#also I have definitely licked every tread in that thing to get it through my needle

[pichiru]

The Sun Also Smiles - Chapter 4

Chapters - [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

Summary - With Mabel and Dipper's 16th birthday party on the horizon, Grunkle Stan takes to online dating to find a date for the party. Things start to get real weird real fast.

Word Count - 3,035

Pairing(s) - Stan Pines x OC

Genre(s): Romance, Comedy, Mystery

A/N: There is a bit of verbal sexual harassment in this chapter! So please tread lightly if that's something you're sensitive to!

~~~~~~~~

"S-Solanaaaaaa! H-Heeyyyyy," Stan said nervously, avoiding eye contact with her completely. He was looking at every single spot but her eyes or her boobs, er, her body. Fuck.

"Wow. You really are a shy old guy," she giggled, covering her mouth a little. "This is why I didn't want to meet you so soon. I knew that you would start treating me differently immediately."

"N-No! I'm not!" Stan said quickly, looking into her eyes instantly when he spoke. "I just wasn't...expectin to...see ya so soon."

"Ah, so you weren't being a creepy stalker and this is just pure happenstance?" She joked, folding her arms across her chest which made the cleavage in the keyhole of her shirt push up.

Stan's eyes trailed down to her chest then swiftly back up at her face. "Yeah, exactly! Nothin crazy like that. My niece wanted to come here for uh...reasons that aren't important right now."

While Stan was talking, Solana was twirling her hair around her right index finger, which, again, pushed her boobs up into the keyhole even further. She was enthralled by how stacked Stan was in person. He looked like he worked out more than just a couple times a month. His stature was thick but tall of course. Couldn't have been shorter than 6'2. For an older man, that was certainly impressive.

A laugh suddenly came from Stan. "Who's the one eye fuckin who now?" he laughed once more.

Solana shot him a smirk before licking her lips subtly. "Look, I never said I was above doing it," she responded with a light shrug of her shoulders. "You certainly are sexy though. Pictures don't and never will do you justice. And the gold chain? Ooh," she shuddered before giggling.

Stan's entire face was red now. He didn't think she'd be so straightforward in person but she definitely did match his energy at least. He clenched his cane to keep himself tethered to what little bit of sanity he even had left from years of bullshit. She was so very beautiful so-

"Why are ya...so..."

"So...what?"

"Avoidant about bein seen?" he asked curiously.

"I told you. People start to treat me differently when they see me," she said, shrugging slightly.

"Why?" He was so confused about this entire concept. "Isn't it a good thing for a dame like you to get all the attention?"

"No. It's...different. Very different," she replied, a sad tinge to her tone.

Just as Stan was about to ask her another question, Mabel and Maze came shuffling over to him to show him a basket of treasures they found in the store so far.

"Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Stan!" Mabel squealed happily as she practically vibrated out of her skin. "Look, look!" she said, holding the shopping basket up to him.

"Those little trinkets are 50% off to the cutest kid in the store," Solana said matter of factly to Mabel with a genuine smile.

Mabel stopped in her tracks and slowly turned to look at Solana. "Shut...UP!!!!" She screamed excitedly, jumping now. "That's definitely me!!"

"We're literally twins," Maze chimed in, rolling his eyes.

"Fraternal!" Mabel reminded with a cheeky grin, twisting her index finger into her cheek.

"Well 50% off to everyone who's a twin!" Solana laughed.

"Hey, I'm a twin. Does that mean I get the discount too?" Stan chuckled.

"Hmm...I'm gonna need proof of that statement," she said as she squinted at Stan, not truly believing him.

"Hold on!" Mabel said as she pulled out her phone and started looking through her massive collection of pictures. Selfies specifically. She scrolled furiously until she found a selfie with her, Maze, Ford, and Stan. She showed Solana the picture and Solana bent down slightly to look at the screen.

"Oooh, okay. He wasn't lying. Two identically handsome men. Interesting," Solana mused with a purse of her lips as she peeked at Stan out the corner of her eye briefly. "Discounts across the board then!" She nodded and turned to the twins to get a good look at them.

"You two are actually adorable. Like actually," Solana complimented.

"Thank yooouuuuu!" Mabel said gratefully. Meanwhile, Maze was hiding behind his hair, blushing furiously. Mabel nudged him. "Say thank you," she grumbled to him quietly.

"T-Thank you," he murmured shyly as he shoved his hands into his pockets so he couldn't fidget anymore.

"Uh, kids. Are you done shoppin or do ya need more?" Stan asked them. He really just wanted to be alone with Solana for a moment longer.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." Mabel droned as she leaned her head back to think.

"You seem like the type of girl to enjoy a good mini cat figurine," Solana surmised. "Am I right?"

Mabel looked up at Solana with big eyes. "Yes..." She said in a serious tone that showed just how excited she was.

"Aisle 21." Solana gave her a sweet smile as Mabel grabbed Maze and drug him over to the exact aisle that was mentioned.

Stan was impressed with how well she handled the kids. She was so motherly and kind. His heart started racing at the thought of her genuinely being interested in him. Her motherly tendencies did something for him. Did he have mommy issues? Fuck.

"You think a lot, don't you?" Solana asked, breaking Stan's train of thought. "Allow me to remedy that," she cooed as she walked closer to him. "May I?" She motioned with her hands that she was asking to touch him.

He couldn't do anything but freeze in place once she moved closer. "Y-Yeah," he stammered, nodding quickly.

Solana smiled at him then stretched up onto her tippy toes to place a kiss at the corner of his mouth, leaving behind a bit of the lip gloss she had on. "Better?" she asked.

Stan had a love stricken expression written plain as day across his face when he processed the kiss. "Yeah. Better," he said in a dreamy voice.

"You're so cute," Solana chuckled. "Haven't you been married before?"

"Nah, I...I got dangerously close but it didn't pan out. It's fine though," Stan said, brushing it off. He didn't want to talk to his new flame about his old flames. Felt weird.

"Something tells me it isn't fine but I'll let it be. For now." She turned to the mess on the ground behind them and began to pick the stuff up. She crouched down and put everything back on the lower shelves from where they fell, humming as she did so.

Stan looked around, not knowing what to do or say to her at this point. He was going to speak but a voice boomed through the store. He groaned in frustration at being interrupted for the millionth time with her.

"Solana!" the voice yelled. "Where are you?"

She sighed and murmured under her breath before standing back up and flattening out her clothes. "Yes, Chip?" she called out, walking past Stan to the end of the aisle where she knew he was going to be.

A lanky, lightly tanned man with perfectly coiffed hair and a pair of black sunglasses walked up to Solana. Even though he had the sunglasses on, you can still tell he was looking at her in a way that would make anyone, woman or not, uncomfortable as hell.

"You look good today," he said with a shit eating grin. "Loving the new and improved uniform on you. What you did with it is so...mmm! You know?" he said to her quietly.

"Chip, I don't have time for you right now. I have a store to run. Your store. You know. The one you opened?" She said as she rolled her eyes at him. "Why are you even here today? You come in on Sundays and Wednesdays. It's literally Saturday."

"I gotta be honest. I wanted to see you," he said, holding his hands up in defense, still smiling that stupid smile.

"Well good for you because I definitely don't want to see you," She said as she turned to walk away from him before he grabbed her arm. Almost immediately, Stan was standing between the two of them, towering over Chip and facing him.

"The lady said she doesn't wanna be bothered. Ya better leave 'er alone or I'll have to intervene," Stan said, standing directly in front of Solana to protect her from even being looked at by that disgusting...

"And who are you?" Chip asked, looking up at Stan, never once dropping that smile.

"He's my boyfriend and he doesn't take lightly to someone touching me," Solana said quickly.

Stan faltered slightly, not expecting her to say that so freely. He immediately regained his composure and looked at Chip sternly, his eyebrows flat, mouth set in a hard line. He wasn't about to show weakness to this...this dickhead.

"Boyfriend? You never mentioned that," Chip said, adjusting his glasses. "Kinda old."

"She doesn't have to," Stan said curtly, cutting him off and leaving no room for ifs, ands, or buts about it. "Leave."

Chip tried to peek around Stan's large shoulders to see Solana but Stan blocked every advance he tried to make.

"I said, leave," he said in a much more firm tone as he leaned down closer to Chip's face.

Chip threw his hands up in defeat. "This is my store after all. I'll definitely be back. Don't you worry about it." He kept that same smile on his face as he turned and left the store. He hopped into his sports car, started it up, and drove away at a blinding speed.

Solana was breathing heavily behind Stan, starting to have a bit of an anxiety attack. Stan swiveled around on his heels to meet her face to face.

"You okay?" he asked in a concerned voice. He didn't know how to deal with his own anxiety let alone someone else's.

"Yeah, I..." She said as she looked down at her clothes in disgust. It was very obvious that Chip had a hand in how she dressed at this job. It was awful for her.

"Are the kids ready to check out?" She chirped, trying to change the subject.

"Solana-" Stan started.

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine," she said firmly. "It's fine. I'm fine. Everything's fucking fine!" she snapped before adjusting her clothes and walking off.

Stan stood there in disbelief. He didn't think negatively about her. In fact, he felt an insatiable urge to protect her. Protect her from this creep, protect her from all men, from everything. Of course he ogled her when he first saw her but he reigned it in the moment he felt that twinge of loyalty to Solana before he knew it was her. He didn't want to be like Chip. He wanted to treat her nicely and treat her the way a beautiful woman like her deserved to be treated.

After gathering himself and flattening his suit coat, Stan walked out of the aisle to go find the kids only to find Solana checking them out at an impressive speed. He walked over to them slowly in silence, not wanting to disturb the flow.

"Grunkle Stan, Miss Solana is giving us so many discounts! I got sooooo many mini cat figurines. She was right. I do love a good mini cat figurine," Mabel rambled excitedly.

Solana was avoiding eye contact with everyone, especially Stan. She couldn't stand to see what he thought of her after that.

"So we're having a grand opening sale for 20% off of most things and then I'm giving you my employee discount of 30% which means you're getting everything half off," Solana explained as she started bagging everything up since she was done scanning. "So your total is $615.03."

Mabel and Maze froze in their places at the mention of that number. They slowly turned to look at Stan who looked completely disinterested in whatever was being said. He was focused on Solana and how avoidant she was being. Maybe she was doing it in front of the kids for their sake but he knew it wasn't that.

Stan pulled his wallet out and opened it to grab a stack of money. He whipped out a couple of hundreds plus a few more smaller bills to cover the price. He handed it all to Solana who took it without hesitation and put it into the register.

Solana handed the bags to the kids and smiled at them. "I hope you have an amazing time creating whatever it is you're creating. I hope to see it floating around the town one day if possible."

Mabel cheesed hard at Solana's words. "Thank yooouuuu!" she said loudly as she grabbed two bags and left the other three for Maze and Stan to take. Maze, being the good brother and nephew he was, took two of the heaviest bags to spare Stan from hurting himself. Or so he thought that's what he was doing.

"Kids, I'll meet you at the car," Stan said calmly, looking directly at Solana who was still avoiding his eye line.

"O...kay?" Maze said as he looked between the both of them then walked off with Mabel towards the entrance of the store. "What the heck was that about?" he murmured to her quietly, making sure neither Stan or Solana heard him.

Stan placed his hands flat on the register table they were at, his eyes never leaving Solana. She fidgeted so incessantly that it made him feel weird for even looking at her.

"I'm sorry," Stan said simply.

"For what? You didn't do anything wrong," she responded, tucking hair behind her ear as she spoke, still not looking at him.

"The way you're actin got me feelin like I did. I'm sorry for interferin."

Solana sighed and looked at Stan finally. "It's not that. I feel..." She groaned slightly. "Disgusting. This is exactly why I didn't want to meet you in person. Yet. I always have interactions like this with men specifically."

"Why?" Stan asked curiously.

"I don't know. I genuinely don't know. It's..." She laughed bitterly and shook her head. "At least you did it in your head and not outright."

Stan's face heated up. He wished he never did that in the first place and she brought it back up again. "I'm sorry about that too. But you know what's funny?"

"What?"

"I stopped cuz I felt this...connection to ya last night and I felt like I was...bein disloyal in this...'talking stage'? Or whatever my niece called it," he admitted, grumbling at the end.

Solana's heart melted at Stan's admission. She smiled at him and reached over to place her hand on top of his. She squeezed it thoughtfully. "Yeah?" She asked with a crooked smile.

His eyes briefly dropped down to their hands touching. "Yeah," he confirmed, leaning forward towards her a bit.

"I mean I should have expected this much from my boyfriend," she teased while giggling.

Stan laughed at her bringing her own words back up. "That...That got me when you said it. I thought I was goin insane when I heard it."

"No, not at all. I wouldn't mind it becoming reality one day," she paused. "Soon." Her eyes dropped to his lips for but a moment but he caught the gesture almost immediately.

"May I?" he asked, echoing her from before things went haywire. His own eyes were wandering over the features of her face. He couldn't help it. Her beauty rivaled even the mermaids he saw on his voyage with Ford.

"Such a gentleman for asking," she cooed. "Of course," she allowed.

He leaned down to Solana until their lips finally met. Their eyes closed immediately to truly lose themselves in the kiss. She squeezed his hand tightly, showing that she was restraining herself from doing much more than a simple kiss. She couldn't help herself and deepened the kiss a little more before Stan politely pulled away from her lips slightly.

"I'd be willin to continue this somewhere private if I wasn't babysittin right now," he whispered against her lips before kissing her a few more times.

Solana hummed into the subsequent kisses, her eyelashes fluttering at the same time. "Got any free time tonight?" She asked boldly, trying to catch her lips between every word she spoke.

"I might. I'll text ya and let ya know. Sound good?"

"Yeah. Sounds good," she said in a hurried tone.

Stan gave her a few more kisses before pulling away completely and fixing his clothes.

Mabel and Maze were standing outside Stan's car with their jaws dropped to the ground. Mabel dropped her bags. They slowly looked at each other in complete shock. They saw the entire encounter.

"Did Grunkle Stan just..." Mabel asked.

"He did..." Maze responded.

"Here he comes, here he comes! Act natural!" Mabel said quickly and quietly. She scrambled to pick up the bags.

When the doors opened, Stan walked through them and looked at the twins in confusion.

"The car was open," he said to them slowly, not completely sure why they were still standing and waiting.

"Oh! hahahaha!" Mabel laughed awkwardly as she scrambled into the car. She didn't really give much more of an answer than that, leaving Maze to pick up the pieces instead. Maze looked at Mabel with an expression that disapproved of her immediate betrayal.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." Maze said before he suddenly retreated and got into the backseat with Mabel.

"I thought you wanted to sit in the front, kid?" Stan said as he approached the driver's side and opened the door to get in.

"Naaahhhhh. I decided I wanna sit with Mabel," Maze said quickly with a nod.

"Gotcha," Stan said as he got in and closed the door. He pulled out his keys then started the car up.

"Your old grunkle got a date tonight. So I want you two to take care of each other and Sixer while I'm gone for the night," Stan said as he put the car in reverse and turned around to back out of the spot.

The twins sat in their seats, frozen. A date? They thought to themselves.

[skiller0dani]

Sinful | Spencer Reid

M A S T E R L I S T Criminal Minds Masterlist

smut | sub!spencer x bau!reader requests info summary | when spencer decides to let the witness flirt with him, you decide to have some fun of your own with derek. it becomes obvious that it's a mistake.

this was sitting in my drafts unedited!! I'm still trying to finish up Amortentia part 2 & the Ethan AU. They'll be up I promise, until then.. enjoy Sub!Spencer! This is my first real stab at a dom reader so I hope I did okay. I've read fics about face slapping as a kink and I just wanna let you guys know that I am not comfortable writing that so I probably never will include that.

Also I hate saliva so I probably wont write about spitting either. Sorry lololol

thanks @imagining-in-the-margins for the inspiration! (was totally inspired by "messy lessons" if you guys haven't read it...you should!)

At first you doubted he knew what he was even doing.

At first.

Maybe he wasn't trying to get in her pants, and maybe he wasn't trying to lead her on. But he was still letting her shamelessly flirt with him. You'd been with the FBI for years and made the silly mistake of assuming that working in the same department as your boyfriend would make things easier on you. Being able to see him everyday is a definite plus, seeing him in danger every time you're in the field is definitely not a plus. Watching a busty blonde witness flirt with him is certainly not a plus, especially when he lets her throw herself into his chest. Supposedly "distraught" but you see the cheeky smile peeking at the corner of her lips.

You see the thing about Spencer that nobody except for you knows, is that deep down he's a very naughty boy. The little mischievous glint in his eyes when his eyes meet yours from across the interrogation room proved that. You were professional however, so you were forced to stand by and watch him comfort her. Bitch.

"C-Could you get me some water?" Her voice was shaky, you still didn't buy it.

"Sure, Doctor-"

"Agent Y/L/N if you wouldn't mind?" Spencer's much more dominating voice cut through yours. Your eyebrows flew up as you shared a millisecond stare down with him. You could see the playful look in his eyes, flashed by the brattiest smile you'd ever seen grace his lips. Your lips stretched in a tight smile before you nodded and turned out of the room.

When JJ joined you near the kitchenette she opened her mouth to say something, but once she'd noticed you white knuckle gripping the faucet handle she changed her mind. She continued with whatever she was doing, not looking at you. It was a tense few minutes until she turned out of the room. While everyone in the BAU knew you and Spencer were together, it was easy for them to forget seeing as you never acted as a couple at work. For obvious reasons. Only in moments of danger, like when Spencer's helicopter went down and there were panicked tears streaming down your cheeks did they remember that you were in fact, together.

Apparently your usually good boy seems to have forgotten who he belongs to as well. The sight you returned to left tendrils of anger licking at the pit of your stomach.

"Oh really, that is so cool! I'll bet you're so strong!" The witness had perked up considerably since you'd left the room. Her hand reached up to curl at his bicep, and he didn't stop her. What a brat. Spencer sat next to her rather than across from her at the table, presumably to console her. Spencer beamed at her praise, an action you did not miss.

"Yeah, actually FBI agents are required to pass a variety of physical exams to insure they're physically healthy enough to chase down an unsub if need be-"

"Here's your water." Your voice was tense and you had to resist the urge to "accidentally" spill the water on her as you set the glass down. You didn't meet Spencer's eye as he stood to follow you out of the room. You could see the naughty façade fading as soon as he'd left the room.

"Y/N?" His voice was soft and his big brown eyes wide when you turned to glance at him. Your heart melted at the sight of those sad puppy dog eyes but you're not going to give in when baby boy broke so many rules.

"Shush." Is all you say, your voice sharp. You're not going to hide the fact that you're mad at him. And you're going to stay mad at him, no matter how cute he is.

"Yes ma'am." Spencer mumbles as he follows you towards the room Hotch is waiting in with the whiteboard. You try your hardest to focus on whatever Hotch is saying but all you can think about is that stupid witness pressing her chest up against Spencer, and the fact that he was practically bathing in the attention she gave him. You hated the fact that Spencer was getting exactly what he wants, he lives for your punishments. In a way, punishing him was also rewarding him but it was rewarding for you too.

After vaguely remembering Hotch asking for Spencer, you watched him scramble forward. You don't miss the fact that he nearly stops to ask for your permission to do so, you have him trained so well. A smile quirks at the corner of your mouth and you almost feel like forgiving him until Hotch speaks again.

"Reid, I want you to take Allison Calloway home..." he lists off where the rest of you will go but at that point you're no longer listening. You hear Hotch pair your name with Derek, which sparks a wicked idea in your head. He's having Spencer take the witness home? Is the world punishing you? You see Spencer steal one nervous glance at you before rushing to get Allison. You tongue your cheek before reluctantly following Derek out of the precinct.

//

You and Derek were apparently instructed by Hotch to go investigate the second crime scene, where a young man with his hands missing was found earlier this morning. You peek at Derek out of the corner of your eye, Derek is one of your close friends and he knows more than he should about yours and Spencer's...extracurricular activities. He seems to be in a good mood today, and he's unlikely to think anything of it. He'll definitely tell Spencer about it, which is sort of what you're hoping for. While this is hardly the place for you to "come on" to Derek, you're willing to do it. Spencer needs a taste of his own medicine.

"Odd, that the unsub removes the hands but repositions the watch around the victims ankle." Derek muses, his hand coming up to scratch at the stubble on his chin. Luckily the officers sent to patrol the crime scene are nowhere nearby. You circle Derek, trying to formulate the perfect sentence in your mind. It can't be too much, but definitely enough for him to inform Spencer. Derek is used to more lewd phrases coming from yours and Penelope's mouth, so surprising him enough to tattle to your boyfriend will be a challenge.

It can't be anything that would hurt Spencer however.

Derek views Spencer as his little brother and would never hurt him, and you wouldn't want to hurt Spencer either this is all in good filthy fun. It has to be a little risky, but not so risky that Derek would prefer keeping it from Spencer to protect him. If its too much Derek will approach you directly about it which would be humiliating and would entirely miss the point. This is a very delicate operation.

"Oh Derek, have you been working out?" You decide to take the easy route, adding a dash of sultry to your tone.

"Occasionally." Derek doesn't turn his head towards you, you haven't quite captured his attention yet.

"Firm is a good look on you." You tease, you'll need to ease him into it because he's going to have the wind knocked out of him when you finally lay it on him.

"Easy girly, you're venturing into dangerous territory." You hear the lilt to his tone letting you know that he's joking. You need to push it further.

"No I'm serious," you need to tread very carefully. You don't want to ruin a friendship you still want to keep, "it's a really good look on you."

Derek turns to you then, an eyebrow raised as he watches you trail your eyes down his body. While Derek isn't a bad looking guy, he doesn't even come close to comparing to your beautiful boy. Spencer is easily the cutest and sexiest man you've ever had the privilege of standing in the same room with.

"What's with you?" He asks, keeping the smile on his face so he doesn't alert you that he's concerned. You're on the right track but if you leave it here Derek will let it go. You need to drop that mini bomb on him, just a little more. You trail a finger down his shoulder, towards his bicep.

"Nothing, just admiring the view. The big, strong, sexy, view. What I wouldn't give to have you in bed Derek Morgan." There's the bomb. Your words have an immediate effect over him. The half-lidded sultry look in your eyes is enough for him to raise his eyebrows in surprise. Usually he can tell if you're joking but now he really can't tell. He's speechless, which doesn't happen to Derek Morgan very often.

"Y/N..."

"Call me if you wanna take me up on my offer." You send a wink at him before turning to head towards the black SUV. That should be enough for him to tattle.

//

When you return to the precinct, you watch with pleased eyes as Derek immediately pulls Spencer into a side room. Derek briefly glances at you, and you send him a smile but do not receive on in return. You don't think anything of it, Derek will get over it eventually with an explanation. You watch carefully as Derek begins to speak and an unreadable expression crosses onto Spencer's face, you expect he's just absorbing what Derek is telling him. Any minute now that look will cross onto his face, those dark eyes that warn you that you've officially annoyed him.

Derek keeps speaking, you can see his lips moving. What are they talking about? It shouldn't be taking this long. You're too far away to really make out their faces, so you subtly sneak closer when Spencer's eyes flash to meet yours and you gasp. There is no anger on his face, no playful annoyance, instead you see pain. Hurt. Betrayal. Derek tries to reach out to grab Spencer but the door to that side room opens and Spencer comes rushing out of it. Not bothering a side glance at you as he makes his hasty exit.

"I was only kidding." You explain quickly as Derek emerges. He doesn't look amused.

"It was too far Y/N. He's crushed." Derek snaps, brushing past you. Immediately you turn and exit the precinct, quickly finding Spencer tucked away in a secluded corner. He's sitting against the building, his head tucked into his knees and the absolute worst part is the fact that he's softly crying. You kneel in front of him in an instant, although you're not sure what to even say.

"Oh baby boy, I was only kidding. I didn't mean it, I said it because you flirted with that blonde witness!" You explain in a hurry, trying to reach out to take him in your arms. Spencer resists, instead lifting his head to look at you. His eyes are glossy and red rimmed, "kidding?"

"Yes precious, I was kidding."

"But Derek is more...attractive then I am." Spencer whimpers softly. You reach forward to firmly grasp Spencer's chin, ensuring he looks at you.

"Spencer Walter Reid you look at me," You order, and hesitantly Spencer lifts his watery eyes to meet yours. "There is not a single person who is more attractive then you are, you are flawless."

"But deep down you want Derek-"

"I was kidding Spencer. I only want you, my good boy." You purr, and you see a shiver run down his spine. You lean forward to press your lips to his before your thumbs come up to swipe away your tears.

"I'm not a good boy, I don't deserve it." Spencer whimpers once you help him stand up. Even though you're looking up at him, it's still very clear that you're the one in charge. "I flirted with Allison."

"You're right, you haven't been very good have you? I'm sure you'll make it up to me in the hotel room." You smile pressing a kiss to his flushed cheek. He nods immediately, it warms your heart.

"I love you." Spencer whispers after he catches your hand as you're about to open the door. You press a kiss to his palm, "I love you precious."

//

You could feel the nerves rolling off of him when you opened the door to your shared hotel room. The door shut with a soft click as you kicked off your shoes. Spencer remained at the hotel room door curled in on himself and wringing his hands together. You have to hide the smile as you shed your jacket from your shoulders, beginning to reach for your jeans when you pause. You take a seat on the bed, watching Spencer eye you carefully from his spot by the door.

"Come here." There isn't a question in your tone, it's more of an order. An order Spencer hastily obeys as he scrambles to stand before you.

"Undress me." You instruct, and Spencer kneels immediately to grab at the hem of your shirt. He carefully lifts the fabric off your body and tosses it aside before reaching around your body to unclip your bra. "No touching baby boy, you were naughty remember?" You snapped, and you saw him turn his head down in shame before turning his attention towards your pants. He unbuttons your jeans and helps pull them down your legs. Spencer's breath gets caught in his throat when his eyes land on your clothed pussy.

"Like what you see precious? Maybe if you were a good boy and didn't let that woman run her hands all over you, maybe I'd let you touch." You purr watching the disdain in his eyes when he realizes what his punishment is going to be.

"Tell me the truth baby boy, did you let her touch you in the car?"

He nods, but that's not good enough for you. You reach down to roughly palm him through his slacks.

"I said did you let her touch you?" You punctuate every word with a gentle squeeze around his cock. Finally, Spencer seems to find his voice.

"Y-Yes!"

"Where? Show me where she marked what's mine." You hiss, not even attempting to disguise your frustration. Spencer lifts one hand to his chest and trails it down his stomach, dangerously close to the hem of his pants before thankfully he stops.

"You let her touch you, this close to your cock?" You snap, tearing your hand away from him.

"I-I'm sorry!" He stammers, his eyes wide and his hands resting on the tops of his thighs. Boy does he look pretty on his knees before you. Not pretty enough for mercy however. There's a pleading look in his eyes, and a desperation. A desperation to please you.

"Make it up to me." You snap and as soon as the words leave your lips, Spencer's fingers are curling around the waistband of your underwear and tearing them off your body.

"Y-Yes ma'am." You lean back on your elbows as Spencer lowers his head between your legs, his eyes flickering to yours briefly. With a nod of your head, Spencer is delving between your legs with the enthusiasm of sex deprived teenager. Your head tosses back immediately as you feel his tongue licking thick stripes over your entrance. He continues to lap at you, his tongue teasing your entrance before he returns to his heavy licking. You moan softly, your fingers digging into his curls and pulling his head closer.

