.  

With another husky moan, Draco balled your hair up into a ponytail and used it as leverage to thrust into your mouth. “Yes, yes,” whimpered Draco, his face flushed red and his breath caught in his throat, “Just like that, (Y/N)” he hissed, his grey eyes flickering down and meeting yours, making his roll back again as he pulled his lip between his teeth. Your fingernails dug into the back of his thighs, squeezing them tighter as he quickened his pace. You moaned around his dick, the vibrations sending a violent quake through his body as he face-fucked you, his climax only moments away.  

“Ah, you take my cock so well, Princess” groaned Draco, his pace stuttering, “You’re so bloody gorgeous” He sighed, his fingers delving tightly into your hair as you continued to swirl your tongue around the shaft, relaxing your jaw to let the tip of his penis hit the back of your throat.  

The sounds coming from Draco’s mouth had you soaking wet and yearning to feel his load shoot down your throat. Determined to finish him off, you moved your hand to fondle his balls, moaning with satisfaction as his cock pulsated in your mouth. His breaths grew ragged and the only sounds coming from him were small whimpers and grunts. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, his platinum blonde hair fell messily over his eyes, which were currently screwed shut as his face twisted with pleasure.   

Draco’s eyes fluttered open, meeting your eager ones for a second time, but it was too much. Cursing loudly, Draco’s pace grew sloppier and rougher, his body trembling as you fondled his balls once again.  

“(Y/N)!” He cried out as you gagged around him, thick ropes of cum coating the inside of your mouth as he came, hard. You struggled to swallow his heavy load, but you were adamant on taking every last drop, just how he liked it. Draco gasped as he caught his breath, his hand still in your hair as he gave your mouth two final shallow thrusts, pulling out as you licked him clean.  

With his chest heaving, Draco delicately placed his hand against your cheek and slid his thumb over your swollen lips. You press a chaste kiss against the pad of his thumb, the corners of your mouth curling up into a loving smile. He brought you back up to your feet, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all tongue before pulling away with a satisfied smile on his face.  

“You’re quite chipper now, aren’t you?” You teased, hitting him playfully on the shoulder as he pulled his slacks up, tucking his shirt back into his pants and shooting you a wink.  

“Yes, actually,” He retorted, his usual smirk appearing on his lips, “And why is that?” You asked, taking the time to button your own shirt, blushing as Draco stalked towards you. He placed his hand on the side of your neck, pulling down your collar to admire the angry, red marks that decorated it.  

With a small huff, he dipped down and sucked on the spot below your jaw, your knees buckling and hands gripping his shoulders as he bit down. Once he was satisfied with his handiwork, Draco pulled away, smirking at the mark that would surely be visible for days.  

“Because I’m the only one who gets to have you like this,” admitted Draco, pulling you into a hug and resting his chin atop your head, “Can’t wait until I catch McLoser drooling over you, I’ll make sure to remind him who he’s dealing with.”  

You laughed at Draco’s declaration, your arms tightening around him as you embraced, “Are you ready for lunch then? He could already be there” You teased, pressing a kiss against his nose, and pulling away to pick up your bag from the bathroom floor. Draco chuckled as you skipped back towards him, giving your behind a playful smack as you walked past him, “Don’t run off thinking I won’t return the favor,” stated Draco salaciously, catching your hand and pulling you back before you could exit the bathroom.  

You looked up at him with a curious expression, “Is that so?” You questioned with a grin, walking towards him, and placing your hand on his chest, “Is it something I should look forward to?” You asked, tilting your head to the side innocently.  

Draco laughed, raising his hand to cup your cheek, “Come to my room tonight at eleven, wearing that pretty little dress from Twilfitt and Tattings,” muttered Draco, his lips close to yours once again, “I’ll make it worth your while,” he winked, his fingers dipping underneath your skirt to swipe over your clothed core.  

Shivering under his touch, you blushed embarrassingly as he examined the slick now coating his finger, “All for me, Princess?” He teased, contently licking his finger clean and grabbing his own book bag, “Actually, I was thinking about McLaggen” you quipped, stepping out of the Prefect’s bathroom with a bounce in your step which Draco followed after, his eyebrows furrowed as he flanked you. 

“Careful, Love” warned Draco with a hum, his hand sliding into yours as you walked, “or I’ll have to teach that naughty mouth of yours another lesson.”

                                               ϟ ϟ ϟ

 Your four-year anniversary drew nearer, and you found yourself worried about Draco’s behavior yet again. He grew increasingly distant as the term progressed and you could not help but worry, despite his constant reassurances, stating there was nothing to worry about. This, again, left you feeling frustrated. You and Draco started dating during your third year and it had taken a while to break down his walls to understand him, but now it seemed like some of that progress was overturned. 

However, when he was around, he always made the effort to shower you with affection and ensure you were being taken care of. Draco knew your habits better than anything, he knew you would be questioning his behavior and launching your own investigations to find the underlying cause of it, but he could not let you interfere. He was already under fire for having ‘distractions’ and had promised the Dark Lord nothing would come in the way of his success.  

To keep you safe, you had to be left in the dark. It wounded Draco to see that distraught expression on your face when he came into the common room past midnight, sometimes even asleep, curled up on the couch waiting for him to return. He felt guilty for putting you through all this, but it was necessary for your safety and nothing was more important than protecting you.  

His nights were constantly haunted by horrifying images of you injured or worse, dead in his arms after some terrible mistake he made. These thoughts were constantly wearing him down, but he could not tell you, it was just too risky to involve you in this situation. This stressful internal struggle encouraged Draco to show you how much you meant to him.  

He wanted you to know that you were, truly, the most important person in his life.  

“Draco,” You whined with your hands over your eyes as Draco led you through the empty streets of Hogsmeade, “Can’t I just open my eyes? I’ve been to Hogsmeade plenty of times” you reminded him, but he only chuckled beside you, holding you by the waist as you walked.  

“I’m trying to surprise you,” Draco stated, rolling his eyes, “So why don’t you stop complaining and follow me.” He declared, pressing a kiss against your cheek, and leading you towards the clothing shops in the village. Draco halted in front of a large store window, looking up at the dress and envisioning you in them with a proud grin.  

“Alright,” he started, grabbing the hands that covered your face, “Ready?” He murmured, pressing a kiss against her fingertips as you nodded. Counting to three, Draco pulled your hands away from your face and stepped out of your view, letting you take in the sight before you.  

In front of you stood a tall mannequin wearing a floor-length shimmering, emerald green gown with small silver detailing the bust, “Wow” you muttered breathlessly, leaning closer to the window to get a better look of the design. The mannequin turned 180 degrees, giving her a better view of the open back and long train that followed the dress.  

“Do you like it?” Draco asked, looking down at his ring with a content smile on his face. 

Your eyes scanned over the glittering, diamond pendant necklace complete with matching water drop earrings, “It’s gorgeous,” you replied, looking over at your boyfriend with a puzzled expression, “Why do I get the feeling you’re up to something?” You asked, quirking your eyebrow at him as he laughed.  

“You know me well, Darling” Draco admitted sheepishly, leading you towards the door of the stop and holding it open, “I just thought, since you’ve been attending Slughorn’s dinner parties, that you would need some more evening outfits to show off,” He stated proudly, his hand against the small of your back as he gestured you towards the changing rooms.  

“Draco, I couldn’t possibly! You bought me one at the start of term!” You protested, grabbing his hands but part of you knew his mind was already made up. 

“You’re right,” He agreed with a nod, placing his hand against your cheek, “And I’m going to buy you four more today,” He stated nonchalantly, looking back at the four sets of the dresses brought over by the shopkeeper, “You better get started,” he urged, taking a seat on the ottoman in front of the dressing room.  

With a loving smile, you captured Draco’s lips in a kiss, “I love you” You said, squeezing his hand as he returned your smile.  

“And I love you most,” He replied, pressing a kiss against your forehead, and urging towards the dressing room, “Come on, I want to see how stunning you look in those.” Giggling, you ran into the changing room, winking back at Draco before sliding the curtain close and getting into the first dress.  

Several hours later, you and Draco exited the shop with four bags containing various dresses, jewelry pieces, and, even, a brand-new suit. After one final stop at Honeydukes, the two of you made your way towards the castle, treasuring the time you spent together and the memories you created while doing so.

[a-lil-perspective]

70 Encouragements/Tips For The Writer:

A/N: Rules don’t exist. These are real and personal and stem from a deteriorating, exhausted Writer who is here to tell you (and herself) that you are amazing and keep going. I hope you find some encouragement within.

Your mental health comes first and foremost.

Indulge and embrace your creative writing pieces when they come (and when they don’t). Especially when they don’t.

Suffering from Writer’s Block or fluctuating hyperfixation? Me too. So is your favorite author. Welcome to the Writer’s Block Party (all my uwus if you see the pun).

Did you spend five hours on this one segment, forget the last time you ate, develop chapped lips, dry eyes, and a stiff back (time to get up and move), bang your head on the wall, laugh, cry, fidget, take your ADHD meds, deviate to watch YouTube, have an epiphany, curse in frustration and wonder why the hell you do this to yourself? Congratulations, you’re a Writer.

Embrace all the not-so-glamorous sides of writing, and accept the fact they’re going to happen time over again.

When you say “just one more line” and it’s 2:00 AM, I’ll be here to remind you to “go to sleep” (because I’m also depriving myself lol).

Actually, sleeping helps your mind feel refreshed, and it’s good for your health. If you’re struggling with a particular segment, one of the best things you can do is just put a cap on it for the time being, put in a placeholder, and get some shut eye. I know you don’t want to. But you will feel so much better and have more clarity and energy to continue when you wake. Trust me.

More often than not, those words you “just didn’t write down fast enough and now forgot” end up revealing themselves to you later in a much more profound way. Give the words time to get ready. They’re just spiffing up before coming to visit. :)

Be proud of yourself and your prose. Writing is an amazing part of who you are.

That trope has been written 1000 times before? Make it 1001.

You’ve already written this scenario? Write it again.

You’ve just written a single sentence. Now sit back for moment and think: you just wrote something brand new, never before seen. Nobody out there will ever write that sentence or formulate those thoughts the exact same way. You are a unique, mind-blowing, awe-inspiring human being.

Bask in the excitement that comes with a completed piece. Reflect on what you learned throughout and celebrate the little victories.

Don’t be afraid to ask for feedback, but also understand that you might not always get it, and that is OK.

Please re-read your work. Be gentle with yourself. You had to write that very first piece to get to where you are now. Love the process.

Your personal writing success is not based off of kudos or likes or reblogs.

There is no right or wrong way to write.

There is no such thing as “good” writing.

Improvement is becoming of everyone so get comfy, strap in. The journey of a Writer is a lifelong one. Here’s to many more works ahead.

Don’t mourn the words you did or didn’t write. Celebrate the ones you will.

One day, you’ll read a piece that will blow you away—and it will be yours.

There is nothing “shameful” about reblogging your own writing works.

I promise you’ll find your “wow” piece—either in something you’ve already written, or something yet to come.

Baby. Please don’t write out of spite. You’re better than that.

You are just as valid/deserving as the next Writer. And you do belong.

If you feel sad/unworthy when sharing your works or interacting with others’, get to the root of why. Writing should be fun, rewarding, and relaxing. Not shameful, embarrassing, or a chore.

Writing (fanfiction, specifically) is labeled as “transformative works”. Self-explanatory, right? However, if you notice the transformative part begin to have a personal effect on you—a negative one—it’s time to take a step back.

Right now, I can name a single quality you possess: diligence. How do I know? Because you’re a Writer, and the two go hand-in-hand.

Got that single scene in your head but you haven’t completed or even began all the chapters preceding? Bruh. Jot that down right now. You don’t need 20k words beforehand.

Embrace your writing mood swings. The stray, sweet and condensed blurbie. The ideal, bridging drabble. The solid, substantial oneshot. The hefty, elaborate 10k word chapter. Appreciate everything in-between, and that you are capable of all of it.

Nobody remembers that extra word or typo or stray speech mark back all the way back in chapter 3. Tell the little monster in your head to go to hell.

You’re not a weirdo for making facial expressions and mulling through your dialogue aloud. You. Are. A. Writer.

It’s OK if the Readers can’t always see exactly what you envisioned in your head, or the full extent of the picture you painted. We all see colors differently.

Don’t be afraid to experiment with your writing.

In fact, challenge yourself to dabble into a new plot/trope/concept every day, even if only for a few minutes. You may discover you love writing it.

There’s no rush to finish/begin any written work. If you take your time, you will make your mark. You’re not falling behind or running late. Slow down and wait for it. :)

Three cheers for hiatus.

Listen to your body and mind, know your limits and when it’s time to take a break.

Actually take a break. :)

If you feel like you’re falling stagnant in creativity, looking to/revisiting other forms of creative media can help encourage the flow.

Ask for encouragement, and be at peace with asking.

Take shelter in fellow writers. Uplift each other always.

You are/will be someone’s favorite author. :)

You don’t have anything to prove. You have something to share.

Someone is thinking about your work right now.

Someone started a series because they drew inspiration from you.

Personal writing style can reflect a lot on the state of one’s mental health. Try to always be attentive to that of your own.

Self-validation must be cultivated early on or nothing will ever work.

Freestyle every once in a while. Write a snippet, timed, and go—without editing. Write the first thing that comes to mind and go from there. Do it all the way through the set time. When it stops, you’ll find yourself unable to. 3,800 words here we come. :)

Not everything needs an outline. :)

It is completely normal to write your story out of order.

Create guidelines for yourself. If they aren’t working, toss ‘em.

Word vomiting can help you feel better (it’s just how it sounds). By clearing all those jumbled thoughts and scattered concepts, you achieve a clearer objective. Try it sometime.

A rough draft is supposed to be rough.

Sometimes the words come to you quicker than others. Be patient. That is merely the construct of a Writer’s mind. You’re a beautiful enigma.

A sentence written is a story progressing.

Writing is an endurance sport. You must pace yourself and exercise it daily.

You are still a Writer even when the words aren’t on the actual page.

You’re not obligated to a writing/posting schedule.

As you progress in your journey and gain more awareness, don’t sacrifice your style. Those beginning works are what define you. Hold onto them and don’t ever let them go.

You’re the only one cringing—

Remember that sometimes words are elusive and you don’t always have control over them, and that is OK. Sometimes they write themselves. Sometimes your characters come to life and break out into dance across your page. Dance with them. You can wrangle them back when the music stops. :)

There is nothing condemning or embarrassing about asking for a beta. Allow someone to help carry the load.

Allow people to cheer you on—even if they don’t read your work.

It’s OK if your writing style isn’t someone else’s preference.

Be your biggest cheerleader. Sometimes you are all you have.

You don’t need anyone’s approval except your own.

You love that trope/concept/story you just wrote? That’s all that matters. The end.

You will never write good. You will write you. And that is good.

Above all else: remember to write for you.🤍

[angomay]

Thank you to @thelocalmuffin and @hardboiledteacozy for tagging me! The rule is to tag nine people (but please, don’t feel obligated) :D

Favorite color: It changes constantly, but right now i’m feeling light yellow.

Currently reading: I can’t read longer stories or books of any kind, so there isn’t anything in particular. I love to read shorter fics (mainly DGS - gen and ginasusa are my favorites) from time to time, however. On a side note, I’m very excited for Frankenstein Weekly 👀

Last song I listened to: Reckoning Day - Megadeth

Last series I watched: I finished watching Halo with my dad a few weeks ago. I’ll be saving the rant for another time. I’ve also been watching Spy x Family, but I need to catch up on the last few episodes.

Last movie I watched: The new Doctor Strange. It… was a Marvel movie, but we saw it in the middle of the night and got funnel cake fries, so it wasn’t too bad. Also… Sam Raimi (and Bruce Campbell).

Cravings: Now I’m thinking about funnel cake…

Currently working on: Getting a job 😔 I’m also trying to get back into the swing of drawing (and posting) since the end of school (along with graduation, job hunting and just being horrifically sick) messed up my schedule. It’s been pretty hard getting back into the rhythm of things. I also have an ungodly amount of ficlets floating around, but those may very well never see the light of day.

No pressure tags: @tigerhart @milftissaia @habblive @quillandink333 @nonbiriyani @prringlecan @notawesternspy @thenon-fictiondays @ardenarts

And anyone else who wants to! Feel free to tag me if you decide to do this :D

[softly-potter]

Little Love | Chapter 6: Week 20

Summary: When Wanda ends up pregnant a few weeks before their wedding, having an impending family shocks them both.

