#actually he hates his dramatic musings

[selfcarecap]

MUSE [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them. 

warnings: smut 18+ but with an actual plot for once (brief m masturbation, oral f and m rec, unprotected piv sex, kind of accidental (but consensual obv) facial; pet names: bub, baby, good girl, princess), soft!Logan but he won’t admit it, also soft!reader, fluff (although the summary makes it sounds a bit more dramatic than it is tbh), implication that reader has curly hair, implied mutant/X-men!reader, (obviously the pic doesn’t represent the envelopes Logan uses lol he’s not doing all that)

word count: 7.3k

also i feel the need to say something about the fact that it’s Hugh Jackman’s birthday today lol so uh thanks for being huge jacked man and for giving us our Logan yay <3 | gorgeous divider by @plutism

It’s everything Logan is the opposite of – he would never tell a soul – but over the course of his long life, Logan has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. It’s not really him, but he did have a phase or two.

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him. 

Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

He gives in to the urge to get out pencil and paper again, waiting until everyone else has gone to sleep. The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises. 

Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

He picks out a few other things to draw then, to ease the pressure that comes with drawing the woman he… is friends with. Yeah, you’re a friend. And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

But after a few nights he feels more confident in his drawing skills again, but still, as much as he can picture you in his mind – he can do that absolutely perfectly – he’s not too sure he could really draw you accurately.

So he gets Rogue to show him how goddamn fucking Instagram works so that he can look at some of your pictures and use them as a model. 

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He can’t believe it, but the first time he seriously attempts to draw you, it’s perfect. It’s a small drawing, not even as big as his palm, capturing your gorgeous face. He thinks of adding another few lines to your eyebrows, or to your hair or another small one to the outline of your lips, but he doesn’t want to mess with it. 

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

He hides the drawing in between the pages of a book, and hides the book under a pile of random clutter on his desk that not even he would normally spare a glance at. But when he lies down to go to sleep, he gets all the stuff out again and gets out the drawing. He wants to see it again. And he can’t leave it there anyway, what if the pressure from all the items on top of it smudges it? 

But he doesn’t know what else to do with it. He can’t really have a drawing of you sitting in his room. What if someone sees? Then what is he gonna do with it instead? 

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again. 

He could give it to you. 

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him. To see the side that has him staying up until 3AM to finely trace the lines of someone’s eyelashes and cheekbones and lips, the side that makes him feel calm inside. 

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it. 

Sappy motherfucker. 

He puts the small drawing back into the book and carefully pushes it between his mattress and the bedframe to protect it during the night. God, who even is he – protecting a tiny piece of paper? He groans at himself as he turns around to go to sleep. 

He dreams of making a thousand drawings of you, with you as his live model. His muse. 

You’re his girlfriend in his dream, he thinks. 

He’s sitting in a chair in your room, drawing you as you tell him about your day. You’re lying on your bed on your tummy, elbows propped up to support your head. You’re gently kicking your feet in the air behind you, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Logan’s, some silly graphic socks, panties with little cherries on them, and a bright, bashful smile as Logan attempts to capture your glowing features in a sketch block he’s dedicated to drawings of you. 

He wakes up with morning wood. 

Logan is no stranger to jerking off with you on his mind, so he spits in his hand and slips it beneath his boxers, stroking himself as he thinks of you. He imagines you on top of him as he jerks his cock, imagines you under him, or with your legs around his head, or you between his knees on the floor. He cums quickly and hard, leaving his boxers wet and sticky.

He goes for a run after he’s dealt with it and picks up an envelope on his way. He’s doubting himself but he knows he has to just do it. He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door. 

So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart. 

It’s soo stupid. 

He makes sure no one is anywhere near your bedroom, walks up to your door, and slides the envelope underneath. Except he didn’t check if you were in your room. As soon as the envelope disappears beneath your door, he hears a short creak from your bed and your soft footsteps. 

He hears the small and adorable noise of curiosity you let out – a confused hm? – and then he quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway. He hears your voice about ten seconds later, an intrigued hello? as you open the door, but you don’t investigate further, closing the door behind you. 

Logan’s heart is beating so fast. He’s never doing this shit again. 

He’s antsy all day, waiting for some type of reaction from you. Except you don’t know that the drawing is from him so he’s probably not even getting one, and he can’t conspicuously come to your room the same day you receive an anonymous drawing of yourself. 

It’s also when the insecurity settles in. Maybe he should have added a few more lines or started the entire drawing anew. Who does he think he is pretending to be an artist? 

He shakes those thoughts off as he starts training with the punching bag in the gym. It’s not something that he necessarily needs to train, but it gets rid of some of that pointless energy. This isn’t him, worried about some lines he drew on a piece of paper – a scrap of a paper, really. Who cares about something like that? Certainly not him. 

He sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up the next day disappointed that he didn’t get to dream about being your boyfriend again. God, what are you doing to him? Making him think about being boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s pathetic. You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

-

He’s not even thinking of the drawing anymore, truly, when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. It only comes to mind when he sees you, alone in the kitchen, leaning over the counter to scroll on your phone, your weird green coffee (“it’s Matcha, Logan”) next to you as you stir it mindlessly with a metal straw. 

“Hi,” you look up with one of those sweet smiles of yours, but redirect your attention to your phone. 

At least you don’t immediately say something like hey, you know that drawing you slid under my door? It was so ugly I threw it away. Since when do you even draw? 

Not that he was worried you would or anything. He hasn’t been thinking about it. Obviously. Why would he? And he knows you would never expect that it’s him; that’s the only reason he did it. He never would have given you the drawing if he thought you could have even the slightest inkling that Logan would be someone who draws. But he still wants to know what you think of it. 

“You want some toast too?” You ask, putting your phone down and turning to get some bread. He sits down at the other side of the kitchen counter and as his eyes flicker to your green drink (he still doesn’t get it), he sees it. 

“Is that–” my drawing, he almost said, “What is that?” He pretends to be confused, drawing his eyebrows together, trying his best to look inquisitive, “No toast by the way, thanks.” 

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing. 

“Did you draw it?” He asks. 

You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

“Secret admirer?” 

Smiling, you say, “I don’t know. I won’t get my hopes up. But the person must definitely be fond of me to draw me like that.” 

“Like what?” He asks, unsure if he’s about to be offended. 

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that. 

But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?” 

You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

Logan stays silent. He can’t seem too pushy and draw attention to himself, but his silence makes you confess.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.” 

Logan makes a noise of satisfaction and smiles, asking you to pass your phone so he can look at it more – pretending it’s his first time seeing it. If you think that way about it, maybe the three more lines he was going to add aren’t that important after all. 

The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

-

After a week, he figures he has to give in. Drawing another picture of you is on his mind twenty-four seven. 

It doesn’t help that he still catches you staring at the copy of it in your phone case lovingly more than once a day and you’ve put the original drawing in a special little frame on your nightstand. He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is for you. It’s not about him. He’s not an artist or anything like that, he’s just doing something kind for someone he cares about (which is honestly sappy enough but he tries to ignore that). He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

He’ll just make this second drawing and silently put it in your room, and he’s the last person you’ll suspect. 

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

It takes him an entire month for the next drawing, and it feels more like him that it’s been making him so angry that he couldn’t get it right at first. Maybe he had the wrong picture of artists. They’re always talking about pain, aren’t they, and that’s what he experiences too (over a drawing. Who is he?). 

He takes another few days to keep track of your routine, to monitor when you’ll be in your room. He can’t have it be as close as last time. 

He ends up doing it in the evening. There’s a time after dinner when most of the team stays together to watch tv, just talk, or play some games. It’s normal for some of you to wander off, come back or stick around a bit longer. It won’t be suspicious if he leaves for a few minutes and comes back.

Logan wants nothing more than to follow you when you say that you’re going to your room for the night; he wants to see your reaction. But he can’t. All he can do is go up to his own bedroom fifteen minutes later, lingering in the hallway longer than he needs to.

Just as he’s about to give up and go to sleep, you walk down the hallway, coming back from the bathroom.

“Logan!” you call all excitedly when you see him, and his heart skips a beat. Do you know the drawing is from him? 

“Look,” you take his arm and pull him to your room, “I got another drawing!”

He breathes out in relief; you don’t know it’s from him. He smiles when you hold up the drawing, already framed.

“Were you expecting to get another drawing?” he teases.

“Noo, but the frames came in a pack of two. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Logan looks at how your eyes sparkle, how proudly you’re showing him this drawing. All the work he put into it was definitely worth it. It’s another picture of your face, this time from a new angle, and with your hair styled differently, curls coiled another way from last time.

Logan clears his throat, remembering to keep up his act. “It looks good.”

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

“It is. And you don’t have to know much about art or drawing to see how pretty this is. I still can’t believe someone would take the time to make these for me.”

Logan remains silent instead of saying what he wants to tell you. Of course he would take that time for you – and you don’t even know how much time it really took him. If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you.

Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

-

He’s on a roll for some time. He’s better at drawing again now that he’s getting in practice, and he makes five drawings of you within the next weeks. Logan watches the collection of them on your nightstand grow fuller, along with your smile that somehow gets bigger every time you tell him about a new drawing.

It’s a wonder you haven’t caught on yet, but you don’t seem particularly interested in snooping around to find out who it is. You respect the person’s privacy, but you’ve confessed to him that you’d still love to know. 

“I won’t try to find out who it is. I won’t push it if they don’t want me to know… but, I mean, anyone would want to know, wouldn’t they?”

You’ve adopted the nickname of ‘secret admirer’ for this mysterious ‘they’, after Logan used the term about ten times. You were reluctant at first, because the person isn’t calling themself a secret admirer – you’d just be putting words in their mouth. But after seeing how much more beautiful the drawings get each time, you’ve accepted and admitted that, okay, yes, the person must be an admirer.

Your secret admirer Logan is particularly proud of his latest drawing, excited to bring it up to your room tonight. 

But this time he’s sloppy. He’s stayed for a few post-dinner card games with the team, and it’s risky, because you’ve been saying that it’s your last game for the last two rounds. But he also knows that you always say that, and never mean it.

Logan gets up to leave, and he hears Scott convincing you to play just one more round.

It’s stupid, really, risking it like that. Even if he’s gone from your room in time before you come upstairs, you could easily guess that it’s Logan. He’s the first one leaving the round tonight, so your first assumption could be that it was him.

Maybe subconsciously he wants to get caught. He’s seen how you light up at every drawing, and no matter how much you respect your admirer’s anonymity, of course you want to know who’s dedicating so much time and work to drawings of you. Of course it’s crossed your mind that the person isn’t just doing this because they’re a good friend. They’re drawing your face because they think it’s beyond beautiful.

Logan doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told you yet that he likes you. He’s good at flirting, and he’s attractive – he’s not blind. But with you it’s different, there’s a bigger risk, for the both of you. The older he gets, the harder it is to open up to yet another person. You’re friends, and you talk about personal things, but confessing that he’s in love with you is different.

Not to mention this stupid recurring dream he keeps having, in which you find out it’s Logan who’s been drawing you, and suddenly your opinion of the drawings changes. You don’t like him back like that, and suddenly the drawings feel creepy if you think about him staying up late drawing your face.

He rolls his eyes at himself and gets the thought out of his head, taking the small envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans, smoothing his hand over it. He looks around, making sure no one sees him.

Logan bends down to slide the envelope under your door as usual, but one of the corners of the paper catches against the wall, and he quickly opens it to check the drawing isn’t damaged. His heart is beating so fast, he feels stupid. 

He can hear footsteps, still far away, but he can hear them. Logan messily licks the edges of the envelope to close it back up, but it’s not sticking. He can’t decide between shoving it under the door like this or leaving now and bringing it back the next day. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage now.

Then he hears it. He miscalculated how far the footsteps were.

“Logan?”

He turns around slowly, and it feels like the world has frozen.

You come closer, looking at him and then at the letter that he must’ve dropped. It hasn’t made it under your door yet.

He says something before you can, “I’m delivering for someone else.”

“Who?” you ask, bending down to pick up the envelope. If he wasn’t petrified, he’d enjoy the view of you bent over in front of him.

He breathes. He can’t have anyone taking credit for his work, for his art (you called it that recently, he would never). But his heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know what the fuck to do or say. 

This is exactly why he never wanted to do any of this. He’s making a fool out of himself and that doesn’t usually happen, especially not over a piece of paper. Logan is confident, cocky even, he can admit that, and has no idea how to deal with things like being nervous; he never has to. This really isn’t him.

You don’t wait for an answer and look at the envelope. You open it so carefully, gently taking the drawing out with your fingertips. You’re treating it with so much care he immediately feels better. Again, this isn’t for him, it’s for you. (Well, it’s for him too but it’ll take him a while to admit that). 

He’s drawn your smile this time. You were happy in most of the drawings before, but he focussed more on the eyes, and your lips only ever tugged up in a slight smile. 

This one is a full-toothed grin, mid-laugh. 

You two were drinking last weekend. He barely felt it but your tipsy, giggly mood was contagious. He couldn’t imagine himself feeling any other way but blissful when you’re happy around him. 

It started when Logan made a casual comment about something silly Scott was wearing that night, and he had you giggling. He wanted to immediately hear that angelic sound again, of course, and so he gave you every joke about your shared friends he could think of – all light-hearted, but he was still glad you two were alone. 

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

You look up at him now, eyes filled with tears. 

“You drew this?” you ask.

He nods softly. He can’t say it but he hopes the drawings convey how in love with you he is. 

Suddenly, Logan feels like his heart has stopped beating.

You’re kissing him. 

You’ve leaped up, wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, and now your lips are on his. 

He feels your mouth falter, probably because he’s being a fucking idiot and not kissing you back. Logan places his hands on your waist to pull you further towards him. Then his brain finally catches up and he can do what he’s wanted to for so long. 

He takes your chin with two fingers and angles you so you can kiss him easier. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your soft, warm lips against him. You’re soft and warm all over. Your top has slipped up over his fingertips at your sides, and he slides his hands further around your back to support you against him even better. 

Logan’s tongue pushes at your lower lip, and you let out the sexiest, tiny moan of surprise as you part your lips for him, granting him access. 

His tongue touches the tip of yours and from then on your cravings intensify. You feel your way over his muscular shoulders, his big biceps and over the hard planes of his chest. When you’ve had a good feel there, your hands grip his shirt in desperation and Logan gets even hungrier for you. He gently bites at your lower lip, but then you shriek into his mouth and squirm out of his grasp. He opens his eyes wide. 

You grip Logan’s forearm for support when you bend down in a panic, picking up the drawing you just dropped. You let out a big breath of relief when you see it hasn’t been damaged. 

“You made me drop it!” You slap a hand to his chest; it doesn’t actually hurt and it’s not meant to, but it leaves a pleasant tingle behind instead. 

“I didn’t do anything”, Logan laughs, and you shake your head at him with a smile.

You take him into your room where you make him sit on the bed while you stare at the new drawing in awe. “I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it.

“No one else knows.”

You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

“I’ll only draw for you anyway, so there’s no point in telling anyone else.”

“You’re really good. I love the drawings.”

Logan gives a satisfied hum at your words, “You inspired me. Can’t have you walking around all pretty and not expect me to try and recreate it.”

You straddle Logan and hover over his lap to hug him, “They’re the best thing anyone's ever given to me. Do I really look like that?” You say the last question more quietly, and Logan wraps his arms around your sides, careful not to bump your hand that’s still holding the drawing.

“You’re more gorgeous than anything I could ever capture, but I think it comes close. I didn’t change anything about you to make you more beautiful. I couldn’t if I tried. I just tried to draw you as accurately as possible, that’s why it’s so beautiful.”

“I really love it,” you say again, happily staring at the details of the drawing. Hearing you say the word love so much tempts Logan, but he doesn’t want to move too fast. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. He does, however, want to kiss you again.

Logan carefully takes the framed drawing and puts it on your nightstand. You push your mouth against his before he can initiate the kiss, and he grins against your lips.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

Your chest is pressed against Logan’s, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. You may or may not be pressing your boobs against his body on purpose.

“God, baby, I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, already breathless, as his hands trail down your back, leaving goosebumps behind.

“You’ve waited long?” you raise your eyebrows, grinning, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

You see the look in Logan’s eyes changing as he bites his lip, “Who says I didn’t want the same?”

You giggle, “Why did it take us so long?”

Logan chuckles, readjusting you so that you’re even closer to him, “I was too busy to actually talk to you, just been starin’ at you so I could draw you.” His cheeks have the faintest red tint, and you kiss them, hugging him.

You whisper into his ear, “Then it was worth the wait. And anyway, it’s not talking that I’m interested in right now.”

He pulls you back to look into your eyes, then at your lips. “Where do you want me?” he asks. You giggle slightly helplessly; you weren’t entirely prepared to have a man like Logan at your mercy like this tonight.

“You can do whatever you want,” you say softly, kissing him.

Logan’s lips are hungry against yours, strings of spit falling between you two, but he pauses the kiss to lie you on your back. “Wanna eat you out,” he husks, “Been dying to know what you taste like forever, bub. Can I?” He reaches for the hem of your top, and you nod so that he can pull it off you, admiring what’s underneath. 

“Sometimes I make myself cum imagining that I’m going down on you,” you confess somewhat shyly, but you figure he’s been so vulnerable for you that you can share a secret too.

Logan smirks, and pulls off his shirt, “Maybe we can make your dream come true then.”

You move to sit up, but he insists on eating you out first. You both take off all your clothes, staring at each other with huge smiles on your faces for a few moments. You’ve never seen Logan this happy.

“Look at you, baby. So pretty,” he leans down to kiss your lips, then down your neck, all the way to your legs. He spreads them, lying down between them as he all but drools at the sight of your wet pussy.

You get nervous all of a sudden. “It’s been a while,” you tell him. He looks up, taking your hand, enveloping it completely in his much bigger one.

“You sure about this? We can wait,” he gently kisses your knuckles, and a warmth spreads in your chest, slowing your heartbeat down a little.

“I’m sure,” you nod, and Logan comes up again to kiss you. The head of his hard cock catches against the space above your clit, and you both look down between your bodies. When Logan looks back up at you, his eyes are desperately begging you. You place your hand on his head, threading your fingers through his hair as he moves down your body.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbles into your thigh, kissing you there. You giggle, getting comfortable, your hand never leaving his hair.

Logan starts eating you out, his tongue gentle but determined against your clit.

“Taste so good, baby. Even better than I imagined.” You hum at Logan’s words, already feeling yourself come undone with his mouth on your wet pussy.

You sink further into the mattress when he starts sucking on your clit, licking into your pussy like a man starved every few moments, and your thighs squeeze around Logan’s head, and it’s even better than in his fantasies.

“Feels really good,” you tell him, pulling on his hair to stop yourself from moving too much, and Logan moans against your skin. Hearing your words motivates him even more, and he pushes two fingers into your wet pussy. He curls his fingers, rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

Your back arches as you cum, Logan’s lips wrapped around your clit as your legs push harder against his head, and all he does is moan, revelling in the feeling.

Logan doesn’t stop licking your pussy until you’re tugging his head away by his hair, and he comes up for air with a grin on his face. You smile back, pulling him up to kiss him. You give yourself only a few seconds of recovery time before you make him sit down. You know you’d never have enough strength to actually make him get into a different position, but he lets you.

You push him onto his back, getting between his legs. You’re blinking up at him all prettily when you ask, “Can I suck your dick? Please?”

Logan huffs to himself because he can’t believe how hot you are, can’t believe that this is really finally happening. He tells you yes – he has no more words to describe how badly he wants this – and he watches you wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

It’s hard to grasp that it’s really you doing this right now – the woman he’s been into for so long. His cock is in your mouth and you look so gorgeous with spit running down from your lips, and all he can think of is all the dirty drawings he can now make of you, if you’ll let him.

He closes his eyes when you take him deeper, enveloping him with your warm, wet mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers absent-mindedly, too gone to say much more.

You’re not using your hands as you suck his cock, your spit trailing down on him, and you’re so eager. But it’s also late, and he sees you getting tired, eyes blinking slower as you pause to catch your breath every few moments. He also sees the determination in your eyes, and the absolute want, but he doesn’t want you to exhaust yourself. 

You look so sexy all fucked out, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you pull away another time, giggling up at him shyly when you realise that he’s noticing you getting tired.

“Just need a second,” you wipe your mouth, out of breath, and it’s not that you’re not incredibly hot like this, but he still wants to fuck you tonight and he’s not sure that will happen if you keep going.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, reaching out his hand.

“Huh?” you ask, taking his hand nevertheless.

“Get back here, baby. I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? Don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

You let him lift you and put you on your back, but you pout, “Wanna taste you.”

Logan grins, “I’ll cum in your mouth, princess. Promise.”

You smile at his answer, satisfied, so you lie back down, pulling your legs up to your chest. His cock looks huge as he jerks himself off between your legs, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you squirm.

“Don’t know if I can take you,” you bite your lip. You’re not entirely sure if you mean it or not. You definitely want to try.

“We’ll make it fit, baby, we’ll make it fit,” Logan assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth, a mix of your wetness and his precum between your mouths. You feel his cock at your pussy, “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” you nod desperately, letting him push his cock into your pussy. He pauses after a few inches, but you wrap your legs around his waist more tightly, and he goes deeper.

“Y’okay, baby? You can take it, right?”

You nod, unable to form words with your pussy stretched like this, a combination of pleasure and pain between your legs – but it’s infinitely more pleasure.

“That’s right. You’re my good girl, hm?” He kisses along your neck as he bottoms out, and you both moan when he’s got his cock fully stuffed inside you for the first time. He pulls out slightly when you whine at the stretch, but you scratch down his back to get his attention.

“I can take it,” you tell him, and you watch the look in his eyes darken.

He begins to fuck you, the pain subsiding more with every thrust into your wet pussy. You can barely take him, but it feels good. With your slight tiredness, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine. 

You can’t believe that Logan – your super hot friend Logan who you’ve been fantasising about for so long – is fucking you. He not only feels the same way about you, but he’s been your secret admirer this entire time, taking hours and hours out of his day to make you smile. You’re the only one he wants.

And now he’s fucking you, fucking you well, and you feel so warm inside, not just from the sex but you feel warm in your heart, because of Logan’s care.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a hand down your face when he notices you’re not entirely present. You nod happily, smiling up at him, and you can’t talk because you feel so good.

“Good, that’s good, bub, but let me know if it gets too much,” he says as he starts rubbing your clit, watches you nod while he’s fucking you so well, and he’s so big and so deep inside of you, “Squeezing me so tight, baby, feel so fucking good.”

You cum suddenly, letting the warm pleasure flow through your body as Logan keeps fucking you through it, rubbing your clit in just the right rhythm.

“That’s my girl, taking it so well,” he moans, breaths stuttering. You slump against the pillow after a few moments, with a soft smile on your face, and Logan pulls out.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he jerks his cock, and you sit up on your elbows immediately, looking him in the eyes with a smile as you stick out your tongue for him. He promised.

Logan moans when he cums, painting your face in his release, jerking himself off. He holds your head in place with his other hand, aiming for your mouth but you’re making no effort to catch his cum there.

“Such a pretty fucking face, princess, ’m cumming all over it,” he rasps, shooting more ropes of his cum all over your cheeks, jacking off onto your face.

You open your eyes when he’s done and breathing heavily, and you smile up at him. You open your mouth, taking the head of his cock between your lips to suck off the last drops of cum.

“Look at you, baby. Look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your gorgeous face.”

You hum, pulling your mouth off him and licking your lips, tasting his salty release. You brush a finger over your cheek, sucking it into your mouth to taste him more. Logan kisses you then, the flavour of himself mixing between your mouths.

He cleans you up gently, carefully wiping your face with a baby wipe and kissing every inch of your cheeks afterwards. You take his face to kiss him properly, and if you didn’t seem so tired Logan would be ready for round two immediately.

“Next time you could try to actually cum in my mouth,” you tease, making Logan grin.

“Sorry, baby. Got too excited. Couldn’t focus on asking you again if it was okay.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I liked it.”

Logan grins, “Oh I could tell you liked it, baby.” You lightly slap his chest as you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

You cuddle for a while, not saying much because you don’t have to. You’ve both waited for this for so long that you’re just enjoying the moment, enjoying that it finally happened.