"Just like that, you're being such a good boy." You praise through breathy moans, and Spencer can feel his chest swell with pride. He loves being your good boy. But he isn't your baby boy all the time, sometimes, with a bit of coaxing, he becomes daddy. Spencer reaches up to prod a finger at your entrance before he's sinking in knuckle deep, his mouth curling around your clit. Spencer pumps on finger, to stretch you a little before slowly working a second finger into your suffocatingly tight heat.

"Yes Spencer, don't stop." You beg, feeling yourself climbing closer to reaching the peak, especially when his tongue flicks expertly against your clit while his fingers pump steadily into you. "Oh God, my good boy-" You praise again, and this time Spencer moans against you. Your toes curl as the vibrations send a course of pleasure through you, you've got to make him do that again.

"Do you like being my good boy Spencer? My good, obedient boy. So eager to please me, to make me feel good. And you do, you make me feel so good because you're such a good, good, boy." Your heavy praise causes Spencer to release a low groan, and the feeling is enough to launch you over the edge. Spencer keeps pumping is fingers into you, his tongue swirling soft circles over your clit to help you through your orgasm. Once your body has stopped jerking, you finally pull him off you.

"I forgive you precious, but unfortunately I still have to punish you." You inform him as you pull him back up to his feet. You hear him whine as you push his chest to lay him back against the bed.

"Do you have to?"

"Are you talking back to me baby boy?"

"N-No!" He squeaks instantly, his cheeks painted red. You stand over him, laying beneath you and you can't fight the soft moan that escapes your lips upon seeing him. His hair is disheveled from you raking your fingers through his, his brown eyes are wide and innocent as he looks up at you, and his cheeks are dusted such a beautiful shade of pink.

"Take off your clothes precious, I want to see all of you." You instruct, and you love the shy look on his face as he reaches up to remove his shirt. You let your eyes shamelessly roam his body as he slowly exposes more skin to you. Despite having been together for a few years now, Spencer is still incredibly insecure. Deep down he's worried you'll grow tired of him. Worried that you'll seek out other men despite being with him. Spencer is worried he's not enough to keep you interested. Which is wildly untrue, it's already been over 3 years and if anything you become more interested as time goes on.

"So beautiful baby boy, your body is a work of art." You breathe under your breath. Spencer blushes even deeper then he was before as he nervously fidgets underneath. You swing your legs on either side of his waist, your palms on the bed next to his head. "Your punishment, precious boy," your hands drift to his that are resting on your hips, "is that you can't touch me." You finish, moving his hands to the bed.

Spencer's eyes widen as his head drops back. A whine escapes his lips, but like a good boy, he grasps tightly at the sheets. You reach between your bodies to grasp his cock, pressing the head against your entrance before you teasingly lower onto him. Spencer's eyes squeeze shut at the feeling of your velvety walls around him- it's almost too much for the poor boy. It doesn't help that it's been a few weeks since you two last had sex, meaning you're tighter then you normally are. In fact you're so tight that Spencer can't even breathe properly while he's stretching you open.

"Oh baby boy, you feel absolutely wonderful. Your cock stretches me open so good." You purr, your hands landing on his chest for leverage so you can bounce on him faster. Spencer whimpers softly, the feeling is overwhelming, you can tell he's struggling to contain himself. Your hair drifts down your back when you throw your head back, his cock hitting places deep inside you.

"Getting close," You moan and Spencer knows that's his cue to reach down and begin rubbing circles over your clit. As soon as his thumb makes contact you're moaning loudly, your free hand digging into his hair to hold onto tightly. "Yes Spencer, yes." The phrase becomes a chant you repeat in your head over and over again. Spencer continues to rub you, desperate to help you find your release. When you slam down on him again, his cock hits the place deep inside you that makes your toes curl. You cum instantaneously, your body nearly falling top of Spencer's from the sheer force of it. Spencer's arms come up to steady you, offering shallow thrusts into you to chase his own release.

"Y/N...c-can I?" His voice is wrought, and you smile weakly.

"Yes precious, you can cum." As soon as you give him permission, he's cumming in hot gushes into you, his face buried in your neck. You run your hand down his back as his heart rate slows back to normal, and Spencer's arms stay curled around your waist.

"Spence?"

"Hm?" You can hear the lazy drawl in his voice that lets you know he's getting very sleepy.

"Don't ever break my rules again, or your punishment will be much worse."

"Yes ma'am." You press a kiss to his lips before pulling off him, and curling yourself into his side.

[stuckinmono]

Swimming in Your Taste

The corners of his lips seem to tug upward. “I said,” his breath warm against your ear, “you smell like coconuts.” If your brain wasn’t so fuzzy you would have retorted that of course he knows what you smell like, he’s always sniffing your neck every time he’s fucking you.

º hoseok x female reader

º genre: smut | fwb | roommates | one shot | 

º words: 3.1k

º includes: summer sex, unprotected sex, coconut oil as lube, sex on bathroom floor, fingering, , grinding, oral sex (f receiving), cum inside (always practice safe sex ppl), oblivious reader 

º note: summer + hormones = this fic. Hope you enjoy reading this! 

    •••••                     •••••                   •••••

Whoever gave the idea that summer is all fun and fresh vibes is just plain stupid.

The only thing summer is giving you is sweat. Lots and lots of sweat. And you stink now, too.

Therefore even when you wish you didn’t have to move at all you know that it’s time to hit the shower for the second time today. And it’s only noon.

*

Moisturizing after a good shower is actually your favorite part. It’s like the proper ritual of cleansing. You apply some oil onto your palms and caress it all over your body. Every skin is covered. It feels like you’re actually taking care of yourself. It’s nice.

The mirror is just above the shelf containing the essential stuff, and when you stand in front of it, you see your entire body clad in absolutely nothing. It’s not a magazine perfect picture, definitely not the smooth and spotless skin of the people in porn, but it’s okay, you suppose. You have curves but they’re like minimal. Your skin isn’t fair all over, and you have some marks littered over your skin. But honestly, overall, you’re o-kay.

Standing in front of the mirror, you’re seeing the sight of your hairless vagina right in front of you. Honestly, private parts are weird. You really don’t get the hype.

“Are you seriously staring at your pussy right now?”

And suddenly you’re not alone. You whip your head to see Hoseok at the door. “Oh my god, you startled me, Hoseok, what the hell. What are you even doing here?”

“Looking for something of mine. Also this is my bathroom too.”

You shoot him a weird look. “But I’m still here.” He moves his hands in a fuzzy gesture as if to say meh. Fine, then. You fuck once and then some and apparently privacy isn’t a thing anymore. Whatever, Hoseok is still a nice roommate anyway, and also you don’t really care much.

“What are you doing?”

“Moisturizing.”

The shelf is a bit of a mess, but the bottle of coconut oil stands at the bottom. The bottle is huge, and the oil has a lot of uses. It’s very convenient. Trying to moisturize the part down there isn’t very convenient, however, because you have to spread your legs a bit and bend down to really cover the area.

“Can I?” His voice startles you because why is he still there, and also, he’s looking at you in a funny way. He looks at you and you feel stripped beyond mere nakedness. And your chest is starting to do that thing again, that thing it does every time he looks at you like this.

You shrug your shoulders to say it’s okay. It’s actually a weird question, one you’ve heard from him way too many times already. Can I? Yeah, sure, whatever you want. You don’t actually say that, though. You simply stand there, waiting. He’s getting closer, and it’s getting hard to think properly. You watch him move through the mirror. He stands behind you, and reaches for the bottle of oil you always use.

You feel the heat of his body through all the clothes he’s wearing. He’s fully clothed, and he presses against your naked body. It’s also getting a bit harder to breathe.

His movements are slow. His hands glisten as he rubs the oil between his palms and on his fingers. A moment passes where he pause to hold your gaze, and now you just want to curl inward. As if on cue, his other hand grabs hold of your shoulder and one of his feet nudge your legs to spread farther. He leans down and you automatically shut your eyes close.

“Coconuts.” You feel his breath on your neck, his hand lightly crawling up your thigh, and you shiver, barely registering that he said something.

“Huh?” you mumble intelligently.

The corners of his lips seem to tug upward. “I said,” his breath warm against your ear, “you smell like coconuts.” If your brain wasn’t so fuzzy you would have retorted that of course he knows what you smell like, he’s always sniffing your neck every time he’s fucking you.

You would have responded properly. “It’s the-“ It’s the oil, you would have said.

Except Hoseok chose that moment to cup your pussy, and you can feel the warmth of his fingers against your sensitive skin. What you would’ve said turns into a sharp gasp. Apparently your reaction is funny to him because you hear him chuckle behind you.

“The oil, huh. The one I’m using on you right now?” he asks. You say yeah, though it sounds more like a needy whimper.

“Cute. Then, would I taste coconuts if I fuck you with my tongue?”

Your eyes squeeze shut at his voice and his words and your hand fly out to move his. Please start moving because you really need it. Hoseok probably knows this, how you’re starting to slip and become needy. Every time his hands touch you like this, it becomes so easy for you to simply remain under his hold, still and pliant as you melt under his touch.

Then he starts doing two things at once: with his free hand he slaps your hands away, and he rubs his two fingers back and forth your damp pussy. The pleasure makes your knees melt, as you feel the heat from deep within your core. You feel your pussy steadily getting wet with Hoseok’s fingers. Your wetness makes it easier for him to slide between your folds until he finally sinks a finger inside your soft and slick folds.

He thrusts his finger inside and out slowly, hand coming up to press you against his chest. Which was what you really needed because any moment soon as he keeps on touching you like that you’re going to crumble.

“O-oh.” Your breath stutters, and you grip Hoseok’s arm tightly. He’s so good with his hands that when he holds you like that you feel boneless with his touch. He knows just where and how to touch you, knows all you sweet spots from head to toe, kisses you so good it’s like he has a map of you memorized.

His hand goes up to your chest, squeezing your chest lightly. He goes to cup you breast, thumb and forefinger playing around with your taut nipples. You moan from the action, and jerk from the feeling of his finger alternating its motions from thrusting into you and sliding along your folds, occasionally hitting your sensitive clit. You feel his breath on your neck, light kisses treading down from your nape to your shoulder.

“Hoseok,” you whimper. You want more, need more. His fingers languidly explore you from deep inside, touching your walls just right. But you really need more. “Hoseok,” you call out to him again, and he responds with a kiss on your cheek. You turn to meet him and he’s instantly there, lips on you, and it’s both fast and sensual, heated and slow. You can’t help but go crazy from the way he moves with you.

“Baby,” you look at him, and you see the way his pupils are blown from the lust charging between the two of you. Eyes still on you, he brings his fingers that’s soaked with your wetness and nudges your lips open with it. “Suck.” You feel shivers from Hoseok’s commanding voice. You do your best to lick his fingers, suck every part, all without breaking eye contact with him. You can tell he’s just as heavily affected with the way he breathes heavily while looking at you, his fingers snug in your wet and warm mouth.

You let his fingers fall from your mouth, and he turns you around to face him fully. His arms embrace you tightly as you let out a deep exhale. “’Seok?”

He hums as his arms hold you tighter and he moves to kiss your forehead gently. As he nuzzles your neck to drink in more of you, you call his name again. “Hoseok.”

“yeah, baby?”

“Need more. Need you.”

You pepper kisses on his clavicle, kissing the skin that you can access, sucking the skin right below his jawline. You feel the vibrations from his chest as he moans from what you’re doing to him. Your hands move around him, from the small of his back down to his ass, gripping him to meet your core. “Mhm, baby.” Hoseok makes a sound between a moan and a growl, making you more desperate for him.

“Need you, ‘Seok, need now.” You’re practically grinding against him now, doing what you can to feel him, and you know he needs it too, feeling his hardness against you, and you can’t wait to feel it deep inside you.

You feel hands on your shoulders holding you tight. “Hands on the countertop. Hold on to it for me.” His breath is warm on your ear, and you feel him leave a soft kiss on your ear as he lets you go.

You’re quick to follow his instructions. You are impatient for him, after all. So is he, evidently, because not a second later and he’s immediately there behind you, covering your body with his. But this time you noticed that he’s already removed his shirt, his chest now directly touching your back. Skin on heated skin. He’s quick to hold you, a touch of madness in the way he roams his hands around your chest, your waist, all the way to your thighs.

Hoseok seems to have changed his mind as he twirls you around and spreads your legs. Your heart pounds when you see him kneeling, and his eyes concentrated on your pussy. Without a thought, your hands move down to your center, fingers sliding down your folds. “Oh, god, fuck,” he growls when your fingers spread your folds in front of him, opening up your pussy just for him. He removes one of his hands on your thighs in favor of gripping his clothed cock, feeling the need for relief.

You need it just as badly. You put a finger inside, sighing as you feel relief when you stretch your walls. It feels good, but what makes it amazing is the way Hoseok’s eyes are fixed on you with wild lust in his gaze. “’Seok,” you can’t help but whimper his name, and he’s quick to respond.

“Baby. How does it feel, huh? Feels good?”

“So good, mmm. Wish it were your fingers, ‘Seok, you’re so good with your fingers, always make me feel so good, mmhm.”

“Mmm, I can tell how much your pussy loves it. Always soaking wet for me, always so good. Want a taste, baby, gimme a taste.”

Gingerly, you bring your hand to his mouth, and he opens wide for you, and immediately tastes you from your fingers. All the while he keeps on rubbing his cock. He’s so hard it’s starting to hurt. Hoseok loves it though, loves the pain and the pleasure, basks in the feeling of seeing you lost in your own pleasure, goes crazy at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin as you cry out his name. He loves making you feel good, loves your sounds of pleasure. Hoseok feels like a man on a mission when he’s holding your body, that mission being to touch, to kiss, to worship every sweet spot on your skin and inside you. And damn, what a reward it is to see you come into completion over and over again.

He goes back to hold your thighs apart, spreading them just so he can dive into his favorite taste. The reaction is immediate: your moans of pleasure quickly rings in his ears and your hands come to grip his hair, and he loves the burn in his scalp. High for your taste, he digs his tongue deeper, relishing for more. He looks up to see you, and what a sight. Face red, eyes drooping, and mouth open as you pant heavily. He licks every part, every patch of wetness. Fucks you harder with his tongue, going in deeper. He grips your thighs harder and with his thumbs he opens you up so he can have more.

“So good, tastes so good, baby.”

“Hoseok,” you cry out. There are practically tears flowing down your cheeks as you feel his tongue fuck you so good. If he’s this good with his tongue, then he’s a god with his body.

You push him off, dropping down to your knees in front of him. Swiftly, he takes you into his lap, and with a mad rush he holds your cheeks but gently, and he kisses you ferociously once again.

As you grip his shoulders tightly, you move your hips back and forth against his lap, and you both moan. It’s a flurry of sensations: his hand gripping your waist as you grind on his lap, his other hand holding the back of your head as his tongue licks into your mouth, plays with your own tongue, and his mouth claims your own.

You decide you’ve had enough and break away for him, needing to hold his hard cock. Frantically, you grip the waistband of his sweats, and with clumsy coordination, Hoseok moves to bring down his pants only enough to free his cock. It slaps against his stomach, and your eager hands wrap around it, thumb rubbing his slit to spread his precum all over his cock.

Hoseok pulls you closer to him, his hand squeezing your ass and you hover above his cock.

Finally, you sink down on him.

“Mmmmmhm, Hoseok, ‘Seok,” you’re both moaning as his entire length is fully sheathed inside you, deeper and deeper.

“Baby, c’mon, ride for me, baby.”

You can’t respond anymore. As you grind on his cock and start bouncing, only the sounds of your pussy hitting his lap and your whining sounds can be heard. You’re desperately chasing the feeling of your orgasm and the Hoseok’s cum deep in you.

“That’s it, babe, c’mon, keep going,” his hands hold your hips steady, his own thrusting up sharply to meet you.

“’Seok, mmmhmm I want, need���please please,”

With the way you’re bouncing frantically it’s almost as if your life depends on it.

“I know, baby, hold on,” With one hand caressing your hair and the other hugging you tight, Hoseok takes charge of your body and drives his cock hard into you, pistoning up and down, and your mind goes crazy from the motions.

“Aaah!” His change in the angle of his thrusts has you screaming, hands holding on tight to his shoulders. “Yes yes yes hnngg, ‘Seok,”

The sound of your gasp is cut off by his mouth on you. It’s messy, with the two of you frantically moving, but it’s perfect.

Your mind is clouded with haze, and you feel Hoseok consuming you, all over you, and in the depths of you.

You’re close, and he can feel it. He fucks you harder and holds you tighter. He rubs his thumb quickly on your hardened clit, making you squeal.

One forceful thrust from Hoseok in you and you scream from the orgasm that hits you like a freight train, shooting you up into the sky. His hand never leaves your pussy, still rubbing quick circles, until you’re gushing onto his stomach.

You probably blacked out from your orgasm, and you come to just in time to hear Hoseok’s drawn out moan and feel his cum shoot into your deepest parts. The feeling of his cum makes you feel relief. He slumps towards you, his forehead touching yours, eyes still closed.

He smiles when he feels you press butterfly kisses on his cheeks and nose.

“You okay?”

“Mmm.”

“Wanna clean up?”

“Wanna hug.”

Hoseok chuckles, moving his hands across your back and sides, knowing how much you like the contact, before pulling you closer.

But the good feels from the high of the orgasm has already worn down by now, and you’re already sober enough to register just how hot everything is. Not like, sexy hot. It’s actually hot as fuck.

“Oh God,” you move away from the sweet confines that is Hoseok’s arms and lap in favor of standing up because there is sweat everywhere and God, you need another shower!

“What’s wrong?” You look at Hoseok and see the triangle forming on his lips again as he looks up at you with concern?

“It’s your dick, Hoseok.”

“What the fuck? What’s wrong with my dick?”

“Nothing baby, but it made me sweat so hard and it’s the middle of the cursed summer.”

His face immediately morphs into a teasing one, his eyebrows waggling at you.

“That good, huh?”

“Oh, shut up, you. I gotta shower again because of you.”

“Well, if you weren’t staring at your pussy earlier—“

“I wasn’t staring! I was just inspecting.”

“Who the fuck inspects their pussy with that intense look on their face? Do all girls do that?”

“As if boys don’t whip out their dicks and check how long they are. Don’t tell me I’m wrong.”

“Mmm, I won’t if you let me shower with you,” his arms try to circle around you, maneuvering you towards the shower.

Whatever you were going to retort gets interrupted by your own giggles when Hoseok tickles your neck with his kisses.

“Hoseok! Hey, I don’t want to slip. Stop kissing me, why are you so obsessed with me?” your voice is full of jest, poking fun at Hoseok, but all of a sudden he stops, and you feel him slowly move away from you.

You’re confused by his silence. It’s kind of disorienting when Hoseok becomes silent like this.

“Hoseok?”

He says nothing, only strips the rest of his clothes off. He looks at you for a moment and reaches the shower knob behind you. The water falls like rain, and the two of you face each other. Hoseok grabs the soap you use. Coconut scent. He rubs it on your skin, and as always, his touch is firm but gentle. The rest of the shower go like that. Quiet, gentle touches of your hands on each other’s skin.

When you’ve finished cleaning up, he takes one of the towels and wraps it around you.

He smiles at you, pinches your cheeks before he dries himself off.

You finally leave to get dressed, but not before looking at him. You’re not sure what happened, why Hoseok went quiet all of a sudden, but you hope it’s just temporary. It’s probably weird but your moods seem to flow with Hoseok’s moods. But anyway, maybe your plan to buy him his favorite takeout from his favorite chicken store will make him feel better.

*

Hoseok is left alone in the showers, where it is rife with the scent of you. He basks in it, almost like he is swimming in you, just for a while longer.

Coconuts. His favorite scent. Every single time.

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (iv)

word count: 4.1k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, alcohol consumption

series masterpost: here

a/n: my apologies for the delay!! life got crazy for a bit but i'm back with my two favourite idiot intellectuals

Magdalene stays busy to keep the loneliness at bay.

All of her friends have left Denver, doing whatever it is that hockey players and their partners do in the off-season. She never expected them to stay to keep her company, and would certainly never ask. Besides, they were all so excited to go home and visit family. How could she disrupt their happiness just so she wouldn’t feel so alone? It isn’t her fault that Ryan, Bette, and company aren’t estranged from their families like she is. At twenty-five she should be a little more self sufficient than what she currently is, but Magdalene is working hard at being kinder to herself.

To combat the pervasive loneliness Magdalene spends a lot of time in the heart of downtown Denver. Under normal circumstances she would hate the crowds, but now they comfort her. The swaths of tourists walking the streets and approaching her to take family photos make her feel like a part of something bigger than the pity she finds herself wallowing in often. Barn Owl Books also becomes a frequent retreat when she has downtime, and the owners enjoy when she brings Caligula around. Other patrons adore the white cat and he loves the attention.

One day as she’s leaving work, once again offering to stay late so June doesn’t have to, Magdalene’s phone rings. She contemplates not picking it up, wanting nothing more than to curl into bed with the novel she picked up at Barn Owl the other day, but she knows it must be important. No one ever calls her around this time unless it’s absolutely necessary. Digging the phone out of her pocket, she sees the number of her building superintendent Paul flashing on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Miss Stevenson?” he asks, voice tinged with the toughness that comes with dealing with upset renters on a regular basis.

Magdalene chuckles at the formality, pointing out he hasn’t called her by her last name since she moved in five years ago. “Yeah Paul, it’s me. What’s up?”

There’s the crackle of static on the phone line as the man clears his throat. “So, uh, some bad news.” Magdalene’s stomach twists into an intricate knot. She knows she paid rent on time and can’t think of another reason he’d call her. “A sprinkler main on the floor above yours burst about an hour ago, and it’s pretty bad. Your place definitely got hit the hardest because it’s directly under where the pipe burst. You’re going to have to move out for at least two months while we gut the place and start from scratch. How quickly can you come and get the things that are salvageable from your apartment?”

“Fuck.” This is the worst news Magdalene has ever received. “I can be there in fifteen minutes,” she panics, “But Paul, you’ve gotta go inside and check on my cat. He’s going to be freaking out.”

Paul agrees to visit Caligula after some prodding, and Magdalene drives much faster than she ever has before through the neighbourhood. It’s far from reckless, but she knows that it isn’t the safest course of action. A police officer stops her about three minutes from her final destination but lets Magdalene go after she explains the situation as calmly as possible.

Other tenants affected by the flood are already moving boxes down the stairs when Magdalene pulls up. Everyone is understandably grief stricken, but she can’t find it in herself to console them like she would under normal circumstances. All Magdalene cares about is making sure Caligula is okay. She sprints up the four flights of stairs and doesn’t even break a sweat, adrenaline flooding her veins. Her apartment door is ajar, most likely from Paul entering a few minutes ago, and she flings it open with more force than probably needed. It swings back violently on its hinges and makes a spectacular crash when it hits the wall.

“Caligula?”

“He’s in the bathroom,” Paul sighs. “I can’t get him out of the tub but he’s still breathing. Is he not scared of water?”

Magdalene lets out a breath of relief she didn’t know she was holding in. She treads deeper into the apartment, casually assessing the damage, before reaching the room in question. There, pressed against the far corner of the tub, is the fluffy white cat that Magdalene’s heart beats for most days. Paul is there too, leaning against the sink and shaking his head.

“Thank you,” Magdalene says sincerely. “I’ve got it from here.”

The superintendent exits the unit with a solemn goodbye and heads to the lobby, no doubt going to direct traffic flow and answer questions. It takes a few minutes but Magdalene coaxes the cat out of the tub and into her arms. She holds him tightly and whispers words of praise, knowing it will help to calm them both down. After an uncounted amount of minutes Magdalene moves them into the bedroom, that looks surprisingly intact upon first glance, and changes out of her work clothes and into something more suitable for rummaging around her destroyed home. Caligula climbs up her body and settles gingerly into the hood on her sweatshirt. She starts in the bedroom, and finds that the only thing that’s actually salvageable is the clothes in her closet. Grabbing the suitcase from the top shelf, Magdalene shoves everything inside of it and wheels it into the living room.

She spends the next few hours going through every room in a meticulous manner, desperate to keep relics from her life in Denver. The water did a number on her space and destroyed almost everything. All the furniture is a write-off, and most of her books and records are ruined. Two things that withstood the damage are faux marble busts of Augustus and Marcus Aurelius, which Magdalene packs into one of the boxes Paul dropped off. Everything else fits in three other boxes and they’re tucked into the trunk of her car before the sun sets. Paul insists that the demolition company will get rid of everything else and ensures her she won’t have to pay rent while the construction is going on. It isn’t much of a consultation, considering that Magdalene has no idea where she’ll be staying, but she thanks him anyways as she makes the final trip to her car with Caligula.

Once inside, Magdalene breaks down. She has no idea what to do – no one is in Denver to help her out and she can’t afford to stay in a hotel for however many months this is going to take to fix. Tyson and Bette will be back in just over a month, but Magdalene doesn’t want to bother them or guilt them into coming back early. She cries in the driver’s seat of her car for a while, Caligula on her lap and doing his best to lick up the tears streaming down her cheeks. Not knowing what else to do, she dials Ryan’s number. Though they haven’t been talking as frequently due to the time difference and Magdalene’s insistence he enjoys his time with family, she knows he’ll pick up and listen intently. He’ll also hopefully talk her down from the imaginary ledge she’s found herself on.

He picks up on the second ring. “How’s my favourite girl?” Ryan asks, and Magdalene can hear the smile in his voice. The combination of his voice and the words spoken has her choking on another sob. “Hey, hey, breathe.” Concern is now the primary emotion expressed through the phone line. “Mags, what’s the matter?”

It takes her a few seconds and multiple pads of Caligula’s paws into her stomach for Magdalene to calm down, but she eventually tells Ryan what happened. He listens just as she thought he would, and keeps her breathing steady with his voice. She cries a bit more before running out of tears, but Ryan keeps her focussed on anything but the shitty circumstance she’s found herself victim to – detailing how he skated with Nate earlier in the day and just how many times his teammate kicked his ass. Hearing the mundane story helps more than Magdalene thought it would, and when Ryan asks her where she’s going to stay she responds with a relatively strong voice.

“I’m just going to sleep in my car.”

“Fuck no you aren’t.” The certainty in which Ryan utters the words takes Magdalene by surprise. For someone so far away, he has a lot of opinions on what she should be doing.

She sighs. “There isn’t another option Ry. I can’t afford a hotel for the months my apartment is going to be out of commission and there’s no point in renting another place.”

“Stay with me.”

A series of flabbergasted noises come out of Magdalene’s dropped jaw, but she can’t form any words. Ryan continues, “Think about Caligula. Being cramped in a car isn’t going to be good for him. Or for you. I have an extra bedroom you can call your own for as long as you need. Please Mags.”

Truthfully, it’s the best she’s going to get. Bette and Tyson offered to house a couple of rookies this season, meaning their spare rooms are filled, and there’s no one else she’s close enough with to think about asking. “I don’t want to intrude,” she sighs, but it isn’t a very convincing deflection.

“I want you there,” Ryan insists, “And little boots too.”

