#and it’s been two years and we’ve only spoken a handful of times since

[foolishfern]

26/8/2022

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Too Many Beds

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist 

summary: you want nothing more than an excuse to sleep next to dean again

pairing: (pre-s1/s1) dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 2.1k 

warnings: none really, language, bed sharing, kissing, mutual pining, idiots in love, brief mention of the death of reader’s dad

timeline: starts slightly before season one, ends near the beginning of season one

author’s note: a spin on the classic 'just one bed, what ever shall we do?' trope lol

You’d known Dean all your life, practically. You met him when you were six and he was eight; two lonely little kids stuck with absent (job-driven) fathers and baby brothers you felt responsible for. Over the course of the last eighteen-or-so years you ran into the Winchesters during hunts enough that you considered them family. 

When Sam left for college you were there for Dean and when you lost your dad in a hunting accident Dean was there for you. He actually stayed with you, not wanting you to hunt alone since your brother was off at college too.

So, for the last six months you’d been hunting with Dean (who hadn’t spoken to Sam for over a year).

“One room, two queens,” Dean said to the woman behind the counter, placing “his” credit card on the space between them before sliding it toward her.

“We’re all booked up I’m afraid,” she said.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I was actually about to turn on the no vacancy sign.”

“This is the third motel we’ve been to,” you said, “every one of them has been full—you’ve gotta have something!”

“I mean, there’s technically one room left but the heater’s out and my boss said not to let anyone sleep there because of that.”

There was a silent pause; you and Dean shared a knowing look.

“We’ll pay in cash, your boss ‘ll never know,” you told the woman. She smiled and nodded as you paid her with cash. 

“Room 209, my boss gets here at ten tomorrow morning so please leave before then.” She handed you the key and you nodded in thanks.

You had underestimated just how cold the room could be, but when you unlocked and opened the door you understood why the owner didn’t want anyone staying here.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled, following you into the room and feeling the cold air. “We’re gonna freeze our asses off in here!” he quickly closed the door behind him, hoping the icy air hadn’t swept any snow into the room.

“It’s either this or we sleep in the Impala,” you shrugged, “and, no offense to your car, but it’s fuckin’ uncomfortable to sleep in.”

“And there’s only one bed,” Dean sighed.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you told him, ignoring his complaints. 

**

“Are you shivering or crying?” Dean asked.

You rolled over so you could meet his stare; “Shivering! It’s fuckin’ cold in here!”

“You wanna…cuddle up, maybe?” he asked hesitantly.

“Excuse me?” you laughed a little.

“Look, I’m not thrilled about it either, but it’s cold in here and unless we both wanna catch fucking pneumonia we better be smart and share body heat.”

You sighed, weighing your options; “Fine. But we never, and I mean never speak of this again, you hear me?”

“Understood.” He nodded.

You rolled back over as he scooted closer to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you into his chest.

“This okay?” he asked quietly, his lips ghosting the back of your head.

“Yeah,” you mumbled back. “Thank you, Dean.”

**

You woke up to the sound of Dean snoring loudly. You were used to his snores, sure, but he’d never been this close. He was laying on his stomach and resting on your chest; his mouth open and his hair tickling your neck. Your first reaction was annoyance but then it quickly washed away as you realized you didn’t want to move a muscle, so Dean could continue sleeping. 

And the more you laid there, listening to his snores, the more you realized how comfortable you were…even in such a physically uncomfortable situation. 

As the time passed and the sun began to rise, you cursed the light that was slowly but surely peeking through the curtain and onto Dean’s face. 

“Morning,” he mumbled to you as he lifted his head up. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his right hand before wiping his mouth. “Sorry,” he chuckled, noticing the small spot on your gray sweater dampened with his drool.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled back. “I think it’s your sweater anyway.”

“I thought it looked familiar.”

He rolled off of you and out of bed. 

You watched as he padded across the dirty carpet and over to the small kitchen. He turned on the coffee maker and the loud, off putting grinding noise made his face scrunch before he quickly shut off the (definitely broken) machine.

“So much for coffee,” he grumbled. “You gonna sit there all morning or you wanna get outta here? We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“I’m getting up,” you replied. You would usually be annoyed at him for rushing you to wake up, but this time the annoyance was…different. Something about his bedhead, the way his lips were pouting over the lack of caffeine, and how he looked in his brown Henley and baggy sweats just made you wanna hold him again. All you wanted was to pull him back into bed with you and hold him in your arms forever.

**

You were beyond frustrated at this point. How many stupid fucking hotels had to have vacant rooms with two beds and a functional heating system!? 

It had been nearly six months since you and Dean shared a bed and you had been looking for an excuse to sleep next to him ever since. 

But the last couple weeks had been different—Sammy was back. Yes, you loved Sam like a brother, but you missed getting to be alone with Dean. You missed sitting shotgun in the Impala and watching him drive.

Sam definitely noticed the way you looked at Dean, but the younger Winchester didn’t say a word. Without being too obvious about it, he tried to do little things that would let you be close to his brother. He’d sit in a certain chair or part of the couch so that you and Dean had no choice but to sit together. Or he’d make some lame excuse so that he got his own room while you and Dean had to share. “I need to do some more research and I need the light, why don’t you two just sleep in the other room?” for example. 

**

“Two rooms, please,” Dean said, reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet.

“Unfortunately we’ve only got one room left,” the cashier replied. 

You almost couldn’t believe your ears, fucking finally!

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you faked your best frustrated look, of course Sam saw right through that.

“Well, I am not sharing with either or you,” he said with a teasing smile. 

“There’s actually a pullout couch in that room, as luck would have it,” the cashier informed the three of you. 

God fucking damn it, you thought to yourself.

**

It was barely after two when you felt the bed behind you dip, and you shook yourself awake. 

“The hell?” you asked, still half asleep.

“The pullout couch isn’t working,” Dean mumbled quietly. “You mind sharing with me?”

You smiled a little and scooted closer into his arms, indicating you were okay with him sleeping next to you.

“Of course I don’t mind sharing with you,” you whispered and his grip tightened.

**

“I’m gonna go get breakfast,” Sam announced. “I’m assuming you want your usual?”

Dean put his right pointer finger to his lips and furrowed his brows angrily. He gestured to you as you slept and Sam got the message. 

“Usual is good,” Dean whispered before Sam left.

Dean stayed laying perfectly still as you slept on his chest, soft snores escaping your lips and to Dean they were the sweetest sound. 

As you stirred awake slowly, he rubbed your back a little.

“Morning,” you mumbled, a small smile on your lips. “Where’s Sam?”

“He went to grab breakfast,” Dean told you. 

You furrowed your brows as you sat up, looked across the room, and realized something; “The pullout bed looks fine? I thought you said it wasn’t working?” You turned back to Dean, who had a sheepish grin growing on his lips.

“So…maybe I’ve just been looking for an excuse to sleep next to you again. Like we did back in that motel when the heat was out.”

“Really?” You attempted to hide the smile trying to find its way onto your face. 

“When we were checking in last night I noticed how your face lit up when they said there was only one room left,” Dean admitted. “And I saw that disappointed look you made when they said there was a pullout couch. So, am I wrong, or have you been wanting an excuse too?”

“I really liked sleeping next to you that night,” you said, avoiding eye contact. “And you’re right, I have been hoping for another ‘oh no just one bed, guess we’ll have to share’ situation but…”

“But what?” Dean asked when you trailed off. You looked down at him. 

“Dean, you and Sam have been like my brothers for as long as I can remember. I mean, Bobby practically raised all three of us and my actual brother as siblings! Your dad and my dad knew each other basically forever and I guess…I guess I figured our lives are too entangled for anything to ever actually happen between us. We’re family.”

“Chosen family, Y/n.” Dean smiled softly. “Doesn’t mean you have to be my chosen sister, you could be my chosen…you know…” 

You leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his full lips. 

“That,” Dean finished his previous statement. 

“Let’s just keep this between us for now, okay?” you suggested. “If Sam finds out, then your dad will find out, and he’ll immediately tell my brother, then before we know it Bobby—”

“I get the picture, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled before kissing you again. He put his hands on your cheeks as he sat up. He pulled you onto his lap, your legs now straddling his hips. His hands moved to your shoulders then trailed down to your lower back as yours went into his hair. You pulled away from him after a moment, huge smiles on both your faces.

You looked into his eyes, his truly beautiful eyes, and you bit your bottom lip ever so slightly. Your right hand rested on his left cheek, your thumb stroking his skin lovingly. 

“You’re awesome, Dean Winchester,” you whispered. 

“You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he replied before he kissed you again. “And gorgeous, too,” he added. “You know how fuckin’ annoying it’s been, sleeping without you every night since that one time?”

“I do know, Dean, I’ve been just as annoyed about it.”

Dean kissed you one more time before he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace, tucking his head into your neck. You wrapped your arms around him too, pressing your lips to his temple.

You pulled out of the hug so you could once again look at his face. Resting your forehead on his, you smiled before you kissed him again. 

“Breakfast,” Sam called out as he opened the door, “is served!”

You and Dean froze for a split second before you hurried off of him.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Sam said, “did I interrupt you two?”

“What?” you scoffed. “Of course not!”

“Interrupt? There’s nothing to interrupt?” Dean added.

“Oh…wow you two are fast,” Sam mumbled, shaking his head as he made his way to the kitchen before putting the food down. “Well, pancakes, eggs, and bacon from the continental breakfast.” He gestured to the food now on the table. “Hope you’re hungry.”

As Sam sat down to eat, you looked at Dean anxiously. Say something you begged him with your eyes.

“Sammy,” Dean started as he got out of bed, “would you mind uh…not telling dad? About me and Y/n…kissing just now? When we find him, I mean.”

“Dad’s never really been invested in your love life, but he’s not an idiot,” Sam laughed. 

“So…you are gonna tell him?” Dean furrowed his brows in frustration.

“Dean, he knows you two are together, it’s not some big secret?” Sam replied, shoveling more food into his mouth. “Damn that’s good.”

“Okay, just hold on—what?” Dean asked. “What do you mean dad knows? There’s been nothing to know since like four minutes ago?”

“Wait,” Sam stopped eating and fully turned to face you and his brother, “are you trying to tell me this is the first time you two have kissed?” Sam furrowed his brows deeply as you and Dean both nodded. “So…never in high school?” You shook your heads again. “That prom we crashed?”

“Sam you were there the whole time? When would we have kissed?” you asked.

“Huh,” Sam let out a laugh. “I genuinely thought you two had been a thing since like… ‘98.”

“What!?” you and Dean exclaimed in unison.

[kitty-tea]

Like father, like son

Welcome to the third and final part of the story!

Here’s part one and part two

(Link to masterlist)

Summary: James finally gets what he wants.

A/n: thank you to everyone who’s read the story so far! Sorry this is so long and full of filthy, smutty goodness :)

Pairing: dilf!James Potter x reader

NSFW 18+ only!

Word count: 5.4k

Tags/warnings: dilf!James Potter, super long, unprotected sex, age gap, low-key unhinged, almost-somnophilia, pet names, extremely filthy smut, NSFW, oral sex, p in v sex, teasing, reader is of age, dub-con (depends on how you look at it)

Hey, how have you been? It’s been a while since we’ve spoken to each other. I know you’ve been busy with the Auror Recruitment Programme. Dad and I are really happy for you. We both miss you very much, and it would mean a lot to me if you would come to our house for my 18th birthday. We know you’re very busy, so it’ll just be dinner with the three of us and we’ll let you leave the next morning. We’ll even let you sleep on the pull-out couch just like old times.

-Your friend, Harry

You stared at the letter in your hand that Hedwig had dropped onto your kitchen counter after you let her in. The words “we both miss you very much” stuck out to you. You were reminded of how fast time passed since Lily’s death. The first month after it happened, the three of you were a complete mess. James had gotten a letter from Professor McGonagall saying that Harry’s grades were starting to slip, and he was in danger of having to repeat sixth year on top of getting kicked off the Quidditch team (something that upset both you and James as former players for the same team) if something wasn’t done about it. With you out of school and unable to spend as much time with him, there was nothing you could do for him other than to keep sending him letters of encouragement. Luckily for him, his supportive group of friends were more than willing to help him get back to his feet and help keep him on track to graduating. You still understood that neither James nor his son would ever get over Lily’s death because you never got over your parent’s deaths. You understood each other’s pain. You’d never be that type of person to tell someone to get over a loved one’s death no matter how long ago it was.

You scribbled your response to Harry’s letter promising him that you’ll be at his house, and tied the parchment around Hedwig’s ankle before sending her off.

You sat still on your chair with a dreamy feeling inside of you. If you were a cartoon character, there would be hearts in place of your eyes. That dreamy feeling only swelled within you more by each day until it was the day for you to see James.

James felt selfish for using his son’s birthday as an excuse to see you. He was the one who brought you up during dinner, casually mentioning that you hadn’t spoken with them in a long time. He then mentioned that with Harry’s birthday coming up, it would be the perfect opportunity for you to spend time together.

That’s how he found himself answering the door at six in the evening. His heart somersaulted into his stomach at the sight of you.

“Oh, hi James.” His eyes didn’t overlook the way your cheeks turned as pink as the sunset or the same shy smile you started giving him all those years ago.

“Come in, Harry’s inside setting the table.” He stepped aside as you walked in with your overnight bag slung onto your shoulder.

James didn’t care if you caught his eyes hungrily exploring your body. Actually, he wanted you to catch him, so he could see how you’d react. Would you blush an even deeper shade of red and turn away? Or would you boldly hold his stare?

And what the hell were you wearing? You were (definitely) trying to seduce him with the tiny skirt that almost showed the plump skin of your ass and that white blouse that was high enough to show your belly button and exposed your shoulders. There was no way you were wearing a bra with the way your nipples were showing through the soft fabric, just tempting James to reach his thumb out and rub it over the hard peaks.

He then realized he couldn’t remember how long it’d been since he let his mind wander to you as he’d pleasure himself in the privacy of his own room.

He really needed to get himself together. He was not about to let his inappropriate thoughts about you slip out in front of his son.

“Happy birthday!” Your voice snapped James out of his thoughts as he saw you run over to Harry and give him a hug.

“I’m glad you could make it!” He returned your hug. “Come on, let’s eat. Aren’t you starving?”

“I know you are.” You rolled your eyes and laughed, only to abruptly stop with a blush when your eyes did indeed catch James looking at your body, specifically at your thighs that he saw you rubbing together. “Oh… yeah, what’s for dinner?” Your voice stumbled.

“My favorite, obviously because I’m the birthday boy.” Harry said in a joking snobbish way.

Throughout dinner, James sat back during most discussions you and Harry were having, enjoying the peaceful quietness without having to worry about the chaos that had been happening in the rest of the Wizarding World.

James didn’t know or care what time it was when his eyes opened to the sight of the still darkened sky outside his bedroom window and the dry, raw feeling inside his throat. He needed water which meant he’d have to go past the living room where you were sleeping in order to get to the kitchen.

Being careful not to make too much noise as he stepped past Harry’s bedroom door, he made his way down the stairs.

If the word temptation was a person, James was sure it would be you. His eyes gravitated up your exposed legs before landing on the hem of the short, pink satin robe you were wearing, your sleeping form undisturbed by his presence.

A more sinister part of his mind was begging him to walk over to you and untie your robe. One little peek wouldn’t hurt right? It told him, but he screamed at that part of him to shut up and that Lily would’ve been furious enough to come out of her grave to give him some sort of a spiritual beating and an earful if he did something that devious to you. It was just a thought. Not everything he thought needed to be acted out.