You slip out of his arms to sit on top of him. You’re in nothing but panties, the blanket bunching around your hips. You lean your hands against his chest as you tell him more about how much the drawings delighted you. And Logan cares, of course he cares to hear that, but he’s also just a man seeing the woman he’s into naked for the first time still. 

You become quiet when you realise that he’s not listening, and you giggle, “Distracted?”

Logan grins, “Just a little fucking bit, baby.” His eyes don’t leave your body, and you laugh as you bend down to kiss him. He grabs your ass, kneading the flesh. When you slightly sit up again, your tits are near his face, and he can’t help himself. He cups your breasts, playing with your nipples, making you hum.

“I should draw these,” he looks up at you, “Should draw every perfect fucking inch of you.”

“You wanna?” You adjust how you’re seated in his lap, and you feel that he’s already half hard under you again.

“Maybe after I’ve fucked you again.”

You smile, feeling yourself growing wetter on top of him.

“Tomorrow,” he continues, and your smile drops.

“But you’ve got to get more familiar with the inspiration, right? If you’re going to draw me.”

“That’s true, baby. But I think you’re too tired.”

You smile bashfully, ignoring how your eyelids were drooping shut just a few seconds ago, “Okay, but then I’ll have more energy for tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you off him to cuddle you again. He tucks you in and kisses your head. 

You turn to your side, taking one of the framed drawings and looking at it for a while. 

Logan watches you looking at it, and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to make him feel all warm inside. “Now that you actually know about it, I don’t have to draw you from memory anymore. I can study my muse in peace.”

“Aww, I’m your muse?” you beam.

“Of course you are, princess. You’re the only reason I’m drawing again.”

“I love your drawings so much.”

Logan clears his throat, and looks at you. “Well, I love you. So, I think that went into them.”

You look at him, pouting and then kissing him. “I love you too,” you say into his mouth. He grins against your lips, pulling you closer to kiss you some more. He can barely grasp that you just said that, but he’ll have enough time soon to comprehend how lucky he is. 

For now, he takes your hand, and asks, “The question might be redundant now, but do you wanna be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already yours.”

Logan grins, takes you in his arms, and you’re still cuddling when you’re both drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

P.S. reblog with a comment and let me know your favourite moment/what you liked to get a drawing from Logan under your door tonight and a facial <33

gorgeous divider by @pommecita

[afterglowsainz]

peace | daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x singer!reader

summary: you have always been more famous than daniel and he was fine with that, until his career started going downhill

fc: taylor swift

warning: angst, mclaren daniel, mentions of crashing, some mean comments towards daniel

a/n: i changed a few lyrics from one of taylor’s songs (invisible string) just to make it make sense in the context (i'm not a songwriter so is not the best) also no hate to mclaren daniel! with the summary i do not mean at all that his career is ruined, is just for the dramatics

—

liked by danielricciardo, alexandrasaintmleux and others

yourusername old habits die hard 🎻🍂

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username mother back in the studiooo

username if this is not a new album y/n istg (liked by yourusername)

username SCREAMING CRYING FALLING TO MY KNEES AT WALMART

username serving face while recording

username i don’t know what vibes this is giving but it’s givingggg

username ofc i’m not getting my hopes up over a possible new album! ofc not!

username more happy songs about her and danny 😁

username WE CHEER

liked by f1gossip and others

motorsportcom 🚩RED FLAG DEPLOYED🚩FP2 session has been paused after Ricciardo hits the wall during corner 7. It’s still unclear if practice will resume.

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username this 😁 again 😁

username someone send him back to red bull 🙄

username well well are we surprised

username no way i stayed up late to watch this only for it to be suspended

username washed

username ugh perfect! just what he needed

username someone is doing witchcraft on this guy because there’s no way he’s this unlucky

liked by yourusername, landonorris and others

danielricciardo these past four years by your side have been the best of my life and i can’t wait for many more to come. happy anniversary love of my life, forever my y/n❤️‍🩹

tagged yourusername

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username STOP IT they’re too cute 😭

username that last pic might be the best photo i’ve ever seen

username no because they’re so perfect togetheeer

yourusername i love you❤️

danielricciardo ❤️

username she’s everything!

username and he’s there!

username who needs a job when your girlfriend looks like THAT 😮‍💨

liked by francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux and others

ynupdates y/n y/l/n won the ‘video of the year’ award at the vmas. on her speech she thanked the fans, her friends, her boyfriend daniel and she hinted some new music coming soon!

view all comments

username literally speechless at her look

username what did she say on her speech about daniel i’ve been looking for it but i can’t find it

username not verbatim cause i don’t remember exactly but it was something along the lines of “thank you for being the first one to listen to all my ideas and encourage me to dream about things bigger than myself and for being my muse in every sense of the word”

username she’s just killing it lately i’m obsessed! 💕

username congrats y/n! very well deserved award

username prettiest woman ever like look at that face

username she served too much cunt i’m afraid

liked by lilymhe, danielricciardo and others

yourusername surprise you! my new single ‘invisible string’ is coming out tonight (and we filmed a video for it) 🪩

view all comments

username my favourite animal is me when y/n releases music

username INVISIBLE STRING THEORY???

username oh she ate with this one

bffusername on loop forever and ever

yourusername 💗

username this sound is so different … i love it!

username if this invisible string is not about her relationship with danny i-😩

danielricciardo going feral at that mv actually

yourusername 🤭

username DANIEL RICCIARDO CAN YOU FIGHT

liked by f1gossip and others

motorsportcom a red flag has been deployed after daniel ricciardo crashed in qualifying🚩session has been cancelled and the drivers will start the grid on sunday with the lap times the were able to achieve during the first three minutes of Q3

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username thank you ricciardo we all say in unison 🙄

username bro’s collecting red flags like pokemons

username someone bathe this man in palo santo or smth 😭

username you just gotta laugh at this point

username mate is sooo not getting a seat next year

username is a bit funny to see him struggle this much and then you look at his girlfriend and she’s in the most successful point of her career

username he sacrificed his own luck for his gf’s how romantic

liked by lewishamilton, mclaren and others

danielricciardo not my brightest weekend but there’s always opportunity to be better. excited for the next 🔜

view all comments

username “not my brightest weekend” my guy it hasn’t been your brightest SEASON

username “there’s always opportunity to be better” you’ve had like 30 ???

username he’s being delulu but honestly i respect it

username okay but how can you hate a face like that

username mate isn’t smiling anymore something is wrong 😭

username something has been wrong for a while…

username i actually think is time to think about retirement

username get that bag king!

username guys, and y/n??.

liked by f1wags, lilyzneimer and others

entertainmenttonight y/n y/l/n and daniel ricciardo break up after four years of dating

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username NOOOOOO

username if i don’t see it is not real

username refusing to believe this

username WHAT.

username this sent me (a victorian child) into a comma

username now why would you post this😭

username i actually don’t believe in love anymore

username 💔💔💔

username WDYM they JUST celebrated their anniversary ???

username this is my villain origin story

liked by lilyzneimer, alexandrasaintmleux and others

yourusername so … good news! i’ll be releasing my brand new album “folklore” tonight at midnight 🪩 this is an album i’ve been working on for the past year and that i poured my whole soul into. it was supposed to release a bit earlier, but we thought it wasn’t truly finished until now. i love you guys too much 🤍

view all comments

username OMG

username our prayers have been heard

username so i’m thinking she was going to release this before the breakup but when it happened she maybe wrote breakup songs and that’s why she pushed the release date

username GIRL

alexandrasaintmleux can’t wait! 💗 (liked by yourusername)

username album of the year already

oliviarodrigo and we all cheer in unison 🥳 (liked by yourusername)

sabrinacarpenter already bought the wine and the tissues (liked by yourusername)

gracieabrams no you don’t get it this is so special to me (liked by yourusername)

username all of y/n’s daughters in the comments 😭

username sabrina girl what do you know? 🤨

username lowkey miss daniel’s comments hyping her up :(

username no bc i’m so ready to know what happened between them

liked by maxverstappen1, patriciooward and others

danielricciardo tbt to the first race weekend with mclaren 🧡

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username okay sir i see you

username the only weekend where we were happy

username bro trying to distract us from the breakup by posting his smile

username my guy i just listen “peace” are you okay ???

username you’re stronger than me for listening till peace i wanted to k word myself after “the 1” and i’m not daniel

username the 1 was criminaaal

username exile …

liked by f1wags, lilymhe and others

ynupdates y/n y/l/n last night on saturday night live singing her new song “peace” from her brand new album “folklore”. she algo sang her hit single “invisible string”

view all comments

username i cried with that performance

username she was singing that song with such sadness

username you’re telling me she was ready to marry daniel (and give him a child) and now they’re just not together anymore ???

username i gasped when i heard that line

username daniel will pay for his crimes istg

username he’s paying already 😭

username “would it be enough if i could never give you peace?” it was, in fact, not enough

username STOP YOURE DEPRESSING ME

username sorry i’m mourning this relationship too 😔

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55 and others

danielricciardo if one thing had been different, would everything be different today?

comments have been disabled.

[yan-randomfandom]

Theraprism!Bill Cipher & GoLB!Reader

[DRABBLE] had a chat w my friend abt Golb from Adventure Time, and with the stronger-than-bill godly reader fics here rn, i got this idea! although this isn't romance, just pure mockery between cosmic beings

∆

You smiled. His bulging eye narrowed in return.

"Oh, Billy, you never fail to look just like your parents when you're at your worst."

He grew drastically larger in size, overwhelmed with rage and hatred, but the white room only limits him from becoming his full potential. The red color that dominated his body overpowered any other light, and Bill Cipher truly, desperately hated that fact.

As an embodiment of chaos and destruction, you oversee every detail, even the smallest speck, within your domain. Though, who's to say that everything already isn't within you?

And, of course... This guy?

"When they said I had a special guest today, I didn't expect it to be you, GOLB," he seethed, jabbing a finger at the glass separating you two. The action didn't really mean much when his enormous, glowing eye was taking the entirety of your vision.

"So, what? You came here to mock me? Aren't you supposed to be out destroying universes or something?"

Your smile widened. "Who said I wasn't?"

Bill paused, falling silent as he shrank back to his original size. His red hue turned yellow. Shame. He looked best when he was his father's color.

...

"Well, shucks," he scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "I suppose I should feel honored you’re here. Never realized I’d caught your attention, you freak."

"Always have. Especially after that little fiasco back on earth," you mused, a chuckle escaping your mouth. "I just came by to see how you're doing. You don't look so hot, Bill Cipher."

"Ugh, what, are you about to lecture me on how a human beat me?" he sneered as he crossed his arms. "Because I promise you he didn't—"

"Humans... are peculiar," you interrupted his rant early. Apparently, he didn't appreciate that and glared at you. "They have something we otherworldly beings don't. You know, if I had the choice, I'd choose to be human."

Bill sighed rather dramatically. "All those sappy feelings and weak bodies? You should be glad we don't have that. It's stupid, just dumb!"

To his surprise, you stood up. Well, being an entity like yourself, your time is strict. He's lucky enough he got to talk to you.

"Of course you would say that," you chided, meeting his gaze. The glowing crack on his body intensified in response. "And, yet, the Pines family defeated you using only their bond."

He doesn't reply.

"...I'm just saying that I miss Earth, my home. If I had known you actually had any chance of succeeding, I would have destroyed you already."

...

"Anyway, good talk. It was a pleasure to meet you," you remarked, bowing your head.

Bill quietly stared at your leaving human form. You are the ultimate disrespect Bill has ever encountered in his lifetime.

Right next to Stanley Pines.

∆

BONUS:

The axolotl blinked at you. "Being kinder to Bill was an option. We're trying to better him, after all."

You shrugged. "Look, Gills, I don't know the future, but what I do know is that I haven't met a being like him in a long, long time."

Bill Cipher is a stupid pest who got his powers from his own mistakes. Now, he chases over nothing.

if u dunno em, this is OG golb from adventure time! erm golb looking like a baby but feel free to change how u look like lol, we have imagination!!

just gonna outright say it,,, GOLB!reader used to be human! Just like Golbetty!!!

DEAREST WRITERS, IF YOU LIKE THE IDEA OF GOLB!READER, FEEL FREE TO MAKE YOUR OWN VERSION TOO!!! GIVE US FOOD PLS PLS AND TAG ME 👉👈

[superblysubpar]

I Think I Only Want You, Under My Mistletoe:

modern!steve harrington x fem!reader

3.6k words

summary: Meeting The Harrington's, an office Christmas party, seeing Steve's big, hard d- Desk. Get your mind out of the gutter. // The prompts: [mistletoe] - a playful or romantic kiss under a mistletoe // [BEND OVER] - one muse bends the other over a table/couch/etc. 

warnings: THIS HAS BIG SPOILERS FOR MY SERIES WE’LL CALL IT LOVE ( #a we’ll call it love blurb // we’ll call it love masterlist) - this blurb takes place only a few short weeks after the end of chapter 5: Getting Older, and before the Epilogue. | slight description of reader worrying about her appearance/comparison and anxiety about what people think of it | slight angst with Harrington parent disapproval and judgement | alcohol consumption | SMUT: semi-public (steve's office) teasing, calling Steve Mr. Harrington and sir, illusions to unprotected PIV intercourse

day 1 of 12 days of superbly subpar writing // requested by @palmtreesx3 - thank you for requesting and continuing to encourage WCIL nonsense. Hope you love it babe! 💛

Steve: You found a dress right? You: Nah, I was thinking I’d just show up in my period sweats and that sweatshirt with the stain on it.  Steve: Honey, seriously, I need confirmation.  You: 🙄 You: yes steve. I got a dress. Relax. 

You tossed more popcorn in your mouth, trying to squash the nerves he wasn’t making any better by harassing you for the last week about the dress. 

Like it wasn’t enough to have a boyfriend after swearing off love. The boyfriend you now had after confessing all dramatic and movie-like that you were falling for the guy despite thinking he was engaged. The engagement he called off because of you, much to his parents' fury. The parents you were going to meet at this party. The party at the office he had just put his notice in to quit, again because of you. 

What was there to be nervous about?

The phone next to you lit up and Robin glanced at it, and you caught the name ‘Dingus’ as she  cleared her throat and locked it. Her voice strained to sound nonchalant. 

“Can I see what you’re wearing to the party tomorrow?”

An annoyed huff and strangled cry left your mouth. “That’s it! I’m not going! I’m not!”

You stomped to the kitchen and poured more of the white wine they brought as Nancy failed to cover her smile, coughing over her laugh. 

Robin sat up on her knees, green clay mask beginning to harden on her face, so only her bright blue eyes could convey her feelings. “Just let us see it so we can tell him he has nothing to worry about and he can relax.”

Your head shook, laughing despite being unamused. “Does he think I don’t know how to dress myself? Does he think I’m gonna actually show up in something disgusting? Does he think-”

“You haven’t met the Harrington's.” Robin interrupts, her voice far more serious than you cared for. 

Stomping off to the bathroom, you scrubbed the mask off your face, splashing cold water against your cheeks and tried to ignore the queasy feeling in your stomach. She’s right. You hadn’t met the Harrington's. You’d heard all about them, and you weren’t sure you’d like to meet them under normal circumstances, let alone these complicated, messy ones. 

“Are you-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” You interrupted Robin’s call down the hallway, closing the door to your room and stared at the wine colored fabric with your arms crossed. 

Slipping it on with resentment and nausea fluttering throughout your body, you ran your hands over the velvet material, tilting your head to the side in the mirror as you exhaled. Turning on your heel before you could find all the ways you hated the dress you once were confident about, you stepped out of the room. Nancy and Robin’s mouths dropped in tandem when you stepped into the light of the living room. 

“What?” You squeaked, hands crossing and curling around your waist. “It’s bad? Is the slit okay? I thought…”

Robin started typing on her phone furiously and Nancy held up her hand as you trailed off, “You are so good. Furthest thing from bad. Don’t worry.”

Your shoulders released their tension, but the crease over your brows deepened as Robin smirked down at her phone. “What are you telling him?”

She hummed, “Don’t worry about it. Relax.”

Relax.

Easy for her to say. 

You: steven. You did NOT send a limo.  Steve: 🤷🏻‍♂️ You: you think you’re so cute, huh? Steve: I think *you* think I’m cute.

He clicked at his desktop more, glasses falling down the slope of his nose as he tried to finish work. He felt awful that not only were you nervous, but he was already here, you had to arrive alone, and he still hadn’t seen your dress. His phone vibrated and he looked down to see a picture of you, in the back of the limo, holding up an entire bottle of champagne just for you, and much to his dismay, a coat covering your dress.

You: you know what won’t be cute? When I down this entire bottle of champagne and puke from nerves all over your parents six thousand dollar shoes harrington Steve: they’ll buy new ones You: 🙄

He continued to work on his computer, people calling into his office and asking if he was coming downstairs to which he nodded and said soon to, until the lights started to turn off and it was just him. Hand running through his hair as he flipped back to his conversation with Robin last night.

Robin: DUDE Robin: You’re gonna go into cardiac arrest when you see her Steve: you’re not helping Robin: your mom will love her, you know she will Robin: Well, eventually. I did. Sort of. Steve: Again, NOT helping Robin: honestly your dad is gonna try to sleep with her Steve: you’re sick, you know that? Robin: The way she looks in this dress is sick steve Robin: ILLEGAL Robin: wow. You have wonderful taste in women Steve: YOU HAVE TO STOP 

Despite already having been to Steve’s office, the sight of it tonight still has your jaw going slack. When the limo stops and the door opens for you, the vast and towering skyscraper shimmering with snow swirling around it seems more intimidating than ever. As you push into the warm lobby, the two story Christmas tree steals your breath further. Decorated in golds, silvers, and crimson, two staircases curling on either side of it. 

You make your way up slowly, admiring the decor, hand gliding over the banister and reeling from the noise coming out of the transformed large ballroom. The space was used for a variety of events for the company, anywhere from big convention type conferences, parties, presentations and more. Steve had told you they’d put in a bar, a dance floor and stage, claiming this year’s Christmas party to be the biggest yet. 

Lucky you.

The room overflows out into the hallway with loud chatter, a jazz band playing familiar holiday songs. Boisterous laughter exploding each time the doors open and close, no doubt louder and more easily flowing from the contents inside the glasses you can hear clinking together and the pops of corks. 

You know you’re supposed to text Steve that you’re here, he said he’d come out and walk in with you, that he had been pulled in by his soon to be former boss. The thought of just going in by yourself is somehow easier though. Perhaps no one will even spare you a glance, not when you don’t have him next to you.

The room is even louder once you’re inside. The air smells like leather and cigars, champagne and scotch, stiff and overpowering floral perfume. It drips in luxury - mahogany tables, three Christmas trees, silver and gold candlesticks over burgundy table runners. 

Your feet carry you inside cautiously, and you spot the bar on the other side of the room and head towards it, ignoring the heat of strangers' stares. Feeling like every woman around you is eyeing you from head to toe, their judgment pushing up their chins and noses, rolling their eyes. Their dresses far more expensive and their makeup and hair done professionally. This was worse than the first time you went to Steve’s apartment. 

This was a big, big, massive mistake. 

When you make it to the bar, you order champagne that you can see already being prepped, hoping it’s comped or on the lower end, mentally preparing yourself for Steve insisting he’ll pay for it despite the zeros. The sharp bubbles slip over your tongue as you try to sip it slowly, eyes roaming over the crowd in search of Steve. 

“You look lost,” a deep voice comes from beside you. 

Turning, you find a man in a three piece navy suit that costs more than your rent. His hand holds a glass with three fingers of amber liquid over ice, a silver watch on his wrist that glints. His other is deep in his pocket, his posture nonchalant and lazy yet oozing with the confidence of a man who knows what he wants and how to get it. His jawline is familiar, clean and sharp, leading to soft brown eyes that roam over your face. He has two freckles next to his ear, and dark brown hair that’s just starting to gray. 

Your swallow is louder than the saxophone solo coming from the far end of the room as he removes his hand from his pocket, extends it to you, and says, “John.”

Fuck. 

“Mr. Harrington, it’s so nice to meet you,” your voice is calm, hand shaking his firmly while the inside of you screams, alarms inside your brain going off, shouting abort, abort, abort!

His lips twitch in a far too familiar way and he cocks his head, “Now, how do you know me and I don’t know you?”

You’re certain that everyone in this room knows who John Harrington is, and he knows it too. You squash the nerves inside of you, taking a deep breath. 

“Well, uh, Mr. Harrington-”

“Please, call me John.” He smiles, encouraging, and you nod, plastering on a bigger smile. 

“Right, Jo-John. I’m-”

“Honey, you don’t recognize her?” A softer, sweeter voice comes up behind him and her warm smile makes a little bit of your nerves disappear. That is until she says your name, and then:

“This is Steve’s friend.”

Friend. Friend. Friend. 

“Oh!” He snaps. “I forgot he decided to bring someone after all.”

Your lungs deflate, your stomach churns, you hear the way your heart cracks, chest aching from the pressure. 

Steve’s mom sticks out her hand, “Vivian.”

Introducing yourself far less confident, voice barely a murmur, cracking as you push out, “It’s really nice to meet both of you.”

“So,” John has a cigar in his mouth now, patting at his pockets for a lighter, frowning when Vivian takes it from between his lips, but he continues, “What do you do?”

“Oh, um,” you take a larger gulp of champagne before finishing, “I’m an assistant right now. But I hope to-”

“I’m sorry, what?” John interrupts you, his brows furrowed. Mrs. Harrington’s hand squeezes his bicep sharply, a smile plastered on her face. But he keeps going, “An assistant? How old are you? Your parents can’t be thrilled with-”

“Dad.” His voice is ice, a protective hand on the small of your back, appearing out of nowhere.  

You’ve heard Steve’s end of phone conversations with his dad, you’ve seen the way the people in this room acted just passing by him in the last few minutes, so you are shocked beyond belief when John Harrington closes his mouth at Steve’s singular warning. 

Vivian’s smile relaxes, her voice warm and syrupy, “Hi honey.” She hugs him and he only returns the gesture with one arm, the other keeping a firm grip on your waist as she pulls away and smiles, “We were just getting to know your friend-”

“Girlfriend,” he corrects quickly, strong, and nods at the bartender. You watch as the man behind the wood bar grabs a bottle from the very top shelf, pours two fingers, neat unlike his father, and Steve grabs the drink he didn’t have to order. Despite the last few moments, the tone and action has your thighs pushing together and you clear your throat as Steve’s thumb swipes over your spine. 

Vivian smiles, quietly correcting, “Right, girlfriend. She was just telling us what she does, right sweetheart?” Vivian pinches John’s arm again and he straightens, forcing a closed-lip smile. “So, an assistant, that’s…exciting?”

“I think we’re gonna go dance actually, we’ll talk to you later.” Steve’s voice leaves no room for argument. 

He starts to pull you away and you call over your shoulder, “It was nice meeting you.”

Steve pulls you through the crowd, his shoulders tense and the scotch tipped to his lips in one sip. He sets the empty glass on a passing tray, grabbing your champagne flute from your fingers as well. He stops in the shadow of one of the trees, his hands finding both of yours as he turns. 

“Honey, I think we have a real problem.”

Your heart and stomach drop even more, voice frail and small as you ask, “We do?”

He nods, face solemn, though his lips seem to be fighting a smile as sighs, “I’m afraid I can’t let you out of my sight all night in a dress like this.”

Relaxation floods over your veins, soothing your nerves as it feels like you finally exhale a breath you’ve been holding since last night. Still a little frazzled from the interaction, but a smile twitches your lips up slightly, forcing a light tone. 

“It’s okay? Up to the Harrington standards despite the girl inside it failing miserably?”

Steve hums, leaning in close, spice and stinging scotch on his breath as his nose traces yours. “I think the dress and the girl surpass all Harrington standards. They rearrange the meaning of the word babe.”

Your eyes roll, but your shoulders hunch again, hands smoothing over the lapels of his tux. “That’s a nice sentiment Mr. Harrington, but I think your parents would disagree on the matter.”

Steve’s eyes flash at the use of Mr. Harrington and your eyebrows raise, curious if it’s the authority of the name or the potential of you being a missus, but he’s too quick for you to investigate, bold and something in his eyes hungry. “Fuck my parents and their obnoxious standards. Every other person in this room wants to be you or be inside of you.”

“Steve.” Your head ducks at the forward compliment, “God, how much of that scotch have you had already?” 

“First glass.” His lips part, tongue licking over his top lip as he smirks, “I think you liked it though.”

