#The paper work is don i just need to write some notes n make a phone call.

[0venatrix]

My gran has an electric knife, and I think this is some metal shit, it’s very cool: it’s like a mini chainsaw. It’s got two sedated blades that go shshshsusushshsh next to each other- Idk how to put that into words.

[ginkgo-phyta]

Tantalizing / Spencer Reid

PART TWO: Link

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Words: ~8k

Tags/Warnings: SMUT!!! like pure smut, AFAB fem reader, no usage of "y/n", light footplay, light nipple play, humping, unprotected penetration, slight dom/sub themes (nothing intense, maybe more like switch?), secret relationship, extensive foreplay teehee ;]

Summary: You haven't had good, quality, playful time with Spencer in quite a while- the team's schedule having been jam packed with cases. Its been making you antsy, expounded by how good your boyfriend has been dressing lately. You decide late one night that enough is enough, and you had to dig your claws into him. Even if people end up finding out about you two.

Author's Note: inspired by spencer's s7 outfits...they're so good. they make me wanna bark. this is my very first time writing smut! ahhh!! also i didn't know wtf to title this.

“Hi Spencer…” Your alluring voice purred into Spencer’s ears as he held the hotel door open for you, the seductive timbre curling up the back of his neck, brushing against his warming cheeks and flicking the ends of the hair that tickled the shell of his ear.

“C-come in, quickly”. He ushered you in, closing the door swiftly behind you. The stammer caused you to grin mischievously and you watched Spencer pause in the middle of the room- just staring at you hesitantly, taking in your appearance as he played with the hem of his sweater vest. You donned a half-sleeved retro style black dress with a white collar and small buttons going down the front- his favorite on you. The belt hugged your waist beautifully and the skirt that shaped out your hips flared out a bit at the end, falling right at the knee. With it you wore an assortment of dainty jewelry, very sheer black tights and short forest green heels. He had seen you just a handful of times throughout the day, and each time he had to find some excuse to leave your vicinity in order to hold onto even a sliver of concentration on the case.

“I’ve missed you all day, baby.” you start to step closer to him, twirling the ends of your perfectly curled ponytailed hair between your fingers. The soft thuds of your kitten heels sent tingles down Spencer’s spine. “Did ya miss me?” you questioned him with a little pout. Now mere inches away from him you traced your manicured fingers down the lapels of his blazer. Reflexively, his hands shot up to rest ever-so-lightly on the curve of your hips.

He gulped, watching you playfully bat your mascaraed eyelashes up at him, “Of course, I did.” Spencer cleared his throat, trying to gain some sort of composure, “I wished you could have come out into the field with me, but you need to get better first.” His right hand shyly moved up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering to fiddle with the small golden hoop on your lobe. 

A dramatic sigh huffed out of your plump, glossy lips while fixing the knot of his tie, “I knoooow,” tone almost childish in reluctance, “I just love seeing you work.” You threw your arms over his shoulders, flashing him the beautiful smile he loved oh-so-much to see, “Which is why I’m here. Wanna see what you’re up to.” The bite of your lip, the glint in your eye, and the glimpse to his own lips made it clear to Spencer that you held a different motive. “Show me what you're working on?” you turn to make your way to the desk where dozens of papers and multiple files were scattered around. The purposefully enticing sway of your hips left Spencer captivated.

You had suffered a pretty bad concussion a couple weeks ago at the hands of an unsub weidling a copper pipe. The proceeding vertigo refused to relent its choking grip on your inner ear resulting in being “banned” from the field until a doctor’s clearance- or two, if Spencer could have his way. Usually this wouldn’t be all that big of a deal for you, but the case the BAU team was currently working on had Spencer away from you for most of the day, profiling the suspected murderer’s house in an attempt to find details that could lead to the missing victim. You were left twiddling your thumbs at the precinct. Well, not really, but it sure did feel like it at times.

“Ooo, the coded messages. Have my analyses helped you at all?” your voice pulled Spencer out of his debauched thoughts. His gaze landed on your face, all traces of seductive tactics were gone, replaced by eager and adorable curiosity. The unsub had several coded messages in journals scattered around his apartments that were proving to be incredibly difficult to crack. Spencer let out a breathy chuckle as he excitedly made his way over to sit at the desk. 

“Yes, they actually did. I was able to-” and off he went down the rabbit hole of a tangent. Although normally you would have intently listened to what he had to say, this time watching him passionately ramble reignited the little flame in your bosom. You leaned against the desk, letting your eyes wander over Spencer’s expressive hands and fingers as he gestured to different pieces of paper. You interrupted his spiel by sliding into the space between his body and the desk, using the toe of your shoe on the seat to roll the creaky swivel chair back.

“The working day is over, Spencie, don’t you think it's time to focus on better things?” Spencer's head snapped down to where your foot rested on the cushion of the flimsy motel office chair, right between his legs and dangerously close to his clothed cock. He followed the line of your nylon clad leg, over the skirt of your work dress, across the prominence of your chest, up the slope of your neck, and finally to your twinkling eyes. “I don’t deserve any attention, baby?” you tilted your head ever so slightly, your hand coming up to delicately play with the single-pearl necklace resting in the Plender’s gap of your collar bones. A delicious, forlorn sigh passed your lips as your fingers glided over your shoulder, head moving with it to look down and pick at the papers laying under your tush, “You didn’t really miss me, did you? All you ever think about is the bad guys.” And there was that pout again. God, you really knew how to make Spencer a mess.

“That’s not true!” he exclaimed immediately, voice cracking slightly at the end. Your eyes snapped to his offended face. You giggled as his Adam’s apple bobbed- you loved teasing him, it boosted your confidence and only egged you further every time. His reactions would always be your drug of choice. “I’m-I’m sorry.” was all else he could spit out.

“What for, honey?” you leaned back on your hands, head tilting to the other side this time.

“For not giving you my attention. I didn’t mean to…neglect you. I really did miss you. I always do.” Spencer’s hands came up to lightly cup your calf, still very aware of its proximity to certain progressively-aching parts of his body.

“Good.” your voice was matter of fact as you straightened up a bit. Spencer watched you pull at your hair-tie and release your ponytail with a few firm shakes, his lips parted with a sharp draw of breath. The foot between his legs briefly moved as you kicked off your heels before it settled back into its original position, this time inching further under his crotch.

He let out a quiet surprised “Ah-” at the contact, his grip on your leg lowered as he squirmed in his seat.

“You like my outfit today? I picked it out specifically for you.” your words turned breathy as you leaned closer to the quiet genius, “You’ve been dressing sooo nice lately, honey, I wanted to look just as pretty as you.” You picked up one of his hands that had slid down to grasp your ankle, pushing his palm flat onto your led as you dragged it up the limb. Under your dress it went, enticing Spencer closer to you in response until his chest hit your shin. His fingers curled onto your thigh, analyzing the smoothness of your tights before you stopped. Instead, you took his fingers and pressed them into the lacey top of your sheer black thigh-high stockings. Another little move, press, and pause, allowing Spencer’s fingers to analyze. They were latched to a garter belt. The realization drew a soft groan from the back of his throat as his forehead dropped onto your knee. He loved when you would wear these. Spencer placed a few barely-there kisses where he could, using his hand to explore your thigh, taking in the difference between your warm skin and the cool nylon. You relished in the way he dug his fingernails into your supple flesh.

“So beautiful…” his whispers into your silked skin tugged a devilish grin up your cheeks. You felt his eyebrows furrow and you could tell his lips were pursed. You craved for his big hands and chapped yet moistened lips to press all over your body, but the teasing was just too fun to quit so soon. Instead, you wove your fingers through his hair, pushing back and coaxing him to look up at you. His cheeks were flushed clove-pink, eyelids drooping slightly as he gazed longingly at your mouth. Spencer’s body tried to jump closer to you, his hands respectively gripped your upper thigh and ankle in a failed attempt to hoist himself up to your hypnotizing smile. You swore you heard him let out a faint moan as his crotch grazed against your lower extremity. This sparked a match in your head.

Much to Spencer’s displeasure you moved away from him, leaning back on hands placed firmly on the desk. He tried to move forward to follow you, but your clothed foot left his crotch to land on his chest, effectively stopping his movements. Spencer let out a huff as it began dragging down his torso, pushing him back into his chair, before its path ended. Your foot hovered over the obvious bulge in his black trousers. “I love wearing these tights,” you started nonchalantly, “They make me feel so pretty and put-together; so hot,” you added a tantalizing emphasis, as if the word was naughty. Your lightly padded toes circled around where Spencer wanted them the most. Instead they avoided it a little longer, going to trace the design of his belt buckle. He screwed his eyes closed- whether to contain himself or simply feel your movements was uncertain. He let out an impatient whine. “Don’t you think so, sweetheart?” The sole of your foot finally flattened on Spencer’s covered cock.

“Yes, yes, yes” he earnestly groaned out, the hand on your ankle desperately pushing your foot further onto his bulge. That’s what you loved most about fooling around with your beloved- always so eager. You bit back the moan of your own that threatened to spill as Spencer threw his head back. You watched the pads of his fingers dig into your ankle, the other hand slid down the back of your calf to meet its twin as his hips lifted slightly off the chair to grind into your foot. His length hardening and extending could be felt against your sole, slightly ticklish. The scene before you was addictive, the sounds escaping his lips so dirty and provocative. He tugged your leg to press you harder to him, causing you to almost slip off the desk. 

“Tuttutut,” you chided, “slow down, big boy. I never said you could do all that, did I?” As soon as your light scolding processed in his mind, all of his actions stopped. Spencer quickly shook his head while trying to catch his breath. “Answer me.” you tried again. His eyelids blinked open, gaze meek.

“No, no you didn’t.” He removed his hands from your leg, running them through his hair before plopping them onto the arms of the chair as he panted, “I’m sorry, baby, you just feel so good,” he paused to look at you, swallowing hard. “God, I’ve missed you.” His words were smile-inducing. You dragged your foot off of him, deliberately using extra pressure to earn a deep and husky groan. Spencer’s eyes briefly rolled back into his head before they closed again. You could see tiny glistening beads of sweat forming at the edges on his hairline. His eyebrows furrowed and his Adam’s apple shifted a couple times, miniscule twitches plucked the corners of his mouth.

“What are you thinking about now?” you were clearly amused, feet slightly kicking out like a giddy schoolgirl. Spencer didn’t miss a beat in responding.

“You. I’m thinking about you. I’m thinking about h-how good you make me feel and how much I want you to touch me more,” another gulp. “How much I want to touch you.” His hands gripped the plastic chair arms, causing them to squeak. You giggled at this. To Spencer, you sounded wicked. 

“You want to fuck me, don’t you baby.” Your words immediately caused him to squirm, whines leaving his throat. He didn’t dare open his eyes yet. It wasn’t a question, you knew for a fact that’s exactly what he’s thinking, even if he won’t say it like that. Not yet, at least. The team had back-to-back cases for the last month and a half, and the two of you haven’t had a chance to actually have sex in the same length of time. You snuck cuddle sessions in each other’s hotel rooms a couple times, but kept them to a minimum as to not arouse suspicion from your teammates. You couldn’t take it anymore, especially with how good he looked today- how good he has looked the last few weeks, really. 

It wasn’t always that you showed your dominant side in bed, but it was all you could think about doing lately.

“Say it. Tell me you want to fuck me, Spencie.” 

Another squirm. Eyes squeezed shut. 

“Be a good boy, baby. Look at me.” your voice was sterner this time, though the playful edge hadn’t fully dissipated. It took a couple seconds but Spencer’s eyelashes finally fluttered open, “There we go,” you cooed. Spencer swallowed in anticipation, still worming a bit in his seat with arms glued to their spots. “Now, tell me what I want to hear.” you leaned your body forward, hoping to come off a bit more domineering. 

Spencer took in a deep breath, eyes flitting around the room in an attempt to avoid your gaze. You didn’t want to ask again, residing to clearing your throat to get your message across. He understood what that meant- you were getting impatient and if you didn’t get what you wanted you would simply stop. He didn’t want that. It’s not like the statement was incorrect, it just wasn’t something that was ever in Dr. Spencer Reid’s ordinary vernacular and he wasn’t yet in the headspace for it to come out without a second thought. He didn’t want to sound stupid. But, oh, he wanted you. Thus, he swallowed his doubts and began,

“Yes,” he nodded his head vigorously, eyes closing just for a millisecond, “I…” His gaze finally locked with yours, “I want to fuck you.”

Damn, the words sounded so incredibly, completely filthy dripping from Spencer’s innocent lips and you wanted to lick up every drop. Your pussy reactively clenched around nothing, and you wanted to surge forwards and push your mouth onto his in a hot kiss- half what Spencer himself expected (and wanted) you to do- but you controlled yourself. Instead, you remained calm, sliding off your desk and toeing your kitten heels back on your feet all while maintaining eye-contact with Spencer. You prowled towards him. His saliva hitched in his throat, heart skipped a beat, breathing quickened. He remained still while you leaned down towards him. Your minty breath fanned over his face, and Spencer wished you would just kiss him already. Of course, you knew that was what he wanted and so you wouldn’t let him have it just now. He watched your face as you brought your hand to his jaw. Your thumb dragged across his bottom lip and down, moving to pull the tie out of his sweater vest. You used it to pull Spencer closer to you, his chin tilted up, reaching out to connect your lips. Just as they were about to touch…you stopped. “Come here,” was all you whispered. And in a flash, you were standing straight up, using the tie to move him up with you. Backwards you walked, returning to your original position on the small desk. As you scooted up a bit, disregarding the important papers you were most definitely damaging, you hiked up your dress to allow your legs to fall open. Spencer moved to stand in between them, but much to his dismay you were too far on the desk for him to be able to feel the warmth radiate from your core. Obviously, that was done on purpose. 

Spencer knew he shouldn’t touch you yet, so he rested his hands on the desk close to your hips, only using the tips of his thumbs to brush back and forth between the lace of your stockings and the skin of your thighs. Good boy, you thought, but kept it to yourself. You slowly, yet deftly unbuttoned the cuffs and folded up the sleeves of his shirt, licking your lips at the sight of his hairy and veiny bare arms. You brought them each up to place a light kiss on the inside of his wrists, shifting up the watch on his left, before returning them to their original position. Spencer watched with bated breath and a parted mouth as you then began to seductively undo the top few buttons of your dress, pushing the fabric to the sides to allow Spencer to gaze down at the cleavage hardly contained by your lacy, deep green bra. (It didn’t escape him that they matched your heels). This enticed a moan from the disheveled man. He threw his head back, looking up at the bright ceiling lights in an attempt to grab his bearings, “You’re going to kill me.” he whispered. 

You held his face in both your hands, pulling it down to look at you again, “Good.” you whispered back in delight. Fingers traveled to the back of his neck, playing with and tugging at the ends of his hair for a minute before moving to push the dark gray woolen blazer off his shoulders where they then replaced the material with massages. Spencer's eyes shut at the pressures of your ministrations, forehead dropping to rest against your own as a feeling of peace and warmth flooded his veins. He almost forgot how horny he was- almost. He whined at the lost palpations as your hands changed course to loosen his tie. You left it on, opting to unbutton the top of his button-up. Your fingernails scratched at the exposed skin at the base of his neck and top of his hair-sprinkled chest before they danced up to trace his Adam’s apple. 

“I want you.” Spencer moaned.

“I know, baby.” you held his face between your hands again, firmly so he couldn’t move, “I want you, too,” Your face inched closer to his at a worm’s pace, and all Spencer could do was watch in impatient anticipation. “You’re just so fun to play with.” You nudged your nose against his, leaving a ghost of a kiss on his lips. 

“More, please.” He groaned, head straining against your grasp, his eyelids falling shut. 

You giggled sweetly, “Just a bit more, since you asked so nicely,” and you began to press more light kisses where you wanted to- on his top lip, the corners of his mouth, the little dip of his chin, his cupid’s bow, and finally the tip of his nose- your own lightly knocking against his with each proximal peck. Spencer sighed as you leaned away from him. 

“Please,” he breathed out. Spencer leaned into your right palm, eyelids opening to reveal a contented, dazed look.

“You said you wanted me to touch you, didn’t you, baby?” your hands started to move, down the front of his chest to creep under the hem of his dark blue sweater vest.

“Mhm…” he nodded excitedly, a content sigh leaving his nose. You pulled the light-blue button-up out of his trouser, the feeling of your cool hands splaying against the warm, bare skin of his lower abdomen had Spencer reeling. You dug the tips of your fingers down a path along his hidden abs and happy trail before curling them around to his lower back where you scratched long horizontal lines. You loved touching him, just feeling his skin. But, Spencer wasn’t the only one losing a little bit of patience. 

The sound of his belt buckle clinking undone caused his stomach to somersault. You roughly undid the button and zipper of his trousers before pushing them down just enough to grant you access to what you wanted. Spencer’s forehead thumped lightly against yours, finding its favorite spot again- well, second-favorite if we’re being honest. His breath quickened. You weren’t done teasing yet, though. Peering down, the outline of his hard cock straining against his boxer-briefs, a wet spot accumulating in the gray cotton, sent a jolt to your gut.

“Look at you,” your head tilted up, “so hard for me,” you whispered against his lips. Fingers snapped the waistband of his underwear against his stomach. “What a good boy.” Spencer’s brows furrowed against yours, prompting you to plant a kiss between them, leaving your lips there for a second while you dragged a single deep-brown-polished nail up the length of his covered hard-on.

He whined out your name, his voice hiccupping, “Please, please. Touch me.” The sound of paper crushing told you his hands still sitting by your sides were crumpling the files on the table. Spencer tried so hard not to move his hips, fearing you would stop everything. He resided to fist his hands and nudge his head against yours instead.

“Where?” Could you be any more cruel? Spencer groaned in frustration. Yes, you definitely could. He shouldn’t fight it.

“Please! My-my c-cock.” He swallowed hard to stop his stuttering. “Please touch my cock!” More sounds of paper rustling.

You giggled at his desperation, “Oh, honey, you’re so filthy.” Though, if you were being honest, you were just about getting there, too. Your swollen clit was pulsing in excitement, thin underwear increasingly dampening in your slick. If Spencer wasn’t standing between your legs, you’d be pressing your thighs together in an attempt to get yourself off. “If that’s what my baby wants...”

Finally, your right hand descended into his boxer-briefs, quickly using his ample precum to coat your palm before wrapping your fingers around his length. You gave him a good squeeze, prompted by the deep moan he let out, and started to jack him off. 

“Oh, my god.” Spencer groaned, head dropping down to your shoulders. His hands flew up to tightly grip the fat of your hips. His hair tickled your ears, hot breath summoned goosebumps across your chest. 

You hummed in response, hooking your heels around the back of his calves as you continued pumping. Your other hand moved to cup and press into his balls through his underwear. 

“A-ah!” he tensed up a bit. Spencer’s balls were always a very sensitive spot, almost as if he was biologically wired to be afraid of any touch there. It was your favorite thing to do though- especially wrapping your lips around them.

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” you whispered in his ear, nipping lightly at the lobe, “I’ve gotchu. It feels good, doesn’t it?” Your coos against his cheek immediately soothed the tension in his back and you could feel it radiate off of him in waves. 

“Yesss,” He mumbled through a groan, pushing his face into the side of your neck and moving his grip up to your waist, “So good.” He let his hips move now, and so did you. He lightly thrusted up into your fist as much as he could with what little leverage his narrow stance afforded him. 

You swiped a thumb over the head of his cock and lightly squeezed his engorged balls, causing him to gasp as his hips involuntarily bucked up. You felt his blazen, wet mouth drop open against your skin. Your hand turned and pushed, twisted and pulled, squeezed and tugged, Spencer’s moans growing louder and louder in your ear. Your eyes remained shut, relishing in the sounds he was making and the feeling of his burning skin against yours. Now, it was your turn to want more.

Suddenly, your hands left his dick. Before he could complain, you pushed his briefs down to fully expose him to the crisp air and pulled yourself closer to him in one motion, ignoring the crinkling of paper beneath you. He could feel the heat of your clothed core press up against his impossibly hard dick, causing the both of you to moan in unison. You rested your hands back on the desk and leaned away. 

“Touch me, baby.” you breathed out. 

Fuck, yes. Spencer thought as his hands surged forward, quickly undoing the last few buttons of your dress before roughly pushing the barrier open, fully exposing your cleavage. With a groan, his fingers pulled down the cups of your intricately designed bra to expose your perky nipples and his mouth immediately descended on them. Your head rolled back. The gasps and moans he was finally able to pluck from your throat were like music to Spencer’s ears. He sucked, nibbled, licked one areola while he pinched, twirled, and rubbed the other. His thumb rolled over the peak of your left nipple, pressing and dragging into the miniscule dip just how you liked it, causing the pit of your stomach to drop and your body to squirm. “Shit!” you hissed out, head snapping up to get a look at him. Spencer looked up at you in response, his eyes glinting with ferocity. His free arm wrapped tightly around your waist, fingers dug into your side, holding your body up to him. One of your hands tangled in his hair, tugging at the strands to make him moan around your nipple, the other gripped at the knitted fabric on his back. He continued moving from breast to breast, catching his breath only for half-a-second while he pawed at them before latching onto the next. Your squirming movements increased, moans becoming more high-pitched as your hands pulled at his hair in an effort to get his head off of you. It signaled to Spencer: you were becoming overstimulated. His mouth pulled off of you with a pop! and you gasped in response. 

He let you catch your breath for a moment, watching the rapid rise and fall of your tits while you watched his face through smiling eyes. The corners of his mouth were slightly wet, lips swollen from all the sucking, hair incredibly disheveled from your man-handling. You couldn't help but bite your lip and hum. So pretty. Just as you were about to speak, Spencer leaned down again and began kissing all over your chest and neck. His big, warm hands moved from your ribs to splay over your back, still holding you up to hover over the desk- one in the middle, the other between your scapulae. Your own moved to wrap around his shoulders. He pressed sloppy, damp kisses along the tops of your breast and over your collar bones before moving to the column of your throat. His lips dragged to each side, stopping to nip and suck here and there. Even in his fevered motions, he remained careful not to leave visible hickies, no matter how badly he wanted to fixate on a single place. Once he was thoroughly satisfied in covering your entire neck with kisses, he focused on the sweet spot on the right side, exactly where your pulsepoint was. “Oh Spencer,” the honeyed words caused him to groan, egging him on even more. Your fingers dug into the back of Spencer's own neck, legs wrapped around his ass, bringing him further into you. One particular suck and bite had you twitch your hips up, successfully rubbing your pussy against Spencer’s poor, neglected cock. This spurred him on. He was doing so well, using all his willpower to focus on pleasing you. To be a good boy for you and not rut his throbbing, leaking dick against your hot, wet cunt, but you finally did it yourself- you started it- which meant Spencer could now lose himself in his desires. The pressure had him nuzzling his face into your neck once again, lips open to breathe heavily against your warm skin.

One of his hands left the middle of your back to travel down your body, moving to grip your thigh and pull you to wrap your legs tightly around his waist while his legs spread further apart. The heightened angle and gained leverage allowed Spencer's cock to drag up and down the entirety of your cunt with greater pressure, drawing out even more noises from the both of you. 

“Oh my fucking God, Spence. Feels so good..” your choked out words caused him to dig his nails into your skin. You’d definitely be greeted with little crescent shapes tomorrow morning. You leaned your head against his, hands flying to grab onto wherever you could- tangling in his hair, bunching up in the shirt of his broad shoulders, scratching against his neck. 

The pleasure seeped into every crevice of Spencer’s brain, consuming any thoughts that didn’t revolve around you. He held onto you as if letting you go meant sending the world into ragnarok. “God, I..” he mumbled, shifting his grasp on your thigh to firmly cup your head in his palm. He couldn’t stop rutting into you, hunched over your body like a crazed animal, even though it was impeding his ability to speak. He licked his lips, readying to speak.

“I wanna fuck you so badly, baby.” 

The intensity of his words, his piercing gaze, and the particularly long and deep drag of his bare cock against your dressed clit practically had you cumming. Your head rolled to hang back in the air, almost hitting the desk if it weren’t for Spencer's other hand on your neck holding it up, thumb draped lightly over your jugular. Your eyes tightly screwed, bottom lip pulled in by your teeth in a sorry attempt to heed the salacious noises leaving your mouth. The light feeling of your pussy fluttering almost had Spencer pulling your barely-there panties to the side and shoving his cock into you. 

The man should be lauded and awarded for his self-control, but the need to please you triumphed over every biological impulse or desire Spencer would ever feel. He knew what you wanted. He knew your favorite part about teasing him- playing with him, stringing him up- was the burning, fervent, feral kiss it resulted in. Even though it used all his willpower he stopped his thrusting, pulling a drawn-out whine from the back of your throat. “Nooo,” you huffed and pouted. 

With force, Spencer yanked your head up to bring your eyes back to his level. He stared into your wide, surprised eyes for a moment, breathing fast and hard before he pulled you forward. Your lips met in an impassioned embrace, hot and heavy. Greedy mouths wide as if to gorge on each other’s impurities. Both of Spencer’s hands grasped your head, fingers digging into the back of your scalp, almost pulling at strands of your hair. Yours rounded his torso, pulling him as close to you as possible. The feverish kiss was messy, loud, and erotic. Tongues wrestled, teeth clashed, noses collided. The taste of Spencer’s saliva was addictive, your mouth pushed into his to gain as much of it as it could. You swallowed his moans, he happily lapped up yours. The motions of your hips started up again, adding to the delectability. 

Spencer tried to pull away from you, but you wouldn’t have any of it. You locked your ankles around his waist and bit his bottom lip in an effort to keep his swollen mouth of yours. He rested his forehead against yours again, thrusts becoming sloppy and uncoordinated. The feeling of your panties rubbing against your clit was almost becoming too much. 

“Please,” he breathed, “I want to fuck you. I need to fuck you.” 

“We c-can’t,” it was your turn to stutter, too overcome with desire to be cocky anymore, “they’ll hear us, we’ll…we’ll get in trouble.” Moans cut into your words. What utter bullshit. The sounds of your debauchery filled every corner of Spencer’s modest hotel room and both of you knew in the back of your fucked-out brains that it was all already dancing down the hallway for everyone to hear. The continuous crumpling of papers; occasional thwap of files hitting the carpeted floor; the consistent thunk, thunk, thunk of the wooden desk beating against the wall; the sharp sound of your kitten heels wrestling with one another around Spencer’s waist; and, of course, the melodiously lewd octaves crawling up from each of your vocal chords.

He hated that answer. You swear you heard Spencer growl as he adjusted to roughly throw each of your legs over his shoulders, always keeping one hand behind your head, before bending over you once again. Your hands flew down to hopelessly grasp at the papers under you. He loved bringing out that surprised look on your face.

“A-ah, Spencer!” The new angle was intoxicating. Every single sensation was overwhelming your senses. The pinches of your dress still bunched up around your upper thighs and creasing in your elbows. The fabric of his vest was rubbing against your hardened and sensitive nipples. Spencer's right hand rested on the base of your throat while the other twisted in your hair. The back of your thighs and calves stretched at the unwarranted position. The smell of musk and sweat proliferated the air around you two. The friction of his stubbled balls chafed your reddening ass. Your bra cups and wire dug into your ribs, the thick belt of your dress pressing your stomach. And of course, the heavenly feeling of his burning, heavy cock rutting against your core. “I think I’m gonna-” you couldn’t finish your exclamation, voice cut off by a sharp gasp of pleasure. No, you weren’t, not yet. You wanted more, too.

Spencer was emboldened by the mixture of oxytocin and endorphins rushing through his veins and the entirety of you engulfing his senses. He gripped your hair tighter as his confidence grew and pushed his forehead harder against yours to look deep into your watering eyes, “I need to feel your tight pussy, baby.” His voice was quiet, yet stern and full- no hint of hesitation or embarrassment. No stuttering or stammering. Your head reeled. 

“Fuck me, please!” was all you could say before reaching down and hurriedly grabbing your panties, clumsily pulling them to the side- no toying, no dirty talk, no teasing. Spencer took the cue, using the hand on your throat to instead guide his dick into your entrance. 

Finally, he thought while he pushed into you as he straightened up a bit, letting out a guttural groan. The beautiful tone of your sigh tickled his ears. Your pussy was so wet, and in turn so was his cock. You sucked in the entirety of his length with little problem. The thick, pudgy walls of your cunt enveloped Spencer’s dick deliciously, warmth causing his eyes to roll back into his head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re so tight.” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. He still held up your head, but his right hand moved down the outside of your thigh, fisting the lacy tops of your tights with a moan of your name

“Ah! You’re so big, honey.” You groaned in response, hands grabbing onto each of his wrists. It’s true, he was. Not the biggest cock in the world, but he stretched you out so incredibly every time. The perfect size.

You were so close to orgasming- you knew with just a few little movements you’d be pushed over the finish line. Nothing had to be said, though, Spencer was fully aware, but he wanted to savor this a bit more; give you a taste of your own medicine, if you will. He leaned in, pulling your head closer to his to envelope your lips with his again. Your legs sandwiched in between your torsos burned at the stretch, but you paid it no mind. 

“Please,” you begged shamelessly against his bottom lip. Spencer let out a small, breathy laugh, pushing your messed up hair out of your face. He pulled away from you to stand up straight, not without gaining a whine in response. You tried to keep your head up to watch him better, but you were losing your strength. With a light thud, you let your head fall against the wooden surface, the wall pressing against the top of your hair. He still wasn’t moving yet, and your orgasm ebbed slightly away. Spencer rubbed his big hands up and down the legs resting on his shoulders, massaging and kissing them wherever he felt like it. He took in the sight of you squirming and whining below him, fingers grasping at any of the random papers left on the desk they could reach, chest heaving. Your pearled nipples stood at attention, compelling him to ghost his fingers over them. He was barely touching you, but the moans and sighs would not stop leaving your throat. With a last kiss to your right calf, Spencer spread your legs open, toes of your kitten heels pointed out towards either side of the room. You watched him through hooded eyelids, hands going to support your legs for him. He tickled his nails deeply up the insides of your thighs, the light pain had you squirming and gasping even more which doubled as your movements had you shifting on Spencer’s cock. It felt so good, but the doctor held his own noises in, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“You said,” you pouted breathlessly, “you wanted to fuck me. Hurry, hurry!” You need to cum so badly.

“Isn’t so fun on the other side, is it?” his mischievous smirk mocked you. It was a lie, it was most definitely fun on the receiving end, but it was even more so on this one. His right hand slid up to cup your chin, thumb pressing onto your lips mirroring your earlier actions, “So desperate,” he murmured, hands moving to grab onto your waist. You huffed and shut your eyes, head rolling to the side. You tried to just focus on Spencer’s touch and feel, but he stopped further motions.