It takes them a while to work out the logistics, but Ryan makes a couple of calls and lets the doorman of his building know Magdalene is moving in. He also books a flight for the next day, and ensures her that he’s more than ready to come back to Colorado. They talk for a few more minutes, and in that time she gets directions to her temporary home. Once Ryan hangs up with well wishes and a see-you-soon, Magdalene looks in her rear-view mirror and sets out for a part of Denver she never thought she’d live in.

☼☼☼☼

When Magdalene calls Bette to fill her in on what’s been going on while on the way to pick Ryan up from the airport, the blonde is taken aback by the surplus of information. “Hold on,” she breathes, “Ryan’s coming back to Denver?”

“What part of ‘I’m on my way to the airport to pick up Ryan’ was confusing?” Magdalene laughs.

Her friend doesn’t find the jest funny. “Fuck off.” The comment only increases Magdalene’s laughter, but Bette forges on with the conversation. “Can you recap the events that led to Ryan leaving home nearly three weeks early?”

Magdalene indulges her friend, explaining for what feels like the hundredth time that her apartment was destroyed in a flood and that Ryan offered her his spare bedroom and that he was coming home so she wouldn’t be alone in the unfamiliar environment. Bette listens in silence, and Magdalene imagines she has a shit-eating grin plastered on her face. She’s made quite a few comments about how friendly the two of them seem, but Magdalene does her best to shrug them off. Ryan can just be her friend, a great one even, without Bette projecting her need to have her best friend to have an identical lifestyle to her. Even if she’s right, and Magdalene does want there to be something more between her and Ryan.

“Hold the phone.” Magdalene hears Tyson shout, no doubt getting closer to his girlfriend so he can join in on the conversation. “Gravy’s letting you stay at his place?”

“Yeah…” she trails off, unsure about what wasn’t clear this time.

Tyson hums as though he’s an old-school anthropologist who just made an astute observation about the group they’re studying. “Interesting.”

“How so?”

“Well for starters, he barely lets us hang out at his place,” Tyson explains. “I think I’ve been there maybe twice. So that’s new. Is Caligula staying with you?”

Magdalene is completely confused. “Why wouldn’t he be? He’s my cat.”

“How does Gravy feel about it?”

“What the fuck are you getting at Tys?” Magdalene asks, but there’s a bite to the question. She’s tired of the impromptu interrogation he’s providing. “Because Ryan was excited to have him around. Last night I sent him a video of little boots prancing around the condo like he owned the place and he thought it was hilarious.”

Bette, who had been silent for several minutes, gasps loudly. Tyson laughs, but Magdalene can tell it’s riddled with disbelief. “Mags,” he says gently, though with more than enough teasing laced in, “Gravy isn’t a big pet guy.”

The comment hits Magdalene like a tonne of bricks. What is she supposed to do with that information? There’s only ten more minutes until she gets to the airport, and she needs time to push Tyson’s comment to the back of her brain and collect herself. Magdalene gives a rushed farewell before hanging up the phone and checking her rearview mirror and blindspots. The radio filters back through the car speakers, but she doesn’t hear it, too caught up in what Ryan allowing Caligula to share his space means. There’s little traffic on the off-ramp and before she knows it Magdalene is pulling into a parking space and killing the engine.

She grabs the messily scribbled welcome home banner from the back seat before locking the doors and heading inside to the arrivals section. The inside of the airport looks similar to the empty parking lot – it’s a Tuesday after all. Only a few others wait with her for the plane, and many chat idly amongst themselves. Magdalene stays off to the side in an attempt to not get sucked into a conversation about the upcoming thunderstorm. Passengers slowly trickle through the open door, and Ryan is easy to spot. He towers above everyone and is carrying a rather large bag of hockey equipment. Magdalene smiles at the sight of him, unable to help herself. It’s been nearly a month and a half since she’s seen him and being apart for that long is something she never wants to do again.

“Hi,” she breathes as he approaches, waving awkwardly while she speaks. It’s as though she hasn’t spent countless hours talking with him about every possible topic her mind could dream up.

Ryan doesn’t feel the tension, or if he does he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he wraps her in a tight hug that lasts a touch longer than one with just a friend should, especially in public. Magdalene tries hard not to melt into his side but it’s nearly impossible – Ryan has a magnetic pull that tugs on her heartstrings and makes her insides feel fuzzy. Others bustling around the terminal start to give them strange looks, and it’s only then that Ryan clears his throat and untangles his arms from Magdalene’s waist.

He smiles down at the strong-willed brunette with kind eyes and shoulders his bag once more. “Let’s go home.”

☼☼☼☼

It takes a few days to settle into a routine, but once they do it’s glorious. Training camp doesn’t start for another three weeks, so Ryan spends his day doing light workouts and chilling with Caligula while Magdalene is at work. Once she gets home they make dinner and watch West Wing reruns on the cable network Ryan didn’t know he was even paying for. Their lives fit together seamlessly and it surprises Magdalene just how much she missed having a roommate – Bette moved out after their sophomore year of college, and it’s been just her and Caligula ever since. Though the personal space is nice, she likes being able to hear Ryan laugh at the meme she just sent or knocking on his door in the middle of night to ask if he wants ice cream.

Magdalene wakes up one Saturday to complete silence. It’s unsettling considering she hasn’t heard that since adopting her pet – Caligula sleeps next to her head and breathes loud enough that she’ll never have to buy a white noise machine. She notices her door is slightly ajar and hears soft noises coming from the living room. Ryan must be taking a day off, Magdalene notes, because he’s typically out of the house by seven and it’s currently five minutes past eight. She rolls out of bed and stumbles into the ensuite, brushing the tangles out of her hair and washing her face.

Not bothering to change out the pyjama pants and hoodie she stole from Ryan, Magdalene pads into the sunlit living room to see her roommate doing yoga. On a tiny mat beside him is Caligula, stretching his limbs like he’s following along with the tutorial. The sight is adorable, and before she can think twice about it Magdalene is snapping a photo of the two of them and posting it to her Instagram story.

“You trying to whip my cat into shape Graves?” Magdalene teases, weaving around them and plopping onto the couch, bringing her knees to her chin and holding in a yawn.

Ryan laughs, loud and care-free, and Magdalene wishes he could record the sound and play it on loop. “He kept trying to sit underneath me and I didn’t want to hurt him. I read somewhere that if you give a cat something similar to what you’re doing they’ll leave you alone. Guess it really works.”

Her heart constricts in the best way possible. Ryan continues to go above and beyond to make her and Caligula welcome and doesn’t seem to mind they’re the ones invading his space and not the other way around. There’s still twenty minutes left on the YouTube video he’s watching, so Magdalene pushes herself off the expensive leather sectional and into the kitchen. The least she could do is make breakfast. Deciding on pancakes, Magdalene gets to work prepping the batter and warming up the frying pan. She hums absentmindedly to the Joni Mitchell song playing on the small radio she placed in the kitchen window. Music always made cooking more enjoyable for her, and Ryan doesn’t seem to mind the device taking up space.

The island is set and the food ready by the time Ryan slides into his seat, small beads of sweat lingering on his forehead from the workout. Magdalene resists the urge to wipe them away and instead busies herself with placing the right amount of berries on his plate.

“Mags,” Ryan calls softly, pulling her out of her mind and back down to Earth. “That’s more than enough. Sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

They eat in silence until Caligula appears, meowing for whatever scraps he can get his hands on. Against Magdalene’s pleas Ryan feeds him a blueberry. The cat sniffs it inquisitively before swallowing it, though it comes up again a few moments later.

“You’re cleaning that one up bud,” she laughs, bending down to make sure Caligula is okay before rinsing her plate in the sink.

“Fuck.”

Ryan does as he’s told and helps Magdalene with the dishes before getting ready to head out for an unofficial team meeting. Camp starts in a few days and Gabe wants to get together and make sure they’re all on the same page before barreling head-first into the season. He promises to pick them up a late lunch of sandwiches from Barn Owl and Magdalene follows him to the door to say goodbye. It feels natural, like they’ve always shared this routine, and she knows that Ryan feels it too because he wraps her in a tight hug before petting Caligula one last time and slipping out the door.

Bette calls soon after he leaves and grills Magdalene on all the details of her new living arrangement. She’s still in Canada, spending a few more days there than Tyson to help his mom and sister finish unpacking their things at the house they recently purchased.

“So, have you kissed him yet?”

The question is asked in such a casual, Bette-like manner that Magdalene barely chokes on her water. “Bee, what the fuck?”

“Oh come off it Mags,” she sighs, “You like him. He likes you. The two of you live together now. It’s only a matter of time before the friendship turns into something more.”

The blonde is right about at least one thing – Magdalene has developed a steady crush on Ryan. She should have known being in such close proximity to him all the time would put her feelings into overdrive. However, she didn’t have another option other than to accept his offer when it was proposed nearly a month ago, so Magdalene is now being forced to deal with the repercussions.

“I have, in fact, not kissed Ryan,” Magdalene huffs. “But I’ve thought about it once or twice.”

A squeal tears from Bette’s throat and she forces her friend to share the details. Magdalene obliges mostly to get her off her back, but it does feel good to talk about it with someone. It’s a very long time since she’s had romantic feelings for anyone, and Magdalene is nearly giddy with excitement over the possibility of new-found love by the time Ryan gets home. She says farewell to Bette and promises to come over as soon as they're both in the same city again.

It’s later than both of them expected, so they decide to forgo lunch and instead cook an early dinner. Ryan wants chicken and Magdalene wants spaghetti, so naturally they compromise on a carbonara without the pork. The radio is cranked to the highest volume as they work, both singing along and in their own little worlds. Magdalene is in charge of cooking the pasta and Ryan sets about making the sauce, and more than once she catches him looking at her while he’s supposed to be stirring the mixture. She can’t be too mad, however, because each time their eyes meet she’s supposed to be doing her job too. Before too much time has passed the meal is ready. It cools on two plates while Caligula is fed and wine is poured – the former done by Magdalene because the cat still isn’t quite comfortable enough with Ryan. Once sitting, they raise their glasses in a silent toast and dig in. The pasta tastes heavenly, and Magdalene makes sure to say so.

“Oh my god this is delicious,” she nearly moans, “You have to make this like every night.”

Ryan laughs and raises his fingers in mock salute. “You got it boss.”

Conversation flows into how they spent their hours apart – Ryan gushing about how good it was to see his teammates again and Magdalene talking about how she caught up with Bette on the phone. She of course left out the part where she confessed feelings for her best friend to her other, more senior best friend. Dinner passes in the blink of an eye and soon the two of them are standing side by side at the sink, elbows knocking occasionally as they do the dishes.

“Want to watch a movie tonight?” Ryan asks nonchalantly. “You said earlier this week you wanted to see Clueless again.”

Magdalene smiles – of course he would remember this offhand comment she made a few days ago about the classic. “That sounds fantastic. Can you finish putting these away? I’m going to pop a couple blankets in the dryer to warm up and see if I can get a nice picture of the sunset for Bette, she mentioned on the phone that she’s missing it.”

“She literally hasn’t changed time zones!”

Laughter tumbles from Magdalene’s lips as she slips out of the kitchen. Two fluffy blankets are pulled from the back of the couch on her way down the hall and tossed into the machine. Grabbing the same sweater of Ryan’s she was wearing earlier in the day from the foot of her bed, Magdalene heads for the balcony door and slips through the glass.

The city is nearly silent. Cars pass under Ryan’s balcony like blips in the night, but they don’t dare touch the peaceful atmosphere radiating from Magdalene. She’s had one of the best nights of her life, just her and Ryan laughing over glasses of wine and the pasta dish they cooked together. It’s all so domestic and charged with stolen glances and soft smiles that Magdalene knows it’s more than two friends living together for a short period of time. There’s been a fundamental shift in their relationship but she doesn’t know how to address it, or if she even wants to despite her looming attraction. Being with Ryan is so easy that she forgets it’s only temporary. Realistically she knows it can’t last forever, but she finds herself hoping each day Paul will call and tell her the rebuild is taking longer than expected.

Ryan calls her inside, informing her the blankets are out of the dryer and the movie she picked out days ago is queued up on the television. Magdalene takes a deep breath and finishes her glass of wine in one gulp. Hopefully he won’t notice when she casually leans in and rests her head on his shoulder halfway through the film.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @samsteel @lovethepreds @cutiesara23 @hockeyallthetime @stlbluesbrat21 @denis-scorianov @danglesnipecelly @c-tangerine @stormingroses @spine-buster (add yourself to the taglist!)

[snlhostharry]

romeo and juliet thing

harry styles x reader

“rivals” to lovers au 

~3k words

warnings: cursing, mentions of sex 

my piece for @meetmeinfleetwood ‘s to lovers challenge, congrats on your milestone! 

a/n: amazing thing I realized while writing this: if you don’t put it off you can actually get it done in a reasonable amount of time... I will not be applying this to any other aspects of my life 

You’ve come to enjoy album release parties. The first one you’d ever been to was the one for your first album, something someone from your publicity team has put together, which they did a decent job on but you did not have a good time. You were so nervous about the album coming out at all that you tried to use alcohol to calm your nerves, so you can’t really remember anything about it besides briefly throwing up in the bathroom. After that incident, you resolved not to drink before the party ever again and the next few you’d been too for other artists were actually fun in their own special ways. 

By the time your second album is on the cusp on release, you’ve decided that you deserved it after the mess of writer's block you’d gotten in the middle of trying to write the thing, which had gotten so bad that you’d been called into a “special meeting” by management where they talked for what felt like hours about deadlines and marketing and basically tried to intimidate you into finishing faster. Something happened that allowed you to finish, it was an odd timing but it did help. 

But that was ages ago, and you’re trying to focus on the party. 

Which is easy enough, winding through the room talking to friends and investors, small talk is easy when you're trying to avoid something else. You’re talking to someone who’s name you are definitely not going to remember when this is over, when out of the corner of your eye you think you see someone who should definitely not be here. When you're finally released from said conversation you walk around the room, trying to find the intruder. You make your way all the way back to the bathroom, when suddenly the person you’ve been looking for slams right into you. 

You’re far enough in a corner that you think no one can see you, which is good because if anyone got photos of the two of you together you would never hear the end of it. Harry Styles looks at you like he’s been caught in the act, the guilty expression not leaving his face even as he says, “Funny seeing you here.” 

“At my own party?” You ask. 

He licks his lips, trying to buy time to think of something to say. “Before you say anything,” He says, treading cautiously, “I was told to come here.” 

You narrow your eyes, “By who?” 

“Someone who works for me,” He replies, “Which means that someone who works for you gave them the information.” 

You groan, “Of course they did, well at least make sure they get your good side when someone comes around to take photos.” 

He smiles at that, “That’s every side, love.” 

You shake your head, typing a message on your phone and quickly sending it, “It’s not but it’s cute that you think so.” 

“Ignoring that little comment,” He says, seeing that your attention is divided between him and the person you seem to be very angrily texting. “It’s a good song you wrote, I’m excited to hear the rest of the album.”

“Oh,” You say, eyes widening, “Thank you..?” He tilts his head to the side gently, clearly his way of asking a question without actually asking a question. “Sorry, I just didn’t realize we were doing the thing where we pretend this is normal, and you are normally at my party.”

He laughs, “Didn’t know there was pretending involved.” 

“I’m just so used to pretending to loathe you all day everyday that it's just so natural,” You say, and wait to see if he’ll get the joke. 

He shrugs, “Really? I don’t think of you all that much.” 

Your phone buzzes in your hand before you can respond, one message sits unread underneath the ten you’d sent a few minutes earlier in rapid succession. Honestly? I invited him because I thought it would be fun. Of course that would be her rationale for not telling you about this very obvious stunt. Inviting your “rival” to your album release party is the perfect way to get your name in some headlines conveniently before the whole thing goes live, not like you need them but then again you do pay people to manage this kind of thing so they figure they should be doing something. 

Oh yeah, Harry is supposed to be your “rival.” Think of some of the most infamous musical feuds of all time, and then knock it down a few pegs, and that’s where you would put yours and harrys. No one knows how it really started, something between a couple of twitter stans you’ve been told, but it suddenly gave each of your respective “people” the genius idea to milk that kind of exposure for all that it’s worth. The two of you have been pit against each other ever since the release of your debut albums, both self titled and both released within two weeks of each other. It hasn’t harmed either of you, being compared to the other, since you’re both pretty evenly matched in terms of talent. 

It seems to only exist to make the occasional headline when the media remember that it “exists.” There have been headlines wondering if you’ve mentioned him in tik toks (you didn’t) in instagram posts (you were shading someone but not him) and if this whole thing started due to a one night stand that went the wrong way (definitely not). 

You pull yourself back into the conversation, realizing you're being rude trying to think of something to respond to the text message. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

“Who are you rage tweeting over there?”

“Rage texting actually,” You say as another one comes through, “Fucking Melanie.” 

“Unfortunate that her parents gave her that as a first name.”

You look up at him right away, “Not funny.” He laughs at his own joke anyway, “Melanie-” You say, holding up your phone for dramatic effect, “Is the head of the PR team, which is three people but anyway she is the one who seems to have coordinated this whole thing as a prank on me apparently.” 

“It’s kind of funny,” He says. 

You narrow your eyes at him, “I’m sure from your point of view it is.” Suddenly, someone comes rounding the corner near where the two of you are standing, and you freeze on instinct until they pass right in front of you without even looking in your direction. You realize that in a panic, you’d grabbed onto Harry’s hand and you decide that the two of you are going to have to finish this conversation somewhere else. “Come with me,” You sigh, leading him through the back of the room all the way to a small door that leads to an outside area at the back of the venue. You look at him again, his eyes glinting in the lights hanging above your heads. “What were we talking about?”

“Are you ever listening to me?” He asks, half joking. 

“Don’t take it personally I’m only half listening to everyone,” You answer, “It’s called multitasking.” 

“Seems tiring.” 

“Better than being bored,” You say.

He looks at you for a second without saying and then shoves his hands in his pockets, “Why are we out here again?” 

“I’m trying to figure out what’s the game plan here, if you’re supposed to be seen here alone, seen with me, if I’m supposed to throw some kind of tantrum about it.” 

“Besides the one your already throwing?” 

You stop looking at your phone, “Ouch.” 

“Punishment for continuing to ignore me.”

You turn off your phone and hold it in your hand gently, giving him your full attention. “I’m listening, but only if you’re going to say something that it’s some kind of thinly veiled insult,” You click your tongue, “You’re one of those guys who flirts by making fun of girls aren’t you?” 

He thinks about it, “That’s a type?” 

“Yeah, for people who are still mentally in high school.” 

“So you wouldn't be interested then?” 

You smile, thinking about it. Here’s the thing, despite the fact you very much have been pretending to loathe Harry Styles for two years just so you don’t slip it if someone asks, you recognise now that he is objectively attractive. The curls, and the eyes and the borderline too busy suit jacket he’s wearing (that both of you know costs an exorbitant amount) is all contributing to a look that is working for you at the moment. Also working in his favor? The semi enemies to lovers arc that you have going on in your head. “Despite the fact that I think that kind of flirting is beneath you, at this moment, it’s currently working for me.” 

You take a step forward, closer to him, and suddenly your phone starts going off again. You check it briefly, trying very much not to ruin the moment but very cognizant of the fact that this is your party and people are going to start noticing if you're gone. You look down, see it’s not a life or death emergency and look right back at Harry. “Let me guess,” He says, “She wants you to kiss me for the cameras?”

You laugh, “No, but I’m going to do it anyway.” You kiss him, he leans in and you think that you might just seal the deal with harry styles out on this very nice patio when your phone rings again. You pull away when it’s clear that whoever it is needs you desperately, you look at the message, and groan, “Fucking Melaine.” You look towards the door and back at Harry, “Okay this is not over, but I have to go take care of stuff, so just meet me here after the whole thing is over and we will finish this thing.” 

“Really?”

“Oh yeah,” You smile, “We could be an epic novel of forbidden lovers, like Romeo and Juliet without the ending.” You pause, “Well maybe with the end if Melanie kills me with her bare hands for not talking to this producer she wants me to meet.” 

“Later, then.” 

You take him back to your apartment that night. And you invite him back the next day, and then the week and then a few more times after that. As much as you had meant it a joke at the time, the kind of forbidden lovers aspect of trying to keep this whole thing under wraps is sexy in a way that you would never admit outloud. 

You’ve both become shockingly adept at sneaking in and out of apartments, neighborhoods (Harry has multiple priorities; why that is you're not exactly sure) and sometimes clubs if you're in a group and it’s dark enough that you think no one will see you. 

“Should I climb up through the window?” You ask Harry as you stand in the backyard of his house in London,  swimsuit clad even though you’ve gone nowhere near the pool. 

Harry looks at you from his place on the ground next to you. He’d refused to get a chirhair to sit on, so he just sits on the ground, looking out over the pool and the fence. “Why would you do that?” 

“Romeo and Juliet thing, didn’t he climb through the window to see her?”

He shrugs, wrapping his arms around your bare legs in some attempt to keep your attention on him, “I don’t know, never read it.” He laughs a little, “But I think if you did that some pap would catch you with your ass hanging out of my window.” 

You laugh too, “And you would never fucking stop laughing at that.” 

“No, I would not.” 

You kick your leg out so that you almost hit him right in the face, “Fucker, I thought you were over being mean to me as a tactic. You have successfully romanced me.” 

“Really? Because you’re staring at the house like you’re going to kill me for my money.” 

“You’d put me in your will? That’s sweet,” You turn to him, pulling your sunglasses onto the top of your head. 

“You are so hot right now.”

“It is hot,” You say, looking out at the clear sky, “What an observation.” 

“You’re screwing with me.” 

“Because I’m too tired to screw you at the moment,” You say, “Can’t we just enjoy one day in one of your two properties out in the sun before you start making me exercise?” 

“I wouldn’t call it that.” 

“It is work,” You say, rolling your eyes. “I’ve been thinking about that song you played yesterday, I think it needs to be less.. Ethereal.” 

“What does that mean?” 

You sit down next to him, laying your head in the grass. “Harry Styles is a rockstar, if you’re going to do a sad song, which seems to be your specialty, it needs to at least have a beat.” 

“People don’t want to dance to sad songs.” 

“Dude,” You say matter of factly, “Of course they do, I do and I think I speak for a very large section of the United States population.You need a sad song you can at the very least scream too, if not full out dance.” 

“So what’s your suggestion?” He asks. 

“Add more guitar,” You tell him, “Like a lot more. Take all the lyrics you have and put them on a track that sounds like it should be about your new puppy or something.” 

“Who writes songs about puppies?” 

“It was an example, H.” You sigh, “but you get the point.” 

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Don’t be like that.” He doesn’t say anything for a while, and you let it go as one of his moods for a while. But it goes on for longer than you thought it would be, and eventually you sit up. He’s staring down at his phone, frozen, and then he starts typing without saying anything to you. “What are you looking at?” You ask him, and he doesn’t say anything. “What is it H?” You ask again. 

“Fuck it all,” He says, dropping his phone to the ground, and covering his face with his hands as he laid down with his head in the grass. 

You pick his phone up off the ground and see that he’s opened twitter. Staring right back at you is a picture of the two of you kissing outside a small restaurant from the night before, you rack your brain trying to think if you saw anywhere when you were there and you swore you didn’t. Like it or not, everyone is going to know about the two of you now, including Melanie who had told you not to interact with Harry after the party expressly. “Shit,” You say, and your phone begins to ring the sound of Temporary Fix filling the small backyard. 

“Fucking Melanie,” Harry says, still lying on the ground, “She’s going to ream me.” 

“Well at least she’ll do it to both of us,” You groan, not even bothering to go and get your phone. You stand up, as a tension headache begins to form in your temples, “Well I’m going to get into the pool.” 

“Now?” He asks you. “Seems like the perfect way to avoid this problem, doesn’t it?” 

He also gets to his feet, and takes your hand, “Yeah it does.” 

And together the two of you jump into the pool. 

It’s an hour before you finally call Melanie back, even though you meant to avoid it for at least another hour. You sit at the kitchen counter while Harry takes a call in another room, dreading this call because you do not want to hear her yell at you for nothing, mostly because you're a grown woman and are above being lectured. 

“Were you just not going to tell me about this?” 

“Yes, that was the plan.” 

“I told you not to-”

“Yeah but I had already made plans by then that I couldn’t cancel.” 

“There was one man in the entire world, who you couldn’t fuck-”

“I know, what are the odds?” 

“Could you please stop fucking with me for one second?” She says, “This is serious.” 

“It’s not that bad, for you I mean.” You shrug, “I mean for me my personal business is all out on the internet now and I’ll be permanently known as one of Harry Styles’ girlfriends but for you what’s better press wise than a good ol enemies to lovers arc? I won’t tell anyone the enemies part wasn’t real if you won’t.” 

You hear her sigh from the other end of the phone, and then tap her nails against the desk. “You might be onto something there.” 

“I’m always onto something Melanie, I’m the artist here aren’t I?” And you hang up, before you say something that you’ll regret. You’d meant what you said, you were mostly just uncomfortable with everyone knowing who you're dating, especially the harry twitter stans who are known for being very excitable to say the least, you could see why they liked him so much but you would be lying if you said they didn’t scare you. You think of all the interviews you’ll do in the future where people will ask about him, about your relationship and maybe about how it ended. 

Harry comes back into the kitchen and grabs two beers from the fridge. He opens both and sets one out in front of you. “How did it go?” 

“Fine,” You say. You look at him, “Is this the part where we break up because you can’t be seen with me?” You put your face into the counter and let out another groan. 

“Never,” He says, taking a drink, “No one else I would rather weather this shit-storm with.” 

You smile, “Same here.” 

[fangirlovestuff]

@stephanieromanoff​ asked: 

Hey! Could you write something like Natasha’s always thought she was straight but then reader joins the team and now she’s started questiong her sexuality? Fluff pls!

I wasn’t sure how exactly you wanted this to go but I did my best, hope I did your request justice lovely!! also, i noticed @thedevilwearsbeskar​ wrote something for a similar prompt and I’m sure theirs is better lol (haven’t read it yet so I could write this one first). gorgeous divider is by @whimsicalrogers​, italics are for thoughts. Enjoy!

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: some curse words, apart from that it’s all fluff🥰

You were standing in front of all of your heroes – the Avengers. Your heart was racing, but the smile on your face didn't falter once as you introduced yourself warmly to your new team.

When you were asked to join the Avengers, your first thought was that this must be some kind of prank. No one, not even your closest friends, knew of your secret life, the powers you kept secret from everyone in your life to keep them out of harm's way. But apparently, Tony Stark is ever the know-it-all.

You were in the middle of stopping a robbery when suddenly, the big red flying suit bolted in, and you knew you were caught red-handed by the man himself.

So now here you were, standing in a briefing room in the Avengers tower, telling the other Avengers, your new teammates, how excited you were to work with them.

As you let your eyes pass each of their faces, you found nothing but warm smiles and welcoming nods. Well, except Black Widow, Natasha – her expression was utterly unreadable.

Thinking about how pretty girls are is normal, right? Like, everyone does that.

That pretty much summed up Natasha's mindset throughout her life.

Being trained in the red room meant being trained to seduce men. Natasha never questioned her ability to do that. She was good at it, the bowing of the head, the sultry looks, the bite of a lip and they were pretty much done for. To Natasha, these pompous men were easy, simple. That's what made her so dangerous for them.