He wasn’t married anymore. He didn’t have to feel guilty about his dirty thoughts about you, right?

James found that his previous thirst for water was replaced by something else. He sat on the armchair next to the pull-out couch as he reminded himself about what he’d been taught: that men are allowed to look but not touch. But he wanted to touch you. His fingers twitched around the armrest as he imagined tracing them along your exposed inner thighs before dipping below the hem. Would his fingers feel a warm slickness or a piece of fabric? Were you wearing any underwear at all? It was hard to tell with your legs closed.

James couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t care anymore that his conscience had no control over his body as he got up from his chair and the backs of his fingers found themselves brushing a strand of hair out of your face and down your neck. He made up this pathetic excuse in his mind that he had to check your pulse to make sure you were alive.

That excuse was so pathetic that James instantly snatched his hand back and mentally scolded himself before swiftly retreating to his bedroom.

Stepping out of the bathroom with your toothbrush bag, you adjusted your robe. You heard sounds coming from the kitchen which you deduced was James cooking something. You were right, for you spotted him behind the island where he was balancing a mixing bowl in one hand and holding a whisk in the other as you poked your head into the kitchen. You also noticed instantly that he was shirtless. And his muscles were on full display.

Although you’ve imagined what he’d look like without a shirt countless times, nothing could compare to the real view.

“Good morning. I didn’t see you there. I’m making pancakes.” You didn’t know what sounded more delicious: the pancakes, or the sound of his raspy morning voice.

You forced yourself to move your entire body into the kitchen.

You couldn’t remember how to speak as you felt your cheeks flame up and your eyes glue itself to his abs.

“Would you like to help?” Oh, you wanted to help him with something, alright. Just not the type of help he was implying.

You nodded and James gave you a smile as you made it to the kitchen island and set your toothbrush bag down. It was more like a smirk.

“What’s so funny?” You cringed at how your voice sounded like an angry little kid.

“It was like you were hiding from me.” Your heart fluttered even more inside your chest at the sound of his laughter. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite.”

When you hadn’t broken out of your trance, James brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Are you alright?” He asked. You weren’t paying attention to what he was saying. You were busy staring at every body part of his from his eyes down to the V-line of his abs that extended below the waistband of his sweats.

You also weren’t paying attention to how you were squeezing your legs together to soothe the ache that was starting to form there.

“Hey, relax. You’re all tensed up.” You gasped at the feeling of his cold hand on the heated skin of your bare thigh. You bit your lip to suppress a whimper as you felt his thumb gently rub circles in an upwards direction.

If what James was already doing to you felt this good, you thought the pleasure he would bring to you if he touched you in other places would be beyond anything you felt in your life.

“I don’t like what you’ve been doing to me, babydoll.” James murmured into your ear, his voice making you melt. “What were you thinking? Tempting me last night in that short skirt and your tits practically on display? In front of my own son? Everyone else thinks you’re such a good girl, but I see right through you.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked in your confused and dizzy state.

James scoffed. “Even a Muggle would be able to read you. You’re just as terrible at Occlumency as you are talented at Legilimency.”

So he did know about your crush on him… the question was how long had he known?

“Oh, I’ve known for a while…” James smirked, answering your mind. “Since I was married, actually. And I’ve seen your little sex dreams. They’re even better than those cheap porno films. Don’t even try to deny it.”

“James… you’re scaring me.” Your lower lip quivered. How on earth did things escalate this fast? You were beyond horrified that he could see things in your mind that even you tried hiding from yourself. There was no going back now. No more lying to yourself that you only saw James as a father figure.

“Father figure?” James asked incredulously. “Quite frankly, I’m flabbergasted that with all the magic you have, you never once saw the things I’ve thought while I was around you. If you would’ve used Legilimency on me at all, you would’ve seen all those filthy thoughts I’ve had about you that no father should have.”

“James!” You gasped as his hand disappeared below your robe and landed on your hip bone.

You were clenching your thighs so hard that you could feel some of the stickiness from your cunt leaking onto them.

“Open your legs. I want to know how filthy my little girl is.” He whispered and you obeyed. You sucked in a breath as you felt his long index finger venture into the crease of your thigh before using it to collect your warm slick and spread it up and down your pussy. You moaned and instinctively grinded against his fingers.

“Have you always been this wet in front of me?” He whispered.

You shamefully looked down. You didn’t want to answer him, why should you when he already knew?

“Dad? Are you in there? Where’s-” You heard Harry’s voice from inside the living room.

“Yeah, she’s right here in the kitchen with me! Don’t come in yet! We’re both making a surprise breakfast for you!” James hurriedly interrupted him.

Really? You thought as you rolled your eyes. If things were to get more out of control, you’d be on your way to making a surprise baby.

You bit your lip as James slid his finger inside and curled them upwards hitting that deep spot within you that you couldn’t reach as well with your own shorter fingers. With his thumb, he rubbed tight circles around your clit, making your legs want to give out from underneath you. You didn’t know which of those two spots he was touching you felt better.

“Okay. Should I go wait in my room?” You almost forgot Harry was still there. What kind of game was James playing with you, talking to his son so casually as if he wasn’t doing something dirty with you?

“Yeah, we’ll call you over when we’re done!” James shouted. You let out an exhale as you heard Harry’s footsteps rush upstairs.

“Just look at you. My sweet, perfect little doll.” James’ eyes followed the fingers on his hand that weren’t buried in your cunt up and down your body. “Can I look at these?” He softly cupped his other hand under your breast making sure to give them a gentle squeeze.

You breathlessly nodded and tensed under his touch as he used his index finger to slide the robe off both of your shoulders. You felt your nipples harden into peaks at both the sudden air and James’ hungry gaze on them.

Your eyes slid shut as his lips left a trail of kisses that started from between your breasts and ended at the side of your neck where he started sucking on the sensitive skin. The harder James was sucking on that one area, the harder it became for you to hide your whimpers. With each pump of his fingers inside of you combined with the pleasure he was giving you on your neck, you felt your body getting closer towards the edge of something until you couldn’t hold on anymore. You couldn’t control your hips as they thrust themselves onto his hand. Your panting was shaking your body just as violently as did your orgasm.

“Oh, James.” You quietly whimpered into his ear as your hands found their way to his messy hair.

“Doesn’t it feel good?” His soft voice replied back.

“Feels so… good.” You pushed the sentence out of you as the last remaining trembles from your orgasm left your body along with James’ fingers.

“James!” You suddenly exclaimed, remembering. “Breakfast!”

“I know, I didn’t forget.” A smile broke out on his face.

He continued to look at you like you were the most perfect thing he’d seen as he helped put your robe back onto your shoulders and clean you up with a towel.

You were still blushing and avoiding eye contact with him while you were helping him in the kitchen, but that didn’t stop him from gently caressing any part of your body he could from behind you every few minutes.

You gasped every time his face would find the crook of your neck or his hands that would wrap around your waist.

Soon, James left to go knock on Harry’s bedroom door to let him know breakfast was ready while you stayed behind to get the table ready.

James came back (with a shirt on unfortunately) with Harry running like a little kid in front of him, dressed in jeans and a hoodie.

“I’m starving!” Harry shouted excitedly, eyeing his plate. You laughed at him, glad to see his energetic old self that you missed.

You and Harry mostly spent the rest of breakfast catching up some more, before he told you he’d leave soon to go to the Weasleys’ for the actual party they were throwing him where the rest of his friends would be.

James sat across from you while you sat next to Harry at the table like how it used to be.

“What happened to your neck?” You and James froze upon seeing Harry point to the bruise that was the same color as the jelly on his plate.

“I…tripped.” You promptly used your hair to cover up the area so that Harry wouldn’t have enough time to inspect it.

“You need to be more careful next time. The corners of the tables can be quite sharp.” James chided you gently as if he wasn’t the one that caused this.

“Oh. Funny how I didn’t hear you screaming earlier.” Harry shrugged. “You should put some ice on it.”

“Well you know she’s in Auror training and she’s been learning how to keep quiet.” James said with emphasis on the last two words with a sly look in your direction. He then got up to walk to the freezer.

He returned a moment later with an ice cube wrapped around a paper towel. You felt a spark where your fingers touched his as he handed it over to you, almost convincing you to put it over your reddening cheeks instead.

After the three of you had finished breakfast and Harry had disapparated out of the living room, it was you and James alone.

“Do you need me to help you wash dishes?” You asked awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “I can stay here and help. I got the day off today.”

“Or you could wait for me in my bedroom.” James murmured as he sneakily slid his thumbs up your thighs. “You could help me in there.”

“Deal.” You got on your tiptoes and gave his cheek a quick kiss before departing for his bedroom.

As you came up in front of the door to James’ bedroom, your hands started to shake as you pushed it open. In all the time you spent there, this was the only room in the house you had never stepped foot in. You were starting to feel awkward, knowing this used to be Lily’s room too, and the bed that was in the middle of the room was most likely the same bed that she shared with James too.

You started to feel anxious with all these thoughts that popped in your mind like, “What if James is just using me as a distraction to help him get over Lily?” “Does James want me to replace her?” “Would I be insulting Lily’s memory if I slept with her husband on the same bed as her after everything she’s done for me?”

As for what you thought about James, you didn’t want to use him as someone to just sleep around with. You didn’t ever want to replace Lily. She was a completely different person from you. That was it. She was a person with thoughts and feelings, not some object with mass-produced replicas. You didn’t know how to answer that last question you asked yourself internally.

You walked over to the bed, taking the time to run your fingers over the soft blanket that covered the bed. You then took in the rest of the room. You watched the tree in front of the window shade the room from the full sunlight, giving the white walls and floor the illusion of a blue-ish gray undertone. You noticed that unlike the rest of the house, there was an absence of pictures. You assumed it was so that James wouldn’t be reminded of the pain of losing his wife as he was trying to go to sleep. Besides the bed, the only furniture there was were the drawers, a vanity, and a desk with a chair. The only two doors besides the entrance were what looked to be the master bathroom and the closet.

Although you and James had known each other for years, you didn’t feel right to go and snoop around his stuff. But he did snoop around your mind. Is that any different? That still wasn’t a good enough excuse for you to go through his physical stuff.

You instead elected to take a seat on the foot of the bed with your legs crossed, your mind spacing out over to the tree by the window.

“I hope someone didn’t start without me.” James’ voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He was leaning on the doorframe, his glasses and side-smile leaning with him.

You shyly turned away as he took a seat next to you on the bed.

“You’re so pretty.” James said as he twirled a strand of your hair around his finger. “What’s wrong?”

He gently cupped your face with his other hand, turning you towards his direction. You nervously looked down to where your lips were nearly touching.

“Do you actually want to do this with me? Am I just a distraction for you?” You whispered the last sentence. You couldn’t bring yourself to mention Lily directly.

“No, Sweetheart. You’re so much better than that.” James brought one of your hands to his lips and kissed the back of it.

At that moment, James wanted you all to himself. He knew there would be consequences later if that happened. He could give you a choice to either sneak around with you behind his son’s back or go public with everyone else about your relationship and face the risk of shame. That was if you wanted it as much as he did, which he knew you did, but were you willing to give in and go that far? Would you change your mind?

And Harry? So what if he had a crush on you? You weren’t ever going to go for him anyways. James was the one who got what he wanted, not him. Not everyone gets what they want in life. Damn, he was thinking selfishly, so unlike how a father should.

No matter how happy or sad you looked, James couldn’t stop thinking of how gorgeous everything about you was, your eyes, your soft lips, the way your hair fell and framed your face, the blush on your cheeks that was as potent as the flame in his heart, it was like you were pulling him in without trying as his lips automatically found its way to yours.

As he got a taste of you, he knew he was instantly addicted. Just the taste of your lips wasn’t enough for him. He needed to hold your body close to him, so he wrapped his arm around you and grabbed one of your legs and put it over him, making you sit on his lap, facing him.

If he hadn’t required air to be alive, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to let go of you. The both of you were left panting as you got a look at each other.

“Take this off.” He pleaded, tugging at the string of your robe.

As soon as you took your satin robe off, he wasted no time in flipping you over onto your back, making your hair spill out below you and knocking the air out of you.

“I can finally have this beautiful body all to myself.” You mewled as his thumb flicked over the hardened bud on your breast.

“Aren’t you just deliciously adorable?” James let a filthy smirk grow on his face as he squeezed your breast and attached his mouth to your nipple, sucking on it. “I can’t wait to taste the rest of you.”

You started to squirm more and more under him with each lick on your nipple until you couldn’t control your whimpering.

“It’s okay, Baby. You don’t need to hold back.” James cooed.

He got up from where he was above you. He yanked his white t-shirt over his head before he pulled down his sweatpants, revealing the outline of his erection in his boxers to you.

“Do you want to feel it?” James took a hold of your smaller hand. Sitting up, you bit your lip and nodded.

“It’s so…big.” The way your voice sounded so innocent like you were discovering something fascinating only made the hardness of his erection more painful. James sucked in a breath as your hand gave him a gentle squeeze.

“Fuck, open your legs.” He commanded urgently.

When you were too distracted by studying the dimensions of his cock to respond, James took matters into his own hands by jamming both hands between your knees to pry them apart.

The sight of your glistening arousal in front of him was a reward in itself. But he couldn’t stop there.

“I already made you cum today and you’re still wet for more. You’re such a greedy little slut.” James purred deeply. “How about this? You use those pretty lips to suck me off while you touch yourself.”

Your big doe eyes only widened at him as your mouth hung open. Just that look on your face only made James want to cum even more.

“Come on, Babydoll,” He reveled in how nervous and tiny he was making you feel. “Don’t be shy. I know you touch yourself while thinking about me. And now, I’m right here.”

He took your hand off his cock. He could feel your eyes studying his movements as he hooked his fingers under the waistband of his boxers and pulled it down, making his dick spring out in front of your face.

“Get on your knees.” He easily pulled your smaller body off the bed and onto the floor, while he took his seat where you were.

There you were, naked in front of him, on your knees, staring up at his cock, like you were worshiping it.

James could feel your hesitation as your fingers reached out over the tip.

“You wanna taste it?” James brushed his fingers through your hair, attempting to relax you. You nodded. “Why don’t you ask?”

“C-Can I taste it, please?” How could he ever deny you, especially with you asking him so innocently and politely?

“Of course.” He couldn’t take his eyes off yours as you continued looking up at him while letting his cock slip past your lips. You then reached your hand down between your legs, touching yourself just as he had instructed.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing with his eyes. You were there, really sucking his cock, making the dirty fantasies that had been manifesting inside him come true.

“Fuck, that’s it Baby.” James grunted as he pushed your head down on his cock. “You’re doing so well. You’re so perfect.”

When your wet tongue hit the vein on the underside, James let a string of curses erupt out of him. That seemed to encourage you to keep going as you wrapped your free hand around the base and pumped it in sync with your mouth.

A little while later, James could feel himself getting closer to cumming when his body tensed up.

“Keep going, Baby! Good job!” He kept praising you breathlessly as he stroked your cheek.

He finally felt his cum spill into your mouth as you swallowed it, some of it still spilling down your chin.

“Fuck,” James sighed as he gathered his cum that was on your chin with his thumb and pushed it into your mouth. He felt his gaze darken as you greedily sucked and licked the entire thing. “You’ve been such a good girl. Let me make it up to you.”