You were so beautiful; in every moment of your lives, but especially like this. Spencer paused for a minute, eyes boring into every centimeter of your figure to burn the image of you into his brain. Your hair splayed over the desk, reminiscent of an angel’s halo; eyes screwed shut with smeared mascara at the corners; glossed lips parted in desire. Oh, how delicious they’d look wrapped around his dick. Your inviting, stocking-clad legs held open just for him, manicured fingers digging into the back of your knees. Spencer’s cock excitedly twitched inside of you once his gaze reached your glistening, swollen pussy, the puffy lips gripping the base of him. His hands wrapped around your own, gripping tight, using them and your legs for balance as he slowly pulled his cock out of your entrance, leaving just the tip inside. He was mesmerized, it was a sight he’d seen many times before and was sure to see much more of in the future, but it hypnotized him anyway. He watched as your pussy clenched around him in a failed attempt to keep him in or pull him back, but Spencer wasn’t going to let that happen just yet. His tip pulled out just a bit further before pushing back in a centimeter, repeating the sequence a few more times, playing with your gaping slit. You tried to suck his cock back into you, but Spencer resisted. One more motion and the head of his dick popped out of your clutches with an audible squelch. He reached down this time, grabbing and rubbing his length against your cunt- side to side, up and down. Moans and expletives repeatedly left your mouth, but Spencer continued with a drunken smile on his lips. He slapped the head of his cock against your clit, causing you to twitch and yelp. He loved the reaction, prompting a couple more hits with the same response.

“Spencie…” you whined, ungraciously curling your hips up to gain more friction.

He was about to give in, but there was one other part of you he needed to see. With a single motion, he gripped the outside of your thighs and pulled your body further down the desk, dick sliding against your clit. 

“Oh, shit!” you let out, your head craning to look up at him. 

Spencer roughly pawed at your dress. He first pulled at the top, but it wouldn’t open up more to give him what he wanted, the belt positioned in the way. He moved on, pushing the skirt even high up, bunching it around your waist. He sighed in delight. The delicate filigree of your black garter belt laying right below your belly button stared up at him seductively, begging him to touch her. Spencer’s hands had a mind of their own as they palmed over the fabric, fingers moving over and under the top band to snap it against your skin- just like you did to him. The sound wasn’t as sharp, nevertheless it brought him pleasure. You mewed, lips curled up in a satisfied smile. Internally, you chuckled. You knew he loved the silly little piece of lingerie. 

It was the last piece of the puzzle, the final key to the terminal level. Spencer grabbed two fistfuls of the garter belt and the bunched fabric of your neglected, cooling underwear and, without warning, swiftly pulled you completely onto his cock. You both yelled as he bottomed out, your eyes blowing wide open and jaw dropping slack open. 

“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” Spencer breathed out. The look on your face egged him on. He pulled his cock fully out of you before using your clothing to slam you down onto him again. He stilled for just a second, catching his breath and steadying himself. Before you could utter a single syllable, he began fucking you like there was no tomorrow. 

The initial burn faded into sweet bliss. Your pussy fluttered and clenched around Spencer’s dick and he thrusted into you fast and deep. The bruising feeling of his tip pounding into your cervix gave way to a more intense sensation, your orgasm bubbling back up inside. His powerful motions caused your arms to fly up and Spencer deliriously watched your mouth-watering tits bounce up, down, up, down. Your hands pushed against the wall, trying to prevent your head from hitting it. Although at first you both tried to halter your noises, it proved fruitless. Inattentively, you let your moans and gasps and grunts stretch out to be as loud as they so pleased. The pleasure was so overwhelming, but the desire to watch Spencer fuck you was stronger. His hair flopped around at the sides, the strands at his hairline pasted to his forehead with sweat. He looked utterly pornographic, clothes still on but extremely tousled and uncentered. Sleeves pushed up, collar spread open, tie unevenly loose. His belt buckle clanged against itself, hanging from the trousers still draped around his mid-thighs. You removed one of your hands from the wall, pushing up the front of his body as much as you could, instead. You moved the bottom of his shirt and sweater vest to claw at his abdomen, focusing on the happy trail you loved to lick up. 

Spencer felt the same way as you. He fought to keep his eyes open, gaze flitting all over your body and face instead. You were intoxicating. When your own wandering eyes met his as your hand came down to his lower stomach, he let out a particularly loud moan, pounding into your even harder. The intensity had you latching onto his wrist. Just when you thought it couldn’t feel better, Spencer moved his thumbs down to your cunt, pushing your swollen pussy lips together around his moving cock before shifting them to press against your clit. 

“Holy fuck!” You let out, eyes screwing shut as your other hand left the wall to desperately match your existing hold on Spencer’s wrist. He rubbed in circles with one thumb as best he could, the other pressing into your fatty labia where he knew you had a sensitive spot. You began squirming, nails digging into Spencer’s skin, and you couldn’t even begin to care about your head lightly hitting the wall. “Spencer! I’m gonna come!” 

Spencer rubbed just a bit harder into your clit, earning an enthusiastic, “Just like that!” as your eyes rolled back into your head. He groaned at this, feeling your walls close around his dick. 

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he huffed, maintaining his pace and pressure, “come for me, angel.”  

Your core tightened up, and with just a few more thrusts your orgasm came crashing down on you. Waves of blinding white light washed over your body as you gushed around Spencer’s cock with a call of his name. The gripping and flitting of your pussy had Spencer groaning and he quickly shifted his arms, letting go of his hold on your garter belt and underwear to hold on to your waist, your limping legs hooking over his elbows. He didn’t let up his thrusts, chasing the orgasm of his own he was so close to reaching. He pushed the impending feeling down, not wanting to give up the sanctity of your hot cunt just yet, but he couldn’t stop his hips. 

As your orgasm began to subside and overstimulation prickled along your nerves, you tried to clench your legs closed, but Spencer wasn’t having any of it. He bent over you to push your legs open and press his forehead back onto yours. “Spencer!” you gasped, staring up at him wide-eyed and frantic. Your hands gripped his flexing forearms, “It’s too much!”

“You’re gonna take it,” he grunted out, fingers digging into the fat of your sides. He shut his eyes and swallowed hard for a second, his thrusts beginning to show signs of faltering. You felt so fucking good he almost wished he didn’t ever have to come, that he could fuck you through orgasm after orgasm without stopping. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

You nodded vigorously, babbling incoherently in agreement through frenzied moans.

“So you’re gonna take it just like this,” he gulped, pushing down a groan at your clenching pussy, “and I’m gonna fucking come inside of you.” His last words came out in a growl, drawing out longer moans from you as his thrusts started to include sloppier grinds. 

Spencer's pelvis grounded into your clit, his balls continued to slap against your ass, his erotic words mushed your brain, and soon the overstimulation pulling tears from your eyes turned into ecstasy and you neared a second orgasm. A strewn out, deep “Fuckk,” crawled from Spencer’s throat as your cunt squeezed him in quick succession, followed by your name being whispered and moaned repeatedly like a mantra.

You wanted to come again at the same time as him, and you were right at the edge, just as you knew he was, so you pushed him further to the precipice, “Spencer,” you pleaded breathlessly, “come on, baby.” You rested your hand on his cheek, urging him to open his eyes and look at you. “Fill me up.”

He groaned in response, head dropping down to press against the top of your breasts. A couple more sloppy, hard thrusts and he started “I’m gonna-”

But just before he could finish, you were jolted into stillness by a deafened boom, boom, boom. What the hell?

Someone was at the door.

You let out a yelp, Spencer’s hand immediately flew up to slap against your mouth. 

“Reid? What’s going on in there?” You heard from the other side of the door. It was fucking Rossi. 

Author's Note: muahaha >:D idk why but this is just how i imagined this piece ending. hope you guys liked ittttt, if you're reading this thanks for sticking to it. should i write a pt.2? i def already know how i'd continue (tho not smutty). did not think smut would be the first spencer fanfic i'd post. thinking of writing a follow up where spencer finally gets his release teehee. i'd love feedback and comments, pls! ty lovelies <3

[kinfanfiction]

Charlie Eppes x Fem!Reader - Chapter 3 - Clueless

A/N: I’m too proud of this idea tbh. Maybe I should’ve waited to write this chapter and I’m jumping the gun a bit here, but I like to place an initial reason for tension so I can build on it. I will be adding in a couple of OCs but they won’t be the main focus of the plot. If, when you get to that part in this chapter you think to yourself, “Isn’t this based off that one episode?” Yes, yes it is.

Side note, the ex I’m writing for the reader is based on my ex, so I’m keeping stuff vague cause bro was demented, but if y’all wanna make up stuff about dumb shit the ex in this story we can collectively make him the worst person ever and make her experience somewhat more detailed either as subtext or to address later in the plot. (Okay maybe not the worst, but like, fairly shitty.) As for the friends, they’ll basically be your run of the mill backstabbers.

I put my whole left lung into this chapter.

     Unbeknownst to the two of you, you and Charlie had been spotted by the cherry blossom tree by two young students, Bowie and Daisy. They each took your Creative Writing and Charlie’s Applied Mathematics class, and they agreed the two of you had chemistry. There was a whole debate on campus over it. Some argued you were just colleagues who got along well, some said you must just be really good friends, and then there were those who genuinely believed you belonged together. Of course, most people knew to stay out of their professor’s personal lives, but not Bowie. They were the experimental type. Daisy, however, always tried to be the voice of reason.

    They hid nearby and whispered to each other.

    “They talk like old friends.” Bowie observed aloud.

    “Don’t you think we should be doing something more productive with our time?”

     “This is productive!” 

     “This is interference.”

     Bowie shrugged, “We’re giving them the push they need.”

     “What if we’re wrong?” Daisy crossed her arms, feeling unsure.

     “Then our interference will ultimately mean nothing. They’ll laugh it off and move on. You don’t have to do this with me, but I’m still going to pull a Clueless on them.” 

     “Hmmm..... Well, it would be interesting to see the results of the experiment...” Daisy was leaning towards joining in on Bowie’s mischief.

     “Yeah, yeah, I know you want in.” Bowie teased.

     Early the next morning, you visited Charlie in his classroom. He had papers spread out everywhere and his blackboard was actively being covered in equations. He was listening to his music again, and was very focused. You walked up to the blackboard and inspected his writing, still it made very little sense to you. “What’s this?” You asked, and he jumped as you came into his line of sight, though he quickly regained his composure.

     “What is with you and Larry always sneaking up on me?” He shook his head and took a deep breath.

     You snickered, “You’re very easy to sneak up on.” You side-eyed him and flashed a cheeky grin. “So, what are you working on?” You questioned again, looking towards the board. 

     He looked at the board as you did, “Actually, Don has asked me to help him on a case. When I went home last night, he was there and I found a map of different crime scenes, all committed by the same person in different places around the area. I started calculating where he might strike next, and I guess Don realized I could be good help in solving this case.” 

     “Oh wow, so you’re a consultant for the FBI now?” 

     He nodded, “I am.” He spoke like he was proud, but also had something else he wanted to say but couldn’t.

     “What’s wrong?” You asked.

     He sighed, “I don’t think I can tell you, but just.. be careful, alright?” Charlie requested gently.

     “I get the feeling that whoever you’re trying to catch is a pretty frightening person..”

Charlie nodded. “I really wanna help them get this guy before he hurts anyone else.” 

     “I’m sure you will. You have a brilliant mind.”

     He gave a small smile, still unsure. “Thank you.” He thought quietly for a moment, debating on asking a question that hung in the air. “Why don't you come stay with us? Just until we catch him.. which should be soon.” He tapped his chalk on the board and examined his work. “Not that anything is incredibly likely to happen to you, but maybe just to be safe?” 

     You thought about his question. It wouldn’t be too much of a hassle to stay at the Eppes’ for a little while, you’d done it before. Besides, you lived and commuted alone, which theoretically could make you an easy target for any criminal. You looked at Charlie and nodded.

     “Okay, good..” He sounded very relieved. 

     The two of you went to breakfast and since he couldn’t talk about the case itself, he instead talked about the mathematical formulas he was using to find the guy they were looking for. You listened quietly as you ate, not having much to add yourself.

     As you walked to your classroom to prepare for class, you were met with a young student you recognized as Daisy Lewis. She took your Creative Writing course which wasn’t until later that day. “Morning Professor L/n! I was at the store recently, and I saw this perfume and it made me think of you.” She spoke as she handed you a small bottle. You were a bit taken aback by the gesture, since there seemed to be no occasion for it.

     “Oh..! Thank you! That’s very sweet of you, Daisy.” You exclaimed with a polite smile. Daisy smiled back, and then stood there like she was waiting for something, and then you realized she expected you to spray it on yourself. Your eyes widened at the realization and you quickly spritzed yourself. “It smells wonderful, really, thank you.” You smiled awkwardly. Daisy stood there, trying to think of a way to stall you further to ensure that Bowie could sneak into your class and secure any unimportant piece of paper on or in your desk to use to forge your handwriting. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to prepare for a class.” You moved past Daisy and opened the door to your room just as Bowie had barely managed to slip away.

     Bowie circled back and found their friend, and the two of them went to the library to come up with a good letter to leave for Professor Eppes to find. Once they were sure they had it, Daisy drew him out of his office to “Ask about an assignment.” While Bowie planted the note in his room, having previously sprayed the inside of the envelope with the perfume Daisy gave you.

     Bowie subtly walked past Daisy to signal that the letter had been delivered. Daisy wrapped up her conversation with Professor Eppes and split. Charlie wandered back to his classroom and spotted the note. He took it and sat down. He recognized it as being what seemed to be in your handwriting, not analyzing it enough to realize it had been forged. He covered his mouth as he read, both surprised and confused. It was strange.. it didn’t seem like you. He thought about how you’d subtly distanced yourself from him over the years, could this be why? Had you begun to see him as more than a friend, and perhaps found him more intimidating because of that? He wasn’t sure what to make of it. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think about it too much because he had a case to work on. 

     When each of your classes were over, and Charlie had made some headway in helping Don with his case, you arrived at his classroom door. This time you knocked, and he had a chance to hide the letter he’d received in the top drawer of his desk. You didn’t wait for any signal to enter though, you just walked in after a couple of seconds. You didn’t want to startle him again by simply appearing. “How’s the case going?” You asked, looking at the equations written on the board. 

     He stood next to you, just about to answer when he smelled the scent of perfume. The same perfume on the letter. He looked at you and let out a small sigh. How was he supposed to approach talking about the note? You clearly weren’t going to bring it up. “It’s going good, I’m making a lot of progress. Hopefully once I give Don what I’ve got he has a better chance of finding the criminal.” His words were somewhat hopeful, but his face had ‘distracted’ written all over it. “Can I ask you a question?” You gave him a curious look and nodded silently. He looked at you with a concerned expression and took a deep breath before speaking again, “Do you feel like you can tell me anything?” 

     The words caught you by surprise, “What makes you ask that? I tell you lots of things, don’t I?” 

     He hummed, “Mmm, sometimes I feel like you hide things from me, not that you have to tell me everything, but I guess I just wanted to remind you that you can if you want to. You know, in person. I’m not that unapproachable, am I?” 

     You furrowed your eyebrows, very confused at this sudden topic of conversation. “Unapproachable? Why would I think-” You shook your head. Had he found out something you hadn’t told him about while he was away or about some dumb shit you’d done in college? If so, who told him? “Where is this coming from?” You asked. 

     “Are you pretending not to know or do you really not know?”

     “Know what?”

     He sighed again, “I got a letter this morning.”

     Your heart dropped, because apparently whatever you’d done was so bad someone had to deliver it to your best friend in writing? You’d never done anything illegal. (Okay, not anything extremely illegal). So what the hell was in that letter?

     “What letter?” You sounded a little more panicked. He felt relieved when it was obvious you really had no idea what letter he was talking about. The relief showed on his face and he couldn’t help but laugh. “I knew it didn’t sound like you.” He went to his desk and grabbed the letter, and then an actual letter you’d written him years ago that he’d kept with him. You followed and watched him, looking over his shoulder trying to read the letter. He laughed again, pointedly, as he noticed the slight differences in handwriting. “Ha!.. I’m sorry, Y/n. This is a forgery.” You grabbed the letter from him.

     “What? A forgery of my handwriting? Why? Who? What does this say?” You read it, and as you did, you noticed it smelled strongly of the perfume Daisy gave you. Then you laughed too. Not just a light laugh, you broke into uncontrollable laughter as the panic left you. “Wow, someone tried to pull a Clueless on us.” You said as your laughter finally began to fade. 

     “They did what?” 

     “Do you grade your students harshly, Charlie?” You questioned.

     “I don’t think so, I think I grade fairly. Why?”

     “We need to watch Clueless, as soon as you have the time, of course.” You insisted. “Let’s go.”

     You both picked up your things and walked to your car again. “We have to stop by my apartment so I can grab what I need for the next few days.” You explained as you got in the driver’s seat.

     “I don’t think I’ve gotten the chance to see your apartment yet.” He observed, a little excited at the idea.

     “Well, you’re welcome to visit anytime.” You offered, “But let’s see if you like it first.” You chuckled briefly and then drove out of the parking lot.

     The two of you quietly listened to music as Charlie thought about the case he was working on, and you thought about how he’d said it felt like you hid things from him. You knew from the way he worded it that he wasn’t just talking about the forged letter. You had been hiding things from him, of course, but you thought he was oblivious to that. Of course he also added the consolation that you didn’t have to tell him everything, but you thought perhaps it would be better if you did.

     You arrived at your apartment and took the elevator. Charlie held his hands behind his back and looked up at the numbers changing as you went through each floor. Soon, you arrived at your level and you walked to your front door. You walked in and grabbed a back to fill with clothes, a toothbrush, a hairbrush, and all the things you needed for work for the next few days that you kept with you at home.

     Charlie insisted he carry the bag for you after feeling how heavy it was, even if you said it was alright and that you could carry it.

     “Let me do something nice for you.” Was his final argument, and you knew you’d do something nice later in return.

     He put your bag in the back seat, and then the two of you drove to the Eppes’ home. “Evening, Alan.” You said as you walked in.

     “Good evening Y/n. You staying with us for a few days?”

     “That’s the plan.” You smiled.

     Charlie dropped your bag off in the guest room. “I have to continue working on this case, but I’ll see you at dinner. You do whatever you need to do in the meantime, alright?” 

      You nodded and smiled, and then Charlie left. You got out your work and some headphones, and you listened to some Fiona Apple as you graded your student’s work. As you quietly graded, you thought about the day. You continued to contemplate on opening up to Charlie about what you’d experienced in high school, mainly because he seemed to blame himself for your emotional and physical distance from him. You knew that at the very least you would assure him that those behaviors had nothing to do with him.

     A few hours later, Charlie knocked on the door. You didn’t hear him at first because of the loud music playing in your headphones, so he knocked again. After knocking twice and hearing no response, he slowly opened the door. Still, you didn’t notice. He could faintly hear the music blaring in your ears and he couldn't help but chuckle. He gently took the headphones off, which startled you. “Ah! Oh- Jesus you scared me.” You exclaimed, putting a hand to your chest and catching your breath. 

     He grinned knowing he’d gotten you back for all the times you’d startled him in a very similar way. “You’re gonna go deaf by fifty listening to music that loud.” 

     “What did you say?” You yelled. 

     He shook his head, “Very funny.” He rolled his eyes, and you grinned.

     “I think headphones wouldn’t have the option to turn them up so loud if you weren’t supposed to.” You determined with a shrug.

     “I don’t think that’s a very safe assumption.”

     “Maybe not, but if I’m already gearing towards going deaf early on I might as well continue to blast my music anyway.”

     “Sounds like flawed logic but hey, they're your ears. I guess it’s time for me to start learning sign language.”

     “I’m surprised you don’t already know it, since you already know just about everything.” 

     “That’s not even close to true, I just know most things when it comes to math. I don’t know english as well as you, and I’m not good at reading people, or understanding why they do things, I just focus on calculations.” 

     “I’d say your calculations help you read people and understand why they do things quite well.” You argued. 

     His expression changed to one similar to how he’d looked after he read your forged love letter. “I don’t know... they haven’t been helping me understand you more. I’ve noticed how distant you've been with me ever since I came back from Princeton. I just can’t figure out why. Maybe it’s just because we’d grown up. I guess that’s what typically happens to friends as they get older, they drift apart. I just hate that it happened to us.”

     Your expression softened, and your eyes filled with remorse. “I mean, I never intended for that to happen. Yes, there were years we had to spend apart, but I tried to help make up for that. We never stopped being friends, so we can’t have drifted that much.” 

     He clicked his tongue and looked down at the ground for a moment, “Sure, we never stopped being friends, but you changed, which is of course normal when you get older, but you seemed noticeably less comfortable around me. I don’t know why that always bothered me so much, I guess I’ve just always wondered if I did or said something to make you feel more guarded around me that maybe I wasn’t aware of?” He looked up and made eye contact with you, having finally asked the question that he hadn’t been able to ask until that moment.

     You sat quietly for a moment, trying to accept the approaching conversation. You opened your mouth to speak, closed it, and then got up from your chair. You wrapped your arms around him and held him close for the first time in a year. He froze for a second, and then tenderly wrapped his arms around you in return. “Charlie, no. I promise you did nothing wrong.” You assured him softly. Tears welled in your eyes as you thought of the real reasons you’d become a more guarded person. You let go of him and sat on the guest bed and pat the spot beside you. He sat down and waited silently for you to speak. “I know I probably shouldn’t let these experiences stick with me for as long as it has, since I was only, what, like fourteen, fifteen?” You laughed, feeling a little pathetic. 

     “But after you left, I did my best to make friends. There was one guy that seemed really interested in everything I had to say. He was really kind at first and found ways to earn my trust quickly. I was young, and naïve, so I didn’t question his attention. I liked having him as a friend, and then.. he wanted to be more than friends. I’d never had anyone like me as more than a friend before, and figured that a first relationship might be fun. At first, it seemed like we were having a good time. He got me gifts, always complimented me, showed me affection, and ultimately made me feel special. A tactic of his that I didn’t notice until later, was that he was rushing to learn everything about me. I mean everything. He got me to be vulnerable with him, and then used details about my personal life against me. He’d poke at my insecurities, when I’d tell him my fears he’d use that to scare me, and overall he was just a terrible person who enjoyed making me feel horrible. So, finally, I left him. Then I was alone again.

     “I tried making friends again, and I got in with this group of girls. I thought I found a good group, but I was wrong. They only wanted me to be their friend so they could do better in english. When I wasn’t around, they made fun of me just for having interests that didn’t align with their’s. They humiliated me, time and again. They’d waste my time on purpose by doing things like inviting me out somewhere, only to never show up. So, essentially, all that taught me was to be more guarded with people in general. I shouldn’t have let that apply to our friendship, but I guess when you came back I had a fear that maybe time had changed you and that you might hurt me. Hell, I don’t know why I thought that, you gave me no reason to. It was just my own fears.” You stopped talking and looked at him. His eyes were wide, like he was taking it all in. “I’m so sorry, that was a lot. I shouldn’t have said so much, I-” Then before you knew it, he was hugging you tightly again.

     “Thank you for telling me.” He whispered. Then after a moment, he pulled away. “I just want you to know, I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you. If I do something that hurts you and I don’t realize it, please tell me and I’ll do everything to make it right. But I would never, ever, go out of my way to do something to harm you. You have been my best friend for the majority of my life. I’d have to be absolutely insane to ever do anything to jeopardize that.” 

     Then you smiled, and your whole body relaxed after feeling so tense while you told him everything. You sighed in relief, “Okay, enough with the heavy shit. Let’s watch Clueless.”

[libraryofloveletters]

prompts 8 + 9 for Buck omgggg 🥲🥲🥲

Can’t Lose Him

Evan Buckley x Reader 

Warnings: fem!reader, mentions of hospitals and injuries, minimal swearing, mentions of pregnancy and Chim’s accident, big brother!Chim

Prompts: #8: “you promised me you wouldn't be reckless! You promised me!” #9: “Does he know about the baby?” 

Category: mix of angst and fluff

Word Count: 2.4k

Author’s Note: I loved writing this so thank you for requesting! :) 

---

Pacing the room, Hen reached out for your hand. “C’mon, your feet must hurt. Sit down” you sighed, once again you were in a hospital waiting room in the middle of the night with the team and Maddie because Buck’s idiotic self got himself hurt again. 

“I’m okay Hen, thank you” you gave her a slight smile. Bobby was talking to the doctors because you couldn't bring yourself to hear what he’s done this time. Bobby returned, Athena by his side now. “Oh honey,” she pulled you into a hug, you could feel yourself melting into her arms, she sat with you and her arm wrapped around your shoulder. Bobby sat to the other side of you. 

“The doctor said that the pressure of the block cracked a rib, which then punctured a lung. He also has a mild concussion but they say it shouldn't be too bad” 

“Is he out of surgery ?” 

“He is, but he’s in recovery now. It might be a little bit before we get to see him” Bobby gives your shoulder a squeeze, you nodded.

Taking a look around the waiting room, Chim held Maddie as she slept with her head on his shoulder. Eddie sat to the other side of them, on the phone with Carla and Christopher. Hen was now talking to Bobby about something. 

This wasn't an unusual scene but a familiar one. Regardless of what was going on or who it was, the 118 always shows for their own. 

A rather tall man came into the waiting room. “Buckley ?” he called out, everyone stood, the doctor seemed surprised to see so many people at 4 in the morning. Your hand was resting on your stomach, you could feel eyes burning into your side. Looking to the left, Chim’s eyes were fixed on your hand, you nodded in his direction with your brows furrowed. He shook his head, you didn’t think much of it. 

“We can take one person in if someone would like to go in now? He’s still asleep but he’s stable as of now” your heart sunk at the term “as of now”, shaking the feeling, you look over at Maddie. 

“Do you want to go in first ?” 

“You go ahead, I'll walk with you and then I'll see him after. I might take a lap, my back is killing me” she gave your hand a squeeze, the two of you followed the doctor to a room down the hall. 

She came in for a moment to kiss her brother’s head and then left you alone in the room with him. You sat at his bedside, your hand held onto his. His hand was cold, the monitor was still going and you could hear his heart beating through the deafening silence but it felt strange. 

Every time you found yourself back here, it felt odd. 

Buck was a warrior in every sense of the word, he pulled through, always. 

“Oh baby, what did you get yourself into” sighing and leaning back into the chair. Once again, your hand comes down to rest on your stomach, the other hand still holding Buck’s. His hand twitched slightly, he was starting to wake up. “Don’t move hun,” your hand rested on his chest softly, Buck’s brows furrowed. 

“Wh-who are you?” his head tilted slightly, your heart dropped. The panic started to set in but you knew better than to let him see it. 

He’ll come around, he’s just woozy from surgery. 

“Why are you here?” he asked once again, “I'm-” you started but was cut off by a little chuckle from Buck. “You ass!” you let out a breath, “god, you scared me”

“Sorry baby, I didn't mean to scare you” 

“Yeah? So why am I sitting in a hospital room while you’re all banged up” 

“We could bang if you wanted” he gave you one of his stupid wicked smiles

“Evan Buckley!” you scolded him, “now is not the time” your hand held onto his arm, your finger tracing over the tattoo on his bicep. “You really scared me, the whole punctured lung this isn't a cute look Buck” 

“Really ? And here I was thinking that I was pulling it off” 

Something flipped in you, you went from relief to anger in .2 of a second. “How could you?” hitting his shoulder, you stood up. “Ow! What did I do ? I'm just laying here” Buck whined, you know you didn't actually hurt him, he's just being dramatic. 

“I know it’s your job to run into burning buildings but would it kill you to be safe? You can't fucking save anyone if you’re dead Evan!” 

“Woah, calm down first of all, and why are you calling me Evan ?” 

“Is that not your frigging name ?!” 

You were starting to lose your patience. You loved Buck, any and everyone knew that but you couldn't deal with how stupid he could be sometimes. He’d run straight into danger to help others but not once would he stop to think of what could possibly happen to him. 

“Where is this coming from ?” he asked you, looking at you. He reached for your hand but you pulled away. You find yourself pacing again, trying to calm yourself before you strangle him with his IV line. “What do you mean ‘where is this coming from?’ you had a giant block of concrete on your chest Buck! If Eddie didn't find you, you'd be dead, you were on the verge of death as it is.” 

“You don-” 

“I don't know that ? I know you’re dumb enough to run into a collapsing building, especially after Bobby told you not to go back inside” you gave him a look, your back up against the wall. Buck’s face went pale, he looked as if he saw a ghost. 

“What? You thought Eddie wouldn't tell me about your little stunt ? You should know better than that.”

“Y/n, baby, I didn’t think anything would happen to me” 

“You never think Buck, that's the problem! You promised me you wouldn't be reckless! You promised me! but you never listen, you never do. One of these days, you're going to walk in and not walk back out.” storming out of the room, Buck sat on the bed, his mouth hung open and confused as to what brought on the fit of rage you just had. 

Maddie walks into the room, “where’s y/n?” she sits beside him. Buck rubs his forehead, “um- she just went for some air” 

--

It was around 5:30 in the morning, you sat outside on the hood of Buck’s jeep. You had dropped him off at work and taken the jeep for the day, hence why you had it right now. 

Peaceful.

That’s how you’d describe your surroundings. There was no one in the parking lot, you laid back on the hood as your hand came down to your stomach once again, staring aimlessly up into the sky. It wasn't dark but the sun hadn't fully come up yet. It was right before dawn, the world felt like it paused, not completely, but just enough for you to take in these few moments of peace. 

The weight shifted on the jeep, you opened your eyes to see Chim climbing up to sit beside you. “Hey, everyone’s looking for you” he says, laying back onto the hood beside you. “Yeah, I just needed some air” lying through your teeth, you give him as best of a smile that you could muster up. Chim’s eyes fixated on your hand once again, you watched him, practically hearing the turning in his head. 

“What's going on in there? The rebar taking its effect now?” you joke, he rolls his eyes. 

“Does he know about the baby?” he asks, you sit up and turn towards him. You hadn't told a soul. 

“How did-” 

“Maddie does it to- the hand on the belly thing. She's been doing it since before there was a bump. Just a motherly reflex I suppose” 

You stared off into space, Chim sat beside you quietly. “Does he know?” he asks once again, you shake your head. “I know it’s not my place,” he rests his hand on your shoulder, “but I think you should tell him. It might keep him from running into buildings without thinking.” 

“Did that work for you ?” 

“What do you mean ?” 

“When Maddie told you that she was pregnant, did you think twice before running into a burning building ?” 