“The comment or the way you ordered the drink?”

Steve, breathes into your lips as you tilt easily for him, mouth parting as he says, “Both.”

His hands press to your spine, a barely there kiss, when his name is called. He sighs, spinning to shake someone’s hand. The rest of the evening is spent with men clapping on his back and saying they’ll miss him. He holds your hand as he introduces you to co-workers he seems to genuinely like, flagging down servers and getting you glasses of champagne before they’re empty. Shushing you and kissing your temple when you ask how much it is. Maybe it’s the bubbles in your system, the pink flush to Steve’s cheeks when he stares at you, your name on his lips when he introduces you as his girlfriend, but the interaction with John and Vivian is long forgotten. 

All you can think about now, is how tonight has shown you a side of Steve you hadn’t seen before, and he looks good. He holds his drink that keeps being refilled without being ordered, slipping bills in waiters hands almost imperceptibly, their quiet ‘thank you Mr. Harrington.’ even more so if you weren’t listening. His suit is tailored to his body nicely, pieces of his hair falling over his forehead when he laughs in a charming and confident way. Steve is also handsy, and has been since he pulled you away from his parents. Squeezing your hip, running up your spine in the keyhole along it, pads of his fingers following the straps that hang off your shoulders back and forth, back and forth. Each touch of his skin to yours sparking like frayed wires. 

You excuse yourself quietly in the middle of a conversation about trading and something or other you can’t be bothered to listen to and Steve grabs your wrist, cocking his head in a silent question. You call out a little too loudly, maybe a little too flirty, “I’ll be right back, Mr. Harrington.”

The men around him smirk into their glasses and Steve watches you walk away, the color long gone from his eyes as his pupils take over. You feel the presence of his stare on your back as you make your way to the bar, only turning around when you have another glass in your hand. 

Steve’s still across the room, and you watch the path his eyes take over your body, heat rising to the surface of your skin in their trail like he’s physically touching you. He tracks you as you make your way to the exit, starting on your ankle, up your calf, then thigh. You’re almost able to feel his fingers sliding over the velvet, tracing the slit that exposes the skin. The cinch of merlot fabric on your hips and the way his hands would pause there and squeeze. You take another sip as they travel over the curve of your sweetheart neckline that shows off maybe a little too much. Tracing the path his lips could take over the straps, up your collarbones and neck, and they finally meet your eyes. 

His jaw is tight, tongue wetting his lips and gulping. His eyes narrow as you smile and you glance up at the familiar green holiday leaves hanging above the door, dropping your head and forming a fake pout. 

It takes Steve less than thirty seconds to cross the room, the now empty glass on a tray as he passes yet again, freeing his hands to grab onto your waist as he leans in. You let your bottom lip slip between the two of his, teasing and innocent. 

Steve groans as you bump the door open with your hip, letting your fingers linger on his chest, sighing, eyes wide, “Oh, I bet the view of the city is so beautiful on the 65th floor. You have a big, fancy office don’t you? Do you think I could see it, sir?”

He’s a man possessed. His mouth and hands haven’t stopped moving since the elevator closed. Clumsy lips and your name leaving him breathlessly as he pushed you into the railing as the floors climbed higher and higher. 

“Look too good, illegal, she was right,” he mouthed at your neck, slipping lower into your cleavage enough to make you laugh. 

“Wh-who was right?” 

He growled something that sounded like Robin’s name which made you laugh harder, stopping only when his mouth found yours. 

Steve shushed your giggles, leading you down the dark floor to the office at the corner, pulling the door closed and clicking the lock. 

A brown leather couch, gold lamps, a bookshelf and a cart full of bottles of fancy liquors and sparkling glasses. A giant, wood desk with a tall leather chair. A name plate that glinted and said Steve Harrington with a pair of wire rimmed glasses. 

You’d seen it before, but not on a night like tonight. Not with all the lights off, snow falling lazily across the skyline. Not with champagne in your system, not with your boyfriend. Your boyfriend who had confidence and charm, who commanded respect and attention. Who stood up to his parents for you, for what he wanted.

Steve stood behind you, hands on your hips again as he led you towards the desk. Sucking a bruise under your ear, tongue soothing the way his teeth scraped down your neck. He was wrecked, gone, could cum in his slacks right then and there with the view of you in his office in this dress. Would he miss being in charge at a place like this? Sure. But he had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time he was a boss. 

His voice was strong, cinnamon and scotch on his breath as he commanded, “Bend over, baby.”

You laughed, arching over his desk slowly. Looking over your shoulder as you spread your legs and pouted, “Kind of bossy, Steve, not gonna even say please?”

Steve watched under heavy lids as you kept your gaze on his fingers moving over his buckle, the way your chest moved up and down quicker as he freed himself. He knelt behind you, pushing up the fabric of your dress. Kissing up your calves, your thighs, nipping at the curve of your ass and smirking when you yelped. 

He stood, hands landing on the desk on either side of yours, mouth a ghost over your ear, heaving chest pressed along your spine, and his hard erection pressing into your ass. 

“You think you’re cute, huh?”

A shiver ran through you at his tone, the way his breath hit your cheek and fingers overtook yours on the desk. 

You gasped out, parroting your conversation earlier, “I think you think I’m cute, Harrington.”

Steve’s nose skimmed the curve of your ear, tutting, “No more mister already? Where’d your manners go baby?”

He slid his tip against your clit, circles to it until your head fell forward in a gasp, slick coating his cock with barely anything to prompt it. 

Steve finally moved lower, his lips on your neck and his tip nudging at your entrance but pausing as he laughed, smirk pressed to your skin. “You are cute, though, honey. Prettiest,” he kissed your shoulder, “Sexiest,” a kiss below your ear, “Cutest thing here tonight.”

He kept his tip pressed to your entrance, waiting until your hips squirmed, till your fingers twitched below his. Breath warm on your jaw as he kept his voice even, confident, pulling himself back up to your clit and starting all over again as he spoke. 

“Know what’s even cuter though?”

You whimpered, head empty, nerves buzzing, and stomach burning as his lips brushed against your jaw with each word, head circling your clit and tapping again. 

“You’re about to be begging for me.”

[fafnir19]

Contagious fuckboy charm

Under the vibrant sunlight of Hamburg, the street cafe buzzed with life. Leonhard parked his old bike, clad in his trusty yellow safety vest, displaying his dedication to safety.

Sandrina, elegant in her classic attire, exuded confidence with her long blond hair catching the light. "Hey, Lenny! You made it!" Sandrina beamed, sliding into the chair opposite him.

Leonhard chuckled, "Wouldn't miss our coffee catch-up, Sandrina." They shared a laugh, their banter flowing easily like a familiar tune. Leonhard's eyes wandered to a trendy bar across the street, where stylish men with goatees paraded. "Look at those fuckboys strutting around," Leonhard teased. Sandrina joined in, "They're multiplying like rabbits. Let's hope it's not contagious." Leonhard chuckled, "Hopefully the fuckboy epidemic won't spread here."

As the hours unfolded, their playful ribbing continued, the easy camaraderie between them palpable. But as Sandrina's phone pinged with a work email, she sighed reluctantly. "I hate to cut this short, but duty calls. See you soon, Leonhard," Sandrina said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek before hurrying off. Leonhard watched her go, a fond smile tugging at his lips before turning his attention back to his coffee. Left alone, Leonhard awaited the bill, musing over the eccentricities of the day. Suddenly, a cocky guy swaggered over from the bar across the street, introducing himself as Ronny. "Hey there, buddy!" Ronny boomed, extending a hand towards Leonhard. "I gotta say, you've got yourself a hot girlfriend there. Lucky you!" Ronny remarked, eyeing Sandrina's retreating form. Leonhard raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the unexpected compliment and shook his head with a chuckle. "Oh, Sandrina? She's just a friend, actually." Ronny's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Just a friend? No way, man. A nerd like you must be getting some action on the side, right?"

Leonhard's patience wavered as Ronny continued with his condescending remarks. "We're really just friends, Ronny. Nothing more." A smirk played on Ronny's lips as he leaned in closer. "Come on, buddy. Friendship between a man and a woman? That's a load of crap. You're probably just too shy to seal the deal!” Leonhard clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. The nerve of this guy. How could he be so ignorant? Leonhard felt a mix of frustration and embarrassment bubble inside him. He searched for a way to gracefully end this absurd conversation, his thoughts racing as he battled to maintain his composure. Before Leonhard could muster a response, Ronny's tone shifted dramatically. "I know what you need, pal. You need to get laid, and I'm just the guy to help you out!" With a sudden exclamation of "No homo!" Ronny leaned in and pressed his lips forcefully against Leonhard's, his beard scratching against Leonhard's skin. A surge of energy surged through Leonhard, electrifying his senses and setting his skin ablaze with a tingling sensation. It felt like a storm of sensations, a clash of conflicting desires waging war within his very being. His heartbeat quickened, each pulse a drumbeat of transformation reverberating throughout his body. He felt his vest melting away, replaced by a sleek race-cycling outfit that hugged his newfound athletic physique. His old bike transformed into a sleek racing machine, the embodiment of speed and adrenaline. Suddenly, a surge of heat erupted from deep within Leonhard, a primal force awakening with a raw intensity he had never experienced before. A wave of desire crashed over him, engulfing his senses in a whirlpool of lust and longing. His body responded, betraying him with a throbbing ache that pulsed with a need he couldn't deny. A tingling sensation spread through his body as a goatee sprouted on his face, mirroring Ronny's signature style.

Leonhard sat there, dazed and bewildered, as the truth dawned upon him like a blazing sunrise. He stood up in disbelief, now resembling the very image of a stereotypical fuckboy. He had been reborn, no longer the nerdy Leonhard but a transformed entity – Lenny, the fuckboy extraordinaire. His mind reeled, consumed by a singular desire. "I have to... I have to get laid," he muttered, his thoughts clouded by newfound impulses. As he bid farewell to Ronny, who now called him "Lenny," Leonhard embarked on a journey of self-discovery and newfound confidence.

The nerdy Leonhard was no more, replaced by the embodiment of a true fuckboy. The streets of Hamburg whispered tales of a transformation unlike any other, as Lenny set his sights on a new goal: seducing the irresistible Sandrina.

[koji-haru]

Time Travel AU Part: 14

Michael had been spending a lot more time in the garden. His visits had become a daily occurrence where he would spend hours with the first man before returning to Heaven at the end of the day. Adam didn’t really mind having the angel around. While he didn’t enjoy having to hide who he truly was whenever the angel was there, having someone to talk to and could reply back was something he welcomed. After having spent more time and actually getting to know the angel, Michael was not what Adam had expected. He was sure the guy was just doing his job of looking after the garden, but the daily visits, the small gifts here and there, and just coming by to ‘spend time’ with him… In Adam’s previous life, he never really talked to the angel. Not because they hated each other, it was more like Adam thought they just would never get along so he never bothered to know the guy. Adam was loud, Michael kept to himself; Adam liked to push Heaven’s boundaries, Michael was a stickler for the rules; Adam liked his parties, Michael was barely seen outside of work. In short, they seemed to be polar opposites. And yet, here they were playing board games as if they were best buddies. 

“But then maybe it’s because of the act I put on,” Adam mused as he waited for Michael to finish his turn. His eyes trailed the angel’s hand as Michael moved a piece across the checkered board and took out his bishop. Another piece he lost. The game wasn’t looking too good for Adam.

“I was wondering,” Adam started, cheek resting on his palm. “Doesn’t Heaven require a lot of your time?”

Michael looked up from the board, his focus broken by Adam’s sudden question. “Oh. Well, I’m quite efficient so I have some spare time,” he replied as he placed the fallen bishop piece on the grass on his side of the board. 

Adam simply hummed in response. Heaven was pretty demanding, but since this was at the start of time, he supposed the workload hadn’t arrived and piled up yet. He shifted his attention back to the game in front of him. The number of pieces he had were dwindling. Only a few pawns remained, two knights, a tower, his queen and, of course, the king. He pondered about putting a few pieces at risk, maybe even sacrificing some of them, just so he could get rid of Michael’s queen piece. Risky, but it could turn the tide. After giving it some more thought, Adam decided his next move. His hand reluctantly placed a knight in line of sight of Michael’s tower piece. 

Hands hovered above the board, pieces moved across closer to victory or sacrificed and taken out, and then after a while, a checkmate to end the game. Adam eyed the board in front of him, he just lost the game. With a defeated sigh, he plopped down onto the soft grass on his back, his head dull and heavy from having to think of his moves and counter moves against Michael. 

“Adam?,” Michael asked, a hint of concern in his voice. “Are you alright?”

“No,” replied Adam. “You’ve vanquished me and destroyed my kingdom. How can I be alright?” He dramatically waved his hand in the air before letting them back down onto the grass with a soft flump. He turned to his side and met Amora’s board gaze staring back at him. “You’ll avenge me, won't you girl?”

The jaguar simply snorted in response as she turned her head away from the first man. 

“Well, you’ve only been getting, so I also had to improve myself to keep up,” Michael chuckled with fondness at Adam’s dramatics. With a snap of his fingers, the wooden board and its pieces vanished in a poof of silver smoke. “By the way,” Michael continued as he inched a little nervously closer to the human, who was still lying flat on the grass. “I remembered you said you’d like the instrument you made, the guitar I think it was, to somehow be made of metals.” He placed a hand on his nape and looked a little sheepishly in a random direction. “I still have some time to spare, so if you want, I can help you with that…”

As if a freezing bucket of water was splashed on him, Adam immediately sat up, his golden eyes sparkling brighter than any star in the sky, an excited childish smile on his lips as he grasped Michael’s hand in astonishment. “Really?!”

The angel’s face became tinted with yellow as warmth rushed to his cheeks at the humans' sudden close proximity. He looked down at his hand encaged between Adam’s soft warm hands, stupefied by the sensations he was feeling. “Uh, uhm, yes?” He cleared his throat, “I mean, yes. If you’d like to.”

Without a second thought, Adam kept a hand held onto Michael’s hand as he dragged the angel towards a specific direction.

The two arrived in a large cave in a corner of the garden. The dark cave glistened and sparkled with various colours as the little light that entered the cave reflected off of the numerous gems and metals that coated the cave’s walls, like distant stars on an expanding night sky. 

“You know, I could have just made the materials you wanted,” Michael commented as he watched Adam examine some colourful rocks with intense scrutiny. 

“Nono, I’d like it to be made from Eden,” Adam answered, his focus still on the ores as he carefully looked for gold. 

Not really understanding what the human was looking for, Michael moved beside Adam trying to follow what his eyes were looking for. “Okay, so what should I look for?”

Adam held up a small rock in front of Michael. It was jagged simple grey rock if not for the spots of gold scattered all across the rock. “Something like this, except we’re going to need way waaay more. My guitar is going to be perfect!,” Adam excitedly replied, his own eyes sparkling brighter than any of the precious stones and metals in the massive cave. 

Michael took the small ore from Adam’s hand, turning it over in his hand as he carefully examined it. The angel thought it was oddly specific; of all the materials Adam could’ve chosen, like it was something he had been wanting for a while now. He looked up again to see Adam already looking for more of that gold speckled rock, his excitement radiating off of him as it bounced off the walls of the cave, infecting even Michael myself. A satisfied feeling warmed his entire being, knowing he was the reason for the first man’s current happiness. Of all the precious materials he could choose from this cave, he would choose this without a second thought. 

The two spent time looking for gold and silver ores. Occasionally, Adam would take out some ores from the container that Michael had picked, or stop the angel from picking it in the first place. “Nono, that’s pyrite not gold,” Adam corrected. He would put a gold ore beside a chalcopyrite ore and try to highlight the difference between the two, while Michael would try to spot the differences but clearly have some difficulty with it. 

“I don’t know how you can tell immediately,” Michael remarked, still holding the two different ores.

“I just can,” Adam shrugged as he put another ore into the container. “There. That should be enough.” He wiped some sweat off his forehead. The hard part was done. Now, it was time for some magic. 

“We won’t use the entire rock?,” inquired Michael.

“No, I just need your help to extract and shape these,” Adam pointed into the coloured specks on the grey rocks. 

With a simple wave of the angel’s hand, the precious metals embedded on the rocks flowed out like liquid through the air as he meticulously shaped them according to his human companion’s wishes. A body consisting mainly of gold, lined with silver at the bottom; a silver neck, and a golden headstock shaped like a lyre. It was a beautiful design, unlike anything Michael had seen before. A heavenly item made from the garden of Eden. 

As soon as it was finished, the golden guitar floated down into the hands of its new owner. Adam gasped in awe when he felt the cool metal hit his skin. Its smooth shiny surface, the intricate carvings, the sound it emitted when he strummed the strings. It was exactly just like his old guitar when he was an angel. It even had that faint heavenly glow! His hands shook from the sheer joy and excitement of having his guitar back.

“Do you want to try play some music with it?,” Michael suggested, his smile warm from the bubbling happiness from inside him. 

Adam shifted the guitar in his arms until it felt right and comfortable, just like back then. His fingers brushed over the strings, strumming it lightly, before he played an alluring melody that echoed faintly within the cave, giving it an otherworldly tone. 

“This song’s for you Michael. As thanks for helping me make this guitar.”

—-

Adam dragged his feet back towards his favourite tree where Amora laid waiting. The sun had set a few minutes ago, the sky had turned from a pinkish orange to purple-blue with the stars blinking one by one as they awoke from their day-long slumber. The day had been long, but eventful and fulfilling. He placed the golden guitar carefully on the ground before allowing himself to slump down beside Amora, her spotted fur always a soft thing to hug against. 

He let out a deep satisfied sigh as he released Amora from his hug and turned to lay on his back. More stars had started to show on the darkening night sky, the moon slowly inching its way to the highest point of the night. 

“You know, I didn’t think Michael would be that nice,” he told the jaguar. “Waaay nicer and better than that snake Lucifer. Definitely the cooler brother.” He sat up and held the new guitar up to show Amora. “Look! He even made me this guitar! Isn’t it cool?”

Amora simply gave the guitar a bored stare before lying her head back down on the soft grass. 

“You’re so mean sometimes you know,” huffed Adam as he let exhaustion drag him back down towards the grass. 

The sky tonight was absent of any clouds, never-ending a dark blue canvas that expanded beyond the eye could see, speckled with white shining glitter all over it, and a bright round moon that commanded silent attention from all. The night’s cool breeze glided over his skin, taking away the excess warmth from his day activities, the stillness of the dark, a lullaby that encouraged his eyes to close and for his body to rest. 

Adam let out a yawn, sleep was calling to him. “Honestly, I’m glad to have someone like Michael as a friend.”

A loud, almost mocking, snort stopped the first man from falling into sleep. He turned his head to face the disapproving look of the jaguar. “There you go again. What’s with that look?,” asked Adam, completely bewildered by Amora’s recent behaviour. “You used to be much sweeter…”

And because she’s an animal, Amora couldn’t talk the way Adam did. So, she communicated what she meant by moving closer to the human and draping her large paw over him almost like a suffocating embrace. 

“Wha– Hey!,” cried out Adam, his voice slightly muffled by the fluff that was suddenly on him. 

Despite his struggles, Amora easily kept Adam still beneath her paw and began to lick his head, like a mother grooming her precious child who still knew nothing about the things around him.

Part 13

Part 15

[wonwoonlight]

finding love / kim mingyu

a/n: mingyu brain rot bc i dreamt of him last night and ive never felt so loved 😭😭😭😭 first fic of the year! not proofread bc im too lazy. Enjoy🤍 do tell me if u enjoy this??? Hello???

wc: 1.1k // just some musings about love // fluff // super very soft // i dont think theres any warning except that i want him NOW.

[ ♤♤♤ ]

You don't know love until Kim Mingyu.

It's not anything as dramatic as you not believing in it. You just really haven't found the right person, nor have you been trying to look for one. Which is why it's a wonder that you end up with someone as wonderful as Kim Mingyu.

Your meeting with him wasn't anything special either. It's nothing out of a fiction; it's not exciting and it's not magical. It's just you, being Chan's friend and introduced to the members when he invited you to their concert and you visited the backstage once it finished.

It wasn't an instant click either, you just ended up talking individually somehow and the relationship progressed as time passed by.

You don't know love until Kim Mingyu.

He holds your hand when you're afraid even if you don't say anything.

He holds your hand when you're afraid even if he's afraid.

You both hate horror movies with passion, but once in a blue moon you two would challenge yourself just to see if it has changed. Every single time Mingyu would brace it and watch through everything just so he can tell you when to close your eyes and when it's okay to open them again.

You don't know love until Kim Mingyu.

He would listen to everything you talk about. From your complain about your coworkers, to your random ramble about some stuff you see on Instagram reels.

He listens.

He always does.

Because one day you're talking about how it's been quite some time since you've eaten lasagna and the next dinner Mingyu bakes lasagna for you himself.

He listens.

Because when you mention once in passing to your friend, to which Mingyu only listens partly to because you're on the phone and doesn't realize he's already awoken from his nap, that you've always wanted to try snorkeling, Mingyu arranges for it immediately once he finds a suitable date for you both.

You don't know love until Kim Mingyu.

He finds time to contact you in midst of busy schedules, and always tells you beforehand if he's going to be too busy to reach out in any way. You've told him plenty of times that you understand and that he doesn't need to reassure you everytime, but you've also told him once long before you started dating that you're the type to welcome words of assurance more than anything.

So he continues to reassure you everytime he can.

“What do you think about this?” Mingyu asks, yet again in another set of outfits.

You don't know shit about fashion, and you think Mingyu looks good in everything because he knows how to dress himself well. This is something that he's aware of, but he also likes your validation so you always try your best to say anything other that “You look good” and “I like this better than the previous one”.

“I think… you know I like it best when you're in black so I'm not sure if your current outfit is actually better than the black one or not.” You say sheepishly, to which Mingyu laughs at.

Your heart skips a beat at the sound of his laughter, something that hasn't changed despite having dated him for almost a year now. He makes his way to you and engulf you in a hug, whispers something that sounds suspiciously like “you're so cute” though he doesn't admit it because you don't like being called cute.

“Hmm.. Maybe I should go for the black one.” He says as he looks at himself in the mirror once again.

“What? No! Wear what you think is best. You know I have zero sense of fashion.”

“You like it, though.”

“I like you. You know you can wear the ugliest shirt out there and I'll still like it.”

Mingyu freezes and you see the tips of his ears turning red. You don't always say your feelings out loud, and when you do, it always hits a soft spot within him. And for all the cheesy comments Mingyu always parades to his fans, he's actually bad at receiving them himself.

You would usually jump at this opportunity to tease him, but you're feeling especially soft today, so you walk up next to him and tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“I appreciate your sentiment, but don't trust me this time around, okay?” You chuckle and cup his warm face before dropping a peck on his lips.

“Alright…” He presses his lips together and goes for another kiss. “You'll really like everything…?”

And as much as Mingyu reassures you, you reassure him back.

“I like you. So you can wear anything, and I'll like it as long as it's not something weird like a dragon costume or something.”

Mingyu succumbs with a shy smile and hides his face in your neck.

You don't know love until Kim Mingyu.

He's brought you happiness that you didn't know existed. He always makes your bad days good and your good days even better.

You automatically look for him when something makes you laugh, a part of you always wishes to share your happiness with him no matter where he is. You also look for him when you're not feeling your best, because one look and Mingyu knows you need him beside you, his arms enveloping you to ground yourself to him, and his deep voice reminds you that things are going to be okay.

“Does it bother you?” Seungkwan asks one day. You, him, Mingyu, and Seungcheol are chilling in Mingyu's dorm.

“What?” You return his question, getting more comfortable on the sofa. You're leaning against Seungcheol's shoulder, as Mingyu is too busy playing something on his phone and you don't want to restrict his movement by leaning into him.

“The… you know. Whispers. What people say?”

“About me and Mingyu?” You make sure. Your relationship isn't public, but you know some people in his company doesn't exactly approve of his choice of a girlfriend even though their opinions don't matter.

“Yeah…”

You hum as you look at Mingyu, sitting comfortably on the floor near Seungkwan. He comments on how random the younger guy's question is, but doesn't seem too bothered by it.

Something pleasant settles in your chest as you continue looking at him, your smile growing when the answer to Seungkwan's question pops in your mind.

“Not really, no.” You turn to him with a smile, your voice firm with security. “I know Mingyu loves me and that's enough.”