Pairing: Bucky X Wanda

Word Count: 14,401

Warning: some lovin’ married smut

A/N: Find the rest of the chapters here; Chapter 1: Two Lines | Chapter 2: All In | Chapter 3: Talking Bodies | Chapter 4: A Visit Before the Bells | Chapter 5: An Exchange of Air | Chapter 7: The Best Team | Chapter 8: Terrible Timing | Chapter 9: The After

-

Chapter 6: Week 20

Wanda had always been a light eater, picking at her food rather than eating it. But as her twentieth week approached, she found herself ravenous, finishing her plate every meal and sometimes requesting seconds.

Bucky was more than happy to oblige to her cravings, happy she was consuming enough food for herself and the baby. Upon his multitude of research, he’d found that it was a common method to eat five small meals throughout the day to insure a consistent flow of calories, and he was perfectly fine with constantly cooking.

“Good morning, husband,” Wanda said, grinning like a child as she turned to walk up behind him, looping her arms around his waist. “What's for breakfast?”

“Thought I'd try my hand at homemade waffles,” he replied, focusing on the bowl in his hands as he whisked. “Grab me the strawberries? Gonna put them on top.” Wanda made a delighted sound, speeding to the fridge and swinging the door open. “Hey, hey, slow down.”

While still small, she was larger than most women at twenty weeks, the fetus apparently growing quicker than a normal baby, and Bucky insisted she be careful with her movements. During her weekly appointments, Bruce had lightly broached the topic of labor induction, or perhaps a scheduled C-section, and while it scared him, Bucky agreed whatever was best, they would do.

Placing a plastic bowl of strawberries on the counter, Wanda peered up at him, beckoning with her hand. He chuckled and leaned down so she could kiss him.

“These should be done soon,” he said as he pulled back. “Why don’t you prop your feet up till they’re ready?”

“I was just laying down.” Wanda shrugged, brushing her hair from her face. “I need to move, just a little.”

He eyed her, but nodded. She was getting stir crazy, he could tell.

The moment he placed the whip cream and strawberry waffles in front of her, she dug her fork in, slicing the dough into smaller chunks and popping them in her mouth. Bucky folded his arms, leaning against the counter as he waited for her judgment.

She chewed thoughtfully, her eyes going wide as she leaned back in satisfaction. “Have I mentioned that I love you?” she sighed, licking the whip cream from her thumb.

Bucky nodded happily. “You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” he laughed, turning the faucet on as he loaded the dirty dishes into the sink.

Wanda pouted, taking another bite. “Say it back.”

“I love you, Wanda,” he said almost immediately, placing a cleaned plate on the sink. “Finished with your plate?” She nodded, so he took it from her.

She moved slowly to the couch, Bucky watching to make sure she didn’t land too hard as she sat. Sighing, she gave him a look, and Bucky tried not to grin as he recognized a new and tell-tale type of hunger in her eyes.

As he shifted about the sink with his back to her, he could hear the slight woosh that meant she was levitating. “Wanda.”

“Yes?”

“You know you’re not nearly as quiet as you think, especially to me,” he stated, still not turning around as he dried a bowl. “What did we say about levitation?”

He heard her sigh, nodding as her feet touched the floor once more. “Can you hear this?” she asked, and he shifted, listening.

Nothing.

Panic bubbled in his chest. He whipped around to her standing there, holding her breath. Her eyes crinkled as she collapsed into a fit of giggles and he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny. You got me,” he mused and she hugged him, her hands pressed into his back as he looped around his shoulders. “But please keep breathing, if not for my sake then for the little love.”

Her hands retracted from around his waist, instead settling on his lower abdomen. He tensed, and she raised her brows. “You’re flexing. I know you know what I want, so don’t be mean and tease me.”

He had to suppress a laugh. Leaning down, he grabbed her chin lightly, kissing the corner of her mouth. “I mean, it’s easy, sweetheart. All you want to do is eat, fuck, repeat.”

“Excuse me?” She scoffed, pulling away. “I-I could manage without you, soldier.” She was embarrassed about all her needs, and he found it adorable.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he hummed, pulling her back gently. “I don't mind, darlin’.”

“Even when I'm the size of a planet?” she quipped, and he rolled his eyes.

Dropping his hand to her stomach, he rubbed gently, gaze darkening just a little, just enough to make her focus. “Especially now.”

Her eyes grew large, and desire flooded his veins, wanting for her to invade his every thought. He picked her up easily, carrying her to their bedroom and shutting the door with a quick kick of his foot.

“Watch it,” he instructed, setting her at the foot of the bed. “You aren’t supposed to lie on your back, remember?”

She ignored him, standing to tug off the pants she was wearing. “Just strip and help me.”

He laughed, not bothering to bite it back, and he pulled at the sweatpants. “Aren't these mine?”

“Maybe,” she huffed, stepping out of them. "Mine don’t fit, you know with all your feeding and shit.”

“Language, ma’am. No cursing in front of the baby.” He smirked, tugging her panties down before tossing them to the floor. “And besides, I like it when you wear my clothes.”

“She's sleeping,” Wanda mummed, watching intently as he undressed her. “So we can be as naughty as we want.”

“That so?” He muttered, tugging his shirt over his head before gripping hers and pulling it up slowly. As he moved the fabric, he placed a light kiss between the valley of her breasts. “Side or top?”

Her pupils were blown as she looked at him, lust darkened, and he thought her mouth visibly watered as he pulled the zipper of his jeans. “Side.”

As he busied himself with his boxers, she moved to the head of the bed, laying lightly on her right side. He was right, she wasn’t really ginormous, but her labido was. Once naked, Bucky crawled to meet her, laying on his right side so he could face her. His hand gripped the edge of her knee before lightly tracing upwards, moving over her thigh, hip, and waist, moving to the center of her back. He could feel her heart racing, anticipation written over his features.

“Careful, hun,” he whispered, propping himself up on his elbow.

She didn’t get a chance to answer before his mouth covered hers. Surprised but delighted, she pressed into him as much as her stomach allowed and shifted her lips in a starving kiss. The past few weeks were hitting her like a time of fasting, and now she suddenly felt like she’d been given access to food and water again - and she was devouring him. Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his neck, gasping as he matched her favor.

He was constantly there, but sometimes she felt like he was so far away, so deep in his own head that it was harder to reach him. She just wanted to feel him, that he was alive and breathing as she scratched her nails in his scalp.

Bucky pulled her closer, pushing her shirt upwards, and his hands clawed over her spine and back, gripping at her ribcage as he bit down on her lip. He was breathing heavily, but she could tell he was restringing himself, fear of hurting the baby clouding his typical animal tendencies. Working his teeth down her neck, he found the spot just under her jaw, lightly sucking the skin. When he stopped, he spoke into her ear. “I remember the first time I fucked you like this.”

Her brain frizzed. She remembered it, too, the intensity of his eyes watching her as she entered him in a way she was unfamiliar with. She’d liked it, even if there was an emotional segment she hadn’t really understood at the time.

His hand dipped, gentle between her thighs as she took a sharp inhale, feeling him rub her in agonizingly slow movements with the lightest of pressure. Mouth falling open in the slightest, her thighs opened in welcome. She let out a quiet sound close to his ear and he pressed his face into her hair, giving himself a little more leverage as he murmured, “Wanda, I want every part of you.”

Her chest expanded shakily as she nodded, taking his face in her hands and pressing kisses to his lips. Perhaps he realized she wanted to lead the kiss because it wasn’t nearly as harsh as his initial one had been. His touches below continued to make her shiver in anticipation, pleasure creeping up the back of her spin as she pulled away.

“Okay, but…I want you, too.”

His response was simple, quick. “You’ve had me all this time.”

She could feel herself light up at the statement, his length hard against her thigh as he finally dipped his finger in. She could feel her slick against her skin, and she bit her lip to stay quiet, acutely aware that it was still later in the morning and their walls were thin; she didn’t want to give the neighbors a show.

His fingers moved at a luxisours pace, and she moved her right hand down before he could register, gripping him loosley. His mouth twisted, a grunt escaping his mouth as his eyes darkened.

“What's it feel like?” she whispered, stroking him slowly.

He shifts, trying not to buck his hips. “Inside?” He grunted, kissing her again. “Warm. So, so warm.”

Wanda was having trouble focusing, trying to keep a rhythm on him similar to the one he had one her, and when he curled his finger again, she couldn’t help the moan that broke free.

“There it is,” he murmured, breath fanning across her cheek. “Want me?”

Wanda nodded, eyes half lidded, and suddenly his fingers were gone. Dragging her even closer, both facing one another on their sides, he pushed her thigh onto his hip, slotting himself between her legs. She tightened her legs when she felt the soft intrusion, breathing shakily as he entered her.

Lifting himself slightly, her other leg under his body, Bucky began to rock. She could feel him holding back, his chest tight and arms rigid. A hand snaked into her hair, and his mouth found the shell of her ear. He began to speak firmly as he continued to thrust into her, the sound coated in immense pressure.

“You're my wife.” The statement was still a shock to her system. She might’ve blushed if her mind wasn’t so fogged with the way he was fucking her. “Say it.”

“I-I’m y-you’re--“

“C’mon, you can do it.” A pause. “I want to hear it.”

His thrust was slow, but digging deeply, just the way she craved, and Wanda leaned forward, burying her face into his shoulder. She tried to open her mouth a few times, but couldn’t find her voice, until she finally whispered, “I’m your wife.”

The orgasam was sudden. She hadn’t even registered that it was building, and she bit into his shoulder. He hadn’t responded to her claim, but the words caused him to deepen his movements, increase his speed, and it was like he was trying to fuse himself to her.

Her mind was fuzzy, blissful, but she kissed his cheek, his jaw, and murmured, “And you’re my husband…”

The hand on her hip dug into her skin, and he tensed his climax hit. He was breathing hard, hips moving raggedly as he slowed, the grip on her hip easing before her lips were taken again, and he slowly slid from her body, rolling her to her back and moving on top of her, shaky arms holding himself up as to not crush her body.

Wanda felt her legs tremble as she eased them into the mattress, and Bucky finally released her mouth, his forehead resting against hers.

Was the pregnancy making sex this intense? She hoped it never left as she breathed out slowly, lashes fluttering in exhaustion. She took a shaky inhale, and she was filled with him in every sense of the word.

Their baby would be strong, she was nearly certain, because the watered down version of the serum that she was experiencing was captivating; it was the only word that can describe it. She could smell more, feel more, taste more. It was amazing for moments like these, when she could feel everything in extreme sensitivity. She loved his scent, like a wafting of comfort that easily morphed to desire depending on her mood.

Bucky slid down beside her, dragging his knuckles up her thigh, to her hip. She was self-conscious, looking at her baby bump and his hand pulled her so that she was on her side once more.

“Was that okay?” she asked timidly, avoiding his eyes.

His finger hooked under her chin, pulling it up. His eyes were dark, squinting slightly. “Fuck yes.” His voice was husky. “Fucking perfect.”

She laughed lightly, cuddling closer. “Next time you choose the position.” He gave her a look like he’d even include himself in the propstion, and she rolled her eyes. “You choose because I'm asking.”

“I’m inclined to burn the world for you if you ask me, honey.”

She was happy at that moment, watching his old self emerging. This new, anxious version of her husband had been a hard change, but she understood; he was just protective. But she was overjoyed at his sense of relaxation.

[hxwks-gf]

ㅡ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ, ᴘᴀʀᴛ 𝟻 [ғɪɴᴀʟ]

ʜᴀᴡᴋs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛ, ғʟᴜғғ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ's ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʟ sᴍᴜᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ sᴏᴍᴇ sᴜᴘᴇʀ sᴜɢɢᴇsᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ sᴏᴍᴇ sᴡᴇᴀʀ ᴡᴏʀᴅs.

ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ғɪɴᴀʟᴇ! ɪᴛ's ᴀʟsᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏɴɢᴇsᴛ ᴏɴᴇ, ᴡɪᴛʜ 𝟺ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅs. ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴀs ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴀs ɪ ᴅᴏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ: ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ғᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ♡ 

ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ғᴏᴜʀ

“Let me go, I’m going to be late for work,” you murmured against Hawks’ mouth. 

He sighed and took your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down gently but firmly. “I’ll tell Endeavor you got caught up doing….secretary stuff.” His hands roamed over your hips and squeezed them. 

“Don’t do this,” you said, biting back a moan as he tightened his grip. “It’s my first day back. I still need to pick up his coffee.” 

Hawks freed you and sat back against the headboard, watching you walk around the apartment naked, picking out your clothes for the day. “What kind of coffee does Endeavor like? I’ve always wondered.” 

“Black,” you lied, peeking out from the closet. “He’s boring.” 

Hawks laughed. “Sounds about right.” 

A few minutes later you were dressed and putting your hair up. “You can stay here as long as you want, okay? Unless you planned on paying your agency a visit and actually doing work.” You shoved your tablet into your bag and slung it over your shoulder. “Will I see you later tonight?” 

Hawks gave a sly smile and shrugged. “You just can’t get enough of me, can you?” 

You playfully swatted his exposed thigh and leaned over him. He gazed up at you with half-lidded golden eyes, still alight with lust and desire for you. Part of you would’ve given an arm and a leg to stay there with him, but your leave of absence was up. Endeavor would be expecting you. 

“Maybe I’ll swing by the office and pay you a visit,” Hawks murmured, tilting his chin up for a kiss. 

You happily obliged, loving the way his mouth molded perfectly with yours. As a tease, you pushed your tongue deeper. He groaned beneath you and his hands found your body again, fingers digging into your clothed hips. 

“If I don’t see you there, you better be here waiting for me,” you said against his mouth, feeling his smile through the kiss. 

“Anything you want,” he breathed. 

You leaned back with a satisfied smile. “You’re all I want.” 

“It’s nice to have you back in the office, [Y/N],” Endeavor greeted you as you slipped through the mahogany doors. He was seated at his desk, a passive expression of stoicism on his face. “How are you feeling?” 

It was almost impossible to hide the glow that illuminated your cheeks from your little stay-cation with Hawks, but you simply shrugged. “I’m feeling much better, thank you. I brought your coffee.” 

He visibly perked up as you neared his desk and placed his cup in front of him. 

“One caramel iced coffee with an extra shot of vanilla and extra whipped cream,” you announced, pushing it towards him. “Just as you like it. I also convinced them to give me an order of that ichigo daifuku you love.” As you spoke, you handed him the wrapped dessert with a smile. 

“T-thank you,” he said uncomfortably, taking the coffee and the dessert bag. 

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” you said, rolling your eyes and turning away from him. 

“What secret?” 

“That you, the intimidating and formidable #1 Pro Hero, is secretly obsessed with sweets. The press would have a field day with that little tidbit.” 

“Tch,” he grunted, unable to hide the embarrassment flushing his cheeks. “Who cares what kind of coffee I drink? Is that what the media finds interesting these days? Is this the new low that journalism has stooped to?” 

“Alright, alright—no need to stoke your flames,” you said, moving over to take a seat at your desk. “You of all people should know that the media doesn’t care about real issues.” Your computer powered on and you began to sort through the daily onslaught of reports, paperwork, scheduling, sipping your own cup of coffee quietly as you worked. Every few minutes Endeavor would answer his phone, but aside from that, the office was quiet and peaceful. 

That is, until the double mahogany doors slammed open with a flurry of brilliant crimson feathers, knocking against the elegant walls and making you jump in surprise. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Endeavor snapped, getting to his feet. 

“I was in the area and I thought I’d swing by to pay you another visit, big guy.” 

Your stomach did flip after flip as Hawks’ voice filtered through the room with its playful, taunting lilt. You couldn’t hide the blush that crept in your cheeks as you watched him saunter over to Endeavor’s desk from over the top of your computer screen, trying to keep your composure calm. The memories of his hands running over every inch of you slipped into your mind, and you shifted awkwardly in your seat. 

His golden eyes flickered over to you. “Glad to see you’re back in the office, [Y/N].” 

“T-thank you,” you said, swallowing your nervousness. 

“What do you want, Hawks?” Endeavor crossed his arms and glared at him. “You can’t keep showing up in my office unannounced. It’s unprofessional and annoying.” 

Hawks placed a hand over his chest and puffed out his bottom lip. “You wound me, Endeavor.” He dropped his hand and grinned. “Actually, I’m not here for you. I’m here for your secretary.” 

“I’m not his secretary,” you called from your desk. “I’m his assistant.” 

“Right, right,” Hawks replied, waving his hand dismissively. “Well, whatever you are, I need you for something. Do you mind if I borrow ‘em for a bit, big guy?” 