James pulled you off the floor and into his body, holding you close to him as he inhaled the scent of your perfume.

As you let the heat of James’ body wrap around you, he flipped you over so that you were on your back again. Glasses or no glasses, he was the most handsome man you’d seen in your life. You no longer gave a damn that he was almost old enough to be your father. Maybe you did have a type. He had made you feel like you were the most special girl in the entire world, and you never wanted to stop feeling that way.

“Hold onto me, okay? I’m going to make you feel good. Don’t you want that?” James asked as he kissed you under your jaw, making you whimper at the pleasure he was imposing on the sensitive area.

“Yeah I want your cock deep in my pussy.” James seemed surprised at the uncharacteristic filth that came out of you to which he raised his eyebrows.

“Fuck, I didn’t think you had such a filthy mouth to go with that innocent face.” James said as he brought his lips onto yours.

As he did so, you felt something against your entrance, presumably the tip of James’ cock. He wiggled around some more until he had finally coated his cock in the slickness of your walls.

“Are you alright?” James rubbed his thumb against the apple of your cheek.

You nodded as you bit your lip. You just needed a little time to adjust to him. His cock was longer and wider than anything you ever inserted into yourself. But he filled you up in the best way possible better than your fingers or even the handle of your hairbrush could.

“It feels so good James.” You were panting as you grabbed a hold of his shoulders. Another scream left you as James’ finger rubbed your clit, adding more pleasure to your cunt.

“I want you to cum for me, Beautiful.” James grunted as he continued to thrust his cock deep into you, making you whimper and moan under him.

You were now getting addicted to the full feeling of James’ cock inside you along with the stimulation on your clit. Your head was starting to feel like it was floating on clouds. In your cock-drunk state, you kept moaning James’ name and telling him how good he was making you feel, just how you did in your countless sex dreams about him.

You couldn’t believe this was real, and it was happening to you.

“James! James! Fuck! I’m so… so close.” You sobbed into his shoulder.

“I got you Baby.” He cooed.

“Feels so big and good…” You continued moaning sentences until it turned into incoherent mumbles.

The full feeling of James’ cock combined with the intense tingling on your clit had your walls squeezing around him soon. You started screaming James’ name again through your orgasm that flooded through you.

“Fucking hell!” He suddenly grabbed your hips, and looked at you as if something came over him.

He then pulled his cock out in the middle of your orgasm. He was kneeling above your spent body with his hard cock in his hand that was still coated in your juices.

With a couple strokes, you felt the warm liquid drip down onto your tits and your stomach. You were now painted with James’ cum, and he was the artist admiring his work.

Both of you took deep breaths as you looked at each other while coming down from your highs.

As soon as James had recovered, he got up and ran his hands through his messy hair. You were too tired to sit up, so you could only watch as he put on his boxers before he went into the master bathroom. You heard the water running, and not long after, James had returned with a towel in his hand.

“How do you feel?” He asked gently as he wiped the towel across where his cum was on your body.

“A little tired.” You sighed. James rubbed the towel in circular motions on your breasts, effectively massaging them. After he cleaned you up, he discarded the towel onto the nightstand.

“Come over here, Beautiful.” James opened his arms up and you rolled into his embrace. You closed your eyes as he pressed faint kisses on the back of your naked shoulder, making you shiver.

You were scared, but also excited to see what your future would look like with James.

Tags

@xcinnamonmalfoyx

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [7]

Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why. 

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!

Word Count: 5,123

A/N: thank you all for your patience, and your excitement! we’re checking back in with reader this chapter, and unfortunately, she’s not doing too well. 😅 bottom divider by @firefly-graphics

On the eighteenth day, it rains. 

At least, you think it is the eighteenth day. 

 The rising and setting of the sun only denotes the time of day—there is no clock in this room, no way to mark the longer passage of hours, no calendar with boxes for you to tick off. So you cling to the approximation, it’s the only knowledge—incorrect or no—that you have. 

Water streams down the walls of your prison, obscuring the beach beyond. You stare listlessly at the droplets, following them with your eyes as they slide down the glass into the sand. Though you haven’t moved in hours, you’re still strangely exhausted. So you stay there, tucked against the wall where the glass meets concrete. You’d told Ransom and Lloyd to leave you alone and they had followed your request to the letter—you haven’t seen them since your destructive fit.

You’ve already cried yourself dry and hoarse wailing for help, for release, for your family, and though your distress at your current situation hasn’t lessened per-say, you feel a certain sort of numb acceptance. You’ve gone to sleep here and woken up in the ruined bed enough times to know now that this is true, that it is real—

That you have to accept it. 

What choice do you have? Raging had changed nothing, only isolating you further. You’ve taken to analyzing every moment in the silence, sifting back through to try and determine the point where it all went wrong. There’s no aha moment, though, no core memory that lights the path to recognition. You remember Lloyd and Ransom in your history classes, hotshot poli-sci majors destined for the big leagues. You knew of them, of course—everyone did. Legacy students with chips on their shoulders and grandaddy’s money in their bank accounts. 

Typical. 

You almost wish you could go back and tell yourself that you had been right, that your assessment that the Drysdale twins were selfish and self-centered—but it doesn’t matter now. Not with their baby in your belly and the minutes of your life rotting away in this box. 

You know what they’re waiting for, waiting for you to admit you want to see them, that you need them, and they’ll come and make everything better. You hate that you want to, if only just to have someone to scream at. You hug your knees. Your family will be home now, back to their lives in the States, having swallowed whatever lies you know the twins must have spun up for them—they certainly couldn’t tell the truth. 

She’s sick. Not feeling well. You see, we’ve been taking turns fucking her like our personal cocksleeve.

That would have gone over splendidly with your father. 

The hours tick slowly by until you realize you’re rocking, back and forth as you stare at blank space. Your resolve to say nothing, to ask for nothing, feels made now of rubber rather than stone. It’s been two weeks and then some since you’d spoken to anyone or had contact with your captors—your husband. 

Ransom had taken the ring when you’d thrown it at him, and you’re still not used to the feeling of not wearing it after two whole years. You run the fingers of your opposite hand over the blank space on your ring finger, over and over again, feeling the little divet where it sat.

The room is four hundred and seventy six steps around, you know because you have paced the width and breadth of it every single day since Ransom and Lloyd had left you here. You could do it with your eyes closed, even—you often do. Today isn’t any different, pacing the wall as you recite something—anything you can think of, usually—as many times as you can. Snippets of books you’ve read, scenes in movies, you replay them all, savoring each instance of remembrance as you feel the silence pressing in around the sound of your voice. That’s the worst part about all of this, you think to yourself as you round the far side of the room for lap number twenty five. They’re not even here for you to scream at them. 

They don’t even have to face your wrath, meager as it is. You’re not sure exactly when you’d begun to crave the sound of their voices, perhaps because you know they’re the only ones you have any hope of hearing. You want to cry and scream and wail at them, you want to tear at their faces with your jagged nails—but most of all, you just want them here while you do it. 

The quick pace you set around the room lasts until you can’t keep it up anymore. You collapse next to the door, resting a hand on your belly as your chest heaves. The sight that greets you as you stare listlessly out the window is a familiar one, the orange-red sun is pale behind the lingering cloud cover as it sinks beneath the dark, choppy waves. You have seen this eighteen times—and tomorrow, it will be nineteen. 

Perhaps it’s the realization you cannot even hear the sound of the water lapping against the sand, you can’t feel the breeze, feel the sun on your skin unfiltered through the eight inch glass. 

You can’t even go for a fucking walk.

It’s the knowledge of the agencies you’ve been denied, the freedoms you’ve been stripped of that drives you back to your feet as a frantic intensity grips you. You slam your fists against the door with a hoarse cry, beating against it until your hands ache and sting. 

“Please!” Your dry eyes ache for want of tears. “I don’t want to be in here by myself anymore!” You know you’re giving up ground, but you can’t help it. Weeks of complete isolation—of fucking nothing. You try to convince yourself it isn’t a loss, though, that you’re giving in for your own good, not theirs. That you’ll never have an avenue for escape if the door is locked, so you must make them open it. You repeat these reasons and more on a seemingly endless internal refrain as you beg and cry—so much so that you almost believe it when you hear the sound of hinges turning, of dress shoes on bare concrete. 

You stumble back from the door, anxiously waiting for the robotic sound of the pin pad on the other side. After six beeps—six, you’re sure of it, and you will remember; six—you hear the locks disengaging, the hiss of the hydraulic hinges. You almost don’t want to look as the door swings open, dragging your reluctant gaze up from the concrete step to stare at the twin in front of you. You hate that you’re glad to see him—you’re glad to see anyone, but your feeble  hope that it is your husband who will greet you on the other side of the doorway turns brittle in your chest as you drag your gaze up to his face. 

“Hello, Princess.” You swallow thickly at the sight of Lloyd. He’s letting his mustache grow back in now, the light dusting of hair above his lip, the thick chain at his throat, and the slick striped polo are all enough of a giveaway. He grins at you. Besides, you think venomously. What reason does he have to hide, now? Lloyd steps inside, and the door closes behind him with a soft rush of air. He clucks his tongue as he looks at the carnage around you, the destruction you’re no longer proud of—just exhausted with. 

“You really have made a mess of things.” It feels like he’s talking about more than the room. His expression is almost affectionate. Your chest tightens.“Let’s see what we can do to fix them.” Lloyd steps closer, and you mirror him with one step back, your body moving without your permission. “Baby, you asked for me to come,” he says, cocking his head. “Or would you like to be alone again?” Lloyd doesn’t say it like a threat, doesn’t weight the words with the implication you know he means. 

And yet the idea of being alone in this room—hell, alone in your head—for a single moment more feels like hands wrapping around your throat. The feeling spurs you to speak, swallowing the thick resentment lining your throat to make room for words. 

“No.” You say, looking down at your feet. “I—I don’t.” 

He smiles. “Good. I don’t either.” Lloyd takes an experimental step forward, and you stiffen—but remain still. The smile widens. “Why don’t you take a bath, Princess, and I’ll get someone to come in here and clean up a little? How’s that?” 

“Who?” You know this is bait and you take it anyway. Your options are either to engage with Lloyd—on his terms, always his fucking terms—or to have no engagement at all. “A-are there other people here?” The question lies unasked in the air between you. Will they help me? 

“Maybe if we get you cleaned up, and at least get a new mattress in here and some food in you, maybe I’ll tell you.” He’s not bothering to hide his enjoyment, and it turns your stomach. 

“I hate you.” It slips out before you can stop it, but instead of getting angry, Lloyd just laughs. 

“Oh Princess. I think that’s the best part about all of this,” he runs a hand through his hair before he steps closer. He reaches for you, and you flinch, but force yourself to remain still as he cups your chin. “You really, really don’t.” You’re not expecting him to kiss you, then, to slant his mouth across yours hungrily. You’re too shocked to fight it, standing there shocked as his worry at your lip and he sucks at your tongue until you’re panting, nipples pressing furiously through your nightgown—and then all at once it’s over. Lloyd drags his thumb across your lip. 

“Bathroom.” He points. “I’ll join you in a moment.” Lloyd straightens back up, watching you jerk back from him with a pleased smirk. “Oh, and Princess?” He waits until you turn to glare at him over your shoulder. “No peeking.” 

You practically flee from him, slamming the door behind you. You press yourself against it, your heart pounding. Pressing a hand to your tingling lips, you fumble at the handle with the other before your brows crease with confusion. To your dismay, there is no lock, only a handle. You’d thought yourself completely dry of tears, but to your surprise, more come, welling up as you slap a hand to your mouth so Lloyd doesn’t hear you sob. 

For some reason, you’d imagined your body would reject them, go stone cold at their touch now with how deeply your hatred seemed to burn—but as you reach between your legs with trembling fingers to check what you already know is true, you can’t help but hate yourself just as much. 

You’re not supposed to like it. 

The bathroom has been relatively untouched by your rage, nothing broken or out of place really beyond a few towels. Your cotton nightgown joins them on the floor as you turn on the tub’s faucet, and it drowns out the sound of moving furniture through the door. There’s an assortment of bath products lined up on the side, all ones you like. You resist the urge to knock them over or pour them all down the drain.

How long had they prepared this place for you? How long had it taken them to plot out each excruciating detail?

How long had they known they were going to?

The door handle clicks and jiggles, and you scramble for a towel as Lloyd enters. You know it’s ridiculous, your fear of being nude before him—he’s seen you naked dozens of times by now, he’d fucked you—but the muscle memory of it remains. He closes it behind him, glancing past you to the tub. 

“Oh, lovely.” He steps around you, his hands lingering familiarly on your waist before he reaches for the bottles. Lloyd grabs a few of them, glancing at the labels before making a noise low in his throat. “Ah, this one. You like Jasmine, don’t you Princess?” 

“How do you know that?” You glare at him accusatorially as he pours a hefty capful into the water. It begins to foam up almost immediately, the scent of jasmine and roses filling the air. Lloyd removes his rings and watch before dipping his hand into the water, mixing it. You glare hatefully at his back. “Did Ransom tell you?”

“Now why would Ransom have to tell me that?” He glances over his shoulder at you. 

“Be-because you don’t know me at all!” You stammer. “That’s why this is all so fucking insane!” It bubbles out of you before you can stop it, frustrated, enraged tears brimming in your eyes. “You don’t know the first fucking thing about me!”

“Is that what you tell yourself, Princess?” He asks, turning to face you. You’re suddenly very aware of how few options you have for space, the way Lloyd has placed himself between you and the door, using your own fear to herd you over to the far side of the bathroom, away from him—and from your escape. 

“That I don’t know a goddamn thing about you? That I’ve got no reason to feel about you the way I do?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “You know, people have a funny way of remembering the things they want to remember—come here, Princess, this is supposed to be relaxing,” he cuts himself off, beckoning you with one hand. “I’ve had plenty of time to consider my feelings. Trust me.” 

 You wait for Lloyd to show signs of impatience, for his lips to crease into thin, angry lines, for his eyes to go cold and hard—but it doesn’t happen. Slowly, you approach, your fist clenched so tight around the towel that your fingers ache. He licks his lips. 

“Can’t have a relaxing bath with that on.” He flicks at the hem of your towel with his fingers. “I promise, Princess, I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

He’s seen it before. He’s seen it before. Somehow, you still feel like a married woman showing yourself to a stranger when you release your white knuckled grip on the terrycloth, and it falls to the ground between you. You don’t want to see Lloyd’s face so you look at the large bathtub instead, watch the waterline slowly rise as as the seconds tick by. 

“Let me help you in.” Lloyd’s hand is warm on the small of your back as he gingerly assists you into the bath. You don’t want to enjoy it, the way you don’t want to enjoy anything he does for you. The tension, the fear—it’s all living in your muscles and in your marrow, and though you don’t want it to, the hot water feels good, damn him. The sound of Lloyd’s belt buckle reactivates your adrenaline, and water sloshes up over the sides of the tub as you sit up, scrambling back. 

Fresh fear rises in you as you watch him unclasp the gold chain from around his neck, placing it down next to his rings with a soft metallic click.

“Easy, Princess. Easy.” He steps in, arranging himself behind you as you practically curl into yourself to escape him. “I promised.” He doesn’t bother trying to hide his cock, swelling eagerly against his thigh. 