You don't know love until Kim Mingyu.

Because he loves you with everything he has to offer and beyond, never once failing to let you know his feelings haven't wavered.

Because you want to do everything for him even if you're not able to, your heart always finding a way to be with him even when he's not next to you.

[starlightguh]

An Artist Always Signs His Work

Word Count: 1,879

Tags: inappropriate uses of paint, Oral f!receiving

AN: 18+ Smut !MDNI¡ I started working on this before the Rafayel banner announcement and wanted to finish and post this before the new card dropped! I’ve truthfully not been the biggest Rafayel girly but lately he’s shown up in some spicy dreams of mine so I hope this does him justice 💕

I was taking my time doing my hair for a little outing with Tara that I had planned, when my phone started buzzing. I pause my hair routine and see Rafayel’s picture with his contact name: My Sushi <3 light up my screen.

I answer with a cutesy ‘Hellooo’ and am met with a disgruntled groan from the other end.

“I can’t do it! I won’t do it! I simply cannot draw anymore no matter how much Thomas threatens me!”

“Woah, slow down what happened?” I stifle a laugh at his dramatics.

“They expect me to have a new painting for that gallery by the end of this week and I just can’t! No matter how much I’ve painted nothing is giving that inspiration I need….You have to come help,” his voice sobbed on the other line.

“Rafayel I can’t, I have other engagements today I can’t just drop everything to help you with your art,” I sigh at his drama.

“Oh so you hate me. I get it. Well I see how much you care about me and my dying wishes, so I’m hanging up now,” his voice was full of sass as he then hung up on me.

I let out a long exasperated groan and gave Tara a phone call, “hey girl I might have to rain check on our tea date.”

“Oh that’s funny you called first! I actually ran into Dr.Greyson and am kinda caught up with him right now…We’ll definitely touch base and reschedule when I see you at work! Bye girly!”