“Don’t call me that,” Endeavor growled, but seated himself. He looked to you, as if silently waiting for your input. 

“Oh, uh—sure,” you said, scrambling out of your chair and walking towards the door. Hawks gave Endeavor a mock salute and guided you out of the office. 

“Don’t be too long,” the flame hero ordered from his desk as the door was closing. 

Hawks chuckled. “[Y/N] will be back before you know it.” With that, the mahogany doors clicked shut and he turned to face you, wearing a grin that stretched from ear to ear. 

“What are you doing?” you asked him, crossing your arms. “You know I have to work.” 

“I know,” he said, and he gestured for you to walk with him down the long stretch of hallway. “You ‘re employed at a hero agency. And now you’re meeting with—” He pointed at himself with two thumbs with mock surprise, “—wow, a pro-hero. Sounds to me like you’re doing your job perfectly.” 

You stared at him, taking in his handsome face and golden eyes, windswept hair and magnificent wings—you wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day with him. But reality set in, and you knew his little charade of doing work would end soon, and you would have to return to your desk. “Did you come to rescue me from paperwork?” 

“Something like that.” His arm shot out and wrapped around your waist. Before you could open your mouth to remind him that you were at work and this was wildly inappropriate, he was pulling you into one of the supply closets that lined the hallway. It was dimly lit and the smell of cleaning solutions clouded your nostrils, but all of that was momentarily forgotten after he roughly pushed you against the shelves stocked with various supplies and shoved his tongue inside your mouth. 

You moaned against his lips and slid your hands up his chest to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to you. The cold metal of the shelf dug into your back. His own fingers were snaked tightly around your waist as he kissed you fervently and passionately, little grunts and sighs escaping him every few seconds. 

“This is what you call work?” you mumbled into his mouth, and he responded with a sinful chuckle, his grip around your waist pulling you tighter against him. 

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re executing a mutually beneficial transaction with a fellow pro-hero for the agency,” Hawks murmured, dipping his head into the crook of your neck and peppering you with kisses. You tipped your head back and let it rest against the shelf as he marked you with his teeth. 

Your fingers traveled up and tangled themselves in his hair, trying to keep as quiet as you possibly could. “Easy,” you hissed, “I can’t go back with hickies, alright?” 

He responded by sinking his teeth into your shoulder with a growl. “Stop bossing me around.” 

Oh. Oh. You felt the earth beneath your feet give way at his words, and you clung to him for dear life. The unbearable pressure between your thighs was growing stronger and stronger with every kiss, every bite, every groan—you were this close to saying ‘fuck it’ and let him have his way with you right there in the supply closet. You pushed your knee into the bulge growing in his pants and he shuddered. 

“Careful, kid,” he groaned, leaning back to look at you with glinting eyes. “Or we’ll find ourselves in some hot water.” 

“You can’t just come into my office and push me into a supply closet to make out with me, and not have me begging for more,” you whined, pouting your lip. 

Hawks grinned and traced your puffed lip with the tip of his finger. “Trust me, songbird—there’s nothing I’d want more than to rut you like a beast right here on the concrete floor.” 

You took a shaky breath. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.” 

“But,” he said, winking at you, “I have a sneaking suspicion that you wouldn’t be able to control yourself, and the whole building will hear you screaming my name.” 

You rolled your eyes at his cockiness and placed a hand in the center of his chest, gently pushing him away. “You speak very highly of yourself.” 

“I seem to recall you getting quite loud the past few nights,” he said, making a show of tapping his finger to his chin. “Unless, of course, you don’t like it when I shove my face between your thighs.” He teased the outside of your dress pants with the tip of his middle finger, earning a pained moan from you. “Or when I pressed you up against the wall of your shower. You seemed to like that very much.” 

“So did you,” you shot back with a glare. 

“Touché,” he replied. Hawks leaned forward and kissed you again, but this time it was slower. Sweeter. He cradled your cheeks in his hands, as if you were a fragile and delicate little flower that would fall apart with even the slightest amount of force. But he still left you dizzy and aching for more when he pulled away. “You should probably get back to your desk, before someone comes looking for you.” 

“Right,” you murmured. The taste of him lingered in your mouth. “Did you even have any real business here today?” 

“I’d call this business,” he grinned, reaching out to fix your shirt that had fallen askew. His fingertips left a trail of fire in their wake across your bare skin. “And, as always, it’s been a pleasure doing it with you.” 

You playfully smacked him on the shoulder and pushed him out of the supply closet. After a split second, you decided to grab a handful of bleach bottles, as not to draw attention to the two of you coming out together. Once out in the hallway, you quickly scanned up and down and breathed a sigh of relief when you saw no one around. 

“Nice cover,” he commented, nodding to the bottles in your arms. 

“Shut up,” you said, sticking your tongue out at him. “I hope you realize that if we had been caught, I would’ve been fired. And you would’ve made the front page of the news.” 

“Not the first time,” Hawks said as he shrugged nonchalantly, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

You nearly dropped the bleach as you stared at him. “Excuse me?” God, how could you have been so stupid? He was the #2 hero, for fuck’s sake, he probably had a whole line of girls waiting for him. “You mean to tell me this is something you normally do? Are there any other doe-eyed assistants that you take into dark supply closets and—and—”

“Hey, whoa!” He placed his hands on your shoulders to steady you. “Take it easy, kid. I didn’t mean it like that—I meant it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve made the front page at all. That’s it.” 

“Oh,” you said softly, blushing furiously. “I’m—I’m sorry. That was….really rude of me to get angry like that, we’re not even...”

“Not even what?” 

You looked up at him and frowned. Were you about to have this conversation already? “I mean—are we...are we like—a thing?” You kept your voice low, but you couldn’t help fear that someone, somewhere, was listening. 

Hawks’ expression softened and he smiled. “I would pull you in for a kiss right now, but we’ve lost the safety of our supply closet. I guess I owe you one later.” He stared down at his feet. “I really want to keep seeing you, [Y/N]. I like you—you’re genuine, kind, and you’re able to deal with Endeavor. That’s a feat in and of itself.” 

“I sense another ‘but’ coming,” you quietly replied. 

“But,” he chidingly said, tapping a finger to the center of your forehead, “there’s a few things we need to talk about before we take that next step. And trust me—I really, really want to take that step with you.” 

You swallowed nervously. “That...doesn’t make me feel any better.” 

He glanced around the empty hallway and noticed a blinking camera hidden away in the corner. Hawks effortlessly lifted his wings up like he was stretching them, a seemingly innocent act. However, once the camera’s view was blocked, his head swooped in and placed a quick, sweet kiss to your lips. Before you had time to react, he was already pulling away and retracting his wings, making a show of rolling his shoulders like he really was just stretching them. 

“I’ll be at your place later,” he murmured, blinking his golden eyes lazily. “And we’ll talk.” 

There was a heaviness in the air as you walked back to your apartment after work. While there were still various people milling about, you kept a tight clutch on some pepper spray hidden in your pocket. 

You had no idea why you were so nervous to see Hawks again—it wasn’t like he left the office earlier on sour terms. He had been incredibly sweet and understanding—maybe that’s why you were so anxious. They’re always super nice right before they break your heart. 

You unlocked your front door and dropped your keys and bag on the kitchen table. The living room was empty, and so was the bathroom after you poked your head inside. It was early in the evening, the sun was still setting—maybe when he said “later”, he meant really later. As you milled around the apartment, you wondered how late he usually got off work. Would this be a normal thing, waiting for him to come home to you? 

You sighed and shook your head. You really needed to get a grip—you had only just started seeing him, you couldn’t be thinking about living together already. 

A clatter arose outside on the patio, startling you. It sounded suspiciously like one of your terracotta planters cracking open on the ground. 

You made your way to the terrace and pushed the glass door open. Sure enough, the patio was covered in soil and the remnants of one of your precious plants—and Hawks, standing over it, looking absolutely horrified. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” he cried, kneeling down and pushing the soil into a pile with his hands. He feebly picked up one of the stems, only for it to fall limply to the side. He looked up at you with pleading eyes. “I’ll replace it for you, okay? I’m so sorry—” 

“Hey, it’s alright,” you reassured him, getting down on your knees to match him. You reached out and stopped his hands from making even more of a mess. “You think this is the first time a plant has been knocked over? It happens all the time.” 

“You’re not mad?” 

“Why would I be mad? You didn’t do it on purpose.” 

“I flew in too fast,” he sheepishly admitted, wiping the dirt from his palms. “I really should slow down.” 

“C’mere,” you said, getting to your feet and holding a hand out to him. He took it and followed you into the living room. “Tell me what’s going on.” 

“Right,” he murmured as he shimmied out of his coat and took his boots off by the door. You seated yourself on the couch and watched him carefully, the way he started pacing the floor and rubbing the back of his neck. After a few minutes of silence, he got up and closed the patio door. “Where’s your cellphone?” 

“What?” 

“Your cellphone,” he repeated, holding out his hand. 

You fished it out of your pocket and placed it in his outstretched hand with an eyebrow cocked. “What do you need it for?” 

He studied it for a moment before promptly wrapping it up in a blanket and putting it in the bathroom, mindfully closing the door behind him. “Just to be safe. What I’m about to tell you can never leave this room. Do you understand me?” 

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “Hawks...you’re scaring me. What’s going on?” 

“Do you understand me?” 

“Y-yes,” you whispered, wringing your hands in your lap. “I won’t say anything to anyone, I promise.” 

Hawks knelt in front of you on the floor and shifted his wings to make room. His eyes were dark as he looked up at you, and then he suddenly rested his head in your lap. Instinctively, you began to run your hands through his hair, and a soft, pleased noise began emanating from his chest. 

“My real name is Keigo. Keigo Takami.” 

Your hands stilled in his hair. “What?” 

“I work for the Hero Public Safety Commission.” 

“The HPSC? I work with them all the time. Why is this such a big secret?” Your fingers resumed stroking his hair. 

“Along with hero work, I also...work undercover for them.” 

“Like a spy?” 

Hawks sighed into your lap, and you could feel how tense his jaw was. “More or less. I’m at their beck and call to do their dirty work. I have been ever since I was a kid.” 

“Are you serious?” Your hands stopped moving again. “That’s why no one knows your name. Is that also why you shot up the charts so quickly?” 

“Yeah,” he replied, voice muffled by your lap. “I wanted to try and get out, and I figured starting up my own agency would free me from them. But it didn’t.” 

“I see why you warned me at first,” you murmured. “But...this doesn’t change the way I feel about you. Not in the slightest.” 

Hawks picked up his head and looked at you with those golden eyes, now shining with tears threatening to spill. He looked so scared. Vulnerable. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. If the wrong people got their hands on this—you’ll be in danger. And if the Commission ever found out I jeopardized my cover….they’ll be much worse.” 

“So why me?” you found yourself asking. “Why did you pick me, out of everyone else?” 

He blinked, and the tears fell over his cheeks. “Because you hit me in the face with a door.” 

That was not the answer you were expecting. Your confusion must have been evident on your face because Hawks propped himself up on his elbows and slid his hands along your thighs, a ghost of a smile on his face. “That day in Endeavor’s office, after the door had hit me and I looked into your eyes—I knew. It was like everything clicked, and something deep in my mind screamed at me: ‘that’s the one’.” He stopped and rested his forehead on your lap again, his fingers digging into your thighs. “I think it’s because of my Quirk. I’m prone to animalistic habits, and I’m able to pick up on things certain people can’t. I’ve never felt so strongly about someone before in my life.” 

You were at a loss for words. But deep down...you knew exactly what he was talking about. Animal quirk or no, you felt the same way he did. It was primal. It was written so deep inside of you, it was almost forgotten—but that one chance encounter with him had catalyzed it. Everything made sense. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you softly asked him, your hand gently urging him to look up at you again. Your thumbs wiped away the stray tears that lingered on his cheeks. 

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life,” Keigo whispered. “But I need to know if you want to do this.” 

You slid down off of the couch and knelt in front of him, your knees touching his. You held his face in your hands and pulled him to your lips, kissing him slow and sweet and gentle. He trembled under your touch, but his hands wrapped around your waist and he kissed you back, gasping into your mouth and shuddering as he pulled away. 

“I’m sure,” you said firmly, and he wasted no more time pulling your lips back to his. 

Three months later

“Hey, hey—you know you have to chew your food before you swallow it, right?” you chastised, pointing your fork at your boyfriend. “Do you want to choke?” 

“I know, I know,” Keigo said through a mouthful of chicken. “But I gotta hurry and get back to the office, I’ve got a new round of interns to train.” 

“Lucky them,” you teased, resuming your lunch. 

The two of you sat together in your office, enjoying each other’s company and watching the flurries of snowflakes fall over the winter city. He had brought a bucket of fresh fried chicken—his favorite—along with a steaming cup of tea, just for you. 

“Alright, I gotta fly,” he said as he wiped his mouth and got to his feet. “I won’t be too long tonight. Leave the back door unlocked for me, yeah?” 

“Always,” you murmured with a lazy smile, tilting your face up towards him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and ruffled the top of your head. “Be careful in the snow. The forecast says it’ll storm again later.” 

“You worry too much, baby bird,” Keigo chuckled, endearingly tapping the center of your forehead. “I love you.” 

Despite the cold outside, you felt warmth spread throughout your entire body. “I love you, Kei. More than anything.” 

You guided him to the glass doors that lead out to your office’s own private terrace, where he was able to fly in and out as he pleased. Your office. You had been promoted by Endeavor himself, and as a gift, he gave you your own space that was linked to his. 

The frigid air swept through the room as Keigo opened the door, little snowflakes already getting trapped in his unruly hair. He turned around and kissed you one more time before climbing up over the balcony and launching himself over the edge. A few moments later he came swooping back up with an excited whoop, his beautiful crimson wings a stark contrast to the white snow covering the buildings. He gave you a little wave, and disappeared into the clouds. 

You held your cup of tea tightly to warm your hands as you stood by the window, staring after him. He was the light of your life it seemed, for the last few months. You both had understood the risks of your relationship and still opted to keep it a secret, but that didn’t stop you from stealing kisses and eating lunches in your office together, or surprising him with “paperwork” at his agency. Everything felt right, and you knew that no matter what life threw at you—as long as you had Keigo, everything would always feel right. 

You smiled at the thought and turned back into your office, seating yourself at your desk again and resuming your work. 

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: @hyperfixation1 @a-monsters-love @heydae20​ @witchxlove​ @brownskinnedgirll @amethyst-rose-17​ @saqqhire-xo​ @olsenholic​ @cowward​ @hauntedclaudio @biscuitbean22 @insecurepirate​ 

[scandeniall]

falling in love

Pairing: sakusa x reader

Warnings: none for once ??? Usual college/aged up

A/n: Yeah it’s almost 3am and I just soewed this out. Idk if it even makes sense but I wanna be in luv with him lol. Also; the references to no limit to you (bc even months later it’s still top 3 one of my fav things I’ve ever written)

Falling in love with sakusa is slow and steady. Its weeks of being an acquaintance and friend of a friend. You were friendly enough, considerate of his space and that he wasn’t the most outgoing guy in the world. Paying attention when he made his way into the conversation as you all sat at a group dinner. It’s the not shoving your social media in his face unlike other people trying to get a highly sought after athlete to follow them.

It’s months of getting to know one another as friends ignoring the tiniest spark whenever you two would meet up for lunch. So tiny, it could’ve been a hallucination. Getting his number one night as the two of you found yourselves outside of a party (one he’d been forced to go to and wanted nothing more than to leave), the rest of your friends having the time of their lives on the dance floor. At that point he’d watched you and got aquatinted enough to know that you were relatively genuine. He’d detected no ulterior motive. Late night texts were his thing. After a busy day of classes and practice, where he’d remembered you’d texted a joke the day before. He’d shoot a quick apology for his poor conversation and offer his own meme as consolidation.

It was just over a year of knowing one another that it’s the first time as friends he felt nervous to hang out with you and couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. It wasn’t a date by any means, just a mutual friend’s birthday dinner. He’d offered to pick you up as an apology for his horrible texting one week in particular citing that it was on the way. It was the first time you’d ridden in a car just the two of you and the way you offered a breathless greeting and apology for taking so long to come out (thus putting you two behind schedule, something that had garnered the tiniest bit of annoyance) had his own breath caught in his throat. He’s not even sure he uttered any real words when you’d complimented him.

It was at the end of the night, seeing you delirious with exhaustion yet as happy as ever, finally having a break from the reality of classes that his crush might’ve started. Your insistence that he texted you when he made it back home safe and the fact that you even stayed up to make sure he did stirred something inside of him.