“Honestly, at first it didn't. It didn't seem real until I saw the bump and heard the heartbeat. Then it all made sense ya know ? I couldn't risk getting hurt because I had something to live for, they were waiting for me to come home” 

“That's the thing, I don't want to lose him, Chim. I can’t lose him. I love him and I need him here, the baby needs him. There’s no way I can do this by myself” 

“You can, I know you would be able to do it by yourself but you shouldn’t have too. Buck’s an idiot but he loves you.”

Chim sat with you for a few more minutes, you considered everything he told you. How Buck might not change right away nor did you expect him too but if there was even a chance of him changing, you’d want him too. “Ready to go back in?” Chim slides off the hood, holding his hand out to you. You hold his hand and he helps you off the hood.

“We have a stop to make first” you walk in the opposite direction of Buck’s room. Chim follows you down to the gift shop, which was closed as it doesn’t open until 7.“Are you kidding me?” you groan, leaning back against the door. “We’ll figure something out,” Chim looks around. Eddie comes around the corner, “what are you guys doing here?” he walks over. 

“I needed something for Buck” 

“What did you need? Can’t it wait until they open?” 

“Eddie, I'm pregnant” you just blurt out, Eddie’s jaw drops, literally. 

“Congratulations!” he pulls you into a hug, “wait, you’re happy about it right?” he checks, you nod. 

“I need one of those stupid “world’s best dad” shirts for Buck but it's closed” 

Eddie looks at Chim and then looks around. “Are we gonna?” Chim points towards the door, looking at Eddie. “Yup” Eddie looks around once more, “lean your head towards me y/n” your face screws into a weird expression but abides anyways. Eddie pulls a bobby pin out of your hair, turning to the door and jams into the lock. He wiggles the pin around until the lock clicks open. 

“Voila” he smiles as pushes the door open. The 3 of you walk in, Eddie stays by the door to make sure no one was coming. “Chim, find a pen and paper for me please ?” you walk away to find the shirt you were looking for. Picking up 4, you shove them into a bag form behind the counter. You toss $30 onto the counter and scribble a little note for the person that opens that read: 

Had an emergency, needed a few shirts. Hope this cash covers it. Thanks! :) 

Eddie relocked the door before heading to Buck’s room. Everyone was now in the room, scattered in different places. Bobby was leaned up against a wall, Athena stood beside him, leaning into his side. Hen sat on the little counter by the window and Maddie was still in the chair beside his bed. Eddie went over and joined Hen by the window, Chim stood behind Maddie, his hand coming up to her shoulder. 

“Y/n..” Buck whispers as you walk in, you take a seat on the end of the bed by his hips. “I’m sorry” he says, his hand reaching out for yours. 

“You’re an idiot but, I guess, I forgive you” you say and Buck smiles at you. “What’s in the bag ?” he asks, you rest the bag on your lap. “Something for you boys” The guys exchange looks, Eddie and Chim knew you needed something for Buck but what did you get for them? 

Pulling out the shirts, you handed one to Buck first. It was a plain blue t-shirt with big white bold letters that read “world’s best dad”. Buck looked down at the shirt and then back at you, he repeated that process a few times and after a couple minutes he finally asked you. 

“Are you ?” he whispers, the room is silent. 

“Am I?” you ask.

“Pregnant ?” he finishes the question and you smile. 

“Yeah, I am” your hand rests on his, he pulls you into his side for a hug. You hug him, trying not to squish him and hurt him even more. 

“Okay,” you sit up and toss another shirt that said the same thing to Eddie. He caught it and smiled, “because Christopher couldn't have a better dad than you” Eddie gives you a smile and whispers a thank you. 

The next shirt gets tossed to Chim, he laughs. “You got one for me too?” he asks, pulling the shirt on over his sweater. “Yeah because baby girl Buckley is gonna be one lucky baby, despite your not-so-funny dad jokes” Maddie laughs at the comment, Chim does too. 

The last shirt goes over to Bobby. He gives you a look, “what’s this for ?” he asks, “Because not only have you been amazing with May and Harry but you’ve got a fire station full of ‘children’ that rely on you. Just a thanks for bringing them home in one piece, well for the most part” you pat Buck’s side.

The room is filled with happiness and love, the 118 was together once again, not just as firefighters but as a family. 

-- 

taglist: @ssa-volturi @advicefromnixxxx @dralexreid @keenmarvellover

[yandere-daze]

HIII!! OMG i just want to say that U R SO TALENTED AT WRITING 🤩🤩🤩!!! like i found ur acc when i read the "ritsu comforting s/o because they didn't get his 5*" back then and WHEN I TELL U IT MADE ME <(///UWU///)> then yesterday was leo's bday and i didn't get him at all T _ T it suddenly reminded me of ur work and tried to find u and when i scrolled past the same scenario but with tsukasa ... I JUST TEARED UP AT HOW SWEET TSUKASA IS TOWARDS HIS S/O- I JUST WANT TO SQUISH HIS CHEEKS 👌👌😤❤ that said, it made me wondered if ur requests are open and it is!! hopefully... if not u can ignore this request 🙇‍♀️ but if it is, can i request something similar to that scenario but with leo? TYSM!! 🥺💕

AHHHHH first of all thank you so much for all of the compliments it really made my night and like dnsjkbdfkBD YOU´RE SO SWEET 😭 😭 💕 Like literally this might have been one of the loveliest comments I have ever gotten and it make me so giddy and ahhh absbsb

And of course you may request! I feel at this point there´s going to be a post like this for every enstars character but I don´t mind, they´re fun to write fajlbfal I also did one pull for Leo but didn´t get him either :/

Leo comforting his s/o that didn´t get his 5 star card

The scene of the crime: The music room

The victim´s condition : critical

Cause of almost-death : a broken heart

You could practically feel your eyes welling up with tears as you sat in the corner with your phone in hand, your heart broken and all of your dias spent.

You played ensemble stars pretty casually to support some of your friends there and pull for their cards. You were having plenty of fun, until this one fateful day.

When you woke up and checked the game to see if there was anything new, you were greeted with the announcement that your boyfriend was going to get his own 5 star gacha card. Of course upon seeing that you made it your own personal mission to bring him home, I mean how could you not want to? You had saved up a pretty big stack of dias because you rarely ever used them so surely that should be enough to bring Leo home, right?

Right?

Well evidently it was not enough and you felt crushed. You had done so many pulls but you just couldn't get the card. You heard a quiet sob escape your mouth and you quickly tried to surpress it but it was already too late

Leo had been sitting on the floor right across from you as he was excitedly scribbling music notes and lyrics all over the floor. It seems like he had once again ran out of paper. He had seemed so utterly focused on his own work that it surprised you to see him immediately lift his head when he heard the sob escape your mouth

The excited smile on his face quickly faded when he saw how distraught you looked, he nearly felt his own heart break as well to see you so sad.

Dropping his pen, Leo jumped up from where he was sitting and ran straight towards you with his arms outstretched before laying his head on your lap while tightly wrapping his arms around your waist in a hug

"Waaaah y/n what's wrong, what's wrong?! Are you crying? You can't be! Please don't be sad!! I'm a genius composer but I still need my muse to write my masterpieces!! I can't do it without you wahhh!"

Leo affectionately rubs his cheek against you as he clings onto you even tighter then before, refusing to let go of you as long as he still drew breath. You looked sad so he was just being a good boyfriend, okay? Giving you lots and lots of affection seemed like the ideal way to comfort you in his eyes. If he just showered you in his love you would be fine! He does want to know what's made you so sad tho so he can properly help you. And when you tell him what happened, a bit embarrassed, he quickly clutches your phone in his own hands and starts yelling at it

"You stupid game, how dare you make my soulmate so sad?! My one and only love and inspiration!! The god's from the heavens above will smite you down for interfering with my composing like that, just you watch wahahah!! You will regret the day you messed with y/n! "

You couldn't help but smile a bit from how angry Leo seemed to be at your phone. He most likely realized that your phone had in fact not decided to conspire against you, he was very intelligent in his own way after all. Rather he was purposefully trying to cheer you up with his rant, a task in which he expertly succeeded in

Trying to draw his attention, you gently combed your fingers through his hair which made him shift his attention back to you. A brilliant grin stretched across his face when he saw your little smile directed at him

"Ahh you stopped crying y/n! Don't you worry, your knight will protect you from the clutches of this evil device wahaha! This is just an alien trying to trick you by impersonating me but I would never fall for a trick like that! See, see you have the real deal right in front of you, isn't that great? "

You felt inclined to agree, happy that your boyfriend was trying his best to comfort you even though he had looked so focused on composing before. Thinking about it now, you felt a little guilty about stopping his creative process for something that was admittedly rather silly looking back on it

As if he had read your mind, Leo hesitantly got up to snatch one of the many papers scattered across the floor before hurrying back to lay on your lap once more

"I know just what will cheer you up, look and marvel at my masterpiece! The gods of music have once again blessed me with their vision, this is one of the greatest ones yet! I wrote this one just for you, so listen closely so you don't miss anything!!"

After that, Leo started singing loudly, his voice echoing inside the walls of the music room as he essentially serenaded you. Listening to his words, you found that he had indeed written the song for you. It was all about how much he loved and appreciated you, how you were his sparkling muse that brought him joy to no end. How he wanted to always wake up next to you and give you (many) good-night kisses whenever you went to bed

He was looking directly into your eyes while he was singing and when he finished he pressed a soft kiss onto your lips, savoring the moment. Because no matter how long you two have been together, he still feels a spark within him whenever he looked at you and he would be forever there for you when you needed him

[junosartsthetic]

Hello :) For the yandere writing prompts: Might I get Roses with Shigaraki? Please and thank you <3

"Roses. They once brought great comfort. They still bring me roses but the light in their eyes is gone."

I always get carried away writing these, oops. Anyway here you go! Also this is a tattoo parlor/flower shop AU because of course it is.

__

Your new shop had only been open a day when you first noticed him. You were tending to your freshly cut roses, clipping the thorns carefully, when you heard the bell on the door jingle. You turned, looking to see who had entered. “Hello, welcome to Roses and Company!” you greeted, looking the newcomer over.

He donned a black hoodie, hood over his head and hands tucked into the pockets. You noted grey-blue hair poking out from the hood. His lips were rather chapped. He didn’t reply to your greeting.

You finished tending to the roses, placing them in a vase on a shelf before walking over to the stranger. “Can I help you find anything?”

He glanced over at you. You gave him a smile. He shrugged. “I work next door. I had nothing better to do so I wanted to check this place out.” You noted his gravelly voice. He sounded irritated. Maybe that was just his tone of speaking, you thought.

You remembered the tattoo parlor next door. “You’re a tattoo artist?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

He rolled up his hoodie sleeve, showcasing a large collection of tattoos. They ranged from morbid depictions of skulls to scrawlings of words. You thought they were pretty.

“Oh, sweet. I’ve never had a tattoo but I might have to get one now that you’re right next door!”

He gestured to the bouquet of roses you’d just shelved. “How much for those?”

You were only just now realizing you’d never put price tags on anything, assuming you’d have time later today. “Oh, umm…”

He suddenly spoke up. “A tattoo for the bouquet?”

You raised a brow. “Really?”

This day was turning interesting.

He nodded.

Why the hell not, you thought, trotting over to grab the vase before handing it over. “Alright. Deal.”

Next thing you knew you were sitting in a chair, the stranger sitting beside you as he sketched out a few ideas. They were all types of flowers. He was a very good artist, you noted.

“Hey,” you spoke up, causing him to hum. “I never got your name.”

“Tomura,” he mumbled, focusing on his sketches.

You smiled. “I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to meet you.”

You pointed at a sketch of a rose he had, noting it resembled the roses in the vase sitting in front of the paper. “You’re really amazing at art, Tomura. That looks incredible.”

His cheeks grew warm. “I’ve been doing this for a while. Anyway, is that the one you want?”

“It looks expensive, are you sure you want just that bouquet?”

He nodded. “It’s fine. I don’t care about money. I just enjoy the art.”

Within a few minutes, he had laid down the stencil for the tattoo, and you braced yourself for the inking needle.

“Relax,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The sensation of the needle hitting your arm made you jump, but it wasn’t as bad as you imagined. Your eyes watered slightly as he continued his work.

It only took about an hour to complete, and you talked to him during this time, Tomura occasionally responding but mostly just listening.

He realized he really liked your voice. And your calm demeanor. He didn’t know why he suddenly made a deal with you, or why he insisted on giving you a free tattoo. He’d never done anything like this for anyone else. What made you special? He didn’t even really know you. It was odd. He’d have to discuss it with Kurogiri later.

“It’s done,” he spoke after some time, putting the ink needle down and cracking his wrists. He’d usually take a break during tattooing, but he decided to push onward for yours, strangely.

“It looks amazing,” you commented, gazing at your freshly inked arm. “Thank you, Tomura. And you were right, it didn’t really hurt.”

“You should probably get back to your store,” he noted. “Let me wrap it up and I’ll check on it tomorrow.”

You gave him a soft smile. “Sounds good!”

The next day, he showed up at your shop as promised, and you waved him over. “Hey, Tomura. Nice to see you again.”

You gestured to your new tattoo. “It seems to be doing good. I’ve been doing everything you’ve said to take care of it.”

He looked it over before his eyes roamed to your face. You were very pretty, he noticed. He liked the way you smiled at him. Nobody had smiled at him like that before. It made him feel nice.

“Oh, here,” you said, handing him a vase full of roses. “I decided that just one wasn’t enough in exchange for this tattoo, so I wanted to give you another bouquet.”

He stared at the red flowers, freshly plucked and trimmed. They looked perfect.

He took them wordlessly. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he mumbled.

You waved him goodbye. “Alright!”

Day after day, he showed up, and day after day you gave him a bouquet of roses. He always accepted them, and you always looked forward to his visits.

Until one day, it all changed.

It had been a month since you’d opened up shop, and your tattoo had healed up nicely.

You were rather busy today, so when you didn’t see Tomura at all you brushed it off as just missing him when he walked in.

When 10 pm rolled around, you began to close up shop.

You were prepared to walk out, purse in hand, when you saw a figure outside. You quickly recognized him as Tomura.

“Oh, hey! I thought you had already stopped by and I just hadn’t noticed you! I’ve already stored all of the roses away for today but I’ll give you two bouquets tomorrow! Promise!”

Tomura waved it off. “No, I’m not here for that. I wanted to repay you for all of your kindness.”

You cocked your head. “Oh, I don’t need any payment or anything. You’ve been a dear to me!”

He held his hand out, grasping yours. “You don’t have to keep up your ruse. I’m not a likeable person. I know that. But still, you look at me with such kindness. And I can’t get you out of my head.”

You stared blankly. “What do you mean, Tomura? Are you confessing to me or something?” You laughed, meaning it as a joke, but the way his hand squeezed yours, you realized he was completely serious.

“Every waking moment I think of you. I still have all of your bouquets you know, I’ve taken such good care of them. They’re all alive and well. Let me take you to them. They’re just inside my shop.”

You gripped your purse nervously. What had gotten into him?

“Oh, I’m glad you like them. Flowers can be tricky to take care of. Especially roses. People don’t like their thorns.”

He began to tug on your hand, guiding you next door. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”

Despite the lurking feeling of dread, you followed him without question. You knew Tomura. He wouldn’t do anything weird to you. He was a friend.

He led you inside, walking towards a door in the back of the tattoo parlor. You noticed a large chain and a lock on the door. He used his free hand to unlock it, the key dangling on a necklace tucked into his hoodie.

He led you inside.

There, on the walls of the small closet, vases of roses lined the shelves. You noticed they were all pristine, as healthy as the day you handed them to Tomura.

“Wow,” you said, letting go of his hand to caress a rose. “They’re so vibrant. You’d make a good florist, Tomura. You’ve taken great care of these. It’s amazing. They all look really healthy.”

You heard shuffling behind you. You moved to turn around, but a cloth pressed against your face stopped you. An arm wrapped around your waist, locking you against a chest as a chemical entered your airways. You attempted to scream, but no luck. Petrified, you could only wiggle in his grasp as your body began to weaken.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N), but it’s for the best.”

When you awoke, you noticed you were still in the closet, though resting on a loveseat tucked into the corner. There was nobody with you. “Tomura!” you called, struggling to stand. You felt dizzy, and your legs wouldn’t move. “Hello!” you cried. You tried to wiggle your toes, but you couldn’t. What the hell was going on.

“Someone help me!”

The door unlocked, and in stepped Tomura. His hood was off. He’d never taken his hood off before. You looked into his eyes and saw blazing madness. He scratched his neck violently, smiling widely. “Oh good, you’re awake! I thought I’d knocked you out for good! That would have been awful!”

You recoiled in the chair, uselessly attempting to move your legs and escape.

“Sorry, little rose, but I had to. I couldn’t have you leaving me!”

Your eyes widened, terrified. What had he done to your legs; why couldn’t you feel them.

“Tomura, stop it. You’re acting crazy,” you cried, tears pricking your eyes. “Let me go!”

He shook his head. “I can’t. You don’t understand. I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can never let you leave me!”

You began to shake, sobbing.

He stepped towards you. “Don’t cry. I’ll take good care of you. You’re the most important of my flowers, don’t you see? You were giving me all of these roses, when you were the only rose I needed!

You cast your gaze to your tattoo as a new wave of tears struck you.

He said nothing else, only turning on his heels and walking out of the closet. The door closed, and you heard the chain clanking as the lock clicked.

You were trapped here. With no ability to walk. And no way out.

As Tomura locked you in the small room, his mind was racing. He’d done it. He’d finally gotten you all to himself. His heart beat rapidly, and he clenched his hands tightly. He was euphoric. And yet, that look in your eyes hit a soft spot in him. Was this the right thing to do? He shook this feeling aside. Of course it was. There was no other way. He had to have you. He had to protect you. He had to keep you healthy, just like the other roses...

Some time had passed, weeks maybe, you’d lost track, and you grew quiet and lethargic. You wouldn’t speak. You wouldn’t look at him. You wouldn’t even acknowledge his presence.

Still, he’d give you food and water. He helped you clean, giving you baths in the tub above the parlor. He even carried you up the stairs, being that your legs were now permanently paralyzed.

Every few days, after the parlor had closed, he’d carry you to a seat, giving you a new tattoo. It was always a rose.

Roses. They once brought great comfort to you. You used to love them. You would love giving Tomura a bouquet each day he visited. Technically, you were still bringing him roses, only he inked them onto your skin. You became his bouquet.

“You still bring me roses,” Tomura muttered quietly, buzzing the flower into your reddened skin, “but the light in your eyes is gone.”

[lovingcorleone]

“The Deal That Never Happened” — Sonny Corleone x Reader x Tom Hagen

Summary: Tom and Sonny need Y/N's help to help them out.

Pairing: platonic!Sonny Corleone x Lawyer!Fem!Reader x ex!Tom Hagen

Author's note: (English is my second language.) ; First of all, I'm not a lawyer, I don't have any degree in area of law, I have no idea how these things work, but I had fun while writing it and doing some research! I don't know how did I come up with this plot ...but enjoy!

Author's note 2: Reader is Tom's ex girlfriend and events take place after Michael killed Sollozzo and McCluskey, but could not escape to Sicily. also, I was thinking about part. 2?

Warning: strong language, mentions of murder

THE DEAL THAT NEVER HAPPENED

The very original plan of the Corleone's revenge didn't turn out as one would expected. Michael Corleone did, in fact, kill both Sollozzo and McCluskey, but he was not able to catch a flight to Sicily. This was a key moment, which led to nothing but more trouble. While he was hiding, Tom and Sonny were thinking about the next step. The oldest Corleone boy wasn't entirely innocent either. Santino was guilty just as much as Michael, though he wasn't the one holding a gun. Michael, their brother was in grave danger, and that was the other reason they needed to react quickly. Violence was not an option anymore. The legal and diplomatical work of white-collared person was a necessity at that time. Luckily for them, Tom had this specific person in his mind. Y/N L/N. The greatest lawyer he ever met...and dated. When he told Sonny about his idea, he thought that Tom was joking, but eventually he changed his mind and was willing to ask her for help.

Y/N was always very busy, but never too busy to help her friend. Even though, she and Tom were not a couple anymore, she told him to always count on her when his world will fall apart. She was fully aware of an affair that recently happened with murdering Sollozzo and the police officer. She even knew that it had something to do with the Corleone family. In her field she was the best. That kind of person you really want to have on your side. Don Corleone himself once wanted to put her on his list of people he hoped that would help him one day. These people would get extra money and that was hell of a motivation. But Tom strongly disagreed with his adoptive father and said that he wanted Y/N keep far away from their family business. Don wasn't surprised by Tom's reaction, because he knew that Tom still cared about Y/N.

Their meeting held a place in their house, right in Don's office. When Y/N stepped out of a car, Sonny and Tom were already waiting for her. Tom was nervous as hell, but just like always he hid it quite nicely but not completely. Sonny smirked at Tom. „When was the last time you two saw each other?“ „Long time ago. Anyway. We're gonna talk business, so no unnecessary comments. Do you think you can do that, Sonny?“ Tom shot a glance to his brother and Sonny rolled eyes. „For a moment I thought I was hearing our father. I still don't like this idea, but it's the best thing we have now.“ When Tom saw Y/N coming to them, he immediately ran to welcome her. They politely shaked hands and Y/N gave him a faint smile. „Thank you for coming here so quickly. We- I appreciate it.“ Tom said a low voice and Y/N nodded. „Sure. No problem. I'm glad you called.“

Before falling in endless pit of awkwardness, Sonny jumped between them and welcomed her as well. „Let's go inside before this will get suspicious.“ he said with warm smile and all three disappeared behind the closed doors.

While Y/N was preparing her things, neither of Tom or Sonny dared to start a conversation. After 5 minutes, Y/N looked at Sonny, who suddenly started to feel not very cooperative. „Alright, Mr. Corleone. Take a chair and sit right in front of me. Don't ask, just do as I said. It will be more effective.“ Y/N stated as Sonny sat down with a grumpy look on his face. All of a sudden he felt less confident as usual. Their eyes met and both of them stared at each other more than it is appropriate. Y/N leaned back in big chair and put her hands on the desk in front of her. „If looks could kill.“ she smirked. Sonny frowned and Tom just quietly chuckled. „Let's take a look into your file, shall we?“ „Wait, I have a file? How's that possible?“ „Everyone who commited some kind of crime, has a file. But you have just one, because your father made sure that you have all your files destroyed. This one is considered as your first and only one, so let's act like it.“ Sonny's facial expression changed from being grumpy to being surprised to being a bit upset. He took out a cigarette from a little box and lit it. Y/N let out a sigh and opened the file. Then she looked at man in front of her with a sympathy, but it wasn't completely sincere. „You're upset, yeah, I get it. You are really someone– Don's first born.“ Sonny, well-known hothead, angrily pointed a finger at Y/N. „Watch your next words!“ „Sonny...“ Tom warned him.

After what happened to Don, Sonny was extra cautious what people were talking about his father. Y/N knew that Santino was kind of hard to work with, but she did not plan to give up on him. „Look, I'm just trying to do my job here.“ she smiled, „So..shall we get started?“ A smoke left Sonny's mouth as he nodded. Y/N started to pulling out bunch of papers from her bag and handed him a pen. „For the very start, please, uh, sign this...this..aaaand this.“ The oldest Don's son's jaw dropped a bit while looking at what he had to sign. He really thought that they are gonna just talk without doing the boring part. But still, without any more words, he signed everything. „Good, perfect! Such a nice handwriting you have.“ Y/N enthusiastically remarked while putting away signed papers. She could swear that Sonny's cheeks flushed with a pink color for a second. Tom watched them from his own desk in the office, and he felt so proud that Y/N agreed to take their case. Meanwhile, Sonny felt almost intimidated by her presence. „Ahh, sorry. I forgot about these papers...Here. I need another your signature. Just three more and we're done..for now.“ Sonny looked at Y/N like she was crazy, but signed it anyway. What else he could do. „You done? Perfect! You know, the bureaucrats...They always want their paperwork.“ Y/N giggled and shrugged her shoulders like it was normal thing. And for her it was. She loved doing her job, being a lawyer. Sonny finished his cigarette and after a few minutes of complete quietness, Y/N voice's echoed again. „Okay, listen. Let's get into your case..“ „Fucking finally.“ „Don't interupt me, Santino.“ „ ...Sorry.“ „I know what you are thinking. 'This is a mistake! I shouldn't be sitting here!' Well, they don't think that.“ she said that in high-pitched voice accompanied by wide smile on her face. Tom couldn't help but snorted and earned himself an annoyed look from Sonny, who certainly didn't find it amusing. „Thanks for the sympathy, but can we get into that case? We are kinda running out of time. I already signed those fucking papers, what more those dickheads want? I know this is a part of your job, I get it, but! Can we move on?“ the hothead miserably throwed hands into the air. Y/N eyes were fixed on him, not saying a word. She clicked her tongue and put her hands together. „Good. So you understand that I'm just doing my job here. The job you asked me to do.“ she whispered but her face was unreadable. „I was thinking. Your situation is pretty bad at the moment. But I think I have a solution of some kind. Listen, I'm here to strike a possible deal with you, but we will soon get to that part, okay?“ Sonny nodded and his eyes got a bit brighter when the part with a deal was mentioned. „Suddenly how excited you got. Wow.“ she chuckled for herself and shaked her head. „Uhm, so... How about take a look at your crime? You've been charged with Criminal Conspiracy with code 479. Okaaay. Let's see what it says here.. Yikes. Ordering and attempting a murder. But if I remember it correctly..You wanted to avenge your father, so you sent your brother, Michael Corleone, to kill Virgil Sollozzo and also police officer Mark McCluskey. Michael was supposed to make a deal. But that deal never happened. Are you following me?“ „ Yeah. I mean..all correct. So far. Continue.“ Y/N looked at Tom and he approvingly nodded. „You did what you did, and now we're having this conversation. But without Michael, because... we don't know his whereabouts. Too bad, because he was the one who killed them, not you. You only prepared it. Sounds like this is all your work. Oops.“ she raised her eyebrows, pulled her lips into a thin line and then let out a deep sigh. „Tom, are you familiar with criminal conspiracy, mostly when it comes to participation in it?“ she shot a quick glance at man sitting afar from them. He nodded. „In most states, those who have helped plan a crime but have not participated in the actual crime may be given the same sentence as the person who committed the crime himself.“ he responded and Y/N faintly smiled at his

correct answer. He did not forget these things and Y/N was genuinely happy about it. He may have been a consigliere at that time, but deep inside there was an amazing lawyer hidden in him. She stayed silent for a moment thinking about words what she was about to say and then quickly licked her lower lip. „I may or may have not a deal for you. It just depends on you. And on your cooperation.“ Sonny sat on the edge on his chair and looked into her eyes listening carefully. His anger disappeared. „Alright. What do I need to do then?“ A smug smile flashed on her lips and she shook her head. „This is not about you, Mr. Corleone.“

Silence. Sonny frowned at what she just said, but still confidently smiled like he understood. He was taken back. And Tom was too, but not as much as his brother. So far Sonny did not meet a woman that would have behavior like Y/N had. But in the end, it was her job. However, Sonny must have admitted that Y/N was super smart with lots of courage. Tom was right about her. However, Santino needed to think straight, he needed to focus. Y/N shrugged her shoulders. „Listen, if it was up to me, which is not up to me, it's up to the authorities above me, and they say that you are a criminal. But, if it was up to me...I would like your family to get out of this mess and continue living your lives.“

[thatslikely]

A Slow Dance - G.W.

A Slow Dance- George Weasley x Fem!Reader (unspecified house)

Warnings: none! pure fluff <3

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: y’all I’m serious. where’s my George. I need someone like this asap, don’t be shy universe. hope you guys enjoy as always :)

Just a Reminder: song lyrics/thoughts are in italics [I imagined is Put Your Head on My Shoulder by Paul Anka, but any song works]

Taglist: @horrorxweasley @hufflepuff5972 @amourtentiaa 

if you want to be added, send me a dm or an ask!

Requested by the lovely @amourtentiaa [my first request I’ve gotten, and I love it!]

----

“Ugh. Why do you have to sit hunched over your desk studying all the time? Have at least a little fun! It’s our last year at Hogwarts!” A sprawled out George exclaimed from your ruffled four-poster bed with a groan. His handsome face hung off the edge of the bed frame, his upside-down gaze fixed on your distracted figure.

George was always quite needy; it was practically a law of nature. Whether it was running around pulling a record-breaking marathon of pranks, or just tenderly holding his large, soft hand while discussing your favorite novel, he lapped up every ounce of you he could. 

“Georgie, if I don’t do well on my N.E.W.T.s, how do you expect me to get a decent job?” you asked with a bit more bite than you intended. The complex, academic sentences scribbled onto the parchment before you droned through your brain like headache-inducing white noise, which soured your attitude more than you liked to admit. 

It made your heart flutter knowing that George yearned for your care so much, but you had your whole life to spend with the vexatious redhead. You only had the next week to pass your N.E.W.T.s. 

“You’ll always have a job down with me at the shop, c’mon! Imagine: my two favorite things wrapped up into one!” he said, before adding more softly, “plus, you’d look so cute in the uniform.” You couldn’t help your cheeks from heating up at his affectionate comment, which wasn’t intended to grace your ears. 

“I wish it was simple as that, Georgie. While I’d love to work with you at the shop, you know that’s not what I really want to do. You always tell me to shoot for the moon, and this is just part of the process.” You were unrelenting with your studying, which George of course admired, but he was equally relentless in his pursuit of spending time with you, even if it was just for a second. 

The dorm fell suspiciously quiet, which allowed your mind to delve even deeper into your studies. The strokes of your quill grew deeper and sharper into the parchment with focus, the ink-blotted tip eventually tearing a small rip mid-sentence.

A breath that you unknowingly held escaped your lips in the form of an exasperated sigh. You rubbed your temples before picking up the quill and starting again. 

You mindlessly scribed cursive onto the dense paper for several minutes before snapping out of your trance at the jarring noise of a chair’s legs scraping across the hardwood floors. George took the vacant seat next to you, resting his elbow on the surface of the desk. 

His handsome face rested comfortably in his palm, his whole body turned towards you. You could’ve sworn his mischievous but lovable gaze flickered to your soft lips every few seconds like a magnet drawn to its opposite pole. 

Stop thinking about George, and his delicious lips, alluring cocoa-colored eyes, fluffy red hair… think about Transfiguration! 

Your quill-wielding wrist moved in more furious motions, your determination to stay devoted to your academics made your eyes drift to the smug titian-haired boy next to you more than ever. You eventually succumbed to your heart’s desires, giving George a small glance.

The expression George donned shattered your expectations; you expected his eyes to be droopy and half-asleep, jaw-slacked in boredom, evidenced by his disdain of all things school-related. 