Well that was easy. I continue to finish getting ready to go see my dying artist…

~~~~~~~~~

Im buzzed into Mo art studio with no problem. I didn’t bother calling Rafayel back since I knew where he would be whether I showed up or not.

“Knock, knock,” I call out as I open the doors to his studio space.

“Studio’s closed, I'm busy passing away…” Rafayel, whose clothes were covered in various paint colors, was laying on the floor with his arm covering his eyes.

“But I came to revive you.”

He lifts his arm away from his face and he lets in a sharp little gasp as he takes in my appearance.

I was a bit dressier than usual in my shiny short white dress and my hair and makeup done. I smiled down at his stunned expression as the pupils of his eyes darken.

“I think I’ve found my inspiration,” he says with a bit of a confident smirk.

He slowly lifts up his torso and smiles up at me before holding out his index fingers and thumbs to create a frame of me in his vision.

“Oh so that’s why you wanted me to come here, you needed a muse?”

He stands up and his taller height makes me lean my head back a bit to glance into his deep sea blueish eyes. Rafayel placed his hand under my chin and moved my face from side to side, appraising my facial features.

“Not necessarily, but your beauty has striked my inspiration. Come here while I paint,” he takes my hand and drags me to the center of his studio.

He has me sit on top of a stool in front of the background of his flowing white curtains as he sets up a canva and easel in front of me.

I sit a bit awkwardly, unsure of what to do with myself. So I kick my feet a bit as Rafayel is pouring the paints he wants to use on his wooden pallet.

His eyes are scanning the scene before him as a mischievous smirk crosses his face, “I think the subject needs more color.”

I look down at my white dress and frown, “Well I didn’t exactly bring anything else.”

He wordlessly strides over to me, and with a paint brush he slashes a stroke of blue paint on my bare arm.

“Hey! Rafayel! What are you doing?!” I shout as he laughs while splashing my skin with more paint.

“I'm just painting on my lovely canvas,” he smirks and then dips his hand in some of the paint on the pallet.

He places his forehead against mine while letting out a shaky breath as his paint covered hand slowly and sensually caresses down my bust to my waist. As his hand is the paint brush that has now ruined my dress, he stops at my waist and grips it.

“Raf,” I whisper as I glance at his plush lips. His eyes were now dark and intimate as he no longer stared at me like his muse, but rather his meal.

He lets out a huff and leans his head down to place a soft kiss at my pulse point in my neck. The only sounds I could hear was the smacking of his lip’s against my skin and the shakiness of my own breath.

I felt his nose drag up against my neck as he then brought his lips to my ear to whisper to me, “You know, when I paint, I prefer to paint subjects in their most natural state…”

He purred in my ear and pulled away a bit as he dipped his hand in his pallet and proceeded to set it down as he covered both hands in colors.

“Rafayel,” I said in a warning tone as he now has both of his hands on my body and ruined my dress with shades of blues and purples. “You owe me a new dress.”

He looks down at the paint covering my arms and seeing his hand prints on the dress he hums and nods, “You’re right….Let’s get this canvas to her natural state then.”

Before I could process what he meant by that, he had unzipped my dress and removed it off my body. I let out a yelp as the cold air touched my now exposed skin.

“This too,” he grumbled and popped my bra off immediately.

As I sat on this stool naked in nothing but my panties with wet paint covering my arms, I looked at him annoyed as my face with hot with embarrassment, “Shouldn’t you stop fooling around and actually work on your painting?” My eyes glance to the now abandoned easel he had set up.

His hands were all over my skin, his soft fingertips gently tracing paths around my breasts and sternum, leaving color in its wake. “But I am working on my painting dearest, it’s already beautiful,” he says in a whisper before leaning down to capture one of my plump mounds in his mouth.

I wrap my legs around him and let out whimpers as his tongue swirls around my sensitive bud. His face is now getting paint on it from the trails his fingers left behind earlier.

As he pulls away from my breast with a smack he stares up at me as he goes to give the other one attention. My face contorts as the feeling of his lips breaks my composure. His deep eyes are drinking in my expression as his mouth works on me and I close my eyes and turn my head away to hide from his intense gaze.

Rafayel pulls away and moves my head to face him, leaving more stains of paint as he does, “Look at me.” His voice sounds deeper than his usual teasing tone and is full of command.

I open my eyes and as I do he leans in and kisses me with a fierce intensity. His hands cup my jaw and I wrap my arms around him as his tongue parts my lips and dances in my mouth.

I drag my fingers into his purple hair as he groans into my mouth. When he pulls away I’m panting as our lips are still connected by a strand of saliva. He licks his lips with a smirk and he bites his bottom lip as he takes in my panting and flushed form.

“This is almost the vision I have,” he says as he crouches down to get more paint on his hand. He slides his hands that are wet with fresh colors up my legs as he parts them to have me sit in a straddle pose on the stool. “Beautiful.”

His hands grip my thighs as he stares at the small wet patch that’s dampened my teal cotton panties. Rafayel, like a man possessed, slides his hands underneath both sides of my underwear to slide them off me. My legs follow his path as the cotton is now cast aside and his hands are holding my painted thighs apart to expose my wet center to his vision.

“Now that I’ve painted my canvas, it’s only right that I sign my work,” his voice rumbles as he gets closer and closer to my center and he gives a lick on my slit.

“Raf-“ I pant and go to grab the back of his head, but he stops my movement with a grip on my wrist, “Don’t move or you’ll ruin the portrait.”

He lets my wrist go and dives into my center, drinking in my dripping essence with his thirsty lips. I can’t help but grip the sides of the stool and lean my head back with a moan.

The contrast of his hot mouth on me in comparison to my cold body covered in wet paint made my mind melt. I was drowning in pleasure as I could hear the lewd squelching and smacking of his mouth on my dripping pussy.

I could feel more than hear him growl as I placed my legs on his shoulders and my toes dug into the fabric of his white shirt.

“Gods Rafayel…I’m gonna,” I squeal as I close my eyes and feel his tongue on my clit.

As I focus on my breathing I can feel his tongue make what feels like the shape of an R on my slit, followed by an A then F….

I could feel my lower body tighten and heat up as I was close, “Rafayel please I’m-I…” I sputtered out as he made it to Y in his name.

He pulled away for a moment and his voice was filled with lust, “Come. Let go for me.”

When he went back to my clit and quickly finished spelling his name he then slid his tongue inside my needy hole and I instantly came undone on his mouth with a high pitched moan.

As I was breathing heavily from my orgasm, Rafayel pulled away with half of his face dripping in my juices. He smiled and licked his lips, “Perfect stay like that.”

He stood and rushed over to the actual canvas and quickly began trying to immortalize my pleasure in a painting on his canvas.

Needless to say he had to repose his muse with a few more orgasms to ‘get my expression just right.’

The finished product was me covered in paints of blues and purples and completely fucked out of my mind, while his actual portrait depicted a naked woman being swallowed up by the sea. I was too embarrassed to acknowledge that her pleasured face was what Rafayel saw as he expertly pulled out of me over and over again that day.

~fin~

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

So i was hoping to request for trope tuesday. I was thinking grumpy reader x sunshine sirius and like kinda 10 things I hate about you type storyline but obviously in your own way of course. :)

happy trope tuesday! omg i kind of adored this request, so i got a bit carried away; i hope it's not too long... it ended up being very 10 things i hate about you inspired but i just love that movie and it just kind of flowed that way... hope you enjoy!!

for my 250 Followers Writing Event!

Tropey Tuesday 🎭 trope: grumpy x sunshine, enemies to lovers-ish

pairing: Sirius Black x reader

word count: 5.9k

“C’mon, Pads, pleaaase,” James pleads for the millionth time that morning. “No. Can’t you just drop it yet? You’re starting to seriously get on my nerves,” Sirius replies, flicking ashes off his cigarette and taking another drag. 

“Fucking hell. What are friends for then, huh? If not to have your back in the darkest of times?” he accuses. 

“I’d hardly call taking Evans out the ‘darkest of times,’ you drama queen. I mean, you are a pretty dull date, Prongs, but don’t be so hard on yourself.” “Hilarious,” he deadpans. “But the point is there isn’t going to be a date unless her sister goes too. Their dad is mental. Thinks Lily shouldn’t be going out alone her first year at uni or something. And he’ll know if she goes; I think he can track her and Y/N’s phones or some psychotic shit like that.” “Yes, yes, you’ve mentioned it.” “Have I? Because you don’t seem to be getting it, dickhead. C’mon, I’d do it for you.” “Oh, would you? You’d go out with the most grim girl you’ve ever laid eyes on, having to worry all night she might stab you if you don’t open the door for her — or if you do actually, knowing her,” Sirius muses. “I would,” he replies certainly. “In fact, I’d do it even if I knew she would stab me. I’d take a knife for you, Black.” “Alright, easy, Prongs. I love you too, but no need to get so dramatic.”

“If you really loved me, you’d do this for me.” “You aren’t gonna let up are you?” “Not a chance.” “Fucking hell.” Sirius flicks away the butt of his cig and walks away, thinking he still had until he found you to change his mind. 

You’re sitting in a courtyard outside reading, and it crosses Sirius’s mind that in the odd moments in which you didn’t look so angry, you were actually kind of… beautiful? 

You’re engrossed in your book when you hear, “Hello, gorgeous.” Sirius smiles at you, taking a seat beside you, leaning close. 

“Can I help you?” you shoot. “Funny you should offer,” he jests. “Yes, yes you can in fact.” You look annoyed, not amused; he’s not used to this reaction but treads on, “It would be a marvelous help actually if you’d join me on Saturday. As I’m sure you know, there’s a party. Half the uni is going, but I reckon it will be rather dull unless you’re there.” He puts on his most seductive smirk. “No, thanks.” You close your book, get up, and leave. He’s sitting there, a bit awe-struck, when he sees you simply sit back down somewhere else, in plain view of his, and continue reading. 

“She’s mental,” he whispers to himself. 

“I tried, Prongs. Leave it, won’t you?” he sighs exasperatedly later that afternoon.

“No, I won’t. Since when are you one to give up so easily? So she didn’t say yes right away, big deal.” “She didn’t not say yes; she said ‘no.’ Very emphatically I might add.” 

“So be more charming! That usually works for you, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that earlier. Thanks, James. Thanks so much,” he says sardonically. “I tried. It’s not as if I went up to her and didn’t try to be charming.”

“If you manage to get her to the party, I will buy you that new guitar you want so much.”

Sirius freezes. Interesting. 

“You can’t afford it,” he shoots.   “I can.” “You’ll back out for some idiotic loophole reason.” “I won’t.” Sirius groans and goes off again. 

“I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.” You’re lying in the grass, headphones on, eyes closed. You look serene. You don’t respond. He shifts and steps closer, accidentally shielding your face from the sun. This gets your attention. 

“What?” you ask, freeing one ear from your headphone, sitting up. He clears his throat and squats down in front of you. 

“I said, I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.” “Oh. Didn’t hear you,” you say simply, pointing at the headphones. “Yes, I gathered.” 

There is an awkward pause. It lingers.

“So…,” you say softly. “Is there something else, or…” 

Bloody hell; was it just him, or did you hate everyone this much?

“What are you listening to?” he tries. “Why do you care?” you reply. You don’t sound angry, though. It comes out like a normal question; he’s just confused as to how you think it is one. 

“I love music,” he says, taking a seat. 

“Okay…” You look genuinely confused. “I love music too, but it doesn’t mean I give a shit what that bloke over there is listening to.” You gesture toward some guy with his headphones in too. 

“Right. Well. I’m interested in music, but I’m also interested in you.” “Why?” “Are you serious?” “Do I sound like I’m joking?” “No, you sound like you’ve never had a conversation with anyone in your life.” He sounds a bit exasperated. He realizes this after the fact and internally cringes for his lack of patience, thinking it will set him back (if he’s made any progress at all) but is surprised at your lack of reaction. 

“I just don’t see why you would be,” you say calmly. 

He’s heard girls say similar to him many times, some out of actual insecurity, some just fishing for his compliments. Your tone is unlike any of theirs, and he’s not sure what to make of it.  “You don’t see what? Why I would be interested in you?”

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve been vaguely aware of each other for a long time; had a class together and such. You never seemed interested then.” Feeling a bit more himself again, he replies smoothly, “Did you want me to be, love?”

You groan a little. 

“Oh, I was dying for it,” you say, deadpan. “You were all I thought about,” you add dramatically. “I couldn’t focus on anything all day, and at night,” you lean toward him, like you’re about to tell him the deepest secret, “I’d touch myself to the thought of you.” You make a fake-scandalized expression, gasping sarcastically, then turn away as if nothing strange had just happened, turning the volume up on your music and adjusting your headphones again. You laid back down and closed your eyes, ignoring his presence beside you. 

His mind had no idea which thread to chase. It was torn between dissecting how what he thought would offend you didn’t and what he thought would charm you offended you, marveling at how easily you had just joked about your wanking, or coming up with A) a way to convince James this was not happening or… (he seemed excited at the thought) B) a way to convince you to pay attention to him. While this all churned on the surface, in the back of his mind he registered the song you were listening to, which he heard in the fraction of time between your turning it up and putting your headphones back on. He loved that song. 

“How’d it go with Fender?” James asks, entering their flat and plopping down onto the sofa next to Sirius. 

“With what?” Sirius looks at him as though he’s gone mad. “Fender,” he repeats, as if that clarified anything. “Okay. See, the way I see it,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “is that you can think of her as your guitar. That way you’ll want her as badly as that bloody fender and you’ll get off your arse and figure it out.” “Don’t you see how that’s a little, I don’t know, objectifying?” 

“Perfect, she’s rubbing off on you already; I know how much of a feminist she is. This is great; one step closer to love.” “Love?” Sirius’s disbelief is palpable. “When did this go from a meaningless date to help you out to love?” He grimaces a bit… then he grimaces a lot — but this at his realization that it wasn’t the idea of love, or even being in love with you, that made him grimace, but the idea that that didn’t even seem like a possibility. 

“She’s mental, Prongs,” he says quickly, trying to distract himself. “I have no idea what to say to her, and everything I say falls flat, or worse.” “So now you know what it’s like to not look like a demigod and just have to flash a smile to get a girl’s attention. Have you ever thought about talking to her about something she likes? or something you like even. Just not vapid lines that would work regardless of who’s on the receiving end?” 

Sirius squints at him and says, “I tried that, you twat. Asked her about music.” “And she didn’t like that?” 

Sirius pauses, thinking back. “I don’t know,” he responds honestly.

“Well, did she seem annoyed?” “No. Not yet.” “When did she get annoyed?” Sirius winces. “When I asked her if she’d had a crush on me when we had a class together.” 

James slaps the back of his head.

 

A few days go by, the weekend and fated party soon approaching. Sirius is out at a retro record shop in the late afternoon, and a t-shirt with the band name and logo of the group you were listening to the other day, Greta Van Fleet, catches his attention. It’s a cool shirt. And he likes them too. He’s not just thinking of getting it as a potential conversation starter for you. Truly… 

He walks out of the shop, up two records and a t-shirt. 

He runs a couple errands, kills a bit of time, and heads over to the campus pub to meet James and Remus. When he walks in, he’s struck by the sight of you, sitting alone in a corner booth, a pint and a book in front of you. 

James comes to greet him, and he reciprocates, trying to act natural, but as soon as he gets the chance, hoping you haven’t spotted him (he’s pretty sure; he’s barely taken his eyes off of you, so he probably would’ve noticed), he dodges to the toilets, bag in hand. 

When he comes back out, James asks, “Did you just change, mate?” 

“Uh, yeah. Spilled something on my shirt earlier and had a spare.” James accepts this explanation as reasonable and doesn’t spend more time on it. 

They get some drinks and are met by Remus, but as James heads to an empty booth, Sirius grabs his arm and drags him in the other direction. “Let’s sit over there actually.” “Why?” “Just looks more spacious.” And grants a better view of you, he doesn’t add. James looks skeptical but follows, and the three of them settle in. 

Sirius is distracted, occasionally gracing the conversation with a nod of his head or a simple “oh, yeah?” 

James is so caught up in a story, he doesn’t seem to notice, but Remus, ever observant, teases, “You know, if you’d rather go sit with Evans, Sirius, we won’t be offended.” James looks over, catching sight of you for the first time, a little disappointed at which Evans it was.

“What?” Sirius replies lamely. 

“Oh, come on, Padfoot. You haven’t stopped staring at her since we got here.” 

“Brilliant! Another chance,” exudes James. 

“Another chance at what?” asks Remus. “Sirius is taking her to the party on Saturday.” “I’m not,” Sirius interjects harshly. After a beat he adds exasperatedly, looking toward Remus, “James wants me to be taking her to the party on Saturday. That way her sister will come along too and grace him with her presence.” 

“You know,” James muses, “Fender doesn’t look as scary from this far away. I reckon you should go talk to her, Pads.” “Fender?” asks Remus.

“Don’t ask,” deadpans Sirius. “Well? Go on, then,” James urges. “Relax, mate. I’ll go later; just give me a minute.” 

“Are you… nervous?” “Oh, and you wouldn’t be? After she’s rejected you twice in one week?” “Oh, I definitely would be, but you? It’s shocking. This might have a few upsides beyond my date with Lily. I like seeing you flustered.” “I’m not flustered,” Sirius shoots defensively. “I’m just trying to have a drink with my mates without all the nagging, alright? Is that too much to ask?”

“Yes,” James jokes but has mercy on him and continues his conversation with Remus after a threatening, “We’ll come back to this” and a grin. 

Sirius is watching you when the song in the pub changes. You smile a little bit, and he hates how it makes his heart flutter. When the lyrics start, your mouth moves along with them, singing under your breath, and you move a bit with the music. You look beautiful lost in your own world like that. Just then, you look up, and your eyes meet his. They widen, and you freeze, looking a bit embarrassed. He wants to look away but braves on, holding your gaze and attempting to smile in greeting. You give a strained smile in response and look down shyly. It’s a strange look on you, timid. Sirius is not surprised to find it suits you, but he is surprised to find that he misses snarky and strong on you. 

You look back again as if you couldn’t help it, and he catches your glance go down toward his shirt. Yes, he thinks. God, is this how most people normally feel? He feels pathetic, trying so hard to look interesting in front of you, wondering whether you could like him. Your attention is pulled away by the arrival of your sister, and when you stand up and hug her, he sees you smile brightly for the first time. It’s blinding.

“Heads up, Prongs,” he says, not looking away from you. James follows his gaze, and his hand instinctively goes to his hair. Remus scoffs amusedly. 

You both look over, and James awkwardly pulls his hand from his hair and waves at Lily. She gives a giddy laugh and waves back. She turns to you and whispers something, and you shake your head vehemently in response. You start to argue in loud whispers that are still too far away to make out, but eventually Lily just rolls her eyes, looks back over, and gestures for the boys to join you. You look furious.

James doesn’t skip a beat, grabbing his drink and heading over with a confident, “Come on then.”

He pushes Sirius into the booth on your side and slides in next to Lily, Remus sliding in after him, ending up on his other side. Lily, James, and Remus start up an easy chat, but you and Sirius stay quiet. He feels tense, his palms probably sweaty, and the feeling is quite foreign to him. He fiddles with his glass in front of him, not looking sideways at you. “Nice shirt,” you say softly. 

He looks down, as if he doesn’t know exactly what shirt he’s wearing, then looks up at you, responding “thanks” in his best attempt at a casual tone. “You like them?” he adds, knowing the answer. 

You nod. “A lot actually.” “Me too.” “Clearly,” you laugh a little, nodding toward his shirt, and he loves the sound of it. “Why else would you wear this shirt?’ Why else indeed. 

“Yeah,” he laughs, a bit strained still but starting to loosen up. 

“You seem different,” you say. Again with the directness. He needs to learn how to handle it better for future conversations. He catches himself in this thought and can’t help but register his high hopes for the existence of said future conversations. 

“Do I?” “Yeah. I don’t know. You seem…” You seem a bit lost for words then finish, “like the acoustic version to your regular electric.” 

His eyebrows go up, surprised at such phrasing, followed closely by the corners of his lips, intoxicated by it. He doesn’t know what to say, and for the first time, that seems like the beginning of potentially beautiful possibility instead of just an obstacle to overcome as soon as possible. He’s never been so at peace with not saying anything. He just smiles. 

You smile too, and into the quiet space he’s created, whisper, “I like it.” He can’t help his smug smirk at this; he’s still himself after all, but it’s more teasing than before, and this time when you roll your eyes, you lips don’t lose their smile. 

You shift a bit, listening to whatever your sister is saying then tense up suddenly. Sirius has been so distracted just watching you, he has no idea what was said that stressed you out so much. He finally pays attention to try to piece it together. “Right, Y/N?” Lily asks. “Umm,” you don’t answer. “That’s brilliant, right, Sirius?” James says now. “Sorry, what’s brilliant?” “Y/N. Going to the party Saturday,” he responds. Sirius looks inquisitively at you. 

“I never said I was going,” you say, your demeanour back to its regular grumpy one. “In fact, I wasn’t planning to,” you finish with some finality. Lily leans into your shoulder, making puppy dog eyes at you. “But you’ve reconsidered just for me, right? Pleeeaasee, Y/N, pleeaasee.” 

You roll your eyes and bump her off of you but don’t say anything. You opt to take a swig of your drink instead despite the four pairs of eyes still intently watching you. Sirius has the odd sensation that that somehow actually doesn’t affect you, being seen, and it fascinates him. You don’t even look like you’re considering anymore when Lily bumps your shoulder with hers and fake-whispers, “pleeeaaaseee.” 

You roll your eyes again, but give in with a simple, “fine.”

“Ah!! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Lily chants, wrapping her arms around you and kissing your cheek between her praises. You’re grimacing; James is beaming. 

Saturday rolls around, and James and Sirius are finishing getting ready to go. Sirius is searching the messy living room for his leather jacket as he says, “No, mate, I’ll just meet you there.” “What are you talking about? Of course you should walk her there.” “She never said she was going with me. She just said she’d go. I don’t know why she’d expect — or want — me to show up at her flat.” “Just ask her.” “Don’t have her number.” 

James takes his out of his pocket, types something, waits a moment. A ding sounds; he sends another message, and now Sirius’s phone sounds. He opens it to a text from James with your phone number. “Just asked Lily,” James says smugly. Sirius rolls his eyes and plops onto the sofa, debating, spinning his phone in his hand. 

“What do I say?” “Figure it out, playboy,” James says as he goes back into his room, probably to check his hair again.

Sirius starts typing a message. 

hey, Y/N, it’s sirius… how are you? What am I, fifty? he thinks to himself, shaking his head. He erases the how are you?, replacing it with lily gave james your number then james gave it to me. Fucking hell. He erases that too. 

He writes, hey Y/N, it’s sirius… do you want me to come with james to get you and lily? and hits send before he can overthink it. 

He tosses his phone to the side, but he can’t stop looking over at it, and his leg is bouncing up and down rapidly. He’s wringing his hands together, fiddling with his rings when his phone vibrates. He snatches it up immediately, opening it to find one word from you: sure. Good enough, he thinks, and there’s an energy to his step he didn’t have before as he grabs his jacket, saunters to James’s room, and drags him out of the flat.

As you follow Lily out the door, Sirius swallows hard. You look stunning. Lily is all made up, her face looking much more perfect than most days, her heels looking like they’ll hurt after one block. Your look is more low-key. Your eyeliner makes your eyes even more striking than usual, but you still look like yourself. You’re wearing a classic pair of converse that look cool with your long leather coat. 

“Hey,” he greets when you’re standing in front of him.

“Hey,” you say back. You sway from the heels of your feet to your toes a bit then you both turn to walk behind James and Lily, who have their arms wrapped around each other and are already talking animatedly.

The first few minutes of the walk are completely silent between the two of you. Though it’s strangely not awkward, Sirius wants to talk to you, just doesn’t know where to start. He decides to just dive into the deep end. “What’s it like not caring what people think about you? Just saying what you want to say, or,” he chuckles at the current situation, “not saying anything?” You look at him seriously for a moment, considering him.

“I care what some people think about me. Just not everyone. And especially not random guys just because they’re attractive, and I’m supposed to put in some big effort to make myself attractive to them. I have better things to use, even better things to waste, my time and energy on.” You shrug. 

“What’s your favourite waste of time?” he asks, grinning, his eyebrow raised in curiosity. You’re looking down in front of you, but he can see you smile. 

“Um, funky question. Because I guess it’d be music. Getting high and just lying there listening to it, feeling it,” you laugh. “But that hardly seems like a waste.” You’re cheerful, and it’s addicting. Sirius laughs and says, “Hardly sounds like a waste at all. Sounds brilliant.” 

“Yeah,” you sigh, still smiling. “How about yours?” 

“Hm. I don’t know. Can’t just copy your answer, can I?” “Nope,” you pop. 

“Damn. Well, in that case, I’ll go with just hanging out with James and Remus, not really doing much in particular.” 

You nod. “Hardly sounds like a waste at all.” You smile at each other and chuckle. 

When you get to the party, music is blasting, and it’s already full of people, many of whom seem to be drunk already. Sirius catches you looking around with a huge grimace on your face, and he finds it adorable. “Your favourite way to spend a Saturday night?” he asks cheekily, having to lean close due to the noise. You look at him and roll your eyes, but there’s a trace of a smile on your lips. 

Several people greet Sirius, and he laughs and jokes with them. He’s clearly great at being the life of the party. You’ve already lost track of James and Lily. Hoping she’s having fun, you just hang back near Sirius, not engaging with his friends. No matter how glad he seems to see someone, though, he always comes back to you.

“You don’t have to linger, you know. I’ll be fine by myself.” “It’s everyone else I’m worried about. Given the murderous look on your face,” he laughs, though he can’t ignore the sting of the word “linger.” 

You scoff but seem amused. “Besides,” he adds more quietly, “I want to be with you.” 

“Okay,” you smile. “Okay,” he confirms happily. 

As the night goes on, you actually chat more and more easily. Commentary on the DJ’s (usually subpar) performance helps. You’re laughing together, and his hopes are high that you’re having a good time. “I actually like this one,” you say, wincing in amused embarrassment when a dancey pop song comes on. 

“Wanna dance?” he asks excitedly. 

“Um, I’m not much of a dancer,” you admit. “That’s alright. Me neither. Fancy it anyway?”

You bite your lower lip, considering, before nodding. 

He takes your hand and guides you between crowds of people to the area functioning as a dance floor. You stand close to each other, face to face, and it takes some time to get into the rhythm. Sirius finds you adorable as you cover your face with your hand, laughing at yourself. He grabs your hand, uncovering your face, and spins you. You laugh and put your other hand on his shoulder when you’re facing him again. He puts his hand on your hip, and you two move with the music, letting go. You dance a few more songs before you lean into his ear to say something. The contact shoots a thrill down his spine. “Wanna get some air? I’m getting really warm in here,” you semi-yell. He nods and grabs your hand again, walking with you out onto the quieter, emptier patio. You take a deep breath and sigh in contentment at the fresh air, leaning on your forearms on the porch ledge. You look lovely all flushed. 

“What?” you ask, laughing lightly. “What?” he repeats, smiling but uncertain. “You’re looking at me funny.” He’s debating telling you the truth, telling you it’s because he thinks you’re beautiful, when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He just shakes his head casually as he goes to check it. He sees an unimportant message and just puts his phone down on the ledge in front of you both. You just stand there quietly with each other, shoulder to shoulder, and he fucking loves it. He feels at peace and excited simultaneously.

“Mind if I smoke?” he asks you, reaching into his pocket. 

“Not as much as your lungs,” you retort. He gives you a “very funny” look. “I don’t mind,” you say more softly. He pulls out his cigs but keeps digging in his pockets. “Shit, forgot my lighter. Gonna go steal one from anyone I know real quick. Be right back,” he says, bumping your shoulder with his. You nod happily. 

You’re standing there alone when his phone lights up in front of you. 

A text from James reads, saw you sneak off with fender 👀 looks like you oughtta be grateful instead of annoyed in the end 

Followed quickly by one from Remus, okay can one of you please explain the nickname now? it’s weird

James again, i promised sirius i’d buy him that fender he keeps going on about if he suffered a date with Y/N for me

Your stomach drops, and you feel like you’re going to be sick, your ears ringing with more than the after-effects of the loud music. 

Sirius comes back, putting his hand on your lower back with a sweet “hey.”

You grab his phone, shove it in his chest, and seethingly say, “Fuck you, Black. Hope you didn’t have to suffer too much.” Your shoulder shoves him aggressively as you storm off. 

He looks at his phone, and pure horror courses through him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he keeps repeating as he speeds after you through the crowds. He doesn’t catch up until you’re a good way down the street away from the party. 

“Y/N! Wait! Please wait a second,” he calls, out of breath, as he reaches you, grabbing your forearm to try to turn you toward him. His heart shatters at the sight that meets him. You’re crying. 

You yank your arm away from him and spit out, “Leave me alone.” 

“Please. Please just let me explain. I wanted to be with you tonight. Please,” he pleads, walking fast to keep up with you. 

“Oh, fuck off. You don’t have to keep it up anymore; your friend got what he wanted.” “It’s not like that, okay? You can ask him if you want! He’ll tell you I wanted you to come with me; he’ll tell you I like you.” “I’m sure he’ll tell me whatever you want him to, Black, but I’m really not interested. Please just leave me the fuck alone.” You start walking faster, and he stops dead in his tracks. He doesn’t know what he could possibly say, and he just stands there in the middle of the road, the worst feeling he’s ever felt weighing him down to the spot.

You’re back in your flat, still crying, when your phone buzzes. 

Y/N

please 

can we please talk? 

it’s not what you think

i really want to talk to you

please

You put it on silent and toss it away.

You wake up with puffy eyes and four missed calls from Sirius from last night and another three from this morning. You delete the notifications and go take a shower, blasting your music. 

You get dressed carelessly, grab your bag, and shove your headphones on. You meet Lily in the living room on the way out, and she looks concerned. She tries to stop you, but you just say “I’m fine” and hurry out the door. 

You walk to a nearby park, a favourite spot of yours, and roam around for a while, hoping unsuccessfully to drown out your feelings in the music and movement. You sit down at a bench and take out your book. After reading the same sentence about ten times, you slam it shut and shove it back in your bag. You just sit there, and you’re struggling to keep the tears away as you let yourself replay your emotions from last night. You lie down on the grass, listening to your music again and shutting your eyes tight. After a while, it suddenly gets darker behind your eyelids, and you open your eyes to see what’s blocking the sun. Fuck. You’ve got to tell Lily to stop giving your phone number and probable locations to arseholes. 

Sirius is standing above you, a desperate look on his face. He squats down and grabs your hands as you move to grab your things, clearly planning to leave.

“Wait, Y/N. Please wait. I’m begging you.” 

“What do you want?” you ask harshly, taking your headphones off. 

“Just to talk to you. Please. Please let me apologize.” “You’ve apologized. Now leave me alone.” You turn away from him again and get up. 

“No, that’s not it. I want to make things right. You have to understand.” “Understand what exactly?” “I like you. I really like you. I think about you all the time; I want to spend more time with you.” “Another instrument in it for you?” you say scathingly. “No, no, of course not. That guitar thing was stupid. Really. It was really fucking stupid, and it was before we’d ever even talked! Well, you’d said a total of six words to me, but still, I had no idea how much I’d want to keep trying to get you to give me a chance without any other incentive.” You don’t say anything, but you also don’t go to leave, and Sirius sees this as serious progress. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I was a complete and total idiot to ever even entertain the idea, but it was just a silly thing before anything else happened.” “And what exactly is it that you think happened?” Your arms are crossed, and you still look like you want to murder him. 

“I saw how fucking incredible you are. And I got it in my head that the thing I want most in the world is a chance to keep seeing how incredible you are. Let’s see. What else happened? I bought a t-shirt just to get your attention; I made a fool of myself in front of my friends from how nervous I was to talk to you; I lost sleep thinking about everything you’d ever said to me, and how you’re like no one I’ve ever met; I wrote and rewrote the simplest message last night like a lovestruck idiot because I was dying for you to say you wanted to see me. Then what else? Oh, right, and correct me if I’m wrong here because this is where you come in: then I had a fucking brilliant time with you last night. I dreamt of wasting time with you, of getting to dance with you again, of making you laugh even though you’re gorgeous even when you look cross — like right now by the way — I even dreamt of sitting in silence with you for fuck’s sake.” He was out of breath by the time he finished his speech.

“How’d you know I liked Greta Van Fleet?” “What?” “I assume that’s the shirt you bought to get my attention. How’d you know I liked them?” “That’s what you’re asking me right now?” “Yes.” “Fucking hell, Y/N.” A beat. “I could hear it from your headphones that second day you blew me off.” You just nod, still looking solemn.

“You’re not,” you say after a moment.

“Not what?”

“Wrong. About last night. You know, its being brilliant. Before… well, before —”

“Before I cocked it all up with silly games I never should’ve played in the first place,” he interrupts. “Before my stomach fucking flipped at reading those messages and my heart broke at seeing you…,” he swallows the knot in his throat, “at making you cry.” He ventures a step toward you, and you don’t move away, just tighten your grip on yourself and look down. “I’m so so sorry I did, Y/N. And I’ll make it up to you if you’ll let me.” He puts a hand on your cheek, caressing you softly. His other hand comes to your arms, uncrossing them and intertwining your fingers with his. He steps a bit closer and speaks more softly as he asks, “What do you say, love?”

You stay silent for a few seconds then say, “Okay.” He scoffs in relief and disbelief, chuckling. 

“I just poured my heart out to you, and all you say is ‘okay’?”

“Yes,” you say, but after a second, a subtle smile lightens your features. He barks a laugh.

“I’ll take it,” he says, kissing your forehead. He lingers there a moment, still caressing your cheek, his lips hovering at your hairline, and when he leans back, he stays very close to your face, looking down at your lips. You push your chin up, bringing your faces even closer together. He smiles at this and closes the shrinking gap. 

Your kiss tastes like possibility, and as Sirius shifts, deepening it, he’s not surprised to find your tongues fall into rhythm with each other as easily as your bodies did on the dance floor last night. 

You clutch his jacket, pulling him closer as he envelops your mouth with his, the warmth of it coursing from where you’re connected down through your entire body. 

He leans his forehead against yours when you break apart. He gives your nose a peck then, your fingers still intertwined, says, “So. What do you want to do now?” “I don’t know.” Not letting go of his hand, you grab your stuff and start walking with him. “Maybe we can waste time. Or sit in silence.” He squints at you.

“Are you taking the piss?”

“Yeah, a little bit, yeah,” you grin guilty. 

He’s laughing, shaking his head, as he sarcastically says, “We’ll see when I make the effort of giving you another romantic speech.”

“I can’t wait to hear it,” you say, squeezing his hand and kissing his cheek.

[themorningsunshine]

Be My Muse

Pairing - Aritst!Bucky Barnes x Reader (Childhood best friends to lovers)

Summary - Muse - A person or spirit that gives an artist the desire to create things

Bucky has been in love with you for years, but just can't get himself to say it. So, instead, he decides to show you.

Warnings - None, just fluffy fluff 

Word Count - 2.4k 

a/n - This is for @buckybarnesevents ‘s Connect 4: June-iverse event. Card Number - C4037 for the prompt C1 - Aritst. Thank you to the lovely @bluehourbucky​ for motivating me to actually finish writing this. 

"Come on, Buck. Just tell me."

You watched as the man you called your best friend shook his head, once again refusing to let out anything about his upcoming art exhibition.

"Oh, come on. Don't be this way." You didn't want to pressurize him, but he was acting weird about this exhibition for the past 2 months.

Every single time when he had an art exhibition coming up, he would ramble about it for weeks to you and you loved it. The way he was excited about what he had made and also the way his nervous ticks showed up always a week before the actual event, you loved every bit of it.  But this time, he hadn't spoken a word remotely related to it.

To top it all off, he had said that this was the most important exhibition of his life.

You were bound to be scared.

"Okay, what about this, you give me a hint, about anything, it doesn't even have to be the centerpiece, literally anything, and I will stop bugging you." You were practically begging now.

"Come on, doll. You are going to come to the main event. You can look at it then." He said putting your cup of coffee in front of you, is pretty much one of the only ways to distract your mind.

"See it then? With everybody else? Is that what I am to you, now, Buck? Just a person in the audience? I knew this day would come." You picked up your cup and with a dramatic turn walked out of the room.

Had you stood there for a moment longer, you would have seen the way Bucky scratched his thumb and bit his lips, two of his most prominent nervous ticks.

Only if he could tell you that you weren't just a person in the crowd. No, you were much more than that. You were everything .

He just had to wait.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

The day of the exhibition came sooner than he would have liked, but to you, it couldn't have been further away.

Bucky had been a little distant with you for the past week and you hated it. You hated it more than anything else in the world.

Usually, he would take you with him to carry out the errands related to the exhibition, 'cause he always got super nervous and you would be there to ground him. Like anchoring him back to the shore.

But this time, you had absolutely no idea what even was the theme of this exhibition. Every single time you offered to go with him for anything, he would always make excuses, and you were confident that they were lies 'cause when did Bucky start to go grocery shopping in the middle of the week?

In the almost 2 decades you had known him, ever since you were a kid, he had never hidden something this important from you.

To say that you were scared would be an understatement.

When you finally entered the exhibition, you were proud to see how many people had shown up. You had always known that Bucky would do exceptionally well as an artist and you had taken every chance you got to tell him exactly that.

As you were about to turn the corner and look at the first painting, you almost collided with a wall of muscle.

You looked up only to be met by the gaze of one of your closest friends.

"Steve, hey!!"

You saw as Steve tried extremely hard to hide the huge grin that threatened to spread across his face and you could swear you saw happy tears brimming in the corner of his eyes.

You squinted as you took a step to the side to let a man walk in, realizing you were blocking the way.

"Y/n, you need to come with me."

"Not now, Steve. It's Bucky's exhibition. I need to stay here."

"He has asked you to come with me."

You narrowed your eyes as you asked, "Are you sure?"

Steve nodded as he took your hand to try and take you away from the paintings.

Dread filled your chest. Did Bucky really not want you in here so much?

You follow Steve as he leads you toward an isolated door of the arena.

You turn to look at him and he signals you to get inside.

"Okay, if you are kidnapping me, I might as well let you know that no one is going to pay a single penny as ransom to you." You joke. You have been friends with Steve almost for as long as you have been with Bucky and you trusted them with everything.

Steve chuckles before replying, "Just go in, y/n."

You open the door and take a step in, only to realize that it's pitch dark. Before you can turn back to look at Steve, the door closes behind you.

You take a deep breath and call out, "Bucky? I swear to god if it's one of your stupid pranks, I'll kill you."

Suddenly, a small light gets switched on beside you and you turn to realize that it beautifully illuminates a painting.

You take a step forward towards it, only to realize that it is a sketch of an eye and it's beautiful .

You can see the way it shines with a glint even though it's just a sketch and you bring your hand forward to run it across it.

It is then that you notice the little note sitting at the bottom right corner of the sketch.

All the city lights combined couldn't shine brighter than your eyes.

Your lips turned upwards into a smile as you read the words. Even though you had absolutely no idea what was happening, it was a huge comfort to know that it was all Bucky's doing. You could recognize that handwriting anywhere.

You looked around hoping to figure out at least something, but all that the little illumination below the sketch showed you was that it was more probable than not a huge hall.

Not even a moment later, another small light was switched on just beside the first one.

It was a painting this time. A very old painting.

It was a small girl sitting on a swing hanging from the tree. A blissful smile on her face, carefree and oblivious to the troubles of the world.

When you noticed the bracelet that she was wearing, you took a step forward, squinting to focus on the painting.

It was you.

And then the memory of that day placed itself at the forefront of your brain.

"Come on, Buck." The little 11-year-old girl called out to the brown-haired boy.

He just shakes his head and refuses to move away from under the tree he is sitting, a sketchbook in hand.

"Why do you even like painting so much?" She had asked, crossing her arms across her chest, puffing in annoyance at his lack of response before walking away towards the swing herself.

A smile finds its way to your lips at the memory. It was about a couple of years after the both of you had met, and yet, it was as clear as day in your mind. Even after all the memories you and Bucky created together over the years, small - innocent ones like these from all those years ago never left your heart.

You look at it intensely for a long time. A couple of tears brimming at the corner of your eyes.

It's been so long. You couldn't help but think. The both of you had grown up but never grew apart. There was always a connection, an instant pull that always brought the both of you back to each other, almost like how no matter how far any of you went, you never forgot your way back home.

After some time, you finally noticed the little note written in the bottom left corner of the painting, just like in the first one. But this one was different. This sentence was the one that would change your whole life for you. In the best way possible. It read :

The day that 12-year-old fell in love, without even knowing what love meant. All he knew was that he was going to love that girl with everything he had, till his last days and beyond.

Your breath hitched in your throat. He loved you.

Bucky Barnes was in love with you.

That's when it hit you.

Everything you have ever wanted. The only thing your heart has ever yearned for, was right in front of you all along.

The love that you had read about in books, the kind of love that swallowed you whole until there was no part left untouched, the love that you have looked for your entire life, has been right there. Right beside you. In the form of the oceanic blue eyes that had enamored you for the last 20 years.

You were in love with your best friend.

The realization doesn't hit you like a truck, or leave you gasping in surprise, it brings with it a sense of peace, a sense of everything falling into place.

You look around frantically searching for the man that you had loved all along without ever knowing it.

You loved him when he fought those bullies to protect Steve and got hurt in the process.

You had loved him when he had brought you cookies when you had gotten sick during Christmas, not being able to move.

You had loved him when you had supported him in his decision to do what his heart desired, in his journey of becoming an artist.

You had loved him when the both of you had said your goodbyes while leaving for college in distant cities when the tears had fallen from your eyes and on the ground and he had comforted you that your friendship won't fall apart.

You had loved him in the nights that were spent staring at the stars together, in the afternoons that had been spent watching movies, curled up beside each other, just the two of you.

You had loved him then, and you love him now and you were pretty sure you were going to love him till the world was nothing but dust.

A light suddenly gets switched on just beside the old painting, and this time too, it's you.

Painted years after the last one, it's you staring at the night sky, a soft, content look on your face.

This time, your eyes frantically search for the note, and sure enough, it's right there, at the bottom.

'Cause, darling without you,

All the shine of a thousand spotlights

All the stars we steal from the night sky

Will never be enough

Never be enough

You can now feel tears rolling down your cheeks, as your lips turn into the widest grin possible.

You turn around and as you do so, all the lights in the room begin to turn on, each revealing a painting of you. Taken in the simplest moments.

There is one with you in the kitchen, covered in flour, a pout evident on your face as you had tried to bake a cake for the first time.

There was one where you were sitting at the beach, staring into the ocean.

The one that you liked the most was the one in which you were sleeping contently, a blanket loosely draped over you, that you could swear hadn't been there before.

Before you can look at the rest of them, a voice comes from the corner of the hall and you turn just in time to look at Bucky Barnes himself.

Your smile grew wider if it was even possible and you almost ran off to embrace him when he started speaking.

"One day, you asked me why I drew. Why I felt the need to express whatever it was I felt through a canvas. I didn't tell you, then, but now I want to, doll.

It's you. It's always been you. You have been my muse, my pillar of support, my motivation to get up every morning, my need to paint because there was no other way I could express to the girl I was in love with that she was all I ever dreamt about. That she was everything I could ever want.

I love you, doll. I love you with everything I am and everything I'll ever be. There are a hundred ways this could fall apart, and trust me, I have thought about each one of them more than I should have. But if there is one chance that this could work, that I could be yours, not just in movie nights or weekly trips to the grocery market, but in every way possible, I want to take that chance. In slow mornings and in intimate nights, in tough days and in the celebratory evenings, I want you, I need you to be a part of all of them, doll because life just doesn't feel like life without you."

As if your feet had gained a mind of their own you ran towards him, circling your arms around his neck and pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss was gentle, soft, full of need and unspoken feelings, of time lost, it was everything .

He pulled you impossibly closer to him, not wanting to ever let go.

Finally, when the both of you pulled away, still staying close with the widest possible grins on your faces, you whispered, "I love you too, Buck. So damn much." You say it so slowly, it feels like a dream to him.

You would one day shout out to the world how much you loved him, but for now, it was going to be your little moment. When the city of Brooklyn went about its day just like it did every day, two people who were irresistibly, irrevocably in love with each other stood there, holding each other, in the gentlest of embraces, embers of their love while keeping them warm, strong enough to burn the whole world down.

You stay there for what feels like forever before Bucky whispers. "Doll, be my muse?"

You look up at him, drowning in his oceanic blue eyes, only to reach home, before you whisper, "Forever."  

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Remus Lupin x fem!reader [2K] protective!you, soft!Remus

Honestly, Remus should’ve seen it coming. You were never one to back down from a fight and the whole reason he was missing from class that day was the same grounds for your eventual argument. 

Professor Marigold had spent the best part of Care of Magical Creatures explaining moon phases and the effects each stage had on lycanthropes. You had been sitting between James and Sirius, squished in the middle as they doodled on their book margins, not really listening. Because, well, they’d had some first hand experience, hadn’t they? Which is why the professor was so surprised when she called on Sirius and he answered correctly, barely looking up. 

You were more on edge than the boys, wishing you’d skipped with Remus, wondering if he would’ve let you hide out in the boys dorm with him, sharing James’ hidden stash of Honeydukes loot everyone knew he kept at the bottom of his trunk. You spent most of the class eyeing your fellow students, Gryffindors and Slytherins divided in rows of three, sometimes four, a neat separation of red and gold, green and silver. 

You wondered if someone would say something, you wondered if someone would sneer, if they’d pull a face at the sketching of a werewolf in the textbook, if they’d shudder in fear or say something awful. It was silent as Professor Marigold spoke about the ramifications of being bitten, the changes the host went through each lunar cycle. You hated the word, ‘host’. It sat bitterly at the back of your throat and you changed it to ‘person’ when scribbling down your notes, more messily than you’d usually be. 

You felt Sirius watch you, dark gaze lingering on the way you sat up too straight, how your shoulders were tense and unyielding when he brushed against your own. If the boys shared a look over your head, well, you didn’t notice. 

Class was almost over, in fact, you were only mere minutes away from the finish line. But then a Slytherin you didn’t know the name of narrowed her eyes and said something you only just heard, a scorned hiss of:

“…the Ministry should do something about them. They’re a danger to everyone. Full moon or not.”

James’ hand found your knee before you could stand, nostrils flaring and heart pounding, but his touch kept you in your seat. You stared at him, wondering how he could remain so calm but he merely shook his head, subtle and soft. Knowing. 

“S’not the place,” he whispered, still bent over his own notes. “Don’t get yourself into trouble, sweetheart.”

Then class ended and it was fine until it wasn’t. 

The same Slytherin student was lagging behind you as you all made your way back to the castle, morning dew dampening your ankles as you all took a shortcut over the grass. Sirius was singing a song you didn’t know under his breath, James was still trying to stuff his book into his bag and the girl behind you was too fucking loud. You heard the way she gasped and cried out, all horrible dramatics as her and her friend spoke about the recent class subject. 

“I mean, really,” she intoned, walking closer and closer. “It’s not like they can live normal lives, can they? They’re practically monsters, I don’t see why they’re allowed to walk around freely like they have the same rights as—”

You spun, wand drawn, clenched tightly in a white knuckled fist that you barely managed to keep lowered by your side. 

“Well, that actually took longer than I thought,” Sirius mused quietly, stopping beside you with one arm across your chest, holding you back from making any other unwise decisions. “Settle yourself, darling.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” you ignored the boy and spoke to the girl, brows stitched together as you tried to work out if you were going to cry or yell. Maybe both, perhaps at the same time - your chest was burning, a sickly kind of anger lingering in your stomach, rolling over and over until it simmered into a rage. The girl hadn’t said Remus’ name, but she might as well have. “You sound so— so ignorant! Have you ever met someone who has to go through something like that? Don’t you understand they’re just like us?”

The girl, Tabitha, maybe, you still weren’t really sure, blanched, staring at you as if you’d dropped from the sky. “What on Earth do you mean?” She laughed and it was a nasty sound, scathing and condescending. “Like us? Are you joking? They’re wild animals, they should be hunted down as such.”

James snatched your wand before you could lift it, red and orange sparks flying into the grass instead of the air and you scowled at him. He grimaced, hardly apologetic but Sirius soon stood between you both, eyes surprisingly soft. 

“Let’s go,” he told you, a gentle command, his hands on your shoulders. “She’s not worth it. Moony’s waiting, c’mon.”

That should’ve been it. The idea of Remus waiting for the three of you at the library should’ve been enough to make your legs work again and pull you away. But the girl was still laughing, an ugly noise, one that made your jaw tick. Sirius tugged at you, hands dropping to curl around an elbow and you took a step, just one. 

“Honestly, if I ever found out I’d shared the same air as one of those creatures, I’d have daddy on the phone to Dumbledore. One curse to the head is all it should ta—”

You ripped yourself from Sirius’ arms quicker than he could grab you, ready to throw your first into the girl’s face - her nose, if you could get your aim right. You watched as she paled, her footsteps fumbling as she backed away faster than you could catch up, all whilst your friends yelled your name from behind you.   

And then, an arm, needling around your waist to haul you up and backwards against a very solid chest. You squirmed, face scrunched in anger, cheeks aflame. 

“Hey, at ease solider, c’mon now.”

Remus. 

You deflated, breathe leaving you in a sigh, knowing that there wasn’t much point in trying to wrestle your way out of his grip. Your feet were dangling a good eight inches off the ground and Remus dropped his mouth to your ear, his voice soft. 

“Leave it, yeah?” 

You nodded, barely perceptible but Remus saw. You saw Sirius take a step towards the girl, eyes narrowed. He looked roguish and dangerous as always, and when he stepped forward once more, this time uttering a soft “boo,” the two girls took off without another word. 

Your wand was given back to you once they were deemed out of sight, your feet firmly back on the ground but Remus kept hand at your lower back, fingers lingering in your sweater, a reminder that he was close. 

“What was your plan, huh?” James’ asked, still wide eyed and surprised that you’d reacted in such a way. “Knock her out with just your fists?”

You rolled your eyes and started back to the castle, embarrassed at being seen having such a response to what was no more than some uneducated - albeit cruel - words. “Yeah, and what about it?” You sounded sullen, a little moody. “I can throw a punch as well as I can cast a hex, Potter.”

Sirius puffed out his chest, smirking. “I taught her.”

James scoffed, muttering something that sounded like, “was that really necessary?”

“What? D’you think she’ll always have her wand on her? What if she doesn’t, what then—”

Remus’ hand, warm and large, caught your own, keeping you from following the other boys and their conversation. He was frowning a little, brows knitted despite the way he was pressing his lips together, as if to hide a smile. He ducked his chin to meet your gaze, too tall otherwise, fingers twisting between your own. 

“What was that all about?” He murmured and his voice was low, pretty and raspy. “Huh?”

You sniffed, emotions catching up to you as the adrenaline faded and you toed at the grass, Mary Janes digging into the wet weeds. You tried to look away, somewhat embarrassed but Remus caught your chin with nimble fingers, scarred and calloused and entirely too lovely. His thumb tapped the space just below your mouth and he waited, quiet and patient. 

You shrugged. “That girl.” You nodded to the Slytherins retreating figure, glaring when she stared back at you from the safety of the castle steps. “Tabitha? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. She was talking about—” you almost said ‘you,’ but that wasn’t true. She hadn’t spoken about Remus at all. How could she? She didn’t know. 

Remus waited, brows raised, his hand still on your jaw to keep your gaze on him. His touch was soft, more gentle than it needed to be and it made any explanation you wanted to give him a little harder to piece together. 

“Professor Marigold spoke about lunar cycles today,” you swallowed and Remus nodded. He knew this, of course he did. It’s why he spent that hour in his dorm, pretending to be sick. “That girl. Whatever her name is, she started going on about how, how werewolves shouldn’t be allowed to have the same rights as Witches and Wizards, how they should all be—” 

You stared at the boy, lips pressed together, deciding you didn’t want to explain anymore. The bitter feeling in your stomach was still bubbling, acidic and awful, but Remus dropped his hand from your chin to your waist, pulling you into him and it settled, if only slightly. 

He was too tall, his half hug had you face first into his chest, his school sweater smelling like laundry detergent and a little smoke, something sage and citrus that was seemingly just Remus. You clung to him, hands fisting in the familiar grey wool, your lip wobbling against the fabric because it was all suddenly a little too much. Remus rested his chin atop your head, his nose pushed into your hair when he felt your shoulders shake. 

“Hey, hey, c’mon,” Remus whispered, wrapping his arm around you a little tighter, hand travelling upupup until he could pull you closer still by your shoulders. “S’fine, really. I’m used to hearing shit like that.”

His reasoning only made your chest feel tighter and your breath shuddered. “That’s worse, Remus!” You intoned, speaking into his chest. “She was saying vile things, absolutely awful stuff and it’s just not—”

“Fair?” The boy mused, his lips brushing over your hairline. You wondered if Sirius and James had stopped to wait for you both, you wondered if they could see, if they were watching. You found you didn’t care. “The world isn’t fair, love, m’sorry to break it to you. But I’ll survive, no matter what Tabitha Rosethorne says.”

You leaned back, just enough to rest your chin on the boy’s chest, pouting as you gazed up at him, glassy eyed. Remus prodded at your cheek, brushing away one lone tear that had managed to escape out of anger. “She’s a dick,” you mumbled woefully. 

Remus snorted, nodding. He wasn’t used to you using such language, only giving him and the others in trouble for it. “She is a dick, you’re right,” he agreed. “But she’s not worth getting detention for. Were you really going to punch her?”

“I was going to try,” you enthused, flushing at the idea of starting an actual fight, completely wandless. “Sirius told me to keep my thumb on the outside of my fist.”

“Of course he did,” Remus mused, sounding unimpressed. “You shouldn’t be starting fights, you know, you’re too lovely for that. Especially on my behalf.”

Normally you would’ve preened at Remus’ sweet words, his soft compliments, but you were scowling, a full pout on your lips as you shook your head. Remus looked amused, knowing that expression all too well. 

Stubborn. 

“I’ll start fights, only for you,” you corrected him, not leaving much room for argument. “And Sirius will back me up. And more than likely, James too. Once he stops arguing.”

The boy laughed, a bright, sharp sound that had your frown fading quickly. You grinned up at him, smile growing wider when he squeezed at your shoulder and let his nose nudge against your warm cheek. 

“You’re not wrong,” he murmured. Remus kept you tucked under his arm as he lead you back up the grassy knoll, towards James and Sirius who were pretending they hadn’t been watching you both the entire time. “C’mon, hotshot, the library awaits.”

[yeonjunssoobin]

Txt as your boyfriend

Yeonjun:

○ Is obsessed with every part of partner.

○ loves to take photos of you

○ You are his muse

○ He steals your clothes and would love if you stole his too

○ Couple Outfits

○ little spoon but won't admit it

○ Is a hardworker because he wants to provide for you and your future together

○ he would prefer if you didn't have a job further in the relationship but would support you if you did

○ His deal breaker is laziness

○ He definitely sees kids in your guy's future

○ would try to convince you to dress up as Nick and Judy for Halloween

○ Cinema dates are his favourite!!

○ Will hardcore flirt with you but if you reciprocate he's gonna be red faced and a mess

○ He'd be the type to date bi people and would be the type to be like "Oh you like girls?? TWINS"

Soobin

○ was super shy when you flirted with him for the first time

○ needs encouragement

○ he forces you to watch the notebook and titantic

○ is a very sentimental person, so much so that he keeps every gift you give him

○ loves to receive flowers and his ears go bright red every time

○ he loves to hold hands with you in private

○ he never fails to blush when you kiss him

○ always asks permission before he kisses you

○ baby girl coded

○ lowkey likes being called pretty boy

○ lazy dates (Gaming and baking)

○ The type to thank you 1000s of times when you cook for him

○ He overreacts when you are sick

○ he writes you little love notes and puts them in a jar for when he goes on tour

○ He's dramatic when he's sick and is convinced he's gonna die

○ He talks the most about marriage

○ Wants at least one baby

○ He gets so shy when you wear his clothes bc they are so big on you!!

○ Likes to act sexy and gets mad when you call him cute.

○ if you tell him you like a certain character he literally searches for merch for them anytime he is in a store

Beomgyu

○ You have to physically pry him away from Pet Centres

○ Gaming dates

○ Likes when you play with his hair

○ He likes to prank you all the time

○ He is such a troll

○ He teases you every time you say you love him

○ He bursts out laughing whenever you fall but if you are actually hurt he would apologise and help you

○ If he notices his teasing is going too far your actually uncomfortable he will stop and apologise

○ He'd be the type of person to say no whenever you ask him to grab you snack and then he'd throw it at you two seconds later bc he already knew you wanted it

○ You are his Muse 2.0

○ Sometimes gets very emotional and needs to tell you he loves you

○ Loves to cuddle in bed

○ He doesn't like to share his things but he's trying to work on it

○ Asks to borrow your clothes because he wants to know what he looks like in feminine clothing

○ Amusment Park date

○ Doesn't see kids in his future he would much rather have animals

○ He would definitely give you a promise ring

○ Jealous especially if you are touching Taehyun

○ He hates mornings and is very whining

○ If you cook dinner he washes up without you asking him too!

○ Sends memes while he's working because he knows you miss him

○ Very impulsive, you guys eloped like 2 years after dating

○ Beomgyu buys anything that reminds him of you

○ he likes to call you sweetheart

Taehyun

○ definitely made the first move

○ you were friends for a long time before you started dating

○ if he needs advice with love he goes to Yeonjun

○ he shows his love by taking care of you and making sure you eat and sleep

○ he loves to cook for you

○ definitely the type of guy to surprise you with flowers

○ Likes to show off his muscles

○ daily fun facts with taehyun

○ prefers hugs over kisses

○ Likes too see you when he kisses you

○ Big spoon and give soft kisses

○ Doesn't like PDA

○ finds it hard to express his feelings

○ At home dates where he teaches you to cook

○ Secret picnic dates

○ Wants you keep healthy and encourages you too work out

○ Demi-romantic?

○ he feels like he doesn't deserve you sometimes

Kai

○ is very insecure and needs reassurance

○ he is a very clingy person

○ Loves every type of physical contact

○ He is not afraid of PDA

○ Likes to touch you at all times

○ he buys you stuffed animals

○ has those apps where you feed animals and raise pets together

○ is the best at comforting his partner

○ Over Over reacts whenever you are sick

○ What was his name again? Did you just call me kai? I thought his name was Babe

○ calls you every petname under the sun

○ he brags about every little thing you do

○ he writes in a diary about you

○ he practices flirting in a mirror

○ he'll show you all his plushies

○ impulsively buys gifts for you

○ makes you a care basket when your on your period

○ giggles every time you message him

○ plays his piano and guitar for you and tries to teach you how to play

○ messages you while you are working

○ always tells you he loves you

○ he wants you to meet his family pretty early in the relationship

○ he would date a bi person

○ gets jealous pretty easily

○ Likes to take you out on fancy dates

[hauntedhokage]

Day 15: Pictures Together

Rafayel/MC

word count: 630

We have a problem. Please come over asap. 

That was a text you didn’t want to get, since it meant one of two things:

It was a real emergency

It was just the usual dramatics to get you to rearrange your schedule to visit him because he missed you. 

You weren’t sure which was worse, but you happened to wrap up your assignment early so you were able to head over to the artist’s home to check in on him and ready to scold him for the dramatics. Even if it was a real emergency, he was more than capable of taking care of himself in any conflict - physical or verbal - so he wouldn’t necessarily need your intervention. 

This is why you bypass the actual front door of his home and go to the side where there was a door to the studio, still armed and ready to draw your weapon should you need it. What greets you is Rafayel standing before a canvas, brush in hand and pout on his face as he scrutinized what stood before him. 

“I swear if you called me over here just to-“

“It’s not about the painting, I was just passing time while I waited for you.” He doesn’t even look at you as he speaks, instead moving to clean off the brush he’d been using while gesturing with his other hand for you to follow. “I was losing inspiration anyway. It’ll come back to me soon.”

“You sound confident.”

“It always comes back when you’re around. But that’s not why I called you here.”

“I’d hope the reason is an actual emergency that’s more than you wanting to hold my hand.” Your comment earns a snort, the grin on his face staying until he turns to face you where you stand with your hands on your hips and an unimpressed frown on your face. “What’s up?”

“I realized that we don’t have any pictures together, which should be considered a crime since we’re together.”

“Okay?”

“You have loads of pictures with the doctor and-“

“And I’ve known him since we were children. You never ask to take pictures, and I don’t usually check my phone when I’m with you.” 

He’s pouting again, and you gesture to the unfinished canvas as your answer. Most of your time spent at his home was spent either posing for a sketch as he worked on his anatomy or sitting beside him giving your opinions on his work based on what he’d told you about his art and goals with it. Mostly him asking what you felt when you looked at it and your corny response about how the artist was beautiful and that it definitely transferred over to his work. 

“I need a new phone background, and I want it to be of us and not just you.” His hands are now on his hips, and you sigh as you walk to the recently finished commission of an oceanscape that was just waiting on his signature before shipping it out. It would be as good of a backdrop as any, and you make a mental note to just start taking selfies with him moving forward - regardless of whether he was paying attention or not. 

“Then get over here. We can take some selfies in front of one of your pieces.” Your suggestion makes him smile again, and you pull your phone from your back pocket to hand over to him. “Your arms are longer and, for the record, this is not an emergency.”

“Not anymore, my beautiful hunter-slash-bodyguard-slash-girlfriend-slash-muse is here to save the day.”

You just hate that the one he picks to make his phone background is the one where you’re looking up at him with a slight scowl while he’s grinning down at you. 

[bella-rose29]

Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - part 11

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: making out to the point of hickeys and low level states of undress (don't read if you're not particularly comfortable with it, it's pretty early on and you don't really need it for the rest to make sense 👍), swearing, reader's mother (Emma) is a gem and loves teasing them, lockwood's hands (and ring), I have no idea what came over me to make me write this (I was probably thinking about his hands let's be real)

series masterlist

“I just don’t understand how they never gave themselves away,” Y/n said while she and Anthony got ready for bed. 

He was in the bathroom, so she’d had to raise her voice a little in order to be heard. When he didn’t respond immediately, she frowned at the closed door. “Anthony? You alright?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m alright, darling.” She heard shuffling and then the click of the door as it opened, and he stepped out, dressed in his pyjamas. 

“Still can’t believe you have matching sets of grandpa pyjamas,” she snorted, moving over to the bathroom. 

“You love my matching sets of grandpa pyjamas,” he called as she started brushing her teeth. “And as for how they never gave themselves away, I imagine they were all waiting for the moment they could finally breathe again. Your mother especially, did you see how tightly she hugged me earlier? I thought she might crush my ribs.”

“You’re so dramatic, Ant,” Y/n replied after spitting out the toothpaste. She washed her mouth out, flicked the light off in the bathroom, and headed for the bed. Anthony was already sat on his side, the covers pulled back for her to get in, and she curled up next to him. His arm automatically came around her body, fingers burying in the fabric of her (his) top. 

“You love that too,” he said, pressing a kiss to her head. She hummed, burying her face in his chest and swinging her legs over his. The afternoon had been peaceful after Steph and Linda had finally left (although not without a lot of pointing fingers, empty threats, and slammed doors), with Y/n’s family asking questions about their relationship and wanting the real answers this time, and her father had received a call saying that the roads would be clear in the next day or so, and there was a limited train service starting up not too long after that. The storm had blown over faster than people had anticipated, but with the limited technology they had for weather readings, anybody’s guess could be the official report. They had booked tickets on the first train back in four days time, and Y/n knew that both her and Anthony were looking forward to getting back to Portland Row. 

“You know,” she started, feeling her eyes start to close when he started threading his fingers through her hair. His other hand was on her thigh, just above her knee. “We should probably think about what we’re gonna do when we get back. About the whole ‘we don’t hate each other now and we’re actually dating’ thing.”

“Oh, that’s a good point. Maybe we just… don’t say anything, like your family? And see how long it takes for them to bring it up?”

“Ant, why would we do that?”

“Because it’s funny?” It was a rhetorical question, and she could feel him smiling from the way his jaw shifted over her head. His fingers hadn’t left her hair, and the hand on her thigh had edged upwards slightly while they’d been talking. 

“I suppose it would be quite funny, wouldn’t it?” she mused, nudging her leg further into his grip subconsciously. He hadn’t taken off the ring he always wore, and it was cold against her skin. 

“See, I’m winning you over,” he chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“You missed,” she murmured, sitting up a little and opening her eyes. 

“Missed?”

“Yeah.” She took his face in her hands, nudging her nose against his before kissing him. When she pulled back after a few seconds he automatically followed her, eyes still closed while he searched for her lips again. “Anthony,” she breathed, feeling his breath fan over her face. He surged forward, his grip on her thigh tightening a little while the hand that had been in her hair slid down and cupped her cheek as he kissed her.   She brought her hand to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his pyjama shirt and gasping when he deepened the kiss, and she thought she might pass out from how gentle yet desperate he was. She could feel it, how he was holding back and taking it slow, but the fire that burned in her needed more, making her shift in his lap so she was straddling his hips, and if she could take the sound he made when she did so and bottle it up to keep forever, she would. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered between kisses, tilting his head slightly to press his mouth to her cheek, and then her jaw, and then her neck. 

“I hope not,” she replied, burying her hands in his hair when he kissed a spot on her neck that made her feel like she was in heaven. “I quite like having you around, actually.”

“Yeah?” He made his way back up her neck, his hand hot and searing where it sat on her thigh. She met his eyes, the half-closed lids and blown pupils combined with his swollen lips making the fire burn hotter, and kissed him sweetly. 

“Yeah.” His hair was a mess, but he’d never looked more beautiful than in this moment, the golden glow of the bedside lamp highlighting his features and casting long shadows at the same time, and she threaded her fingers through the mop of hair that was starting to stick to his forehead. “Just promise me something?”

“Anything,” he said, not waiting for her to finish. She thought she could live on the way he was looking at her, like she was the only thing he had ever wanted and he needed her to breathe. 

“Stay alive for me? When we get back? You can’t keep- you can’t keep being so reckless with your- your life. Anthony.” He’d trailed the hand that had rested on her cheek down her side, and had gripped her hips with both hands, his fingers curling into the fabric of the shirt she was wearing and bunching it up slightly. 

“Sorry, darling.” She supposed she could forgive him when his voice was so low and hoarse, and his fingers were creeping under the top to stroke her skin. “I promise I’ll live for you.” The next kiss burned, filled with the weight of what he’d just sworn, and it was only when they couldn’t hold their breath for any longer that they finally pulled away for air. “I promise,” he whispered into her skin, dragging her closer by his grip on her waist. “I promise.” His hand was drifting upwards slowly, the cold metal of his ring a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies, and she knew he was waiting for her to tell him it was alright. His lips had barely left hers, and when she took her hands out of his hair to start undoing the buttons on his shirt she felt his breath hitch. 

“This okay?” she asked, smiling when he nodded eagerly, leaning back in for another kiss. He was drunk on her, she was sure, but she wasn’t exactly sober herself. Eventually he decided she was moving too slowly, taking the bottom of his top into his own hands and doing it himself. The next few minutes were frantic, Anthony’s shirt discarded on the floor by the bed and hers on the way to joining it, hands travelling over skin in an attempt to know every inch of each other. When he lifted her up and laid her on her back, settling between her legs while he braced himself on one arm and held her with the other, she knew she was doomed. 