It was something he’d pushed down. ‘It was only because of the atmosphere’ is what he tried telling himself. Yet he couldn’t shake the way he actually enjoyed hanging out with you in a way that was different from hanging out with Komori or his teammates out of obligation. At some point the two of you began studying together and that unveiled a new layer of yourselves to one another.

You learned that he needed nearly complete silence to study and he had to force himself to not focus on the tiniest muffle coming from your earbuds. He learned that when you began to stress to got extremely fidgety and would have to shoot you a look whenever you clicked your pen one too many times. Sometimes you’d have to break from the libraries harsh fluorescent lighting because he worked best there on the quiet floor. The compromises you made as friends in even school were because there was something oddly comforting about the presence of one another when studying. For you, it was how studying with him actually forced you to be productive and not get distracted like you’d do with your own friends. For him, it was the sheer comfort of having someone there, someone who didn’t try and talk with him and ultimately let him be.

It was early into your third year of college when he finally asked you out. At this point you’d been friends for nearly two years and sitting on feelings for at least a year. It was a simple date, takeout from a place the two of you mutually agreed on and a movie at his place. A clean spot for his first date with you. The date had been nothing special but you’d gotten to truly witness first hand just how meticulous his cleaning habits were in his own personal space.

Of course in the time you’d known him, you’d seen his cleanly nature in action. It’d manifested itself in the the mask he frequently wore and the hand sanitizer he carried often. You’d always noticed the way he glanced at public tables and admired the fact that he was never too shy to ask for a different one at a restaurant when it was obvious that it had hardly been cleaned in between guests.

His desire to immediately wash his dishes, and wipe down the table post dinner caused him to offer you an apology yet you didn’t care. The way you just wordlessly helped him confirmed that his crush was indeed real. When it got chilly, you didn’t feel obligated to cuddle up for warmth and even gratefully accepted the blanket he offered you, separate from his own.

In the nearly two years you’d known Sakusa, neither of you had ever initiated any sort of physical contact. Yes there was the occasional glance of one another’s shoulders to show the other something, but it’d always been platonic. That first date ended with the first of many hugs and a cautious look asking for permission to kiss his cheek.

That first date quickly turned into a second and third and fourth and fifth, the two of you sharing your first kiss sometime between the third and fourth. Itd been after one of his games, one your school had won. You’d waited up for him, the promise of boba on you if he won. Not that he really wanted it, but more so felt drawn to hang out with you. “We’re gonna win”

The kiss was quick and what others would have attributed to being “a moment.” It wasn’t unusual for silence to envelop the two of you. You’d been privy to many comfortable ones after learning to gauge when sakusa needed a moment to cool off from conversation. As the two of you just walked from the shop, drinks in hand and back toward campus he’d paused and asked to try something. Neither of you knew it, but inside both of your nerves were going crazy. The slightest shaking lasted the remainder of your time together unsure if the kiss really happened or if you’d just imagined it.

It’d been two months of dating exclusively before you two became an official couple. The kisses from there became more frequent but for some reason there was the hesitation to jump into anything official. So instead, the two of you spent that time getting to know one another in purely a romantic context.

At some point you’d joked asking when he was going to officially become your boyfriend.

“Do you really want me to?” Itd been a thought that had been at the front of his mind lately. He’d been trying to find the right time to ask as well, getting annoyed at the questions his teammates would ask about you in the locker room. He watched you intently analyzing your reaction to his words as your amused look turned serious than softened before you indicated that you really did. And so he asked and it became official.

It was the way that even after the honeymoon stage had ended that he still felt drawn to you. Even when you bickered about your room not being clean [enough] when he came over or about your annoying own clicking habit, neither of you wanted to bicker with anyone else. Even during your first serious argument that resulted in you admitting that you loved him his heart both dropped and swelled. He’d been the one to fuck up that time, the argument being quite heavy. That night he left with a kiss on your temple and a promise of seeing you soon.

It was the way that the days the two of you didn’t speak felt like hell to him. He was more irritable towards others and found himself stress cleaning whenever he could (something his teammates witnessed as he wiped down his locker for the 50th time in a span of 5 minutes). The usually cautious player may not have performed differently to outsiders, but when he didn’t see you in the crowd during the home game he was off.

Making up felt like a weight had lifted off his heart. He’d swallowed his pride and reached out first. Returning those 3 words for the first time had him feeling like he was on cloud nine.

From then the love between you and Kiyoomi continued to grow. It was never perfect, with the two of you always having something something to work on. But, it was you.

The day he’d revealed to you that he’d signed to MSBY post college was one of his favorite moments. The two of you had been at his hanging out when he’d given you the unmarked envelope. He’d watched your face go from confused to realization to excitement as you read aloud “we welcome your commitment to MSBY Black Jackals-.” It was one of those times he didn’t mind the camera you’d shoved in his face insisting that you were filming a once in a lifetime moment. He’d found himself smiling at the kisses your scattered over his face, ignoring what usually would’ve made him grimace in disgust for the love that overpowered it.

He’d considered the next step in your relationship for a while the question of asking you to move in with him ultimately flowing out of him at graduation. It was the start of a new journey and he wanted you by his side.

Moving in was no easy feat. Learning to live with another person and their habits got to the two of you at times but you were determined to stick it out. Once the initial struggles faded, and you’d gotten into the swing of things he was met with a different kind of love. The love of a domestic life with you. Love was never easy, and potentially being harder when you were young. Yet you’d waited it through. Slowly built a friendship and the foundation of something great. Sakusa has no intentions in proposing anytime soon, yet knew for a fact that he wanted you and you want him.

a/n: i honestly coulve kept going but uh i gotta go to bed and this shit is long nough

[erin-bo-berin]

Growing Family

MASTERLIST

Woo I’m finally back to writing some! It feels like it’s been a lot longer than it actually has since I’ve posted a new fic. I hate to disappoint, but this is just fluffy daddy Spencer today, but I am working on a few new smuts that should be coming up next so stay tuned for those! Also shout out to @velventeenaries for coming up with some of the lines Rossi said when we were having a convo on this situation. Thus, the inspiration for this fic was born. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: G (fluff)

Word Count: 2,557

“Penny G at your service, how may I help you?”

You smiled at the familiar female voice that came through the speakers of your car.

“Hey Penelope,” you said.

“Y/N! My favorite non-BAU chica! What can I do for you, today?”

You chuckled knowing good and well the chipper, eccentric and kind hearted blonde was most likely swinging in her chair, twirling a feathery pen in her hands as you spoke.

“I was just curious if the rest of the team was back yet? If so, I wanted to swing by before heading home. I just got out of my doctor’s appointment.”

“Please tell me you have ultrasound pics!” Penelope’s voice grew in excitement.

“That I do,” you grinned.

“Okay, good. Yes, they’re here and you better be here in 5 minutes or less or I will hunt you down for those pictures. PG out.”

You shook your head, exasperated by the usual antics of Penelope Garcia. She was basically the fairy godmother tech analyst of the Behavioral Analysis Unit—the department of the FBI where your husband Spencer worked.

Just recently in the last few months, you and Spencer had found out you were pregnant. Being that it was yours and his first baby, the excitement was unreal but it wasn’t just limited to the two of you. The rest of the BAU were just as excited too.

Garcia was maybe on another level of excitement though. She was already planning on things to buy for the newest BAU baby. It had been almost four years since a new little bundle of joy had arrived within the extended BAU family. Rose Mary Simmons, the fifth and final child of team member Matt Simmons and his wife Kristy, was no longer a baby. She was speeding towards four and would be starting kindergarten in only a year and a half.

“You know I love all my godsons and goddaughters,” Penelope had told you, not long after you and Spencer had announced your happy event, “But I need more baby love in my life and thank God you’re having a baby. I will happily babysit any time you want.”

“Oh, Garcia,” you snickered to yourself, thinking back on the memory as you maneuvered your car through the busy D.C. traffic.

As you’d told Garcia, you’d just gone to your latest doctor’s appointment. You were about 15 weeks along and already showing more than you expected to, which peaked your curiosity. If you were to guess, you could easily pass for 5 almost 6 months pregnant, not barely 4.

You had planned to ask the doctor at today’s appointment if she was sure it wasn’t twins. You had a strong feeling it was. Being only 15 weeks though, you’d only had one prior ultrasound around 7 weeks—not long after you’d discovered your pregnancy and even then, the ultrasound had revealed only one heartbeat. Typically, an expectant mother didn’t have another ultrasound until around 20 weeks, obviously to determine the sex, but your doctor thought it best to check. If anything, it was possible that you were just carrying further forward than usual. According to Spencer—and the many times he’d told you this—it was extremely possible it was just the way your body carried pregnancy. You knew well enough that bump sizes varied greatly.

You’d hoped Spencer could join you for today’s appointment—one that had been scheduled last month—but unfortunately, he’d been away on a case with the team and was on the way home.

You told him you could easily reschedule, but he heard nothing of it.

“You’re going today. Just to make sure little one is okay. You can show me the pictures when we’re back,” he’d said to you, earlier that morning, over the phone.

You’d reluctantly agreed.

But now, you couldn’t help but smile at the little secret you had.

•

“There she is!” Garcia squealed, running towards you practically the moment you stepped foot out of the elevator.

“Hey, Penelope,” you smiled, embracing your friend.

“How are we feeling?” she grinned, pulling away to rub your bump, “Is it twins like you thought?”

You chuckled, knowing Garcia wasted no time in getting to the point.

“Well, about that…” you took her arm, walking with her into the doors of the BAU.

-

You’d filled Garcia in on the way towards the briefing room where most of the team had settled for the time being, just trying to relax after the trip home. If her huge smile was any indicator, Spencer would know before you could even get the words out.

“Whoa! If it isn’t baby mama Reid,” Luke grinned, coming to give you a brotherly side hug, “Wow, you’re enormous.”

Garcia’s eyes widened, swinging an arm out to hit Luke’s chest—hard.

“Ow! Uh enormously beautiful I mean. You’re glowing,” he tried to cover.

“Nice save,” you laughed, heading over to your husband, who was anxiously awaiting to wrap his arms around you.

“You idiot,” you heard Penelope mumble to Luke, “You never tell a pregnant woman how big they are.”

You bit back a laugh and melted into Spencer’s embrace. He’d been gone for almost a week and you’d missed him, a lot.

“Hi, baby,” he grinned, picking you up as he hugged you.

You bent your legs slightly as you were lifted a few inches off the ground and hugged his neck, tightly.

“Soon you won’t be able to do this,” you laughed, then waved to the rest of the team in the room, “Hi guys.”

You patted Spencer’s shoulder lightly.

“Spence, set me down long enough so I can say hi to everyone and not be rude,” you laughed.

He obliged with a grin, giving a quick pat to your bump and you went to hug Tara, JJ and Matt.

“What’d you find out?” JJ asked, “Spence mentioned you had a doctor’s appointment today.”

“Well…” you trailed off, nervously.

“Is the baby okay?!” Spencer asked, his face morphing into panicked concern, his brows furrowed.

“Everything’s fine,” you reassured quickly, “But it’s not just a baby,” you said hesitantly.

His eyebrows rose, looking shocked.

“It’s twins?”

“Not exactly,” you laughed hesitantly, “We’re having triplets.”

Spencer looked as shocked as you felt when the technician had told you the same news. To know you weren’t growing one baby but three.

He stood for a second, blinking at you in surprise. You were about to say something when you suddenly realized how pale he was. He swayed on his feet before falling backwards.

“Spence!”

“Spencer!”

“Reid!”

Everyone shouted at once, your shriek of his name probably the loudest. They all moved into action at once as you stood horrified, afraid something was terribly wrong.

Luckily, Matt had been quick enough to catch Spencer before he hit the ground. With he and Luke on either side, they managed to sit him in one of the chairs, his head lolling back.

“Is he okay? What’s wrong?” you asked, quickly at his side, not knowing exactly what to do.

“He’s fine, he just passed out, that’s all,” Tara reassured you.

You nodded in relief, taking a seat in a chair next to him, taking his hand. 

There was a commotion at the door and you looked over, seeing David Rossi running in—unit chief Emily Prentiss on his heels.

“What’s all the noise about?” Rossi asked, eyeing Spencer, “What happened?”

“Spencer fainted and Y/N’s having triplets!” Garcia exclaimed.

Rossi’s eyes flickered to Spencer once again.

“Nah, kid’s just sleeping. Making up for the next 18 years of it he’s gonna lose.”

“Dave,” Emily sighed, exasperated, coming over to bend down and hug you.

“Congrats,” she grinned, “Not only are you having triplets, but you’re the only person that’s made Spencer faint.”

You laughed a bit.

“Definitely wasn’t my intention.”

“He’ll be fine,” Rossi waved a hand.

Just as he said that, a groaning came from your right and you looked over, to see Spencer stirring.

“What did I tell you?” Rossi said, coming over to give his congratulations with a big smile.

“Bouna fortuna,” he grinned, giving you a kiss on each cheek.

“What happened?” Spencer groaned, his hand slipping from your grip to rub at his eyes.

“You just got the shock of your life, kid,” Rossi snickered.

“The last thing I remember is you saying triplets and everything went black,” Spencer said.

“Yeah, you fainted,” you tried to hold back your grin and failed.

“Are we really having triplets?” Spencer asked, eyes wide once again.

“I’m afraid we are,” you grinned.

His look of surprise quickly turned into one of excitement. He grabbed your face, kissing you hard, not caring about kissing you in front of the others. The rest of the team whistled, clapped and laughed, their joy just as huge as your own.

Rossi’s following remark made Spencer pull away from your lips and laugh. Your mouth curved upwards and joined him.

“Don’t forget! David is a great name for a boy!”

•

Everyone was gathered at your baby shower. You had been speechless when you first saw the amount of stacked diapers and wipes—along with at least 5 diaper cakes from different team members. You were sure that those would last maybe a week or two with three babies to change.

“Kid, come on! We’re a family! I’ll be grandpa Dave! We can get matching shirts that say Big Dave and Little Dave!”

You laughed, overhearing Rossi’s exclamations to Spencer, all the way from the food table.

Months had passed and your belly had grown exponentially. You could hardly believe that your body was capable of carrying three precious little babies.

Even though your belly was covered in stretch marks, your back hurt and your feet were swollen, you couldn’t be happier. You and Spencer would soon start a new chapter in your lives—a scary one, albeit exciting one too.

Only a few weeks after your reveal of the babies to Spencer and the BAU team, the two of you had discovered you were welcoming two girls and one boy. Ever since then, Rossi had been hounding you about naming the baby after him.

Unbeknownst to him, you and Spencer had already picked out names and were going to surprise Rossi after they were born. But due to his current banter with Spencer, you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold the secret for any longer.

“Rossi,” you grinned, very much waddling over to the two men, “You're incorrigible.”

“I know. It’s the Italian in me,” he replied, nonchalantly.

“Well, much to Spencer’s dismay I’m sure, you’ll be happy to know you’re getting your wish,” you said.

Rossi looked stunned for a moment. You were positive this was the only time in the years you’d known him that he’d ever been stunned speechless like this.

“We decided to name our son David Gabriel Reid,” Spencer beamed, “We didn’t want to cause any confusion on names, so we’re going to call him Gabriel, but he can still be your little Dave if you want.”

It finally looked like it had sunk in when Rossi pulled both you and Spencer into a big hug, smiling bigger than you’d ever thought possible.

“That’s perfectly fine by me,” he grinned, kissing the tops of yours and Spencer’s heads, “I’m gonna teach him to play ball and how to cook spaghetti carbonara.”

“Don’t forget, you’ll have two little girls to deal with too,” Spencer laughed.

“Oh don’t you worry. They’ll learn how to cook and drop kick anyone who even looks at them the wrong way,” Rossi smirked.

“That, I don’t doubt,” you snickered.

“Speaking of,” Tara asked, popping up in the conversation, “When are you going to tell us what you’re naming your three little geniuses?”

“Yeah, I wanna know too,” Luke piped in, also walking up to the now small gathering.

JJ, Matt, Emily and Penelope followed behind him.

“Well if you didn’t catch it before, Baby A—the boy—is going to be David Gabriel,” Spencer beamed, “After the best father figure, mentor, co-worker, friend and member of this crazy BAU family. I couldn’t think of a better name to give my son.”

There were cheers all around as everyone lifted their glasses of champagne—apple juice for you—and clinked them together in celebration. You couldn’t help the huge grin that spread across your face to see how happy it made the well known, lovable, David Rossi.

“What about the girls’ names though?” Emily asked once the noise had settled down.