Instead, however, his red tongue stuck out to his chin, his index fingers pulling apart his freckled cheeks. His mocha eyes were humorously crossed, fixed on his adorable aquiline nose. He looked utterly ridiculous.

“What’re you doing, Georgie? You look absurd!” you questioned with a hefty chuckle. His eyes lit up with triumph at the laugh fleeing your lips. 

“I’m getting your eyes off that stupid piece of parchment! You’ve been writing nonsense on it for the past quarter of an hour. You need a break.”

“Just let me study a bit more, then I promise I’ll spend some time with you, okay?” you bargained, hoping for compliance. You pivoted your head back to the strewn papers resting on the mahogany desk in front of you, ready to get back into a productive rhythm. 

The welcome rhythm never stayed for long though, for it was always disrupted by George making another goofy face. He’s just being a child, you thought, you’re a seventh year. Ridiculous faces aren’t funny. Oh how wrong you were. 

With every new expression that graced his features, another laugh threatened to escape your mouth. Soon enough, your eyes were steadily fixed on the frivolous ginger, ready for what face he would come up with next. 

Your brain was locked in a battle: George and his loveable humor, versus your Transfiguration notes and passing your N.E.W.T.s. Both were hardy competitors, but in the end, McGonagall’s subject prevailed. George got up from the seat next to you with a huff, blowing a stray red strand of hair up from his forehead. 

He paced around the large room, scheming a way to get your undivided attention. He peeked around the wooden shelves and dressers that stayed pressed against the walls of the dorms, looking for something, anything.

His eyes eventually settled on the record player on your nightstand by your bed. It was a muggle device that his father had ranted about many times before, and he guessed that he could probably figure out how to work it. 

His calloused fingers plucked the top inky-black vinyl record from the stack, feeling the textured grooves engraved in its surface. He set the record in place, dropping the needle not long after. The previously pin-drop silent room quickly came to life with the enrapturing sounds of harmonious chords.

It appeared that even the universe wanted to free you from the shackles of your boring notes, for the vinyl George happened to choose was your favorite song, and a slow, romantic one at that. 

George lightly tapped your back, causing you to swivel around towards him. He had his long, toned arm outstretched to you charmingly, beckoning you for a dance. You gingerly placed your palm into his and he swiftly pulled you out of the chair and into the middle of the floor.

His face was handsome as ever; you only just now realized how much you missed all of him. His gentle touch, his honey-pooled eyes, the pure love pumping through his veins. His hands rapturously rested on your waist, yours’ wrapped around the nape of his neck. You twirled a small section of his red hair in between your fingers, which only made the lovestruck grin on his face grow bigger.

The song continued to echo through the cozy walls of the room, the unified swaying of your hips in sync with the song’s slow beat. You nearly melted in his warm embrace, his arms gradually bringing you closer and closer to his beating chest.

You eventually rested your head on George’s shoulder, feeling the soothing vibrations of his vocal chords humming along with the notes of the song. 

Put your lips next to mine dear, won’t you kiss me once, baby?

As if the song had you two lovebirds under a spell, George slowly brought his lips to yours, giving you a slow and passionate kiss. 

He’d kissed you so many times before, but this time it felt different, in the best way possible. It was as if angels sang when your lips graced his’; you could taste his feelings through the connection, his devotion and longing for you overriding your senses. Your eyes teared up at the wave of endearing emotions that overcame you. 

The sensual dancing continued long through the night, the tender and enchanting kisses and slow sways wiping your mind of the stressful upcoming exams. 

“Feel better, darling?” George breathily mumbled into your ear, the warmth from his mouth shooting directly to your heart, coating your body with goosebumps.

All your hazy, smitten mind could respond with was a simple but passionate, “I love you.”

“I love you too, darling.”

[stxphxn-strange]

(no) rest for the innocent

summary: Tony wasn’t even on trial, but the jury found him guilty and he couldn’t disagree.

a/n: idk last night i was thinking about tony dealing w survivor’s guilt after endgame (and IW) so i threw this together, tw for mention of death and implied thoughts of suicide

“Good evening, Doctor.” FRIDAY’s warm, pleasant voice always reminded Stephen of home and cinnamon scented candles. “How was your trip?” 

“Too long for a meeting that could’ve been handled over email. Or through carrier pigeon, as Tony would say,” Stephen replied as his cloak sailed off down the hall. 

He washed his hands carefully, drying them on an Iron Man dish towel that Peter had given them as a joke wedding gift before putting the kettle on. 

As the water was boiling, he noticed a covered plate on the kitchen counter. There was an obnoxiously orange piece of paper in front of it, which made Stephen smile. Tony always left him little notes on purposefully electrifying paper, that way they were easy to find. 

The sorcerer’s smile only widened as he read the note. 

Steph— 

I wasn’t sure when you’d be back, but I decided to make you dinner anyway. But not because I’m missing you and wanted to surprise you, I just accidentally cooked too much. You know how that happens sometimes and you just end up with an ungodly amount of chicken parm? Life’s funny like that. 

Anyway, I’m in the lab. I had some good ideas earlier and I wanted to start them while I still felt productive. Welcome home sweetheart, and if you go to bed before I do (because you probably will, you responsible asshole you), sweet dreams and goodnight. 

Love, Tones

PS— Orange you glad you met me? … don’t answer that, I just couldn’t help it and had to write that down. 

Stephen rolled his eyes fondly. “Fri, will you tell Tony that even though he’s not funny, I’m very glad I met him?” 

FRIDAY was quiet for a few moments before responding. “Boss says, quote, ‘fuck you Gandalf, I’m hilarious,’ unquote.” 

Stephen smiled, heating up his meal before sitting down to eat. He flipped through a magazine while he ate, FRIDAY turning on some soft jazz music as background noise until Stephen cleaned up and left the kitchen. After a refreshing shower, the sorcerer found himself in his most comfortable pjs and slippers as he walked through the house. Stephen wasn’t sure if he was going to bed yet, but he wanted to see Tony (and maybe he wanted a kiss or two or even three). 

The music in the lab automatically lowered when Stephen shut the door behind him, and Tony looked up with an expression that could only be described as tired. 

Actually, he looked exhausted. Weary. Barely holding himself together. Stephen wasn’t a thesaurus, but very concerned about his husband. 

Tony was trying to smile, but he seemed too exhausted to do that and just gave up, not saying anything as Stephen sat beside him. 

“Hi.” Stephen leaned over and softly kissed his husband’s temple. “Thanks for cooking for me, you didn’t have to.” 

Tony shrugged. “I had a lot of energy earlier, and I accidentally cooked way too much. Maybe it was intentional, you know I’d take any excuse to go out of my way for you.” 

His words said one thing, but his tone betrayed him. His voice was brittle, hard, and almost staticky. Stephen thought he sounded like a rusted hinge that was trying not to cry out for repairs… or maybe that analogy only made sense given where they were. 

Stephen kissed him again as Tony sat back at his desk, closing his well-used sketchbook. “You alright?” 

“Yeah. Tired I guess.” Tony sounded as unconvinced as Stephen felt. 

“Come to bed with me,” Stephen offered. “I’ll bore you to sleep by telling you about the meeting.” 

Tony laughed hollowly. “That bad?” 

“I don’t know how to describe it, but it was a waste of time. Even Wong was bored, and he watches the Antiques Roadshow remake for fun,” Stephen replied. He yawned and leaned against Tony’s side. 

“I see what you’re doing,” Tony murmured, trying to be lighthearted. He was just feeling some kind of way right now, he felt serious and was so endeared by his husband that it hurt. 

“What am I doing?” Stephen asked, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder. 

“Being cute and sweet so I’ll go to bed and let you be the big spoon,” Tony accused. “And maybe I just really fucking need a hug, but… it’s working.” 

Stephen shifted and pulled Tony into his arms, holding the mechanic close as he went lax. 

“My Boss Is Singing Closing Time Protocol please, Fri,” Tony mumbled. 

“Goodnight Boss, goodnight Doctor,” the AI replied, beginning to run the lab’s standard closing protocol. 

“Portal?” Stephen asked. Tony was getting better with going through portals, but some days were harder than others. Stephen didn’t know what tonight would be like and opted to ask, selfishly wanting to make sure Tony got some rest as soon as possible. 

He was so out of it by that point that Stephen wasn’t sure if Tony registered the question, but he nodded slowly and trusted Stephen to lead him through it and into their bed. 

Despite “resembling a sloth clinging to a tree bough,” (Tony’s words) Stephen was intuitive and knew when not to hug Tony. Even when he was asleep, if Tony woke up thrashing or fighting against something in a dream, Stephen let him go. 

Tonight was a bit different. Stephen wasn’t brought to the edge of reality by Tony thrashing in their bed or accidentally tangling himself in their sheets, so he assumed everything was fine. That was until the sorcerer hugged his husband closer, still mostly asleep and just following his instinct, and Tony outright begged Stephen to let go of him. He wasn’t quite awake, but Stephen backed off immediately and heard Tony trip over his own feet as he left the room. The sorcerer fell asleep again after that, trying to stop the sound of Tony’s broken plea from cementing itself in his memory. When Tony climbed back into bed some time later, Stephen was stirring a little bit more. Tony hid his face in Stephen’s collarbone and said nothing, his breathing still slightly erratic. 

“Sorry if I woke you up,” he mumbled. 

“Don’ be,” Stephen replied, his voice unsure whether or not to wake up. 

“Will you hold me again?” Tony asked pleadingly, his voice almost imperceptible. 

Stephen wordlessly obliged, kissing the top of his head. “Whatever’s bothering you… you can talk to me about it. When you’re ready. And you don’t have to, but I’m here for you.” 

Tony nodded. “It feels like too much right now. What I’m thinking about, I mean. I need time to process, I guess.” 

“Okay,” Stephen said simply. “But I’m here for you whenever.”

“I know. I love you,” Tony replied. 

Stephen began to trace soothing patterns on Tony’s back. “Love you Tones.” 

++++

Tony didn’t seem any more rested the next day, but his confident Tony Stark™ pose seemed natural. He’d easily be able to fool people who didn’t know him as well as his family did. So it was a “fake it until you make it” kind of day, and Tony’s energy was on a strict schedule. There was only so much he could take today, and if his teammates wanted to call him selfish then that was their choice. 

It would just go in one ear and out the other, especially this late in the day and after brutal team training. Tony was close to skipping the meeting, but a cutting remark in the hallway made him change his mind. Why did they always act like it was breaking news when Tony needed to step back from something anyway? He was just as human as anyone else, and the world was happy to throw responsibilities on his unenhanced, steady shoulders just because he was a natural caretaker. 

The arguments about Tony’s quiet, withdrawn demeanor started two minutes into the meeting. Stephen was ready to defend his husband as soon as they got to the conference room, Tony collapsing into a chair and leaning his head against the cool metal of the table. 

He didn’t want to talk today, and Stephen didn’t want him to. 

“It’s not nap time, Stark.” There was a small hint of fondness in Natasha’s cold, clipped voice. 

Tony was already regretting his decision to show up, wishing he hadn’t told Stephen again and again that he was fine. He wasn’t, and they both knew it. Everyone knew it, but Tony knew better than to advocate for himself in front of his… colleagues. 

“I don’t even remember what we’re meeting about,” Tony muttered, looking up enough to address whoever was talking to him. 

Rhodey took a seat beside Tony, encouragingly patting his back. “You good?” 

“I’m fine, Honeybear,” Tony replied. He was sitting between his two favorite people, and that helped him feel a little more grounded. “I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

Someone scoffed. “I don’t think anyone’s slept right in months. And don’t say you haven’t slept in years, Stark. We don’t need a story about how everything you’ve ever done has led to years of sleepless nights. We know already. Put it in a book or something and make the team more money so I can have better arrows.” 

Stephen was two seconds away from dropping the archer into the Dark Dimension, or flipping a table. He wasn’t sure how to handle the man yet, still taken aback by the rudeness and stupidity of his comment. “Barton, what the fuck—” 

“Steph, don’t bother with him,” Tony said. He stood up, forcing his tiredness into a corner and giving his coworkers a confident glare. “Pardon me for giving it my all and being a bit tired as a result. Now I’m going to get an ice pack for my shoulder and maybe a cup of coffee. Does anyone want anything?” 

“I’ll take a—”

“Get it yourself, you know where the kitchen is.” 

For dramatic effect (and moral support), the cloak landed on Tony’s shoulders and billowed out as he left the room. He returned with the aforementioned ice and coffee, and a mug of tea for Stephen. 

“You didn’t have to do that sweetheart, but thank you,” Stephen said appreciatively. 

“That’s why I wanted to,” Tony replied. He relaxed a little into his chair, starting to believe he could get through the meeting. 

Then, like clockwork, Clint opened his mouth to complain. 

“Why did you bring him tea and nothing for the rest of us?” He whined. 

“Doesn’t Tony do enough for you?” Stephen asked, innocently taking a sip of his tea. It was his afternoon green tea, made exactly the way he liked it. 

Tony was always so sweet and attentive with his loved ones, it warmed Stephen’s heart. The sorcerer stifled a laugh as Rhodey poured half of Tony’s coffee into his own empty mug. 

“Thank you,” the colonel said impishly. “Consider the roommate tax paid for this month.” 

Tony tried to smile at the old inside joke, but Stephen noticed that it fell flat. 

“Are we done with the interruptions? We need to talk about what’s out there. We don’t know if Thanos is the exception or the rule, and—”

Tony stopped listening. Clint’s snootiness was doing his head in, but the idea of another threat, another thing, another colossus he’d have to conquer and survive if his luck had anything to say about it… that was the breaking point. 

Tony didn’t have a good relationship with luck. He didn’t really believe in it, but apparently it believed in him. Because Tony was lucky. It was true that he was lucky in meeting his husband, his friends, and his family, but this was a different kind of luck. Tony was intelligent and skilled, shrewd and savvy, and there was virtually nothing he couldn’t do or solve, except for one thing. 

He was constantly lucky, constantly cheating death. 

And he didn’t realize that he was hyperventilating, didn’t recall dropping his head into his hands. He didn’t recall that he’d just walked out in the middle of the meeting after a minute, didn’t realize that he was home when he opened his eyes. 

Tony was home, in his spot on the couch in Stephen’s library. Stephen was sitting beside him, quietly watching a documentary or something like that. Tony was laying down, his head in Stephen’s lap with the cloak draped over him like a blanket. The crimson fabric continued to cling to him as he sat up, further proving Tony’s point that Levi liked him best, but he wasn’t in the mood to banter now. He just appreciated the support and the warmth of his sorcerer and their shared, sentient blanket.

With some hesitancy, Tony leaned over and rested his head on Stephen’s shoulder. They locked eyes for a minute, Tony’s gaze deliriously bright and vacant. 

Stephen didn’t know what to say or do to make the man trembling in his arms feel better, but started by hugging him closer and softly stroking up and down his spine. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered, lowering his head and hiding against Stephen’s chest. 

“No apologies,” Stephen reminded him. “I don’t want or need them, and you don’t have to explain yourself.” 

“I have to give a good reason,” Tony said, his voice beginning to shake. “Everything I do needs a reason.” 

“Why? Says who?” Stephen asked. He was more thinking aloud, half expecting Tony to leave the question unanswered. 

For a while, he did. He just sat, furiously trying to blink back tears and gather his thoughts as Stephen held him protectively. 

“Sometimes I think about… things,” Tony began vaguely. “And people. And places. I guess I just like nouns.” 

At this point, he didn’t even know if he was trying to deflect or just tell a joke, but his attempt at humor fell flat. He tried to force a laugh, but halfway through it turned into a painful sob. He cried harder with each breath, ignoring the ache in his chest. Tony barely listened when Stephen encouraged him to breathe, but eventually he gave into his exhaustion and listened to his lungs. 

His stupid lungs, which apparently were just as stubborn as his brain. 

“I can’t keep doing this,” Tony whispered. “I shouldn’t have survived Afghanistan, New York, Sokovia, Siberia, or Titan. I can’t keep cheating death, Stephen. I don’t want to. I don’t want to be lucky and survive when the damage I’ve caused, the damage I claim full responsibility for, has taken so many lives. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt or killed for me.” 

Stephen pressed a soft kiss to his hair, feeling Tony’s guit and fatigue as if it was his own. 

“I don’t want to do this,” Tony repeated. “I’m probably just spiraling or being needlessly selfish, but  I… I don’t know.” 

“You’re taking on too much responsibility where you don’t need to,” Stephen said. “I know that’s easy for me to just say from the outside, but you aren’t the only Avenger. It’s about time the team, if you can even call them that, takes accountability for their actions and stops bulldozing you with their problems. You aren’t selfish, Tones. You’re tired and overworked, and you deserve a break. You deserve to breathe, to just exist without feeling like you have to look over your shoulder or justify your every step.” 

“I don’t think I know how to even do that anymore,” Tony replied. “And I don’t deserve it.” 

“You do,” Stephen argued. “And rest assured I’ll keep telling you that. And I’ll keep telling you how much I love you, because I really do.” 

Tony smiled sadly, trying to press himself closer to Stephen if that was even possible. “I love you too.” 

He was starting to settle down, soothed by a flurry of soft kisses in his hair and the gentle brushes up and down his spine, when FRIDAY quietly spoke up. She almost sounded remorseful. 

“Mister Parker is requesting one or both of you in the lab, whenever it’s convenient,” she began. “And he’s asked me to assure you that it’s nothing major.” 

Tony sighed, sitting up again. “I’ll investigate.” 

Stephen shook his head. “No, let me. I’ll tell Peter that you’re resting, and he’ll understand.” 

“I don’t want him to think I don’t care,” Tony whispered. 

“He would never think that. You know how he gets about making sure you take care of yourself, and Peter knows with certainty that you care about him. Our son is much more mature than the Avengers,” Stephen replied. 

“I still feel bad,” Tony said. 

“I know. I can promise him Thai food if that’ll make you feel better?” Stephen suggested, half jokingly. 

“It actually would,” Tony admitted. “FRIDAY, will you schedule a Thai food delivery for 6:30pm please?” 

“Scheduled,” she replied simpy. She still sounded apologetic for disturbing them right as Tony was falling asleep, but maybe Stephen imagined that. 

The sorcerer stood up gracefully, covering Tony with another blanket as the cloak wrapped a bit tighter around him. “Look after yourself and relax, or get some sleep. No one’s expecting anything from you right now Tones, alright? I love you.” 

Tony nodded, a little smile on his face as Stephen kissed him again. “Love you.” 

He really wanted to sleep. He actually put effort into falling asleep, which was something he never thought he’d do, and of course sleep didn’t come easily. Sleep never came easily, but the memories did. It was all too easy for Tony to get caught in a thought stream, whether he was planning a surprise, inventing, or remembering unpleasantries. Today he was overwhelmed by guilt, readily convincing himself that he was a selfish failure like Howard Stark and his teammates liked to say. It was too easy to get lost in their ire and wanting to please everyone, and Tony had given up so much of his agency just to try and make other people happy. 

It was exhausting, and he didn’t even feel like he’d succeeded at that. 

The mechanic started tearing up again as he continued to think in a circular pattern, faintly aware of the Cloak trying to comfort him. It was a sweet, welcome gesture, and Tony let it happen and let himself cry. He was still laying there in tears when Stephen came back in half an hour later.

“Pete says he hopes you feel better,” Stephen said, returning to his spot and pulling Tony close. “And I told him to just go ahead and eat whenever he’s hungry, or when the food gets here.” 

Tony just nodded, feeling relieved and supported in Stephen’s arms again. He nodded again, as if trying to shake the unending self-deprecating thoughts from his head, before saying anything. “Sounds good.”

tags: @salty-ironstrange-shipper @stark-strange-love2 @chocopiggy @katninjagirl97 @kitkatfat15 @taruyison @funkylittlebidiot

[sparklekitteh]

Fou de Toi

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x self ship

WC: 2.1 K

Content Warnings: Modern college foreign exchange AU; both Jean and Juliana are 21; I cuss a lot sorry LMAO; Jean and I are both bi and fucking proud of it; meetcute fluff; my rusty attempts at French -- apologies to French speakers 😭

A/N: This is a purely self-indulgent college AU based on the work From Europe With Love by my dear friend @reiner69er (Much love and gratitude to you!) The character of Claire is an OC I made up on the spot, not really based on anyone in particular. In "From Europe With Love", Jean and Juliana are already a couple. This is the story of how they met.

Summary: Juliana is tasked with tutoring one of Paradis University's star soccer players, much to her chagrin. Jean has the reputation of a playboy jock but Juliana learns there's more to him than the rumors portray.

Claire slapped a sticky note on the screen of Juliana’s laptop and leaned against the desk, arms crossed and a wicked grin plastered on her face. She looked supremely pleased with herself, which made Juliana’s stomach twist with anxiety over what crafty plot her roommate and coworker cooked up.

“Guess who your new tutoring appointment is?”

Juliana looked at the sticky note for a hint but only saw “J.K., Tuesdays, 4 pm” in Claire’s smudged, left-handed scrawl. A little doodle of a horse stood on its hind legs in the corner of the paper.

“Uh… is it JK?” She peeled the note off the screen and stuck it to the page of her planner lying open next to the keyboard. “Who’s that?”

“Guess!” Claire nudged her with the toe of her pink ballet flat. “I’ll give you a hint.”

She shook her shoulder length red hair behind her and made a loud whinny as she pawed at the air in front of her in a bicycling motion.

Juliana peered through her glasses at her in visible confusion and shook her head slowly. “Claire, I really don’t have time for this right now. I have two more appointments before the Writing Center closes and one of them is in three minutes.”

“You’re absolutely hopeless. It’s Jean Kirstein! You know… The Stallion?” Claire rolled her eyes as she rested her hands on her hips.

“Oh god, that guy? Claire, no. No!”

Juliana pulled her black cashmere cardigan from the back of her chair and quickly fastened the pearl buttons, folding her arms across her chest to punctuate her refusal.

“I’ve been saying you need to meet some hot single guys and get your nose out of books for a minute. Now’s your chance!”

“This is a tutoring appointment, not Tinder.” Juliana shook her head emphatically. “No, Claire. No. Are you kidding me? No. Nope. Uh uh, no.”

“Why not? He’s a hottie! Plays forward on the soccer team, he’s tall and gorgeous, he’s French… French, Juliana, oh my god!”

“And probably an empty-headed frat guy with a different thot on his arm every night. If you’re so into him, why don’t you ask him out yourself?”

“I’m not a hopeless spinster shrivelling on the vine, that’s why. I already have a boyfriend.”

“You need to work on your mixed metaphors,” Juliana laughed. “What’s he need help with, anyway?”

“Dunno, he just said he needs to bring up his grades or he’s going to lose his scholarship and he’ll get kicked off the soccer team. Which means back to France, bye bye Stallion.”

“Typical jock, can’t be bothered to study while his parents are paying for him to party.”

Claire tossed the rest of her notepad at Juliana. “At least try not to be so judgemental when he gets here.”

“Well, he better not be an arrogant discount Don Juan jackass jock and make me late for Sentence Diagramming Club or --”

“God, you’re a nerd. Please find a way to get laid.”

The door of the Writing Center office opened and Jean Kirstein strode in with all the confidence of a handsome, popular athlete. He was dressed in a moss green shawl-collared cardigan layered over a navy and green checked plaid shirt, unbuttoned just enough to show the hint of caramel-colored chest hair and tanned skin. Juliana felt her eyes involuntarily following the contours of his broad chest down to his narrow waist and his long-- ridiculously long-- legs clad in dark blue denim. He politely wiped his green Vans sneakers on the doormat and flashed a devastating lopsided grin at her as he ran his long fingers through his overgrown mane of sandy blonde hair, revealing the darker undercut beneath.

Claire squeaked and turned the same shade of pink as her sweater while Juliana continued staring at Adonis in the flesh. Jean shrugged off his backpack and caught it with his heel, then in one deft motion he rolled it over his foot and rested the sole of his shoe on top of the bag. He slipped a hand into his hip pocket and pulled out a hastily folded sheet of paper heavily marked with red ink.

“Ah, excuse me, you are a tutor?” His voice held a pleasant baritone that, combined with his slight French accent, made goosebumps raise on Juliana’s forearms. She sat frozen in her chair, trying to remember how to form words.

What the fuck am I doing? Get it together, Jules! She shook the fog from her head.

“Uhh… I am for the next hour. I’m Juliana.” She stood, smoothed the wrinkles out of her red dress -- the one that Claire accused her of stealing from Audrey Hepburn’s closet -- and offered her hand to shake. He gently clasped her fingertips and brought her hand to his lips, never taking his eyes from hers while his soft kiss smacked against her knuckles.

“Juliana,” he breathed, accentuating the soft J with his French pronunciation. “Quel joli nom.”

“Comment puis-je vous aider?” Juliana slipped her hand out of his grasp as she watched stars appear in his eyes.

“Tu parles français,” Jean grinned. His face fell and he slapped his hand against his forehead. "Où sont mes manières? Je m’appelle Jean Kirstein.”

"Enchanté, Monsieur Kirstein. Le français est ma matière mineure. What brings you to the Writing Center?”

Claire stood to the side watching with her jaw practically on the floor. Jean glanced her direction and flashed his grin again, amused as she scurried back to her seat and buried her blushing face in an upside-down dictionary.

Jean held out the red-marked paper and Juliana ironed the folds against her desk. As she skimmed it, she noted that it appeared to be an essay about art nouveau in early 20th century advertising. She took a deep breath and the scent of his cologne washed over her, a musky vanilla with a hint of spice.

“I am an artist, not a writer,” he sniffed.

She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think writers can be artists?”

“Au contraire, painting with words is a finely developed skill just like painting on canvas. I myself am no good with words.” He winked at her playfully and she fought back the urge to get lost counting the green flecks in his hazel eyes.

Juliana smiled in spite of herself. Maybe I misjudged him....

“Of course, I am a true artist on the football pitch. No one surpasses me in footwork, for the simple fact that this guy” -- he pointed at himself with both thumbs -- “is a gifted athlete who puts in the effort to hone his talent to perfection. At least that’s what the ladies tell me.”

There it is. Arrogant. Discount Don Juan. Jackass jock.

“Alright, Mr. Kirstein, let’s improve your essay so you can get back to your true art.” Despite trying to keep her voice neutral, she couldn’t prevent the sarcasm from dripping off her tongue. Jean didn’t seem to notice.

“Please, ma cherie, call me Jean.”

“I’m not ton cherie. Let’s get to work. Jean.”

Claire shot a stern look at Juliana, a warning not to alienate yet another man who showed interest. Juliana cleared her throat and directed Jean to pull up a chair next to her desk so she could suggest edits while he took notes.

Despite the frosty start, Juliana and Jean fell into an easy conversational rhythm. Jean listened attentively to her suggestions and asked thoughtful questions, making careful notes in the margins of the page. Juliana found herself enjoying Jean’s enthusiasm for art history, especially of French artists. She laughed at his impression of the dancers at Le Moulin Rouge and nodded along to his impassioned rant against the modern kitsch of the place, versus the raw bawdiness of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec’s portrayal of the dance hall. His natural charm was affecting her, yet she didn’t exactly hate it either. The muscles in her face began to ache and she realized how long she had been smiling at him. Jean ran a hand through his strands again and peered at the clock over her shoulder.

“Pardon me, but when does your office close?”

“Five. What time is it?”

“Nearly half past six.”

“What?”

Juliana looked around for Claire but she was nowhere to be seen and the lamp on her desk was dark. She fished her phone from the pocket in her dress and saw a text notification from her roommate.

Hey girl >.> I closed the office for you and headed home

your last appointment cancelled and you were so involved in your chat with Jean I didn’t want to interrupt

Hope you have a good conversation :) :) Call me if you need a ride or if you got one from The Stallion ;) IYKWIM ;);)

She stared at her phone, slack-jawed.

How did I spend almost two and a half hours with Jean and never felt the time pass? Why the fuck didn’t Claire say something before she left?

Juliana knew exactly why. Her friend had been trying to set her up for months with anyone who had a pulse; this was her way of forcing her to spend some quality time with one of the most sought-after men on campus. The problem was that Jean wasn’t her type. She preferred the quiet, studious type who didn’t spend hours pomading their ridiculous mullets and flaunting like a peacock. He had a reputation for hot-headed outbursts on the soccer field, for chasing after every pretty girl he saw and sometimes the guys too. Juliana wasn’t bothered by this -- in fact, she appreciated that he was openly proud of his sexuality while she kept her own bisexuality close and carefully guarded. She didn’t want to be another of Jean Kirstein’s rumored one night stands, the latest in his string of conquests if the stories were to be believed.

“Juliana, is everything ok?” Jean’s voice startled her out of her thoughts.

“I … ummm… I’m just surprised Claire didn’t tell me it was closing time before she left. She knew I had somewhere to be at 5:30.”

“Oh, my deepest apologies for keeping you so long,” Jean fumbled with his backpack. “I appreciate your help with the essay.”

“Of course, it’s my job. You, uh," -- Don’t say it Jules -- "You’re better with words than you think you are, Kirstein. Jean.”

Noooooo, whyyyyyy?

“I feel terrible for keeping you from your date. May I make it up to you?”

Juliana’s cheeks heated to the same candy-apple red of her dress. “D-date?”

“Surely someone as lovely as yourself has an equally handsome gentleman waiting?

“No, I… had a club meeting. It’s ok, it was probably going to be just me sitting in the library by myself again.”

“But you do have a handsome gentleman, right?” he smiled.

Juliana eyed him with suspicion. “No, my last girlfriend was a toxic mess and the guy before her broke my heart.”

What the hell, shut the fuck up Jules!

She looked down at her hands folded in her lap and willed time to rewind itself so she could swallow her words. Time, however, was uncooperative. Her eyes flicked up to Jean and she was surprised to see he wore a tender expression of understanding.

“Do you want to go somewhere and talk about it?” He smiled gently at her. “I’m a good listener.”

Juliana cocked her head, eyes narrowed as she tried to read him. “That’s kind of you, Jean. I really should get home.”

“Right, I’m sorry. For the record, I’ve also suffered my fair share of broken hearts,” he offered with a sheepish smile.

“Yours or the other party’s?”

Juliana bit her lip and cursed herself for her boldness. She had to admit there was more to him than just charm and good looks but still held her judgement in reserve. Jean shifted in his seat, chuckled softly and turned his soft honey eyes to meet hers. Juliana could practically hear the ice around her heart cracking.

“Always mine. Probably not as many times as you imagine, despite what you may have heard.”

“You have a reputation.”

“I’m aware, but it’s almost entirely overblown by my idiot teammates, especially Springer. He thinks it makes me sound “studly” or whatever.”