“Excuse me if I find those fucking meaningless,” you spit, flinching as Lloyd cups water over your shoulders. He settles himself in behind you, and you abhor the way your body seems to fit against his, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. You hate the way his half-hard cock sits perfectly against you, throbbing whenever you fidget. You’re shocked to find that there is part of you that enjoys it regardless, the closeness, the affection. After so long feeling only your own fingers on your skin, it feels strange and compelling to be so close to someone else. It’s electric to feel Lloyd against you, feels nearly as fitting and right as it had with Ransom—though you assure yourself that is only because they’re practically physically identical. 

Was it ever right with Ransom, though? You’re starting to feel like you’d never even known your husband at all. You knew bits, pieces of the whole, but now you’re seeing him as he is… maybe as he’s always been. Or was that just what he wanted me to feel? What they both wanted me to feel?

“Oh you wound me, Sweetheart,” he sighs, reaching for the soap and neatly folded washcloth on the side. “At least your parents think a little more highly of me.” You turn your head so fast your neck aches. 

“My parents? You’ve talked to my parents?”Lloyd says nothing, the corners of his mouth lifted into a small, knowing smile.  “Where do they think I am?” Lloyd says nothing, and merely begins to wash your back with the soapy cloth, his strokes firm, but gentle. The silence lengthens between you, broken only by the sound of water and breath. It ticks on until you feel the frenzied anxiety beneath your skin erupt out of your mouth. 

 “Answer me!”

“Princess, I think a much more interesting question is where you think you are.” He swipes it between your shoulder blades, brushing your curls out of the way to get at the back of your neck. When his lips brush the hell of your ear, it’s all you can do not to flinch. “Where do you think you are?” 

You’re tempted to answer snarkily, or better yet, to turn around and try your hand at hitting him as hard as you can—but something inside tells you that that will end worse than it had with Ransom. Instead, you force yourself to actually think. The days are long, tropical, hot. You can’t feel that heat, of course, not from inside your room, but the sand, the sea, the trees…

“You never moved me. We’re still on Mykonos.” 

Lloyd’s brows rise, but he smiles. “You’re so fucking smart, Princess. Anybody ever tell you that?” The praise feels wrong, sliding down your skin like oil. You don’t want to accept it—and because you cannot accept it, you attempt to ruin it. 

“Not smart enough to see you coming.” You retort, but the venom either doesn’t phase Lloyd, or he’s just that good at disguising his own offense, but he just continues to clean you up like it doesn’t bother him one bit. He’d been eager to get the trip started—more eager than anyone else. He’d been in a rush, you realize now, to get you here. To get to the good part, the part where he got to have you alone and defenseless. And worse, he got to have you with permission. Perhaps that’s why he’s so patient. He can afford to be, after all. 

“I loved you the minute we met. You know that?” He’s busy working shampoo through your hair, raking it through the tangled mess until it falls neatly, laden down by product. “You never thought I was serious back then.” Lloyd chuckles in that way that reminds you of Ransom. “Maybe I wasn’t. But I am now—we are. About making a life for you, for us.” His hand travels around to cup the barely-there swell of your belly. “For our family.” 

“Stop it!” You hiss, your teeth gritted. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to hear him spout words of devotion to you because they feel too good to hear—it feels good to hear anything at all after nearly two a half weeks of only your own sobs for company—

“Stop what?” You throw his hand off of you as you whirl to face him, water splashing out loudly onto the tile.

“Stop pretending like you’re doing this for me instead of to me.” You snarl. “You—”

“Are supporting your family.” He reminds you. “Nathalie gets to finish college debt free. Your father gets first pick of every single construction job in the city.”

“And I get to be a prisoner.” As Lloyd rinses the shampoo from your hair, you cannot help but wonder which was worse—the unknowing way you’d allowed the both of them to violate you, or sitting here in the aftermath, knowing you’d never had a chance anyway.

“Where’s Ransom?” 

“Sick of me already, Princess?” Lloyd asks, and you clench your teeth to keep from answering. “He’s a little busy at the moment. But I’m not gonna lie, I’m not disappointed he couldn’t make it,” Lloyd spreads the butter onto his baked potato with relish before his blue eyes flick up to yours. “I like having you all to myself, sometimes.” He hadn’t touched you in the bath, true to his word—but you can see the desire plainly on his face now, and it makes you squirm uncomfortably. 

“You’ve never had me all to yourself, Lloyd.” You remind him. “I—I married Ransom.”

His smile doesn’t disappear, doesn’t even lessen. If anything, it gets bigger. “Haven’t I?” He chews thoughtfully. Ransom had told you the-the sharing had begun a year ago, but… but what if that wasn’t the first time? 

What if that was only when they’d made a habit of it?

Your stomach lurches, and you swallow bile, suddenly less hungry than before. You don’t know if you want an answer to this question. Instead, you circle back. 

“You said if I let you do what you wanted, you’d tell me if there were other people here.” Lloyd’s eyes flick up to meet yours.

“Is that what I said?” He hums. “No good hotel runs without staff, Princess.” You scoff at his answer. “Of course there are a few dedicated employees.”

“And my parents?” 

“I believe I promised you one answer for good behavior, Princess.” Lloyd practically purrs the pet name at you. “Not two.” You’re tempted to argue—you want to, but you understand a warning when one is given. The way you skirt the edge of his patience makes you angry with yourself, but when you think again of the two and a half weeks of silence, the long days spent rambling to yourself so that you would hear something, anything—you cannot experience that again. So you sit prettily as he fusses over your hair and your skin, swallowing your self loathing. 

He helps you dry off with the fluffy, comfortable towels you’ve been refusing to use, taking great care to rub cocoa butter into the supple skin of your belly. And when you emerge back into the bedroom, only evidence of the most heinous of your acts of defiance remain: the cracked mirror above the dresser, many of the draws missing—you had smashed them to bits against the unyielding windows. Everything that wasn’t too heavy to lift had been subject to your rage, even the mattress. But now, it’s almost like it had never even happened. 

The bed is freshly made, floor swept clean of debris. And on the new table—made of dark, heavy wood—there is dinner. And it’s real fucking food this time, not just a bland chicken salad sandwich cobbled together on dry bread. Roast chicken, carrots and potatoes are steaming on the plates, a bowl of salad between them. Your stomach twists at the sight of it. Shrugging quickly into one of the many pairs of plain white tank-tops and shorts sitting on top of the dresser, and make a beeline for the food. 

Lloyd emerges from the bathroom moments later, his polo shirt laid over one arm, his briefs slung low on his damp hips. 

“Oh good, dinner.” 

You sit awkwardly across from him, attempting to split your attention between eating your food and watching Lloyd. 

“How long do you plan to keep me here?” 

“I’d be careful with the questions, Princess.” He says, fixing you with a warning look as he chews. “Some questions have answers you’re not gonna like.” Somehow, that tells you everything anyway, and you feel yourself shiver, but not with cold. His eyes are hard when you meet them. 

“That long, huh?” You ask, turning to stare at the dark, troubled sea through your window. It feels like you’re in a movie—a fucking horror movie. Lloyd sighs.

“Think of it like a vacation. No work, no responsibilities—”

“Lloyd, please.” You can’t look at him. The rage, the terror—they’re all boiling over inside of you, and if you look at him, if you see his fucking face, you know you’ll lose it. And if you do, you have a feeling that you won’t recognize yourself if you’re left alone for another two weeks. So instead, you stare out at the water, chewing up the words you want to say and swallowing them back down.

“This isn’t a villa, it’s a prison. I can’t—” you choke back bitter tears. “You won’t even let me outside.” 

“You’re getting yourself all worked up, and you’re not going to be able to keep down your dinner.” He places a hand over yours, and the shock of his touch makes you jump, reeling back. “When we can trust you, Princess, then we’ll talk about day trips.” Hope lights a tiny candle in your chest. 

“We will?” 

“We will.” He points at your food with his fork. “Now eat up.” You do, forcing yourself to eat every bite on your plate. When Lloyd bids you goodnight, he tucks a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head up until you’re forced to look at him. 

“Goodnight, Princess.” He kisses you again, disgustingly softly. 

—

You sleep fitfully after Lloyd leaves. Turning back and forth, kicking the cotton sheets off until they lay in a heap at the bottom of the bed. Sweat sticks your tank-top to your clammy skin, and as you wake for the nth time that night, the memory of what scant dreams you’re able to achieve brings heat to your cheeks.  

Hands on your skin—two sets of them—prying open your lips to rest on your tongue, sliding between your legs—

You wake in your new bed feeling testy and anxious, glowering at the sunlight glinting sharply off the water. Clean clothes lay folded on the dresser, a pitcher of water and cups now sat on a rolling tray by the table. It isn’t lost on you that as soon as you’d begged for them the quality of your care had vastly improved. You’re reluctant to admit that it’s a relief, not sleeping on the mattress you yourself had destroyed, avoiding the splinters of broken wood on the floor. 

But now there are none. 

The tile floor is swept clean, the new mattress bearing fresh sheets, the new furniture polished to gleaming. 

This is what you can have if you forgive us, the neatly folded clothes in the new dresser-drawers seem to say before you close them again with a sharp snap. This is what you can have if you give us forever. 

All you have to give is forever.

The room seems somehow larger now, since Lloyd’s visit, emptier—lonelier. You resolve not to ask them for anything again, ignoring the desperate, terrified  part of you that dreads a return to the silent nothing. They’re smart—there’s not even a book in here for you to entertain yourself with. Through them, that good things flow, you know that’s what they’re trying to teach you. The part that sickens you most is that it’s true—and has been for a long time. You cannot remember the last time you’d had to pay a bill or concern yourself with the cost of living. You don’t even know what Ransom pays in rent for the apartment—you don’t know that you ever even did. 

You get out of bed, pulling the sheets back up over the spot you’d vacated as you take stock. 

Normally, your chicken-salad sandwich would be on a clean plastic tray in front of the door, but today there is nothing. You are not a creature of habit by nature, shakeups in your routine typically do nothing more than irritate you. But for some reason, this makes you antsy, anxious. 

Had you upset Lloyd last night with your questions?

Why do you even care? 

As you contemplate what you’ve given away without knowing it, you hear the sound of the outer door opening. You don’t know what it looks like outside of your room, not really, but you’ve caught snatches of the concrete hallway and stairs just beyond the doorway. The sound of the pinpad echoes in the quiet room before the door opens. 

Ransom steps over the threshold, a tray held steady in his arms. 

“Good morning, Sweetheart.” Your eyes fill with tears as you stare at him, your lip trembling as you try to bite back on the overwhelming emotion that fills you at the sight of your husband. “I missed you so much.” 

to be continued…

next chapter

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[f1bordeaux]

The String That Binds Us. (Chapter 1) | ln4, cl16

You fell in love with this sport all because of him. It would be selfish not to thank that boy for his help in getting you here today, even if you both ended on rocky terms. However, after finding yourself in the same paddock as your childhood bestfriend, your mentor, your first true love, and the boy who left you for the bigger picture, you realize that he wants nothing to do with you. So, as fate has it, perhaps you'll end up in the arms of someone else. Or maybe, just maybe, that string that has been tied to the two of you since birth will pull you back into eachothers lives. Warnings : none Pairings : Lando Norris x reader, Charles Leclerc x reader Word Count : 1923 Poetry style | Story style A/n: here, my lovelies, is chapter one. Not proofread srry lolsies. Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

one; y/n. 

There was something about it, something in the early morning rays reflecting off the cherry-red paint that just wiped away all exhaustion previously held in your bones. You were wide awake as you stared at the cars being rolled off the truck and into the garage. It was only five am but the sun had already crept over the horizon well enough to illuminate the sight in front of you. Golds and reds, blacks and yellows all mixed into a work of art nobody else could recreate. This is what you were here for. This is what you were living for.

“Gorgeous, innit’?”

You turned to your left, face to face with two others donning the same uniform as you. The woman who had spoken seemed a bit older than you, but now way had she yet reached her thirties. A man was accompanying her, although his eyes rested not on you, but on the tyres now being rolled out of the truck. He seemed close to her age, his deep-tanned skin a high contrast to hers.

You smiled at her before looking down at your lanyard. It was still so hard to process being here, on a Thursday morning in Bahrain, waiting for the weekend that was about to ensue. You were one of them now. You were an insider, a person that got to see everything on a deeper level. People dreamed of getting here, people worked their whole lives in hopes of getting here and yet here you were, 23 years old and face-to-face with Carlos Sainz’s car. It looked so much better in-person.

“It really is.” You sighed, looking back up. The truck was empty now, they were beginning to close the back door. “I still can't believe I’m here.”

The blonde lady leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of your badge. “Y/n y/ln? You're new, huh?”

You turned to meet her eyes, a large smile on your face. “Yes, I just graduated University.”

“What an amazing first job to have then.” She smiled back. The man beside her now looked at you as he adjusted the ballcap on his head. “I'm Bridgette, but everyone in the garage just calls me Bridge.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” You extended out a hand which she gratefully accepted.

“This is Lorenzo.” Bridgette nodded to the man who offered a toothless smile and his hand. “Enough standing around, we’ve got work to do. Walk with us.”

So you did. The garage wasn’t too far away, just around the corner, but Bridgette loved to talk; that you quickly found out. “Where are you from?” Was her first question.

“Bristol.”

“I hear it’s nice. They’ve got that beautiful river running through it, no?” She asked, looking straight ahead. You just nodded, unsure if she saw your response, but when she kept going you assumed she had. “I’m from Perth. Nothin’ quite like Australia, I must say.” “Isn’t Lando from Bristol?” Lorenzo added. His accent was thick as he spoke.

You nodded again, this time opting to expand on the question. “He is, yeah. We actually grew up together.”

Bridgette turned her head to look at you. “No way! Why didn’t your mate get you a job over at Mclaren?”

A blush coated your cheeks. You didn’t know where it came from, maybe embarrassment, maybe fear, hell, maybe even sadness. Lando wouldn’t have put in a good word for you, not today. Perhaps seven years ago when the two of you were teenagers and on a completely different page, but not now.

“We don't talk like we used to. He was gone a lot but he moved away for good when he was seventeen. He never really looked back, either.” You sighed. An odd sense of pity hung over the three of you. In an attempt to lighten the mood you clapped your hands together and smiled at the two engineers next to you. “But he got me into cars and engineering! So, I owe him a thanks for that.”

Bridgette nodded and pressed her lips into a thin line. “There ya’ go.”

The next few moments were rushed. The three of you entered the garage where people worked on putting everything into place. You were introduced to management and owners, mechanics and bosses. Tyres were being placed on racks, tarps were being placed over backup cars, tool boxes were being passed around. It was thrilling, even if you were just standing on the sidelines watching as it all happened. Soon, however, someone called your name. You were sure it was Bridgette or Lorenzo, but it was someone else. Alessandro, Charles' chief mechanic, was heading straight for you, clipboard in hand.

“Have you been assigned a team yet?”

“No, sir.”

He smiled. “Call me Alessandro. No need for formalities. But anyways,” He looked down at the clipboard then back up at you. “Our front jack guy broke his wrist and I need someone to replace him. Care to run some drills?”

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your lips. “I would be honored.”

“Awesome.” He nodded over his shoulder. “Let's go get you a suit and helmet, then.”

x

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t get the spot.” Bridgette sipped her coffee. “You absolutely crushed it.”

You blushed, rolling your finger around the rim of your cup. The Ferrari motorhome was gorgeous with its meeting rooms and rooftop balcony, with its relaxation spots and cafe. It really put into perspective where you were and who you were working for.