“Well there’s a bit of a backstory to that before we tell you the names,” Spencer began.

“We chose Gabriel’s name together because we already knew we wanted to actually make part of his name after Rossi, but we each picked a name, separately. One for each girl. Spencer decided on a name for baby B and I, baby C.”

“It’s also kinda funny what we both came up with,” Spencer interjected.

“Before the babies are born, kid!” Rossi said, “What are the names?”

“Baby B is Abrielle Jade—a name Y/N said she wanted to name a little girl on our very first date.”

Luke whistled.

“I’d be surprised that you remembered that but then again, you’re you.”

“Believe me, I’d forgotten I’d told him that, myself,” you chuckled.”

“And the other little girl is?” JJ prompted.

“Spensa Rae,” you said, looking at Spencer, a twinkle in your eye, “I wanted to name her after her daddy in some way, but it’s unique enough to be her own name as well. Rae is after my grandmother, too.”

“Those are the cutest names!” Garcia squealed, “Perfect timing time to give you my present for little Gabriel, Abrielle and Spensa then.”

She hobbled off in a partial run—not able to move too fast because of the grass in the backyard and her high heels—and grabbed three gift bags. She came back, handing them to you.

“Open it, open it!” she beamed.

You laughed at her excitement, pretty excited yourself. You handed one bag to Spencer as you reached into one bag, then the second, pulling out two matching onesies.

You looked over to see Spencer pulling out a third matching onesie from the gift bag you’d given him.

“Read the front,” Penelope beamed.

Opening one, you saw it read Rossi’s Sous Chef #2.

You laughed, opening the other which had the exact same thing printed on the front, but instead of the number 2, there was a number 3. 

You peered at the one in Spencer’s hands, finding number one. 

“Penelope, these are great!” you laughed, showing Rossi the outfits.

“These babies are going to be so loved,” Spencer smiled demurely, his eyes shining bright with tears.

“They will have plenty of people to love them,” Tara said with a bright smile.

“Lots of arms to hold them and cuddle them,” Luke added.

“Hands to help change diapers,” JJ piped in.

“Lots of kisses and bedtime stories,” Rossi said.

“Plenty of kids to play with them,” Matt chuckled.

“And a godmother to spoil them!” Garcia beamed.

“It’s not just your little family growing,” Emily smiled, coming to stand in between you and Spencer, wrapping an arm around each of you.

She looked around at the team that filled the backyard on this wonderful, summer evening, all gathered to celebrate the miracle of life.

“It’s our BAU family growing, too.”

TAG LIST: @dreatine​ @reid-187​ @groovyreid​ @reidslibra​ @iamburdened​ @cindywayne​ @sundippedprincess​ @missprettyboy​ @hushlilbabydoll​ @sammy-jo1977​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @lemonypink​ @teamkiall​ @redbullchick​ @ifeelloved​ @one-sweet-gubler​ @nanocoool​ @delightfullyspeedyearthquake​ @unsteadyimagines​ @ughitsbaby​ @inkwiet​ @pennythetechgoddess​ @capt-engr-ssa​ @sixx-sic-sixx​ @spencersdolore @reidsstudies​ @disney-dreams-world​ @chocolatecalzoneherringbonk @mggwhore​ @andiebeaword​ @cupcake525​ @be-the-bravest​ @gretaamyk​ @hopebaker​ @prisonreid​ @httpnxtt​ @daviddoughboy​ @pastathighs​ @marvels-gurl​ @blushingspencer​ @simp-for-mgg​ @victorzsaszmydaddy​ @inlovewithamess @im-inlovewith-mycar​ @xshakesqueerx​ @queenofmischief​ @mattgraygubler​ @yeah-its-jackk​ @itsarayofsunshine​ @alexisparmentier @la-vie-en-amour1​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @itsmytimetoodream​ @saintd0lce​ @cherryxblossoms​ @jessaminelovelace​ @rainsong01​

[ri-ahhh]

could I request something where E is like editing but y/n gets bored and sits on his lap and starts to grind which ends up with maybe some punishments from E after he's had enough?

(my first E anything, this was a trip haha -- shout out to Pao @persistence-ofmemories, here’s your ethan smut lol)

You’ve been watching him all day. Strolling around the house shirtless with his AirPods in and sipping a smoothie while he conversed easily on continuous business calls. Hunched over his laptop answering emails. Sitting at the table with Grayson while they brainstormed new video ideas and Wakeheart promotional pitches. 

Something about businessman Ethan hit so much different for you. He’s not an overly serious person on the daily, but CEO Ethan doesn’t fuck around. When he’s on these calls, his voice takes on this timbre that’s deep and confident and self-assured. Leaves no room for argument when he knows what’s best for his brands. It makes you clench your thighs and bite your lip as you watch and listen from your perch at the bar where you’re doing your own work for the day on your laptop.

But he can also get extremely caught up in it, in the perfection and responsibilities that are required when you’re a self-made businessman. Sometimes it’s hot and endearing, and sometimes it’s frustrating. Tonight, it’s frustrating. 

You emerge from the ensuite bathroom in his room, dressed for bed in one of his t-shirts and squeezing some of the excess water out of your hair from your shower, to find him at his desk chair and on the phone again. You frown, checking the time on your phone. It’s after 10:30 PM, much too late considering he’s been doing this since around 8 this morning. 

You walk up behind him, leaning over the back of the chair and wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. You press a lingering kiss to his temple and nuzzle his cheek as you inspect what he’s working on. A still frame from their new video they’re about to post is on the screen of his laptop.

“I can’t decide if we should leave this part at 11 minutes in, bro. What do you think?”

You don’t know who he’s talking to, probably Ryan or maybe even Grayson; they have a habit of calling each other even if they're both in the house, rather than just get up and go wherever the other one is. You’re a little confused as to why he’s editing of all things right now, though.

“Babe, what are you doing? Isn’t this what you pay Ricky for now?” you ask, reaching a hand up to play with his hair. It’s getting so long, and you're not mad about it one bit.

Ethan glances up at you and puckers his lips. You oblige him with a quick peck, but you still expect an answer. He has a habit of trying to temporarily appease you when he’s busy and focused on something.

He sighs when he realizes you’re not giving up that easily. He puts the phone on mute, and you do indeed see Grayson’s name on the screen. “Ricky’s swamped, so I told him I had this one. It’s not too crazy.”

“You’ve been working literally all day, E. Can’t you come to bed so we can spend some time together before we go to sleep? I can’t stay up too late, I have a meeting in the morning.” 

Ethan hesitates, turning the phone speaker back on to talk to his brother through his headphones. “Hey, Gray one sec.” He mutes it again. “Sweetheart, this won’t take me very long, I promise. The video is gonna be pretty short.”

You roll your eyes and pick up the towel you had dropped to the floor, turning your back on him to hang it up in the bathroom. You refuse to be the nagging girlfriend. If he wants to prioritize work he doesn't even need to be finishing right now, you’re happy to guilt trip him. 

“Whatever, E. It doesn’t feel like a long time to you, but a ‘short video’ still means like three hours.”

When you come back into the bedroom, you expect him to be lounging on the bed with his phone, laptop shut for the night and LED lights on. So when you find him in the exact same position, talking to Grayson once again, a wave of rage and hurt washes over you. Ethan is usually an amazing and attentive boyfriend, and you’re not particularly clingy with him; you just want to spend some intimate time together after a nonstop work schedule on both your ends had left that time lacking in your relationship lately, and which doesn’t show any signs of changing in the coming week. 

You consider giving in and slipping under the covers to pout and go to sleep after all. Even if you were tired enough to go to sleep now, though, you know you’d be way too mad to achieve that. Your course of action is easy, then.

“Baby...” Ethan huffs, irritation and amusement both detectable in his tone when you march over to him and swing a leg across his lap. He grunts when you plop yourself in his lap, adjusting until you’ve got your arms wrapped around his middle and your face nuzzled in his neck. “Seriously?”

“Seriously?” you mock his deep voice. You know he hates that, and your lips curve up where you press them to his neck when you feel him tense up a little. “We both know you don’t need to be doing this right now, I heard you and Gray decide to post in three days. No sponsor with a deadline to get approval from. You’re just being a workaholic instead of a considerate boyfriend.”

He shakes his head, his arms curved around you so he can still reach the keyboard of his laptop. You hear the clicks of the keys resume as he has the nerve to keep working. “I just want to get this done, so it’s over with and so I don’t have to worry about it in a couple of days. You’re being a brat.”

You scoff indignantly. You’re being a brat just because you want to spend some of the limited free time you both have with your boyfriend?

If that’s what he thinks you are, then you’ll let him have it.

You can hear Grayson’s muffled voice coming through the one AirPod Ethan’s wearing in the ear opposite from the one you’re next to. Perfect. You smirk and start planting sweet, innocent kisses up the side of his neck until you reach his ear, taking the lobe in-between your teeth teasingly.

Ethan inhales sharply when you tug on it with a little nibble before releasing it and putting your mouth right to his ear. You start rocking against him, sitting up some to put your hands on his shoulders.

“I’m gonna get off on you, with or without your help,” you whisper straight into his ear, smirking when your hot breath raises goosebumps on his bare skin. Now, it’s just a competition between his stubbornness and his desire for your pussy. The latter will win, you know it — it’s only a matter of time. “If you want to make this a mutual effort, I’m more than happy for you to do that.”

He releases a heavy breath, and you smile against his skin when you feel him hardening predictably beneath you. You grind deeper into him, and lick your tongue along the words inked into his skin on his collarbone. 

He stays stubbornly focused in the chair, and you can hear Grayson still talking in his ear, but Ethan isn’t responding to him. His chest and neck are flushing pink, and you sit back to see if that pretty color is gracing his cheeks, too.

You grin when you see that it is. His arms are still draped loosely around your waist, no longer typing, so you lean back with your hands on his knees, still grinding on the large bulge growing in his sweatpants. His eyes trail over you, how the t-shirt of his that you’re wearing pools at your hips, exposing your soft cotton panties that you sleep in so he can see your pussy rocking on his dick. 

“Feels so good,” you murmur, tossing your hair over one shoulder and biting your lip. You reach one hand down and lift your shirt so you can both see the wet patch growing in your panties. He lets out this tiny little masculine moan that has you going harder, faster. You grin and lift your eyes to watch him watch your hips, and the heat in his gaze makes you shiver. “Would feel better if you were inside me, E. Want that big dick inside me, stretching me out. Don’t you want that, baby?”

Ethan shakes his head incredulously again, clearing his throat. “Hey, I’m tired Gray. I’ll finish tomorrow, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for his brother to answer before ripping his headphone out of his ear, tossing it onto his desk, and tapping the red button on his phone to hang up. You squeal and giggle when he stands up suddenly, cupping his big hands under your thighs so you come with him. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, and don’t waste any time threading your fingers into his hair and dragging his lips to yours. 

He moans into your mouth and stumbles to the bed, but your kiss is short-lived as he tosses you onto the mattress. You bounce and laugh again, scooting back to settle against the pillows as he crawls predatorily on top of you. He looks fucking amazing -- his hair a mess, skin tan from all the shirtless skateboarding he’s been doing lately, dick print evident in his grey sweats. Your mouth and pussy water simultaneously, and you reach out for him as he gets closer.

“You think that was cute?” he asks with a tiny smirk, allowing you to wrap your arms around him as he settles between your legs. “Turning me on while I’m working? While I’m on the phone with my brother?”

“Kind of. I did ask you nicely to stop working,” you remind him, trailing a finger down the line bisecting his torso until you reach his pants. You palm his erection through the soft fabric, grinning when he thrusts into your touch. “Not my fault you can’t listen.”

Ethan hums and hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties, making your hand fall away from him as he slinks them down your freshly shaved legs and leans back to toss them over his shoulder. His eyes are glued to your pussy and the shimmer of your arousal clinging to your smooth lower lips. Your head falls to your shoulder as you spread your legs more for him, whining thankfully when his fingers brush up your slit.

“So wet for me already,” Ethan says, collecting the slick moisture on his fingertips as he strokes you lazily. 

You nod, lifting your hips to encourage him to deepen his touch. It feels good, but it’s barely there, and he definitely hasn't come near your clit. “Please, E.”

He tsks his tongue at you, smirking as he watches your face watch his. “Patience, baby. You couldn’t wait for me to finish working. You’ll have to wait a bit to get to cum, now.”

His words turn you on as much as they anger you. He laughs, actually laughs, when he feels more wetness seep onto his fingers from where he’s toying with your hole. “Oh, baby, did you like that? You like me making you wait?”

You have too much pride even through all the maddeningly unsatisfying pleasure he’s bringing about to answer him outright. You let out a loud moan when he sinks his two middle fingers into you. “You...you’re an ass.”

He chuckles again, wiggling his fingers a little bit inside you before taking them out, making sure he has your eyes locked on his when he sucks them into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispers, licking the stray bits that cling to his lips as he leans back over you and slips the same fingers back inside. He still doesn’t touch your clit, but his fingers start pumping and moving just how you like, filling you up but putting all the pressure in just the right spots.

Your legs spread even wider, head tossed back to the pillow as you grab the forearm supporting him over you with one hand and clutch the sheets by your head with the other. 

“E...holy shit!” you whimper, digging your nails into that eagle on his arm. His fingers feel so good, hitting you just right, but it’s not enough to make you cum, and he knows it. He smirks down at you, watching you fall apart as the sloppy slick sounds of your pussy mingle in the room with his heavy breaths and your high-pitches gasps and moans. You don’t know how much more you can take of it. 

“Ethan, please make me cum, please make me cum!”

Ethan groans, your begging music to his ears, and he relents by finally adding his thumb to the mix, lighting upon your clit and rubbing gentle, slow circles into it. Your back lurches off the bed, your eyes meeting his as you plead with him not to stop, that you’re almost there.

Of course he doesn't listen, though. You want to sob when he pulls out of you with a harsh growl, licking his digits clean again before sitting back and shoving his sweats down his legs. He stands off the side of the bed to kick them off his feet. 

“Don’t you dare touch yourself,” he reprimands, shaking his head when he sees your hand instantly gravitate to your pussy. You whine but obey, waiting for him to climb back on the bed. He gathers your shirt in his hands, pulling up. “Lemme see your tits, baby. Wanna see them when I fuck you.”

You lift your arms at once, letting him pull it over your head so that you're both left completely naked. Ethan cups them both in his hands as he settles between your spread legs once again, and he ducks down to swipe his tongue over your nipples with sweet little suckles. He leaves each of them with a nip of his teeth and a soothing swipe of his tongue before he’s moving up to your mouth. You didn't realize it until that moment, but you needed the intimacy of his kiss, and it both calms you and makes you voracious for more of him.

As if he can read your mind, Ethan reaches between the two of you and takes his dick in hand, running the tip up and down your slit to coat himself in your copious arousal before tapping it against your clit. You jerk against him and moan into his mouth, which you feel curve against yours. He pulls back, watching your face intently as he pops the head into your entrance and sinks into you with one slow, gradual thrust. 

You don’t think you've ever been this close this early, but you're still wound tight from how high he brought you just a few moments ago with his fingers. “God, E, fuck me. Fuck me with that big fucking dick.”

For the first time tonight, he obeys your command, moaning wantonly at your words. His hands cup the backs of your thighs and keep your legs close to your body as he pushes your knees to your chest. He’s deep deep in this angle, and you cry out so loud you wouldn't be surprised if Grayson could hear you down the hall. 

That’s the least of your concerns, though, when he’s pumping into you so good, his thrusts hard and powerful as he grunts along with you, desperation clear in his own deep voice. You can tell he’s close too, He’s hitting just the right spot, and you lock eyes with him as you clutch his biceps in a death grip as he gets you right to the edge. 

“Oh my...fuuuck E, I’m gonna cum!” you sob, and your body is letting go so hard you think your head has gone to another dimension. 

“Baby, shit,” he hisses with how fucking tight your pussy starts spasming around his cock, how extra wet and warm everything gets all of the sudden. His head swims, and he slows his dick inside you, his heart and his ego ready to explode with how much he loves seeing you fall apart so good, because of him. 

He lets go of your legs to lean over you again and mouth at your neck, bringing you back to earth with whispers of sweet nothings and gentle kisses to your face. 

It takes what feels like all night, but eventually you can open your eyes again and be cognizant of your surroundings. You smile tiredly and let out a whispered curse as you cup his cheeks to kiss him lazily for a few moments, before releasing him and telling him to cum, too. He sits back again, and you shove your arms under your pillow, thrusting your chest out so your tits bounce for him as he starts pumping into your sensitive pussy again, chasing his nut.