She smiled, recalling the times she’d seen Jean’s best friend and teammate Connie Springer around campus. He was a walking agent of chaos who tended to exasperate his friends but was also loyal and supportive.

“You know what?” Juliana gathered up her planner and stuffed it in her backpack. “I could use some exercise after sitting in this office. Would you mind walking with me?”

Jean’s demeanor buoyed instantly. “I would be delighted, Juliana. Umm… I’m a little thirsty also. Would you like to get some tea? My treat.”

“Tea sounds wonderful, Jean.”

[A/N: Thank you for reading!]

[infinitegalahad]

HOW TO SAY I LOVE YOU (WITHOUT SAYING I LOVE YOU)

Summary: Everybody in Easy Company can see that Shifty is like a love-sick puppy with a cute truck driver. He loves her, but he's too shy to confess. Popeye, his best friend, can no longer stand to see it. Floyd Talbert is the man of the hour and knows how to get Shifty, who can barely say I love you", to say those three words without actually saying the words. The way to solve this pining? A classic carnival date.

Word-Count: 7.4k

Notes: Howdy y'all! Once again, I am back from the dead! School has been a little crazy lately. I'm still working on requests and opening up some prompts, but I have two essays that are due in a month and aka-my life is a mess but...writing. I hope you guys will forgive me for dying and take this tooth rotting fluff of Shifty and cheeky tab! Shifty basically has a phd in being adorable. It's pure fluff, not a single ounce of angst! Once again, fem reader. Also unbeta read, we die like idiots. Enjoy!

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @easy-company-tradition @liebgotttme @50svibes (add yourself to my taglist)

“Oh, it’s hopeless!” Popeye sighed, his face landing into his hands. It had gone on for too long. At that point, it was sickening to watch Shifty. As much as Popeye loved him, he couldn’t stand to watch him attempt flirting, or whatever he was doing with his crush. Something had to be done, and the infamous playboy Floyd Talbert was the perfect person for the job.

Floyd had a smirk sprawled across his face as he looked behind Popeye, seeing the interaction blossom between Shifty and his crush. Shifty towered over them, shining his pearly whites and saying something inaudible, earning a sweet chuckle. His sun tanned cheeks turned tomato red as he rubbed his nape.

“I love Shifty, but that poor boy doesn’t even know he’s in love with her.” Floyd remarked. Being a serial dater, he knew how to charm people, with his dashing looks and personality. Floyd studied the Virginian, struggling to hide his obvious affections. His bright smiles, rosy cheeks, spotting them within the crowds-the boy was enamored with her.

Not only was Shifty in love, but so was y/n. Shifty and y/n were both quiet, and shy people. They were adored by the company as being the nicest people alive. You were a truck driver assigned to the company in Aldbourne. Being the only girl donned in pants, the men of easy company were both intimidated and intrigued with you. When you weren’t driving trucks, you were either subjected to Floyd’s advances or the mortar trio attempting to flex their muscles. Y/n eventually eased her way into the company, becoming “Easy’s girl”. Even though you felt welcomed, you didn’t really have a friend you could rely on.

That was until you met Shifty Powers. You met him by accidentally running into him with a box full of mountains. He, being the kind soul he was, offered to help you reorder the thousands of bullets. In exchange, you offered him a ride to a location he was running late to. He introduced himself by Darrell, insisting that you called him by his real name with a smile on his face. He was an undeniable gorogues with sun tanned skin, a smile to die for, and chocolate hair that was golden in the sun. Not only was he attractive on the outside, but within. You were convinced that Shifty could do no wrong whatsoever. Heck, you also believed that he was legally not allowed to curse.

Ever since that encounter, you and Shifty had begun to hang out more. The two of you would talk for hours on end, explore the town of Albourne, escape the bars and find a little bookshop or peaceful space to talk. It was soothing to sit next to Shifty and simply hear him breathe, talk, or smile. It always makes your bleak world a tad bit better. But you were convinced that Shifty wasn’t interested in you, he was too innocent. So you decided that the farthest you would be is friends. And yet, it didn’t sit well with you.

Floyd had noticed that y/n was in love herself. Whenever she was around Shifty, she’d become a mess as well, being clumsy and blushing red. She’d twist a strand of hair in her fingers every time Shifty looked at her, batted her long eyelashes, and looked in the distance to find Shifty, intent on his target, letting out a dreamt sigh.

Floyd was in love with y/n. After all, it was rare to find a female in a company full of men. However, Floyd was Shifty’s best friend, and he wanted what was best for both of them. Popeye could see this too and he was sick of seeing two people who didn’t even know what they were in love with each other.

Floyd, Chuck, and Popeye watched Shifty and you say something to each other. It was pouring outside. Attempting to find your rain jacket, it was nowhere in sight. Shifty, seeing your frustration, took off his jacket and gently put it on your shoulders. You turned around and tried taking it off, but Shifty insisted that you stay warm.

“My pa’ always made sure my ma’ would stay warm. It’s the best I can do,” He reassured.

“Oh Shifty, thank you. This is too kind. How can I repay you?” You offered, wrapping the jacket around your body.

He shook his head, smiling, “I don’t need a single thing from you, miss y/n.”

“Boy, the world truly doesn’t deserve someone like you.” You stated, standing on your tippy toes. “Let’s get out of here so I can sneak you a Hershey bar, or two. How does that sound?”

Shifty froze and looked side to side. It felt like the devil was tempting him. But he could never see y/n as a devil. She was a beautiful angel in his eyes.

“Well,” Shifty put a finger to his lips, “That does sound mighty fine, Miss y/n.”

You took his hand and dragged him to the door, your laughter echoing in the door. Shifty held the door open and let you exit first before closing the door, making your way to the supply room to eat chocolate.

Once Shifty was out of sight, Popeye turned back to Floyd. “I’ve tried to ask him, trust me. He won't say a dang word on it.” He explained, “He thinks miss y/n wouldn’t like a fellow like him. But I’m pretty sure she loves him.”

“You kidding?” Chuck added on, “She spoils him with free food, contraband, whatever. Anything he wants, he gets. She doesn’t do that to any of us.”

“Well, miss Y/n did give me hershey bar last week,” Floyd proudly smirked.

Chuck looked unashamed, “Yeah, because you were trying to convince her to go to the amusement park with her this weekend.”

The Boy from Kokomo playfully rolled his eyes, “Shifty’s not her only favorite.” For a second, he froze, a thought finally coming in his mind. “Wait...the amusement park…”

“She already said no to that one, and all the other dates,” Chuck said.

“I know that,” Floyd replied, rubbing his chin, “I got an idea. For Shifty and Miss y/n.”

Chuck and Popeye looked at eachother, and then Floyd. They could already see the idea forming, but it would take a lot of work.

“I’ve known Shifty all my life. He’s too shy to ask a girl out,” Popeye acknowledged, “He’s too scared of being rejected.”

“I know that.” Floyd pointed his finger as he stood up and fixed his belt, “I’ve got a plan.”

“For once?”

“Yes-be quiet,” Floyd teased, “All those two need is a little push.”

-----------

Shifty looked up and down at the brightly colored paper and at y/n, who was loading up the back of a supply truck. His mouth hung open as his eyebrows rose in diseablief.

Floyd, Chuck, and Popeye stood all in front of him, waiting for an answer. Shifty shook his head and shoved the paper back in Floyd’s hands.

“Oh, I can’t do that. No way.” Shifty denied, his cheeks growing red.

Popeye let out a defeated sigh as Floyd clicked his mouth, walking up to Shifty. “Yes way! Have you not seen the way y/n looks at you?”

Shifty looked in the distance and then back at Floyd, “What? No! She looks at me like I look at you-like a friend. Besides, you’ve seen miss y/n,” Shifty’s gaze turned back to you as the butterflies fluttered in his stomach, “She made it clear ‘dat she ‘dun needa’ man, and I wanna respect ‘dat wish. ‘Sides, she wouldn’t be into a guy like me.”

Popeye shook his head, “God darn it Shift! You gotta realize dat your-”

“In love. L-O-V-E.” Floyd teased, budding shoulders with Shifty. “Based on the dames I’ve been with in Kokomo, I know how women work. She looks at you like a lovesick puppy. The two of you are meant for eachother.”

Shifty looked at Floyd, blinking his eyes like a child looking at a math equation. He still wasn’t understanding. “But...oh, leapin’ lizards! Miss y/n would be into a guy like you. You get all ‘da pretty ladies...how do you dewit?”

Upon hearing Shifty’s pleas for help, Floyd let out a chuckle and slapped Shifty’s shoulder, who looked like a lost lovesick puppy.

“Shifty, Shift, my dearest friend,” Floyd reassured, giving him a double pat, “That’s why I’m here. You’re getting the best advice from your best man.”

Chuck rolled his eyes, “Fan-fucking-tastic Shifty, you boosted his ego. This is going to be great.”

Floyd looked at an unassumed Chuck, giving him a pout. “Oh come now, Chuck! Look at him, he’s in love.”

“But you like Miss y/n! I don’t wanna steal her. I mean, I want someone who can treat her right,” Shifty said, resting his hands on his cheeks.

“Shifty, as your friend, I’m pretty sure everybody in easy company wants Miss y/n to accompany them at the bar for a dance or two.” Floyd explained, trying to encourage Shifty. “I know how much you love her, and I think it’s fair to give you a shot. The only way you’ll get what you want is by working for it.”

He saw Joe Toye walk by you. And even Joe Toye, one of the scariest people in the company, gave miss y/n a subtle nod. She smiled back and gave him a wave, a bandanna in your hair and dirt smudged on your cheek.

Just your mere presence made Shifty melt like an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day. No matter what you were in, your uniform or covered in pig guts, you always found a way to be absolutely gorgeous. When Shifty had first bumped into you, he was convinced you were a fallen angel. You were too beautiful and bright in the rainy, gloomy Albourne. Yet there you were, always by his side with a smile on your face and story to tell.

Shifty let out a dreamy smile, a crooked smile on his face. “I wanna say I love her…” Shifty added on.``...without sayin’ I love her.”

The boy from Kokomo cracked his knuckles, “Well, don’t I just got the plan for you too. How does nice and slow sound?”

----------

“What are you doin? Stop pushin’ me! I can’t dewit!” Shifty whispered in a hush as Floyd and Popeye pushed him towards the truck where you were loading supplies for easy company.

“Boy, quit being afraid of anything. Take that leap of faith!” Floyd called out before pushing Shifty near the truck before he and Popeye hid for cover.

Shifty turned around to find them before he heard a familiar voice call his name.

“Shifty?”

The Virginian sharpshooter turned his shoulder and hid his hands behind his back, smiling with a piece of his golden chestnut hair falling on his forehead. “Miss y/n! Pleasure to see ‘yah. I hope I wasn’t interruptin’ anythin’ too important.”

“Shifty, you’re too sweet. I was just finishing the last load of K-bars…” You explained, lifting a large box and shoving it into the back of her full truck, unable to see. Finally, done after a long day. Wiping the sweat off of your forehead, you walked towards Shifty only to be greeted by a variety of poppies.

“ ‘ere, got ‘em for you. You said you like the color red…” Shifty blushed, looking to the side. Floyd and Popeye hid behind the side of the truck, giving him a thumbs up.

You took the flowers and examined them, a smile growing on your face. “Oh, these are so sweet! Thank you..” You put the flowers in the pocket of your overalls to retrieve a few hershey bars from the back of the truck, “I’ll getcha’ somethin-”

“Wait, miss y/n!” Shifty announced, following after you as he grabbed your soft hand, pulling you back. You tripped on your own feet, almost falling to the ground before Shifty catched you, his hand on the small of your back. The two of you stared at each other, cheeks both burning with desire.

Shifty coughed and lifted you up, neating your ruffled shirt and cap with your hair messily tucked into. “S-sorry, I…would like to ask you somethin’. Not chocolate, ma’am.”

You raised your eyebrows, insisting that he go forward with his response, his hand still in yours. He didn’t even notice, but you did. You could recognize his soft, tan skin from anywhere.

“Would you go to the amusement park with me? As my date?” Shifty blurted out like word vomit, “I mean, only if you want. If you don’t wanna go with somebody like me, then I understand.”

“Yes, of course I would!” You also blurted out, your face red like a tomato. You took your cap off and hid your face, embarrassed by yourself. Inhaling, you let out an exhale before pulling yourself together. “Shifty, I would love to go with you. I wasn’t even planning on going at all until you asked me.”

Shifty’s eyes sprinkled with happiness, like a child on Christmas morning. “Really? You wanna?” He squeezed your hand, realizing that he was still holding it.

You looked up at him with a warm smile, placing your dirty hand on top of his. “Yes, I would love to.”

Shifty looked speechless. The rumors were true; his smile was infectious. Perfect and bright like the sun of a warm summer day.

“Sufferin’ succotash!” He cried, “Miss y/n? Can I ask you one last thing?”

“Yes, Shifty?”

“Can I give you a hug?”

It was definitely not what you were expecting. But then again, you weren’t hesitant. Shifty could do no wrong-he simply seemed over the moon about asking you out. You were as well, but seeing Shifty’s excitement made you smile and accept it. He was too cute for his own food.

“Yes, you can.” You opened your arms only to have long hands pull you up and spin you around. It was a quick welcome as you spun around, heartfelt laughter escaping from you and Shifty. Shifty could do no wrong, whether that be at shooting or giving the best bear hugs. They were bear-like, but affectionate and protective. He trapped his arms around your waist as you held the back of his necks, your fingers tangled in his soft hair which shined in the sun. Shifty looked amazing no matter what, always glowing.

Babe threw the clown nose off of his face along with the roses Guarnere had picked out for him. Eugene was walking by, mortified to see Babe dressed (apparently) as a clown and a disappointed Guarnere. Not an unusual sight.

“Heffron,” Eugene walked towards a sad Babe, scanning his figure. “What are you doing…”

“I’m heartbroken! Look at them!” Babe mourned, pointing at you and Shifty in an embrace, happily giggling. “I was gonna ask miss y/n out and give her these roses. I dressed up like a clown since I thought we could both be clowns together.”

Eugene simply blinked, perplexed by Babe’s logic. All he could think of was the word Yikes. He would’ve most likely scared away y/n instead of winning her heart over. “Pardon?” He looked at Guarnere for answers, who simply shrugged at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. I tried, the kid wouldn’t listen. He’s a lovesick puppy with that damn dame.” Guarnere explained, crossing his arms as he looked at the happy couple.

The Cajun medic, along with Babe the sad clown and Guarnere, observed you and Shifty. A small smile crooked at his lips. He normally wasn’t one for gossip or dating, but he was happy for the two of you. Even someone as quiet as him didn’t deny the obvious chemistry between the two of you. It was like the two you were destined to be together. Humble, adored, and both beautiful in your own, respective rights.

“Yeah…” Eugene slowly bopped his head, “There sure like lovesick puppies…”

-----------

The Carnival brought light into the gloomy Alborunte with it’s bright rides, laughing children, and joyful ambience. Shifty could recall his childhood with Popeye. Every year, they’d have a carnival during the dog days of August. He loved the shooting games, winning thousands of plushies and eating candy with Popeye until he was sick. He was sure his Ma still had the plushies tucked away in the attic.

But instead of feeling overjoyed, he felt like he was walking on eggshells.

He waited at the entrance with Floyd, Popeye, and Chuck. Chuck kept looking down at his watch, keeping lookout for y/n as Floyd gave Shifty a final pep talk. They were all dressed in fresh uniforms with showers and fine cologne. It was a refreshing change, even if it was for one night.

“Remember, play it cool. You’re sweating’ like a damn dog!” Floyd said, fixing a stubborn curl into his cap.

“Oh, I don’t think I can do this. I mean, miss y/n deserves a real man. I mean she’s so…” Shifty rambled on before Popeye swatted him on the shoulder, gardening his attention to y/n in the crowd. You were far away but to Shifty, you were still recognizable. The girls in the crowd wore plain and monotone colored dresses but you wore a beautiful floral button up with sheer sleeves and ruffles, your makeup done. It was the first time Shifty had ever seen you without your flap cap and dirt on your face, and he wanted a better look.

“Beautiful…”

Floyd smirked and patted Shifty’s shoulders, letting out a dreamy sigh, “God damn it Shifty, you’re lucky I’m being nice to you. Hottie on the dot. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Giving him a push on encouragement, Shifty’s friends eventually faded into the crowd. Gulping, he began to walk forward towards y/n, who stood in the crowd, waiting in the exact location Shifty told her to wait in. Catching him the corner of his eye, she smiled with her red lips and walked over.

“Shifty!” Y/n exclaimed with glee, looking at his clean uniform and quivering an eyebrow. “Thank goddess I found you…and you look handsome in your uniform.”

“Says the pretty lady talkin’,'' Shifty commented back as he looked down at your tinier form. Now that you were up close, he could admire every little detail from your rosy cheeks, red lipstick, manicured hands, and glimmer in your eyes from the fairy lights. “I mean, you always look very nice but tonight you look stunning’.”

“Oh quit being’ nice to me, Shifty.” You playfully swatted his shoulder, “Every guy’s in the company’s said that to me. Not half of them even acknowledged me before I got dressed up.”

Shifty, like a confused puppy, tilted his head. How could someone such as y/n, who he considered to be the prettiest lady he had ever seen.

“Whaddya mean? You always have been very pretty, ma’am.” Shifty acknowledged, his hands fiddling behind his back. He could feel his palms sweating, seeing the moon reflect onto your glowing skin. “You always look beautiful. It’s just tonight that you look even more beautiful than you usually do.”

You shook your head as you looked down, fiddling with the sides of your dress. Nobody had said those words to you in years. They were truly heartfelt and not some cheap way of getting into your pants. “I may not see it, but thank you Shifty.”

“Well, my ma’ has always told me that I’m one bad liar. I like to say it how it is,” Shifty insisted with a finger in your face, “and I’m saying that you are one hecka’ ova’ pretty gal.”

You smiled at Shifty, amazed by how cute he was. He didn’t even have to try, it was all natural. “Oh Shifty….” You looked down at your shoes, seeing your feet brush against his boots. Clearing your throat, you looked up to talk. ‘I…”

Before you could say a word, you could see Floyd Talbetr in the back. He noticed you talking to Shifty and upon seeing you, had a devilish smirk sprawn over his handsome face. You clicked your tongue, shaking your head. “Oh goodness, doesn’t he see I’m on a date?”

Shifty turned around and bit his lip. He gently grabbed your hand. It felt natural in the moment too, his larger work in your pretty manicured hand. “That son of a gun! I’m sorry ‘bout him, miss y/n. ‘Ere, let’s go. I’m sure he’ll find another lady, but not as pretty as you. I mean she would be very pretty, but not the miss y/n typa’ pretty.”

The two of you walked side by side, hands together. You looked at Shifty, raising an eyebrow. “Are you gonna keep callin’ me pretty the whole night?’

Shifty nodded his head like an enthusiastic child, “Like I said, if it’s true, is true.”

---------

Once the two of you escaped the infamous playboy, you and Shifty walked around the amusement park. The two of you had eventually let go of your hands since something had caught your eye, causing you to mindlessly wander. Shifty followed you like a puppy dog, whatever you wanted to do he wanted. Besides, anything with you was time well spent. Carnivals were something he always enjoyed with their bright lights and shiny attractions, especially with a pretty girl he was in love with. He forgot he was in a raging war whenever he looked at you; with your soft smile and calming words. Just for one night, Shifty could escape into his fantasy world with you, which to his surprise was the reality he was currently standing in.

You were full of life in the park, dragging Shifty to every ride, whether it be scary or for toddlers. The two of you first stopped at the Haunted House, which Shifty was terrified to go into. You were scared, but it was the rush of adrenaline driving you. Shifty wanted to impress you, so he held your hand hand for “safe precaution” and walked in front of you. It was adorable to see him jump back at the slightest scares and mumble under his breath an alternative curse word, such as “leapin’ lizards” or “great scott!”

As the two of you exited the haunted house, lost in conversation, the two of you had been jumpscared. Shifty jumped and grabbed your waist, pulling you in for protection. You felt his stomach on your back and his firm grasp on your waist. You looked up and Shifty, who immediately realized what he was doing. The two of you broke into laughter, a few snorts in the middle. Shifty slowly let go of your waist, wanting to hold on longer.

“Sorry miss y/n.” He apologized, bowing his head. “Jus’ got a lil’ scared in the moment. I don’t mean to be a coward.”

“A coward? Nonsense,” You smiled in reassurance and grabbed his hand, “Your no coward to me. Now come on! There’s more rides to go!”

Shifty was distracted by your beauty as you dragged him along. Once again, the two of you trekked around the park. He was lost in your gaze. How did a guy like him end up with a lady such as yourself? It was hard to deny the butterflies in his stomach. He had never dated in the past. Yes, he had crushes, but they never acknowledged his feelings. He’d do anything for his crushes whether to be holding their books, walking them back home, anything for them, yet he never had his feelings returned. He always felt like he was the second choice. But with you, it was different. You were truly his best friend, and he wanted you to know it, but he still had no idea how to say it.

The two of you decided to take a break and ordered a sugary milkshake to boost your energy for another hour of rides. The two of you sat at a small table in the back, watching the happy couples and children in the distance. The waiter had brought over a milkshake, interrupting your peaceful little silence. Shifty wasn’t even looking at the crowds, he was simply staring at you. His long legs brushed against yours until they finessed each other, making his cheeks go red.

He looked down and saw one milkshake with two heart shaped straws. You raised an eyebrow and fiddled with the straw.

“Odd,” You remarked, examining the milkshake, “ I thought we ordered two…”

Shifty raised his head to see Floyd Talbert in the back, a smirk as he winked, two girls leaning on his shoulders giggling. Was he following them this whole time? Wasn’t he too busy with those girls on his shoulders?”

Shifty tilted his head back down and muttered a curse under his breath, “That son ova’ mother trucker…”

“Shift?” You questioned. He looked up at you, to see that you were already taking a drink. “You okay?”

Shifty rubbed the back of his nape, “Yes ma’am. Ma’ apologies.” He looked at the milkshake and your manicured hands holding the cup down. “Hey! Leave a lil’ for both of us.”

You cutelty giggled, “I haven’t had one of these in a while! I can’t help it. After all,”

“Strawberry, it’s the best flavor,” Shifty had said, and you had followed along in his words. The two of your eyes met, both leaned in close to the milkshake. To cut out the awkarenedess, both of you let out chuckles. A small snort emerged from your mouth, in which you soon covered in.

“Sorry,” You mumbled, hand over your mouth. Your chuckles became faint, another snort escaping your mouth, “It’s not very ladylike.”

Shifty looked puzzled, “Whatcha’ mean? What’s not ladylike?”

“My laugh,” You answered, “I always snort. It’s horrible. Whenever I’d laugh, these girls in my school would make fun of it. I can’t really control it, sorry.”

“Why would they laugh at you?” Shifty looked saddened at your insecurity. You were perfect in his eyes. You truly couldn't do anything wrong. “I think your laugh is very pretty, miss y/n.”

“As sweet as you are, you don’t have to lie.”

Shifty scooted up towards you, his hand sliding onto yours. He had a small smile in his face, his thumb caressing the inner part of your hand. “Well, I am bein’ honest. I ain’t a good liar, you know ‘dat. I’m sure ‘dose girls were jealous of you. ‘sides…” Shifty looked down and back at you with his hazel orbs, “I like your laugh a lot, miss y/n. ‘S pretty, ‘jus like you.”

Oh god, It was happening. Whether it was his cuteness, his Virgianian accent, he was luring you in. You looked up at him as your cheeks grew rosy. The two of you sat there, hand on hand, sipping on a milkshake with the lights glowing in the back. You always had the tiniest crush on Shifty, but it had finally hit you like a bus that it wasn’t some tiny schoolgirl crush-but it was truly love.

You had told yourself over and over that the only reason he liked you was because he was nice to you. You were a cheery person, but deep inside, you had been hurt in the past. Always feeling you were the second choice, you shut yourself out from love. Especially in war. Sure, you were friendly towards the men, but you told yourself you wouldn’t grow close to them. If they died, it would be better. As cruel as it sounded, it was kinder to them are you. It was for the better, right?

That fateful day you bumped into Shifty Powers changed your aspect. You were officially stupid with love, sitting there at a bright carnival, hand in hand as you sipped on a milkshake. He was too kind for you and the world you lived in.

“You’re not gonna stop being nice to me, are you?”

“No ma’am.”

----------

After the milkshake incident, you had noticed you clung onto Shifty more. You were a little taken aback when he asked to hug you. Not that you didn’t enjoy it, you truly did, and it was something that infected your thoughts. Your cheeks would go red and you’d cover the lower part of your mouth. Whenever Shifty walked into the room, it felt like the sun was shining in the dreary Albourne. Just looking at him made your IQ drop to single digits.

And Floyd had caught onto it before you had even noticed.

Instead of holding Shifty’s hand, the two of you walked arm and arm, chatting the night away. The two of you exchanged stories of your childhood, home, and how you ended up where you were. He truly was an angel with a bright smile. He wasn’t like other guys you had met who bragged about themselves. Whenever you would compliment him, he’d deny it with his cheeks all red from embarrassment.

“You’re the best shot I’ve ever seen!” You announced, in disbelief. You had seen him practice a few times, and he would hit every target with grace. “You make it look easy.”

“I’m not a good shot,” Shifty doubted, “But Pa was a good shot. The best shot I’ve ever seen. I think you’d like Pa a lot.”

As the two of you walked in the crowd, you noticed a shooting booth in the corner of your eye. It was a classic paladone duck shooting game. You smirked and pulled his arm to the side, “Well, prove it then.”

Shifty let out a sigh and stood straight, saluting like you like you were Sobel, but much less intimidating. “Yes ma’am.”

You saw him stand there, his fingers curled around the trigger and the butt resting against his shoulder. He took a breath and exhaled, and let the bullets blue. Every duck fell to the ground within a matter of seconds. A minute later, Shifty returned with a large stuffed animal and a smile on his face. He handed it to you. It was a tiny, stuffed bear with button airs.

“For you.” He commented, “I wish they had bigger ones. But I can get you more, if you want.”

You looked at the plusive. You felt juvenile, but it was Shifty. Besides, the two of you weren’t in the army in the moment; you were two lovesick puppies, running around a carnival without a care in the world.

“No, this is...perfect.” You held it close to your chest, “I’ll name him Popeye, a good luck charm.”

Shifty had taken you to every booth he could find, effortlessly shot the gates, and won you more stuffed animals. Whenever he’d give you one, you’d smile like a child on christmas. He loved to see you happy, so he kept doing it more and more. In his mind, it repeated like a broken record, “for y/n”. Wherever you went, Shifty went. Whatever you wanted, Shifty wanted. He was truly a lovesick puppy.

After Shifty’s a thousandth win, both of you walked side by side, arms full of plushies. Each of them were named after members of your company. A racoon named Luz, a black cat named Roe, a cub bear named Liebgott, a fox named Babe, a rabbit named Dick, and so many more. You held up a medium sized shark and nudged Shifty’s shoulder.

“Alright, this one?”

Shifty put some thought into it, “Webster. Doesn’t he like sharks?”

You let out a dry chuckle, “Yeah, he won’t shut up about it.”

The two of you giggled until hitting the next booth and running into a familiar playboy and his newest addition bound to be one night stands. Floyd noticed you and Shifty arrived. He crossed his arms and walked over, faking a cough.

“Look at what we have here,” Floyd scanned you and Shifty, the both of you with wide eyes and stuffed animals overflowing in your hands, “Y’know Shift, I’m proud of you. The whole company hates you for it, you lucky son of a gun.”

Shifty softened his eyebrows, “Wait, they hate me? What did I do wrong?”

Seeing Floyd’s cruel teasing, you interrupted the two. “Floyd, don’t be so cruel,” You put a reassuring hand on Shifty’s shoulder, “Don’t listen to him, he’s just being himself.”

Floyd did a fake pout, “Oh, come on hon. All due respects, but Shifty hit the jackpot before me. After all, he doesn’t miss.”

Shifty and you both went as red as tomatoes, looking sideways. Floyd’s armcandy giggled at his comment and playfully slapped him in the chest. He reassured his sweetheart and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her away.

After Floyd had disappeared to do god knows what, Shifty still looked perplexed and concerned. His thoughts were once again racing. Not about the company disliking him, but Floyd’s comment. Even though he and Floyd were best friends, the two of them were different. He was a playboy in the spotlight, and Shifty was in the back, always tagging along. Growing up, Shifty considered himself to have a loving family. He saw the way his pa treated his ma; giving her his coat, bringing her presents, and treating her like she was a queen. Shifty had never been with a lady before, and he considered you his first real one. Twenty years of age and this was his first rendezvous with a girl, he couldn’t believe it. And he wanted to make sure you were loved and not some jackpot, trying to be won like a competition.

“Miss y/n?” Shifty asked, gaining your attention. He cleared this throat, “I just wanted to tell you that I don’t think of you in ‘dat way.”

“In the Floyd way? That’s alotta’ guys, Shifty.”

“Well, I don’t want you to think I’m doin’ this because of him. Since you’re a very pretty lady, a lot of guys wanted to ask you, and be there arm candy. I just wanted to letcha know now that you're not some kinda prize to be won. I hope to god I ain’t makin’ you feel ‘that way.” Shifty exhaled, letting all his words come out like word vomit. They came out so quickie that he didn’t even know what he was saying.

“Shifty, I know you. You’re a sweetheart,” You kindly affirmed, “Any dame would be lucky to get a guy like you. This has been such a wonderful night, so thank you for that.” The two of you were close to each other, your hands hovering against his chest. His uniform looked perfect on him, you didn’t want to mess it up. Your fingers sucked in as they laid at your side, resisting the temptations that were filling your mind. “But, I do have one request.”

“Anything for you, ma’am.” He vowed, letting you take the floor.

“Teach me how to shoot.”

Shifty look behind you at the booth, a shooting gallery, and then back at you. It was an odd request for sure, especially considering the tender moment the two of you shared. “Like here, right now?” He coaxed. Out of the people, him? He was flattered. No lady had ever asked him something such as that.

You nodded, shrugging your shoulders, insisting, “You are the best shot in the world, after all.”

“Alrighty, if you insist.” Shifty grabbed the small of your back as the two of you walked to the booth. Once you were given the prop gun, you placed the butt on your shoulder and closed an eye, the other looking out of the iron sight. Shifty got right behind you, his chest against your back. He leaned on your shoulder and moved your hand to the trigger and bottom while getting a sniff of your perfume. He never missed, but being around you was definitely a distraction.

“Don’t aim for what you're shooting’, aim’ for where you shootin’,” He instructed, your eyes focused on the moving targets. Shifty hadn’t realized he had put a hand on your waits to turn you over slightly. It wasn’t like you minded his gentle touch.