“Thank you,” You said quietly.

The day had gone by rather quickly. The sun was already setting over the desert and exhaustion clung to your body just as tightly as the uniform you wore. You’d spent hours running drills, practicing the most simple yet vital job-jacking the car up. You did it over and over again, improving with every run. After that you were tasked with doing inventory. Sure, it was a small task, one that didn’t require you to get hands on with the car, but it was still important. You wandered the garage counting tyres, drills, wrenches, going through tool bags and drawers. It helped you get situated in the space, to learn the layout and whereabouts of everything. Once you had finished that, you were offered to help wash Charles’ back up car. You gladly obliged, happy to be finally touching the car at least. You washed the tyres, the halo, the rear wing and a bit of the body before standing back to revel in the beauty of the car. It seemed to shine, even in the dim garage lighting. You felt so fulfilled, so privileged, so at home.

“Alessandro likes to give everyone a shot, he doesn’t discriminate.” Bridgette continued. “Today might have been your lucky break.”

“I’d be happy even being a back-up jack, honestly. Just wearing the fire suit and helmet makes me feel all,” you paused looking for the right word to describe it. “Giddy.”

“Well,” Lorenzo began, setting his phone face down on the table. “He needs to pick tonight so we can have that person participate in tomorrow's practice. You should know if you got it first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Guess I’ll be tossing and turning all night, then.” You joked.

A small laugh cluttered the table. It was getting late, the track becoming more and more empty with each passing moment. The motorhome was silent, save for the three of you lingering around. “We should go grab the last shuttle to the hotel,” Bridgette stood, taking one last swig from her cup before tossing it into a bin. “Are the two of you coming?”

Lorenzo stood up, as did you. “I left my bag in the lockers. I can wait for the next one if you both would like to go.”

“It’s ok,” he said. “We can wait for you at the front gate.”

“Alright, then. I’ll be quick.”

You jogged through the paddock, grateful that the heat had subsided. Lights poured out of each garage, illuminating pit lane in a way the sun hadn't. The sun, harsh and bright, brought a form of intimidation onto the pavement. The lights however, soft and orange, seemed to bring peace. It was a gentle reminder that at the end of the day, everything would be alright.

You dodged into the Ferrari garage, running to the back lockers to retrieve your backpack. Although your head was almost completely submerged in the metal box, you could hear faint-chatter? You leaned back, wondering if Bridgette and Lorenzo had come to find you. No, it didn’t sound like them. The voice sounded much more familiar. It was like listening to one of your favorite songs after a long while.

Lando paused at the entrance of the garage. His phone was pressed into his ear. He stared at you, eyes squinted and eyebrows furrowed. Did he know it was you? Could he see you? Did he even remember what you looked like?

You swung your bag over your shoulders and closed the locker. As you approached, Lando lifted his brows, erasing the confused look on his face. He surely could see you now.

“Hey, I gotta call you back.” He sighed. “Yeah, everything is good. See you tomorrow.”

A few feet separated you and him. You debated on starting conversation, on asking how he’s been. But you decide just to nod and walk past him. That is your plan until he stops you.

“Y/n?”

You pressed your lips together in a flat smile. “Hey, Lando.”

He looked you up and down. You were uncertain if he found your Ferrari uniform insulting or fitting. What if you were wearing papaya? What if you were sporting  orange instead of red? Would he be looking at you in the same way?

“So you really did make it, huh?” Lando crossed his arms over his chest, smirking as you avoided eye contact.

“I suppose so.”

“Have they assigned you a driver?”

You looked up for the first time since your conversation began. A bit of pride swelled in your chest as you said, matter-of-factly, “Yeah, Charles Leclerc.”

He blinked hard, shocked that you landed not only a job with the most infamous F1 team, but on their star drivers car. Maybe you were better than you let on. Maybe it was more luck. But deep down Lando knew how good you were. He was able to experience it first hand as a kid.

“Wow. Most people remain without a designated driver for their first year. They kinda’ just float around doing all the dirty work. At least, that's how it is at Mclaren.”

“Right.” You gripped your backpack straps like a kid. “Good thing I'm not over there, then.”

“Yeah.”

The two of you fell quiet, only the sound of nearby passing cars and people walking by filled the air. To any bypasser this surely looked sketchy. Lando Norris, Mclarens golden boy, and a new engineer for an opposing team, just staring at one another. How odd.

You broke the silence first saying, “Well I’ve gotta’ go. I have some friends waiting for me to catch the shuttle.”

Lando just nodded, staring at the ground as you walked by. As you passed Carlos’ garage, he called out, “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.”

You could barely hear it with the way he spoke so quietly. But you stopped, turning your head and offering a real, genuine smile. “Yeah,” You breathed out.

He smiled back. “Good luck.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Inevitable: Donovan Rocker x Reader

Tagging: @mirabee @oliviah-25 @luckyladycreator2 @iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface @one-sweet-gubler @victoriajhyde @telepathay @winterrosies-blog @me-ladie @mah2101 @@avillagesperson @irishavengersassemble @crimeshowjunkie @haielsker-93 @whateversomethingbruh @watashiwasun @burningpeachpuppy @slytherqueen14 @brownskinbaby22 @lady-athanasia @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx

Companion piece to Reputation & One Night

It’s been eight months since that night in Noche and only a couple since you’ve told Donovan how you feel. It’s weight off your chest because for the first time you’re with someone who knows every part of you, who understands the pressures of the job, who wants to fulfil every single one of your desires, especially the ones you’ve never spoken to anybody else.

The only problem is work, because no one knows you’re in a relationship with Donovan and you’re not sure you want to tell them. This thing between the two of you is private, it’s nobody else’s business but you can tell Donovan’s getting antsy because whilst you’re living in the moment he’s thinking in the long term. He’s thinking of what happens when you get to a year, two years, five years.

He knows it’s not about him, it’s about you. It’s about being one of the only two female officers in SWAT and all the shit that comes along with that, it’s about being a female cop in the LAPD who’s dating a superior. There’re no rules about working in the same line of business, you’re both on different teams but it’s the reputation you’re afraid of. Once the genie’s out the bottle, it’s not something you can put stopper back on.

You’ve worked so damn hard to get where you are, beaten all of the odds and he knows none of that will matter. There are still people in the force who will judge you for the choices you make, for choosing to be with him. It’s your decision and he respects that, however things like this don’t stay a secret forever and at some point it’s going to come out. He doesn’t wish for that, but he senses the inevitability of it.

You’re walking to the café on the corner after a night of debauchery. The sun is shining, you’re both wearing sunglasses, Donovan’s arm is slung around your shoulders, your fingers linked with his as he leans in close and whispers in your ear.

“How about I ruin you in Napa? A little wine tasting, a little fun in a B&B…”

He’s interrupted by the sound of someone calling your name. The both of you freeze as you turn your attention to the two men approaching you.

Luca and Street…

Donovan feels the way you tense; he expects you to pull away, claim that you just bumped into one another. He’s willing to play along if that’s what you want. But you don’t do any of that, instead you squeeze his hand.

“Hey, we were just trying out that new food truck up the street when we saw you…” Luca says holding up a crepe. You see the expression on Street’s face, the moment it dawns on him that you and Donovan are here together, actually together.

“The two of you…” He trails off gesturing between the both of you.

Donovan looks down at you, waiting for your play. He’d follow you to hell and back with any decision you make and that only makes you love him more.

“Yea,” You tell your team mates, your lips brushing across the back of Donovan’s hand. “We’ve been together a while now.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[abibliophobiaa]

a blurb of elena seeing eddie on stage for the first time, she’s got her big ear defenders on and is bouncing away 🥺

a blurb from the ‘daylight’ universe.

a/n: before elena was born, eddie dreamed of this day. now it’s here.

dad!eddie munson x mom!reader.

——

You hadn’t really known what to expect. Nothing exactly prepared one for the life as a wife to a rockstar. Especially when still adjusting to your new title as a wife, while also balancing new motherhood.

Still, it shocked you to see all the security at the door. The men in uniforms looking garbed and ready to defend their clients if need be; a thought that should bring you comfort, but when their narrowed gazes settle on you, have your heart hammering away.

“I’m with Munson,” you tell them, bouncing Elena up higher on your hip. “I’m Eddie Munson’s wife.”

He barked out a gruff laugh. “You know how many women say that at these shows?”

The burly, bald-headed man glanced down at his clipboard, while a more…gentler looking man, aged and weathered by years, nodded his head to your daughter. “She’s a cute kid. How old?”

“Almost six months,” you told him, grinning sheepishly as her head thumped against your shoulder.

“And already at her first concert,” the man said, waving to your daughter who only babbled in reply.

“It’s in her blood.” She’d danced away inside any time you’d played music for her while pregnant, and loved the sound of her father’s voice — singing and not.

“Dad being who he is, I guess it’s expected.” The bald-headed man had spoken then, dark eyes sliding over your form as he handed you a lanyard that you draped around your neck. “Apologies, Mrs. Munson. Enjoy your evening.”

You were lead to the green room next, finding yourself greeted by all the guys and Jeff’s wife. The guys took turns fawning over the baby, making faces at her so she’d laugh, taking her off your hands. And then, just like the night you’d first met, Eddie’s dark stare caught and held yours.

Something hot flickered in your belly, Jeff’s wife’s voice a low murmur in your ear, “Go, you two have a few minutes. We’ve got the baby.”

Eddie grinned wolfishly, gripping your hand and tugging you away from the room and into an empty storage closet further down the hall. A dim bulb flickered up above, illuminating the whiteness of Eddie’s teeth as they glinted with his growing smile, his hands warm as they circled your hips and drew you in close.

“Hi, Mrs. Munson.” He’d been saying it every day since you’d made it so. Wanting to relish in the newness of your titles — of what you meant to one another. It had been a whirlwind, and still was now with him beginning the next legs of Corroded Coffin’s tour. “You’re late.”

“Someone at the door thought I was a groupie,” you huffed, breaking off into a sigh as those hands slid lower, gliding over your backside to pull you flush against his hips. “Is that a microphone in your pocket, or are you excited to see me?”

A barked laugh greeted your ears, lips pressing to the curve of your neck, teasing along delicate flesh. You shivered bodily against him, clutching at his biceps, “I told him I was your wife. Apparently you have a lot of those.”

“Only the one,” he whispered, voice a little hoarse as he dropped down to his knees and fisted your skirt. “And I love her so damn much.”

“You’re the one about to perform,” you gasped, feeling his lips at the juncture of your thighs. “You should be saving you energy.”

“Baby…” His fingers at your center, sliding in to the knuckle, choking off your air supply. “I’m giving a private performance right now.”

——

The crowd was electric, feeding off of the energy of the guys on stage. They’d finished up their set, Elena awake for all of it, cradled on your hip with an oversized pair of headphones to muffle the sound on her curly head of hair. Bleary eyes watched her father all night, absorbed as he commanded the attention of everyone around her.

He’d commanded your attention, too. Eyes trailing your husband’s form as he did the thing he was most passionate about. Those hands, those same hands that had lovingly touched you before the show, the ones that trailed your spine as you fell asleep at night, that held your baby girl strummed away like his instrument was an extension of him own self. Hands that created music that told stories, that spoke to hardship and experience, to love and anger.

And the crowd reveled in it. Soaked it up as the guys poured out their hearts and left them on the stage. Incredible — they were incredible.

“Thank you, New York!” Eddie cheered, breaking into the screaming of the crowd. “It’s been too fuckin’ long.”

Cheers of agreement greeted your ears. “Glad you liked the new stuff. Can I show you something else we cooked up while away for a bit?” The crowd roared, and Jeff’s wife stirred beside you as Eddie’s gaze swiveled to where you stood side stage. “Couldn’t have done any of it without my beautiful wife. And the newest member of the Corroded Coffin family.”

A second spotlight slid across the stage, honing in on you and your daughter. Cried ‘awwws’ greeted your ears as you waved a hand in embarrassment, Eddie rushing over to grab Elena and bounce her up onto his hip. You couldn’t even be mad that a woman screamed she loved him from within the sea of bodies, because you understood whole heartedly.

“Goodnight, New York!” Eddie shouted, lifting Elena’s hand and waving to his fans before rushing over to capture your lips in a heated kiss.

“You broke thousands of hearts tonight, Munson,” you teased, reaching up to slide your hand against his sweaty chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart against your fingertips as the crowd surged just feet away, clapping as the rest of the guys rushed off the stage for the night.

“Only two that matter are right here,” he promised, drawing you close for a hug, your free hand coming up to rest against Elena’s back. “This is all I could have ever dreamed of. You, her, this.”

“Not a dream anymore,” you said, tipping your head up to look into his dark eyes, “this is real. This is us.”

Forever.

——

[funnyjb]

It will always be you.

It’s been two months since then. Two months since Joe and I broke up. We have been together since freshman year of college.

I’ve been staying back at my parent’s house that’s only 40 minutes from Cincy. Today was a hard day so far. Joe is playing in his first game since the injury. I haven’t really spoken to him. The whole reason we have been off is because of him. I gave him my all and he pushed me away. I understand it’s been hard on him and a lot of pressure going into the season but he shouldn’t have been acting the way he did. He’s a great, amazing, handsome, talented, sweet, and strong guy, but something changed.

I would be there for him and he would just push me away. I would ask him how his day was and he wouldn’t respond or just say “y/n I’m not in the mood.”

He wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t even look at me. He would cuddle at night but then the next morning just a goodbye and out then door.

I had enough.

Flashback

“Hey,how was your day?”- you

“I’m not in the mood right now, y/n.”- joe

I was pissed

I slammed my hand on the counter.

“I’m done, joe! I’m so sick and tired of this bs.”- you

He turned around.

“What do you mean?”- joe

His eyes were wide

“I mean I’m so done with your bullshit. You don’t even acknowledge me anymore. You push me away. I know I might sound like a crazy girlfriend right now but I’m saying what needs to be said. Every time I open my mouth to say something you nod or say “not right now.” For two straight months that’s all I’ve been getting from you. We’ve been getting into so many arguments recently joe. I don’t know what happened but nothing is working. I’ve been trying so hard to let you do your thing and I’m so proud of you for how far you’ve come but all you seem to do now is push me away. I feel like I’m in the middle of the ocean stuck and stranded while you are on an island miles away.”

“Y/n….”- joe

“Don’t Joe. I think we need a break.”- you

I had tears streaming down my face

Joe walked over to me

He took a deep breath. I could tell he was on the verge of tears.

“I…I…think you’re right, y/n.”- joe

“R…really?”- you

“Yeah…I have always loved you and forever will, but nothing is working out now. I hate to do this, I hate it, I hate it, but you are right.”- joe

He was now crying as well

“Umm….well…. I guess I will stay with my parents.”- you

Joe pulled me in for a hug.

“I will always love you, y/n. I’m so so sorry I’ve been like this. It’s not right. It’s not fair to you.”- joe

I looked at him and put my hands on his face.

I couldn’t even get words out of my mouth I was crying so hard.

“It’s…it’s ok. I understand Joe. We’ve been through a lot I know you. You are strong, kind, caring, brave, and an amazing person. I believe we can work this out. I believe in us, but we need time. I will always love you, Joesph.”- you

I kissed him.

I then grabbed my bag that was already packed. It broke my heart. Joe was sobbing and so was I. He pulled me into one last hug and a kiss.

“I will be here whenever we are ready, I’m here.”- joe

I nodded

I then left.