Girls have always been more of a puzzle, and she included herself in this. But it's never once been a puzzle she'd been requested to solve, so she didn't. Do what you're told, and you'll survive.

It doesn't mean it was a puzzle she didn't want to solve, from time to time.

Natasha trained with girls, trained by girls. And sure, every once in a while, she'd check out a girl's ass as she passed by, or caught herself staring at another girl's lips for too long, but that was just… professional interest, you know? They were all made to look appealing, to draw you in. So, it was only normal it would work on her as well, it meant they were doing their job.

When Natasha left the red room and joined the Avengers, she didn't have much time to date, or think about dating, anyone. She simply didn't think about it.

But now you were standing in front of her, and Natasha Romanoff was absolutely captivated. The way you oh-so-elegantly held yourself, the smile gracing your beautiful lips, the glint of it reaching your eyes, illuminating them. You were stunning.

After the meeting was over, Natasha needed some time to think, so she opted to leave the room after greeting you as minimally as possible, for now.

She went to do what she knows would allow her to think best – go punch the shit outta some stuff.

Entering the training room, she rolled her neck a little, getting into position, and starting to throw hard, precise punches at the punching bag, letting her mind wander where it needed to go.

She remembered one training session, a long time ago. Her opponent was a girl about her age, Valerie. Natasha was confident she could beat her, since Valerie was known to be not the best at face-to-face combat, and Natasha was great at it.

Natasha had the upper hand the entire time, just as she expected. She had Valerie pinned under her, still writhing and not giving up, but Natasha was sure it was a matter of seconds, until—

Natasha looked at her, really looked. Her tousled hair, her wide eyes, the breath escaping in short spurts between her lips. And that was just enough time to allow Valerie to get out of Natasha's grip, flip them over and win the fight, just like that.

To her friends, she said she let her win because she pitied her. To herself, she said she slipped because she got too cocky.

She wasn't so sure of either of these answers anymore.

Seeing you knocked the breath out of her, your outside beauty reflecting your warm, courageous personality, reflected from both the stories of your acts of heroism and the way you told them. You were what it took to make her start connecting some dots.

Natasha was no stranger to the internet and it’s weird and wacky sides, but googling was clearly not going to solve her current problem. She spent hours browsing over the last few days, looking for a clear answer. The conclusion she arrived at – she is the only one capable of providing herself with such a thing.

She did talk to you a few times, but she didn't see you a lot, since you had your hands full getting familiar with the compound and she had her hands full with… well, trying to figure out who she wanted her hands full with.

She made her way to the kitchen to grab a snack – because if nothing makes sense, at least she has food. Making her way through the door, she froze at the sight of you and Tony, laughing and clearly in the midst of a discussion. Well, more at the sight of you, Tony was just kind of there.

"They were all so great, Tony! I was really nervous about meeting them all, but they're all so nice!" your voice rang clear in her ears. Her spy instincts kicked in, and she silently leaned next to the door on the outside, shamelessly eavesdropping.

"Nice doesn't matter," Tony answered matter-of-factly, "Who was the hottest? And there is a correct answer to this, so tread carefully."

Clearly you and Tony quickly became good friends, Natasha thought. The sound of your laughter rang through the room, making her smile without even realizing it.

"Well, I know what you want to hear, but I'm sorry, there actually is a correct answer to it, and it's definitely Natasha."

She could faintly hear Tony gasping in mock hurt, but her racing thought drowned it out. Maybe it was just a friendly compliment, she rationalized, tuning back into your conversation in time to hear you say:

"Seriously! Do the Avengers have a non-dating policy or something? Cause if we do, I am very tempted to break it," you chuckled.

Okay, so maybe not a friendly compliment… a blush crept onto Natasha's cheeks.

"We don’t, but good luck with that one, Romanoff's never gonna –"

"Never gonna what?" Natasha barged in impulsively, knowing whatever Tony was going to say about her probably wasn't going to be good.

"Never gonna let me take you out," you smirked.

"Well, it's your funeral," he told you, and picked up a donut from the counter, "I'm just gonna grab this… there you go, please don't destroy the kitchen," he said, leaving abruptly.

"So, will you let me take you out?" you asked Natasha once more once he left, a smile on your lips.

"Like, take me out with a gun? Unlikely," Natasha shrugged, "But to dinner… we'll see about that," she smiled, and your grin widened in response.

"But I should probably tell you something first…" Natasha hesitated. Normally, she would never do such a thing. But right now, she knew you were going to work together, and your dynamic needed to stay a good one. She couldn't fuck this up. "I'm not… a hundred percent sure I like girls," Natasha hurriedly said and then swallowed. "I, uh, never really thought about going out with girls before," she shrugged, "but I do know I'd love to go out with you," she smiled.

"That's okay," you said, and after thinking for a moment you added, "If you want some more time to think about it, that's really cool too. If not... I wouldn't mind figuring things out with you," you smiled.

"Thanks," Natasha smiled. "So, think we should destroy this kitchen? For good measure," she raised her eyebrow.

"Absolutely," you agreed, and before she could react you grabbed another donut off of the counter and shoved it in her face, the glazing smearing over her as she called out in surprise. She wiped the glazing from her eyes and glared at you while you burst into laughter.

"I hope you know this means war," she said, her tone threatening yet her lips still smiling, tongue darting out to lick the glazing.

"Bring it!"

I hope you liked it!! <3

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if you wanna join / be removed from this taglist, comment/message me! much love <3

[fallingappleshurt]

Secrets to Save You

It took me forever but I did it!!

“Tommy is worried about his brother and decides to try and find out what is bothering him but he might’ve bit off more then he can chew.”

(Also little side note, the duels don’t take place in the woods) I spent very little time rereading this so I’m gonna hate it but I have had this idea, THIS CHAPTER, rolling around in my brain since early July.

And I finally get to use it! Anyways hope you enjoy!

Chapter 4. Falling Towards Fire

Tommy didn’t know a lot about Techno but he did know something was wrong.

His whole demeanor seemed nervous, restless, almost skittish, and Techno was not skittish. He was jumpy and tense, randomly whipping around as if he was afraid of someone following them. Wilbur had accidentally bumped into him and Techno almost jumped out of his skin.

Something was bothering him to say the least and Tommy decided he was going to figure it out, no matter what, which was definitely easier said than done.

Tommy had been trying so hard to formulate a plan that he started to school only to remember half way there that he forgot his homework. Turning on his heels he ran back to the apartment, backpack bouncing against his back as his feet pounded against the cracking pavement.

He came close to the apartment building, his chest ached as he sucked down air, iron coating his tongue, when he heard the familiar creak of their rusty staircase. He stepped back, pressing himself against the wall and watched as Techno tread down the stairs, sword at his side.

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek, Techno didn’t normally go out to duels during the day but he had heard Wilbur bitch about it so he must be headed there. This was perfect.

He could kill two birds with one stone, find out where Techno was going for the duels then if he knew where they were then he could go to them too and start helping out the family!

In the back of his mind he knew he should grab his homework and run back to school, he could make it before the bell, and be a good kid but the overwhelming curiosity and the familiar tendrils of guilt was too much.

He slowly slid off his backpack, watching Techno’s every move as he started down the street. He shoved his bag under a dumpster and hoped it wouldn’t be stolen then started to creep after his brother.

Tommy thought he didn’t know a lot about Techno but he did, he had picked up on some of his subtle mannerisms, how he would take different paths everyday to make it harder to follow him, how he watched his shadow and listened for other footsteps. He subconsciously was learning how to follow it.

He would creep behind by a few yards, always making sure he had something to duck behind in case Techno whipped around in a panic. Tommy knew that Techno was off his game, there were multiple times Techno shoved absolutely heard Tommy trip over his own feet but it was like he was preoccupied.

Tommy followed him through the third and fourth rings, trying to avoid the random dogs scuraging around in allies and rubble scattered across the ground.

He bit his tongue to stop himself from yelling ‘Hypocrite!’ as Techno climbed through a gap in the fence and started off into the forest, the vines around the fence swooshing in his absence.

Tommy’s hand clenched into fists, he had been told since he was little that leaving through the fence was a horrible thing done by horrible people without any regard for the safety their town tried so hard to provide. But Wilbur had claimed to do it before and now Techno had and they weren’t bad people, if he went through would he be a bad person?

Techno had said that the duels were illegal but were they out in the forest? Were multiple people breaking the law?

His nails hurt his palm as he tried to decide on what to do, Techno was getting farther by the minute but if he wasn’t able to catch up with him then he would be lost with the monsters.

He shoved his fear back in the box in the corner of his mind and raced through the gap and vines and into the unknown.

He had to know, if Techno wasn’t going to the duels then where was he going?

He spotted Techno’s threadbare white shirt through the dark foliage and rushed towards it only to find quietly navigating a forest was much harder than the familiar city streets.

Leaves and twigs crunched under toe, one rustling bush sent shockwaves throughout the whole forest, there wasn’t the familiar bustle of the town to help drown out any accidental loud noises. Randomly, Techno took a sharp turn and started towards the mountains. Stepping over roots and pushing away vines, Tommy followed. This was becoming much more than he thought it would.

Techno stopped close to the base of the mountain, looking around once more before jumping into a small cavern Tommy didn’t even notice was there. He inched closer, trying to peer in only to see Techno disappear through an inky purple veil.

In a panic he jumped into the hole and into the ink after his brother only to find himself in a world of heat.

He stumbled away from the veil, half falling, his knees and palms scraped against hot, sharp, scarlet terrain. Tommy jumped up, trying to orient himself, the whole world was warm, the sky was a dark foggy red with bright bubbling lava sploshing at the edge of a pool. The distance screams and grunts of monsters filled his ears.

He blinked against the dust, eyes watering and chest burning, as he desperately scanned the wasteland for his brother.

Tommy was barely able to spot him against the unrelenting red but once he did he raced towards him, wanting to feel comfort of being with him, he knew Techno would protect him. He didn’t know what was outside the passage or in here but Techno was here so he’d be safe with him.

Tommy couldn’t seem to catch up with him though, between dodging away from monsters and making sure he didn’t fall into lava holes he was pretty distracted.

Then he saw a massive dark structure over a lake of lava, balls of fire dancing across the sky, monsters walking along the paths, and Techno was heading right towards it.

He was half tempted to call it quits and just say Techno had absolutely lost it but they were already here so he followed anyway as they shuffled along a sharp edge before jumping onto the dark bricked structure and climbing down a staircase.

Techno continued until he was out in the open, closer to the balls of fire, he pulled out his sword and slashed at one. Tommy watched in awe, stayed back in the hallway, he had never seen Techno fight before. The teen twisted and turned, slashed and blocked, like it was an art.

His movements were calculated and strong, he managed to grab the drops of whatever he was fighting and still keep the other monsters at bay.

Tommy was so caught up in watching him he almost didn’t hear a familiar crackle of bones behind him.

Suddenly he launched himself sideways, narrowly missing the sword of a wither skeleton shambling up behind him. Tommy screamed, rushing out into the open, away from the hallway, towards Techno.

“Techno!”

Techno whipped around, face dropping when he saw Tommy.

“Tommy- what-what the hell are you doing- how are you- why are you-”

Tommy grabbed onto his sleeve, cutting him off, “Techno there is a wither skeleton!”

His eyes narrowed, pushing Tommy behind him, Techno ran towards the monster, their swords clashing, he disarmed it, sword clattering against the brick. Then sent a hard kick to it’s chest and knocked it over the edge.

Tommy relaxed only for Techno to throw his sword right past his head. He shrieked again as Techno ran in front of him, yanking his sword from the body of one of the fire monsters to ward off the others.

“We need to get out of here. Right now.” Techno said sharply. “This is no place for a child!”

“Oh shut up! You’re just a teenager-”

“Tommy!”

“Right! Right!”

Tommy nodded, ducking behind Techno as he stabbed another monster then grabbed Tommy’s wrist, dragging him back towards the stairs.

They rushed up, taking two steps at a time, Tommy trying to stay close when they reached the top Techno swore loudly. There were three more wither skeletons blocking their path.

Tommy felt like his heart was going to pound out of his throat.

“Stand back Tommy, it’ll be alright.” Techno put a hand on his chest. Tommy swallowed nervously.

“How? There are three fucks right there!”

Techno licked his lips, looking back at him with barely concealed fear. “Cause I neva die.”

And despite the situation Tommy found himself smiling.

It didn’t last as Techno stepped forwards, taking two of the mobs at once. Tommy stood there frozen, trying to figure a way to help when one started for him, he tried to back away when a fireball shot past his head.

He yelped, trying to dodge away from the fire and the withers prying claws. He heard Techno yell his name but everything was starting to blur together in a red hazy mess.

He lashed out, knocking the monster across the face, he cheered, ignoring the pain in his knuckles. The monster sloppily lunged at him again.

Tommy jumped back only for his foot to slip as he realized he was at the edge of the structure. He grabbed at the skeleton in a blind panic, desperate for anything to grab onto.

The skeleton was pushed away as Techno shoved it hard, shooting forwards he yanked Tommy against his chest.

Tommy felt an arm wrapping around his ribs, holding him tightly against his brother's chest as the ground slipped beneath their feet and they plummeted towards the lava.

[kafka-ish]

coward | s.u.

y/n, bold and beautiful, is now second guessing herself when she finds herself skinny dipping with stan uris 

word count: 2.5k

warnings/included: fluff, steamy-ish, exhibitionism, fem!reader

request: (from anon) “could i have a request where the reader is v v v flirty with stan and one day he says something really dirty even richie's shocked. it’s fine if not.” 

a/n: i accidentally changed it bc i misread ur request im so so sorry !!! also if u noticed i haven’t written in awhile it’s bc my classes started up again so fics may take more time to write/post -- hope u understand <3

-

What came out of y/n’s mouth next truly shocked Stanley.

“Wanna go skinny dipping?” It wasn’t far off from whatever usually spewed from her mouth that she and the rest of the Losers had a hard time controlling.

His mind flashed to all the times y/n’s hand grazed his: the light touches, the silent stares, the whispers that tickled his ears and kissed his brain.

“Next year for Halloween, you should be Stan without a shirt.”  

The hearts she drew on his notebook when he wasn’t looking, the hand she held in hers, the what-are-we’s before giggling in his wonderstruck face that she was joking; it was all a sign of want that he’d been too dense to see before.

“You’re great, you know. Great at being an asshole.”

Sweet, mischievous y/n; always blunt, always careless of what others thought of her. It never occurred to Stan of what she thought of him.

Richie was the first to speak up, Stan still having to catch his breath from the promiscuous words that left her mouth seconds ago. “Sure, toots, I’d love to see what’s under that suit of yours. God, you don’t know how much I hate that thing.” He laughed and Stan wanted to beat the shit-eating grin off his shit-eating friend. His jaw, pronounced and square, tightened and Richie saw. “On second thought, I think someone else would enjoy the view way more.”

Another laugh came from the group, but it wasn’t from Richie. It was y/n’s. The soft giggle leaving her luscious lips did nothing to calm Stan.

“Are you jealous, Stanley?” She asked. A smirk sat on her lips. She only called him by his full name when she teased him.

He definitely felt like he was being thrown a bone only to find out the pitcher never threw one right now.

“Of course not.” Stan gave her the side-eye, readjusting his position from the rock he sat on while doing so. “I can’t think of any situation where I’d be jealous of Richie.”

“Oh yeah?” Richie challenged and Stan squinted at him.

“Yeah.”

“I can think of one—multiple, actually.” Richie wore the same smirk as y/n—only his was less digestible. Maybe it was because y/n was less insufferable to be around, or because she didn’t take a crack at his religion every chance she had, or because her hair was soft and shiny on her head and something Stan wished he could run his hands through. Maybe it was because y/n was a girl, or because she was pretty and the way she batted her eyelashes made him see stars even in the sunlight.

“When?”

Richie leaned in and whispered something that was totally vulgar and jarring to Stan’s ears.

Stan flinched—unsurprised that his friend was ballsy enough to say such a thing, but because what if he had actually thought about doing such a thing?

“Gross, Ruh-Ruh-Richie!” Bill yelled from across the quarry, already knowing what his friend would say.

“Yeah. You’re disgusting,” Eddie said from next to him while he looked up at Bill.

“Ruh-lax. It’s not like it’s something I’m gonna do.” Richie opened a new can of Keystone Light next to his already half-drunken one. “I got freedom of thoughts though, right?” He winked and Ben rolled his eyes.

“If you already have a drink open you should finish it,” Stan instructed, ignoring the subject at hand.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” y/n sounded closer than she was before. Her arm brushed up against his and he thought she was about to hold his hand until her fingers grazed just past his to grab his can of beer. She took a sip. “Besides, it all ends up somewhere.”

She could be so careless with her actions. But this was the same girl who made sure paper and plastic went to recycling, the total opposite of Stan, a total enigma.

“I just think, if you want another one, you should finish the one you already have.” Stan explained himself clearly and concisely. It was something y/n always admired. She never got tired of hearing him talk—she could listen to him talk for hours on end.

“Whatever.” Her eyes rolled so far he’d thought they’d get stuck. “I’m going home. “Later, Losers.”

“Wuh-what about the sk-skinny dipping?” Bill asked and Ben elbowed him. He wasn’t yet comfortable in his body, though he had been on Derry High’s track team for a year and a half and lost a fair amount of weight (twenty-two pounds), he still wasn’t comfortable in his own skin (he didn’t think he’d ever be)—even around his best friends—friends he considered family.

“We can do it tomorrow.” y/n shrugged. “Sound good to you, Stanley?” Her eyes were only focused on him and Stan knew that. They glowered under the sun’s harsh rays and fixated on his figure.

“I don’t know.” Stan tried to sound as monotone as possible. “Maybe you should be asking Richie instead.”

At that, y/n smiled, leaving the rest of the group confused as she walked away.

“Duh-dude!” What wuh-was that?” Bill wondered aloud, astounded how y/n had him wrapped around her finger—or maybe it was the other way around.

“If I knew, I would tell you,” Stan said, holding the same shock in his voice.

“Are you and y/n like—”

“No!” The sharpness of Stan’s tongue cut Ben off quickly with a harsh glare he’d later apologize for. But it would be a lie to say that he didn’t want something with y/n. Another lie, that Stan would keep to himself, would be that he didn’t anticipate the events that were to come for tomorrow…

“Hey, stranger!” It was y/n from down below. She was already wading in the water—waiting for him, presumably.

“Hey, y/n/n.” He started for the long way down, not caring to cannon-ball ten feet down from the cliff of the quarry today. “Where’s Bill and Bev and Mike and Ben and—”

“—and Richie?” A beam shot across y/n’s face as soon as Stan met her eye line.

“And Richie,” Stan mumbled. That was the only thing he’d been worried about. Although he knew there was nothing about his trashmouth friend to worry about. But it was always best to stay skeptical.

“I told them not to come.” y/n said this with such nonchalance—such grace as she tilted her head into the water and drifted back, letting the water carry her away as if she were weightless.

“Why,” Stan asked, though it came out as more of a demand.

“Because.” y/n shrugged, but you couldn’t really shrug while you were trying to stay afloat. He noticed that her eyes were closed, and her bathing suit was still on. Maybe she was lying about skinny dipping and he had worked himself up last night over nothing. y/n was like that—making promises she never intended to fulfill. If it weren’t for y/n being, well, y/n, Stan might’ve been annoyed at her antics. But he wasn’t—far from it, even. He was infatuated with her being—clothed or not, enraptured with how sunshine she could be one hour and rain she could be the next.

Math and English were an easy feat—but trying to understand y/n was like trying to learn Mandarin blind and deaf.

Her curves spilled from the bikini bottoms that hugged her butt and the matching top she wore hugged her bust exceptionally. The bikini’s scandalous red color harmonized with y/n’s skin tone well and Stan couldn’t imagine her in anything else at the moment. He didn’t want to imagine her in anything else.

“Are you gonna get in?” Her presence startled him as she was quick to swim up to the rocks. “Or are you scared?” A sly smile splayed across her pink lips and Stan mirrored her.

“I’m scared?” He scoffed. “You were the one who said we were going skinny dipping.” He stripped himself of his shirt, revealing his pale, yet toned, chest. “Guess who’s not undressed.”

“You?” y/n guessed; the innocent tone surprising on her tongue. She had inadvertently licked her lips at the answer and Stan couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her mouth due to the action.

“No. You.”

“My bad.” A giggle escaped her bitten lips and y/n began to unclip the back of her bikini. “Is that better now?” The straps fell loose against her arms, but the top stayed covering her breasts.

Stan didn’t say anything.

“What if I…” y/n didn’t finish her sentence. Silently, she fully removed the straps from her arms and the contraption left her bodice.

“Christ,” Stan seethed out, but he wasn’t gentlemen enough to look away from the sight on display before him: y/n treading the shallow water that was crystal clear thanks to Mr. Sun that shone down on this part of town, giving Stan an eyeful.

“Don’t say his name in vain.” She had now slipped the bottoms off and Stan didn’t know what to do with himself. Get undressed, I guess.

His pants were the next to go as Stanley undid his brown leather belt that held his too-big khaki shorts together. His waistline had shrunk due to baseball season’s quick start. And although it was only early March, the heat had picked up fast in this small town they called home and Stan could feel himself already itching to feel the water on his sweat-stricken skin.

“What are you waiting for?” y/n called from below. She was growing impatient, but who could blame her?

Stan stood above her in only his underwear. If the rest of the student body was here, he would’ve been living out his nightmare—stripped to the bone with an audience to gawk at him. But only y/n was here to witness the grey Calvin Kleins that hugged his thighs and rather than a nightmare, this felt more like a daydream.

“Are you shy?” She teased. “C’mon, Stanny, there’s no need to be—”

“Shy my ass,” Stan interjected as he relieved himself of the last piece of clothing and jumped into the water all in a quick movement.

“Glad you could finally make it, slowpoke.” y/n splashed his face, disregarding his lack of clothes—both of their lack of clothes—but Stan couldn’t help but admire y/n’s skin that the water had already kissed and glowed under the flash of the sun.

He’d never seen her in such a state before. In fact, he’d never intended to. But this was worth it—even if it were the only time, he knew he’d have this memory burned into his skull forever the same way the sun would burn his skin the next day because he forgot to apply sunscreen. Since when does Stanley Uris forget to apply sunscreen?

“It’s rude to stare,” y/n deadpanned, but Stan couldn’t help it. How could he not take his eyes off her tan lines from up close and the divot of her collarbone? The way her hair slicked back from the water and the pout of her lips was all too tempting to not want to consume. Stan Uris would be an idiot to not stare. A polite idiot.

“You make it hard.”

y/n felt her cheeks heat up and she knew she wasn’t sporting a sunburn. y/n never burned. “Oh. Well, in that case, stare as much as you want.”

“Gladly.”

y/n was quiet now—a rare event, but it gave Stan an opportunity he’d never thought he’d get or go for.

He swam closer, the stroke of his arms creating rifts in the water and y/n shivered at the feeling of the coldness that hit her chest each time he got closer.

It was strange seeing him up close—in such an intimate setting. As big of a crush y/n harbored on the boy, it’s not like she did anything about it. A few remarks there, a few remarks there. This was the furthest they’ve ever gotten. Maybe a little too far now that she was considering it more closely. Since when did first base turn into skinny dipping in the quarry?

Before her thoughts could leave her second-guessing anymore, y/n felt her lips on someone else’s. They were pressed together firmly and tightly. She held her breath as if she were underwater, but her heart prevailed, only picking up at a speed she’d only feel when she caught him looking at her or when he laughed at her jokes.

The kiss was powerful and all she needed. If this were the last time they’d ever see each other again, she wouldn’t care, because she’d have that kiss to cherish. Maybe she’d long for one in the future. Just one more. But this kiss left her knowing that this skinny-dipping idea wasn’t so bad after all.

His lips were soft and tickled as he pulled apart to catch a breath. y/n’s eyes opened to find Stan’s pupils were wide and lustblown. She stood still in the water, amazed that anyone could feel that way about her.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Stan—”

“What?” Stan asked, eager and anxious for the words meant for him.

“This is embarrassing but.. I like you.” The words were bold and packed with courage—not far from the regular way y/n spoke, but this was different. It had a certain bite to it that Stan couldn’t quite taste.

“Are you embarrassed because you like me or are you embarrassed because you’re confessing to me without any clothes on?” Before Stan’s eyes could rake down to y/n’s body once more, a splash of water hit his face—cold and abrupt. His eyelids slammed at the impact and he flinched.

“You’re such a perv.” y/n scoffed as if she had forgotten her deepest secret had just spilled from her lips in front of the boy the secret was about. Secret. Don’t act like it wasn’t as obvious as a fat kid scarfing down their third brownie in the first place—

“You know if it’s any more embarrassing… I like you, too,” Stan said. He felt winded after saying it. His chest felt heavy and his toes dug into the sand in order to keep him from falling headfirst into the water. It was so easy for y/n. Brave, crass y/n who swore like a sailor yet had the face of a doll.

Stan’s train of thought was lost at the feeling of y/n’s body pressed against his. He’d forgotten they were both bare-assed and exposed for all of Derry to see because the warmth of y/n was all too much. His heart jumped out of his chest sixty miles a minute and the muscles under his arms were now stones. Stan didn’t recognize that her lips were on his until her tongue swiped his bottom one for access in which he granted.

Teeth clashed and tongues danced. It was a hot minute until y/n pulled away with a cheeky smile and lingering fingers on his collarbone that made Stan hold his breath.

“That was hot,” he heaved, finally cutting the silence between them. Of course, the birds still chirped and the water around them never stopped flowing. But the world just seemed to stop whenever Stan stepped foot into y/n’s intoxicating proximity.

“Hell yeah, it was.” One arm was still strewn around his neck while her free hand traced code on his shoulder.

Nothing else was said. Nothing had to be said. But Stan was sure of one thing; that y/n was no coward.

[hqprotectionsquad]

Mr. Number One (Ennoshita x Reader)

Title: Mr. Number One Pairing: Ennoshita x Reader Summary: Ennoshita’s always the top of the class, much to your dismay. And he’s practically perfect in every other section of his life too! What would you do to get him down a notch? Word Count: 3.6k A/N: our classic rivals to lovers plot!!! hope you all enjoy <3

“He’s really going to be number one in the class, again, after this test,” you grumble your complaints to your friends, as you always do. You’re sitting in a triangle formation, with your two friends making the other points of the shape. “How is he so perfect?”

“Well, if he was even more perfect, he’d have a starting position on the volleyball team,” Yuna says, patting your back. It’s the third time you’ve cried over a test result this year. Fortunately, nobody has come to the roof today during lunch to see you sob. “It’s one test, don’t worry. You can get him back next week!”

“Not everyone’s good at sports, so that I get.”

“He’s your rival, yet you defend him in every way; do you notice that, (Y/N)?” Satoko scrunches her eyebrows.

“He’s not a bad person!” You say, wiping the tears from the contours of your eyes. “I just hate him for being so good at everything.” An angry bite of your sandwich prompts your friends to lean away from you.

“I’m sure he’s not good at everything. You could probably find his weakness if you wanted to.” Yuna grins and you know that is her devious smile. All of your worst decisions are a result of this baring of her teeth, but there are also many things that have turned for the better because of her scheming.