His eyes flit back and forth from your chest to your face, where you're smiling up at him, all fucked out and sexy. “Fucking give it to me, E,” you whisper, clenching around him purposefully. He groans, looking at you desperately, questioningly. “Inside, baby.”

Ethan gives you all of three more sloppy, hard thrusts before you’re moaning with him as he shoots his load exactly where you told him. You love the unique warmth of his cum deep in your pussy. 

He slowly collapses down on top of you, and you welcome his weight literally with open arms, holding him close to your chest, playing with his hair and giving him the same loving whispers he did to you. 

When his breathing has slowed nearly back to normal, you direct his head up to kiss you. Your lips smack together quietly, and the feel of his mouth on yours just makes you feel complete in a way nothing else can.

“I should interrupt your work more often.”

[honeyandbloodpoetry]

Abuse and Gender Expression - Gender Thoughts Part Three

Huuuuuge trigger warnings for peer abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, religious abuse, a murder attempt and mentions of self harm, suicidal ideation and an eating disorder. 18+ talk of sexual activity also included. Discretion advised!

.

I feel like the first time I realized I needed to perform high femininity to be accepted was in sixth grade. I was slotted into a rotating elective class, and the first one was a careers class. That careers class was utter hell for me. Every single day, I was tormented by an entire classroom of about twenty of my peers. I was bullied, no, abused for being fat and ugly and weird. I was called a whore, and told the only way I could ever be loved was someone raping me. Things were thrown at me, I was shoved down and tripped. I was bullied for my special interest in Transformers. I was told I was so fat and ugly I should be killed and be made into meat and cheese and fed to starving people because that was my only worth. Every single day I was told I should kill myself in varying ways. And all of that is just a quick summary. It was intense and brutal abuse for an entire semester, and I distinctly remember a day where there was a literal pool of tears on my desk. I couldn’t understand. I reached out to the teacher for help, and genuinely can’t remember exactly what he said. All I know is that he simply watched, and sometimes even joined in with “jokes” of his own. This was also the year abuse from my mother amped up, and home was a warzone--we were constantly arguing, and she became a professional at gaslighting and poking and prodding me until I exploded so I could be blamed for fighting back. My father would vacantly stand by and remind me not to fight back. This was also the year I began to self harm as a way of release. 

I remember thinking that if I looked more like the girls in my class, I wouldn’t be bullied so much. I was told I was ugly and unlovable, so I thought that if I performed more femininely, maybe I could be like those who tormented me and therefore not be a target. I thought there was something inherently wrong with the way I presented myself. I convinced my mother to take me to the store, and I bought wedge heels and gaudy jewelry I did not like to wear with my uniform--replacing my autobot necklace and sweatband. In another class I was teased for not shaving and for having ugly feet, so I learned to paint my nails, file my heels, and shave every bit of hair on my body--the echo of my father saying that since I grew pubic hair, I was now a woman and held accountable for all of my sins an echo on the cusp of my mind. I did everything in my power to be more pretty and girly. I used to be loud and rambunctious, and began to go silent and demure.

I remember walking up to the class in the new get-up that was certainly not me. I felt that I would be accepted but as I walked up...I fell flat on my ass. I couldn’t walk in the heels. They all pointed and laughed at me, and the abuse continued in even higher intensity. It was until the next semester that I fought back by throwing a desk at two of my abusers who followed me to the next rotating elective, screaming and snarling at them to leave me alone. Those two in particular stopped, but abuse from others continued for many years in many instances. I developed an eating disorder, continued self harming, and began to try and form femininity and “attractiveness” to the best of my ability. I added things like bows and kitty ears and flower crowns to my wardrobe--sure they were cute, and I did like them in a way, but it felt like putting on a costume or some sort of womanly obligation. It didn’t feel like me. Years later, I was told by someone I trusted that I was “too fat to wear pants”, which I internalized and began to only wear dresses--same thing with feeling like I was wearing a costume. I tried to be beautiful. I wanted to be butch, be myself, but I felt that if I was a cute and girly girl, demure and sweet, I wouldn’t be a target. I would be loved. 

And so I locked myself away. 

My relationship with my mother was a rocky one. She is definitely a sick and broken person, but I doubt she will ever get help. She swings between extremes, and I was always her doll and punching bag. She had a habit of pushing and pushing, finding all the littles holes in me that triggered autistic meltdowns and despair. She criticized everything about me, from my weight and height to my blaming me for how tangled my hair was. She entered me in sports and spelling bees with gentle but insisting prodding about how good I would be when I would rather be reading or playing, and when I got frustrated she would say it was my choice...when in reality I just wanted her approval. When I got older, and especially after my father killed himself, I began to fight back and question her authority though--sometimes violently. She didn’t like that, and was violent right back, and oftentimes first. I struggled my whole life with blaming myself for my outbursts and reactions, but through therapy I have learned I was a child being gaslit and abused, shown that violence was the only answer… And through therapy, I have learned to do better and grow. The worst instance of abuse was me having an autistic meltdown where I said that we should both just die and her response was to pull out a gun and point it at me--I collapsed down into our trash covered room (I was forced to share a bed with her) and pleaded with her to stop. She threatened to kill me and help me out since I was so suicidal, then turned the gun on herself and threatened to kill herself, in which I had to talk her down. When the gun was down, I fled in a flurry of tears and barely contained screams. It was truly the most horrible moment of my life, and I still struggle with the ptsd of that moment to this day. I was only fourteen.

All that background to say, my mother was extremely possessive of my body. She seemed to love to touch my breasts and butt, jerk me around, slap my butt, watch me get dressed. When I begged her to stop, she would tell me that she made that body and could do whatever she wanted to it. I found messages on her phone of her talking to guys about having sex with me and stealing my panties. She wouldn’t let me do my own hair because I couldn’t do it right. She wouldn’t let me bathe alone until I was over ten years old. I didn’t ever have my own room until I was 18 and shared it with my partner. She never let me play with my hair and kept a close eye on what I wore. This combined with my very religious Christian father, who said things like “if you know more song lyrics than bible verses when you die, you’ll go to hell” and the aforementioned accountability, along with things like letting me know he loved God more than me and always seeming to walk in while I was changing… I always felt owned by something. I never felt like my body or my identity belonged to me alone. And so it was extremely difficult to explore myself.

Sexual exploration became an outlet. I was asexual and didn’t possess sexual attraction or a desire for coital sex (still don’t), but I enjoyed kink play with my partner and playing with myself. I enjoyed porn, mostly stories. I always felt drawn to mlm porn, but never understood why. I saw myself in the big, fat men of the stories. I wished it could be me, wished I was a big hairy man like that. Wished I could be loved like that. Reading those types of erotica always got me off and made me feel relaxed and fulfilled, no matter what kink it regarded. Of course my mom would slutshame me without even knowing what I got up to, but sexual activity and pornography helped me find solace and ownership of my body. When I was aroused and taking care of myself, being taken care of, or taking care of someone else, I felt like I was finally in control of my body and my happiness. I had been sexually abused in different ways by different people throughout my life, and finding a certain safety and security in the kind of sexual activity I explored made me feel like...me. I found myself in those big men, but still didn’t make the connection that I was not cis. 

It wasn’t until many years that I began to question my gender. First nonbinary, then agender, then genderfluid, then bigender, then nonbinary again, now finally transmasc. I am autistic and struggle with a resistance to change. I have struggled with shifting my name because it feels like a betrayal to become something new. So I have become Charis instead of Charissa...but I think I may be Myles instead. Since I have struggled with abuse and feeling owned my whole life, it is scary to take my self creation into my own hands. People I am close to have expressed concern and dislike for my transition--especially my mother. I came out to her two days ago over the phone when she guessed I was transgender--or “wanted a sex change” as she put it. She outed me to her anti-lgbt boyfriend without my consent, and now they want to have a discussion. She cried and told me it was too much and she couldn’t talk yet. I am still unsure of what to do about it. I know my mother is broken, and has come far from the cruelty she was once capable of--but she still swings. I see those shattered pieces and their sharp edges and know they have the ability to cut. It is terrifying. 

Coming out, especially after so many years of abuse, has been absolutely terrifying and difficult. I am still navigating how to do it, especially with a name change. The clinic I am going to for hrt screwed up with their scheduling and had to reschedule me for later this month, a frustrating thing. I am looking forward to starting hrt, but also scared how people will treat me once those changes begin happening. Even with these fears and struggling with my interpersonal relationships...this is the greatest choice I have ever made. It is my truth and my freedom, and I will fight against that fear to become my most authentic self. I have an incredible partner by my side, and with their support and my own self love, I can do anything. 

[tenthgrove]

L’Inizio- A La Squadra Backstory Collection

Chapter 2: Dove La Mia Passione Mi Porta (Prosciutto)

Word count: ~3300

Warnings: parental illness, parental death, parental rejection, implied transphobia, drinking

Don Crepuscolo flicks idly through the corner of a book as he sits in his study. His mind filters out the occasional clatter of footsteps on the upper floor of his Neapolitan mansion- the maid, most likely, as well as the visiting capos he permitted a tour of the bedrooms, to get them out of his face for a while until the meeting scheduled later in the afternoon.

The middle-aged don jolts at the sight of the young man in his doorway, having approached the office quiet as a snake with no disturbance to the man’s wavering focus. Crepuscolo collects himself, joyed with recognition of the figure come to see him.

“Maiale! Daughter!” Crepuscolo greets. He opens his arms and beckons the young man to embrace him. Hands folded, he approaches quietly, and seats himself a distance opposite the desk.

“Hello, father,” Prosciutto speaks apathetically.

“Maiale, my dear, hello! I believe this is the first chance you’ve given me to congratulate you on the excellent results you’ve achieved on your examinations. Truly, I knew in my heart you’d do me proud,” the don praises. Prosciutto glances out the window.

“Yes, a pity your mouth did not agree with you until now,” he utters.

“No matter, no matter! What truly pleases me with your visit is that, well, you’ve simply been away on your- little celebrations so much this last month I’ve barely had any chance to see you! I really must know, what are your arrangements for your future now the necessary grades have been secured?”

Prosciutto takes a deep breath. He pushes a little dirt from under his nails and, after a few more moments, speaks. “As you know, it has always been my intention to go onto university.”

“Yes, yes, you had your eye on a place in Milan, last I checked.”

“No, Florence,” Prosciutto refutes him. “But anyway, I simply intend to go where my passion takes me.” Crepuscolo leans forward. He smiles.

“Practical and so assured, yet with a distinct streak for adaptability and the eclectic. Some things never change, do they Maiale?”

“No father, perhaps not.”

“Clearly. Now be a good girl and answer the question I asked you,” the don demands, gritting his teeth. Staring blankly, Prosciutto uncrosses his legs.

“Well father, the first thing I’m going to do is disown you,” he announces. Crepuscolo stutters in shock. “Disown?! But Maiale! How would you even do such a ludicrous thing?!”

“The normal way,” Prosciutto responds calmly. “I’ve been able to track down a lawyer. The same one who handled Mother’s will, incidentally, and begin the process of removing you as my next of kin and transferring it over to Signora Loreta. I have relinquished you of all obligations to me, and mine to you.”

“Have I taught you nothing, girl?” Crepuscolo snaps. “I am your father. I allowed you to live in this wonderful house, and paid for your tutoring and clothes, and let you live in luxury while half the children in this city wallow in the streets. You will never be free of obligation to me!”

“And as you were doing all that, you also threw your one year old son out into those streets the children wallow in!” Prosciutto retorts, his voice finally beginning to raise. “It is only right you should receive the same level of regard from your children, Don Crepuscolo.”

“But I always treated you well, Maiale!” the father insists. Prosciutto clenches his fists, and scowls.

“You left me alone at my dying mother’s bedside, while you were off in The Caribbean, with a girl half your age! If that doesn’t free me of any and all moral obligation to you, THEN WHAT DOES?!” he shouts. Don Crepuscolo goes quiet, then grips his desk in anger. Prosciutto gives his father a curt nod, and stands up, adjusting his bag over his shoulder. He turns his back on his father.

“You will have no penny of my wealth!” the don yells. Prosciutto turns around. The corner of his mouth flickers into a brief smirk.

“Nor would I ever ask for it. Mother’s lawyer and I had other discussions, regarding the specific terms of her inheritance. As he advised me, the criteria laid out for taking charge of her fortune myself could be fulfilled as simply as presenting my graduation certificate to the relevant parties. Since the clauses regarding my personal, direct inheritance were filed under a separate executer to the rest of her testament, you father, have no role in their fulfilment. My request to the bank is being processed as we speak,” Prosciutto explains. “So, I will make my position very clear. You are a sinking ship, and I do not need, nor intend, to be around when the engine blows. Goodbye, Don Crepuscolo!”

Prosciutto makes his way to the door. As he reaches for the latch, Don Crepuscolo smashes down on his desk.

“MAIALE!”

“Do NOT call me that!” Prosciutto screams. His body goes still, eyes wide. He gathers himself and storms out, grabbing the last of his bags outside the door and sprinting for the mansion’s back exit.

::::::::::::

Prosciutto steps off of the bus and strolls along the concrete pavement, towards the little white cottage at the end of the road. Setting his suitcase down on the porch, he knocks quietly on the door. He receives no response.

“Loreta!” he calls. “Signora? It’s only me! May I come in please?” An eager patter of footsteps approaches him. The door swings open.

“Prosciutto!” The woman greets eagerly. She is younger than she perhaps ought to be, not even a decade older than Prosciutto and with an appearance of perhaps less than that. Her thick, green hair is tied out the way at the back of her head, and Prosciutto notes the impracticality of her pink and brown jumper in the summer sun. “Oh Prosciutto,” she coos, bringing her hands to her mouth in joy. “Your voice, it’s wonderful!”

“Is it?” Prosciutto remarks, startled. “I didn’t think it had changed much yet. Father certainly didn’t notice, not that that’s a bad thing.”

“The don never did pay much attention, did he? Well, it certainly sounds like progress to me, so you should be proud of yourself, Prosci. Now, come in, come in!” she urges him, taking my the wrist and leading him to the house’s small kitchen. “So, tell me what you and your father talked about. I know you were very anxious about seeing him. Did you... take the big step?”

At that moment a young boy bounds in from the hallway, flinging himself at Prosciutto with open arms. “Fra!” the child shouts excitedly. Prosciutto picks him up and holds him.

“Hello Pesci, how are you doing, eh?” Prosciutto greets him. The young boy babbles something incoherently and bites his knuckles. Loreta gives a little laugh and takes her son from his brother’s arms.

“Pesci’s doing great, thank you. He’s settling into the new daycare and making a couple friends,” she announces, putting him down on the ground.

“Wonderful,” Prosciutto remarks with a smile. He leans down to address the child. “Now Pesci, why don’t you go play in your room for a minute. Let your mother and I discuss some business. If you’re good, I’ll take you to the park afterwards,” he promises. Pesci nods and hobbles back to his bedroom. Prosciutto sighs and stands up, turning back to face Loreta.

“Yes, I told my father I don’t want a relationship with him any more,” Prosciutto affirms. “He took it... poorly, but I believe he understands that I can’t be stopped. I shouldn’t be seeing much of him any more.”

“Congratulations. That was very brave of you, Prosciutto, and very good. Hopefully this will make things much easier for you from now on,” Loreta praises him.

“Yes, it very much will. I don’t have to worry about him finding my pills any more, and I’m looking into getting my first surgery before the end of the year.”

“That will be excellent for you! Changing the subject, you’ll have to remind me, my memory’s completely gone! What is it you’re planning on studying?” Loreta enquires.

“Politics, with a little literature on the side,” he answers.

“Politics? Do you plan to work with theory or practice?”

“Theory, god, never practice. If I tried that, father really might send an assassin out for me. I’m hoping to go into journalism, or something of the sort, though eventually I want to veer back into academia. I think it would suit me.”

“Definitely!” Loreta enthuses. “You could do anything you put your mind to Prosci!”

“I can only try. Now, your attention please,” Prosciutto says, whipping out a slip of paper from his pocket and places it down on the table. “I’ve done some maths. With the amount I’m getting from the inheritance, I can up what I’m giving you to 1 million lire a month, all the way up until Pesci turns 19. This is excluding a little extra to help with university costs, as well as some flexibility for you to take more in an emergency, say, if you ever lose your job. What do you think?”

“Prosciutto... I could never take from your mother’s money, it just wouldn’t be right,” Loreta refutes him.