End of flashback

I sat on the couch. The tv was on with joes game.

“I can turn it off.”- your dad

“No, no, I want to watch.”- you

Just then the camera pointed to Joe running out.

I got emotional.

He’s ok.

I was so proud of him.

He started out on the field and just a couple minutes later a touchdown to tee.

I was so happy.

“Yeah Joe!”- your brother

He only was on for a couple minutes until he came off and was in coach mode.

Damm he looks good.

After an hour the game was over. Bengals sadly lost but Joe did awesome out there and so did the team.

———————————————————————

I was cleaning the dishes till the door bell rang. It was now 9:00.

“I’ll get it!”- you

I walked over to the door and opened it. I couldn’t believe who was there. Joe.

“J…Joe.”- you

“Hi.”- joe

He had his hands in his pockets.

“Can…can we talk?”- joe

“Umm.”- you

I looked behind me to make sure my family wasn’t listening in.

“Yeah, sure.”- you

I closed the door behind me and sat on the couch on the outside porch. Joe sat across from me.

“I..I honestly don’t even know what to say cause there is so many things I could say.”- Joe

“Well, I’m all ears.”- I smiled

“I just want to say I fucked up. I fucked up bad. I should have realized what asshole I was to you sooner. I been going to therapy. It’s been helping a lot with everything. I have been miserable ever since you left. Seriously talk to my mom I cried and got snot all over her shirt while talking to her.”- joe

I chuckled

“Seriously y/n, I’m so so so sorry. I can’t do life without you. You are my rock and the reason I’m here doing what I do. You believed in me. You fought for me through thick and thin. You have given me your trust, love and support throughout all these years and I couldn’t be more grateful for all of it. I need you, y/n. I can’t even be at the house I’ve been living at Sam’s because I couldn’t be in the house we filled with love and laughter without you. I understand if you don’t want be back. I can leave I know what you are going to say.”-joe

He was about to get up when I interrupted him

“No! Don’t go. I don’t think you do know what I’m going to say.”- you smiled

He sat back down.

I took a deep breath.

“You haven’t been an asshole, well…maybe a little.”- you laugh

Joe laughed

“I have never stopped loving you and supporting you. I saw you on tv today. You were incredible. You always are. I’m so proud of you, Joe. I understand that when you are hurt you tend to push people away. I know you have said that before, but I couldn’t handle it anymore. I was trying to be there for you and you pushed me away. And just as you were getting better and going back to practice you didn’t even acknowledge me. I will always be there for you. I just need you to be there for me. I need you to know I am there for you. I need you to stop pushing me away when you need it most.”- you

“I will do anything for you, y/n. I will love you till our bodies grow old and we can even walk.”- joe

I laughed

“Then I accept your offer!”- you

Joe perked up. A big smile spread across his face.

He then walked over to me pulled me in and kissed me. His eyes were teary.

“I’ve missed you so much.”-joe

“I’ve missed you more.”- you

I was now teary

“Not possible.”- joe

He then pulled me in for another kiss

“I love the hair btw, always been into blondes.”- you

“Oh really? Then how did I get so lucky our freshman year?”- joe

“I honestly don’t know.”- you smile

Joe chuckled

I got up and went to the door.

“I will pack right now!”- you

“Ok!”- Joe

I opened the door but then I stopped myself. I turned around and ran up to Joe and gave him a big kiss on the lips.

“It will always be you.”- you

“It has and will forever be you.”- joe smiled

——————————————————————-

The end!

Authors note: I know Joe is a little corny and cringey but he’s just so cute.

P.s. sorry joe was kind of an asshole. lol

[bitchinbarzal]

Forever my girl | Jamie Drysdale: two

summary: jamie meets billie

-

Jamie was staying in a hotel, knowing he wasn’t welcome back at his parents house especially not by Charlie.

He got breakfast down at the cafe, still owned by the old couple just like when he was a kid.

“What can get- well as I live and breathe Jamie Drysdale is that you?” Lola, cooed and Jamie smiled

“It’s me Lo”

“Hank come out here! Our Jamie’s home!”

The couple stand fawning over him “do you guys know where I’ll find y/n?”

Lola’s face softened “The flower shop”

He thanked them both, paying for his food and headed out. Hank picked up his cheque, $200 stuffed in the book.

“That boy… let it all get to his head”

Standing outside the flower shop, Jamie looked up at the sign that now read SWEETPEA’S FLOWERS

Through the window he could see you talking to a customer, pointing to the various arrangements on the countertop.

He waited until the shop was empty before he headed inside, your back was turned to him.

“That was some slap you gave me yesterday” he mumbled.

You turned with a scowl “That was just a warning shot”

His eyerow raised “Oh really?” He has an amused grin on his face.

Your back is facing him once again “uh huh”

Jamie stands, taking in his surroundings “So this is where you work now, eh?”

You slam down a bunch of daises rather aggressively “I own it”

“Bought it after Mrs Richards died five years ago”

Jamie’s eyebrows furrowed “Oh”

You stop what you’re doing and look at him, tired “Yes Jamie, I actually did something with my life after you walked out on me and a lot has changed round here since you left, my mama passed did you know that?”

His heart drops, your mom had always supported Jamie since he was little.

“No… no I’m so sorry I didn’t know”

You laugh, almost mocking him “Have you noticed that since you’ve been gone, Jamie that nobody here has ever spoken to any of those tabloids or the media about you and your life here… about what you did?”

He anxiously scratches the back of his neck “yeah because I left you”

It’s not like he hadn’t thought about it since he left.

You chuckle “No, you left us all that day Jamie… nobody’s spoken about what you did that day because here in Hope we’ve got each others back and I’m not sure you belong here anymore”

“y/n-“

“Just leave Jamie, don’t you have some big city model to get back to in California?”

He decided not to push you, not after the slap you gave him yesterday so he turned to leave.

“Hi mama!” Billie shouted as she pushed open the door to the shop, Josie and her boys following close behind.

In a rush, you push past Jamie and down to Billie’s level “Hi Sweetpea! How was school?”

“Meh same old, same old” she shrugged to which both you and Jamie chuckle. She was so mature for her age.

“Jamie” Josie growled, her baby boy on her hip.

Jamie nodded at her “Josie”

You noticed Billie becoming aware of the tension “Hey, so aunt josie is gonna take you all to get cupcakes from Lola’s ok? My treat”

She smiles “but only a little bit I don’t wanna ruin dinner, my grandma and poppy are coming over”

Then she looks at Jamie “Hey, I know you! You’re that hockey player my mama watches on the television my grandma has pictures of you in her house”

Jamie smiles softly “I’m Jamie”

Billie holds her hand out “I’m Billie”

You watch Jamie’s face falter “Billie?”

“Uh huh”

Jamie then looks at you “wow… that’s a, really pretty name”

You interrupt “Okay sweet pea time to-“ 

“Hold up a second” Jamie stops you, standing infront of Billie “How old are you, Billie?”

You see her curl into herself, anxiety prevalent

“I’m not very tall for my age but my poppy says I’ll grow… I’m six”

Jamie’s eyes widened “Six, eh?”

“Okay! Time to go!” Josie announces, wrangling the kids out the door.

Billie heads out, stopping to wave “Bye mama! Bye Jamie!”

“Bye Sweetpea!” You shout through the tears forming in your eyes.

You stand, still looking out the door as your babygirl walks away. You don’t want to look at him.

“Six, eh?”

You sigh, pinching your head “I think we should talk”

hi jamie, it’s me again.

I think this is the last time I’m calling. I can’t keep doing this. I watched your debut, I’m really proud of you but I need you to call me back… please jamie you want to hear what I’ve got to say.

[rebelelegance]

Sneaking a Chance

Planet!drummer reader

Part 1 - Of Back to You Summary: An old friend calls you again. You're not sure what to make of it

SEND IN HEADCANNONS OR THINGS Y'ALL WANNA SEE IN THESE FICS. IT'S THE ENTIRE POINT OF THESEEE

A/N- Part one 'cuz I couldn't help myself. I do not own any of the characters except reader and her parents. These are fake scenarios and certain things will be tweaked a little to fit the story line.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waking up in the middle of the night was common for you.

However, waking up in the middle of the night because your ex - best friend - who was also your next door neighbor and soon to be celebrity - was calling you after almost a year of barely even texting, was not common.

You sat up straight in bed, answering the phone immediately so as to not wake up your parents. 

“Zayn?”

“Were you asleep?” he asked, the smirk evident in his voice.

“It’s 1 am Zayn! What do you think, genius?” you hissed, confused and angry that he was calling you now.

“You answered though!” 

“Fine then,” you replied, getting angrier by the second, about to disconnect when you heard him apologize repeatedly.

You sighed, putting the phone back to your ear, “What do you want Zayn?”

“Look, our drummer is terribly sick.”

“So?” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows. Why did that matter?

“And you can play the drums really well.”

You froze.

He was not-

“We have a week left for our first show. You think you could come over to go through it with us once?”

“Zayn, you’ve officially lost your mind!”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you! Look, just try out and if it doesn’t work you go straight back and none of this ever happened. We’ve worked really hard and we don’t want to postpone this. It’s just until our drummer’s back. I promise.”

You sighed again weighing your options. What was the worst that could happen? You could try out right? It wasn’t like you’d be accepted. And even if you were, you’d come back soon. There was only one problem.

“But my parents-”

“You have 10 minutes to get ready, we’re outside your house in a van right now. Sneak out the window like you used to. We’ll drop you back before 7.”

You cursed under your breath, a smirk making its way to your face.

Zayn had always been the one to help you escape your house when you needed to, and plans like these made it feel like old times.

“Alright. I’m in.”

You hung up, quickly jumping out of bed to change into jeans and a top. 

As you got ready you couldn’t help the giddy feeling of seeing Zayn again that rose in your chest. You’d barely spoken to him or texted him since he’d joined the band. You knew that he was going places in life that you could never follow, but it still hurt because you two had been inseparable before.

You tied your hair up in a pony, when a sudden thought hit you.

You weren’t just gonna meet Zayn.

You were gonna meet Liam, Louis, Niall and Harry too.

You froze, staring at yourself in the mirror. 

“Holy shit,” you muttered, grabbing a few essentials and putting on your drumming gloves.

You opened the blinds to find Zayn standing a bit away from your window, grinning when your face appeared behind it.

You smirked, heart leaping with joy as you slid the window open, crawling out and shutting it again.

Zayn closed the gap between you both, engulfing you in a big hug, your hands around his neck as you laughed.

“I missed you,” he said, pulling away.

“Awww the Bradford bad boy has feelings!” you gasped, causing him to punch your arm playfully.

“Oh shut up!” he laughed.

You wanted to ask why he stopped replying to your texts. If he’d really missed you, why did he ignore them all?

But you shoved the thought away trying to focus on the fact that he hadn’t forgotten you atleast. 

He grabbed your arm as you both ran to the van, him shoving you inside causing you to collide with someone as jumped in after you.

“Shit sorry!” you hissed, as someone turned on a flashlight, revealing a curly haired boy next to you.

Harry.

“ ‘s fine love. We should be the ones apologizing for waking you up like this,” he grinned, adjusting himself so that you could sit properly.

You shook your head laughing, hoping the darkness would hide your pink cheeks, no one had ever called you that before, “Trust me, when you’ve been best friends with Malik for 6 years, you get used to things like this.”

The three boys in front of you grinned. “Getting up in the middle of the night to go play some songs for a band that’s just about to go on their first tour is common for you?” the boy you knew as Louis chided. “Damn mate, how many bands have you been in?” he asked, turning to Zayn with a big smirk on his face. 

You found yourself laughing with the other boys as Zayn wrapped his hand around your shoulders. You found yourself leaning in to him, the familiarness of being so close to him making the terrible last few months seem a little better.

Though you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you got selected. Or what if you didn’t? Would you lose Zayn again? 

“Awww look at you both!” Louis laughed again, causing you to bury your face in his shoulder, trying to hide the shy grin on your face.

“Shut up Louis!” Zayn laughed.

You only snuggled closer hoping you would drown everything else out and it would be just you and him, driving out to an all night cafe. Just the two of you.

But when the boys continued laughing and joking you were brought back to reality. 

It was never gonna be just the two of you again. Because he was a singer now. And you were just someone from his past. That was never gonna change.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @jadonswhore @dollbabydeliicacies @st-ev-ie 

[vinvantae]

Would you be up for more scotty x daniel x reader? I feel like they are such a funny trio😭

I’ve written it as a sequel to Playing Cupid ❤️ hope that’s what you were after! Sorry for the delay, hope you enjoy ☺️

Playing Stupid

It had been a year since you and Daniel had been set up by your best friend Scotty on a blind date and since then you’d somehow become even closer. And, you’d always been aware of it, but wherever there was Daniel, there was Scotty. Their friendship was one of your favourite things about your boyfriend and you more often than not found yourself joining in with their antics.

Poor Chloe

“Scotty! Why have I found 28 miniature ducks around the house?”

You bit your lip to hold back the smile as Chloe came into the living room - her hands cupped together to hold the small pile of yellow plastic.

“…I don’t know what you’re talking about, babe.”

She frowned. “Daniel… y/n… why are there ducks all around my house.”

“We’ve definitely not hidden 100 of them.” Daniel said, as straight of a face as he could muster - it didn’t help that you were giggling into your hands.

“What the fuck.” She laughed. “Well that explained why I found one inside the bottle of hand soap.”

You wanted to tell her, you wanted to say you’d only hidden 99 but the three of you had spent so long placing them that you didn’t want to ruin the fun. And as time went on Chloe had started lining up each duck she found on the coffee table, a small army surrounding the coasters - a questioning brow raised by guests but not a word spoken as they knew just what kind of nonsense Scotty frequently got up to.

When you returned to the James household a few weeks later, the woman in question grabbed your biceps and squeezed. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“The last duck, y/n. I can’t find the last duck.”

You glanced at Scotty over your shoulder who gave you a pleading look not to say anything. “I don’t know which ones you’ve found, babe, so I won’t know which one you’re missing.”

She whined and smacked Scotty with the sleeve of her sweater. “I’m going to murder you all.”

“Just forget about the duck, babe. We’ve got company.” He hummed, winking in your direction. “Y/n, why don’t you come help me in the kitchen?”

You nodded and followed the snowboarder into the kitchen, placing the bottle of wine you’d brought with you on the counter. “This is going to drive that poor girl crazy, I think we need to come clean with her.”

“I will. Just… one more day.” He smirked. “So, you and Danny still going strong?”

“Yeah, thanks to you. Can’t believe it’s been a whole year.” You smiled softly, taking wine glasses as Scotty passed them to you. “It’s crazy how we could’ve been doing this the whole time.”

“You’re both idiots that’s why.”

You shoved him lightly. “Hence why we needed the captain of the idiots to shove us in the right direction.”

“Got that right, cheers to that.”

The two of you clinked empty wine glasses together before carrying drinks and snacks into the living room - where Daniel was desperately trying to hold in the laughter at the sight in front of him. Chloe was knelt in front of the coffee table showing him the ducks, explaining where she’d found each one. “I’m just missing one. Where did you put it?”

“It’s been weeks, Chlo. I can’t remember where we put every single bloody duck.” He chuckled, as you passed him an empty wine glass.

She groaned and took a glass as well. “The fuller the better, please.”

You shot Scotty a look. The poor girl was losing her marbles over a mini rubber duck. “Ugh, stop looking at me like that, Mum.”