The moving target came up, and with Shifty’s hand upon yours, you pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the middle of the target, slamming to the ground. However, the two of you didn’t stop. Every target that came, you shot and didn’t miss once. While you were focused on the red targets falling to the ground, you could also feel Shifty’s breath on you and his firm grasp on your hips. His fingers were on top of yours and the trigger. Whenever you were to get a target, he’d mutter “ ‘atta girl…” or “aim a lil’ higher, darlin’.” It made you lose focus, making you thankful that Shifty was right by your side. You lowered the gun, his hands still resting on your hips. When the clerk had announced you had won, you shook it off and walked over to claim your one hundredth stuffed animal. Shifty had a pout as you walked away. He truly enjoyed being close to you.

“Hey,” You called, a smile on your face, “Thank you. I’d like to do that again.”

“Shooting’ again?”

“Of course. I’d like to learn how to do it.”

“Oh miss y/n, I’d love to help, but I ain’t a good shot.”

“Stop denying it,” You affirmed, holding his hands in yours, bringing them to your chest. You looked up at him, the fairy lights glimmering in your eyes, “That you’re a bad shot and not a gentleman and that I deserve to be with someone who can treat me right. You are an amazing shot. This night has been amazing. You are someone who can treat me right. I…” Freezing on your words, the butterflies in your stomach crippled you. You knew what you wanted to say, but how could you word it into a coherent sentence. His hands scrunched in your chest as you still held them close, like a child with a stuffed animal.

“Well, stop denying’ you're not pretty'. Because I think you're the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” Shifty confessed as he moved closer to your tinier form, “Not only on the outside, but inside. You're kind, always putting others before yourself. You also sneak the company Hershey bars, even though they don’t need them. You're so interesting to talk to, you can just...light up a whole room when you walk inside of it,” Shifty’s cheeks were burning like a fire as he pulled you close to his body, both of your breaths heavy. “I...oh gosh darn it…”

You looked over to the side and turned back to Shifty, “Ferries Wheel.”

“Huh?”

“Let’s go. It’s the last ride of the night before they shut the park.” You exclaimed. Maybe the two of you needed a private place to talk. I love you, it was three simple words. You couldn’t say it and he couldn’t say it. Maybe it would work, maybe it would be a disaster. You had nothing to lose at

this point.

Shifty and you both walked over, seeing that there was no line for the ride. It was late at night. You only had an hour left on your night pass, and you wanted to make sure you used the most of it. What if always lingered in your mind. You knew not to get close to the men in the company, it was for the better. But now, with Shifty holding your hand, it was undeniable.

The two of you boarded onto the small cart, still hand in hand. No words were spoken between you two. You looked at the bright lights, which were getting smaller as you moved upwards. You could feel Shifty’s gaze burn into you. Although the two of you

“Miss y/n?” He broke the silence.

“Yes, Shifty?” You said, turning to look into his Hazel eyes. He smiled and shook his head, using one of his hands to cup the hand he was holding.

“I don’t know how to say this but, I want to be honest with you since we only got a little bit of time to do so. I remember when I first met you and I was speechless, and I still am. I’ve had feelings for you for a long time now but tonight...made me realize them more. It made me realize what a foot I am for not knowing’ sooner. But now, I know. I gotta say it. Miss Y/n, I love you.” Shifty declared, “more than anything in the world. If you don’t like me, ‘dat’s okay. But I can’t hide it anymore. I wanna help you learn how to shoot, I wanna go on more dates with you, I wanna be around you every single day.”

It had finally hit you. You looked at Shifty and chuckled, “You said it. I love you too. I couldn’t find the words for it...but now, I have. I love you, Darrell. ”

You moved to Shifty’s side of the cart and leaned on his shoulder, nuzzling into it as Shifty wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close to his body.

“Have you always loved me?” Shifty questioned, his fingers trailing against your bare arms.

You nodded your head, playing with his fingers. “Since day one. You?”

“Since I first looked at you,” Shifty confessed, “Floyd and Popeye always teased me ‘bout it. I didn’t have the courage to say it before, but they…”

“Helped you. I guess you're not the only one here,” You sighed, just knowing that Floyd had something to do with this. Of course, it made sense for the playboy to make a matchmaker. “I told Luz by accident and you know Luz. Floyd had overheard our conversation and had to include himself. He helped me get a dress and prepare for this all. So yeah, I guess we both liked each other...but we didn’t know it.”

“Well, know we do it. We both love each other,” Shifty said into your hair.

“Yeah…” You looked at the night sky, the stars and moon sparkling. “I like that a lot.”

The cart had stopped on top of the ride. In that moment, you felt on top of the world. Shifty had you in his arms, the temperature wa sprague, the sky was beautiful. It was all coming together now-but there was one missing detail.

Shifty’s arm pulled you in closer before he asked gently, “May I kiss you, miss y/n?”

That was it, the one missing detail. A kiss to wrap up the perfect moment. You turned your body towards him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Yes, you can Shifty. You can do it as many times as you like.”

“Yes Ma’am,” He chuckled like a child. Wrapping his arms on your waist, your lips collided with each other. Your heart began to pound as you felt a desire run from your heart, to my chest, and down toward my inner thighs.

Shifty touched your neck, and the hair as it was moved away nearly gave me the chills. His hands went from the sides of your head and down to your neck, out to your shoulders and down to your hands. He grabbed your hands gently yet firm. You felt safe, he spoke no words. Your heart is about to beat out of your chest as you shut your eyes and took a deep breath out.

Shift kissed my shoulder, and ran his lips on my skin towards my ear, but didn't quite make it that far. It doesn't hurt, it only makes me want more.

Shifty turns you around, and we are facing each other. He stares into my eyes and smiles. Shifty’s two hands grab your left hand as he places your open palm on his heart, and he holds it there. His eyes exude love, protection, security, safety, patience, and respect. You smile and he lets go of your hands, with one hand he runs his fingers through your hair and gently guides your face closer to his, eventually leaning me in to rest my head on his chest.

His other arm wraps around me, and you hope he never lets go.

And in that moment, the world was still. It was you and Shifty, on top of the world.

[ihearthes]

Quarantine Christmas Part  2

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x y/n Rating: Smut Word Count: 2768 (Part 1) Fiction Chalenge via @caitlin‘s fiction party via @sweetcreatureinthedark

Part 1

December 24, 2020

“Smith!” he bellows way too early and cheerfully as he pounds on my bedroom door. “Happy Christmas Eve! Come on! Let’s go for a jog.”

“Arrrrggggghhhhh,” I growl. “No.”

“If you hike the Hastain Trail with me, I’ll spring for coffee afterwards.”

“Go away, Styles.” Drawing the pillow over my head, I try to block out the sound of his voice. 

“Fresh air will be good for you.”

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” 

“Not on your life. I hate hiking alone.”

“Fine!” Throwing the covers off, I don my newly cleaned leggings, sports bra, and a t-shirt before opening the door and marching past him in my tennis shoes. “Bully,” I accuse. 

“You’re mad that I’m forcing you to take care of yourself?” Although he sounds offended, that smirk is back. 

“Whatevs, Styles. Let’s go.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

He sets off at a brisk pace, and I trail behind him slightly. After all, I’m still waking up. 

“Keep up, Smith!”

Just to be ornery, I slow my stride, taking my time examining the plants next to the path. When I next glance up, Harry is a solid quarter mile ahead of me, and I contemplate turning back, finding a picnic table and taking a nap on it until he’s done. 

But no. That’s not to be, as he turns and jogs back to me, keeping his legs pumping as he moves backwards. 

“You’re going to trip on something,” I caution. 

He grins. “You care about me!”

My eyes roll so far back into my head that I swear I can see my own brain. “No. But I care about Glenne, and she would be mighty upset if I had a part in damaging you.”

“Mhm.” The smirk is back, and as hard as I try to keep a sour look on my face, it’s challenging. “Where was Christmas supposed to be?” His question is casual, but it causes me to flinch.

“Indiana,” I snap off the word like one would a twig on a dying tree. Immediately, I feel guilty. “Sorry.” My mumble is quiet, but loud enough for him to hear and nod in silent acceptance. “You don’t deserve rudeness. What about you? London?”

“Holmes Chapel. With my mum, my sister, and her boyfriend.”

“Ah. Is it cold there this year?”

“Fairly mild. And Indiana?”

“Cold, cold, cold. Maybe even snow still on the ground.”

“Yeah. Christmas in Los Angeles is quite different.” Harry gestures around the trail, and I smile. 

“Definitely.”

“What are your favorite traditions?” 

By the time we loop back around to the start of the trail, we’ve exhausted the topic, and I realize my mood has improved tremendously. 

“Thank you, Harry.” The words are soft, and I try to insert as much authenticity as I can into them. 

I have the pleasure of watching his eyes soften as he observes me over the top of the car. “Coffee next! And a trip to the grocery!”

“Grocery? You’re cooking?”

“WE are baking and then cooking.”

“Really?”

“Yep. We’re going to create a mashup of our traditions.”

“No fucking way!” I exclaim, excited at the prospect. Sitting up, I search for a piece of paper and a pen. “I didn’t bring my purse, Styles. Give me your phone.”

“My phone?” Confused, he gazes at me while at a stoplight. 

“I need to write down the ingredients we need to buy. Let’s see. We can’t make some of the cookies we each like because I don’t know if Glenne has cookie cutters in the right shapes. So how about some ginger biscuits?” 

When he nods, I gesture for his phone. “Come on, Styles. I need to look up recipes and make sure we get the right ingredients.”

Reluctantly, he unlocks his phone, handing it to me. “No snooping,” he warns, shaking his finger in my direction. 

“Puuuuuuullllllleeeeeasssse. As if.” Using his browser, I search for a recipe for the ginger biscuits for him as well as one for thumbprint jam cookies, copying the ingredients into his Notes app. 

“Now, for dinner,” he begins, and my fingers pause as I wait for his next words. “Mum used to do a roast, but I don’t eat meat anymore. Just fish. And your family always does turkey. How do we compromise on a protein?”

“Scallops? Salmon? Both delicious and something I would consider fancy enough for a holiday meal.”

“Excellent!” Harry declares. “And can we agree on brussel sprouts and yams?”

My whole being is excited at the prospect of this meal with Harry. Suddenly there’s a silver lining to spending my favorite holiday away from my family. 

As he turns off the engine, I rest my hand on his wrist until he twists to look at me. “Thank you, Harry.”

“You already said that.” He rolls his eyes, but the crinkles send a different message. 

Less than 30 minutes later, we’re back in the car with the trunk full of groceries, including prosecco. After stopping for the promised coffee, we return to Glenne and Jeffrey’s house, unloading the food. 

“Mind if I take a shower before we start?” I ask, looking down at my clothing. “I feel dusty still from the trail.”

“Let’s both shower --” He stalls at my shocked expression “-- in separate bathrooms, Smith. Then let’s see who can put together the worst Christmas outfit from whatever we can find in the guest bedroom where we’re each sleeping.”

A grin crosses my face. “Oh, you’re going down, Styles!” Rushing out of the room, I’m confident that my ears are playing tricks on me because I think he responds with “I would love to go down on you.” He must have said something completely different, and I shake my head to clear the thought. 

When I emerge later, I’m wearing my grey sweatpants which I’ve pinned garland to along with one of my green hoodies and a giant wreath draped around my neck like a necklace by a red ribbon. Arriving in the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks by the sight of Harry wearing a skirt of wrapping paper over his also-grey sweatpants, along with a variety of bows stuck to his Green Bay Packers hoodie. 

He shrugs, “Apparently they use that guest bedroom for storing wrapping paper.” 

I laugh as I pluck one of the bows off his hoodie and place it on my chest after removing the wreath. 

“You win,” I concede. “I’m surprised there’s so much Christmas stuff in their house.”

“Eh. The Azoff family celebrates everything.”

“Lucky us, then.”

Side by side, we create the dough first for the ginger biscuits and then for the thumbprint cookies. After he slides the first pans into the oven, Harry crosses his arms. “Scrabble while we wait for them to bake?”

“Oh, it’s on!” I agree, and we settle at the dining room table to play the game. 

“Fine. You win,” Harry pouts over an hour later as I play my final letter which manages to be on a triple word score tile. 

“Woo hoo!” Stuffing one of the ginger biscuits in my mouth, I chew thoughtfully. “These are pretty good. I might make them again next year.”

“Same for these,” Harry grins as he chews on one of the thumbprint cookies. Crossing his arms on the table in front of him, he leans toward me. “Now how about you tell me exactly why you turned down my account when Glenne offered it to you?”

Shock courses through my body, and I freeze, knowing my face is likely turning into a candy cane red. 

“She told you?”

“Of course she told me! I had specifically asked for you, so I was a bit heartbroken when she told me that you refused.”

His word choice makes me raise an eyebrow. “Heartbroken?”

“Devastated? Wrecked? Disappointed? Take your pick, Smith.”

Swallowing, I make eye contact with him. “I’ll tell you why I turned down our account if you’ll tell me why you call me Smith.”

His tongue darts out and wets his lips as his green eyes bore into me. “Because you remind me of a Granny Smith apple.” Confusion must sweep across my face, as he continues talking. “You’re tart at first, but you can be sweetened. I’ve witnessed it in the past as well as just the last two days.” His face colors, but he continues speaking anyway. “Plus I suspect you’re incredibly juicy, and I would love a sample.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Had Harry Styles just made a very obvious overture? Yes. Yes, he had. My eyes float over his face, searching for any indication that he’s lying, but the sincerity is striking. 

First I look at my entwined hands, and then I decide to show the same courage he has exhibited. “I turned down your account because I couldn’t possibly work for you when I’m this attracted to you. It’s bad form to want to --” I can’t decide on the appropriate word, so I settle for “-- jump your client.”

The smirk is back, and it’s followed by an uproarious laugh. “This is too rich! To think that we could have been having some sort of relationship all this time is mind-numbing.” Rising, he holds out his hand. “How about we consummate our mutual attraction?”

“In the middle of the afternoon on Christmas Eve?”

“You got a better idea of how to spend our time?” 

“Swimming?” I tease. 

“Smith?”

“Yeah?”

“Take my hand.”

His words and tone make it clear that he’s interested in moving forward with this. My own body’s response is in sync with his. Gently, I place my hand in his as I rise from the table. Twisting his body, he also shifts his hand, leading me in the direction of…where? A bedroom seems too rushed. Not that my hormones would agree. 

But no. We walk down the two steps into the living room where he turns on the Christmas tree lights before settling on the couch and tugging my arm so that I join him. “Oh, wait.” Rising, he approaches the sound system, and soon the strains of Christmas music fill the space. Returning to my side, he settles with his arm around me. 

“Smith…” His words are a whisper, and I rotate my head in his direction as he brushes his finger over my cheek. When our lips meet, I swear I can hear the angels sing. His mouth is soft and tender, and I twine my fingers through the hand draped over my shoulder as I open wide to allow him to enter. Our tongues tangle in heat and dampness that also seems to pool between my legs. He tastes of the lemon curd thumbprints we had jointly made, and I relish the flavor, wanting more. 

Shifting closer to him, I tilt my head to provide greater access, and his hand drifts to my sweatpants. Withdrawing from me, he examines our clothes. “Mind if I remove this garland?”

“Not at all,” I purr. “As long as I can get rid of these bows.” The wrapping paper skirt had already been ruined when we sat down for the Scrabble game. 

Rather than unpinning the garland, though, he hooks his thumbs into my waistband and draws the sweatpants over my hips. “Up, Smith.” I lift my bum as he removes my bottoms, leaving me in my panties. 

In return, I inch his hoodie up his chest and off, tossing it over my shoulder, heedless of the bows that seem to desire to stay attached to the musician. Can’t say I blame them. 

“Hmmmm,” he murmurs before capturing my lips again. 

When we come up for air, my hands have managed to roam his chest, tweaking his nipple and wrenching a moan from his mouth. For his part, his hand has drifted over the small piece of cloth separating my treasure from full access. His thumb rubs a pattern over the fabric, and soon I’m panting. 

“Fuck,” I mutter as we separate. 

“Yes please” is his cheeky reply. 

“Dork,” I indict.

“Mhm. Take off that hoodie. Please.” 

Willingly, I oblige. Before the material has hit the floor, he’s capturing my nipple in his mouth, and I throw my head back as fire stokes through my body from my tits to my core. “Shit,” I proclaim. 

His fingers return to the scrap of cloth covering my center. As his thumb teases my clit through the silk, a finger slips underneath and into me. Without thought, I cry out, my lower body rising from the bed to get closer to heaven. 

“Been a while?” His voice is rough, sounding like sandpaper as he dislodges from my breast. 

“Too long,” I pant, “but you’ve always had the power to bring me to the brink just with a look.”

“I see,” he smirks, and normally I would want to smack him, but this time, I find it endearing. 

“I want --” I gesture to his sweats, and he grins. 

“If I refuse?”

“Then my treasure box can close pretty quickly if I don’t have something in my hands.”

Harry laughs. “Fair enough.” Shucking his sweatpants over his hips, I find that he’d chosen not to wear underpants as his cock springs upwards into my waiting hand. 

“Shit. I need lubricant.” I complain. 

We gaze at each other, the lust clear. Jumping up from the sofa, we race together to Glenne and Jeffrey’s bathroom. I scour the lower cabinets while Harry throws open the linen closet. “Got it!” he announces, holding the bottle over his head. 

“Thank God!” My relief is real. Grabbing the bottle from him, I find I can’t move. Now what? Where do we go? We can’t very well do the deed in their bed. 

Grabbing my hand, Harry once more takes the lead, and we end up in his guest bedroom. I gesture at the bed, and he strips off the duvet before lying down on his back. Crawling onto the mattress, I settle between his thighs, tilting the bottle of lube and squeezing a fair amount into my hand. Relaxed, I hold my hand over his cock, allowing droplets to fall. His eyes plead with me, and I grin at him. 

“Impatient, Styles?”

“Desperate for you, Smith.”

With that pronouncement, I wrap both hands around his length, allowing my fingers to glide gently along his shaft. One hand falls underneath where I can tickle his balls playfully. When his hips start bucking, I withdraw from him completely -- albeit slowly with a final few long strokes. 

His eyes fly open, and he pats the bed next to him, so I lie there. 

“Smith…”

“Shhhh. Hush, Styles.”

Miraculously he doesn’t say anything, but he does reach out and shift aside the fabric over my vagina before he delves a finger inside. I know I’m wet. Hell, I can feel the dampness. 

His finger teases me, and I writhe under his attention. 

“Fuck, Styles. I’m gonna…”

“Do it!” he orders, and my lower body creates a bridge as my hips rise into the air while my thighs tremble in ecstasy. 

As I land back onto the bed and earth itself from my recent visit to heaven, Harry carefully removes my panties and throws them over his shoulder. 

“Condom?” He inquires.

“IUD. You clean?”

“Yep. Got tested not long ago. You?”

“Fuck me, Styles. We deserve this.”

“Indeed,” he grins just before he plunges into me, and I cry out at the feel of his length inside me, filling me and touching every part of me. 

“Shit.” My breaths come in short spurts as he pumps into me. I can’t seem to catch my breath as my second orgasm starts building. “Shift to the left, Styles.”

“You got it, Smith. Can you scratch at my back?” 

“You bet.” 

The communication is nice as we guide each other to what pleases us the most. As much as I want to take our time, it’s not nearly long enough before I feel my insides begin to clench in a familiar way. 

“Fuck, Styles. I’m coming!”

“Me too, Smith! Fuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkk!” He stretches the word into multiple syllables as I feel his seed squirting into my womb, stopped only by my birth control. His fingers reach between our bodies as he manipulates my clit until I see stars and arch my lower body to become closer to him. 

Collapsing on top of me, his breathing is as uneven as my own. 

“Merry Christmas, Smith,” he murmurs while we’re still joined. 

“Merry Christmas, Styles,” I reply, hugging his body tightly to mine. No telling if we have a future, but this holiday is going to be one for the books. 

A/N:  This short story is dedicated to those who aren’t able to join family this Christmas due to the Coronavirus.  Be safe.  Be healthy.  Make the best of the situation. Sending you BIG HUGS!

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @fe3hmonthly (on twitter) Goddess Messenger zine! I wanted to write a smattering of pairings I haven’t explored as much as I’d like.

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i.

Everywhere Claude looked, it was white. The grounds, the roofs, even the sky were this dreary shade of eggshell, as though even nature couldn’t muster up any energy. It was Great Tree Moon, the starting of spring, and yet Fódlan still felt like it was in the throes of winter. He shouldn’t have been surprised; even his textbooks had told him that Fódlan’s winters lasted longer, were colder, and were gloomier than anything he’d experienced in Almyra.

Still, it was one thing to read about it, another to experience it. Claude laced his hands behind his head as he strolled through the interconnecting passages between the academy buildings. All in all, it wouldn’t have been too bad if the buildings were just a little festive. At this point, Almyra was in the middle of spring preparations, the buildings decorated in bright papers and the people in even brighter clothes. The academy? Even the new year decorations were down now, leaving this depressing sight.

Claude hadn’t expected to feel homesick over something as trivial as this. He hadn’t expected to feel homesick at all.

“Hey, Claude!” Hilda waved as she fell in step beside him. Her pink hair bobbed as she walked. Clasping her hands behind her back, she leaned forward and asked, “So, what’s your take on the new professor?”

“Byleth?” Claude raised a brow, looking at his right-hand woman. Another thing he hadn’t expected: finding a partner in Hilda. Her slothful attitude hid a brilliant mind, one almost on par with his for mischief making, and he had plans.

“Who else?” Hilda laughed, shaking her head. “Gosh, you’re so silly sometimes.”

He didn’t bother to reply to that. Instead he hummed thoughtfully as he considered her question. “Byleth…huh…”

“I mean, she must have really impressed you if you asked her to be our teacher.” Hilda straightened up. Tapping her chin, she mused, “I don’t think I could handle Hanneman-levels of strictness. It’d be nice if she was relaxed like Manuela.”

“Neither, I think.” Claude shrugged. Even now he remembered the ease with which she’d protected Edelgard, her confidence as she fought—it put her head and shoulders above the other two teachers. Add in her ridiculously blank face and he had found entertainment for the rest of the year. “She’s real quick on her feet. Strong too. And unlike Hanneman and Manuela, she has a lot of experience.”

A mercenary who’d seen the continent, who’d travelled from town to town, untouched by the church…part of him wondered just what change she could bring to the academy. To his classmates. To himself. What was her view on things?

“Well, that’s good and all, but…” Hilda groaned. Her long pigtails brushed against him as she hunched over. “She’s totally going to give us a lot of work.”

“Probably,” Claude agreed, patting Hilda on the back. “Especially considering the Battle of Eagle and Lion are coming up. I wonder if she’ll be ready for it.”

Hilda groaned again, leaning against him. He wrapped an arm around her to steady her as she dramatically sighed. “You should have just let us take Manuela.”

“Nah, Teach is perfect for us. Trust me.” Their pace was slower now, his arm still wrapped around Hilda’s waist. Oddly, he didn’t mind. “Though….”

“Though?” Hilda glanced up at him, raising a brow. He didn’t miss the spark of interest in her eyes.

“Well, maybe we could give her a test of our own.” Claude grinned, eyeing the endless snow. This would solve both of his problems. “Something to make sure she’s ready for the Battle of Eagle and Lion, and maybe have a little fun while we’re at it.”

Hilda furrowed her brow, her expression distrustful. “Fun?”

“Back in…” Claude caught himself. “Back at home, my family has this fun tradition every spring. We throw colourful powders at each other.”

Her distrust turned into confusion. “You threw powderat each other?”

“Well, we usually wait till it’s a little warmer too. Trust me, it’s better than it sounds. It’s kinda like a free-for-all tag.” Claude shrugged. If there was one good thing about the border situation with Almyra, it was that no one in Fódlan knew what he was describing. As far as they were concerned, he was just describing an event from a backwater town. “We’ll make it a mock battle. Maybe we could do it with snowballs? Or fill thin waterskins with coloured water?”

The more he spoke, the more enamoured with the idea he became. Their class, just barely acquainted, could properly learn about each other. More importantly, it’d be the first Almyran thing he’d done in a year and he tried to hide his rising enthusiasm. “Maybe it can be all of us against Teach.”

Hilda, however, was on the opposite side of the spectrum. She grimaced. “That sounds like a lotta work.”

“Just a little.” When she still shot him a baleful stare, he tightened his grip on her waist and rested his head on her chin. “Come on, it’ll be fun. You’ll like it. Besides…you can always rope in the others to do the work.”

“I’d do that anyways,” she replied bluntly, though she didn’t pull away or object further.

Claude chuckled. He should have expected that answer. “Fine, you can watch during the game?”

“Let’s just say you owe me one,” Hilda replied, smiling cunningly as she pulled out of his arms.

“Blackmail?” He clutched his heart. “To think you’d stoop so low.”

“Please, like you wouldn’t do the same to me,” Hilda retorted before breaking into laughter.

“True.” Claude shrugged. There was no point in denying it. “Let’s see if Anna’s willing to cut us a deal on some supplies.”

Hilda snorted, hooking an arm through his. “Like she’d let you have a penny.”

“Oh, she’ll give me more.” When Hilda turned to him, bemused, Claude winked. “Blackmail material, remember?”

ii.

The library was quiet. Not in the way Claude was used to, where you could still hear rustling paper and erasers hitting the floor, or the soft groans of students as they tried to finish exams. No, this was the silence of the uninhabited, where only the wind blowing in through the cracks broke the silence.

It had been a long five years since the library had last been used. Holding up his lamp, Claude slowly slung it from side to side, checking the cobweb-covered shelves for intruders. Not even a rat scurried out of his sight. “I guess I can’t tease Lysithea about it now.”

Lorenz didn’t reply as he checked the other half of the dark library. The light flickered, casting shadows on his face and Claude couldn’t read his expression.

Curious, Claude tried again. “Even I feel like a ghost can pop out at any moment.”

“Yes,” Lorenz muttered non-committedly, falling in step with Claude as they exited the room. Everything about him was unnaturally stiff, from his shoulders to the way he jerked at every sound. Grinning, Claude leaned closer and blew in his ear.

Lorenz yelped, jumping. Covering his ear, he glared at Claude. “What is wrong with you?”

“Just thought you needed some help relaxing.” Claude held his hands up in surrender. He hadn’t expected this much of a reaction. “Scared?”

“It is not fear.” Lorenz rubbed his arm, looking away. “It’s just…”

They were passing the courtyard now. Half it was still covered in rubble. “It’s not?” he asked as he stepped over a pothole.

“This place…it’s a graveyard,” Lorenz whispered.

“Oh.” There really wasn’t anything else he could say to that. It was. He hadn’t thought of it that way, but it was.

They rounded the corner to the great hall, where they’d temporarily set up the patrol camp. It was the best place to keep an eye on everything. Lorenz added, “You don’t think my father…our lands and people, will end up like this?”

“What’re you talking about?” Baffled, Claude raised a brow. “We’re fighting this war to prevent that.”

“I know, I know, it is just…the Empire will know my father’s decisions. If we fail…” Lorenz gestured around them. “They will not let us off lightly. Everything could disappear.”

“Oh.” Maybe he should have expected this, considering how they were planning to visit Lord Gloucester. Lorenz’s homeland straddled the border of the battlefield, and while his father had managed to balance its duties to the Leicester Alliance with treaties to the Empire, it couldn’t last much longer.

In the dark night, it was easy for old fears to resurface. They were surrounded by ghosts and the silence only made them louder. Even the few merchants that had returned didn’t make enough sound to echo through the great hall.

Lorenz almost seemed to shrink into himself. “I know it is a little late to say all of this.”

Claude studied Lorenz, taking note of how pale he looked in the faint light and how his fingers shook as he held the lantern. If Lorenz couldn’t convince himself, how could he convince his father? Donning a reassuring smile, he shook his head. “It’ll work out.”

While he didn’t pull away, Lorenz looked at him doubtfully. “How?”

“Because we’re here!” Claude squeezed Lorenz’s shoulder, winking. “A Reigan and a Gloucester? You think anyone can stand up to this combo?”

“I…” Lorenz bit his lip as he slowly nodded, looking utterly unconvinced. “I suppose.”

This wasn’t the Lorenz he was used to; he hadn’t even considered it a chance to best him. Claude sat down on a bench as they exited Great Hall and patted the spot beside him. “Come on. Sit.”

“We haven’t finished our patrol,” Lorenz pointed out, eyeing the bench.

“We can have a little break.” He set down the lantern at his feet. “Come on, it won’t harm us.”

“Until we’re attacked.” Despite his grumbling, Lorenz sat down beside him.

“You can keep me warm till then.” Claude slung his arm around Lorenz. He squawked, his ears a bright red, but he didn’t move away.

As usual, a Lone Moon night was a chilly one. On nights like this in Almyra, Claude’s family would gather, telling stories as they warded off the cold. Winter’s claws desperately dug into spring, but a warm night was enough to chase it away.

“What’re you looking forward to?” Claude asked, staring at the lantern. It didn’t take much imagination to see a bigger flame in its stead, to imagine blankets and hot drinks in their hands. In the last several years, he had learned how to sneak in his customs into life, to keep his Almyran memories alive.

“What do you mean?” Lorenz asked, hesitantly leaning closer.

Claude laughed, pulling him close enough so Lorenz could lean on his shoulder comfortably. This time there wasn’t even a squeak, though Lorenz’s ears were an even darker red. “Well, we’re going to your home, right? Tell me about it.”

He didn’t so much see Lorenz’s frown as much as he felt it. “I suspect your intentions.”

“Completely honest and pure,” he replied easily. Resting his chin on Lorenz’s head, he added, “Just think of it as a way to pass the time.”

For a long moment, Lorenz was silent. Then, slowly, he replied, “There’s a rose garden that I’ve hand-planted. It won’t be much in the spring but come summer…you won’t find bigger blooms anywhere else.”

Claude hummed encouragingly, letting Lorenz’s voice chase away the ghosts.

iii.

Byleth’s hand was in his. There were many things Khalid could have been focusing on, like the fact that they were strolling through an Almyran marketplace together. After the war, he hadn’t thought it’d only take a year for him to return to her side, that he’d make it all the way to king so quickly. Absence didn’t only make the heart fonder, it seemed, but his ambitions stronger too.

Or he could focus on what he was saying. Ever since she’d rode into Almyra’s capital, Khalid had taken it onto himself to guide her through his home. Everything was new to her, and while her expression was still hard to read, it wasn’t impossible anymore. Her eyes widened at the brightly coloured stalls, her lips parted at the scent of sizzling meat and fried vegetables, and her grip tightened every time some new, strange sight caught her attention.