~~~

The next morning, Emma was on tea duty. 

She and Ben took turns making teas for the family in the morning, and as she traipsed upstairs with a full tray of mugs (after depositing two in her parents’ bedroom downstairs) she yawned, hoping that everyone was at least a little bit awake so that she could go back to bed and read her book. John was first, bleary-eyed and scratching his side like a monkey, and he took his tea with a very sleepy “Mornin’ Mum”, the door closing in her face as soon as he had a grip on the handle of the mug. Then was Sam and Will, who were being made to share, and as she had expected Will was the opposite of John, wide awake and already dressed, reading in bed with the small lamp on so that he didn’t wake Sam. “Thanks, Mum,” he’d smiled, planting a kiss on her cheek and kicking the door shut after taking his and Sam’s teas. Tom was in the library with his colouring (she had to stop and put down the plastic mat so that he didn’t accidentally colour the furniture), and he barely acknowledged her presence when she left the mug on the table nearby and told him to be careful. Olivia wasn’t awake, so Emma left the mug on her bedside table and pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead before creeping back out and moving on to the last room before her own. 

A soft knock was normally enough to alert Y/n, telling her that the teas were ready, but when after roughly thirty seconds nobody appeared at the door, Emma frowned, balanced the tray on her hip, and gently pushed open the door. “Oh,” she whispered to herself upon seeing her eldest daughter and Anthony curled up in bed together, both sound asleep. 

She’d figured that the two of them weren’t actually dating after they’d first arrived, although at the time she’d thought it was more that they were in a rough patch and were attempting to hide it. They’d argued over who was taking the suitcase in, for crying out loud! But then Anthony had gone and comforted her after Steph had made comments that forced Y/n upstairs, and Emma had been confused again. When Olivia had been helping her get dinner ready that first night, she’d put forward the idea that maybe they weren’t together, and Y/n just felt that she couldn’t turn up without a boyfriend to a huge gathering where everybody thought she was in a relationship. Then things had started making sense, like the way Y/n had looked stiff in his arms for the first few days, or how she would glare at Anthony instead of gazing lovingly at him like Emma knew she herself did with Ben. 

At some point something had changed, though, because now they were apparently actually together. She, along with everyone else, had spent the afternoon yesterday questioning the young couple on pretty much everything, including why the hell they hated each other in the first place. Anthony had gone bright red, apologising profusely for his behaviour, and then Y/n had interrupted and said that she should be the one apologising, and then the pair of them had traded such love-struck looks that it made even Emma want to throw up a little. She was planning on getting the photo albums out today, since she had been so scared of revealing that she knew the truth before that she hadn’t fully settled in to the role of Embarrassing Mother. She’d wanted Y/n to feel that she could come forward in her own time, and the situation was sticky enough as it was with Steph and Linda (she frowned at the memory of how poorly her sister and niece had acted) making comments and embarrassing Y/n that Emma had taken a step back. Now, however, there was no hiding. Anthony would be seeing all of the photos of Y/n as a baby, and that was that. 

She would have a field day at breakfast, too, if her assumptions were correct. 