“You were young, Loreta, you didn’t understand what you were doing. Believe me when I say that if my mother were here, she’d forgive you. Besides, father didn’t throw you out as his mistress, he threw you out as his wife. You deserve this money, Loreta, and I’m going to give it to you,” Prosciutto insists.

“It isn’t right,” Loreta repeats sadly. “Horrible thing, what happened to that woman. To just waste away for years on end while your husband prances around with some... girl. I should never benefit from that suffering. If I ever get sick like that, Prosciutto, just pull the plug. Pull the plug.”

Prosciutto sighs.

“If not for you, then take it for Pesci. Regardless of how she felt about you, I know my mother would never approve of any child living in poverty, especially not one I call my brother. Take it for him, please,” he begs her.

“Alright...” Loreta concedes. “I suppose I do really need it. Thank you, Prosciutto, it means a lot to me.”

“It’s what you deserve. Now, you’ve got your money, and I’ve got my freedom, and it’s all thanks to my mother’s will,” Prosciutto begins, pouring out two glasses of brandy from the cabinet. He sits down at the table. “To Signora Crepuscolo, for both our salvations.”

Loreta smiles and raises her glass, before drinking. Pesci returns from the hallway, and she quickly hides the glass and bottle behind her torso.

“What’s the matter darling, are you having fun?” she asks.

“I wanna play with Fra!” the boy insists.

“I suppose we’re done here anyway,” Prosciutto concedes. “Shall we?”

“I’ll just get Pesci’s coat,” Loreta agrees. She hurries off into the hall.

::::::::::::

A mere street away from the young family, a group of youths gather in the abandoned office. The youngest of the boys, a slender young man of 17, with raven hair and a hateful eye looks around the group critically as he shuffles on his feet.

“I’m in the right place aren’t I?” he asks. “Cause right now I feel like I’m either here to play tag or get stabbed, and neither of those is what I was called in for.”

“Depends,” one of the other boys says. “Are you Sorbet?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “Who’s asking?”

“Name’s Matteo, I’m in charge here. I’m the one your pay’s been coming from,” the group’s leader explains. Sorbet looks him up and down and sees a sad, dishonest looking man only a few years older than him. It’s clear this boy isn’t actually where the buck stops rolling in this sad little street gang of theirs, but the fact Sorbet hasn’t been attacked yet tells him the boy’s story is at least close enough to the truth to trust what he’s about to say. He decides to hear him out. “I’ve heard a lot about you. ‘Said you’re good with your fists and better with a gun. Is that true?”

“That’s correct,” Sorbet says with a smirk.

“What is it you do right now? Errands?” Matteo asks.

“Mostly. Though lately I just do whatever’s needed. I guard meet-ups, deal with troublemakers-”

“Yes, that’s what we’re here to talk about,” Matteo interrupts. “Word is, you’re good at it. How would you feel about... maybe doing a little more than beating them up for a change?”

“You want me to kill someone? Done. The pay better be good though,” Sorbet agrees unconcerned.

“Oh, it will be. But what if I wanted you to kill multiple people? What if, you became the guy I call when I want someone killed?” Matteo proposes.

“I’m up for it, but I’d want to know why. Why’s a group like us suddenly need a massive hit list?”

“Opportunity,” Matteo answers. “It’s not that we’ve got a hit list, just that we might be able to afford one at some point in the future. “With Crepuscolo and his lot on his way out, it’s only a matter of time until we can come out of the shadows.”

“Ambitious. What makes you think we’ve got the manpower to usurp them?”

“Maybe we don’t, but we’re hoping whoever does will let us do what we want a little more. You know?”

“Passione, I imagine,” Sorbet surmises. The others nod in agreement.

::::::::::::

It is January of 1989 and Prosciutto is freshly 24. His diploma hangs over the wall of his lounge, above his typewriter and an array of open books. He pours a glass and relaxes, sitting back against the comfortable expanse of his settee. He takes a sip of red wine and flicks through his calender. Loreta will be visiting tomorrow with Pesci, and Prosciutto is looking forward to it very much. Supposedly, Pesci learned to ride his bike the other day, and he’s eager for the two to go out together.

Prosciutto feels he deserves a bit of a celebration. His last article, by all early measurements, performed very well, and there’s talk of promoting him among the newspaper agency. If all goes to plan, he might not need to rely on his mother’s inheritance for much longer. Perhaps, he might even be able to buy Loreta a new house. Pesci could use the space now he’s bigger.

Someone knocks at the door frantically. Prosciutto gets up cautiously, conscious of how incredibly late it is for someone to be looking for him. The knock rings out again, louder this time, and Prosciutto reaches for the door of the living room.

There’s a mighty crash, and several footsteps rush into the front room. Prosciutto rushes for the drawer to get his gun, always a good thing to have when you’re the estranged son of a crime boss. He aims it readily as the living room door is bashed open.

Four men, armed to the teeth, spill into the sitting room. They aim their weapons at Prosciutto, held back seemingly only by the warning hand of their leader. The man looks down at the photograph in his hand, and back up at Prosciutto.

“I take it you don’t go by Maiale any more.”

“No, but thanks for checking. Why the hell are you in my house?” Prosciutto demands.

“You are the eldest child of the late Don Crepuscolo, yes?” the man asks. Prosciutto lowers his gun.

“Why do you say late?”

“Your father was executed by order of our boss, yesterday evening. Depending on the course of this conversation, you may or may not be joining him,” the man explains. “Now kindly drop the gun.”

Prosciutto complies.

“We’re from Passione, if you didn’t know,” adds one of his companions. “They said you were a journalist, so I’m surprised you haven’t heard about the war that went on,” he notes.

“I... try to avoid covering stories related to the syndicates,” Prosciutto explains. His heart is hammering at a million miles an hour. This feels surreal, dream-like, but deep down Prosciutto knows it’s very, very real.

“Long story short,” the leader continues. “If you want to survive, it will be in Passione’s debt. Gotta make sure the boss can keep an eye on you after all. Now come on, you and I are going to get into the car. Sorbet, Gelato, go upstairs and take anything of value.”

“What? You’re taking my stuff?” Prosciutto protests. The leader shrugs.

“You got it all from your parents, didn’t you? We own all your parents assets now. That makes it ours.”

As Prosciutto stares dumbstruck, two young men with interlinked arms head up the stairs. His stairs, his house. He stand’s defenceless as the groups leader grabs him by the wrist.

“And by the way, Crepuscolo, we know about your brother. Just in case you were planning on making a run for it at any point.”

Prosciutto Crepuscolo is compliant as he is dragged from his home. Driven away in the backseat of his captor’s car, he watches helplessly as his house is burnt to the ground.

::::::::::::

“My father’s house didn’t last long either,” Prosciutto adds. His audience, consisting of one attentive Risotto Nero, and the passed out body of Gelato over the back of the sofa, remain quiet. “They knocked it down the other year. I’m sure you would have seen the construction work.”

“Yes, I think I recall that,” Risotto answers.

“Now here I am, second-in-command to the brand new assassination squad. Truly I’m honoured,” Prosciutto tuts. He downs another shot of alcohol, and Risotto apprehensively takes the cue to do the same.

“You don’t have any resentment to Sorbet and Gelato for the house?” Risotto asks.

“I can’t really, they didn’t benefit from it. Besides, at the end of the day, this has worked out for me. I don’t think I would have really made it as a journalist,” Prosciutto maintains.

“I wouldn’t agree!”

“Yeah, well you can keep it to yourself. I gotta cope somehow. Honestly though, the one part of this I do regret is my brother. I wish I could have spent more time with him, growing up, but I didn’t want to mix him up in... this.”

“He’s the reason you rejected the role of captain, isn’t he?” Risotto realises.

“Yes,” Prosciutto admits after a pause. “If I were in your role I don’t think I’d be able to make time for him at all.”

“I understand. It’s very noble of you, Prosciutto. To look after him like that.” Risotto judges. Prosciutto tuts.

“Whatever.”

The doorbell rings and Risotto tries to stand up.

“No, no, I’ll get it,” Prosciutto insists. He puts down his glass and heads downstairs to the door. The boy behind it trembles heavily as he looks up at him with pleading eyes. “Pesci?”

“Hi, Fra,” the boy says weakly.

“Pesci what in god’s name are you doing here? I told you not to come to this house for any reason!” Prosciutto admonishes him.

“I’m sorry! I know what you said but- Mum’s still in the hospital and... I really didn’t want to be alone again tonight.”

Prosciutto leans down. His eyes widen with worry.

“Alright, if that’s the case then you can come in,” he permits. Pesci steps forward and falls into his arms. He starts to sob.

“She’s really sick, Fra.”

“I know Pesci, I know. I’m here.”

[excitedlysuffering]

hey can you do the headcanons collection thing for shikamaru pls ?

I love this boy honestly like I’m obsessed lmao

I’m also surprised but happy the HC collection is becomin a thing XD

Shikamaru Headcanons Collection

What He Looks For In An S/O~

• Shikamaru is a laid back person, and he’d definitely want an S/O who is chill

• This boy is a GENIUS so he’d be bored with someone who couldn’t hold an intelligent conversation

• I’ve already said it, but someone who’s CHILL, Shika can’t handle a wild S/O

• He would prefer someone more on the homebody side, he doesn’t want to be dragged on adventures all the time ever

• He probably wouldn’t care if they were a civilian, he’d always wanted a plain life anyways

• Shikamaru wouldn’t want your relationship to be scheduled and busy, he’d prefer someone who didn’t mind simple things or spontaneous things

• A patient S/O is mandatory cause do you know how many hours he spends doing nothing and being quiet? He’ll need a saint

• He needs someone who has a passion for things they love, the way he is with his friends/teammates and shogi

• An accepting S/O, someone who doesn’t try to change him, whether it’s his laziness or his smoking

• Shikamaru can be pessimistic and snarky sometimes, so he’d do well with someone who has a thick skin

• They need to get along with Choji. Calling him fat is NO NO bros before hoes

Relationship With Shikamaru Stuff~

• Alright, alright we all know the basic stuff. He’s going to nap, watch clouds, and play shogi with you, that’s old news.

• Shika is not clingy and doesn’t crave constant physical affection in the way that he won’t for the most part look at you like ‘I just wanna hold her’

• He’s (obviously) very perceptive, however, and if he knows you want to cuddle or something he will usually indulge you (with some complaints of course)

• If you don’t mind smoking once in a while, great! If not, he’s very considerate and won’t do it when you’re around

• Shika is not really the ‘let’s go out on a date’ type, he’s more lowkey and prefers to just spend time with you in private

• Surprisingly, he’s a big fan of pillow talks, so, please indulge him

• He enjoys journaling, it’s a way for him to process everything he took in during the day it’s hard being a super genius and he would love if you did that together

• Sometimes, when he’s in a good mood he’ll do little things that he thinks are childish, but how could he say no when you’re so cute?? He ends up loving pillow forts

• Massages will be a big thing between you, he’s often stressed and that really helps him, but he always feels obligated to return the favor

• He’s really like an adorable pessimistic teddybear

• Sometimes he finds the need to rant about whatever and if you’re willing to listen, you’ll have his heart. On the flip side, he’s a great listener, even if he doesn’t have much to say, you know he cares

• Oh, he’ll remember your anniversaries/birthdays, etc, but don’t expect him to make a big deal. At most, he’ll get you a small gift and pay extra attention to you

• Definitely the kinda guy to avoid you on your period, not because he thinks it’s gross or anything, he just doesn’t have the energy to deal with mood swings. He will, however, grab supplies so he can help without being within your range of emotions

• Not that competitive, and if it’s anything other than Shogi he might just let you win cause he doesn’t care that much

How To Lose/Annoy Him~

• I’m 100% sure trying to make him do things is a given, but I’ll say it louder for the people on the back :)

• If you are constantly pestering him and interrupting his peace, he will quickly get fed up

• Please do NOT play hard to get or make him jealous. He’ll immediately know what you’re doing, but things like that just make him frustrated

• He hates mixed signals and dropped hints, so if you have something to say, just say it

• If you try to change him and constantly nag at him to be more productive, he will quickly lose interest

• Talking just for the sake of talking, and not having anything real to say will grate on his already thin patience

• As crazy as this may sound, there is a limit to how much lazy Shika can take. Even if he complains, he always completes his duties to the best of his abilities. If his partner can’t even do that much, he will lose respect for them

• The opinion of people he’s close to is a big deal. If his teammates, Asuma, or his family genuinely think something’s off about you, he will proceed with caution and probably be more scrutinizing of you

• He really has a short temper so be mindful of that, try to refrain from bothersome pranks and annoying him just because

Soft Shika Things~

• Even though he isn’t the softest person you’ll ever meet, he has his moments

• This side of him usually comes during naps/cloud watching

• He doesn’t mind cuddling up with you at these moments and he might even ask for it

• Shikamaru is a believer in the little things, so if he sees you’re insecure he might drop little compliments here and there.

• He’d die if you ever told anyone, but sometimes if he has nothing better to do, he’ll paint your nails, especially if they’re beginning to crack. He loves to experiment and see how different colors go with your skin tone

• The first time he saw you wearing something of his, he had no idea what to think like didn’t you have clothes?? He quickly got past that and actually enjoyed seeing you in his clothes. Not in a sexual way, but like ‘wow she’s really my girl??’

• He actually wouldn’t mind getting a matching couple thing if you were into it. Nothing like a shirt or an outfit, but probably something like a matching stud earring or lighters

• If you ask and no one’s around he might take his hair down around you, but he isn’t really fond of it being touched but what’s the point of having great hair if it can’t be played with??

• Has the worst spring allergies and is SUCH a BABY please take care of him, he needs it

Random Shikamaru Facts~

• Shika has an almost perfect photographic memory, and it can be overwhelming to remember everything so he started doing nothing to reduce the stimulus to his mind, but actually started to reallyyy enjoy being lazy

• He’s actually an insomniac because he feels like his mind never stops and he loses a lot of sleep

• His love language is acts of service all the way

• Shikamaru definitely ends up with a tattoo at some point in his life, it’s something small but significant

• This boy is loyal to a fault, whether you’re his S/O or his friend, he has your back forever

• If he’s close to you he has so much trust in you like he won’t really think about you hurting him, so if you were too he’d be deeply hurt

• He hates the rain or any kind of weather that keeps him inside

• He has spring allergies, but he refuses to acknowledge them so he’ll pop an allergy pill and that’s that

• He sucks at taking care of himself when he’s super busy please help him

• He’s not at all religious, he doesn’t believe in fate, destiny, or karma. He’s really the classic man of science stereotype

• He has traditional views on male/female relationships, but if he meets the right woman who challenges him, that could easily be rearranged ahem Temari

Little Things~

Favorite:

• Place to kiss- Your lips; he’s a simple man really, he’d much rather kiss your lips than anywhere else

• Way to hug- Not a huge hugger, but he likes one-armed hugs where he holds you close to his side for the most part

• Things to do with you- He loves to have deep conversations with you

• Cuddle Positions- He likes when you’re sitting up and he can lay his head on your chest or in the crook of your neck

• Type of date- Outdoors, usually just lazing around under the sun, or if you’ve been apart for a while, he’ll treat you to BBQ

This or That:

• He loves fall, the beautiful changing colors, and the calm atmosphere

• He’s an afternoon person (Idk if that’s a thing) he likes to be productive in the middle of the day, the morning and the night are his personal time

• He can’t cook anything past basic, he never thought he’d need to

• He likes to read strictly nonfiction but might be persuaded to try lighter reading per his S/O’s request

Conflict Happenings~

• Will avoid it at all costs, so if he has to avoid you, so be it

• Thinks it’s a waste of energy to argue when you could be discussing

• It’s pointless anyway. Unless you have a flawless, foolproof argument, he will find a hole and your argument will fall apart

• He hates beating around the bush and would expect his S/O to be more mature than that; so if you have a problem or if he upset you, he wants you to just say it

• He will make subtle efforts to appease you if you’re mad at him. He might be open to cuddling and might take you for a real date

• He doesn’t care to hold grudges so once you apologize and it’s sincere, whatever happened is out of sight out of mind

• On the flip side, he doesn’t appreciate people bringing up past mistakes as leverage if he’s apologized and already paid the penalty

• Yelling doesn’t phase him, he’ll wait until you’re rational and calm before discussing the problem with him

• He doesn’t have a short temper, but certain things make him go from 0-100 real quick

• Once something petty starts, he won’t physically leave, but he will probably mentally tap out

• Would 120% prefer for the two of you to be at peace so if it’s something small he is apt to concede just so things can go back to normal

Modern Shika~

• The quiet genius, because he doesn’t want to have tutor someone or have things expected of him

• Is that one guy you never really like at but once you do you’re like ‘was he always that cute??’