Yet, it was hard to care about anything except for the fact that she was here, next to him, her fingers intertwined in his. He wasn’t even sure what he was saying right now, his normally fast mind frozen as he drank in the sight of her. Her hand was just as rough as he’d remembered. Even months as the ruler of Fódlan hadn’t changed that. Calluses and small cuts littered her palm, and his thumb unconsciously brushed a scar on her thumb.

“Why are there so many?” Byleth asked.

“Because—” Khalid stared at her blankly before realizing he had no idea what she was talking about. Or even where they were. At some point they’d passed through the market and reached the start of the residential section. “…sorry, so many what?”

Byleth glanced at him curiously. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he replied immediately, squeezing her hand. “The exact opposite.”

She raised a brow, not buying it for a second. Serious as she was, she more often than not saw right through him and Khalid wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Especially when she was still a mystery to him, one he had yet to unravel. He’d probably spend the rest of his life figuring her out.

He oddly enough didn’t mind.

“The kites,” Byleth finally asked, pointing above them. “There weren’t nearly as many yesterday.”

He followed her hand to the bright blue sky, speckled with dozens of colourful kites. There had been a few in the marketplace as well, but now that they were near the homes, the kites were everywhere. Children laughed and shouted as they stood on the flat rooftops, tugging the strings of their kites as they tried not to tangle one another. Their parents kept a watchful eye, ensuring no one fell off as they played along as well.

Khalid had been so busy planning everything, he’d actually forgotten that spring started today. For once, he wasn’t going to spend it in the cold snows of Fódlan, or their dreary hallways. He wouldn’t have to make up a story on old family customs as he convinced his fellow deer to bring his traditions to life and ease his homesickness a little.

No, it was all right here in front of him.

And yet, he couldn’t help but turn to Byleth. It was the first time he’d seen kites dance in several years and all he wanted to see was her expression as she studied their ribbon tails.

“It’s to celebrate spring,” Khalid replied softly, watching her quiet awe. “Nothing as stuffy as Fódlan’s customs.”

“It is different,” she agreed, turning her head slightly to follow a bright red one as it swooped through the air.

“It’s more fun to join in than to watch.” He let go of her hand, scanning their surroundings for a vendor. They weren’t hard to find; almost every shop was selling kites today.

The closest vendor held out two kites, one teal green and the other golden them. Shaking them, he called out, “For you and your consort, Badshah.”

His people were nosy busybodies. Khalid missed the anonymity of his youth, a time when no one cared about who he was or where he went. Still, he was the king now. It wasn’t surprising they were all watching him now.

“I’ll send payment after,” he replied, resisting the urge to sigh as he gently grabbed the two kites.

“No, there is no need—”

“I’m not that cheap,” Khalid replied, grinning as he returned to Byleth’s side. She cocked her head curiously at the kites. “Now let’s—”

“You can fly them here, Badshah!”

Khalid did sigh now. Busybodies, the entire lot of them. Oh well, it was a nice spring day, with a constant, gentle breeze, and Byleth was at his side. He’d save the complaints for later.

The offered roof was two stories off the ground. From here, he could make out the maze of buildings that made the capital, the rooftops he used to dash across as a mischievous child. Byleth brushed back a stray lock as the wind blew. “We fly them up here?”

“Yeah, best spot in the city is one of these rooftops.” Khalid grinned as he handed her the teal kite. Busying himself with unwinding thread for his kite, he added. “There’s a lot of kites here, so you’ll have to keep a tight hold of yours.”

“Why kites?” Byleth stared at her kite, rotating it in her hands. Noticing what he was doing, she imitated him and started to unravel her thread.

“They’re colourful? Fun?” Khalid shrugged. Almost all of his childhood was filled with mundane things that amounted to just cause. He’d spent so much time looking at Fódlan, that he’d never really considered Almyra. Maybe it was time he changed that.

Byleth held her kite awkwardly in one hand, her string in the other. Tossing the kite in the air, she watched as it immediately crashed in front of her. “Huh.”

Immediately, Khalid burst into laughter. “What was that?”

“Flying a kite,” Byleth replied evenly, picking up the kite. Once more, she tossed it in the air. Once more, it crashed right in front of her.

It was even funnier the second time and Khalid wrapped his arms around his belly as he guffawed. “That’s not flying.”

“How do you do it?” she asked, giving him a baleful look.

“You’ve never flown a kite?” He straightened slightly, rubbing the tears out of his eyes.

“No.” Byleth turned the kite in her hands one more time, but her bemused expression didn’t change.

“I don’t know how you always manage to surprise me.” Khalid shook his head, still laughing as he put down his kite and picked up hers. He held it up, waiting for the wind to push against it. Once it did, he grabbed the line, slowly releasing it into the air. As he moved toward Byleth, he released more and more wire, sending the kite high into the sky. “There you go, one flying kite.”

Byleth scrunched her nose as she observed. “I see.”

Unable to help himself, he broke into laughter. “You don’t have to concentrate that hard. It’s easy.”

Her expression didn’t change as she gingerly took the kite. She looked like a wooden doll, square shoulders, tense arms, stony expression as she glared up at the kite, daring it to fall.

“Seriously?” Khalid snorted. There’d come a day when Byleth ceased to either impress him or amuse him, but it wouldn’t be today. “Here, let me show you.”

Standing behind her, he pressed his palms on her shoulders and forced them down. “Relax.” He leaned forward now, his dark hair mixing with her green locks as he guided her arms into a more neutral position. “The wind does most of the work, you just have to guide it.”

“This is harder than it looks,” Byleth muttered, still looking like the kite had personally wronged her.

“Only for you.” Khalid grinned, tugging on the string slightly so the kite swooped. “If you get really good at it, you can even cut other kite strings with your kite.”

Byleth frowned. “Why would you do that?”

“Kite battles. Though, with your stance, you’ll lose every time. Didn’t think you could be bad at something.” Khalid sighed blissfully, feeling utterly content and warm. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so complete, without something he needed to strive for, without pushing for yet another destination. They could just stay here for the rest of their lives. “You know, I really missed this in Fódlan.”

Byleth didn’t say anything, but he could feel her lean back into him, encouraging him to continue.

“I didn’t think I’d get homesick of all things.” Khalid chuckled, feeling soft at the memories over the years. “I’d find excuses to worm in traditions into whatever we were doing.”

Byleth stiffened slightly. “Is that why you attacked me with coloured water back then?”

“That…yeah.” Khalid had almost forgotten about that incident—it’d been almost six years ago for him, but for Byleth it had only been last year. “You had fun.”

“Fun…” she trailed off doubtfully.

“Well, everyone else did at least.” Khalid grinned. “The actual festival’s going to come up in a few weeks—you can see what the real thing’s like. That is, if you aren’t homesick by then.”

“…I don’t think I’ll be,” Byleth replied easily.

Somehow, that answer didn’t surprise him. “I bet you’ve never felt homesick, huh?”

“No, I have.” Byleth tugged on the kite string, pulling it lower before releasing it back up. “When you were gone.”

Of all the answers he’d expected, that wasn’t one of them. His voice cracked. “Did you now?”

“Yeah.” Byleth concentrated on the kite, as though this were just an idle observation, as though she hadn’t said anything important.

Khalid wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her neck. Despite how stoic she was, she saw everything so clearly. Suddenly, everything clicked into place for him—he’d been feeling homesick too. It didn’t matter if he was in Almyra or in Fódlan, the sights around him meant nothing if she wasn’t by his side. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Byleth hummed, pressing her cheek on his head. “Me too.”

[illfoandillfie]

Easy As A-B-C

Pairing: Professor!Gwilym Lee x Reader

Summery:  Professor Lee is getting sick of marking papers, you offer an alternative. One where he doesn't need to think at all.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected sex, bimbofication (without hypnosis), oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, light dom/sub dynamic, dom!reader, sub!Gwil, overstimulation, maybe a little bit of hair pulling

Words: 4,537

A/N: This was massively massively inspired by my love @dracoladon​ and her Drarry fic Lucid (seriously, go read it because she’s a much better writer than me and also sex dumb Draco is hhhhhhh). Reading it made me want to write more himbo fics but without all the hypnosis stuff thats in my Future Management series. Then I got talking to @peachydeacon​ about himbo!Rog which led to talking about himbo!Gwil and this fic is the result of our discussion lmao. It was also partly inspired by a post on a porn blog that popped up on my dash but I can’t link to that because tumblrs dumb. 

Also, it is a professor gwil fic but set after reader has graduated so it’s all above board lmao

Blurb Advent: Day 24

Taglist:  @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama​ @deakyclicks​ @jennyggggrrr​ @drowseoftaylor​ @hannafuckingsucks​ @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming​ @queenmylovely​ @ilovequeenmorethanyou​ @johndeaconshands​ @borhapbois​ @stardust-galaxies​ @cherries-n-rocknroll​ @rogersslave​ @scorpiogemini 

Gwilym looked unreasonably hot while he was grading papers, his brow knitted, wearing a look of serious concentration made all the more noticeable by the reading glasses sliding down his nose. His loose tie and the undone top buttons of his business shirt lent him a casually dishevelled air, and that wasn’t even mentioning the way he absentmindedly twisted his pen between his fingers as he read and reread sentences he was struggling to understand, occasionally pausing to underline something or write a note in the margins. It all painted a very sexy image, the kind of serious sexy only a professor could achieve, though this sexiness was nowhere near new. You’d found his manner oddly arousing even when he’d been your professor. Of course, that had been a few years ago and well before you’d had your chance encounter in the local second hand bookstore that led you to ask him out. He’d stuttered out something about never having even thought of you as more than his student and “really I feel almost as if I’ll get in trouble for the conversation as soon as I get back to campus.” But the awkwardness soon changed when you confessed to having had a minor crush on him back in the day and having since hoped to run into him. He seemed more open to the idea of dinner with you after that and, if you were being honest, more cocky too, but cocky in a decidedly dignified and charming way. Anyway, one thing led to another and now here you were somewhere close to a year and half later and you were struggling not to stare at Gwil as he graded papers and looked professor-ally disarrayed and hot.

You knew it was something to do with the Romantic era poets that the students had to write about because he’d read a question out to you earlier to get your opinion of if it was confusingly worded. “No, I don’t think so,” “Then why in god’s name do none of my students get it?” he looked about ready to hit his head against the desk until he passed out but he returned to the topmost paper with a sigh and ruffled hair from where he’d run his hand through it. That’s when you’d started trying not to stare. A tall order when all you could think about was dragging Gwil to the bedroom and ravishing him enough to make him forget all about John Keats and poetry and the English language itself. Not that that was exactly hard. No, Gwilym had a tendency to get a little dazed and confused when you really gave it to him. Sex drunk you’d decided to call it. A transformation that you quite delighted in witnessing and causing. Gwil was sharp as a tack usually, always ready with some obscure fact or quote from literature. It was part of what made him such a good teacher, his memory for all things bookish, as well as his approachable (if a little stern) demeanour and his determination to get the best from his students. But it wasn’t hard to shut down his brain, cloud his memory and entirely befuddle him. One time you’d snuck into the bathroom at the restaurant you’d gone to for dinner and poor Gwilym had become so spaced out he’d spilt half a glass of wine in his lap and then walked into the glass door as you left, even with you leading him by the hand. You supposed that what they said about great power and responsibility was true. All the same, it was a fun power to wield and you knew that, with the right sort of attention, you could have Gwilym babbling incomprehensible gibberish with no memory of what a poem even was, which was surely something he’d appreciate right about now.

You blinked yourself from your reverie as, finally, Gwil set his glasses aside and rose from his seat, groaning as he stretched out the stiffness in his back. He rolled his neck back and forth, your eyes following, before letting his shoulders drop and moving to sit next to you on the couch. “I can’t do it anymore, I can’t read another word about Byron or I’ll loose it.” He sighed, draping an arm around your shoulders and leaning into your neck. “Byron? I remember that assignment. Everyone hated you for it,” His breath was warm against your skin as he spoke, sending a tingle down your spine, “Well if this year’s lot is anything to go by, the feeling was probably mutual,” “Mmm, I remember one girl saying she was going to shove her copy of Don Juan up your arse if she didn’t pass,” He lifted his head again and laughed, “And yet my rectum remains Byron fee and no other injuries befell me, so either I taught you enough to get by or you were all a bunch of cowards,” “Bit of both probably. And why would this year’s be any different, huh?” “I don’t know, you haven’t read any of their attempts at cohesive analysis. Some of them are just throwing out terms like allusion and anapestic and personification all willy-nilly, clearly without properly understanding them. ” “I think you’re being too harsh on them. They’re first years after all and it’s not always easy to understand all that poncy poetical bullshit. Plus, you know it all already so of course everyone else seems stupid to you,” “Maybe,” he conceded, though it seemed to take some effort. “Honestly, someone should put you in their position, see how well you go with it,” “Yeah? And who would do something like that?” Gwilym laughed as you shifted to straddle his lap, accepting the kiss you offered, “You?” “Maybe I will. Spell personification for me,” “You know it’s not high school English, right. We don’t do pop quizzes on spelling and grammar.” “I know you don’t, but this is my subject and I’m testing spelling. Besides,” you let your hand drop between you, brushing lightly over the front of his pants, “I promise it’ll be fun.” Gwil gave a half-hearted eye roll, “P-E-R-S-O-N-I-F-I-C-A-T-I-O-N, personification. D’you want me to use it in a sentence too?” You knew he’d get it right. Gwil always had been good at spelling off the top of his head which you supposed was a side effect of all his reading and the years devoted to the written word. But it was still a little annoying. Mostly because he was being a bit of a tool about the whole thing, but it didn’t help that you’d grown quite wet thinking about how you’d like to have him, like to turn him into the fucked out airhead you’d seen before. You shook your head and tutted at him as if he got it wrong. “No, that’s definitely it. I’ve just read it about a hundred times, I know I’m right. P-E-R-S-O-N-I-F-I-C-A-T-I-O-N,” he spelt it faster that time, trying to prove that you were wrong. “Try allusion for me,” “A-L-L-U-S-I-O-N,” Right again. You sighed as if you were disappointed. Gwilym raised his eyebrows but said nothing. “What about caesura?” “C-E-A-S-U-R-A,” The mistake was an easy one to make, two letters flipped around the wrong way, and you could tell he knew it was wrong as soon as he’d said it. He was surprised when you leant forward to kiss him again, cupping his jaw with one hand as you dropped the other and slowly pulled down the zip on his work pants. “But I fucked up,” he said softly, eyes still closed as you pulled away a few centimetres. You just smiled as you thought of a new word, “Anapestic,” It was another word Gwil had mentioned as seeing in his student’s essays so you knew it would be fresh in his mind and he proved as much when he spelt it, “A-N-A-P-E-S-T-I-C,” He was right of course, so you tutted and pulled your hand away from his crotch, grabbing his chin with your other and forcing him to look at you, “You can do better than that.” His features shifted at the sudden loss of contact, the look of concentration returned once more. If anything, your much closer proximity to the expression made him seem all the more hot but you resisted the urge to give in and drag him to the bedroom, curious if he’d catch onto your little game now and, equally so, to see if he’d play along, “Try Onomatopoeia.” A longer word gave him more chances to get things wrong but would his pride and his brain allow that? Apparently so. “O-N-O-M-” Gwil paused and thought for a second, his eyes narrowed as his looked at you, “O-N-O-M-A-T-O-P-I-A,” the last three letters were said with such deliberate diction that you knew he’d figured it out. “Good boy,” you said, letting your hands slip inside his undone pants to massage his dick. His hips jolted at the contact and he let his hands fall to your arse, squeezing. “What about, dactyl?” His reply was instant, unthinking, and totally correct, “D-A-C-T-Y-L,” You clicked your tongue condescendingly as you once again removed your hands from him. “Fuck,” “Well that’s what happens when you get things wrong, honey, and such an easy one too,” “I didn’t get it wro- fine, give me another,” You smiled, unable to hide how delighted you were that he was interested in following your rules, even if it was just his competitive streak rearing its head to show that he could out smart you, “Assonance,” Gwilym spelt the word slowly and carefully, making sure to only say one ‘s’ and to leave off the ‘e’. And you made sure to reward him for it, shuffling backwards on his lap so you could shimmy his pants down his thighs and wrap your hand around his cock. He raised an eyebrow at you but otherwise made no comment as he leant back in his seat to enjoy the attention. “Romanticism,” Once again Gwilym was careful with his spelling, intentionally replacing the ‘c’ with a double ‘s’ but that was the kind of behaviour you wanted to encourage so you kept stroking him off, twisting your wrist, dragging your thumb over his flushed tip. It must have felt good with the way he was sighing, shifting his shoulders as if to move his whole body closer to yours. “So clever baby, what about,” you paused, dredging up memories of poetry analysis and the words you used to have burned into your brain but which you’d not had much use for recently, “Enjambment” “Ummm, E-N,” Gwil hummed as you leant over him and let a trail of spit drip onto his cock, using your hand to spread it over his length, “Enjamb-ment, uh, E-N-J-A- no E, no A, M-E-N-T,” You leant into his ear and spoke softly, “That’s right, being so good for me, so clever. What should I do next though? Ride you? Or maybe suck you off? Or just keep doing this?” “Uh,” Gwilym shook his head a little as if to clear it, “mouth? Please?” “Of course, baby. If you can spell dissonance for me.” You were quietly confident that he’d get the spelling wrong, already noticing the first sign of his impending brainlessness, extra filler words where he’d normally not need them. It was funny though, usually he wouldn’t reach that stage until he was much closer to nutting. “D-I-S” he rushed through the first three letters and then stopped, biting his lip, “T-um, A-N-E-N-C-E.” You were sure the errors in that word were less intentional than the previous few and, as promised, slipped off his lap and settled yourself between his legs, pulling his pants off so he could spread them wider for you. You held eye contact as you let your tongue trail along the underside of his cock, tracing along a vein, though you couldn’t help but smile as he groaned above you. “Can you spell Decasyllable for me?” you asked before closing your lips around the head of his cock. “What? Oh, um, D-E-C-K- fuck,” he broke off as you swirled your tongue around his tip. “Fuck’s not a letter, baby,” you sank down on him again, bobbing a little lower. “I know, um, Deck-syllable, D-E-C-K-A-S-Y-B-L-E, I think. Is that right?” In answer you hummed and took him a little deeper, pushing his shirt up towards his chest. Gwilym took the hint and pulled it off before he grabbed your hair, leaning his head against the back of the couch. For a moment you just focused on sucking him off, listening to his shallow breathing and whiny groans. But you weren’t finished with your game yet.

“Epigraph?” you asked before bobbing down on him again, pushing yourself to take him deeper still. Gwilym remained silent as you gagged and pulled back from him again to breath freely. “Well?” “What did you say?” “Epigraph. Can you spell that?” He nodded as you resumed your bobbing, his hand grabbing at your hair, “E-P-P-E-G-R-A-F-F.” You hummed around him and his hips bucked up, pushing him further down your throat for a second. “No, don’t stop,” he whined under his breath as once again you let him fall from between your lips. “Sorry baby,” you wrapped your hand around his base and switched back to jerking him off, “you’re so hard though and I know you want to earn your orgasm like a good boy,” Gwilym nodded. “Okay, so spell meter,” “M- oh, I don’t know,” “You do know, baby, you just gotta try. Meter,” He scrunched his face up in thought, “M-E-E-T-R,” “See, I said you knew it, and you did it so well!” Gwilym gave you a dopey smile, looking proud at your praise, “I did?” His mouth dropped open with the movement of your hand. “Of course baby! You got it completely right because you’re so clever. What about sonnet, do you think you can do that one for me?” He nodded enthusiastically, “S-N-E-T,” “Very good! Okay, three more and I’ll let you cum,” “Okay!” “Okay, what about,” you thought for a moment, watching your hand pumping over his shaft as you trailed your fingernails lightly over his thigh, “Spell rhyme,” “Ummm,” Gwilym bit his lip in thought, soft grunting noises rising in his throat in time with your strokes. “It’s a bit of a tricky one,” “Yeah.” “And it’s hard to concentrate isn’t it?” “Mmhmm, so hard to con-ten-tate,” he thought for a little longer as you slowed your hand, “rrr- R-I-M,” “So clever baby! Okay canto,” “Oh! Ummm,” Gwilym pouted and whined as you unexpectedly drew the tip of your tongue around his head, “I don’ know,” “No?” He shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. “Okay what about, poem?” Gwilym seemed to have reached the last dregs of his knowledge, grunting in frustration as he shook his head again.” “You sure you don’t know?” He bucked his hips up into your hand as he shook his head again. “Alright, I’ll give you an easy one then. Spell your name for me, spell Gwilym,” Gwil’s eyes lit up at the suggestion but his face quickly slipped into a frown again, the expression getting more pronounced with every passing second he didn’t say anything. He sought out your face, his eyes brimming with frustrated tears, “I don’t…” his fists balled up as he looked to you for help. “You don’t remember?” He shook his head once more, a tear shaking loose and rolling down his cheek, “you said it was easy.” “It’s okay if you don’t know,” “Really?” he sniffled. “Of course it’s okay. You’re not supposed to know things.” “I’m not?” “Awww, of course not baby. That’s why I’m here, to know things, and you’re just here to make me happy.” Gwilym sighed and leaned back against the couch, smiling again. “Do you want to give it a try for me?” “Umm,” he whined as you slowed your strokes “It would make me very happy,” “Okay, umm…G? L? ummmm, M?” “You’re so clever, baby!” Gwilym giggled proudly and grinned at you as you adjusted your grip on his cock. “You’re my good, smart boy, aren’t you baby?” “Mmhmm,” he bucked his hips towards you as you took him into your mouth again. “Feels go-od,” he mumbled, almost panting with how close he was. You dragged the hand that rested on his thigh up to cup his balls as you sucked on his tip until he moaned and came, spilling his seed over your tongue.

You kept working your hand along his length, even after you’d pulled your mouth from him. “Was that a good orgasm baby? Did it make you feel good?” He nodded, pouting a little as you kept wanking him, “good oggsam,” It took all your effort not to laugh at that, biting on the inside of your cheek to keep from letting so much as a chuckle slip. Very few things delighted you as much as when Gwil forgot how to talk properly. “You know,” you said as you finally let his cock free, “sometimes when people have orgasms they feel euphoric. Do you feel euphoric?” “Mmhmm, you-porik.” “Clever boy. Do you want to help me feel euphoric?” “How?” “With your mouth,” “Oh! Okay!” You braced yourself against his knees as you stood, leaning forward to give Gwil a small kiss on the lips. He closed his eyes and smiled up at you contentedly as you shimmied out of your own clothes, dropping them all to the floor. “You going to let me lie down?” you asked, tapping Gwil on the shoulder. He looked around confusedly for a moment before his eyes settled on you, growing wider as he realised how naked you were. Without warning he surged forward, his hands grabbing your arse as he nuzzled his face in the valley between your breasts. If it were up to Gwil he would have stayed there all day but you had need for him elsewhere so you yanked his head back by his hair, earning a small noise of displeasure. “Don’t complain, baby. You want to make me feel euphoric, right?” “Mmhmm,” he hummed earnestly. “And how do you think you could do that?” “I don’t know,” “Maybe, cunnilingus?” “cun-un-un-un-gus,” “Exactly,” you directed his gaze down to your pussy, failing to hide your amused grin. But he was too far gone to notice, happily slipping to his knees in front of you. Telling him to wait for a second, you climbed onto the couch and spread your legs, beckoning him between them once you were comfortable.

He hadn’t been able to say the word but that didn’t mean he wasn’t skilled at the act. A string of soft hums and throaty sounds rose to your lips as he licked your cunt, the scratchy sensation of his beard only amplifying the soft, wet, warmth of his tongue.   “Can you, oh, can you spell poem for me baby?” Gwilym hummed and then started naming letters, his mouth still pressed against your cunt as if he didn’t realise he couldn’t talk and suck at the same time. You didn’t bother to stop him when he said too many letters or correct him when all of them were wrong. You just let his breath wash over you, his tongue flicking against your clit with each new letter, eliciting longer moans and sighs from you. “Fuck Gwil,” you panted, “keep going,” “Keep going,” he repeated, his voice muffled as he dragged his tongue all the way down your slit and then back up again, making you whine. You jolted when he reached your clit again and pressed against his head, keeping him close to you, your other hand trailing up your chest to tweak your nipples and knead your breasts. Occasionally you’d give him an instruction – “faster please,” or “do that again,” or “fuck Gwil, right there,” – and he’d repeat the words back to you, softened and often a little slurred together or mispronounced, before doing as he was asked, drawing you closer to release. He was pleased whenever another groan or mewl slipped from your lips, responding to them with sounds of his own as if he were savouring a particularly delicious meal. It seemed he’d taken what you’d said about making you happy to heart, though some of his whines might have had more to do with his cock, hard again and straining to be touched as his attention remained focused on you. “I’m c-lose ba-by,” you grunted as Gwilym pressed his mouth to your lower lips, as if to give you a soft chaste kiss, only to begin shaking his head side to side, rubbing his face against your cunt. “loase,” he muttered to himself, trailing his tongue back up to your clit, making you grind your hips up into him. It was impossible to keep your mouth shut in the face of such a feeling, wantonly moaning as you felt your orgasm bubbling to the surface. Gwilym hummed against you in response to a particularly loud moan which managed to be your undoing, your knees trying to clamp shut around his head as he continued to suck at your clit.

When you calmed enough to let go of his hair and loosen your thighs from around his ears, Gwilym looked up at you. His face was shiny and wet but he seemed to have regained some of his usual awareness. His eyes weren’t quite as vacant and his smile less dopey than it had been. “Feel good?” he asked, sounding almost normal except for a slight lightness in his tone. “Very good baby,” you leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips, tasting yourself as he opened his mouth and accepted your tongue. Slowly you dropped your hand between you, finding his cock again, not quite done with your brainless toy. He grunted against your lips and bucked into your hand as you stopped his return to sense. “Isn’t this fun?” you said softly as you pulled back, holding Gwil by the chin to stop him from trying to follow. “Yeah, fun,” a smile slowly tugging at his lips, “what is?” “Not needing to think, baby,” “Oh! Yes,” he laughed. “You’re too pretty to have a brain anyway, aren’t you? Much better off letting it leak out of your head,” “Mmhmm, much,” “And do you know what good, dumb boys get?” “No?” “They get fucked. Would you like that?” “Yes yes yes,” “Alright, lie back for me,” you chuckled, giving his cock a final stroke. Gwilym settled on the carpet on his back, grinning as you straddled his lap. Silently he held out his hand, all but two of his fingers folded against his palm. “No, I don’t need your fingers sweetie,” you said, giving the tips of his two fingers a light kiss, “as dextrous as they are and as much as I enjoy them, I think I’m okay skipping straight to your cock,” He nodded, letting you place his hand down on the floor again. You watched his face as you slowly sank down onto him, once again the picture of cunt drunk bliss with glazed eyes and his lip between his teeth. He smiled as you leaned down to kiss him, rolling your hips against his slowly. As you tongues entwined again, Gwilym framed your waist with his hands, slowly dragging them up your sides and onto your chest. He cupped each of your breasts in one of his palms, squeezing softly as you rocked forward and back. “Better than Byron isn’t this?” you asked, pushing yourself up a bit, but not so far you couldn’t kiss him again. “Wha’s Byron?” You laughed, “Y’know I think this might be the dumbest I’ve seen you. Can’t believe all it took was a rigged spelling test. He obviously didn’t understand, staring blankly back at you.

What he did understand was that you were moving further away from him and he whined as you pushed yourself to sit higher again, bracing your hands on his chest as you used your knees to raise and lower yourself. It still wasn’t enough though so you shifted again before too long, placing a hand behind you to grab Gwil’s leg. You leant back on it changing the angle of Gwilym’s cock, and felt his hands drop from your chest, no longer able to reach as easily. They came to rest on your leg, his fingertips digging into your skin as you rode him, keening as you felt the start of your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. “Fuck Gwil, fill me so well, feels so good,” “My dex-ik-tus cock?” You couldn’t help but laugh, taken by surprise at his misunderstanding and mispronunciation of dextrous, but you nodded in agreement too, repeating your sentiments about how good it felt. “Wanna make me feel even better?” “How?” You sat forward again and reached for his hand, pulling it to your clit. Gwilym took the hint, messily rubbing as you bounced on his cock, but his whines and moans only grew as you rode him. “You’re close?” “Mmhmm,” You were on the verge of asking if he could hold it when he came with a groan, pulsing inside you. But you didn’t stop. “I’m close too, baby, so I’m gonna keep fucking you, okay?” He nodded, eyes fixed on you. “Good boy.” You panted, grabbing his wrist to hold his hand at your clit and adjusting your rhythm. Each time you sank back down onto him you did it harder, slamming his cock into you as deep as you could manage, groaning with each one. Your orgasm was frustratingly close but Gwilym was becoming steadily more sensitive as his subsided, wincing more with each of your thrusts. The winces turned to whimpers which turned to whines as you whispered that you were so close. “Almost baby, almost,” “Please. Hur’s,” “Nearly, just. One. More,” you threw your head back with a moan as you finally found your release, Gwil whining when you pulsed around him, a fresh tear running from the corner of his eye onto the carpet as he squirmed under you.

“Sorry, baby,” you said softly as you carefully dismounted him. He hummed as you kissed him again, leaving an extra kiss against the tip of his nose. “Did so well, such a good boy for me,” “Yeah?” “Mmhmm, so good,” He gave you a slightly watery smile and let you pull him into a cuddle, sighing contentedly when you brushed your fingers through his hair. You stayed like that for a while, knowing that later you’d regret lying on the floor for so long but unable to find the energy to move or the willpower to tell Gwilym you had to let him go. He gradually lost the fucked out expression, becoming more aware of his surroundings and more capable of clear speech. “How are you feeling?” you asked when you realised he’d blinked away the last of his sex drunk vacancy. “Better than before. Little tired but much more relaxed and very satisfied. And, before you ask, yes that’s satisfied and yes I can spell it if you want,” “I believe you.”

[poutyhannie]

word count: +4k 

warnings: fluff, angst, smut, college!fem reader, college!felix, romantic fantasy

** **

You gaze down at the materializing letters stretching across your palm till your elbow. It was a mixture of Korean and English. The Korean characters were few and far in between but were delicate and even while the English letters were long, messy, and leaned to the right.

I’ll need to turn in Prof Behl’s assignment when I go to class and then explain why I can’t go to the museum research trip.

Did I use all my meal swipes? Chris said he wanted to workout at 3…

These notes would often appear on your right arm, sometimes remaining like a tattoo for weeks or fading before you could even read it fully. These were the thoughts of a person whose soul matched your own. He was a college student who is majoring in English with focus on things like creative writing and poetry and you’ve gathered that ‘Chris’ was his roommate.