Today, her smile wins you over.

Ennoshita doesn’t realize any of these things. In fact, he keeps his head down while he grinds towards better grades, because better grades will bring him to a better future. There isn’t much space between classes, tutoring, and volleyball, and when he does find free time, it goes to storyboarding a new script he’s written. Nothing’s perfect; in fact, he’s lucky that he’s got his head treading above water at times, gasping for the sweet respite of fresh air.

“Tanaka, how did you get a failing grade...again?” Ennoshita rolls his eyes when he looks over the test paper. "You could’ve fixed this easily, and this one too,” Ennoshita says when pointing out problems that were marked wrong.

“I’m not as good a student as you. All I think about is Kiyoko-san and volleyball.” Tanaka stands in the classroom of stragglers who didn’t want to leave for lunch. He’s fortunate Ennoshita’s homeroom teacher doesn’t mind Tanaka coming in and out of a classroom that isn’t even his. Tanaka puts his balled fists on his hips. He looks to the air above him and grins like nobody’s business, all until his friend smacks him on the head.

“You won’t be able to get into a university if you keep failing,” he warns his teammate. “Even if you’re that good at volleyball,” Ennoshita begrudgingly adds underneath his breath. If only he hadn’t taken time off, maybe he’d be as good as Tanaka. They even share the same position in volleyball, but Tanaka is on the starting lineup, deemed as one of the strongest. Ennoshita stands on the side and acts as a referee or score keeper for practice matches. What good comes out of being on the volleyball court, but not being able to play?

Tanaka doesn’t hear him, but instead switches the topic to someone else. “Hey, I don’t want to get tutored by you anymore. Are there any cute girls in your class that could help me?”

“What?” Ennoshita widens his eyes. “What do you mean you ‘don’t want to get tutored by me anymore?’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tanaka grimaces, pulling on the fabric of his school uniform. “You always yell at me like this. I want a nice girl who will cheer me on when I get two points higher on a test. You don’t think a forty is good enough,” he complains. As he drifts off into his own imagination, he dreams of a girl in a short skirt, teaching him algebra. Oh, how that must be the life. Too bad Ennoshita waves away the puff of smoke from Tanaka’s head.

“I don’t know any girls in my class that do tutoring, or any one for that matter who would want to tutor a horny guy like you.”

“Well, what about (Y/N)-chan? She’s your rival, isn’t she?” He sinks back into his chair and props his head on his hands. With his elbows on the desk, Tanaka inches closer and closer to Ennoshita’s face, wiggling his eyebrows. Luckily, she’s not in the classroom. She’s out with her friends for lunch, Ennoshita assumes.

“She’s not.”

“Then why doesn’t she like you?” There’s something on Tanaka's face that makes Ennoshita's elbows tighten against his sides.

“She doesn’t not like me.” When Tanaka gives him a look, Ennoshita huffs and shrugs his shoulders. He’s never really thought of you that way, or in any way. You’re just a fellow classmate in his class. He’s never had a group project with you and he’s not one to mingle with some of the girls in the classroom. Maybe you don’t like him, just like Tanaka says. “I don’t know, I don’t know her well.”

“Then could you ask her for me?” There’s something about the smile on Tanaka’s face that makes Ennoshita’s insides curl in disarray.

But Tanaka’s persistence prevails today, and with another exhale, Ennoshita folds. “Okay, fine, I’ll ask her. But tomorrow, okay? I don’t want to bother her today.”

“I don’t think you could even bother a fly, Ennoshita.”

“Hi, so I have a question to ask you.” Ennoshita tentatively approaches the side of your desk at the end of classes the next day.

“Sure, but make it quick, will you?” You don’t look up at his figure while you put away your items into your shoulder bag. All you want is to curl up on your bed after a long day of school and this cute rival of yours is disturbing the balance of your routine. You blow a stream of air into the strands of hair that block your vision and you look into his eyes. He looks different from this angle, but whatever. He’s still in the way between you and your bed. “Well?”

“My friend, Tanaka, wants you to tutor him.”

You stand to be more level with his gaze and his chest is pretty close to yours, you’ll admit. You take a step back, masking your space-building tactic by pushing your chair into the empty space underneath your desk. “What, number one in the class isn’t good enough for him?” Your words come out harsher than you expected, but you don’t deal out an apology and instead wait for his response.

Even if there was malice on your tongue, Ennoshita doesn’t say anything rude back to you. “I’ve tried,” he admits. “But he’s adamant on choosing you as a tutor and asked me to ask you. I don’t know why he couldn’t ask you himself, because I don’t even talk to you myself, but—”

“What’s he having trouble with?” For what you remember, he’s one of the spikers on the volleyball team and the kid who has trouble keeping his shirt on at times. That definitely raises a concern, but if you can get paid a sum for your services, you could over look that and make sure he has his shirt on for the entire tutoring session.

“Um, basically everything.” Ennoshita doesn’t know why he couldn’t push the words out of his mouth when speaking to you, but he is not grateful for this right now. He licks his dry lips in attempt to draw moisture to them.

“Did you get paid? Because I’m not tutoring someone I know for free.”

“Well, he’s my friend, so no, not really. I’m sure he could arrange something.” Your gaze makes Ennoshita squirm like he’s underneath a hot lamp and microscope, but you don’t realize that. After his statement, you walk away, telling him to ask first before you can agree to anything. It’s not like you to charge, but you might as well start now, right?

Later that night, Ennoshita calls Tanaka to tell him the news. “You have to pay or she won’t tutor you. By the way, she doesn’t seem like the type to get swayed by just any guy; that is if she’s into boys.” Maybe Tanaka was right when he said (Y/N) hated him. Was there something inherently wrong with him, like his hair or his face?

Tanaka groans. “What incentive can I give her without paying her? You don’t make me pay.”

“I don’t make you pay because you’re my friend and you and Nishinoya would yell at me,” Ennoshita interrupts before he can say more. “Look, I don’t know what you could possibly offer for her to tutor you.”

After throwing out some ideas, Tanaka doesn’t know what to say anymore because his head hurts from thinking too much. He’s massaging his temples while Ennoshita’s going on and on about the volleyball team. Looking around his bedroom, Tanaka’s wracking his brain for more thoughts when he stops in his tracks. “Wait, Ennoshita—huh, why didn’t I think of this before? I’m so smart, aren’t I?”

Ennoshita all but yells into the receiver of the phone. Being the wrangler to the second years pays a price that is much above his pay-grade.

“What if (Y/N) needs help in something, so you tutor her, she tutors me, and we’re all happy?”

“That sounds really dumb because I’m sure she’s going to say that I can tutor you and there’s no reason for there to be a middle ground.”

“That’s not a bad idea actually. I’m struggling with physics, so maybe you could help me with that.” You cross your arms when you lean back on the sill of the window, feeling like the cool protagonist of the story. You’re probably as far as you can be from that, but it’s just wishful thinking. Ennoshita’s sitting in his seat beside you — lucky man, he has a seat by the window — and his jaw lowers when you agree with Tanaka’s thoughts.

“Wait, you’re not going to say anything about it being stupid that Tanaka could be tutored by me and we wouldn’t have to jump through hoops to get him to study more?”

When you laugh, it’s the first time Ennoshita’s seen your smile up close; it’s beautiful. “I mean, you said he wants to be tutored by me, so if I get help on my worst subject and he gets help on his subjects, I think it’s a win-win.” Your admission twists your heart a little because it’s like admitting defeat and confirming Ennoshita is smarter than you. “I’ve got to go, I’ll talk to you another time.” 

You go to slip out of the classroom and you just hear him scramble for the words, “O-oh? Alright, I’ll talk to you later, I guess.” It feels good to have the upper hand this time, and you want to share your victory with Yuna and Satoko right away.

“No way. He asked you to tutor Tanaka? That’s the baldie on the volleyball team, right? I always knew that guy wasn’t good at schooling. He just seems like the type. It’s nice that he’s at least good at volleyball, though.” You have always admired Yuna’s candor, even if it’s not the kindest way of expressing her feelings. Stopping in her track of words, she looks to you with a questioning face. “Wait, you just came from talking to Ennoshita. Does that mean you, like, left right away or something?”

With a laugh, Satoko smirks, saying, “Knowing her, she probably left him in her dust, like she does all the time.” You cover your eyes with a hand to avoid their playful glares. Along with the bottom of your foot, you lean against the hallway wall.

“I may or may not have left right away,” you admit with pursed lips. Holding your hands up in resignation, you try to justify your actions. “Look, I’ve got to keep number one on his toes. I mean, yeah, we aren’t friends, but we could be. He’s going to tutor me in physics in exchange for me tutoring Tanaka in his subjects.”

“You’re surprisingly happy for a person who’s not going to be paid for her services.”

“Yuna, she didn’t even have to try! Lucky girl, huh?” Satoko pokes you in the stomach and your body crunches at the unexpected touch.

“I’ll let you guys know how everything goes. I have to discuss things with Tanaka and Ennoshita. Like I said, it’s just discussion. I’m not friends with either of them—”

Yuna corrects your statement in the middle of your sentence. “Not friends, yet.”

During the next day, you sort out all of the logistics for tutoring with Tanaka and Ennoshita. While it’s the first time you’ve introduced yourself to Tanaka, he acts like a friend immediately, which puts you at ease. He tells you joke after joke, but in reality, he’s trying to postpone actually talking about school.

“Okay, so about the tutoring—”

“But what about volleyball? We can talk more about that.”

“But I’m tutoring you. I’m not even asking you to pay, but we need to discuss what you need help with.” You tap your toes on the library floor while you wait for his response. His lackadaisical approach could work for someone else, but on you, never. “Alright, show me your past test scores.”

He gives in eventually, but you have to coax him with the donut that’s in your lunch box. Tanaka’s eyes flit between your expression and the papers between your fingers. At last, you set down the stack on the table and tell him, “It could be worse.” The buzzed boy pumps his arm into the air, opening his mouth to release phrases that might not have been invented yet. “I’m not saying they’re good. You need to do much better if you intend on being on the volleyball team next term.”

Begrudgingly, he pulls at the zippers from his bag and initially tosses the notebooks, but when you glare at him, Tanaka gingerly handles his belongings. You dive right into the eye of the storm, flipping through pages and your former notes to get a grip on the whirlwind of material.

“I’ve got to get to practice now.” Tanaka’s voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it so you need to ask him to repeat what he’s said. Apparently, he doesn’t want to leave when he’s actually understanding his algebra homework. When he packs up everything, there’s a smile on his face. “Thanks, (Y/N).”

“Don’t mention it, just let Ennoshita know that I’m tutoring him tomorrow afternoon. And we’re still on for the day after tomorrow, don’t forget that.” You stand to see him off in a way, but he doesn’t budge like you believed he would. “Didn’t you say you have to get to practice?”

“I just wanted to say that I can see why Ennoshita likes you.” From the sight of your furrowed brows and dropped jaw, Tanaka lets out a big-bellied laugh, not caring for the sight of the students who scowl in his direction for ruining their precious focus. After one last wave, Tanaka takes his exit. Even when you lower into your seat, you’re amazed at what he said and his ability to leave after the damage has been done. Well, wouldn’t he remind you of someone you know?

“Tanaka tells me you’re a better tutor than me,” Ennoshita grumbles when he finds you outside in the courtyard. The sun beats down on the tops of your heads, but at least the wind takes pity on your bodies. You’ve never seen Ennoshita so grumpy before; you have a change in scenery in all kinds of ways. He plops on the opposite side of the bench, parallel to you, and sets his bag aside to take out his physics textbook and notebook. When he opens the cover of the notebook, you peer at his handwriting; it’s neat and concise, as you expected.

“So,” you sip on the juice box you were nursing before continuing your sentence. “You’re going to help me, right? Because I get some of the concepts, but not all.”

“Sure, but I’m also having trouble with it, so I was hoping we could help each other out?” Ennoshita shrugs.

You tilt your head. “Really? I thought you’d be good at it.”

“Not everyone’s good at everything.”

“But you’re number one in the class.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean I don’t struggle.” He breaks open the chapter of the textbook you were working on in class this past week. “I don’t really understand any of that stuff.” Ennoshita points at example problems on the pages. “I think I can do them with help, but otherwise I’m not doing too well.” He rubs the back of his neck and doesn’t look to you, but rather the trees in the distance. He hands over his notebook when you ask for it and you start grinning.

“This is my favorite part of physics! I love all of the math equations, they’re so much fun. I can actually understand that, but not some of the other stuff.” You even begin flailing your hands when you speak about it. If there’s one thing you were proud of, it would be math. You might not be the best at everything, but math comes easier to you than most subjects.

Then you set your hands in your lap, clenching your intertwined fingers. You shake your head at yourself; he’s not a friend like Yuna and Satoko. He’s simply a classmate. He’s your rival. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get excited there.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Even though you wanted to review the parts you didn’t understand, you proceed in reteaching him the base material so he understands every single part and why you’re using this specific equation. It actually clears up where your recollection was fuzzy. Soon enough, you can see the lightbulb going off in his head when he solves a problem on his own. “That wasn’t so hard.”

“You did it,” you reassure with a small grin on your face. It’s hard not to see him in a different light when you’re up close. After working through problems together, you take a break so the both of you can relax.

“Sorry, I was supposed to be tutoring you. It seems that you took the reins. I’ll get us something to drink to make up for it.” When you don’t deny his proposal, Ennoshita slips away to get the two of you drinks from the vending machine, so you’re left with none other than your battling brain. How can you possibly go on if part of you is begging to let your guard down and the other continues to build up your walls? It is emotionally exhausting to keep this facade running and repatching the holes in the walls.

“Is everything alright, (Y/N)?” Ennoshita asks when he returns to the table. He gingerly places the green tea bottle to the side of your work while he snaps open the bottle of Potari Sweat.

“Yes, of course, why wouldn’t it be?” Same old smile on your face, the same one that you show to teachers and acquaintances in the stairwells.

“Then, can I ask you why you don’t like me?” His voice is exceptionally even for a person who is attempting the first strike of the war.

“What do you mean? I like you fine.”

“I don’t think you do, though. You seem a little bit peeved whenever we talk in class, and even right now too. I don’t understand.” Even though his eye shape is downturned, that doesn’t overbear the fact that his eyes are fiery.

You roll your eyes and fold your fingers on top of the table. “If you want my honest opinion, then I think we’re just classmates. We aren’t friends. We haven’t done anything that warrants friendship, don’t you think? I have my friends. You have yours. We don’t overlap.”

“So, what? You think we’re just classmates, rivals?” When he runs a hand along the line that parts his hair, the strands don’t return to their natural spot and you notice it’s the first time you’ve seen him physically disheveled. He’s usually put together, yet in this moment, he’s human. He’s all human. “I can’t believe I like someone who doesn’t even think we’re friends. I’ve been classmate-zoned.” He mutters these sentences underneath his breath when he watches the box of his foot kick pebbles.

“What?” Ennoshita’s head snaps up when you say this and for a while, everything is stuck in time.

Nobody moves.

You just look at him.

“I like you, so tell me why you hate me, (Y/N).” He’s bold for continuing the conversation instead of running away. He knows what it’s like to abandon everything he’s known.

“I don’t hate you.” You pause. “You like me?”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Your body moves before you can think. The tentative steps take you closer to Ennoshita, and again, you find yourself nearly chest-to-chest with him. When you place your hands on his collarbones, you don’t leave time for hesitation.

You gravitate towards him and brush your lips against his for a brief moment. There’s a nagging thought in your head, because what if it turns bad? But what if it turns good? All of the worries absolve when he responds to your kiss.

Pulling away is a task on its own. You scan his face, the delicate features that make all of him. While you do this, he does the same to you.

Now, Ennoshita asks, “You like me?”

“I think I do.”

general haikyuu tag list: @dorkyama​ @kingkags​ @clowninfortodoroki​​ @ykchaos​​ @kingkagss​​ @alienvarmint​​ @gogohaikyuu

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[welllpthisishappening]

All the Subliminal Things (2/3)

Emma Swan does not believe in soulmates.

Or so she says. Because if her soulmate did, actually, exist, he should have shown up by now. So, she must be a fluke, a broken cog in a system that really doesn’t make much sense anyway. It is, she figures, why she agrees to meet David’s friend before Regina and Robin’s wedding. This guy doesn’t believe in soulmates either.

She’s intrigued.

Until she hears him talk. And everything flips after that.

------

Rating: Teen Word Count: Still around 5K’ish AN: This is really just five-thousand words of flirting and emotional backstories. And then more flirting. Kevin Jonas got married at the same castle Regina and Robin are going to have their wedding. So, I’m really sticking with the theme here. As always, I am floored and a little stunned by any response to anything I write, but this has just been delightful and you are all very nice. Thank for clicking and reading and sending very nice comments. I hope you guys enjoy this part too. And make sure to tell @resident-of-storybrooke​ how fantastic her cover art is. It’s fantastic. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam. 

------

“Ok, favorite movie?” “No one is going to ask you that.” Killian shrugs. They’re in a different coffee shop, some unspoken agreement that they’ll only meet in public places, and his legs are stretched out impossibly far, arms crossed lightly over his chest with a shirt on that is making it very difficult for Emma to concentrate.

Honestly, it may be that stupid piece of hair behind his ear.

“You don’t know that,” he argues. “And, strictly speaking, my interest in being fake soulmates with you has no bearing on my interest in knowing what your favorite movie is.” Emma’s pretty proud of her distinct lack of reaction. She doesn’t gasp. She doesn’t groan. She makes no noise whatsoever at fake soulmates despite the certainty that the words actually cut their way through her.

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?” He shrugs again. It makes his shirt shift slightly, a patch of skin just above another pair of ridiculously tight pants and maybe he’s actively trying to drive her insane. Maybe the world just hates her. That seems more likely.

“It’s certainly how it was intended,” Killian says, taking a drink of another fancy coffee order. He got a latte this time. “And you’re avoiding the question, love.”

Emma reacts at that. That’s disappointing.

She can feel her eyes bug, tongue darting between her lips because, at some point, she’d started breathing through her mouth and the flush that creeps up Killian’s cheeks is as nice as it is unexpected.

“Swan,” he mutters, like he’s correcting himself or reminding himself. Of something. Emma has no idea of what. “The movie. Favorites only.” “Ok, but that makes it seem like I have more than one favorite movie. That doesn’t make any sense. By definition.” “Do you think you were an English teacher in another life?”

“Was that a Bye Bye Birdie reference?” “Absolutely not. And Dick Van Dyke was supposed to be the English teacher. Are you Dick Van Dyke in this scenario?” “He did have an overbearing mother.” “Are you suggesting Mary Margaret is is your overbearing mother?” Killian asks, a smile tugging at the end of his lips. Emma needs to stop staring at his lips.

“Nah, it’s definitely David. The whole thing is gender swapped you see.” “Ah, of course, of course. Ok, so no more Bye Bye Birdie references.” “Why were you aware that was something I could have been making?” “Swan, this is still not answering the question.” She widens her eyes on purpose that time and they’ve been doing this for nearly two weeks now – coffee...meetings that very clearly aren’t dates because they very clearly aren’t soulmates, but it’s nice and good and comfortable and a few more adjectives that are several thousand times more emotional than that.

Emma’s fairly sure she’s at, like, twenty-six on the scale of how absolutely not fine this is.

“Killian,” she prompts when he doesn’t answer immediately, and his head snaps up like it’s on a timer. She can see the muscles in his throat move when he swallows. “Are you secretly a Broadway aficionado from the 60s?” “Only because it was forced upon me.” “Sounds violent.” “Nah, the opposite. A comforting force.” “You’re beating around something,” Emma accuses, and it’s only been a few weeks. Not even a full two. Technically, speaking. That’s barely any time. Her mind doesn’t care. It’s picked up on cues and ticks and little things, every tiny twitch and multiple moments and she’s got some secret stash of thoughts and feelings and how much she wants to know everything single thing about it him.

It terrifies her.

Because she’s absolutely setting herself up for disappointment.

“Only because it’s incredibly depressing,” Killian says. “And you’ve done a very good job of avoiding my question. But, uh…”

Another shrug, a little self deprecating and as depressing as advertised and Emma reaches forward on instinct and, maybe, magic she can’t control, resting her hand on the prosthetic at the end of his arm. They’re going to get kicked out of this coffee shop when their eyes both fall out of their respective heads.

It will probably make the news.

“My mom,” Killian whispers, eyes glancing down towards Emma’s hand and she doesn’t pull away. “Was very big on all that. Had ancient cast albums and a record player that only kind of worked and she used to play them when she cleaned the apartment.” Emma knows that tone. She’s felt it and experienced it, lived it more times than one person ever should, and it’s not something she’d ever wish on anyone.

Especially Killian.

“When?” she whispered.

He smiles. That feels like something important. An understanding. “I was ten. Very quick, very sudden, an even quicker ship off to the system.” “What?” Emma doesn’t quite bark out the word, but it’s very close and their eyes will not be able to cope with much more of this. “What do you mean, what?” Killian asks, clicking his tongue in frustration when he realizes he’s out of coffee. “That’s---I mean, my dad was an absolute dick and never around and Liam wasn’t--” “How long were you in the system?” She’s honestly impressed by how quickly he understands. It’s barely more than three seconds, a flash of his eyes that makes Emma wonder a whole slew of things she shouldn’t even be considering. They’re friends. She thinks.

She hopes.

She’s not great at that either.

Cowardly and a great, big giant liar, kind of petulant, just sort of a jerk and, now, a pessimist.

“Until I was eighteen,” Killian answers. “Liam wanted to get me out before then, but that’s expensive and there have to be lawyers and have you ever heard of soulmates that aren’t romantic?” Emma nods. “Elsa and her sister.”

"Well, Liam tried to do that, but it didn't work and who is Elsa, exactly?" “She’s a public defender. We’re friends.” “You’re a cop and friends with a public defender? Isn’t that against the rules?” “Nah,” Emma objects, but that’s kind of true too and it’s not fair how easily he can read her. “David was a little scandalized at first, but he gets along with Elsa’s sister anyway and Ruby said it was ok, so…” “And Ruby is?” “Is this an interrogation? I thought that was supposed to be my schtick.”

Killian grins. It’s distracting. She’s going to bring scissors to the next coffee shop they go to. “Genuine curiosity, love.” He does it on purpose. She’s positive. That’s...something.

“Ruby is the reason I’m here,” Emma says. “She grew up in this tiny little town in Maine. Grandmother owns a diner there. And I ended up there--maybe ten years ago? They let me stay there for awhile, then Ruby left for the great, big city and somehow met Mary Margaret.” “David’s Mary Margaret?” “You know a lot of other ones?” Killian shakes his head, eyes darting every few seconds to the hand Emma’s never moved. “Anyway, Ruby heard about an opening at the police department, the need for a few of us interested in preserving justice and told me I didn’t have any choice. There was no reason not to.” “No?” “No,” Emma echoes, a finality to her voice that grates on the inside of her throat. But they’re treading close to suddenly emotional territory and admissions she doesn’t want to get into in a coffee shop, apparently, a few blocks away from Killian’s apartment. “No reason to stay in Boston when there’s so much opportunity here. That’s, like, the New York slogan, right?”

He nods so slowly it’s barely a movement, lips parted slightly like he’s trying to come up with the right word and--”When did you get out, then?” Emma isn’t going to answer. She’s not. It’s too much and not enough and trying to be friends with your soulmate is much harder than she anticipated.

“Seventeen,” she says softly. “I ran away.” “To Maine?”

“Yup.” “And Boston right after Maine?”

“You’re very curious,” she says, and it comes out like an accusation. Killian purses his lips.

“Yes, I am. Piqued, even.” “I didn’t get to Boston for a couple of years. And I wasn’t really there very long. It’s expensive there, you know?” “I do,” Killian says, and maybe she’ll be better prepared for the never-ending string of surprises eventually. “Best cannoli?” “Mike’s, don’t even joke about that.” Killian chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Anything else is blasphemy. I’m sorry you ran, Swan. It shouldn’t have been like that.” “Ah, a lot of things shouldn’t be the way they were.” “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” He takes a deep breath, licking his lips and there are definitely strangers staring at them. They’re far too close to each other. “Rear Window.”

“Is that code?” “That’s my favorite movie.” “Oh my god, why?” “It’s good.” Emma blinks, scoffing slightly and laughing a bit and her smile has become something like second nature in the last few weeks. Not even two weeks. “Raiders of the Lost Ark. ” “Are you kidding me? Last Crusade is so much better.” “I didn’t critique your choice,” Emma argues, more curious stares cast her way. One of them comes from Killian. She’s poking her finger into his chest now. He is impossibly solid. “I mean, kind of, at least.” “At least,” he echoes. “Why that one, then?” “I like the rolling ball thing. I always wanted to see that show at Disney World.” It’s not the most emotional thing they’ve said all day, but it somehow feels like even more and then some and Emma is not even remotely prepared for the force of Killian’s answering smile. “Disney World, huh?”

“People go there.” “They do,” he agrees, and she’s not sure why it sounds like some kind of promise.

“You have a favorite Disney movie?” “Nope.” Emma shakes her head. “Nah, c’mon, everyone does. You just don’t want to admit it.” “That is not true at all,” Killian counters. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a Disney movie.” “Oh my God.” “When have I had time, love?” She supposes that’s fair. Everything else is absolutely not, but Emma’s only barely keeping her grip on her sanity at this point, so she doesn’t want to rock the metaphorical boat as it were. It’s started to feel...feelings.

Real feelings. Not just because she’s memorized every shift in his voice in the last two weeks. It’s been two full weeks now, of coffee on their lunch breaks and smiles when he texts her to make sure she gets home alright and the flutter of butterflies in the pit of her stomach whenever Emma sends him the same gif every morning. It’s LMFAO. From the Shots video.

She’s honestly such a catch.

“That’s fair, I guess,” she admits. “Just like...never in your life?” “Nope.” “You’re trying to be annoying.” “Nope,” he says again, but that one comes with a smirk and a quick twist of his eyebrows and the butterflies threaten to fly out of Emma’s mouth and take over the world. She likes him. Even without the soulmate thing.

It’s problematic.

And not. 

Mostly because of the soulmate thing. 

But he's kind of funny, in a stupidly thinks he's charming sort of way, and she's noticed that he scratches the back of his ear when he's nervous, and seems to have an assortment of button-up shirts with increasingly ridiculous patterns. There haven't been fireworks. It's more a...soft simmer, like falling back into something calm and easy and Emma supposes that's why it has to be wrong. 

God, she's so bitter she's surprised her tongue doesn't rot. 

“I’m being honest with you. That’s a good thing, right?” The butterflies turn to ash.

“Sure,” Emma mumbles. “What if...what if we watched a Disney movie?” “When?” “I’m actually off this weekend.”

His whole body changes, eyes brightening and spine possibly stretching and Emma’s gasp is ridiculous as soon as his lips press against her cheek. They both freeze, looking anywhere except each other. “All weekend?” Killian whispers, and Emma hopes whatever nod she makes in response is actually audible. “You or me?” “You speak in these codes and I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Do you want to come to my apartment or should I come to yours?” Oh. Oh. Oh.