From what she could tell as she put the cups of tea on the bedside table and had a quick look around the room, neither Anthony nor Y/n were wearing tops, and in the dim light of the room she could tell that there were definitely marks on both of their necks. She smiled to herself, pressing a kiss to Y/n’s shoulder, and tiptoed out of the room. 

~~~

When Anthony woke up, the first thing he thought was how comfortable he was. 

He opened his eyes, rubbing lazily to try and clear away the last remnants of sleep, and he realised that Y/n was lying with her back to him and he had wrapped an arm around her waist in an effort to meld their bodies into one. Their legs were tangled together under the duvet, his pyjama-clad ones mixed with her short-wearing ones, and it was no wonder he hadn’t been able to breath too well when he’d first woken up, because his face had been buried in her neck. 

Her neck. 

His eyes widened as he took in the state of her skin, littered in small marks (and one or two larger ones), and he knew that he would most likely be murdered when she woke up. He couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth at the memory of last night, though, and all the kisses they had shared. They hadn’t gone much further than that, both deciding it was far too early and far too risky in a house that was shared by most of her immediate family, but Anthony could have died a happy man after that. 

He wouldn’t, of course, because he’d promised her last night that he would live. 

He took note then of the two mugs of steaming tea on the bedside table, and realised that someone must have come in and placed them there not too long ago. Then he realised that whoever it had been had probably seen the hickeys on Y/n’s neck. “Shit,” he mumbled, closing his eyes briefly in an attempt to gather strength. It would be fine. Maybe they hadn’t been able to see clearly in the darkness of the room? But then again some of them were pretty large, and there wasn’t much chance of them being missed. Y/n was going to kill him. 

She was waking up now, he could tell from the way her breathing changed and her body shifted, and she stretched out her legs and twisted in his arms to face him. “Good morning, darling.”

“Mornin’ Schmoopie.”

“I thought that name was banned?”

“Banned for you. I can use it.”

“Ah, I see.” He smiled into her forehead, pressing his lips to the skin in tiny kisses. “Did you sleep alright?” She hummed her assent, eyes still closed while she nestled further into him. He wondered if she could feel how fast his heart was beating.

“Did you?”

“Yeah. Best sleep I’ve had for a while.” It had felt like he’d blinked and gone from the after-effects of last night to waking up with her in his arms this morning. 

“That’s good. Can I smell tea?”

“Yes, although I don’t know who it was that brought it in; I was still asleep.”

“Probably Mum,” she said, groaning and sitting up. Anthony watched her for a moment, small smile on his face as he took in her sleepy expression, then followed suit. He went to say something, but the movement of his body sitting up had pulled the duvet away and down the bed, and all thoughts went out of his head. “Shit, it’s cold in here,” Y/n hissed, putting down the mug she’d just picked up in favour of wrapping the blankets back around her torso. She paused when she realised Anthony had frozen and gone red, and frowned at the face he was making. “Are you… alright? You look a bit… I dunno. Weird.”

“What? Oh, I’m…” he swallowed thickly and met her eyes, immediately looking away again and studying the wall opposite the bed. “I’m fine.”

“Okay… I’ll pass your tea over if you want it?”

“Thank you.” He still wasn’t looking at her, although he did remove his gaze from the wall to ensure he held the mug correctly, and a slightly awkward pause followed. 

“You didn’t put your top back on last night.” He heard her choke on her tea and pressed his hand over his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean- I just- you-” he sighed, giving up on coming up with an excuse that would explain his previous statement. 

“Of course I didn’t put it back on, I was way too warm,” she said once she’d recovered. “Wait. Were you staring at my chest?” When he didn’t answer and instead kept his gaze fixed on the tea he held she let out a laugh. “You didn’t seem bothered last night by me not wearing a top.” Now it was his turn to choke, and he had to set down his mug before he spilled the liquid. When he finally turned to look at her she had a smug grin on her face, sipping her tea while she watched him with amusement dancing in her eyes. 

“That- that was different!”

“Different how?”

“I- you- it just was!” He wished the ground would swallow him up. Y/n snorted, taking a larger gulp of tea. 

“I’m teasing, Anthony. You don’t have to look so terrified.” He didn’t think she would ever let him live this down. He had just taken his first drink of tea when he heard her curse softly. “Ant?”

“Yeah?” He looked over at her, brows drawing together. “What is it?” She bit her lip, eyes focused on something below his face. “Y/n?”

“You, uh… you’ve got…” she gestured vaguely to his neck, hesitating a moment before touching a finger to the skin just above his collarbone. It hit him, then, what she was referring to. 

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you leave marks on my neck last night?”

“… yeah?”

“Well we’re in deep shit.”

“… why?”

“I… might have done the same…” he trailed off, his voice growing quieter with every word, and she could only stare at him. 

“Anthony.”

“Hmm?”

“Anthony. Please tell me you’re joking.” He didn’t say anything, instead taking another sip of his tea. “Anthony, if it was Mum that came in and did tea this morning then we are screwed because there is no way she didn’t see. Anthony answer me.”

“I’m not joking, sorry.” He couldn’t help but smile at her exasperated groan that followed, and he opened his mouth to speak again. “Although you didn’t seem bothered by me kissing your neck last night,” he said, using her earlier words against her. This time it was his turn to be smug, and he laughed when she lightly slapped his chest. “What? You rather enjoyed it from what I remember.”

“Your memory is wrong,” she grumbled, finishing off her tea. 

“I don’t think it is, darling, but whatever you say.” 

~~~

“Good morning love birds! Did you two sleep alright?” Emma chirped when Anthony and Y/n walked into the kitchen. She noted the slight flushed look to both of them (particularly Anthony who had gone a wonderful shade of pink that she didn’t think she’d seen before), and then the poor attempts at covering up the marks that decorated their necks. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Thank you.” Y/n looked like a deer in headlights, sitting down on a bar stool and smiling when her father placed a plate of food in front of her. “Thanks,” she muttered, picking up a fork and digging in. Anthony was apparently dealing with everything a lot better than Y/n, already engaged in conversation with John and Sam about something while he entertained Tom at the same time. Emma was glad that he was here, especially given how stressful Steph and Linda were, and she could tell that her eldest daughter was far better off with him in her life. He really cared about her, most likely better than Emma ever had, and while it stung to think that he was doing the job that she should have done, she was happy that Y/n had someone that she lived with to rely on. 

“Are you sure, dear? You look quite tired, I don’t imagine you did much sleeping.” She did feel a little bit of remorse at her teasing, but it was too funny watching Y/n squirm in embarrassment while she tried to come up with something to say. Even Anthony was blushing now from his place on Y/n’s right. Besides, this was her first experience with being the Embarrassing Mother, and if she needed to she would explain herself to her daughter later. 

“Did you do tea rounds this morning?” Y/n blurted instead, her brow furrowing. 

“I did… where is this going?”

“Oh, no reason. It’s fine,” she said, entirely unconvincingly. 

“Right, well eat up. Anthony, I’m showing you the photo albums after breakfast!”

“Mum, please don’t, I can’t take any more of this,” pleaded Y/n, but Emma just chuckled. 

“I just want him to see some of the previous Christmases we’ve had!”

“Personally,” Anthony chimed in, “I would love to see the photo albums, Emma. It sounds like a wonderful way to spend the morning.” His grin could only be described as shit-eating, and Emma loved it. 