• He is not really invested in appearances, he’ll probably wear jeans and turtle necks or sweatshirts. Somehow he always looks good even though he hardly tries??

• Probably switches from smoking to vaping, assuming he ever used cigarettes in the first place

• He has a car, but most people would never know cause he’s always walking places

• Has popular friends, but doesn’t care to be the center of attention in the slightest

• The one person to probably be ahead in school work

• He always comes up with the most clever ways to cheat but he’s so smart he never needs them

• For studying, he’ll glance over the material no more than a week in advance and be done all hail photographic memory

• He’s down for a good party every once in a blue moon, if he knows the people there

• Would probably be offered money to write essays, but he’s too lazy to do it

• Perfectly okay with being a teacher’s pet (sometimes) if it means he gets special privileges

• CEO of sauntering in the door the second the bell rings

• Never really had the rebellious stage, he doesn’t care that much for showing out but he does like to be out of the house as much as possible

• I can see him with a mid-low maintenance pet like a cat or a gerbil

• He’s that one naturally aloof guy that has this aura that gets him all the girls??

• He doesn’t date around, but I could see him with a no strings attached friends with benefits

• Shika isn’t overly fond of decoration or extra things no matter where he’s living so his living space is mostly clean due to lack of things to make a mess with

• He probably would only have a roommate if finance was an issue and even then he’d probably be a little salty over it

• He’s an extroverted introvert (stay with me) he doesn’t mind socializing, but he needs time to himself to prepare and wind down

• He would definitely have minimal social media, probably only a phone number and maybe Instagram, though he’d rarely post

• At the end of the day, I belong to this sexy genius XD

Masterlist

[7-wonders]

Hit and Run

Summary: The fallout of an unexpected tryst, and (Y/N)’s first official foray into the criminal underworld.

Word Count: 3055

A/N: Thanks for sticking around as I make empty promises, here’s Memento Mori chapter 4!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

The training gym remains silent as (Y/N) and Duncan feel the weight of what they’ve just done. Duncan has a content grin on his face as he stands, fixing himself until he looks like he hadn’t even been training, let alone fucking the woman who he’s blackmailing. The look of disgust on (Y/N)’s face makes him stifle a laugh as he holds out a hand for her to take. Instead, she just stares at him, slowly making herself look presentable without Duncan’s help.

“The look on your face directly contradicts the beautiful sounds you were making earlier,” Duncan teases.

(Y/N) can feel her face heating up as she stands, pushing Duncan to the side. “What we did was a mistake,” she says seriously.

“Really? Because I quite enjoyed it, and I think you did too.”

“Duncan, that can’t happen again.”

The smile falls off of his face, and he scowls. “And why is that?”

“Because I try not to make a habit of having sex with people that I can’t stand!”

“Aw, you can’t stand me?” Duncan sneers. “Is that why you were so eager for me to fuck your little cunt?”

“You say that like you’re not the one who kissed me first.” 

(Y/N) feels a sense of self-satisfaction when she sees how Duncan’s jaw clenches from her verbal barb. Enough of a silence commences that (Y/N) thinks she’s free to go, turning to leave and finally be free of the specter that is Duncan Shepherd. Duncan decides otherwise, grabbing her upper arm roughly and spinning her back around.

“Tomorrow night, you’re getting indoctrinated into my world. I have an arms sale that I’m overseeing at 10, and you’re going to be there with me.”

“Will I be free of my burden, then?” The second question goes unsaid, but it hangs in the air like a cloud: will I be free of you?

“That’s for me to decide,” Duncan spits, letting go of (Y/N)’s arm before she can shake herself out of his grasp. 

“Fuck you, Duncan.” (Y/N) grabs her belongings from where they were thrown on the floor before nearly running for the door.

Duncan manages to get one last jab in before the door swings shut behind you, shouting “you already did!”

(Y/N) groans angrily once she’s outside, the cool air doing little to calm her down. The sun’s just beginning to dip below the horizon, and she pulls her hands into the sleeves of her sweatshirt to keep warm while she walks. Her mind churns with all of the possible ways she could’ve verbally wounded him besides just saying “fuck you.” He’s so infuriating, so confounding, so--she’s yanked out of her thoughts (thankfully, since her thoughts were beginning to drift towards the sexual encounter she had just found herself in) by her phone ringing in her sweatshirt pocket.

Assuming that it’s Duncan calling to threaten her, she doesn’t even glance at the screen before answering with a harsh “what!”

“Whoa, was not expecting that from you.”

Her shoulders relax when she hears the honeyed voice on the other end. “Sorry Madison, I thought you were someone else.”

Madison Montgomery is not the type of person (Y/N) thought she would ever be friends with. A former child actress with enough stories of rehab stints to rival her IMDb filmography, their paths are not two that would normally ever cross. Madison’s “friend,” Zoe (no matter how many times the two insist they’re just friends, (Y/N) sees the longing glances and the soft touches the pair exchange when they believe she’s not looking), was one of (Y/N)’s first friends when she moved to D.C. After becoming close with the political science student following a few school events both were required to be at, befriending Madison came naturally.

“By the sound of your voice when you answered, I’m assuming you’re glad it’s me instead of whoever else you thought it might be.”

“I’m definitely glad to be hearing from you.” It’s not a lie; Madison has been distant lately, and it was starting to make (Y/N) worry that she had done something wrong. “You went off the grid for a bit.”

“I was in negotiations for a new project, and it was taking up most of my freetime.”

“Did you get it?”

“Hopefully. They said that I’ll hear back soon. Anyways, I’m in D.C. for a few days and was wondering if you could find time in your busy schedule to hang out with me and Zoe who, might I add, has already said she could,” Madison says like she isn’t solely in the city to see Zoe.

“Absolutely! Just let me know what dates and times work for you and I’ll work something out.”

“Tomorrow night? We could have a wine night at Zoe’s after she gets done with work at around 8.”

The initial excitement (Y/N) feels at the plans with her friends fades away when she realizes she has other obligations tomorrow night. “Shit, I can’t. Maybe the next day?”

“Do you have a date, (Y/N)?”

She scoffs. “I wish. I have to go to this boring study group for class.”

“Skip it.”

“I can’t, it’s for a class I’m already struggling enough in.” Fuck, she really hates having to lie to people she cares about.

“Boo, why do you have to care about your grades and your future career?” Madison sighs. “Alright, we’ll do something when you don’t have to study.”

“I’m sorry, Mads.”

“Hmm, you should be.” She doesn’t mean it, but it still stings a bit. “I’ll see you on Wednesday, then.”

“See you Wednesday.” Madison hangs up the phone before (Y/N) even finishes speaking; if it were anybody else doing that, she would think they were mad at her, but that’s just typical Madison behavior. 

Ducking back into the throng of people walking to and from their destinations, (Y/N) feels a pit of dread in her stomach as the knowledge of tomorrow begins to set in. Not only will she be seeing the man who she fucked and then proceeded to get into a fight with, but she’ll also be observing an extremely illegal arms deal taking place between mafia groups. She can only hope that she’ll make it out of tomorrow’s events unscathed, both physically and emotionally.

//

Duncan picks (Y/N) up outside of her apartment at precisely 9:00 p.m., citing a need to be early to the deal in some underhanded way to assert his family’s dominance. (Y/N) tries not to ogle at the car she’s currently riding, but that’s a task she’s failed at since the moment she saw the sleek black exterior parked on the side of the street. Duncan, of course, notices how desperately she tries to look unaffected by riding in a car that costs triple her college education.

“You look like you’re scared merely breathing will ruin the car,” Duncan teases, the first words either of them have said all night. 

“I kind of am. This is the nicest car that I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Well, thank you. It’s an--”

“Aston Martin One-77, I know.” (Y/N) ducks her head in embarrassment when Duncan looks at her with wide eyes, assuming she shouldn’t have interrupted him. “I’m sorry, I know that was rude, but I’ve always really liked cars and while I don’t know a lot about fixing them or their engines or such, I love seeing a car and being able to name the make and model.”

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong. I just wasn’t aware that you liked cars.” He shoots her a sly glance, subtly revving the car to watch how her eyes light up. “If I had known, I would have picked you up in one of my cars a whole lot sooner.”

“Wait, you have more like this?”

“Of course. You’re not the only one who has an interest in cars.”

She’s thoroughly impressed now, a fact Duncan would know even if he wasn’t able to read people’s emotions like they’re the summary on the dust-jacket of a book. He had been worried that she was either going to blow up about what had happened yesterday or completely ignore him, so this was a welcome surprise. As long as she doesn’t feel like talking about the events of the previous day, Duncan certainly won’t bring it up.

The location of this covert sale is, much like every other mafia-based experience, disguised behind a plain exterior. This time, it’s a small grocery store just over the Potomac that serves as the facade for illicit activities. Duncan parks the car in a side street so as not to arouse suspicion, turning the silent engine off before handing (Y/N) a gun.

“Don’t you have bodyguards to keep you from dying?”

“Yes, but...things can tend to go sideways during these types of events. It’s already a liability bringing you along, and since you know how to handle yourself around a gun now, it does no harm to be over prepared.”

(Y/N) eyes it warily, taking the weapon and checking the safety before tucking it in the waistband of her jeans. Duncan waits for (Y/N) to get out of the car before leading her up the stairs and through a loading dock. Even if she wasn’t too scared to go to the cops and she tried to put the Shepherds in jail, she wouldn’t be able to lead them to the location of the deal in this maze of a basement.

There’s already a small crowd in the room that they end up in, and (Y/N) holds back a shudder when she sees Langdon lurking in the corner. It’s obvious that a 10:00 meeting means 9:30 for syndicated crime, and Duncan’s a fan of being fashionably late.

“Mr. Shepherd,” the assumed leader, a tall raven-haired man with a Scottish accent, greets. “Have a seat.”

“I think I’ll remain standing, thank you, Mr. McCown.”

The man just barely scowls before turning his eyes on (Y/N). “Who’s the girl? You said no backup.”

“She’s hardly backup,” Duncan chuckles, a statement that (Y/N) takes minor offense to. “We agreed on one man each. I have Langdon, and you have Collum. (Y/N), here, is simply collateral damage.”

“Hmph.” McCown doesn’t look too pleased, but relents. “Are we gonna do business, then, or not?”

Duncan motions for Langdon with his left hand, who carries two large duffel bags to the table. Unzipping them, he reveals a variety of automatic weapons. McCown leans over the table to study the weapons, doing a mental count before reaching for the bags.

“Not so fast.” Langdon snatches the guns away from McCown upon Duncan’s word. “The money?”

Pulling open his suit jacket, the opposing crime boss sets stacks of hundred dollar bills on the table. Duncan appraises each stack quickly, thumbing through the paper with a learned precision. Each man watches the other as they grab their respective earnings, neither willing to be the loser in this staring contest. 

“You know, I couldn’t help but to notice you were a thousand short of the agreed-upon total,” Duncan says coolly.

“It’s all there, I just saw you count it!”

“The tax? (Y/N)’s eyes flit between the men, Duncan’s jaw tightening in annoyance. “This is not your first time doing business with us, Frasier, surely you must know that there is a fee to bring your men into our territory.”

McCown smiles thinly, reluctantly pulling another wad of cash from his pocket. Duncan smugly takes it, and it’s when he’s counting the cash that everything goes awry.

(Y/N) doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The Scottish leader is zipping up the weapons bags and D.C.’s most notorious is tucking the money into his own jacket. She’s not sure what Langdon detects: a tic on someone’s face, the flinch of a hand, or even just the way a person breathes. Within a second, he’s got a handgun drawn and pointed at McCown’s right hand man, firing before the other man can even release the safety on his own gun.

Duncan ducks, pulling (Y/N) down under him as gunfire is exchanged. Her heart hammers in her chest, ears ringing from the harsh sounds above her as the shots start to taper off. She doesn’t even have time to process what just happened before Langdon’s yelling at them to go, Duncan hauling her up and throwing a duffel bag at her before dragging her out of the room. The clouds of gun smoke make it impossible to see who, or what, is damaged, and her eyes and lungs sting from the acrid scent as she runs up the stairs with Duncan.

Flinging herself into the car, she doesn’t even have time to put a seatbelt on before Duncan’s peeling out of the alley with the tires squealing. Instead of being frightened, Duncan actually looks excited as he checks behind his shoulder to make sure he’s not being followed. (Y/N), on the other hand, sits next to him in utter bewilderment.

“What the fuck was that?” (Y/N) exclaims, tossing the bag down at her feet when she realizes she’s still holding assault weapons.

“That was an attempted underhanded deal.” He clarifies upon her bemused shrug. “Frasier McCown and his gang thought that they would shoot me before taking the weapons and their money.”

“They were trying to kill you?”

“Probably not. They were most likely just trying to make sure I would go down before worrying about the repercussions later.”

“Langdon killed them, then?”

“I don’t know for sure, but he’s absolutely deadly with a gun. You’ve seen how skillfully he kills people.”

(Y/N) nods, remembering how the shot that killed the blue-haired Malakai seemed to come from nowhere. Looking out the window, the freeway passes by in a blur as Duncan drives towards downtown D.C. He’s trying to lose them, she realizes, on the off-chance that they are being followed.

Swinging into an empty parking lot off of 14th Street, the car lurches forward as Duncan abruptly parks. His hand gently brushes (Y/N)’s cheek, and she nearly bites his finger off until she feels the sting of a fresh cut on her face.

“You’re hurt,” Duncan notes with a frown.

“Oh, I probably just got scraped when we went to the ground. It’s fine, I think I’ll live.”

Duncan scoffs, rolling his eyes as he examines her to make sure there are no other wounds. Besides the battle wound on her cheek, she seems okay.

“What--” (Y/N) starts, clearing her throat, “are you hurt?”

“No,” he answers quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“(Y/N), you don’t need to worry about me. I’ve been in these situations before, and I have no doubt that I’ll be in situations like that again. This was your first time being caught in a firefight, and you’re shaking, so I just want to make sure you’re not in shock.”

“I’m not…” (Y/N)’s about to argue until she looks down and sees that her hands are shaking. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Duncan mocks. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good.” She starts to lightly giggle before breaking out into full-on laughter, making Duncan worry that she actually is going into shock. “No, seriously! I’m fine, I just--that was kind of cool.”

Duncan looks at her incredulously. “You thought that was cool?”

“Yes! It felt like I was in a James Bond movie.”

Despite his attempts to be serious, Duncan finds himself smiling at her exuberant laughter. “Well, I’m glad you thought that was fun. Hopefully we won’t be doing that again anytime soon.”

Later, (Y/N) will swear it’s the adrenaline rush that makes her act so foolishly. But with the silence in the car, and the way that Duncan’s smiling at her, it feels like she’ll spontaneously combust if she doesn’t kiss him immediately. Before she can remind herself why this is a bad idea, she leans in and presses her lips to his.

Duncan, thankfully, doesn’t immediately push her off and question her sanity. His lips are just as soft as they were yesterday, one hand going to grip the back of her neck while the other brushes against her cheek. (Y/N)’s hands find purchase in his now-messy hair, fingers threading through the strands as Duncan licks at her bottom lip. This time there’s no resistance from (Y/N), her mouth opening to allow Duncan’s tongue entrance while they grab onto each other like they’ll be torn away otherwise.

Relishing in the breathy moans (Y/N)’s beginning to let out, Duncan reluctantly pulls himself away from her lips in order to trail kisses down her neck. Laving his tongue against her thrumming pulse, Duncan grins when (Y/N) whines as he blows air over the wet patch, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He begins to suck a bruise just below the spot he just marked, nipping just enough to make (Y/N) yelp before surging back up to her lips.

(Y/N)’s head is spinning, the mix of adrenaline and lust making her almost dizzy. When Duncan finally releases her from his grasp after minutes? hours? an undetermined amount of time, she lets out a whine that sounds almost pathetic. Duncan wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, lips swollen from the extended amounts of pressure as he suddenly and inexplicably starts to drive. (Y/N)’s about to question why he stopped when, like a flash of lightning, the situation hits her with striking clarity. Kissing Duncan Shepherd in an abandoned parking lot like a couple of horny teenagers directly goes against everything she told him after their “training” yesterday.

From the driver’s seat, Duncan smirks when she faces the window with her arms crossed over her chest, obviously realizing her little slip-up. “Another mistake?” He can’t help himself from taunting her, especially not when she looks so upset with herself.

(Y/N) sneers. “Shut up.” Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Duncan how she subtly clenches her thighs together in search of relief, giving him a self-righteous sense of satisfaction.

//

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