“Yours,” Emma says before she can regret it, but letting him into her apartment seems like a line she can’t come back from and this is fake. They’re just friends. She’s the only one with a soulmate. “That’s---I’ve got no food anyway.” “Neither do I,” Killian laughs. “But I can get something. Or we can order things. Multiple things, even. Good stuff.” His voice picks up, excitement obvious in every letter and the weight of his smile. Emma’s pulse doesn’t know what to do with that. “I’m going to expect good stuff, then.” “That’s fair.” She shows up on Saturday afternoon with a bottle of whiskey and he must have ordered from every place in a ten-mile radius. The counter is covered with food and more alcohol than one person could ever possibly be expected to drink, his gaze more than slightly cautious when Emma freezes in the doorway.

“Too much?” “No,” she says, pleasantly surprised to find she means it. “You want to start at Snow White and work our way through?” “Deal.”

Emma falls asleep somewhere in the forgotten period of 1970s Disney animation, a skip-ahead in the timeline because she’s always hated One Hundred and One Dalmatians and The Sword in the Stone used to freak her out after that one time she saw it when she was six. She wakes up to hear Killian mumbling under his breath about how historically inaccurate Robin Hood is. He only stops when Emma points out that the protagonist in question is also a fox.

They only get off the couch to get more to drink and more egg rolls because Killian must have ordered a dozen egg rolls and Emma has no idea how he knew she’d want a dozen egg rolls. Good guess, or something.

And it’s way too late by the time she’s realizes it’s late, curled against Killian’s side with his fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on her back in a familiar sort of way that should be absolutely impossible. Emma doesn’t want to move. She has to move.

This is the worst.

Cowardly and a great, big giant liar, kind of petulant, just sort of a jerk and so goddamn depressed she’s positive she reeks with it.

“You don't have to go,” Killian mutters, fingers stilling.

“I should.” “Whatever you want, love. But--” She can feel him take a deep breath, chest shifting under her cheek. “You’re comfortable.” Words should not be...this. They should just be words and be finished and there should be far less angst in fake dating your soulmate. Only this whole thing has kind of felt a hell of a lot like a date and Emma’s starting to wonder if she’s just drowning.

At all times.

In the middle of Queens.

“Ok.” Killian’s fingers start moving again. “Ok.”

“So,” Mary Margaret says pointedly, a few weeks out of the wedding and Emma’s finally buying a dress. It’s because she’s been dreading this conversation. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Killian recently.”

Emma doesn’t groan. It’s the most mature thing she’s done since she first started hanging out with Killian. She still hates that string of words.

“Yup.” “And?” “And what?” Mary Margaret makes a noise in the back of her throat. “Nothing. I'm just observing.” “Are you just?” Emma laughs, glancing in the mirror and this dress looks pretty good. Everything's felt pretty good in the last three weeks. Like the world has settled on a new axis that’s more efficient with a better rotation angle.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Mary Margaret promises. “Just..a thought. About how happy you are. You should get that dress.” “Yeah?” Emma doesn’t mean her question to be two-fold. That’s how it comes out anyway. Mary Margaret totally knows that. She can’t keep a secret, but she might be omniscient. “Yes,” she says with a smile. “It’s just...it’s good that he has someone to talk to who isn’t David or Locksley or the bar.” “The bar is talking to him?” “Emma.” “I’m serious. Where are you going with this?” Mary Margaret sighs softly, like she’s at war with herself over what to say next. “I’m just saying it’s good. After everything that happened in Boston and--” “--When was he in Boston?” “That’s where he was before he got here,” Mary Margaret says slowly, clearly surprised Emma doesn’t know that. That’s fair. It’s probably the first thing a friend should ask. “He’d been there for a few years.” “With Milah?” “He told you about Milah?” Emma nods, the unspoken lie heavy on her tongue. “Yup.” “Well, it’s not my story. But, like I said, I’m just glad you’re happy. Both of you.”

You can’t keep sending me the same text message every morning, Swan. Eventually you’re going to have to get more creative.

I’m not creative. This is as good as it’s going to get, buddy.

It’s good.

Yeah? Yeah. Be safe later, ok?

I’m not doing anything. Just following up on that lead with David.

Safe, Swan. Please.

Ok. I’ll call you when my shift’s over.

Good.  

 “You need to go further up on the right.” Killian groans, but does as Emma instructs, moving the sign and glancing over his shoulder expectantly. Emma grins. “That’s good,” she nods.

“Good because I think I dislocated both my shoulders doing that.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re the most dramatic man in the world.”

“Not even the Tri-State area.” He flashes her a smile, shaking the hair away from his eyes and he asked her to come see the bar that afternoon. His shirt is sticking to his arms.

Emma really wants to kiss him. She texts Ruby that later.

The audio file Ruby sends back is fourteen straight seconds of her very loud laughter.

“Why don’t you believe in soulmates?” Emma startles at the question, curled into the corner of Killian’s couch with her head propped up on the arm and another Disney movie playing in the background. It’s a thing. Apparently.

“Well, that’s a question,” Emma mumbles, Killian’s expression turning almost regretful. “Why do you ask?” He shrugs. It looks like a lie. It feels like a lie. “Just wondering.” “Yuh huh. Well...Mary Margaret can’t actually keep a secret so...do you know about Neal?” “Should I?” “I’m surprised you don’t,” Emma says, nerves churning until she’s certain they’re burning the back of her throat. Emotional acid reflux. “Neal was...a guy. A guy I met in Boston. And it was good for awhile. Comfortable and normal and I thought--well, a lot of things I shouldn’t have.” “No?” “No.” “And what happened?” “I’m here, aren’t I?” Killian hums. “If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to Swan.” Emma considers that – rehashing past pains and almost theres and she’d really thought Neal had been it. She’s not sure if it’s worse now that he isn’t. Mostly because it is sitting across from her with wide eyes that are obviously interested and too blue to be fair and she takes a deep breath before she actually decides.

“I thought Neal was a good guy,” Emma explains. “He was nice and charming and not always on the up and up, but I was doing bail bonds, not actual police work and I didn’t really care as long as I got the paycheck. Anyway, I knew he was into some shady stuff, but I liked him. He liked me. We were good. Until we were very not good.” Killian’s expression darkens slightly, concern almost palpable. “How not good is not good?” “Almost jail not good.” “What?” he balks, and that’s an emotion Emma is not entirely prepared for. The muscles in his throat shift when he swallows, eyes narrowing until they’re not much more than slits and his chest heaves when she rests her hand there.

“Take, like, eight-hundred steps back. I obviously didn’t go to jail. But it was--well, it was close. He was fencing this stuff, watches or something and I showed up before I was supposed to. There was a raid and lots of stun guns and have you ever been tased?” “Someone tased you?” “It’s not something I’d suggest experiencing.” “Fucking hell, Swan,” Killian breathes, fingers wrapping around her wrist. “That’s insane.” “Yeah, turned out he was not that great of a dude. He got off from any major time. Community service and a fine, because he’s dad’s super rich and the justice system is a joke, so…” “His dad is super rich and he was still fencing shit?” Emma nods. “He said it was kind of a thrill. You know, sticking it to the man or whatever.” “What an ass.” “Yeah, in retrospect. But, uh...I was kind of mad about everything still. The whole childhood thing leaves just this gaping hole of bitterness and one family in Ohio said I was, wait for it, too testy to be adopted.” “Testy?” “That’s what they said. On the official report.” Killian clicks his tongue, anger turning to disbelief almost visibly. “That’s not true, Swan.” “No?” “No,” he says, and it sounds like a promise. Her heart grows, the feel of it pressing between each one of  her ribs and several different internal organs until she’s almost concerned for the state of her spleen.

She probably doesn’t need her spleen.

She’d probably give up her spleen if he kept looking at her like that.

“You are…” Killian adds, “the opposite of that. Determined and a little stubborn, with some very strong opinions on Chinese food--” “--Those egg rolls we got the other day were garbage and you know it!” “So you mentioned, Swan. The point I’m making is that even if you hoped this asshole might have been something more than what he was, he still would have been the world’s biggest dick for ever thinking you deserved to get lied to.”

Her spleen hurts. It’s ridiculous.

“Thanks,” she whispers, not nearly enough. She can’t come up with another word. Killian smiles. “That’s not something you have to thank me for, love. Ever.”

She can feel the heat in her cheeks, heart hammering against her chest. And she hasn't, actually, come out and answered his question. "So, um," Emma mumbles, "that's it, I guess. I just--I thought, Neal was something or could have been someone and I really did love him and--" She shrugs. It's depressing. Killian's eyes are still impossibly narrow. "Well, it wasn't the moment, I guess."

"Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Had a moment?"

"God, I hate that. It's such a dumb name."

"Yeah, it is," Killian agrees, clearly noticing the bitterness in her voice and Emma can almost see him staging his retreat. "I'm sorry. That's, I shouldn't have--"

"--I thought it was Neal," Emma cuts in. The words are sharper than she intends them to be, but they also feel like they're doing permanent damage to her lips and Killian worries enough while she's at work. She can't imagine what he'll do if she starts bleeding from metaphorical knives on his couch. 

"He wasn't."

She freezes. 

Every single one of her muscles tenses. 

It is equally the single worst and best thing she's ever experienced in her life. 

And Killian's mouth is hanging open, eyes staring straight at her with an intensity that does something else to Emma's muscles and several different biological systems and it's entirely possible her spleen has just fallen on the floor at this point. She kind of feels like she's crumbling apart anyway. 

"He wasn't," Killian repeats, softer, but just as determined, a certainty in every single letter than Emma can't wrap her mind around. Yet. She assume she'll think about it on loop for, at least, the next forty-eight hours, though. "He...he couldn't have been. The whole soulmate thing is a mess, Swan. It's--" Another shrug. She's counting now. It's absurd. "Everyone's got a different way of knowing and they all want it, but it's...it should be more than that, don't you think?"

"Sure?"

"Swan."

"I'm just not sure where you're going with this."

"It's not forced love, but it's--well, it's supposed to be easier, right? And there's nothing wrong with people who don't have soulmates."

"You're genuinely not making any sense."

Killian scowls, leaning forward and Emma isn't sure if he means to do that. "I know, I know, I just..."

“Why do you order such ridiculous coffee every time we go out?” He chuckles, a quick press of what may actually be his lips to the bridge of her nose. “That same bitterness as you, I suppose. And a distinct lack of money or anything except, sometimes, the clothes on my back. I can do it now, so I’m going to get extra foam. Why don’t you get better coffee?” “That’s just a very pointed judgment regarding my coffee order.” “And not an answer.”

Emma sighs. He’s right. And very good at understanding. “I don’t want to overstep,” she mumbles. “Get more than I deserve.” “That’s not how it works, Swan.” “Tell that to my brain.” He leans forward slowly and for one crazy second she thinks he’s actually going to kiss her. She wants him to, desperately if she’s being honest, but that’s him and not her and the lying is getting harder. “That’s not how it works, Swan,” Killian repeats, pressing the words to the crown of her head.

She feels her smile spread across her face slowly, settling there. For posterity or something. “That was ridiculous.” “You believe me?” “A work in progress.” He definitely kisses her hair. “Good.”

The bar opens. A week before the wedding, which Emma thinks is absolutely insane, but Killian just flashes her a smile and it makes a little more sense after that.

He’s standing behind the counter, a towel draped over his shoulder and there are several pieces of hair she’d like to do something about. Brush away. Slowly. Possibly romantically.

She feels a little drunk already.

“What’s your poison, love?” Emma’s laugh is far too loud. It soars out of her, makes her body shake and forces the edge of the counter into her stomach. She’s leaning over the counter. “You can’t use that when you have actual customers, you know,” she says. “They’ll walk out.” “That’s a legitimate question.” “No, it’s not. That’s a bad pun used in, like, movies from the 70s.” “Ah, we haven’t really focused on movies from the 70s, yet, have we?” Emma stops laughing. Her lips feel very dry. “No,” she mutters. “Not yet.”

“And, strictly speaking, it was really more of a rhetorical question, than anything.” Killian grins again, crouching to grab a glass and his eyebrows do something absurd when he flips it. And catches it. “Also, are you suggesting you’re not an actual customer, Swan?”

She hopes her lips don’t actually crack right there.

That would be gross.

Super gross.

Not appropriate for a bar opening with all their friends around gross.

Emma shakes her head slowly, tongue flashing between her lips and he’s still smiling at her. She’s having a difficult time breathing. Which is also impressive since her mouth is hanging open. “I’m just, you know--” “Right,” Killian says, nudging a glass of whiskey towards her hands. It’s filled to the brim. “You are my favorite customer. Bar none.” “Was that also a joke?” “Not intentionally.” “Impressive, then.” He hums, another twist of eyebrows. “Right? You want to watch me throw glassware again?” “Do not throw glasses,” Robin calls from the other side of the bar. Emma laughs again. And Killian’s smile softens, eyes falling back to Emma when his hand tugs on the hair behind his ear.

“I’m going to throw more glasses.” “Oh, I know you are,” Emma says, and it sounds like a promise.

He only breaks one, a fact he’s quick to point out, hours later, tucked into the corner with his arm around Emma and her head on his shoulder.

She doesn’t notice anyone else staring at them.

 “You kiss him yet?” Ruby asks, perched on the edge of Emma’s desk the day before they’re supposed to leave for the rehearsal dinner. “Get off there.” “Yes or no?” “No.” “You want to?” “Obviously.” Ruby chuckles, but it’s almost sympathetic. “Yeah, I figured. He’s probably going to die when he sees your dress.”

“How many shoes are you bringing?” Killian calls from the other side of the apartment and Emma’s not sure when she just started coming there consistently, but it must have been after the Disney thing and he really liked Tangled. She can’t even make fun of that.

She really likes Tangled.

“Uh…three?” “Three?” “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

He leans around the bedroom door, skepticism painted on every single inch of his face. “Three? Should I be bringing three pairs of shoes?”

Emma waves her hands through the air, and she’s going to have to leave soon. She’s got to get up to drive out to some castle on Long Island and of course Regina is getting married on a castle on Long Island. There’s going to be so much weekender traffic heading East.

And she’s not entirely sure why she’s being asked these kinds of questions, but everything has been so easy and hanging out isn’t that, so much as it’s just existing in each other’s spaces.

Like they’re supposed to.

Cowardly and a great, big giant liar, kind of petulant, just sort of a jerk, so goddamn depressed she’s positive she reeks with it and an incredible over-packer.

Three pairs of shoes is entirely unnecessary.

“Your heels, sneakers and flats?” Killian lists, still twisted and the door frame must be pressing into his liver.

“Nah, two pairs of flats.” “That was my second guess.” “Sure it was. What time are you going to leave tomorrow?” Emma asks. She jumps off the couch, swinging open the refrigerator door in a familiar way and he’s started buy vanilla coke zero. He never drinks it.

Emma averages two cans a day.

“Killian?” she continues, flinching when she feels a hand curling around her shoulder. “God, don’t sneak up on me like that. I definitely could have punched you in the face.”

He laughs, the feel of it brushing against the side of her neck and that one very specific spot behind her ear and Emma knows there are goosebumps on her skin. She bites her lower lip. “I really doubt that, love. Think of all the damage you could inflict.” “Far too confident in your own good looks.” “Undoubtedly.”

She doesn't giggle. She will tell herself that for several hours later that night, she’s sure. She does, at least smile, head falling back without her explicit permission. Killian doesn’t flinch. “What time?’ she asks again. “There’s going to be so much traffic on the Expressway.” “We’ll take the Northern State.” “Oh, that’s even--wait, did you say we?” He spins her, quick enough that her socks squeak on the linoleum floor. The tips of his ears have gone red. “A thought,” Killian murmurs. “More efficient. Something about our carbon footprints. And I just--I thought maybe we could talk.” “You don’t want to talk now?” “How much whiskey have you had?” “Not a ton,” Emma sputters, but Killian is impossibly good at reading her and she’s honestly the world’s worst liar. “How much rum have you had?” “Enough.”

She narrows her eyes, suspicion fluttering at the base of her skull. "What are you thinking?"

"How do you know I'm thinking anything?"

"You're doing that thing with your face." And for how narrow her eyes were, or, maybe, still are, Killian's widen to a near-comical size, taking up half his face and Emma grits her teeth. Hard. It makes her jaw ache. "I just..." she stammers, waving her hands in the air. That is not making it less awkward. "Well, you have a face."

"I think you may be drunk."

"You wan to talk about secret things!"

Killian sighs out a sound that isn't quite a laugh, but may just be the audible version of very real nerves and Emma continues to ignore the fluttering. It's not quite suspicion anymore, so much as it's...fear. That's absurd. She's got nothing to be scared of. This is fine. It's fine. They're going to drive to a castle and fake everything and lie to several people if they ask and she assumes Cora only stocks her open bars with top shelf liquor. 

So, that's, like, a very real positive. 

And yet. 

She's scared and nervous and scared, again, just for good measure. That this very real, very good thing, that is also the most positive anything she can remember having in forever is about to blow up. Right in her face. 

Emma wishes he weren't actually her soulmate. 

It'd be easier that way.

"Not secret, love," Killian mutters, and she hasn't been breathing. "Important. That's--" His teeth find his lip, fingers tugging on the back of his hair. "--I think we should both be pretty sober for it." “Ok...so you want to drive out to the castle--” “--Oheka,” Killian interrupts. “That was on the invitation, love.” “Please, like you’ve done anything with the invitation except glare at it for costing too much.” “It’s Oheka. It’s very fancy. Very famous. I can pick you up tomorrow. I don’t mind driving.” Emma nods. “Or, um...well, my stuff is already in my car. I threw it in there today so I didn’t have to worry about it tomorrow. I figured I’d leave early so I’d beat the traffic.” “You brought all your stuff here?” Killian asks, and the hint of hope in his voice feels cruel and unusual. Emma’s a cop. She knows how that works. She’s torturing herself though, so that’s probably different. “Stay here then.” It’s not a question. It’s a hope and a want and she finds herself nodding again, the whiskey in her veins thrumming with the magic of everything and she needs to tell him. This is such a bad idea.

“Ok.” “Ok.” They spend no more than five minutes arguing sleeping arrangements, Emma rolling her eyes dramatically and Killian huffing and it’s pointless because she’s pretty positive they both want to sleep in the bed and, well...they do. It’s the best she’s slept in years, an easy rest that feels deeper than REM and like the start of something and everything and she moves her car into Killian’s spot after he grabs her bag out of the backseat.

[turtle-steverogers]

titanium- 2

whoaihfslkjfl heres chap 2

chap one is on my masterlist under #masterlist or under #titanium,,,somewhere

warnings: mentions of suicide, implied past abuse, pain, violence,,,tread lightly

editing: noooo and its vvvv obvi sorry

ship: eventual ralbert

Race held up a hand, wincing as Albert’s words echoed in his brain, causing a sharp pain to shoot through his skull and down his neck.  He lowered himself shakily to the pavement, overexertion causing the familiar soreness of fatigue to spread through his body.  He wasn’t used to being this out of control.  Usually, he could reign in his abilities, focusing them on a singular point and never allowing them to get to the point of danger.  

Queso nudged his nose under his arm, resting his chin on Race’s shoulder and licking his neck soothingly as he reached up to rub at his temples, willing the pressure to go away.  He was aware that his nose was bleeding heavier still, which wasn’t helping his case in the slightest, but he didn’t have the means nor the energy to try to stop it.  

“Queso, c’mere boy,” Albert coaxed, his voice still shaking with fear, “Get away from him.”

He reached out to grab his collar, but Queso turned his head and growled, nipping at his hand.  Albert pulled his hand away abruptly, frowning when Queso resumed his position on Race’s shoulder, continuing to nuzzle into him as he regained command over his mind.  

Police sirens wailed in the distance and Race lifted his head, a familiar wave of anxiety washing over him.  

“Shit, fuck,” Albert hissed, head also turned in the direction of the sirens, “Fuck, shit, fuck, shit, uhh-” he pulled off his hat, raking a hand through his hair and glancing nervously down at Race and Queso, “Are you good to stand?” he asked Race.

Race nodded sluggishly, using the wall behind him to push himself into a standing position.  The world tilted violently and he pitched forward, stumbling into Albert’s arms.  Albert’s eyes widened and he straightened Race up, leaning him on the wall before taking a step backwards.

“Just,” Race closed his eyes, head lolling lazily, “Gimme a minute.”

He mindlessly dug into his back pocket, extracting his pack of cigarettes and pulling one out.  He sighed in relief as he lit it, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs and calm him down.  The pressure that had remained constant in his head all day eased up slightly and the nausea seeped out of him in waves.  Queso had resumed licking behind his ear and he sighed, feeling calmer than he’d felt all day.

“Can you,” Albert’s voice wavered and Race looked up to see him standing even further away than before, arms wrapped defensively around his stomach as he eyed Race, “Can you...not do that.”

“What?” Race frowned, taking another drag and Albert flinched, involuntary tears filling his eyes, which he hastily wiped away.

“That,” Albert pointed a shaking hand at the cigarette in Race’s hand, “Please stop.”

With a jolt, Race remembered the burn scars that covered Albert’s arms and he threw down his cigarette, bending his leg awkwardly in front of him to stomp it out.

“Lord, I’m sorry,” Race said as Queso paced away from him, crossing to Albert, who had knelt down next to the wall, right hand pressed against his eyes as he attempted to regulate his breathing.  

Queso sniffed at him a bit before shoving his nose underneath Albert’s armpit.  Albert chuckled breathlessly, pulling his hand away from his face and scratching under Queso’s chin.  

“That’s okay,” Albert shook his head, “But seriously,” he fixed Race with a confused and almost pleading look, “What the fuck happened back there?”

“I, uh,” Race bowed his head, “I’m…” He trailed off, trying to think of how to explain himself.

“Fuck, Jesus!” Albert squeaked and Race lifted his head to see miscellaneous pieces of trash floating around them,.

“Sorry, fuck, sorry,” Race said, willing the trash to move away from them, “I’m stressed.”  

Albert watched with wide eyes as the trash floated to a nearby dumpster, depositing itself in next to various trash bags, “Whoa,” he breathed, “So you’re psychic?”

“Um, no,” Race stood, tilting his head and wincing when he heard it crack, “That’s like, mind-reading and shit.  I guess I’m technically, like, telekinetic?”

“Whoa,” Albert repeated, “That’s fucking awesome.”

Race shrugged one shoulder, eyes darting to the mouth of the alleyway as shouts echoed outside of it, “Not really.  Kinda sucks if I’m being honest.”

“Oh,” Albert bit his lip, “How long’ve-”

“Can we talk about this somewhere else?” Race asked, a panicked edge to his voice as Queso started barking at something in the distance, “I’m incredibly fucked right now.”

“I don’t know where else we can go,” Albert said, a defensive lilt to his tone, “I don’t got no safe space either.”

“Yeah, okay,” Race scrunched up his nose, considering their options.  If he wasn’t being targeted before, the police were definitely after him now.  

The distant sounds of the city washed over him.  Cars honked from the street, dogs barked loudly as people shouted to one another.  Everything seemed so uniformly hectic, that Race cursed himself for not being able to find a solution within the confines of this goddamn place.  

He tried to focus, zoning out Albert’s frantic questions and Queso’s insistent barking as he stared at the street.  Car after car passed through his vision, but the world seemed to whiten as a taxi zoomed past and he gasped, new options lighting the way for him.

“I got it,” He breathed, turning to Albert, who shut his mouth.

“Got what?” Albert frowned, cocking his head slightly.

“A taxi,” Race said, a giddy grin spreading across his face as his plan solidified in his mind.  He didn’t wait for Albert’s answer as he rushed out of the alleyway, Queso on his heels.  

He tried to relax being back out in the open.  Being on edge would only draw unwanted attention to him and he couldn’t afford that.

He waved his hand, hoping to flag down one of the many taxi drivers that sped by him.  Albert was pulling on his sleeve, trying to get his attention, but he shook him off.

“Trust me,” he murmured as a taxi pulled up, “I know what I’m doing.”

Albert raised his eyebrows as Race opened the backdoor, allowing Queso to hop in before sliding in himself.

“You coming?” Race leaned sideways in his seat, staring at Albert who was still standing nervously outside of the taxi.

“Isn’t this risky?” Albert asked, bending down so that their conversation was kept somewhat private.

“Yes, but I’ve got an idea,” Race peered at him with pleading eyes, “Trust me?”

“Not really,” Albert deadpanned.

“I’ve got your dog.”

Albert squinted at him, shifting his jaw as his gaze traveled to Queso, who was now lying in Race’s lap, “You got me there,” he swooped down to enter the vehicle, “Scoot over.”

“Where am I takin’ ya?” The taxi driver asked, not bothering to look back at them, much to Race’s relief.  

“Towards Jersey,” Race said.  It was a vague answer, but the taxi driver seemed to take it as he sped away from the curb.

Race and Albert waited with baited breath as they drove through the city.  Traffic wasn’t particularly bad that day, but it wasn’t fast moving either and they were caught up at different intersections more often than not.  Every time a police car passed, Race ducked his head reflexively and Queso would give him a comforting lick.  

Albert was gripping the seat in front of him as if it were a lifeline.  All things considered, he was calm, but it was evident that he hadn’t yet processed the events of that day.  His tongue was poking between his teeth, as if he were physically restraining himself from talking and Race could imagine the questions he was going to be bombarded with once they reached solitude.

The George Washington Bridge loomed closely in the distance and Race’s chest bubbled in anticipation as he called for the taxi driver to pull over next to a mostly remote bodega.  

“I’m gonna need your help,” Race muttered, leaning a little closer to Albert as the taxi slowed to a stop.

Albert glanced at him, alarmed, “With what?”

“Hang tight,” As soon as the taxi driver put the car in park, Race closed his eyes, willing for his subconscious to focus in on the image of the driver in his mind.  He clenched his jaw as energy sparked in his gut, travelling up to his brain and enveloping his entire being.  He squeezed his hands into fists, blood rushing loudly in his ears as he felt the tips of his fingers heat up.  

Opening his eyes, he reached forward, zeroing in on the back of the driver’s head as he pressed his left pointer and middle finger to his ear.  The driver’s eyes wided momentarily before he slumped forward, mouth hanging open as his forehead rested on the steering wheel.

“Oh my fuck,” Albert jumped, sliding away from Race and pressing himself to the window, “Did you just-”

Race shook his head, “He’s not dead,” he assured Albert, diving uncoordinatedly into the front seat and digging through the driver’s pockets, “And that wasn’t my best work, so he’s gonna wake up soon,” he let out a little triumphant hum when he found a wallet in one of the driver’s pockets.

“Are you gonna steal that?” Albert asked warily.

“I don’t got no money,” Race said, avoiding Albert’s gaze as he rifled through the wallet, pleased to find a fair amount of cash, as well as several credit cards in it, “And neither, it seems, do you, sooo…” he trailed off, fixing Albert with a pointed look as he shoved the wallet in his own back pocket, behind his pack of cigarettes.

“Help me get this guy into that alley,” Race jerked his head to the alley next to the bodega outside the car and climbed back into the backseat, holding Queso by the collar as he opened the door.

Albert blinked at him, dumbfounded, before following.  He was tense as he helped Race drag the taxi driver’s body out of the front seat, glancing around nervously as they set him down against the wall of the alley.

“Anyway,” Race exclaimed, wiping his hands on his jeans as they trekked back towards the taxi, “Let’s get out of here.”

Albert huffed out a disbelieving laugh, “Your plan was to steal a taxi?”

Race nodded as he made to climb into the driver’s seat, “Essentially.”