For as flowery his major was, the boy’s thoughts were surprisingly plain and boring. However, you were thankful for it. Your friend often had dark circles under her eyes. Her connection with her soul partner was being awake at the same time and you were sure her soul’s partner lived on the other side of the world with the opposite time zone. To be honest, you gleaned almost nothing from the notes. The boy probably didn’t know that his thoughts were being recorded on your arm, which you always kept covered with a sleeve. Neither did you know what connection he had with you. Did he feel the emotions you did? Were his dreams your memories? You’ve laid to waste these meaningless thoughts to focus on your life more, not his. There was little reason to go searching him out; if you truly were tied together by souls, fate could do the heavy lifting for you two.

Leaning back at your desk, you shake out your cramping hands. The graphic design project requires that you draw out the story board by hand rather than digitally and you never wished more to curse for it. The reason was, according to your Professor, head of the project you and your classmates are fighting to be a part of use physical copies in the preliminary section. Because you had started in traditional art, relatively it was easy to get back in the swing of things. Didn’t mean that your hand didn’t hurt like a bitch, though. You had everything riding you getting to participate in this project, you’d planned everything out with your counselor and had little attractive options if you didn’t get it, so you return to your drawing.

Your roommate swings open the door, causing you to jump and tug your sleeve on quickly. She throws her bag on her bed with no regards to the loud thump it emits. Her blonde hair rests on your paper when she leans over to look at your drawing. As always, she gushes at your talents and as always, you remind her that her microbiology major is much more impressive.

The night is a lot hotter than comfortable, especially with the tight sleeve you always relegate yourself to, even while sleeping. Ever since you caught your dad reading the thoughts on your arm when you slept, you sometimes go so far as to sleep on your stomach, with your right arm tucked under you. It was uncomfortable reading his thoughts, much less having someone else read them. Yeah, they weren’t always too juicy or detailed, but it still felt wrong to share something like this with anyone else.

“Even family?” You remember your dad asking to your rage. 

“Even family.” You hissed.

With a groan, you rise out of bed, your roommate looking up from her five inch thick textbook, illuminated by a soft, yellow dest lamp. Her watery eyes gaze up at you from behind her round glasses. “I’m going out. Can’t sleep.” You tell her.

The night breeze whispers through your hair as you sit on an empty bench in an empty courtyard near your dorms. It’s in time like these that you feel peace. When not a soul is around you and you can finally just sit with yourself. Slowly, you unwind the sleeve and are met with chaotic swirl of words. This happens when he dreams.

Worth, friends, others, internships, classes, empty, running, nothing, darkness.

Your heart pangs. He’s having nightmares again. Instinctively, you begin to wrap your arm up again, not wishing to invade him at his weakest point.

Though you don a mask of indifference towards the scrawl on your arm and effectively the boy around others, you can’t help but hurt for him. He seems swamped with so much to do and feels helpless. When you look down, the chilling sentence on your arm burns in your mind and heart.

I don’t think there’s anyone for me. All I see is black. Am I alone?

Two weeks later, they stay. No matter how many times you unwrap and rewrap your arm, those three sentences never leave. Others come and go, but from that night until now, they stay.  And the guilt of not pursuing this boy is eating you alive.

You always assumed he had a connection that allowed him to know of your existence. When you realize that he doesn’t, your passivity almost seems like a sin. How lonely it must be to be alone in a world where everyone has someone. Since then, you’ve been paying close attention to the scrawl on your arm, careful to gather as much info on him as you can decipher. Right now though, in class, you can’t.

Your Professor is announcing the chosen students of the project and you can’t really think about him now. 

“And the last student is Y/n.”

You heave out a sign of relief, making a note to thank you Professor. You’re sure she had a few good words to put in for you. “The students I just called will be working with other student in screenwriting. You guys need to pick five scripts you want to animate and the screenwriting students will choose their preferred artist.”

Walking into the classroom with another female peer by your side, you absentmindedly fidget with your sleeve. She walks boldly up to a male student, who’s dark blonde falls onto his freckled cheeks, sticking her hand out. “I’m Madeline,” you hear her say. His eyes snap up towards yours but he immediately looks back to Madeline as they exchange pleasantries.

Madeline is paired up with the freckled boy and you with a quiet, thoughtful boy named Seungmin. He tells you that he is friends with Felix, the freckled boy, so you combine tables and group up. Because this is a project done in your own time, you all choose to work together to bounce ideas off with each other though with how bubbly Madeline is, you wonder how much you guys will get done.

When the topic of soul partners comes up, you and Felix shift uncomfortably. Seungmin gets visions through the eyes of his partner and has seen her face, he tells you guys casually. 

How wonderful it must be to know who your soul is tied to, you think bitterly, a twinge of jealousy coursing through you.

Madeline’s green eyes shine as she starts, “I don’t know who they are, but I see colors that has to be tied to them.” She’s a romantic, giddy with excitement at the prospect. It’s so easy to live with just seeing colors; it’s pretty and inconsequential, much a contrast to the invasive cryptics on your arm.

When all your eyes turn to Felix, he purses his lips softly, only able to look down at the table. “I actually don’t know what my connection is. Maybe its unconsciousness because I can never fall asleep at nights,” he jokes, attempting to push the attention off of that topic.

A glossy nail taps Madeline’s pink lips as her dark lashes flutter, “I don’t think so. Insomnia isn’t usually paired with unconsciousness connection.”

Feigning disinterest, Felix shrugs, focusing back to the sketches, “Maybe it has something to do with my color blindness, I’m not sure. Doesn’t really matter,” he mutters, his voice deep and throaty. Madeline gasps, lightly slapping Felix’s arm. He raises an eyebrow at her. 

“Of course that has to be it!” She exclaims, “It’ll be a subcategory color connection, just like me! Maybe you’ll see colors when you see your partner or when some other unveiling instance occurs.”

She goes into depth about connections, her shoulders bouncing in excitement. Thankfully, this distracts them from asking you about your connection. As her movements and words quicken, the stale bitterness in your mouth consumes you. It’s immature, your distaste for anything about these connections. Just because you have a subjectively unfortunate connection definitely doesn’t mean you should shit on Madeline’s obvious interest in the subject. In fact, Felix and Seungmin seem to enjoy talking with her about it as she has extended knowledge about connections. 

However, while Seungmin’s tone that he asks his with questions are amused, his interest piqued, Felix is leaned forward in his chair, his eyes barely concealing desperation. Your heart pangs for him; he’s probably so lost. 

Seungmin and Madeline walk in front of you and Felix on the sidewalk, returning to the dorms. They’re in deep conversation about Seungmin’s connection and with Madeline’s knowledge and Seungmin’s intellect, they quickly and thankfully exclude you and Felix.

“I don’t wanna talk about connections,” you declare to him. A small smile spreads across Felix’s face and he nods knowingly. “What made you want to get into animation?” He asks, a pleasant and refreshing topic.

“I haven’t always been the best at art,” you admit with a shrug. “No way!” Felix exclaims, his eyebrows raised, “Your work is so cool, though.” 

You laugh at the compliment, “Yeah, well it took me a while to get here and I didn’t want to throw away that work, so here I am. What about you? Why did you want to get into script writing?” 

Felix’s eyes soften and he stares off past the line of buildings, into the horizon. “I feel like I can see different things with words. Does that make sense?” He pauses, gathering his thoughts, “They open up worlds and ideas that I can’t experience and it makes me feel closer to normal. It makes me feel alive.” 

“Like, you can imagine how colors feel or look through words?”

He nods, looking back at you with a playful look, “That’s another reason why I like your work so much. The values are clear and I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything by not seeing color.” 

The genuine, heartfelt comment makes your heart warm and a smile spread across your face, “Yeah, I focus a lot on just greyscale because composition is the most important aspect to my art. Stuff like color theory, while important, it basically inconsequential if you can’t even tell what’s going on in the picture.” 

Felix’s voice quiets as he shoots a look up at Madeline’s back, “Yeah, I didn’t want to choose Madeline’s for that reason, but she really thought that the color use in my script would work in perfect tandem with her style and I really couldn’t tell whether she’s right or not,” he shrugs, his lips pulling into a line.

“Oh, totally,” you say quickly, not wishing to have Felix question his choice, “It makes total sense and in some instances color can tell more of a story than composition and values can. It was wise to team with her.” Maybe your intentions of reassuring Felix was too obvious because his eyes crinkle deeply when he gives you a big, knowing smile.

A week into your work and the very basic shapes for the animation is finished. Working with Seungmin is wonderful as he has a clear direction and even pictures he’s taken to show you what he envisions. Concentration pinches Felix’s eyebrows together and he and Madeline converse as you watch them from the other end of the table.

An hour or two pass and you stand up to stretch, announcing that you’re gonna take a bathroom break to which they agree is a wonderful idea. Coming out of the bathroom, you wrap up your sleeve, peeking to see what the ink says this time. The three words that you’re familiar with; that have been etched into your sink for weeks don’t make your heart stop, but the ones under it. 

Am I alone? She needs to add more clear composition so I can actually tell what’s going on. 

Your eyes snap up to the blond haired boy. That’s exactly what Felix told you a day ago.  Its him?

To your confusion, he now stares, awestruck at Madeline. There’s a sinking in your stomach but you can’t tell why. Gasping, his eyes widen as he takes her hands. “Madeline…I think,” he stumbles over his words, clearly flabbergasted. “I-I’m seeing color now, I think.” 

She squeals, squeezing his hands tightly, “When? Just now? What happened?” His dark eyes look dazes and he steps back. His eyes wander from the ground her hers and he whispers, “When I saw you.” Turning your back on them, you leave quickly, not wishing to intrude on Felix’s revelation. 

You resume your seat next to Seungmin, heaving a sigh. “What’s wrong?” His lips form a slight pout and his head tilts to the side. You shake your head, waving a hand, “Felix and Madeline are soul partners. He just found out.” From your peripheral, you see Seungmin smile widely.  You laugh to yourself, an embarrassed blush rising on your cheeks at your previous hasty conclusion.  You really are desperate for the person who matches your soul.  

“That’s great,” he taps your arm with his hand, hidden by his sweater’s sleeve, “Why do you look so bummed, though?” 

You purse your lips, “It just sucks to be a late bloomer. I don’t know who my partner is,” you tell him as the bitterness fills your mouth again. Seungmin nods firmly, his fingers tapping your arm again, “At least you know that you have one, though. Felix didn’t even know whether he was alone or not.” 

“Yeah,” you shrug, trying to ignore the gnawing guilt of your selfishness, “it just sucks.” 

“Of course but just give it time,” Seungmin advises, patting your shoulder softly.

You and Seungmin gaze blankly at Felix and Madeline as they both gush over each other. You can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy in your chest when Felix gingerly strokes her cheek.

Clapping, Seungmin returns to the story board, pointing at a slide, “I like the idea with this one, but if you’ll look here,” he pulls out a picture he took of a deep, dark green forest that just seems to dissolve into black, “I want the composition to be more dangerous. Like, the characters are being drawn into darkness and they won’t have any way to escape.” Nodding quickly, you add rough shading and lines to your preexisting work to cater to Seungmin’s request.

“Perfect,” he beams his toothy smile at you.

By the time the project is all but done, Felix and Madeline are attached at the hip or the hand or the face. You try not to watch them, jealousy foaming in your throat. Felix’s eyelashes flutter against his freckles and his lips are glossy as Madeline gently strokes his cheek, smiling softly. Such a romantic—it would make sense that her seeing colors would be paired with his past complete colorblindness. He gushes over her work and her use of color, his voice giddy with excitement at finally seeing color, finally being normal.

While your initial bitterness at their fortune has washed away into passivity, you can’t bring yourself to look at your arm like you used to. In a way, you’re foolishly upset at you partner for not giving you anymore clues that would lead you to him. It’s foolish because he doesn’t know you can read what’s on his mind.

You pick up your artist’s hand brace from your dorm bed and begin unwrapping your arm to put it on, barely sparing the black scrawl a glance.

Its not all black anymore. I can see it. I can see her.

Dread clenches your gut as your eyes travel down to the next single word.

Madeline.

There’s a buzzing white in your head as you fumble to get your shoes on, tripping out into the hallway, breaking into a sprint towards Madeline’s dorm, on the other side of the campus. Whirling confusing overcomes your mimd and you feel like you’re suffocating, the only goal is to find an answer. You don’t know when hints of this conclusion plagued your mind. Maybe it was that day, months ago at the bathroom. Maybe it was a deeper jealousy at seeing Felix kissing Madeline. It didn’t matter anymore, you frantically knocked at her door, out of breath and gasping.

Her green eyes are wide and her pink lips are swollen, she’s almost as out of breath as you are. She makes no move to hide Felix, who’s pulling on a shirt behind her shoulder. Nervousness pangs in your throat but you shove past her and shed your arm to Felix.

“Wh-what’s this, Y/n?” He asks, eyes bouncing off your arm to your face, uncomfortable with looking at something you’ve explained to him is so precious and private to you.

“Read it,” you beg, eyes flicking from his face to Madeline’s. She furrows her shapely eyebrows, gingerly taking your cold arm into her soft hands. At Madeline’s brazenness, Felix finds it in himself to look down at your arm.

Her grip is firm but you could rip away from it at any moment.

Madeline’s eyes are wild and horror fills them as she looks up at Felix. You try desperately to explain, “I-I don’t know what this means either, but that day that you first saw color, Felix, there were your exact words to me about your project on my arm.” 

He laughs to deflect how uncomfortable he feels, it comes out too harsh and grates against your neck, raising heat into your face. “Y/n I know you really wanna find your partner, but this is crazy. Don’t try to suggest stuff like this. Madeline and I are partners, everything has been perfect since that day for us.” 

He looks over to Madeline for reassurance, but she doesn’t meet his eyes. A soft, vulnerable look plagues her eyes as she looks up at you. Felix stutters, confused why she wouldn’t immediately agree with him. “Lix,” she inhales deeply, “for my connection, you know how I see colors? Those are actually s-supposed to go away when I meet my partner.” You realize the vulnerable look in her eyes was actually guilt.

“What?” His voice is a breath, like he’s been struck in the chest and is left gasping for air. “I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to meet them because I don’t want to loose my color—it’d be like dying for me and I’m really happy with you. Aren’t you happy with me too?” Felix’s lips hang open and his face is frowning in confusion, “So you’ve been using me when you knew I wasn’t yours?” Madeline’s eyes fill with guilty tears and she nods. As much as you can understand why she did what she did, anger and bitterness towards her, towards loosing so much time with Felix consumes you.

“Then you never deserved him,” you hiss, possessively retracting your arm into your body, hiding the words against your bosom.

You and Felix sit wordless on a bench in a park in a part of town you were unfamiliar with. 

“So it was you this entire time?” 

“I’m so sorry, Felix,” your voice cracks and you bite your lip to prevent it from trembling, “I really didn’t know for sure and I doubted what I knew because you just seemed so happy with her.” 

He scoffs loudly, running a hand through his silver hair, “Yeah and look what that amounted to.” 

Quietly, you respond, “It amounted to us realizing. That means something.” 

Felix exhales slowly, turning to face you, his eyes tired and sad, “Yeah, at least we realized now—” he stops abruptly, pausing to collect himself, “God, I was so stupid, just because I started seeing color one random day because she was in front of me?” He scoffs again, slouching into the bench. 

“It made sense though, you were both eager to get your partners and—” 

“But to leave you alone?” His voice is raw and soft, “I left you alone when you were right there.” Slowly, as if he were a hologram or mirage you couldn’t quite reach, you extend your hand to rest your hand on his warm cheek, almost shocked that he’s there. Unintentionally, he leans into your hand, closing his eyes gently. “We can begin now. Rather a late start than never. We have the rest of our lives to get it right.”

Felix buries his face into the crook of your shoulder, pressing firm, confident kisses and hot, stinging hickies into your neck. You run your hands up the bare expanse of his back and up to his hair. Flush spreads across your cheeks as he lifts himself up to gaze down at your bare chest but you don’t cover yourself up. You have nothing to hide. “Have you ever done this before?” You whisper to him. He shakes his head softly, leaning down to trail kisses from the base of your neck through the valley between your breasts. Lower, his kisses get wetter as he gets closer to your aching hotness. As if you’re made of paper, Felix gingerly spreads your legs. The cold air hitting your core causes you to flinch, but Felix’s warm palm presses slowly against you, calming the sensation into pleasure.

“May I?” 

You whine out a ‘yes’, groaning when his sinks a finger into your core. It sucks his finger in and Felix barely contains a moan at the sensation, imagining how you’d feel around him. Slowly, he begins to pump his single finger into you before adding another and scissoring deep. Curling his fingers, he brushes your sweet spot, causing you to gasp and arch your back. 

Smiling to himself, he continues to work at that spot until you’re gasping and moaning incessantly. He pulls out and you whine immediately but he positions himself above you, gazing down at you with adoration even while his impossibly hard dick pokes against you. “Hurry, Lixie, please do it,” you whine and he hushes you with a kiss, slowly sliding in and caressing his tongue against yours when you gasp. Your face is scrunched up at the unfamiliar stretch but Felix can’t help but smile down at you, endeared. His eyes are dark at the sensation of him dragging against your walls. When you begin to relax around him, you start whining again and he giggles, slowly beginning to thrust up into you. There’s nothing desperate or wanton about his movements against you. He’s being gentle, letting you feel him as his drags along your walls though it takes all his self control to not increase the pace. It’s deep and rhythmic, his hips against yours. He fills you up and groans as you seem to suck him up, your juices mixing with his precum.

“Baby, you’re so warm and so—mhg—tight,” he gasps against you, “Can I go faster?” 

“Yeah,” you’re breathless and rake your fingers across his back when he starts to do just that. He positions his hip in a way that has himself dragging across your sweet spot and you screaming with every thrust. He reaches down to rub your clit, stars and lights sparking across your vision as a burning coil begins wind in your gut. The groans and moans he lets out when you unintentionally clench around him paired with the way his movements quicken as he becomes desperate push you closer. “Y/n, I’m g-gonna cum,” he whispers, his eyelashes fluttering against your skin. “Me too, Lixie,” you gasp, running your hands over his body. 

“I love you.” Your high crashes over you, white pleasure electrifying you through your body as you feel Felix shoot into you. The burning pleasure overcomes your senses as he collapses next to you, his hair sticking to his forehead as he pants into your neck, smiling deeply in pure bliss. Euphoric, you tug him closer, pressing a kiss to the freckle on the tip of his nose, onto both his cheeks, and finally onto his warm, glossy lips.

“I love you too, Lixie.” He is yours and you are his. That’s how it was predestined and you both have fulfilled destiny.

[byunbaekby]

One Day (PM 01:27)

Pairing: Reader x ex!Doyoung Summary: You’ve never been able to let Doyoung go. He remains in your heart though you can’t erase him, your memories that you can’t let go of. He lives in your books, though you try to ignore his presence. And now, he stands before you to remind you of that time you’ve lost. Word Count: 2.6k Author’s Note: Please enjoy this t h i n g that I wrote at one in the morning because Replay (PM 01:27) came on, and I’ve always loved that song. I’ve always felt like, although it’s kind of disco-y and upbeat, it had a deeper sadder meaning. So here is my word vomit, inspired by one of my favorite NCT 127 songs :)

-

Your break-up wasn’t supposed to be a break up.

Initially, it was just a break.

Fresh out of college with your undergrads, drowning in debt and lacking in love, you told your boyfriend of three years, Kim Doyoung, that you needed a break. You had simply grown apart, and needed time to reprocess your relationship. Being the understanding man you knew him to be, he obliged.

You had expected it to last a week or two, maybe a month. But Doyoung had packed his necessities from your shared apartment and, with a kiss on your forehead, left for Taeyong's place, promising to be back whenever you needed. But he never came back.

You didn’t really know what it was that kept you from calling him.

Perhaps it was that you were a writer. Your head in the clouds and your emotions always running wild, you constantly overthought every single detail of your relationship. You would keep telling yourself you needed more time away. That time grew from days, to weeks, to months, until it had been over a year since the last time Doyoung pressed his chapped lips to your skin in a chaste kiss.

Perhaps it was that Doyoung, as a law student, was far too emotionless and had no qualms giving you your infinite space, even as your relationship silently disintegrated. He respected your space, told you to reach out to him when you were ready. But you had never been ready.

Perhaps it was just that in your time apart, the love faded. You both came to realize this.

-

I can't move an inch, I’m still here. Afterimages of you dig into me like vibrations. At the end of the scene of longing that always circles my head. I heard a familiar sound.

It’s been two years since the last time you set foot on Korean soil.

After your break-up with Doyoung, after you came to terms with the fact that you would never collect the courage to pick up the phone and tell him that you made a mistake, you left your home for greener pastures. In other words, the States.

You had minored in English Literature anyways, and felt that you had a greater chance to kickstart your career in a different country. In some ways, perhaps you needed to get away as well. Get away from the craziness of Korea, from the reminders of Doyoung and the life you once shared together that was no longer attainable.

It’s all a lie, for your heart has been in the same place all this time.

Though it’s only been a mere three hours since you’ve stepped off the plane, your luggage tucked away in your hotel room somewhere negligible in your mind, you remember why you never wanted to return. If not for the release of your first Korean novel, you would have never come back.

Because Doyoung is everywhere.

You see him as you turn the corner, thinking you catch a glimpse of that ugly old car he had always insisted on keeping.

You feel him as you walk down the crowded street bustling with people in the afternoon, clutching your hand tightly to prevent losing you.

You taste him as you walk past a bar the two of you used to frequent, alcohol on his lips as you tugged him home with giggles on your’s.

And now, as you stand at a crosswalk surrounded by tens of commuting passerbyers, your hands tucked into the pockets of your Burberry trench coat, you hear him.

“Y/N?”

Except you turn and discover that he is real.

-

Between the passing people, your melody scatters. Just like then, we're facing each other.

“So… How have you been?”

He is first to break the awkward silence. Your hands, cold from both the air conditioning and your trembling nerves, clutch tighter at your cup of tea. You can see it now. Just four years ago, in the comfortable phase of your relationship, you sat with him in the same cafe, in that corner over there and helplessly in love.

Now he offers a tight-lipped smile to you.

“Fine.”

“Seems like you’re doing more than fine. I… I’ve seen your name on the news. And writer’s lists, your work is doing really well.” You would have never thought that he’d seen your writing. It was all in English, a language you didn’t remember him being too proficient in.

“I guess,” is your response. To anyone, you would have sounded indifferent, uninterested in a conversation with your ex.

A pregnant silence grows between you. Now, it is not Doyoung who is emotionless and stone-faced, but you. He had always been the rock in your relationship—you were infinitely falling apart in emotion and he was always putting you back together. Now, you are stone cold and he is reaching out to you.

“You still don’t drink coffee.” No, you don’t. You had always despised it.

“And you still drink your cafe latte with caramel drizzle.” This brings a soft smile to his face, as if amused by the fact that you could still recall such memories from your mind. What he doesn’t know is that you had spent almost three years away from him trying to banish these thoughts from your mind. You didn’t want to remember, yet he forever remained like an echo in your brain.  

“Yeah,” Doyoung starts. “Some things don’t change after all.” Oh, but they do. Everything has changed, except perhaps your preference in drinks.

Another silence.

He looks healthy. He doesn’t look like a man who had been blindsighted and left in the dark by his long term girlfriend and lover. His face is more defined, no longer softened by the image of youth. Shoulders broadened. Hair done. He dons a suit, pricey as you can recall the brand. But he’s still Doyoung, the man you had been in love with since you laid eyes on him at eighteen years old.

“I’m a lawyer now.” You hadn’t even thought to ask him about his whereabouts. How rude, you scold yourself.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Finished law school a year ago. I didn’t really want to but… Taeyong encouraged me to finish what I already started. I work at Jaehyun’s dad’s firm now.”

“Oh. That’s… nice.”

You wonder fleetingly if you sound uninterested, because you’re not. It’s quite the opposite.

You’re amazed.

Unable to prevent the river of memories that hit you, you relish in it instead. Doyoung hunched over his books for hours; Doyoung stressing over his law school applications, even though you had assured him multiple times that he would be accepted with flying colors; Doyoung always debating with you over the simplest topics, and you laughing to tell him that he’d make the perfect lawyer, always so argumentative. The only time he hadn’t argued was when you told him to leave.

Another silence, except this time, it is you who breaks it.

“I’m proud of you.”

A softness falls over Doyoung’s eyes which are typically always so guarded.

“Thank you.”

-

Old memories, frozen times. Songs we listened to together. You and I, it's clear like it was yesterday.

“You hate it!”

“No… I never said that, baby.” You stare at him with narrowed eyes and a pout on your lips. The two of you are sitting on your bed in your PJs, it is nearly two in the morning. In his hands, your boyfriend holds the first draft of your first short story.

Though he tries to keep a straight face for half a second, he soon bursts into laughter, tilting his head back. With an indignant grunt you snatch the papers from him.

“You’d be a horrible lawyer, you’ve got horrible resolve,” you frown, clutching the papers close to your chest with a pout.

“Baby,” he says, remnants of his laugh from earlier still present in his voice. “It’s not poorly written.” As he speaks, you tuck the papers into the drawer of your nightstand and instead tuck yourself into his arms. “It’s just cliche, I mean, her parents are dead from a drunk driving car accident? She falls in love with a boy after they get paired for a project together? This is K-drama central.”

“It was the best I could do,” you mumble into his chest as he pulls you close in bed, resting his chin on top of your head.

“Thank you for your best.” Even when he is making fun of you, you feel the sincerity in his words. He never means to hurt you; that is Doyoung. He is brash and serious, sometimes too serious to the point where you don’t know when he’s joking, but he never means to cause you any pain. “But I know you’ll be better one day. And one day, I’ll read every single one of your books. I promise, and you know I’m a lawful man!”

One day. One day with Doyoung, you can see it already. “Yeah, one day when you’re the top lawyer at the firm and I’m a famous author.” You grin, tearing from his chest to shoot him a bright smile. “People will pay you billions to have you protect them, and I’ll be picking out stars for my first movie… Song Joongki will do.” This brings a giggle from your throat.

He presses his lips to your forehead, a trademark of his.

“Sounds like a plan, love. One day.”

-

We were so perfect and it hasn’t faded. I want to turn back time.

Though the two of you are standing in the middle of the sidewalk, surrounded by a bustling crowd of people and noise which never seems to cease, the silence is overwhelming.

It’s the same silence that lingered between you for years following your “break,” because neither of you were willing to smash it. Smash the wall between you, one that had been erected without either of your knowledge. The two of you have changed, have grown, have become adults. Yet it seems you are still both afraid.

He walks you to the crosswalk that you had earlier met at. As you are waiting for the light to turn green to allow your journey across the street, Doyoung produces something from inside his suit jacket.

It is your book, the first with its phonetics written in Korean, your mother tongue. It had only been released yesterday.

“I just finished reading this, on my lunch break, when I saw you.”

Does he know? Does he know that it is your story? A story of love, of the love that never asked but never ended. A question mark on the end of a seven year long story, never to have an ending? A couple that falls in love, falls apart, and moves on. Life doesn’t have happy endings, after all.

“You read it?” “Of course. I promised I’d read all your books.” The thought makes your heart lurch, but rather than lean away from him, it reaches out to him.

“Thank you for today. I know it was sudden, but thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to have coffee with me.. Miss famous author.” You look up to him and he has a slight smile curving on his lips.

“Any time, Doie.” The name catches him off guard, but he tightens his lips and smiles. You mirror it.

Yet another silence grows and you almost wish you could live the rest of your lifetime without ever thinking, writing, or experiencing that word ever again.

The look that Doyoung has on his face is stoic. You want him to say it, you know he has something unsaid. It almost feels as though he has dug it from within him after three years. You know it. Say it, you want to urge him in your head.

“Have a good life, Y/N.” It is a goodbye, a final closing on your story which had been left open-ended for so many years. The thought makes you want to cry. Just hours ago you had stepped off the plane, thinking that you were perfectly content in this new life you had grown without Kim Doyoung. Now, the thought of living without him causes your heart to tighten painfully.

“You too, Doyoung.”

The light turns green. You turn your back to him.

Like Doyoung had done at your request a number of years ago, you walk away.

-

Our hearts that connected one by one. Our hearts that beat toward each other. In this moment, we want the same dream.

You’ve counted twenty steps when you can’t walk any further. Frantically you turn around, and search for his disappearing head in the crowd of people.

No, you can’t allow him to walk away. Not again.

“Doyoung!” You yell, but he can’t hear you. The silence is deafening.

Though the light on the crosswalk has now turned red, you sprint across. You cannot lose sight of him, you cannot allow yourself to lose him once again.

“Doyoung!” Please.

You have found him. He is walking, his eyes to the ground and your book in his hands. You have to find it—the courage, the voice within you to call out to him.

You love him.

“Kim Doyoung!” He stops. He’s heard you.

Doyoung stops in his tracks and turns over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. You were supposed to be gone, you were supposed to walk away on the crosswalk back to your hotel and out of his life once again. But no, you were standing here before him with panting breaths and tears in your eyes.

“I’m sorry.” There, you have said it. You are sorry for letting go. You are sorry for allowing your relationship to dissipate into thin air and nothingness. You are sorry for running away, and for never being able to say it until now. “I love you, I love you so much. I’ve never stopped loving you. I tried to ignore it and pretend I didn’t, and pretend that I didn’t care when you never came back from Taeyong’s. I pretended I didn’t care when I threw out the stuff you left behind, I pretended it didn’t hurt me when I stepped on that plane.” Your tears are free-falling now, and suddenly you feel Doyoung’s large hands on your cheeks, cupping them as your book falls to the ground. How foolish you must look, crying in the middle of the day in the midst of the city, but you don’t care.

“I pretended that I didn’t miss you, I pretended my heart didn’t do a thousand and one flips when you called my name today, I pretended that everything would be okay eventually if I kept ignoring the fact that I couldn’t live without you, because I thought it would be okay one day.”

One day.

“But I don’t want that day to come. That day where I can live without you. I want our one day. The one day where I’m happy and you’re happy and we can live out our dreams that we’ve planned since we were stupid kids in love in college. The one day where we can be okay again... Doyoung, I want you. I want your one day and the rest of your days.” Your voice catches in your throat. To be able to admit aloud verbally, to both him and yourself, it makes you cry even harder.

You hadn’t noticed until now that your tears were matched by his. God, you love him so much.

“Okay,” Doyoung manages, voice low as his shaky breath touches your lips. “Today.”

Cause I just want to be, I just want to be loved.