Chloe’s eyes snapped up from her glass as Scotty filled it. “Where is it, do you know?”

She looked desperately between the three of you, a handful of ducks in the palm of her free hand.

“Listen, babe…” He took her glass from her and knelt down - both you and Daniel were trying your best to hold in the laughter as you knew what was coming next. “There was never 100 ducks.”

“…what.”

“There was never 100. We only hid 99.”

“You fucking assholes! Oh my god!” She smacked him - but she couldn’t help but start laughing. “You guys are so mean!”

“Love you too, babe.”

You and Daniel were absolutely losing it - the look on her face was one you’d remember for a long time and a prank you were sure Scotty and Daniel would be telling everyone and their aunt about. You looked to your boyfriend and smiled, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Happy anniversary, idiot.”

“Happy anniversary, stupid. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

*************************************

Short and sweet ❤️ this was the fun one to write, thank you for suggesting it!

[instructionsnotincluded]

True North - Sneak Peek (John "Bucky" Egan x Original Female Character)

Ok so after a handful of messages yesterday, I was feeling inspired and a little excited about the possibility of a new fandom and may have binged some of Masters of the Air late last night. I'm not quite sure where it's going to end up, but here's part of the first chapter. Testing the waters (or clouds?) to see if there's even any interest in it. OR if it's just total shit, since it's a new era I've never written for before. (If so, we can just pretend this never happened, hahaha.)

Pairing: John "Bucky" Egan x Original Female Character

Length: 1935 Words

Warnings: Language, military inaccuracies, writer flying by the seat of her pants as she tries to research more about WWII and pilots, mentally cursing herself for not paying closer attention in history class, 18+, MDNI.

“You’re flyin’ today, Frank!” 

The loud accented voice filled her ears, the brunette squinting her eyes closed tightly as she heard footsteps echoing all around the shared room, the sounds of trunks opening and closing joining in a moment later. She’d just been on the verge of a delicious dream with Gary Cooper’s character from The Westerner when Dorothy Skylar’s voice interrupted their suggestive conversation, her friend rudely butting into the fantasy.

“If you don’t get up, they’ll give your spot to the boys!”

“Ok!” Frank lifted her arm into the air, waving it around to signal she was, in fact, alive, “ok! I’m up—I’m getting up. Keep your panties on.”

“We call ‘em knickers ‘round here, love!” Dorothy’s laughter bounced along the walls, mixing in with the various posters, postcards, photos, and letters pinned above each of the beds, “if you’re going to talk about them, get it right!”

“You are all so irritating,” Frank shifted into a sitting position, the thin strap of her silk tank-top falling over her shoulder as she pressed the heel of her palm into her eye, “does no one like to sleep in anymore?”

“Haven’t had the luxury in years, darling,” Dorothy finished buckling her belt, pausing briefly in the full-length mirror as she adjusted the pins in her curls, “while you Americans have been ignoring what’s been going on across the Atlantic, we’ve been living this nightmare for years.”

“Well—at least it’s a shared one now,” Frank rested the back of her hand against her mouth as she stifled a yawn, “alright, I’m getting up. Where am I going?”

“Thorpe Abbotts,” Dorothy glanced over her shoulder to look at Frank as the shorter woman moved around her bed and over to her trunk, pushing aside piles of unfolded clothing to find her uniform, “should be a quick flight, you’ll be back before dark.”

“Maybe,” Frank disrobed and redressed once her undergarments were secured, Dorothy averting her eyes as Frank changed before messing with her hair, “we’ll see—last time I flew the airfield manager wouldn’t let me off the plane until he’d spoken to at least three men, one of whom was ranked lower than me.”

Dorothy only hummed, both women more than aware of how difficult it could sometimes be ferrying planes to and from airfields and bases, especially if the Americans were involved. It was still shocking to most men that women flew—and while the program in the US was slowly getting off the ground, the British had fully embraced female pilots, the Air Transport Auxiliary allowing women to help ferry new, repaired, and damaged aircraft between factories, plants, airfields, and squadrons. Frank had jumped at the chance to fly, to do something for the war effort that wasn’t working in a factory—she had well over four-hundred hours of flight time in the US, and while the United States Army Air Forces wasted time debating on whether or not you needed a dick to fly, she bypassed the red tape and joined the ATA shortly after Jacqueline Cochran led the first group to England. Fast forward two years later and Frank found herself an active member of the No. 6 Ferry Pool, doing whatever she could, whenever she could. 

“Are you going to see that boy of yours?” Dorothy asked, nodding towards one of the folded letters on Frank’s nightstand, the corner of it peeking out from under one of her journals.

Frank shook her head as she finished buttoning up her flight suit, the material heavy, thick, and too big for her frame before sliding on the sheepskin jacket. That was another thing about being a female pilot—there weren’t any uniforms to fit the female body, the material often baggy on her arms and legs, but tight across her hips. “He went down a few months ago over the North Sea,” Frank mentally scolded herself for not tossing the letter after she heard the news. They hadn’t been that close—a few afternoon dates when she found herself on overnight trips to London and he happened to be there, brief memories of them sneaking around hallways, bodies pressed up against walls as they sought comfort and distraction in one another. He was from Texas and smelled like home, reminding her of easier times when she was away at college, just trying to find direction in life. But like that experience, he was gone and she was left to figure out which way was North once again. 

“Frank…”

“It’s fine,” Frank reached for her bag, Dorothy pausing at the doorway, eyes cloudy with regret as she watched her friend pass her, pressing the heavy wooden door open as both women stepped out into the hallway of the dormitory the ATA housed them in, “it’s war.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t mean something…that it doesn’t hurt…”

“I thought you were British,” Frank pushed the emotion and tears away, scolding her heart for clenching as she turned to walk backwards, pressing a finger onto Dorothy’s badged chest, “aren’t you supposed to ‘stiff upper lip’ everything?”

Dorothy only rolled her eyes, the girls exiting the building a few moments later, the cloudy gray English sky greeting them as they crossed the pathway towards the waiting trucks, “have I ruined your flight time?” Dorothy asked quietly once they were in the back of the jeep, eyeing her friend as Frank leaned heavily against the side, “you’re not going to be distracted are you? You’re flying a Class 5 aircraft today—you need to be focused.”

“I’m fine,” Frank waved her off, “and even if I wasn’t, I’d be fine once I’m in the air. Trust me, that’s the only place my mind doesn’t wander.”

Dorothy didn’t appear convinced, but didn’t push the matter, the girls sitting in silence the rest of the ride to the airfield. Planes dotted the landscape, the tower looming in the background. Most of the planes would find homes on other bases or airfields, another tool for the boys to use in their battles. For a while it felt like production was stalling, they had so few to ferry around, but it seemed in the last year or so it had definitely picked up, so many different classes of aircraft ready to be delivered to the Allies. Frank hadn’t yet flown into Thorpe Abbotts, the Royal Air Force station just a handful of miles to the east of Diss, Norfolk. It was fairly new, having been built the previous year, but once the United States Army Air Forces took possession of the airfield, it seemed like activity was picking up. 

The boys at Thorpe Abbotts seemed to be going through planes like candy, and Frank was pretty sure this was their fifth ferry to the airfield in less than two weeks. Typically they flew to the smaller satellite bases once a month, maybe twice if there were mechanical issues, but five times in two weeks? Something was definitely going on in East Anglia. She’d heard low rumblings of the amount of planes that went down during their missions from the British pilots—the men criticizing the Americans for bombing during the day rather than waiting until evening. One conversation she overheard at dinner a few weeks ago seemed to be about the recently arrived 100th Bombardment Group and how they kept losing men to dumb tactical decisions. “It’s war,” one of the heavier accented men had said, slumped backwards in his chair as he rested a beer on the table, “you do what you need to survive.”

“...are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

Frank’s eyes snapped back to those of Commander Dorothy Skylar’s, the three gold stripes she wore on the shoulder strap of her jacket seeming to catch in what little sunlight they had today, making Frank’s two stripes seem even less important than they already felt. “Yes, sorry,” Frank shook her head and the memories away, forcing herself back into the present, “I was just thinking about Thorpe Abbotts and some of the conversations that I’ve heard in passing about it.”

“They’re losing men and planes at a rapid rate of speed,” Dorothy nodded, glancing down at the folder of papers Frank just realized the woman was carrying, “I don’t think this will be your last ferry there.”

“No,” Frank turned her head as she watched the massive Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress come into view, eyes slowly taking in the matte green of the plane, white lettering and stars decorating the wings and body, “no, I don’t think it will be either.”

The girls scrambled out of the jeep when it came to a stop, their male driver neither acknowledging nor checking with them before he sped off, Dorothy just barely clearing the rear left bumper as he turned. “Fucker,” Dorothy whispered under her breath as they crossed the tarmac, “we fly planes and he drives a jeep—yet we’re still the gum under his shoe.”

“Men are babies,” Frank said as she approached the plane, left arm extending to slide across the edge of the wing, “they move from one tit to another, starting with their mother’s, until they die.”

Dorothy laughed, shaking her head as she watched Frank move through the checklist she had memorized by now, a few of the engineers hovering nearby if needed. A younger woman, who appeared to be just barely over eighteen approached quickly a handful of minutes later, clipboard pressed tightly to her chest, “Stella Frank?”

“Captain,” Frank corrected her, the girl almost shrinking back in on herself as she looked over at Dorothy for approval, but the higher ranked commander only stared back blankly, “it’s Captain Frank.”

“Yes—yes, Captain Frank,” the woman shuffled a few papers around as Frank came to stand beside Dorothy, both women waiting as she handed over a thin packet of instructions, hand shaking as she did, “here are your pilot notes, I’m so sorry they weren’t delivered sooner.”

“Thank you…” Frank waited expectantly but the girl didn’t appear to catch on that Frank was waiting for her name, and instead smiled politely at both women before scurrying off. 

“Must you be so brash all the time?” Dorothy asked once the girl was out of ear shot, “I think today’s her first day.”

“Then she’s lucky she stumbled across me,” Frank flipped open the folder, eyeing the notes that gave her heading and speed instructions, as well as landing information, “if it’d been Ryan or Phillips she’d be on a plane back to the states right about now with wet knickers.”

“You’re not wrong,” Dorothy squinted up towards the sky, “you better get on with it—you’re due at Thorpe Abbotts in a few hours. You might get held up for a bit after you land, I think you’re ferrying back one of the planes that took heavier fire, so be safe.” Frank saluted her commander and Dorothy only rolled her eyes, “and watch for the fog, alright? I don’t know if Carol put it in the notes, but the fog around the airfield is sometimes incredibly thick. The boys may not see you until you’re landing.”

“And they have seen a woman before, right?” Frank lifted her eyebrows and Dorothy only shrugged playfully, “this isn’t one of the groups where there’s hardly any women on base and I’ll feel like a monkey at the zoo, right?” Dorothy took a few steps back in the direction of one of the metal buildings along the tarmac, a wide smile across her face. Frank only raised her voice to be heard, “right?”

“Don’t fall in love, Captain!” Dorothy called back, “we’ll see you back later tonight.”

[holylulusworld]

Cell

Summary: Taken by an unknown enemy you face fear worse than death.

Pairing: Alpha!Winter Soldier x Omega!Reader

Square 10 filled for @anyfandomdarkbingo​: Free Space: Winter Soldier

Warnings: angst, language, hostage situation, scared reader, mentions of unwanted touching (no description/not winter soldier), a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics,  mentions of human trafficking 

A/N: I use some German words. For my story they brought her to a hideout in Germany. The winter soldier speaks German too. (it’s canon)

Thanks go to @dawn-petrichor-world​ for inspiring me with this ask

Prequel to Chains around your heart

All you remember is the pain in your neck. The smell of your sweat and pee. And then, darkness.

There is no normal after the men dragged you out of your little life to bring you here.

Darkness. Fear. Loneliness. That’s all you got left.

There is no light. No hope. No life to live left.

You can only sit on the ground of a dirty and cold cell and await death. Or worse.

The men. The monsters taking you away speak a language you don’t understand. They yell orders at each other and laugh when they watch you cower in the furthest corner to hide from them.

Asset. Omega. No. These are the only words you understand. 

One of the alphas who captured you tried to touch you once. He had his hands all over you until two of the others dragged him off you. The men told him no.

You still shudder when the man enters the cell to throw dry bread at you. 

Most of the time you try to shut your mind off. It’s easier to pretend you are not there, at this horrid place. You don’t have the strength to cry any longer. It’s been weeks since they took you, and you are constantly living in fear.

Fear of death. Fear of what the men will do to you. Fear of what comes after they are done with you. Fear of an unknown future.

You heard about human trafficking more than once these days. “Essen [food],” you frown as one of the friendlier men steps toward the cell door. It’s the first time they brought you more than bread or a tasteless sandwich.

“What’s that?” you croak. It’s been a while since you did more than weep and sob. You haven’t spoken for weeks, and your voice sounds raspy and thin. “Why am I here?”

“EAT!” he unlocks the cell door and steps inside. “You’ll need the—” he furrows his brows, combing through his brain to find the right word. “Stärke [strength].”

“Strength,” you repeat as he shoves the tray with food toward you. The man leaves the cell and locks the door again. “Why am I here?” you try again but won’t get an answer.

He leaves you there, alone, and even more scared.

The tray is filled with freshly cooked food, chicken, and potatoes. You even got an apple and a bottle of water. 

Your hands tremble as you reach for the plastic fork. It feels like you are eating your last meal. Maybe you are already running out of time.

Whatever awaits you won’t be good. You just know it.

But there is nothing you can do about it.

“Asset. Wir haben eine Überraschung für dich [We’ve got a surprise for you], one of the soldiers smirks at the asset. 

He huffs and drops his gaze.

It’s been a long mission and he’s just tired.

He killed a lot of people in the name of an organization enslaving him for centuries. Nothing will surprise him any longer.

There is only pain, blankness, and blood waiting for him.

“Du wirst sie lieben [You’ll love her.], another soldier chuckles. 

The man the world knows as the winter soldier steps toward the building that became his home for the last months. He grunts and follows the men inside.

For a moment he lifts his head and sniffs in all directions. His teeth grit and he feels blood rush to his lower half. He stiffens as something happens that he hasn’t experienced for years.

Suppressants and the constant use of drugs suppressed his ruts and his instinct. But today, he feels his alpha take over. The unadulterated and free creature rears its head as the winter soldier stops in his tracks.

He snarls and looks at the laughing men. It dawns on him that he’s even more trapped now.

The soldier is not surprised when he enters the cell and finds you there.

He scented you from the moment he entered the building. His insides churn as he knows, Hydra found something making him even more compliant...his true mate.

Your head snaps upward when a man enters the cell. He wears black body armor, leather gloves, and a mask hiding his features from your view.

“I-alpha,” you jump up and stare in his direction. His scent is overwhelming, and you can barely think straight. 

He grits his teeth as you stumble toward the exit of the cell. You want to talk to the alpha and scent him, but he slams the open door shut, leaving you alone in the cold cell.

“No! Don’t go. Please. I need to know why I’m here…” He doesn’t look at you for now. He just can’t.

The alpha will come back later. In the dead of the night. He'll hold you in his arms to calm your shaking form or save you.

If only he can sneak out and get to you.

"I'll bring you out of here, 'mega. Soon..."

Tags in reblog.