“Oh, hey, no,” Albert rushed forward, yanking Race away from the door, “You are not driving this thing.”

Race scowled, “Why not?”

“I don’t want none of your,” He gestured wildly at Race, face rumpling as he tried to find the words for it, “Blam blam shit to crash the car.”

“Blam blam shit?” Race quirked an amused eyebrow.

“Superpowers, telekinesis, whatever!” Albert exclaimed, pushing past Race and climbing into the driver’s seat, “Just get in.”

Race laughed as he circled around the car, ducking into the passenger’s seat and buckling himself in.  Albert adjusted the mirrors, grinning at Queso resting in the backseat as he pulled back onto the street.

“So, where are we headed?” he asked, casting Race an apprehensive glance.

Race gave a noncommittal grunt as he stared out the window, resting his chin on his palm, “Anywhere.”

XXX

“Tell me about your shit,” Albert turned off the radio, breaking the silence between him and Race.  They’d been driving for close to an hour, taking aimless turns and avoiding police cars when needed.  They didn’t really have a destination, both boys desperate for an escape from different persecutors.  

Race could only assume what exactly Albert had left behind, but if it was enough for him to leave with nothing but his dog, then it couldn’t have been remotely good.  He wanted to ask, but he figured that he’d let Albert tell him if he wanted to.  He didn’t want to overwhelm him more than he already had.  Besides, if someone was going to answer questions first, it would be him.

“What do you want to know?” Race sighed, lifting his head off the cool glass of the window and fixing his stare out the windshield.  The sun had long since set, leaving the two boys to navigate through the nighttime traffic.  

Race had always found driving at night to be peaceful.  The real world seemed so distant as the lights from cars passed through his line of sight.  Almost everyone driving at night had a destination far from where they began.  It was as if the roads were paved for thousands of escapees, all of whom drank in the aesthetic of a long winding path, leading them to where they were meant to go.

“I don’t know,” Albert sounded slightly hysterical as he rubbed his hands up and down the steering wheel, “Anything.  Just, like, tell me about it.”

“Well,” Race scrubbed a hand down his face, “It started I think when I was, what, 13?  So, like, my brain’s always been really whack.  Like, smart whack, I guess, and I was always really ahead of my grade.  Anyway, so, I thought that was the extent of it, but then one day, my dad came home high again and he and my mom got in a really big fight.  Screaming, cussing, the whole nine yards, and I was really freaked out,” He hesitated, words catching in his throat as he became acutely aware of how much he was sharing.  He shook his head, regaining confidence.  He was too far in now, “So I, uh, I locked myself in my room and was like crying and shit next to my bed and I looked up at one point and my desk and shit were floating.”

“Damn,” Albert murmured, eyes still trained on the road.

“Yeah,” Race chuckled, “Imagine my surprise.  Anyway, from there I learned that I could control certain aspects of it if I concentrated hard enough, but there are still times when I slip.”

“What makes you slip?” Albert asked, fascination laced in his words.

“The worst I slip is when I’m overwhelmed or scared or shit,” Race answered, “Like back in the restaurant, you saw.  But, really, any really strong emotion can be dangerous with this shit.”

“Ah,” Albert nodded, “And the nosebleeds?”

“Yeah, brain strain and all that jazz.”

They fell back into an awkward quietude and Race floundered for something to say.  He really didn’t want to overstep into Albert’s business, but there seemed so much hidden in Albert’s scars and his debilitating thirst for answers was nagging at his mind.

“My mom died when I was fourteen,” Race startled as Albert spoke softly.  He tensed up at the words, but remained silent as Albert relieved him of his internal predicament of deciding whether or not to question him.

“She’d always struggled with mental health, but I guess her depression got the best of her.  Lost her battle to a bottle of pills.  Left me and my brothers alone with my dad,” He was speaking in a monotonous voice, but Race could sense the mournfulness that stayed carefully veiled underneath his mask, “Dad changed after that.  Got drunk a lot,” he paused, sparing a peek at Race, who was looking at him with expectant sorrow, “You said your dad was a druggie?”

Race furrowed his eyebrows, thinking back to his own narrative, “Oh, I guess I did mention that, yeah.”

“Did he ever hit ya while he was high?”

Race shook his head, “Not me, no.”

“But he did get violent?”

“Yeah.  Hit my mom a few times.  That’s actually what made me snap this morning.”

Albert took a deep breath, adjusting so that he was holding the steering wheel with one hand and the gear shift with the other, “Yeah, so my dad got violent, too.”

“So he’s the one that did…” Race motioned to Albert’s various visible injuries, “that?”

“Better me than my brothers.”

“So why’d you run then?”

Albert winced, “We all have our breaking points.”

“Yeah,” Race agreed, feeling the sense of understanding that he’d felt in the alleyway when they’d originally met return.  Albert seemed to be reverting back into his head, hands turning white as his grip intensified.

“What are your brothers like?” Race asked, hoping to bring him down from whatever he was working himself into.

Albert’s eyes lit up almost imperceptibly, “Yeah, so there’s Thomas who’s 14 right now.  Total jock, but real good kid,” his lips twitched into a ghost of a fond smile, “And then there’s Elijah.  He’s nine and a genius,” he paused, “wonder if he’ll turn out telekinetic, too,” he joked.

Race smiled faintly as he watched Albert get lost in thoughts about his brothers, but a daunting concept entered his mind, causing his stomach to turn, “Are they safe?” He asked, before he could stop himself.  He recoiled slightly, internally cursing himself for asking that right now.  It was a valid question, but Albert had obviously just gone through something brutal.  He didn’t need any guilt.

Albert’s face fell, “I don’t know,” He croaked, voice catching, “I just left, I had to.”

“Hey,” Race said, “It’s alright.  You did what you had to do.”

Albert’s expression had hardened and he set his jaw, abruptly pulling into a random 7/11 parking lot.

“Albert, what,” Race watched as Albert got out of the car and walked towards the entrance, stopping halfway and turning back to the car.

“Can I have the wallet?”

“Uh,” Race fumbled for a moment before handing him the wallet, “What are you-”

“I want a slurpee.  You want one?”

Race blinked at him, “Uh, yeah, cherry coke?”

“Sure,” Albert turned on his heel and stalked into the 7/11, shoulders shrugged somewhat defensively.

Race felt a pang of guilt for bringing up the prospect of Albert’s brothers being in danger.  It was probably something he’d thought about, but he didn’t seem ready to face the reality of his situation and Race couldn’t blame him.

Albert returned a moment later with two large slurpee cups and a plastic shopping bag.  He slid back into driver’s seat and handed Race one of the cups, then placed his own into the cupholder before extracting the contents of the bag and unwrapping it.  Race realized immediately that it was a large dog bone and he watched as Albert tossed it back to Queso, who perked up and gleefully began gnawing at it.  

“It’s getting late,” Albert commented, looking at the digital clock on the dash.  It was nearing 1:00 am and Race yawned as he became acutely aware of how tired he was.  

“Wanna stop at a motel or something?” Albert asked, eyes scanning the various exit signs for a possible rest stop.

“You don’t think people will recognize me?” Race asked, his nerves flaring up at the prospect of being sought out.

“Shit,” Albert tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in thought, “I mean, we’re pretty far from the city at this point?  Plus, I doubt dingy motel owners are paying too much attention to the news.”

“If I’m even on the news yet,” Race could hear the uncertainty in his voice, but he shook it off, “Yeah, we can try.”

“Bet,” Albert pulled off the next exit and they drove for a couple more miles before parking the taxi in the parking lot of a sketchy looking motel.  The rooms were spread out in pairs, circling the main building of the establishment.  The paint was chipping on the outside of the buildings and the doors all looked damaged in some respect, but the place as a whole seemed generally safe and inconspicuous.

“They ain’t gonna find you here,” Albert said as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Knock on wood,” Race mumbled.

“I’ll go check us in,” Albert said, “Will you watch Queso?”

Race nodded, turning around in his seat and reaching out to scratch Queso’s curly fur.  He was sleeping soundly, stretched out unceremoniously across the backseat.

Race smiled as he opened an eye, peeping up at him, “Hey, boy,” Race cooed, “You’re a good little man, huh?” He giggled as Queso lifted his head to lick at Race’s face, “You could tell I needed help, couldn’t ya?”

Queso whimpered happily and Race kissed his head, “Thank you.”

The room Albert had gotten them was decently big considering how much they paid for it.  There were two beds and a clean bathroom, which was more than either boy could have hoped for.  They showered quickly, relieved to rid themselves of the leftover dust and dirt from Race’s outburst earlier that day, and settled into each of the beds.  Queso rested himself at Albert’s feet, curling in on himself and falling back asleep almost instantly.  It wasn’t long until Albert’s snores intermixed with Queso’s and Race rolled over, pressing a pillow over his head to drown out the noise.

He laid awake, eyes frozen on the wall opposite of him.  His entire world had been turned upside down in the span of twelve hours.  He hadn’t meant to hurt his dad like that, but he didn’t have a choice.  His mother would have died if his father had continued to choke her as violently as he had.  Race had just intended to give him a taste of his own medicine.  It had been like that for years.  Race coming home to find his father fucked up in some way, hurting his mom or passed out on the couch, drooling and spluttering like a child.  His mother had become the shell of the person she once was during his father’s slow descent to addiction, leaving Race to care for himself.  But he’d stuck around.  Too scared of the outside world.  Too scared of what would become of them if he left.  Too scared of himself.  But now he’d gone and he’d probably never see them again.  He didn’t want to think of what that meant for his mother; being alone with his father.  She’d lost something that morning, too.  Her protector, her last tie to sanity in a world that had fucked her over so badly.  And it was his fault.

He pressed the pillow harder to his temples, willing the tears that had formed in his eyes to go away.  He couldn’t get worked up here.  He couldn’t cause anymore destruction than he already had.

Queso must have sensed his change in mood, because he’d leapt up onto the bed behind Race, curling into a lying position behind him.  Race let out a watery sigh, allowing Queso’s presence to calm him.  He rolled over, tucking an arm over the dog and pressed his nose into his fur, pressing a soft kiss to his back.

He wasn’t sure what stars had aligned to allow him to meet Queso and Albert, but he thanked them with every ounce of gratitude that his heart could offer as he drifted into a heavy sleep.

-

yikes that wasnt v good

anyway, fugitives coming soon i hope

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[sophia1644]

The One

Pairing: Liam x Reader Warnings: swearing, angst, jealousy, anger issues Liam Summary: Liam overhears Y/N talking to Theo during a lacrosse game, and gets jealous, almost turning on the field. Y/N follows him to the locker room to see what’s up and he ends up confessing something to her. Word Count: 1.9k A/N: My tumblr app on my phone has been rlly annoying tbh, and idk what’s going on like it just crashes randomly all the time. But, anyways hope you guys like this one bc I do. (I’m also writing another imagine rn too so look out for that.) . . I bite on my lower lip, standing on the tip of my toes to peer over the mass of umbrellas. Being short had its struggles in lots of parts of life, but at lacrosse games, it was definitely at the top of the list. I roll my eyes as the person in front of me raises their black umbrella higher, a sound of annoyance leaving my lips unintentionally. The guy whips his head around, his slanted eyes shooting death glares at me. “Am I bothering you young lady?” He growls, the question coming off as more of a warning. “Not at all,” I reply with fake sweetness, my smile not reaching my eyes and my lips twitching at how badly they wanted to frown. The man rolls his eyes, similar to how I did to him a few moments earlier, and grumbling incoherently. “Well that guy’s an asshole,” a voice I recognize mutters behind me. I turn towards the voice, my suspicions of it being Theo correct. He’s wearing a black hoodie and jeans, his hood up to cover himself from the droplets of water slowly pouring down from the sky. I nod my head vigorously at him, rolling my eyes for the second time. “Can’t see,” I explain, motioning towards the group of people crowding the bleachers in front of us with umbrellas in hand. “You’re a shorty, that’s why,” he laughs, reaching out his hand and messing up the strands of hair I took an hour making look perfect. My eyes go wide at his action, my jaw dropping slightly. “You did not, Raeken,” I mumble through deep breaths. “What?” He asks, playing dumb, suddenly gaining interest in the two strings attached to his sweatshirt. I push him playfully, the action barely having any affect over the boy as he just chuckles at me. The people watching the lacrosse match all suck in their breaths simultaneously, our attention being drawn back to the field. “Ow, that was a bad hit,” a brunette girl in my chemistry class states to her freckled friend. I scan the field quickly, hoping that it wasn’t what I was imagining. Nope, the universe hates me. The jersey number 9 belongs to the player lying on the ground; Liam. My brows furrow, knowing that it wasn’t like him to get hit ever, and the few times that he did get hit, he didn’t take it very well. I watch as Scott rushes out onto the field, kneeling down to Liam’s face and saying some words I couldn’t make out. They were way too far away, so I take to other methods. “Can you hear them?” I ask to Theo, his eyes focusing in on them and his whole body tensing in concentration. “Scott’s trying to calm him down and… the cause- is, well um…” he pauses, looking down at his sneaker-clad feet and shifting his jaw left and right. “What?” I push, not understanding why he couldn’t give me the truth. “It’s me-” I look at him questioningly, still not understanding. “He went down because he was too focused on us talking.”

My brows knit together even deeper, lines creasing my forehead. I know Liam had a jealousy issue, but getting angry about me just talking to another guy was bonkers. What was the issue with a friendly conversation? “That’s crazy,” I say, then I see Scott’s eyes trail across the bleachers until landing on me, his hands motioning for me to get on the field. Scott’s lips move and I look to Theo again. “Liam needs you,” he translates. “Wha-” “Just go,” he commands, nodding his head towards the field, where Liam is starting to get up and head off the field, presumably to the locker room. “Okay,” I respond, getting the point, tugging my hood on tighter and saying a bunch of ‘excuse me’s to make my way through the metal stands. Once I walk into the school, I tug off my hood carefully, taking in a deep breath and slowly walking towards the boys’ locker room. Eventually, I reach the door, gently knocking on it and calling out Liam’s name, but there’s no answer. “Liam,” I call again, opening the door and pacing cautiously into the room. “I know you’re in he-” I stop mid-sentence, examining the punched in blue locker. I look around again, noticing blood stains along the tiled floor leading to where the showers were. I follow the trail of bright red, winding the corner and finding Liam sitting under the first shower, his fists clenched and his eyes flashing every millisecond from baby blue to a golden. “Liam,” I whisper, treading carefully because the worse thing I could do right now was to piss him off even more. His expression softens at my voice, his eyes darting to me, my jeans and converse surely drenched. I take off my rain jacket completely, tossing it to the side and sighing, sliding down against the wall to sit next to Liam. At this point, I wasn’t worrying about me getting more wet; I was worried about Liam.

“Li, come on, just talk to me,” I gently encourage, shivering at the cold water pouring down over me. “Liam, you can’t ignore me forever.” Without thinking, my hands wrap around his clenched fists, the tension in them diminishing at my touch. I lean my head into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Every second of this position was slowly unraveling his anger, his head soon resting on top of mine. “Li,” I mumble again, through gritted teeth, the cold really affecting me now. Liam realizes this, his eyes widening and his previous rage fully gone and being replaced with concern. “Y/N,” he says, looking up at the water still splashing down on us, then dragging me out of it with himself. He pulls me by my wrist to his locker, the one right beside the one with the dent. He shuffles with his lock, getting the combo wrong a few times and frustration boiling up inside him again. “31-1-35.” He quirks an eyebrow at me, trying the combination and pulling the lock down, it clicking open. “What? How do you know th-” “You remember at the beginning of last year, when you asked me to get your History textbook in here, for whatever reason?” He nods his head slowly, after looking up at the ceiling to recall the memory. “But, that was like forever ago, like that happened before Scott bit me.” I stare at him blankly. “What, I have a good memory?”

Liam smiles at me for a few blissful seconds, before realizing what he was originally doing, his jaw dropping and shuffling into his locker. He grabs a white towel from the top shelf, wrapping it around my shoulders. “There you go.” I smile appreciatively at him. Small things like this were the reasons why he was the one. The one who I wanted to fall in love with deeper and deeper everyday. The one who I wanted to wake up with every morning. The one I wanted to tell about every little accomplishment or issue I had, and didn’t have to worry about judgment. The one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. And the one I was willing to risk it all for. But, of course, this wasn’t the cliche teenage movie, and the best friend never gets to be the love interest. I loved him and he didn’t love me back. I’d always been and always will just be the best friend, nothing more. He was the one, but I wasn’t his. My thoughts are suddenly clouded by what happened earlier, images of him lying on the turf flashing back into my mind. “So,” I begin. “What happened out there?” His facial expression changes from gentle bliss to discomfort in a matter of milliseconds. “Erm, well, I was focusing in on something other than the game, that I probably shouldn’t have.” “Um, what were you focusing on?” I query, curiosity blazing through me. He looks down at his soaked cleats, mumbling something under his breath really fast.

“You know, I’m not a werewolf, so I don’t have enhanced hearing like you do. So, I didn’t catch any of that.” His chest and shoulders raise as he heaves in a breath, then reiterates what he just said, but slower and louder. “I was listening to you and Theo.” “What?” I question, disbelief lacing my tone. I had to have heard that wrong. “You were, erm, flirting with him. And i know I really shouldn’t mind that because, I mean, you’re not mine or anything, but he’s a bad guy and you deserve better, likemaybesomeonelikemeifthatsokay.” My heart begins to pound in my chest, surely loud enough that even non-supernaturals could hear. That time, I must’ve heard wrong, because the words that just spilled out of his mouth had to be a figment of my imagination. I must’ve been in shock for a long time, because Liam looks back up, probably wanting me to say something, anything. “Li, I don’t know how to res-”

“No, it’s fine, Y/N. I get it you don’t like me like that, but whenever you say Li, goddamn, please can you stop that because every single time you say that I want to fucking kiss you so bad,” he interrupts me, and somehow during it, he gets closer, his hands gently holding onto mine. I look down at our intertwined fingers and Liam follows my gaze, his eyes going wide and trying to pull away, but I stop him. I hold onto him and his eyes look back up to me frantically. “But, I thought th-” “Li, do you want to kiss me?” I ask, the possibility of him saying what I want him to say causing my body to gravitate even closer to him, if that was even possible. “Yes,” he replies sheepishly, blushing a bit. “Then do it.” And he does just that. Without letting another second pass, he reaches out and grasps my chin, pulling my face towards his. The kiss is delicate, his lips tasting of sweat, but I couldn’t care less. “So you don’t like Theo?” Liam asks, unsure. “No, Li,” I answer, gouging his reaction to the nickname, which he previously declared made him want to kiss me. He groans, licking his lips. “Now, you’re just saying it to mess with me.” “Li, why didn’t you kiss me sooner?” “I didn’t know you liked me back.” “That’s what I thought, Li.” “Fuck, stop doing that.” “Li, Li, Li, Li,” I laugh, as his face morphs into playful anger, a smile plastered on his face. “You’re so gonna get it, Y/N,” he yells. I run away, still laughing, dropping the towel somewhere on the tiled floor behind me. Strong arms hug me from behind, Liam picking me up and swinging me around as I kick my legs up in the air like a child. After a while, he drops me back down. I turn around to face him and stand on the tip of my toes, grabbing the side of his face in my hand and planting my lips on his. Being short had its hurdles, but this one, I didn’t mind. I finally had the one and somehow, I was his.

[crystalsnowmins]

Yoonmin Scenario #3

Cat Hybrid!AU in which Yoongi one day woke up to a very naked man on top of him, giving kitten licks to his own hand. And also, is that a pair of fucking kitten ears on this guy?  Later that day, with lots of caffeine intake he comes to understand that it’s his own cat– Minnie (in a human form apparently) and no he didn’t fuck anyone last night with a weird kink. Well, that’s out of the way.

  After few weeks of having Jimin as a human form, Yoongi was used to it. He was used to his cat giving him affection, cuddling to him, sleeping on him at night, following him every day in his house, he loved his cat and he was used to it. Expect he was used to the cat form of Jimin and not the human form. But he’s getting there.

So, it’s a no surprise when he finds Jimin on top of him, purring lightly while still in deep sleep. Yoongi sighs at the heavy, dead weight on him. Yoongi has always fed nicely to Jimin when he was a cat and he can literally feel it every morning, when Jimin somehow sneaks into his room and sleep on top him, just like a cat. Guess habits die hard.

Their morning starts as usual, since Jimin’s human form, Yoongi grunts and pushes Jimin off, who literally– for fuck’s sake– mewls. Yoongi chides at him for sneaking again but he’s not sure if Jimin at all understands him even in human form. But he feels like he does because whenever Yoongi used to complain about his office work, Jimin as a cat would pat his stomach in sympathy. But still, Jimin doesn’t speak, at least not human language, except no, yes and hyung. And that’s more than enough for Yoongi who’s still trying to wonder what the fuck is happening!

Yoongi is preparing breakfast for Jimin, who’s sitting and giggling at something Tae is showing. Since Jimin can’t eat cat food (because he spat it out when Yoongi fed him the first time as a human form, just bluntly spat it out), Yoongi prepares delicacies for him, as Jimin still doesn’t like all food, or is not used to all the human food. He’s like an infant still but in an adult’s body.

Since Jimin has turned into a human and Yoongi freaked out, he called all of his friends and scolded them for playing this horrible, horrible prank. At the end, it wasn’t them; it was just Yoongi’s asshole of a fate. As much as Yoongi was fazed with this idea, his friends were not and they seemed to be already in love with Jimin’s human form. He’s even lovable in human form. And so his friends decided to invite themselves to Yoongi’s house and have breakfast altogether.

Yoongi knows it’s not their love for him but for Jimin as Tae thinks and Yoongi quotes, “Makes day more bearable to go through.” And as for Jungkook, Yoongi quotes, “He’s like that lucky cat that happens once in twenty years, so we have to take all the blessings.” Bullshit, that’s what it was. Jimin doesn’t understand shit but sure he likes the attention.

Let it be known that not to mess with Min Yoongi until he has had his coffee, even if you’re cute. And in hurry of making Jimin’s breakfast, who’s very hungry in the morning, he gets really pissed off at Jimin playing with food and not eating it. Because Yoongi woke up really fucking early with a dead weight, prepared food for everyone (because as much as he wants to kill his friends and bath in their blood, Yoongi is not cruel and would not let them be empty stomach).

And for the first time in Jimin’s human form, Yoongi raised his voice at him, which got him quiet in the next moment and everyone else as well. Thank fuck! And in the next moment, a soft hand grabbed his arm and pulled it. Yoongi turned in annoyance and all his anger dissolved by once looking at Jimin’s face.

Jimin who was surprised and was pointing at his eyes, while tightly holding onto Yoongi. Jimin who had no frown on his face (even after Yoongi scolded him) but just a confused expression. Everybody was silent at the interaction and Yoongi looked at what was Jimin pointing at and turns out it was his eyes, which was watering in which Yoongi can only decipher was sadness. And one tear falls down.

“Hyung!” Jimin cried but not in sadness but out of surprise at the tear fall. Jimin is still not used to the human emotions, expect happiness.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Yoongi is officially just the worst human being to which Tae would definitely agree. Jimin shakes his arm as more tears fall down but he is still confused rather than sad.

“Wow, that’s the worst thing you could ever do, hyung.” Namjoon chimes and Yoongi would agree.

“You-you made Jimin cry,” Tae sounds disappointed but not surprised and Yoongi doesn’t question.

“Yoongi, how could you?!” Hoseok exclaims and Yoongi wanted to slap him upside down and remind him of the word ‘hyung’.

“I kinda want to disown you now, hyung.” Jungkook disappointedly says and Yoongi wants to remind him that he fucking practically raised him and not the other way around.

“Yoongi, the world will end and so will you, by my hand, if you don’t stop Jimin’s tears,” Jin demands and let it be known sometimes Yoongi is scared of Jin. But only sometimes. Like right now.

Yoongi sighs and looks down because fuck, sad Jimin might be the actual end of this world. But he knows how to calm him, so Yoongi looks up at Jimin and smiles softly, takes his hand which he was holding and pulls him out of the kitchen, out of the earshot. He takes a crying but very confused Jimin to the living room and makes him sit down, while Yoongi kneels. One thing to know about Jimin is that he likes the complete attention on him.

“I’m sorry, Minnie,” Yoongi says and hopes Jimin understands them, “But please don’t cry, hyung gets sad too when you cry.” It feels like Yoongi is talking to a child but since Jimin is still getting used to human form, he has to tread on the thin line. He wipes falling tears and Jimin is looking at him as if demanding attention to what’s happening with him. When his tears don’t stop, Yoongi pulls his last straw. Actions anyway speak louder than words.

“Do you want hyung to hug you?” And so Jimin nods. For him, hug means cuddle, because if someone attaches themselves to Jimin, it’s hard to leave the hold since Jimin mewls and that’s another worst thing you could do, hear Jimin’s sad mewls. Jimin doesn’t speak but he understands words and actions.

So Yoongi sits beside him and pats his lap, Jimin immediately moulds himself to Yoongi, burying his face in Yoongi’s neck and fingers clutching his t-shirt while he sniffles quietly. Jimin doesn’t know this is not right, this position, this intimate position between two men, Yoongi knows but he doesn’t have the heart to say no to Jimin and if it’s not him, it’ll be one of the boys and for some reason Yoongi doesn’t like the idea of Jimin on someone else’s lap, even if it’s his friends.

He runs his back soothingly up to his hair, near his kitten ear, which twitches. He scratches near the ear which makes Jimin sigh and calms down, his soft, average length, furry tail swaying back and forth, a sign that Jimin is enjoying the touch and calming down. Yoongi unconsciously kisses his temple and soothe him.

And Yoongi is strangely content, whenever Jimin is closer, whenever Jimin is all over him, all the times Jimin would run to open the door for Yoongi and jump on him, shouting, “Hyung!” multiple times in his ear, or the times when Jimin is sleeping on top of him at night, whenever Jimin is smiling, which is always since nobody raises their voice at him, too afraid to sin by making Jimin sad.

Yoongi doesn’t mind being a little late if it means cuddling Jimin until he’s smiling wide and giggling with everyone and eating his food and not upset with Yoongi. It’s all worth the shouting at his work.

*      *       *

Added few things because they were obviously missing. Thank you for all reading these!

Inspired from: this

[phoebemartellcrawford-blog]

Welcome to the jungle

Not sure where to even begin with this one. I just got back from a week in the Amazon Rainforest and it was the most incredible experience of my entire life. We left early Monday morning to catch our 8:20 am flight where we flew to Coca, Ecuador where we got on a boat on the Napo River. After about an hour we made our way to a bus on the Maxus Road which is within the Amazon Rainforest, but also within a number of oil reserves and indigenous communities. We stopped along the way at a home of an indigenous family who was selling bracelets, necklaces, etc. We continued along the road where trees had been cut down and there were clear signs of oil companies that had moved in a number of years before. Finally, we got to another boat and headed down the Tiputini River for about two hours until we arrived at our station which was far out in the jungle. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. All the noises were bugs or birds (sometimes mammals) and it was so separate from the world I forgot immediately that there were actual things going on out there. There was only electricity on the camp for 6 hours a day, 10am-1pm and 6:30pm-9:30pm and there was absolutely no wifi or service. The first day we got there we had a brief orientation and then had some downtime before dinner. A couple of my friends and I went swimming in the river for a little bit (I accidentally peed a little when I laughed and you’re not supposed to pee in the Amazon river because there is a little parasite fish that goes up your pee stream so I got kinda nervous and got out because I wasn’t about to get a parasite on my first day). After dinner we went for a night hike and of course the first thing we saw was this long ass snake on a tree right near my cabin. It was a harmless snake and some people held it but I stayed a solid couple arm’s lengths away from that bad boy. After the night hike we went to bed because, well, no electricity makes for early nights.