She loved it even more when Y/n groaned and held her head in her hands. 

~~~

“And here- what was happening here? Oh yes, she’d managed to get her head stuck in the railings of the bannister, only three years old!”

“So you took a picture before helping your three year old daughter out of the bannisters?” Y/n asked her mother incredulously, not enjoying the way Anthony was studying every single photo of her as a baby. They had already been here for roughly forty minutes, and they weren’t even a third of the way through the album. 

“Well you don’t look too bothered, darling. In fact, you look like you’re having a whale of a time, look how big that smile is!”

“Shut up,” she mumbled, cuddling closer into his side. His laughter warmed her, and suddenly she didn’t mind so much that he was being promised copies of some of these photos. She knew that her mother knew about the marks on both of their necks, too, her suspicions confirmed after the whole fiasco at breakfast (there had been many more innuendos and exaggerated winks), but she didn’t mind that too much either. How could she, when Anthony was burning brighter than the sun right now, with his smile that lit up every room he walked into (or even walked past) and his easy charm? How could she be upset when he was sat so close to her, holding her to him so gently yet so tightly, as though he were afraid that at any moment she might disappear? 

No, she was happy. Not about the current photo of her with cake smushed all over her face and outfit at her friend’s 4th birthday party, but generally, she was happy. Steph and Linda were gone, Anthony was here, and in a few days they would be back home with Lucy, and George, and Holly too when she came over. 

For the first time in years, she was truly happy. And she could owe it all to Anthony Lockwood. 

part 12 (final part)

Tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @bobbys-not-that-small, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12, @zoom1374, @asyouwish-fromcabin3, @magicandrosewaters, @bobbys-not-that-small, @neewtmas (sticking you on just in case my lovely <3)

I don't think I'm missing anyone but there are so many people that I honestly can't say for sure, so if you want to be added to the tag list for the final part (and maybe... other... special posts... that might be written in the future... 👀), then let me know! <3

[danibee33]

hostage

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (goes by “Saint”)

based on a post by @call-me-doll-face! your vision for this song (“hostage” by Billie Eilish) was just too perfect😭 I couldn’t get it out of my head. I hope you love it as much as I do.

tags: angst & smut, ok it’s very angsty, did I cry? yes

word count: 5.7k (sry I got carried away)

+++

The files strewn across your desk only come back into focus at the sound of three crisp, concise knocks on your door. You blink away the dryness, eyes darting toward the open window to see its pitch dark outside now- shit.

Two more knocks resound through the room, they're a little more forceful this time, urging you to push away from the organized chaos, crossing the short span on tingling feet. You hadn’t meant to lose track of time like that, but after the debrief you needed something to distract you, get your mind off the bitter taste the meeting had left in your mouth-

“Target’s in the wind after the attack in Yemen-”

You change the map, zooming in on a tiny Bedouin village- the settlement no more than a speck in the vast desert, “But we’ve intercepted and translated some chatter from local law enforcement that are on Abaza’s payroll.” – the room goes dark for half a second before the next slide flashes on the screen- “Seems he’s following his pattern of hiding behind civilians.”

The room is silent, save for the rapid clicking of Soap’s pen against the desk- one of the restless man’s many tics, and Price’s furious scribbling. Gaz is eyeing the map studiously, his lips twitching as he muses through the routes and planning- no doubt trying to predict what the Captain will do.

Ghost is just.. Looming. Perched in his usual corner, arms crossed over his chest as he contemplates the information and intel given, eyes lazy and half-lidded even when Price stands, coming to stand at your side.

“Bloody good work, Saint.”

He pats your shoulder, taking over your spot as you settle in a seat at the table, and you try to listen intently- short-handing a few notes you might have missed as the Captain dives into the plan. The others pitch in ideas along the way, logistics and safety for the civilian population; but, it was extraction that gave you pause.

“There will be no cover- that encampment is too exposed.” You only realize you had spoken the thought out loud when you hear a soft huff from behind you,

“Very perceptive, Sec.” Ghost grumbles, his usual sarcasm somehow thicker, more exasperated.

Could you have held back your overly dramatic eye roll? Of course. But it’s fucking Ghost, and all you can hope is that he sees it- just like you know he sees your middle finger held up over your shoulder.

He knows you hated the way he ignored your call sign in favor of using the belittling, diminutive of your rank instead. It’s always been ‘Sec’ for him, short for Second Lieutenant, never one to let you, or anyone else, forget that he outranks you-

But, you’re used to it. That’s just the relationship you and him have had from the start, always this brutally competitive tension between you- which never made sense to anyone else. Especially considering your specialities are on opposite ends of the spectrum, each of you serving your own unique role to make the team function and perform like the well-oiled machine it’s been honed into.

And, to be honest, you’re not sure why you ever let him get under your skin either. You’ve worked with plenty of egotistical superiors and subordinates alike, and it’s never stopped you from reaching and surpassing every single goal you set for yourself. If anything, it’s only pushed you to work that much harder- usually at the cost of any sort of personal life, which is actually how you got your callsign-

“Saint” - ‘the only officer in the SAS who might make it to heaven’

You thought it was silly, but over the years it grew on you. And now, it just feels like what your name has always been, even if everyone knows you rarely make it far in the military by being an actual saint-

“Yes, extraction will be the most difficult part-”

Price’s voice brings you back to the present moment, head snapping up when you sense the giant presence standing next to your chair, “It’s a two-person job, then?”

Ghost’s voice has lost all its amusement and sarcasm, and his gaze feels heavier somehow as he looks over the screen. You watch him for a moment, catching all the nuances in his outward body language that are so imperceptible to others- though, you sometimes wish you weren’t so in tune with him. Wish you didn’t know exactly why you could pick up on these things when no one else could..

“That’s what I was thinkin’-” Price nods, looking between his two sergeants, “Soap, you’ll be second, running interference with some well place distractions?”

You watch Johnny practically vibrate with excitement, shooting you and Ghost a wink,

“Ka-freakin’-boom, baby. You an’ me, LT. The dream team!”

But again, you notice Ghost’s lack of snarky response, verbally and non-verbally, it unnerves you-

“Saint, you’ll be with them-”

“No.”

It takes you a second to react, not sure if you had heard it correctly- maybe you had missed something and he had barked the word over another matter entirely. But then, you hear Gaz and Soap be dismissed, and suddenly you’re standing beside Ghost, you and Price speaking the same question at the same time,

“No?”

Ghost shrugs, refusing to look down at you, “Don’t need ‘er there, Boss. Nothin’ she can’t feed us over radio.”

“First, I’m right here- and second, you don’t get to decide what I can or can’t do-”

Price looks at you, his expression only hinting at confusion as he watches you cross your arms now, mirroring your lieutenant's posture, “Captain-”

Something flashes through the stormy blue of his eyes then, something you can’t even begin to place. But it doesn’t really matter, because you don’t get to finish your protests- cut off instead by an apologetic hum,

“He’s right, Saint-”

“What!?”

You’re not in the business of challenging authority, at least not the authority of a man you genuinely respect like John, but you can’t help it- this wasn’t the first time you’ve been benched, and you know it’s not the first time it’s been Ghost the one ordering it.

Price glances at his watch before scrubbing a hand over his face, “Bloody hell-”, he rounds up the files and tucks them under one arm, holding his mug with the other, “We’ll finish this later, clear?”

Just like that- he’s gone. And you’re left with the suffocating shadow still staring at the image on the wall,

“Don’t take it personally, Sec.”

Your hands clench and unclench, nails leaving stinging little crescents in your palm before turning on your heel, “Fuck you, Ghost.”

You know who’s on the other side of your door. You always do. It’s been your routine for the last year and half- You do have to give it to the insufferable fucking prick for coming to you so soon after what he had done, though.

But, sure enough, the door swings open and there he is. Simon Riley, towering in your doorway, covered head to toe in a black hoodie and dark jeans, his face even further obscured under the hood- all you can see clearly are his eyes. And they’re intensely focused on you.

“Don’t worry, Price called.” You say, leaning against the frame-

He gives you nothing, seconds ticking by as he stands there like a statue, slowly scanning your face like he’s done a thousand times before. It used to make you uncomfortable, how he would look at you that way, like he was peeling you open, layer by layer- and it still does, like now. But, you’ve gotten used to his idiosyncrasies, at times even find them oddly endearing, if he weren’t such a dick.

“Can I come in?”

A sigh fills the air between you, followed by you glaring up at him- you want to say ‘no’, give him another big ‘fuck you’ middle finger and slam the door in his face; maybe even say fuck your arrangement all together, because now it’s becoming a pattern, him sidelining you.. But, you do none of those things. Because it’s him. Always fucking him.

So, you roll your eyes and turn back into the room, not bothering to invite him in because he knows the open door is your way of allowing it.

Instantly, your cozy abode feels ten times smaller and a hundred times warmer with him in it- it causes your skin to flush and your fingers to twitch, that restlessness you tend to feel when you were alone with him, crawling over you, burrowing itself in your chest.

“You’re mad.”

“Very perceptive, Ghost.” You throw his words from earlier back at him, crossing your arms because you honestly never knew what to do with your hands when you talked to him.

They always wanted to reach out for him- you were no better than Pavlov’s salivating dog when it comes to Simon fucking Riley. He had trained you so well without ever even having to try.

God, you hate him. And you hate yourself even more for know that’s not true in the slightest- “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Doin’ what?” He shifts on his feet, fists still shoved in the front pocket of his hoodie.

You throw your hands up, “Benching me like this! There’s no reason I shouldn’t be on the ground with you and Soap, just like I usually am.”

“There’s no reason you should be, either.”

That awful itch creeps down your spine, tickling your legs and feet. The need to move, to exert some kind of energy before you implode forcing you to pace. You’ll never understand him, no matter how much time you spend together, or how many nights you waste sweaty and clinging to each other, words never meant for the waking world spoken between you- you will never understand him.

Never understand why he can’t just be hot or cold, why he can’t just be mean to you all the time, because at least that way it would be easier to separate what is, and what isn’t.

“You said this wouldn’t change things- I’ve held up my end of the deal. But you.. We can’t do this if you’re going to jeopardize my career.” Simon watches you just as intently as before, eyes tracking your war path back and forth, “I mean, I know we’re competitive and petty, but I didn’t think you would start fucking blacklisting me-”

That seems to catch his attention, head perking up, “That’s not what I’m doin’, Sec-”

“Well then enlighten me, lieutenant.” You spit back, eyebrows furrowing when you see him reach for you.

He gently tugs you closer, gloved hand wrapped around your forearm- closer and closer until you can feel that unbearable heat he exudes, smell the spice of his cologne, the one he only ever seems to wear when he comes to your room. Like he wants to lay claim to you somehow-

“Don’t..” The command comes out without even a hint of conviction, his finger tilting your chin back,

“I don’t want to talk, Saint. Please, not right now.”

It must be comical, how wide your eyes grow at the sound of your callsign in his gruff voice, the way he breathes the small plea- something you’ve never once heard him say. You just barely catch the way his eyes crinkle at the very corners in your stupor. The audacious bastard is smiling like he knows you would melt for it.

He knows you so well.

But the smile isn’t mean, it isn’t to spite you like he does sometimes- no, this feels warmer, like you could reach out and wrap yourself in it.

“Simon.. This isn’t good for us.”

“For us?”, he leans down then, the arm around your waist pulling you close enough to feel his covered lips on your neck, “Or for you?”

Your exhale feels labored and too heavy in your lungs, cursing yourself over and over for how effortless it is for him to unravel you. How just the feeling of his big hands splayed out over your ribs, slowly traveling up and down your body, makes your legs weak- and the heat of his breath condensating on your skin has the familiar pressure steadily growing low in your belly- begging for more.

When he pulls the mask off this time, you can’t help but notice the gentility in his expression. A certain relaxed nature about it that seems so out of place for him. Most of the time, when you would find each other at the end of the day, he would be frustrated or annoyed, or he would be carrying that familiar brand of apathy written all over his face.

Not that it never cracked, you’ve gotten the privilege of seeing him show softness, even if it’s in his own way. A playful wink here and there, a genuine smirk that would reach his eyes for a fleeting moment, or when you got to see the deep dimples on either cheek- the ones that give his features an almost boyishly handsome quality.

But right now, you swear he looks.. content.

And when he kisses you, it’s languid and sweet- the softer skin of his lips contrasting to the way his five o’ clock shadow scratches your chin and mouth. He kisses you like you have all the time in the world, like there’s no place he would rather be than right here, tangling his fingers in your hair- tasting your tongue as it dances around his.

It confuses you, because this is not how it’s supposed to go. There’s rarely ever time for such thoroughness, not that Simon wasn’t incredibly adept when it comes to giving pleasure- it just tended to be like a flashfire, like throwing a lit match into gasoline, volatile and explosive. That’s what you agreed on though, agreed to use each other- use your attraction merely as a means to an end. Blowing off steam. There’s no need to be soft and languid when you could just take the emotion out of it all together.

And that’s just how you’ve always assumed it is for him. You’ve never minded, not really- you were a smart woman, reasonable and logical, but.. You were still only human. Of course you craved that connection, the physical touch; you would never admit that you wanted him to hold you until you fell asleep afterwards, that you wanted to run your fingers through his hair, or memorize every delicious curve and vein and scar on his body-

No, that would mean you thought of him beyond sex, and that was very strictly forbidden.

He walks you backward, lips and hands never straying far as you take turns undressing the other- his shirt is on the ground first, giving you not nearly long enough to revel in the sight before yours is being lazily pulled over your head.

The backs of your knees hit the bed frame, which feels like a reprieve at this point with how utterly weak you feel in his arms; so, you let yourself sink into the foamy cushion, casting your eyes upward for only a second as you quickly work at his belt.

You’re forced to stop though, leaning back when he moves, crowding your space by bending over you on the bed and propping himself up with a massive arm on either side, his face close enough to graze his nose over yours, “You in a rush tonight, baby?”

Petulantly, you lift your chin- capturing his bottom lip between your teeth, you give it just enough of a bite to hear him hiss before laving the tender spot with your tongue. But before you can kiss him again, before you can pull him down on top of you, or your hands can make their way back to his buckle- he easily lifts you up, placing you further back on the bed.

“Simon, what are you doing?”

The question comes out more harsh than you were going for, but he’s not making any fucking sense, and you feel like a top wound too tight, overly conscious of the slick staining your underwear, and the ache in your core that only he can fix-

And maybe for a second, you see a flash of anger in his eyes, standing at his full height while you stare up at him,

“What does it look like we’re doin’, Sec?”

You huff out a incredulous laugh, scooting off the mattress- eyes searching the floor for your shirt, hell, anything to cover up with,

“Oh. Back to Sec, huh?”

Scrubbing a palm over his face, he watches you purposely not look his way, “Fuckin’ hell, do you always have to have it out with me? Can never just let it be-”

“Let it be?”, shirt be damned, you turn back to face him- “Let what be, exactly, Ghost? This is how it’s been for over a year. I mean, fuck, longer than that! You hated me, I hated you- it was perfect. We could fuck each other, and it meant nothing-”

“Past tense.”

He cuts you off, and you feel like you might actually throw something until your brain finally registers what he said,

“What?”

“You’re usin’ the past tense.. ‘Hated’, ’meant’.”

You shake you head, hands coming up before plopping limp at your side, “What the fuck are you on about?”

When he takes a step forward, you take one back, “Words are important, love..” – another step closer, another step away, “‘Hated’ implies that you did, but you don’t anymore.”

“What is this? A language arts lesson?” You try to bring back that anger, that bitterness, but the way he’s looking at you, the way his voice is lower, brassy and rich- it’s hard to feel anything other than him.

A wall halts you, your bare skin protesting against the cold, smooth surface. You wish it would swallow you whole. But, he gets closer, and you’re still there, once again looking up at him,

“I don’t hate you, Saint. I’ve never hated you..” The back of his finger carves a slow path over your cheek, his head tilting to the side, “You were right though, about this not bein’ good.. But not for us- for you.”

“Ghost- I..”

“I’m not good for you. Never have been- I came into this selfishly, thinkin’ that it would be easy, that you would be like all the rest, get tired of me when I wasn’t able to give.. enough. And then it would be over.”

You’re held rapt by his admission, hanging on to every syllable- because you don’t think you’ve ever heard him say so much at once. And certainly never imagined it would have to do with the way he feels about you, bad or otherwise.

“Why did you stay?”

It’s because you’re so lost in the novelty of him in this moment, that it takes an awkwardly long few seconds to realize that you need to actually answer the question-

“I stayed..” — you blink, fighting to make your racing thoughts make sense, “Because you never tried to trick me- or be anything other than what you are, Simon. It was- is, enough. You’re enough.”

His eyelids flutter, a deep, soothing sigh blowing through his nose as he turns away- almost composing himself, in a way, if you know him as well as you think you do,

“You never wanted anythin’ more?”

“No.” You say, and it’s not a lie, you could leave it there- but there’s just something in his eyes that’s begging for more- “Not at first.”

“But now?”

“What do you want me to say, Simon? Of course, I want more. It’s kind of hard not to when you’ve had what we have, had sex with a person, and only that person, for over a year-”

His eyes widen, pupils consuming the honeyed amber that surrounds them right before his lips catch yours in that bruising sort of kiss you know so, so well. It’s full of every single thing he can’t put words to. And for a moment, he nearly gets lost in it, that finely threaded tether on his control slipping further and further- control he’s never been good at reining in when it comes to you.

***

I whisper your name, letting the taste of it linger over my tongue as I try to pull away, try to prolong every second I can get- quietly pleading with you to just slow down. Because I know what comes after-

But the way you chase after my lips, your nails clawing at me, my skin burning under your touch- fucking hell.

You shouldn’t be here, should’ve never agreed to this, with me. You’re too good for someone so broken. You have so much life to live, and I hate that you’ve wasted even a moment of it caring for me- wanting me.

Hm.. Saint. How fucking perfect- because only a saint could bring a devil to his knees.

And that you did. With every lingering touch, and every sweet smile you gave me, everytime you moaned my name, I let you in deeper and deeper. Until I started to hate when you left, hated that I only felt whole when I had you in my arms-

No, I’m no good for you.

Because if I had it my way, I would want to hold you hostage here, right where you belong. Where the world couldn’t touch you, couldn’t hurt you.

I would want you to crawl inside my veins, live in my bones- like you don’t already own the terrible void that’s been in my chest for longer than I can remember.

Might as well take it all. It’s as good as yours anyway.

I love you. I can’t say it- that wouldn’t be fair to you. My love is tainted and ruined, a blasphemous and dangerous thing- it’s only ever killed those I’ve given it to. So, I won’t curse you with those words.

But I hope you can feel it.

“Simon.. Please-” You frame my face in your hands, tugging at my hair, “I want you.”

***

Hearing his name, or maybe it’s the traitorous desperation in your voice, urges him to act. A small squeak escapes when he lifts you up, your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms looped over his neck,

“I’m yours.”

It stuns you, how fluid and thoughtless he says it, like it’s nothing, like he’s said it a hundred times before. Like he didn’t just tell you exactly what you had mindlessly dreamed of hearing from him for months now.

He doesn’t pause though, kissing you again, swallowing your thoughts in his lips- and time slows as your back sinks into the covers. The comfort of his weight settling over you, his hips nestled between your thighs. It’s all so much, too much and not enough at the same time; but you think you could stay here forever, pinned under him, be the object of his desire for as long as he wanted, have him tell you that he’s yours over and over-

The bed dips as he breaks away, working your button and zipper open with practiced movements-

“Lift up, baby.”

You lift your hips, helping him gently tug your cargo pants down before standing and stripping out of his own. And like so many times before, you can’t help but to very disrespectfully let your eyes rake over his bulky frame- your bottom lip trapped between your teeth,

“Jesus, Simon.. That’s not fair.”

“Not fair for who?” He coos, crawling over you again, pressing chaste kisses over your torso as he goes.

A sharp gasp echoes when he latches onto your nipple, his teeth grazing across the sensitive bud, the thrill of blissful pain simmering through you-

“It’s just not fair..” You whine, back arching as he does the same thing to your other, the wet skin cooling too quickly when you feel him chuckle.

“‘M sorry, lovie.”

He teases you for what feels like an eternity, having learned your body better than you know it yourself anymore- only Simon knows how to turn you into putty in his hands, make you soft and pliable, keening and whimpering, a teary eyed mess. And usually he never takes it so far, never ruins you so thoroughly before you’ve even had his cock- but tonight he does.

Tonight, he seems determined to map out every inch of you, even allowing you to do the same in small doses. He lets your fingertips trace over his scars, lets your lips kiss all the broken parts of him-

“Will you tell me about them one day?” You ask, the question muffled against his neck.

It’s an innocent inquiry, honest and genuine, but you don’t miss how he tenses above you before pulling away just enough to see your face. Maybe if you knew him better, had more time with him like this, you would be able to discern the anguish in his eyes- but you don’t see it. Even though you’ll remember it.. this particular moment, it will stick with you far beyond just tonight.

“One day.”

You aren’t sure why you don’t believe him.

All too quickly the thought is lost when you feel him readjust, leaning up on his knees- and your mouth waters at the view, how his chest heaves, already covered in a satiny sheen of sweat; how he strokes his length before looking down to watch how he sinks into you, how you take him so fucking perfectly-

Just like in everything else tonight, he moves at an achingly languid pace- thrusting forward inch by inch, and pulling out just as slow- reveling in the way your slick glistens, all for him.

“Simon..”, you reach for him, needing him close, needing more, “Mh.. Simon- please..”

He comes to you, lets you pull his face down to yours, “Please what, baby?”

When he pushes into you again, it takes your breath away, your muscles clenching as he drives right up against the fleshy wall of your cervix, “You want more?”

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut until you feel him cradle your face, “Mm-mm, I want you to look at me, Saint.. Keep your eyes on me, yeah?”

Without another thought, you open them, your brows knitting together as you search his face. You expect to see something close to his usual bravado, maybe even a devious smirk, or a wolfish gleam; but it’s none of those things. His expression is one of longing and adoration- his demand wasn’t being made out of a desire to control you, he simply wants to see you.

He wants to be seen.

“Ok, Simon..”, you place your hand over his, turning into his palm to plant a kiss to the rough skin there, “On you.”

His next thrust is harder, causing your legs to tighten around him- and even when he finally gives in, driving into you faster and deeper, each time hitting that spot that has you clenching and whimpering, he still holds your face, still keeps his eyes steady on you- entranced at the way you fight to keep your own open for him.

“That’s it.. fuck-” He grunts, crushing his lips to yours, “My good girl.”

The praises he whispers next are far sweeter than anything he’s ever said before, punctuated and interrupted by his own breathless moans. His words and each building noise he gives only drives you toward your end- dragging him right along with it until you’re both falling over the edge.

And it’s your name he says as he spills deep inside you, your name said again like an answered prayer when you hug him closer- both of you holding onto the other like if you let go for even a second, you might drift away.

“I’ve got you..” You say it without really knowing why, but knowing that it feels right. Knowing that he has you, too. At least in this moment- and that’s enough. He’s enough.

How long you stay that way, you can’t be sure- long enough for your bodies to grow limp and the sweat on your skin to dry before he finally peels himself away. And you could cry from the abrupt absence of his warmth, his weight, him.

Thankfully, he’s back just as quick, a warm cloth in hand and a tender touch to clean you up- which isn’t new, Simon’s always taken the time for aftercare, but it’s never felt so.. intimate. He goes about it just as tenderly and thoroughly as he had causing the mess in the first place, his eyes never leaving your skin, lips pressing sweet kisses nearly every place he wipes.

It pulls at you, the pesky prickling of tears stinging your eyes again. Because you know there must be a reason for his stark change tonight- but, you just can’t bring yourself to break the moment by asking why.

He stays with you. It’s not an entirely spoken agreement, he doesn’t ask and you don’t suggest, but when he slips back into the covers with you, you certainly don’t complain. You let him pull you under his arm, smiling into his chest when he kisses the top of your head,

“Good night, Simon.”

You hear him take a deep breath, the muscles under your cheek relaxing as he exhales just as deep and long, “G’ night, Saint.”

***

Watery rays of sunlight wake you, the glow behind your eyelids rousing your mind enough to realize the spot beside you is vacant, the sheets long since cooled. It doesn’t bother you, not really, it’s just Simon. The only clues he left to prove last night wasn’t just some fucked up dream being his scent, still lingering so heavily on his pillow, and the blissful ache between your legs.

And you wish you could stay here, covered in the blankets, wrapped in his smell, reliving the vivid memories as they flash through your head- his words replaying on a loop in your ears.

I’m yours.

I’m yours.

I’m yours.

But your alarm has other plans, your chosen vocation entirely undeterred by your relationships woes and break-throughs. Just another day, right? You would see him at the morning debrief, and again for range training- nothing changes externally. But everything had changed on the inside, for you anyway.

Is it wrong to hope it had for him, too?

You go about your morning routine, joyfully unaware of the decisions made without your knowledge, of the actions taken and the consequences that would follow- you hum along to your music, the faintest smile tugging at your lips.

What a lovesick fucking fool you are.

It’s only when you’re reaching for your phone and keys from the desk that you see the piece of paper, carefully ripped from your own notepad and the silver metallic glint sticking out just beyond the corner.

You don’t recall the next seconds, or minutes- not really even the next hour. It all feels like that soft whooshing of TV static, endless and without form. And you find yourself begging for it to have been a dream, silently hoping that none of it really happened, that he hadn’t knocked on your door, that you hadn’t let him in.

That you hadn’t given him everything, and you hadn’t let him convince you he was yours.

Still stuck in that awful whooshing, you grip the piece of metal so hard you think the impression of his name might just brand itself into your palm, your boots stomping against the tile as you pass by all those familiar doors-

“What is this?”

Price looks up at you, and that dreadful nausea settles in the pit of your stomach when you see the resignation in his eyes.

“Saint-”

“When did they leave?”

“0400.”

They could already be there- Price wouldn’t let him do this.. Right?

“Recall them then, there’s still time. We’ll-”

He gives a long sigh, lips set into a thin line, “This might be our only shot, Saint. It’s not perfect, but there’s still a chance.”

***

There was never a chance.

Two weeks later, you stood on the tarmac- hair whipping violently in the wind as you watch the plane land. You stay there ,silently partaking in your own morbid, self-loathing vigil, still somehow hoping it isn’t true.

But there he is.

Simon Riley. His pine coffin draped with the flag he had fought for.

You watch Soap do his best, limping alongside it, his arms shaking and his eyes stained with tears. He gives you a hug afterward, whispering that he tried, he tried to bring everyone home.

You don’t blame him. Not for a second. You knew when you found Simon’s dog tag on your desk that he never intended on coming back. You knew when you read his neatly written note that you would never see him again. You would never hear his voice or feel his lips against yours. You would never get the chance to tell him that you were his, and that you always had been.

You didn’t know then, that a part of you always would be, didn’t know that he had left more behind than either of you could have imagined.

***

When the doorbell rings, you tear your eyes away from the now framed note. Flitting through the cozy flat with a smile growing on your face,

“Saint!” Gaz sweeps you into a bruising hug, your feet coming off the floor and a giggle erupting from your chest.

“I’m glad you all could make it.” You say a bit breathlessly once you're back on solid ground.

Price gives you a hug next, his beard tickling your cheek, “Wouldn’t miss it, sweetheart.”

“Aye, are ye kiddin’?” Johnny’s kiss lands just at the corner of your lips, his hold tighter, more familiar than the rest- “Miss our big lad’s first birthday? Never, bonnie.”

On cue, you turn at the sound of excited babbling to see the birthday boy in question, looking between the four of you. His copper brown eyes wide with curiosity, and a mess of honey blonde curls on his head.

I was so lucky to have had you..

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.

Your Simon.

+++

well, I’m ruined. and I hope you enjoyed it. I’m really not good at leaving angst too angsty, I’m too much of a hoe for silver linings and happy endings and all that fluffy sh*t.

forever just a lover girl at heart 🥲

[scarasimplysimping]

All In

Part 1 (might be two parts idk)

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Summary: A bet is placed to see if you can get the Summa Cum Laude to fall in love with you. (Scaramouche x Reader) (College au)

Contains: Idk. So it's one of those love stories where there's a bet. Hu Tao and Childe are kind of assholes for the sake of this fic, I am SORRY. Reader is also kind of an ass. Ooc. Some plot holes because I don't go to college or drink or smoke. Just roll with it.

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

2,822 words 15,518 characters

What a stuck-up prick.

That's what you thought of him anyway. He was *the* Summa Cum Laude of your year. He was snobby, self-centered, friendless, and to top it all off, he just so happened to be your partner for your big thesis.

It was not by choice but he had no partner because people were afraid of him and you had no partner because well... people hated you. It wasn't a project that could be done individually either, lest you wanted to die before you graduate.

"He's such a bore." You complain to your friends on the lunch table, Hu Tao, Childe, and Xiao. "I tried to make plans with him, really. I asked if he was free, and you know what he said?" You slammed your hands on the table for dramatic effect.

Hu Tao leaned in closer, strands of her hair falling onto the table, and alarmingly close to Xiao's food, making him scowl as he moved his tray.

"He said," you began, putting up a silly impression of him with a snobby expression. "I don't need bottom feeders like you dragging down my work. I'll handle everything. Pay me if you want."

Childe snorted. Hu Tao doubled over in laughter, mainly because you're impression was so on point.

"God, what a freak." Hu Tao mused as she wiped her tears from her face, she never passed on the opportunity to talk shit about someone she didn't like. Childe agreed with her but he was partly not paying attention. He jabbed his fork into Xiao's food.

"Fucker." Xiao muttered under his breath.

Your silly clique was a ragtag bunch of misfits in their own ways. Hu Tao was your childhood friend who always had something vindictive to say or some storm to stir up. She lived for the drama.

Childe started tagging along around highschool. He was a charming, silver-tongued ginger ball of sunshine, he started developing a negative reputation over time as as somewhat of a satyr, though.

Xiao was above all the petty and immature antics whichever one of you had the gall to cook up. In all honesty, he was only there because his older brother, Zhongli had asked Childe to help him settle in to the college life. Childe owed the man a favor so he dragged the poor emo wherever you guys went and you kind of just got used to his company.

Then there was you, there was one thing that set you far apart from them all.

Money.

They were filthy rich and you, an independent college student, had not a penny to your name after you decided to up and leave your family to follow Hu Tao to college. You didn't really have to work though, your friends pretty much covered most of your college expense as casually as a friend would by you lunch.

"I know I can't really help him, I mean, my grades are dogshit right now but like I don't know how to pay him either," You said, burying your face into your palms.

Childe scoffed. "I don't even think he means it. Plus, it's nothing to worry about. We've got you covered if that greedy little nerd actually demands shit from you."

"Yeah, just let him do everything by himself," He continued "Watch him or something, in case your professor wants updates.."

A small smirk formed upon his lips. "I bet he's not that hard to watch anyway."

You playfully punched him on the shoulder "Gross!"

"You gotta admit he is kinda cute," Hu Tao chided in. "Right, Xiao?"

Xiao shrugged, far too focused on actually having lunch.

Childe snaked an arm over you. "Tell you what, (Y/N). If you can somehow bed the prudish bastard before the end of this semester, I'll fork over some money for this month's rent."

"Hu Tao pays rent."

"I'll fork over some money for anything you want."

"Hmm... I want VIP tickets to La Signora's concert."

"Done~"

"Oh my archons! Like actually?" Hu Tao couldn't tell if you both were serious. "(Y/N), your charm is above average but I don't even know if you can pull this one off."

You roll your eyes." Have faith in me. I bet he's easy."

Hu Tao leans back thoughtfully, a mischievous smirk playing on her face. "Alright, (Y/N). If you manage to pull this off I'll give you a grand.

You gape at her. "Seriously?

"Absolutely."

You know were only entertaining the idea because they had no actual faith you'd pull it off, but to you. This was easy money.

You slowly turn to the brooding emo on the table. "What about you, Xiao?"

His eyes narrowed at you. "What about me?"

"You gonna offer anything?"

He scoffs, groaning internally and being the only one with a moral compass. "Only an asshole would find bets such as these any type of fun."

Childe flicks his wrist dismissevly. "We are assholes."

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

It was hard enough convincing Scaramouche to work on the project and your (and Hu Tao's) place but now you had to deal with the emanating silence from you both. You've barely ever talked to him but the tension in your room could be cut with a knife, or maybe that was just your imagination.

He was sitting cross legged on your bed, typing away at his laptop with several papers surrounding him. You were sat across from him in the same position, nursing a cigarette in between your fingers.

"Do you want something to eat?" You finally break the silence.

He doesn't look up from the screen as he responds. "What do you have?"

You look to the ceiling, trying to recall what you and Hu Tao had last shoved into the fridge. "Uh... Pesto... Pizza... Dumplings. Probably some leftover vegetables."

"Bring me them all." Talk about shame.

"Alright." You say, putting out the cigarette on your nightstand. You couldn't help but notice the tiny scowl on Scaramouche's face as he glanced at the ashtray.

You come back balancing a bowl of pesto, a bowl of dumplings, and a bowl of salad on a box of pizza. Scaramouche pats on the side of your bed, indicating for you to drop the offerings there.

You light another cigarette as you take your previous seat in front of him.

"The weather is pretty nice today.." A sad attempt at conversation on your end.

Silence

"So... Childe's hosting a party tomorrow night, would you like to come?" You try once more.

Scaramouche still doesn't say anything, he doesn't even look up from the screen.

You blow a puff of smoke on his face. He coughs a bit before glaring at you with cold judging eyes. At least he was actually looking at you now. "I have no time to indulge in that crap."

"You have plenty of time. That thesis isn't due for another month."

"Well not exactly, since I'll be doing the work for both of us."

"Do you have a problem with me?"

"I have a problem with people like you." He glowers.

"People like me?" You raise your eyebrows.

"People who just have everything spoon fed to them by luck or by birthright and take that as a reason to slack off for the rest of their life since everything just magically works out for them." Scaramouche wasn't wrong, you really fucked around and never found out but still, what right did he have to judge you?

"Didn't know you knew me so well." You say, blowing out another puff of smoke but this time it's to the side.

Scaramouche opens his mouth to respond, then closes it once more. You had a point. It was hypocritical of him to listen to judge you based on gossip.

Finally, he speaks after a few minutes of silence.

"I was out of line." It's an apology although he doesn't outright apologize.

"Yeah." You decide to take advantage of his momentary guilt as you inquire about what he's working on. "So, do you mind telling me what you're doing?"

"Well, I'm looking online for research papers related to the topic were studying. I'm taking snippets I find interesting and I'll save them for later to expand on them in our thesis."

Scaramouche speaks a bit more but you're hardly listening. You take this time to really observe his physical appearance. Hu Tao was right; the man was cute. His eyes, his mouth, his lips. If you took a meat cleaver to the center of his skull, you'd have matching halves.

Even his hair looked softer than unicorn fur.

"(Y/N)?" He snaps you out, a displeased expression creeps upon his face upon noticing that you aren't even paying attention.

"Your hair looks softer than unicorn fur," you blurt out.

His eyes widen slightly, and you could've sworn he turned a shade pink before he feigned a disgusted look to save his dignity. "What the hell?"

You caught on immediately. There it was. Scaramouche had a weakness. The Summa Cum Laude, the bridge troll with a big brain and purple hair (as Hu Tao once described him) is someone who gets easily flustered .

"You're kind of cute." You push on.

"Shut the fuck up." His head lowers, he dares not look into your eyes.

"Come to Childe's party with me?" You ask once more.

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Scaramouche hated you. He hated your face and your voice and your personality. He hated every single atom you were made up of, but most of all he hated the way you were able to persuade him to come to this stupid party. And for what? Just because you were the first person to ever call him cute? He'd curse you and all your descendants to come.

Childe's party was just a gathering of drunks and trouble makers. His house was practically a mansion that could fit 60% of the university's student population.

He hated the blaring lights and unbelievably loud, repetitive, and distasteful music.

"I hate this!" He has to shout for you to hear.

"I know!"

"I'm going home!"

"You can't! You're my ride home!"

"We walked here, dumbass!" Scaramouche wanted to leave you truly he did but something, wasn't letting him. His moral compass or his growing fondness of you?

Childe finds you, placing an arm around your shoulder. "Hey!" He hands you a shot glass which you graciously accept and down in a couple of seconds, much to Scaramouche's dismay.

Childe pays no attention to your companion until he does a double take and realize it's Scaramouche.

"Holy shit! Is that Scara!?" Childe grins hazily. He was drunk drunk.

Scaramouche does not respond. He is frowning while Childe handed you half a bottle of gin.

You drink it within a couple minutes as you chat with Childe.

Scaramouche stands there, awkward, cranky, and out of place as the only person he's aquatinted with in this party is getting absolutely inebriated.

At some point you don't know when or from where but you get your hands on another shot glass.

"You're not drinking that," Scaramouche states firmly.

"I am." You bring the cup to your lips but Scaramouche is faster, he snatches it from you and lets it fall to the ground.

"What gives!?"

"I'm not carrying your drunk ass home just because you drank away the capability to walk!" He shouts at you.

People are staring now. Is it because of the commotion or because Scaramouche was the last person anyone would expect to see at a party?

Scaramouche didn't like the staring or the attention. "I'm going fucking home." He says, grabbing your wrist and pulling you past the crowd. "So are you."

Childe is left there, impressed. He takes out his cellphone.

To: Hu Tao

She's actually gonna pull it off. Wtf

From: Childe

You stumble and trip as Scaramouche drags you through the night. It was a miracle you could keep up. (It wasn't, he slowed his pace on purpose to match yours but it still wasn't slow enough for your drunken ass.)

"Scara, slow dooown~"

He ignores you until he feels you slip from his grasp, landing with a thud. "What the fuck is wrong with you!? Do you not have the smarts to walk!?" The boy scolds.

You decide to rest your knees a bit as you stay on the ground.

You hear him sigh sharply before crouching in front of you. "Get on."

"What? Like piggyback style?"

"Yes, damnit just get on." His face wasn't facing you and it was dark. Scaramouche was eternally grateful to the archons that you couldn't see the way his ears reddened.

He carries you like that until you're at the front door of your place. Scaramouche gently drops you off. Miraculously not panting. (He wasn't that athletic.)

"Can I trust you enough to tuck yourself in?" The boy asks, his tone was calm this time.

You nod in response.

"Alright." Scaramouche turns his heel to leave.

"Scaramouche." You call out.

He turns back to you, a little too quickly.

You try to take a step towards him except you "accidentally" trip on air and crash onto his chest. He barely moves an inch but his hands instinctively wrap around you. You can see the exact moment he scrunches his nose as well as the moment before that where his cheeks flush.

You'll blame this on alcohol later. You'll also blame alcohol for when you pulled his collar to place a quick peck on his lips.

This was the night Scaramouche nearly passed away.

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Scara paced around his room. What the fuck was that? Why the fuck would you do that? His heart still raced as fast as it did when you kissed him.

He replayed the kiss over and over in his mind. Why? Just why? He mussed his hair in frustration as he plopped himself on the bed. If Scaramouche focused enough, he could still feel their lips on his, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.

Why had a drunken asshole decided to take his first kiss? Why was he reacting so weirdly?

And why did he just tuck tail speed walk away right after it happened without saying shit about it?

(Y/N) will probably tell their friends. They'll gossip and laugh at how the smartest person in their program was turned into a blushing, sputtering mess at the mere kiss of some drunk. Some overly confident, obnoxious, attractive drunk who's lips were soft as velvet.

The thought has him reeling. Rolling to the side, Scaramouche pulled a pillow over his head and groaned into it.

"I'm done guessing. What's wrong with you?" His inner monologue was broken by his cyan haired roommate.

"Nothing. Fuck off, Dottore." His words still muffled by the pillow.

"All your ceaseless brooding is keeping me distracted. I suggest you stop whining if you don't want me to give you more reasons to whine."

Silence.

That came out wrong, but it got Scaramouche to shut up so who would complain?

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

It was a crush. That's what Dottore had said to him. It made jackshit sense though. Why would he like you? You were just someone he perceived as a slacker. It's possibly because you were the only one who ever showed interest in him. He'll probably get over it when he finds someone else to adore, but he couldn't.

Scaramouche was once again working on the thesis, on your bed. He didn't bring up the kiss. Maybe you'd forgotten about it? A small part of him hoped that you didn't though.

Finally, he decides to speak up. "I demand compensation."

You shoot him a confused look.

"What? Don't you remember?" Scaramouche scowls.

"You kissed me..."

"Did I?" You feign innocence.

"Do not make me repeat myself." He orders. "That was my first kiss. I demand some kind of compensation." His cheeks were heating up as it became harder and harder for him to look you in the eyes.

"Oh?" You bring your index finger below your lips in an expression of mock thoughtfulness.

Scaramouche's scowl deepens at your mocking finger below your lips. "Do not toy with me," he warns. "You took something and I want fair repayment."

You chuckle, enjoying his ruffled feathers. " And what is a first kiss worth these days?" Leaning back on your hands, you look him over appraisingly. "I'm not convinced it was really your first. You seemed to know what you were doing..."

His cheeks redden as he scrunches his nose at your audacity. "You're insufferable."

"And yet you enjoyed kissing me." You smirk. "Perhaps you even want more?"

Scaramouche's embarrassment only grows at your bold insinuation. "You presume too much, fool," he bites back, though his resolve seems weakened.

You shrug. "Suit yourself. I was just about to offer a date."

He narrows his eyes at you, as if trying to ascertain if this is some sort of trick. "A date?"