On Tuesday we went for a really long hike in the morning to a lake where our guide took us out on a canoe. After about thirty minutes canoeing around the lake and looking for wildlife Jose (our guide) stopped us in our tracks and said he saw an anaconda. Sure enough, about 10 feet away deep in the bushes was a big ole anaconda. We sat and watched him for 20 minutes, and it was definitely watching us too. It moved its head to get closer to us and get a better look, wiggling its little tongue at us. It was a surprisingly calming experience watching the anaconda. I really hate snakes and the thought of actually seeing one before I got there freaked me the f out, but we were just silently observing the dude and he was silently observing us and we were all going to be alright and it was fine. We finally made our way back once we were starting to get a little uneasy watching the anaconda and finished our hike by having to tread through the river. Because of the rain the river was 3meters higher than normal so the bridges we had to cross were completely submerged. Standing in the water after seeing an anaconda wasn’t IDEAL necessarily but I made it back. We went out for another hike later that day when it was beautiful and sunny but a rain storm quickly moved in while we were in the forest and the trees were going nuts. One huge branch flew from the sky and almost took out my friend Brady. We had to hustle on back home.

On Wednesday we had a solo observation where we were placed in the woods alone and had to chose something to study and write about for an entire hour. I chose a dead tree with a bunch of mushrooms growing on it but there is only so much you can write about mushrooms and eventually 5 tamarin monkeys crashed through the trees above me. Right before we went into the woods my professor explicitly said not to go monkey chasing but I mean they were SO CUTE I had to. I didn’t get lost though don’t worry. 

Thursday was probably one of the Top 5 days of my life. We started the morning at 5:30 with a walk up to the canopy tower to watch the sunrise. It was a pretty grey and misty morning, but it was still amazing to be on top of the Amazon Rainforest watching as day broke through and all of the animals woke up (or went to sleep for the nocturnal homies out there). After the sun rose, we walked down to the salt lick where animals go to clean themselves/eat some minerals. We sat there quietly for 30 minutes and after about 20 we smelled some peccaries (Amazonian pigs) and then heard them close by. I had developed a cough recently and coughed shortly after smelling the stinky guys and they got scared of me and ran away. We then walked to this place with a bunch of dead plants except for one tree and Jose opened up the tree and there were a bunch of little tiny ants and he told us to eat them and they tasted like lemons. Then there was a bush that he cut and we could paint our fingernails with it so basically we had a spa day in the middle of the amazon #spoiled. After the hike we had some downtime so I took a nap in a super nice hammock then we had lunch then got to play soccer with the workers of the station which was sooooo fun. They couldn’t pronounce my name so apparently they were calling me “Hebe” when they would pass me the ball and I wasn’t paying attention so I let them down a lot because I just definitely did not get the ball. Then we went on a float down the river. We were given life jackets and told to jump off the boat (mind you this was RIGHT AFTER we went piraña fishing) and float for an hour back to the station. The entire float we just sang songs like a bunch of idiots and laughed a lot (didn’t pee this time!!!!) and had an incredible and magical time being swept away by the current. Before dinner a couple friends and I hiked back up to the canopy to watch the sunset. It was such a moving experience getting to watch the sun fall under the canopy and disappear into the trees. The sky turned red and then eventually black and the forest grew quiet. Once we climbed down (28 flights of stairs) we had a nice big group hug and started on back to camp. I’m kind of a sucker so as we were walking and talking about how lucky we all are I started crying (happy tears) and was quickly engrossed by another group hug. Just felt so lucky and blessed to be surrounded by amazing people in an amazing place. After dinner we ended the night by playing a competitive game of spoons with the workers of the station. One worker showed us a picture of a 24hour snake he had found a couple days ago so that was less than ideal. (24 hour snakes are snakes that bite you and then you’re dead in 24 hours soooo... nice.) 

We left on Friday feeling so lucky, and happy and humbled to have had that experience. It was humbling because I was really shown the things that matter in life. There are things out there bigger and far more important than the every day little things we stress about- things like the loss of habitats for biodiversity or species going extinct- things that are going to affect us and things that are being affected right now. The world is a really big place, but its also so beautiful and its so important but I’ll get off my soap box now because I could definitely get preachy.

Our flight back to Quito was booked for Friday, so we had to spend the night in Coca where we weren’t allowed to leave the hotel. It turned out to be a nice hotel and we left at 12:30pm on Saturday so it wasn’t too bad. Saturday night I got to see Rowan and then we spent all day today (Sunday, January 28) at La Carolina park which is huge and fun and beautiful. We went to the botanical garden and learned about trees and flowers native (and not native) to Ecuador. Then there were food tents set up so we go some food, hung out in the hammock and just chilllllllllllled. It was a really great ending to a really great week.

I do have an essay that I am avoiding writing (I only have 50 more words yet can’t seem to bring myself to write them) so I’m signing off for now! 

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

130lb of Ukrainian Courage (pt 8)

The gentle oblivion of medicated amnesia can’t last forever. Ian begins to remember on his third day in the hospital. It is fragmented at first, snatches of half memories that are steeped in senses. He remembers the bright light around the outline of closely cropped grey hair as he opened the door.

He remembers the scent of prison linen and mustard on heavy breath and the burn of cheap rope around his wrists.

Ian glances down at his hands, at the healing blistered skin and swallows heavily. Another fragment falls into place and he clenches his jaw against it, pushing back against the reality. His body aches all over and Ian tries not to think too much about it but the memory fragments are like sand trapped in a timer and no matter what he tries, they will not stop trickling through.

Ian glances around the sterile room and his skin crawls with the urge to be in a different place, a place with things to distract him. He is very good at monitoring and controlling his thoughts, he practices doing so as part of his mental health self-check ups but he needs things to aid the process. He needs familiar objects and routine.

The vision in his left eye is fuzzy as he glances around for his phone and he blinks a few times trying to clear it but it won’t clear and his temper begins to fray. He ignores the searing pain in his side and twists round to rummage in the white plastic drawers beside his bed.

His phone is tucked in a pair of socks – hidden from casual chancers but also hidden from Ian and as he finally locates it he curses Mickey’s cautious paranoia.

There are a few messages on the screen but the one he lingers on is the most recent, delivered a couple of hours ago.

‘Gone to shower & get u some proper food. Txt me if u need me. M.’

Ian types a quick text and presses send

‘Bring my clothes. Getting out of here.’

Ian’s phone flashes up almost immediately

‘Dr give u all clear?’

Ian considers lying but it doesn’t seem worth the energy.

‘No. Need 2 leave tho. Want to be home.’

‘B there soon.’

Ian reads the message and then closes his eyes and tips his head back against the pillow. His phone buzzes again a moment later

‘Do NOT leave without me. Will kick ur ass. Love U.’

Ian smiles slightly and opens up his photos. He scrolls through pictures of Mickey, pictures of Yev, he lingers briefly on the photo of Mick and Yev asleep on the bed from a few days previously, then keeps scrolling. There are pictures of his family and a few selfies but it is a specific photo he wants to get to. It is part of his anchoring technique.

Finally it appears in the gallery and Ian presses his finger to the little image with a sigh. Mickey’s face fills the screen, the image of his eyes, aiming straight toward the camera, stills Ian’s jumping nerves and he breathes through his nose as steadily as he can.

A single lock of dark hair is flopped forward onto Mickey’s forehead, his expression is serious but if you know where to look, and Ian does, you can see the very beginnings of a smile hidden in the slight crease of his eyes and the gentle rise of fine black brows.

Ian stares until the screen darkens and then closes his eyes trying to remember every little detail. He recounts the tiny noticeables. The beginnings of stubble, a vague shadow of cheekbone, slightly flared nostrils, a tiny scar by Mickey’s right eye from …

Memory hits Ian, a vicious gut punch from his brain that leaves him gripping the sheets and gasping for each panicked breath.

The way the butt of Terry’s gun swept down in that dreadful arc, striking his teenage son with a crack that made Ian’s stomach shiver.

Mickey blinking into wakefulness after the blow, his eye socket suffused with angry purple bruises and his lips cracked and bloody. Terry had been in the kitchen and Ian had helped Mickey sit up, whispering to him that they could run, if Mickey could stand, they can run and Ian would cover him.

Mickey had shaken his head and touched Ian’s face as if he wasn’t even sure if Ian was real.

“Whether I run or not, he’s gonna kill me, man. But not you. People would miss you. You’re gonna be OK.”

And he had fucking smiled as he said it, Ian remembered that now, Mickey smiling vacantly as he assured himself that Ian was going to be okay, like that was all that mattered to him.

Tears slip down Ian’s face and he lets them.

He remembers Svetlana and the old familiar hatred that he has learned to push away and overcome for the sake of Yevgeny resurfaces with a vicious snap that Ian embraces wholeheartedly.

He remembers Mickey, his Mickey, pushing him away, so terrified of what would happen if they were caught again. At the time Ian had thought, had always thought, that fear was a self-preservation thing. Shoving Ian aside, marrying Svetlana, he thought it was all about protecting himself and maybe some of it was but now, lying in this purgatory of a room, Ian sees the layer beneath the obvious.

He sees Mickey’s fear for him. He sees the agony of wanting something so badly but knowing that to catch it would be to court destruction and rage fills his heart completely, blackening the edges of his love for Mickey, his care for Yevgeny, tainting everything in it’s path, an oil slick without boundary.

Mickey arrives with a backpack of fresh clothes and a meatball Subway and enters Ian’s room with no idea of the storm behind the closed door.

“Hey, I brought you a … OOF!”

He staggers back against the wall, dropping the tightly wrapped sandwich, eyes wide as Ian’s tongue fills his mouth, aggressive and demanding. Mickey tries to pull away but Ian’s body is crushing him into the white coated wall.

“Get on the fucking bed.”

Ian growls, grabbing the front of Mickey’s shirt and yanking him forward.

“Hey! Woah! Hang on ...”

“What? You don’t want me?”

Ian shoves Mickey’s chest and gets in his face within inches of his boyfriends, eyes burning. Ian’s face is a medley of colours, the skin around his left eye a swollen mass of red and black, the fair auburn brow lost in a sea of bruising.

Mickey licks his lip, he had not to be met with a towering inferno of sexual fury and he is trying to catch up to Ian but he doesn’t know how much of what is happening is genuinely Ian and how much is the disruption of his medication routine.

“Of course I fuckin’ do. But not here.”

“Why? Because I’m a fuckin’ state? Because I got the stink of a victim on me? Because you were right and I was wrong?”

“What are you … Hey! Calm the fuck down!”

Mickey snaps as Ian grabs his shirt again, dragging him up onto his toes roughly.

“I am not going to be fucking tamed by this shit! I will not be whipped and afraid like you were!”

Ian snarls and crashes his lips once more against Mickey’s own.

Mickey is desperately trying to fit the pieces together correctly. Ian isn’t being exactly cryptic and his words sting more than a little but Mickey knows this sort of anger – it is almost aimless in it’s all encompassing reach. He lived with it for years, lashing out at everything and everyone and cowering away from his true self with almost pathological fear.

That isn’t Ian.

It could never be Ian but it is close at the moment and he needs to tread lightly.

“No you fuckin’ won’t but you gotta build your strength up. And we need a plan. We can do more damage with a plan, remember?”  

“I’m going to kill him.”

Ian’s eyes are wild, his red hair flying up around his head like some sort of demonic halo and Mickey simply nods in agreement.

“Fine.”

He holds Ian’s stare until some sort of awareness returns to the speckled green depths and then slowly detaches the grip Ian has on his shirt and crouches down to pick up the Subway bag.

“I got you this. I want you to eat it. Then we’ll get you checked out.”

Simple instructions. A simple plan. They are what Ian needs and he clings to them, sitting down painfully on the edge of the bed and taking the sandwich from Mickey. He doesn’t apologise and Mickey doesn’t need him to.

There is blood on the floor and on the hem of Ian’s gown from where he has pulled his stitches. Mickey covers the drops with his boot before Ian can notice them and folds his arms until he is sure that his hands have stopped shaking.

The atmosphere is settling around them and Ian is looking more himself as the minutes tick by, a little flat lined and so tired it makes Mickey’s chest ache, but definitely closer to his Ian.

“You want a bite?”

Ian offers, the fire has all but drained from his voice and Mickey can’t think of many times he has felt less like eating in his entire life but he nods and accepts the package as Ian passes it to him.

“You know, I never get how people eat these things without getting sauce everywhere.”

He passes it back, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. Ian’s lip lifts slightly and he shrugs

“You take too big bites.”

“Yeah? That the secret? Gotta nibble it?”

Mickey cocks his head to the side and gives Ian a little smirk which Ian returns as best he can.

“Just don’t cram it in.”

“I’ll just stick with chicken and bacon club.”

Mickey grabs a tissue from the box on Ian’s stand and wipes the blood under his shoe discreetly before sitting down next to Ian on the bed.

“Are we going to ours or you maybe wanna go to Fiona’s?”

“Ours.”

Ian says definitely and without hesitation.

“Cool.”

Mickey has left Fiona and Debbie doing a seriously thorough clean up of the place because he thought that was likely to be the answer. The bedroom he cleaned up himself, the bedding shoved in the trash, along with the mattress and bed frame, which Mickey smashed to pieces with a baseball bat in the alley.

The new bed was due to be delivered later that day but even if it wasn’t there, it didn’t matter. Mickey would set Ian up on the couch and sleep on the floor.

*

The doctors are reluctant to let Ian leave so soon and turn to Mickey as Ian’s next of kin. Mickey hesitates because privately he thinks they are probably right and Ian could do with a few more days of rest and a team of doctors at his disposal because Mickey will do his best and he knows how to dress wounds but that is about all he knows how to do.

However when Ian looks at him, his eyes wide and pleading, Mickey takes his side instantly and signs the paperwork he is asked to sign with a firm grip on the cheap plastic pen, his other hand linked with Ian’s.

The drive home is quiet. A little of the rage seems to have dissipated beneath the gentle sway of medication and Ian alternates between staring out of the window and leaning down to rest his head on Mickey’s shoulder.

Mickey smokes but only one, despite his agitation. He needs to tell Ian that Terry is already dead but not yet. If Ian is using that as his guide through the maze of hurt and confusion, then Mickey is not about to rip it away from him until he absolutely has to.

They pull up outside their house and Mickey watches Ian anxiously waiting for him to give some sort of cue. Ian stares at the bright blue door for a second and Mickey considers just driving them both down the block and to a cafe or bar to wait it out a while but Ian is taking a deep breath and opening his car door and getting out. He is doing it with or without Mickey and as always, Mickey faithfully follows his lead.

They get inside and Ian looks around as if trying to place everything in his mind.

He notices the new mugs that have replaced the ones he broke as he tried to get away from Terry. He notices the absence of a carpet in their living room but doesn’t ask why.

He ignores the broken banister posts.

He turns a blind eye to Mickey’s watchful gaze.

He is home, that’s enough for now.

Ian goes to the coffee machine and scowls. Mickey braces himself for Ian to give him some dreadful detail of his ordeal but when Ian turns to him he simply says

“You’ve been messing with my coffee station, haven’t you?”

“Uh … Not on purpose. I thought I put it all back right.”

Mickey is so relieved he is grinning like an idiot and Ian returns his smile with a genuine glint in his eye.

“You got the papers all mixed up and clearly stirred your cup with the scooper – it’s sticky.”

“That ain’t the thing we measure the vanilla stuff with?”

“We don’t have a thing for measuring vanilla cream because that stuff is gross.”

“You know I like it sweet.”

Mickey shrugs and Ian rolls his eyes. This is normal. This is their life and it is fractured but not broken. They are both willing it back together, pressing the pieces like wet clay, moulding their reality into what they both need and want it to be.

“It’ll rot your teeth.”

“Nah man, I got perfect teeth.”

Mickey’s lip quivers slightly, remembering the last time they had this conversation but he pushes the thought back, hard.  

“You gonna make me a coffee or not, Firecrotch?”

“I’ll make you a black coffee, fit for adults.”

Ian quips back and flips the little machine on.

“Oh, hey, Yev wants to come by later, is that alright?”

“Of course!”

Ian nods enthusiastically, the thought of having Yev there is a welcome distraction from the white noise loitering at the back of his mind, threatening to encroach on him if he lets his guard down.

Ian glances over at Mickey, he is hovering, not quite still and definitely not at ease. Ian can’t blame him but he wishes he wouldn’t. He suddenly feels too crowded and desperate to be alone.

“Mick, could you maybe go out and get me some ginger or something with ginger in it? The meds have got my stomach all fucked up.”

Mickey springs to attention and under other circumstances it would make Ian laugh aloud.

“Sure, you wanna come with?”

“Nah, I need a shower.”

Ian sees the emotions of indecision flicker across Mickey’s face as he weighs up wanting to get Ian whatever he wants and also not wanting to leave his side. It feels a little dishonest but Ian rubs his gut with a theatrical grimace, watching Mickey’s eyes follow the movement. Mickey reaches for his keys and nods as if to himself.

“I won’t be long. You need anything else just text me.”

His eyes are dark with concern and Ian forces himself to smile.

“Thanks babe.”

The pet name eases some of the worry on Mickey’s face but the kiss he places against Ian’s lips is still too gentle.

“Just text me, okay?”

“Got it.”

Ian nods and watches through the window as Mickey gets into the car and drives away. The coffee machine splutters and Ian turns it off, leaving the steaming pot where it is. He moves from the kitchen to the living room, scuffing his trainers against the rough boards. From the living room he makes his way upstairs. He pauses at the bathroom. It is mostly spotless but there is a dry rusty looking streak on the underside of the sink which has been missed. He goes to Yev’s room and breathes a sigh of relief. The little box room is clear and looks as it always looks. He hesitates and then takes a deep breath and opens his bedroom door.

The bed is gone and the rest of the room is unnaturally tidy. Ian shoves his hands into his jeans pockets and moves a little further in. He crouches down and rubs his fingers over the indents in the carpet where the legs of their bed used to stand.

Ian can’t explain why the loss hits him so damn hard but it feels like a part of himself has been thrown away.

He suddenly wishes that Mickey was there. He feels far too alone and his loneliness scares him.

A car backfires down the street and Ian flinches with a startled gasp.  

He leaves the house and walks quickly to the alley. His mattress is there but it’s been rained on and is clearly fucked. He lifts the dumpster lids one after another until he sees a familiar glimpse of white wood. He grabs for it but instead of being a complete leg or slat it is only a stub. Ian throws trash bags out of the way to find the rest. It is all there, but smashed beyond recognition. It is splintered and broken and ruined.

Ian understands, he isn’t angry. Of course Mickey would smash it to pieces and there is no way that Ian will be able to fit them back together again. He supposes it is a wonder Mickey didn’t burn the damn thing as well really. Ian chucks the trash bags back in and goes back into their house.

He takes a shower and by the time he is finished, Mickey is downstairs unpacking a grocery bag that is stuffed with ginger beer, ginger snaps, root ginger and even carrot and ginger soup and a ginger flavoured power bar which he must have got at the health food store.

Ian grabs him and hugs him as tightly as he can, burying his nose in the crook of Mickey’s neck, relaxing into the strong arms that wrap around his back and the sure, capable hands that cradle his head and body.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so ...”

“Shut the fuck up, Gallagher.”

Mickey says sternly. They stay like that for what feels like an age until the doorbell rings and the new bed arrives. It’s a super king divan that Ian doesn’t even want to know the price of.

Ian signs for it and then they both negotiate the stairs, laughing when it gets stuck and and working together to get it through the bedroom door.

“Jesus, Mick! This thing is huge!”

“Yeah well, tired of always bein’ on the edge when you and Yev decide to play starfish.”

Mickey huffs, tilting his end and ramming it with his shoulder to try and force it through the doorway.

Ian grins and pulls with all his might. The thing finally gives and within minutes they are sprawled side by side on it, panting and exhausted, but happy.

“Don’t put your boots on it.”

“I wasn’t gonna.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and runs his fingers through Ian’s hair. The room seems full and centered again and Ian kisses the inside of Mickey’s wrist gratefully.

He is home.

[ohnojustimagine]

The Shape of You

Kassius Ohno/Reader 1425 words; Smut/Explicit

So I saw someone point out that Kassius mostly seems to wrestle at house shows in only trunks but always wears a shirt (two shirts, actually!) on TV. Which made me think, so I wrote a fic.

Also this is probably set in the same universe as the other Kassius story I’ve written, but you definitely don’t have to read that to get anything.

***

You and Kassius don’t ever get to spend enough time together, so when you’re actually home at the same time, you like to just hang out, be with each other. Tonight you’re both exhausted after a full week of training and shows, and you’ve zoned out on the couch in front of the television.

Kassius is sitting slouched, and you’re lying on your side, resting your head on his thigh. His fingers stroke absently through your hair as he watches a replay of some basketball game, but you’re not paying attention, because you can’t stop thinking, and after a while, you roll over onto your back, staring up at him. “Can I ask you a maybe stupid question?” you say.

“No such thing as a stupid question, sweetheart,” he replies, not looking away from the screen. “Ask away.”

You sit up, and maybe this is none of your business, but it’s something that’s been bothering you, so you say, “Why do you wrestle in just trunks at house shows but wear a shirt when they’re filming?”

He doesn’t even pause, answering, “‘Cause it’s less laundry on the road and because people don’t want to see a fat dude on their TV.”

You swat at him, gently slapping his chest. He looks at you, grabbing your hand, holding it there against him, and you slide your fingers over enough that you can rub his nipple through his t-shirt. “You’re not fat.”

“Kind of am,” he replies, matter-of-factly.

“I don’t think you are.” You think for a second, considering why this is bothering you as much as it is. “I guess what I’m asking is if anyone told you you had to cover up.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I care about you, asshole, and if they did, that’s total bullshit.”

He shrugs. “Well, they didn’t.”

“Okay,” you say, feeling a little stupid for making a fuss. “Sorry, I just wondered…” You lean over to kiss his shoulder, then add, “After what happened last time you were at NXT…” You weren’t with Kassius then, you barely even knew him, but you’ve heard the rumors about his release.

He laughs, and you can hear a trace of bitterness, still lingering after all this time. “Yeah, that was a lot more complicated than me just being fat.”

And that’s not like him, to not let something go, so you say, treading carefully, “You want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head. “Water under the bridge, babe,” he replies firmly.

You’re not entirely sure you believe him, but you don’t push the issue, instead shifting across to sit in his lap, facing him, your knees either side of his thighs.

“And anyway,” he goes on, “I don’t give a shit if people think I’m fat.” You know he means it, he’s not just saying that, because Kassius doesn’t have an insecure bone in his body. “If they thought I was a bad wrestler…” he frowns slightly. “That might bother me.”

“Lucky you’re an amazing wrestler.”

“I am, yeah,” he replies, without a trace of false modesty.

“Also,” you say, “by the way, if you want an audience who really appreciates you, you should probably feel free to walk around here shirtless as much as possible.”

“In just the trunks, maybe?”

“That would be even better.”

He sighs dramatically. “I’m nothing but a piece of meat to you, aren’t I?”

“Hell yeah, you are.” You smile at him. “And damn fucking fine meat it is too.”

“I’m feeling pretty objectified right now,” he says, grinning back at you.

“Oh, you poor baby,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Now take off your shirt.”

He pulls his t-shirt over his head, tossing it to one side, and you have to take a second, appreciate the sight of him. You can see him, watching you as you stare at him, and you stroke your hands over his chest, leaning in to mouth at one of his nipples, feeling it peak under your tongue, moving across to lick at the other side.

And you like Kassius for who he is, of course you do, but you also happen to find his body really, really fucking hot. All those vaguely dehydrated-looking six packs and exaggeratedly veined muscles on some of the other wrestlers are like the antithesis of attractive to you, nothing compared to the sheer bulk of Kassius, solid and so strong it can take your breath away.

“I love the way you look,” you say, lips pressed against his skin.

“Do you?”

You sit back. “You know I do.”

“So, what’s your favorite part of me?” he asks, like it’s a totally innocent question, but he’s not fooling you for a second.

“All of it,” you reply, not biting even though you know what he’s fishing for.

“There’s no one thing you’d like to single out?”

You shrug, reaching down to rub his hardening cock through his shorts, and you can feel that he’s not wearing any underwear, the thick texture of him hot under your touch. “I don’t know,” you say, casually, “maybe this.”

“Oh, hey,” he says, “that’s my favorite part of me, too.”

You have to laugh at him. “Wow, what an incredible coincidence.”

“We have so much in common.”

“I know, right?” you say.

“But I’m thinking,” he says, “that if that is your favorite, maybe you should show it some love.”

You nod, mock-serious. “I wouldn’t want it to feel neglected.”

“All I’m saying.”

You’re still laughing as you kneel up, shuffling back a little, and he raises his hips enough that you can tug down his shorts, taking out his cock. It’s heavy in your hand, and you curl your fingers loosely around the shaft, gliding up and down with the lightest possible touch, your grasp closing in at the head, circling your thumb over it in a caress.

“Yeah,” Kassius breathes out, “that’s what I mean.” You lick your palm and start to jack him in earnest, and he leans his head back. His eyes are closed, mouth open, and you speed up, twisting your hand on every upstroke, watching his face, seeing it build for him.

You lean in, licking across his parted lips, mouthing at the edge of his beard, and he reaches one hand up, gripping the back of your neck, fingers tightening sharply as he starts to come with a low, bitten-off moan. Heat spurts out between you, and you stroke him through it, only easing off when you can see he’s completely spent.

His t-shirt is still on the couch beside you, and you pick it up, wiping him off gently, then cleaning up your fingers. You can hear him breathing, and he looks at you, not saying anything, then shoves your shorts and underwear down out of the way, just enough that he can get his hand where you need it. He’s not gentle, pushing his fingers into you roughly, but you’re so wet and ready that it’s perfect, and you moan in delight.

His fingers curl inside you, stroking down the walls of your pussy, and you jerk your hips forward, almost losing your balance, but you catch yourself. “Careful,” he warns, and you brace one hand on his shoulder, moving in to kiss him, but he holds you back. “No,” he says, “I want to watch you.”

You hear yourself whine, so needy it’s almost humiliating, but you know he likes that, how desperate you get, how much you want it. “That’s my girl,” he says, softly. “Let me see you.” His fingers slide out of you, rubbing at your clit with increasing pressure, and you swallow, trying to calm yourself, make it last, but it’s too late, because you’re coming, grinding yourself down onto his hand, almost wailing with it.

You breathe in, still for a minute, but Kassius raises his hand to your mouth, and you lick the taste of yourself from his skin, holding his wrist so you can suck on his fingers, going down, lips tight around them.

“Always want more, don’t you?” he says, and you might blush at the words, but it’s true.

You slide off his lap, pressing up against his side, in the crook of his shoulder. The basketball game is still playing on the television, and he picks up the remote, rewinding it back to the point where you started talking.

He wraps his arm around you, pulling you in closer, and you rest your head on the broad expanse of his chest, breathing in.