[theladyofdeath]

Better or Worse {6}

Nessian. Angst. Modern au.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for reading! We hope you continue to enjoy! Please note this chapter's warning. x

Warnings: child loss.

We sit in Gwyn’s office in nothing but silence. I had high expectations for our date, but since then, things have been…tense. 

Cassian left me on the streets outside of Sea and Vine, which is exactly what I wanted. I made it two blocks before calling an Uber to drive me around the city before dropping me off at home. Cassian had been waiting up, but didn’t say a word to me once I had gotten home and climbed into bed. He simply made his way to the couch for the night after locking up.

I know I have to talk about what happened, but I wasn’t ready in that first session and I didn’t want to be shamed for not being ready. As I sit here now, however, I know that I’m going to have to face it sooner rather than later.

Especially when she starts the session by asking, “How did your date go?”

Cassian snorts beside me. I want to smack him. Gwyn just lifts a brow.

“Nesta wanted to leave halfway through because she didn’t like our topic of conversation, then decided to Uber home instead of getting in the car with me,” Cassian says, bitterly. I don’t blame him. Even though we’ve continued our small talk around the house for the last few days, I know that he’s still pissed about our date gone wrong. 

“I see,” Gwyn says, and looks at me. “What was this conversation that you didn’t like?”

I open my mouth to respond, but it’s Cassian that says, “I told her that we need to be truthful when we’re here. We need to get everything out in the open.”

Gwyn is still looking at me. “I will agree that honesty is key when in counseling. It’s usually the parts of us that we are afraid to face head on that are the things that need to be discussed. Even if it’s difficult.”

Cassian looks at me as he leans his forearms on his thighs. He’s a little too big for this tiny couch. That’s what I’m focusing on as he says, “I want to talk about it.”

I know what it he’s referring to. I don’t have to ask. “I don’t.”

“We need to.”

“I’m not ready.”

“You’re never going to be ready.” This time, his tone changes. It makes me look at him. His eyes are pleading and something within me sways and breaks. “I need to talk about it. I need for us to talk about it.”

I’ve been ignoring his needs for a long time. Ignoring them for so long that it led us here, to this, to him wanting to leave me. I know I need to grant him this, to open up, to talk about it, but the thought already has me in tears and I haven’t even said the words out loud yet. 

But then he turns to me and takes my hand. He brushes his thumb over mine, and it comforts me, if only a little. 

I find a place on the carpet and stare at it, cling to it, as I say, “Last time you had asked if anything had happened a year ago, when we started growing distant with one another, and I said no.” Cassian’s thumb continues to soothe me. “I lied, and asked Cassian to lie, too. There was no cheating, nothing like that, but…” I swallow and wipe my eyes with my free hand. “Cass and I tried starting a family about two years after we were married, once we had graduated and found jobs. It took a while, but I finally got pregnant and then I miscarried. The same thing happened about a year later, so we waited a few years before trying again. When we did try again, I got pregnant right away.” I look up at Gwyn, who is watching me patiently. I’m not sure if therapists are supposed to show any emotion, but I see the sorrow in her eyes that mirror my own. “I made it about halfway through my pregnancy, thinking that this would finally happen for me, for us, but then we lost her.” Her. There they were. The words laid bare. The words I have not spoken or confessed in a year, since the night that it happened, when I cried and screamed as my husband held me in the hospital. “That was about a year ago now.” I take a minute to try and compose myself, to overcome the sob that snuck its way out. Cassian's hand on mine is tight, and when I glance at him, he’s crying too, but his tears are silent. He says nothing, but he watches me, he comforts me, he grounds me. “I know that that’s when I started becoming distant. I wanted to mourn alone. That alone time eventually just became a wall that I had built up too high that I’m still having trouble tearing down. I started working more because it distracted me, and now it’s what everyone expects of me, to get out new content quickly. And I didn’t want to have any sort of intimacy because I didn’t want to go through that again.” I look at Cassian. “I don’t want to go through that again. I can’t go through that again.”

“First of all, Nesta, I want to thank you for trusting me — and Cassian — enough to open up about that.” The notepad is open before her, but for once, her pen isn’t in her hand. Her eyes are on me, on both of us, as she regards us with sympathy. “I had a feeling there was something you weren’t being completely forthright about when we spoke last, but I will never push you into speaking about something you haven’t begun to come to terms with yourself. Infertility can often be a silent battle, one that you feel like you’re going through alone, but I can assure you that you two are not the only ones fighting it.” She turned her attention on Cassian and I tensed. “Cassian, if I may, you lied for Nesta when we talked last, yet it seems like this is something you’re needing to talk about, too. Why is that?”

He released a breath, his fingers tightening in mine. “Because…no one knew. No one knows.” My eyes shut before I could see Cassian’s fresh tears, but I’m unable to stop my own tears that continue to fall. “We kept the pregnancy a secret, after the two miscarriages before. Nesta wanted to wait to tell our family and friends. We didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, to get our hopes up, if something went wrong. And then it did.” His voice was quiet and broken. “My brothers never even knew that I was going to be a dad. And then she was just gone, before we even got to hold her. To know her. To love her.”

Suddenly, I can only see the blood. I see blood on our sheets and hear the beeps of machines at the hospital, meant to read her heart rate and mine. I remember the emptiness I felt, empty from the shock until the reality hit me, that my baby was gone. Again. Everything after that was a blur but that emptiness had returned, had remained. The bloodstained sheets and the steady beeping of the heart monitor remained in my mind, in my memory. The monitor only picked up one heartbeat, and it wasn’t the one I had wanted to hear.

Guilt consumes me, yet again. I had never asked Cassian how he was after that. I had never wanted to talk about it. He had to heal, all alone. I want to apologize, but I can’t seem to open my mouth and form the words, so I reach up and wipe his tears with my free hand. 

Our eyes meet and hold, and a wordless conversation passes between us. Gwyn remains quiet, letting a moment pass, then another. 

“I encourage you both to talk about this beyond these walls.” Gwyn spoke quietly. “And when you’re mourning this loss, let the other know so that they can be there for you and comfort you. We are not meant to grieve alone and it seems that the two of you have been grieving alone for far too long.” 

I nod, as does Cassian. 

“Is that honest communication something you can vow to work on?”

“Yes,” I say, clearing my throat, and Cassian repeats my answer. 

Gwyn smiles kindly, and I have to admit that I'm feeling lighter. At least until she asks, “Was it before this experience that the two of you were last intimate?”

Ah. The other topic I’ve been dreading.

“No,” Cassian begins, slowly. His grip on mine has lessened, but he keeps holding my hand. “There was a time about six months ago, but that’s been it.”

The time when he came into the shower with me. It had been good, amazing, as it always had been. But that was it. One time in a year. I’m embarrassed. I look at the floor to try and hide it.

Gwyn jots something down. “And how do you feel about that lack of intimacy?”

“I understand it,” he said, calmly. “Especially now that she’s told me why…but, I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t bother me.”

“How would you describe your sex life, before everything happened?” She asks, as if it’s a totally normal thing to ask about. Which, in this instance, I guess it is.

“Very healthy,” I admit, clearing my throat. I’ve never been uncomfortable talking about my sexuality, but intimacy is a very different case.

She writes down something else. “And how often were you having sex to consider it very healthy? A few times a week?”

Meeting Cassian’s gaze, it feels like my face is on fire. Beneath the tears that are still drying on his face is a smirk. A hint of the man I married.

I roll my eyes, trying to hide my smile, and he takes the lead. “At least once a day, sometimes more.”

Gwyn’s eyebrows raise, just enough that I know his words shocked her, and hums. “Very healthy, indeed.” She scribbles something down before looking between us. “How often do you touch?”

Again, my cheeks hea for no reason. “We just told you, it’s been a while.”

“I don’t mean intimately. I mean, how often do you physically touch?” She gestures to Cassian. “When she touched your face a few moments ago, were you aware that you moved closer to her?”

Trying not to be obvious, I look down to where we’re sitting on the small couch. When we first sat down, we were both leaning against our respective sides, but now…

Our thighs are pressed against each other, Cassian’s hand resting on his own lap, but poised to take mine again at any time.

“I hadn’t, no.” His voice is low and I can’t sense the emotion there.

“Ultimately, our sessions are to get the two of you back where you started, yes? This is a journey I take with couples all the time, but no one reaches the destination the same way.” She closes her notepad, indicating our time today is almost over. “For some, sex is a hurdle that needs to be crossed. For some, it’s a crutch and there are even others that use it as a weapon against their significant other. For you two, I think sex is a wall.”

Cassian hesitated, his brows furrowed.

“For this wall to come down, I think you should take things slowly,” Gwyn suggested, carefully. “Start small. Little gestures of intimacy. Hold hands. Try a hug. Even just a little, random touch, like when you touched Cassian’s face, Nesta, or when you, Cassian, were rubbing Nesta’s hand. These little touches will serve as a foundation for everything else. Before jumping into sex, I recommend that you rebuild your foundation. What do you think about that?”

“I think that sounds nice,” I say, honestly. 

“I agree,” Cassian says, quietly.

“Good.” Gwyn smiles, and before we are dismissed, we set up our next session for two weeks from now. After we say our goodbyes, me and Cassian make our way to the truck.

The ride home is quiet but not uncomfortable. We spend our time absorbing, reflecting. We’re about halfway there before he takes my hand. He doesn’t let go until we’re parked in the garage.

“Dinner tonight?” he asks, once we’re in the kitchen and Greg greets us.

“What’re you thinking?”

He opens the fridge and takes a look around. “Roasted chicken? I can make it with corn or asparagus, maybe some rice.”

“That sounds good.” 

When he turns back around, he sees that I’m watching him and gives me a small smile. “So, uh, how do you feel?”

“Overwhelmed,” I say, honestly, “but relieved, if that makes sense.”

He nods. “It does. I feel about the same.” He rubs the back of his neck, which serves as a sign that he’s nervous or uncomfortable with whatever he’s about to say next. “I’m glad you wanted to do this. Counseling. I think it’s going to be good for us.”

We have a long way to go.

I know this, he knows this, it can be felt in the air between us. To get back to the people we were, the people so madly in love that such a love shouldn’t exist, it would be no easy journey, but that was okay, because we were working towards it.

I had to believe that we could make it back to that place again. 

[pforpedro]

EPITOME

Pedro Pascal x Reader

WARNINGS: SMUT! Pedro having a certified breeding kink, depression may occur cause we’ve been ripped of seeing pedro as a dad 😭 MINORS DNI.

SUMMARY: Pedro having a certified breeding kink.

It hadn’t been clear to you from the start, but let’s face it, Pedro 100% has a breeding kink.

Don’t even try to deny it, you know it’s true.

He’s amazing with kids, you’ve seen it first hand. With every child actor he’s worked with, both young and breaching their 20’s, he’s treated them as though they were his own. It was the epitome of his entire being. He was just a sucker for kids.

He wanted to be a dad so badly. That’s why he took to the role of Joel so strongly when he was offered the place. He’d rant on about it for weeks at a time about how excited he was to finally be playing a father figure again, and you couldn’t be happier for him.

You’d kickstarted your relationship with Pedro a little late in life. You’d been friends ever since you met on the set of Game of Thrones in your early 20’s, Pedro in his 30’s. The age gap wasn’t jaw dropping, but it turned one or two heads.

You’d been together three years and stumbled upon the topic of kids one or two times. Mainly sparking after fleeting moments of words that slipped in the bedroom.

“Gonna breed you so fucking good, mama, fill that tight little pussy with my seed.”

That was only the beginning.

“That’s it baby girl, take it, take my load, let me fill you up, my girl, that’s it, fuck, let me put a baby in you, mama, let me breed you.”

He was kind of shocked the first time you let him. You loved Pedro deeply, and you didn’t plan on going anywhere. You’d settled, you were comfortable and happy, you knew if it wasn’t now then it may be never.

“W-what?” His head bolted up as his thrusts stopped in place so he could see you clearly through lust ridden eyes.

“Breed me, baby, give me everything you’ve got, I can take it.”

“Are you sure?” He’d asked cautiously, “are you ready for that?”

“Yes, we’re ready, go on… Breed me, daddy.”

There was no letting up after those words had been spoken. He made sure he gave you everything he had, because when you asked for everything he wasn’t going to fall short. He poured his love and admiration into every thrust, kissed you tenderly through the roughness of his movements, pounding deep into your core. Finally, you felt it. The feeling you’d been craving for months; his warmth seeping deep into your core.

It was nerve wracking as the weeks passed and you’d had little to no symptoms of pregnancy, but finally it came, that dreaded morning sickness. A bright indicator it was perhaps time to purchase a pregnancy test.

After a few weeks of bad luck, finally, it came back positive. Pedro, well, over the moon was an understatement.

You didn’t release the good news to anyone until it had to be shared; until you were starting to show. The press practically imploded at your news, both good press and bad. But you didn’t care what anyone else had to say, you were happy. And Pedro, well, he made sure to tell you just how phenomenal you looked.

“Look at you, mama, you’re glowing.”

“My princess, doing so well.”

“You look so sexy like that,” he’d say as you stripped to change into your pyjamas, “c’mere, let me taste you.”

He’d been extra careful around your sensitive boobs ever since you’d shared the news with him, but there where times when he just couldn’t help himself. He’d suckle gently on the nipple sending shockwaves down your spine, he’d kneed them softly when you rode him, he was inevitably in love.

He’d pleasure you both platonically and sexually throughout the months of your pregnancy, and the epitome of his being soon came to shine through.

There wasn’t any doubt about it in the first place, but seeing it first hand you knew. Pedro was an amazing dad.

—

Thank you for 300 followers ❤️

[boogernotbogger]

Strawberry ice cream

Sakusa Kiyoomi x reader

Rating: teens and above

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi and y/n meet at calculus class in college and become friends. However, y/n slowly develops feelings for Sakusa.

Word count: 6282

A/N: Please support my works on AO3 here

Weird.

It’s the first thought you have when you see the curly-haired boy poke his head into your classroom. Half his face is obscured by a mask, and you can see two tiny moles peeking out from under his hair.

It’s your second day of college, and first lecture of calculus. People are starting to trickle in, as you’re here early. And yet, the boy looks anxious. He walks in gingerly, and thoroughly sanitises the desk and chair before he sits in front of you, at the window seat. The morning sunlight streams in, and bounces through his curls, making him look like some baroque-style painting. You look out of the window and smile. This is going to be an interesting semester.

~~~

Two weeks later, it is most certainly turning out to be a not fun semester. The workload is already huge, making friends is difficult when your schedule is occupied with purely lectures and sleep, and homesickness, it turns out, is a real thing that you aren’t invulnerable to. 

The masked weirdo in your calculus class seems allergic to people, and for some reason, it is really not easy to pay attention to sequences and continuity and what not, when the only thing your eyes latch onto is a halo of perfectly formed ringlets, interwoven with magical drops of sunlight.

You learn that his name is Sakusa Kiyoomi, he is a volleyball player, and a misanthrope through and through.

~~~

It takes time, but you two start to talk.

It is your third week of college, you just spoke to a blond boy more introverted than you, and you finally got your sleep schedule down. You walk into class in high spirits emboldened by your successes, plop your bag down into your seat, and go stand in front of Sakusa. He flinches, but relaxes by a smidge when he sees you not coming any closer.

“Good morning Sakusa-kun, I’m l/n y/n. we’ve never spoken before and that is kind of weird since we sit close to each other. I’m a first-year statistics student. You?”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi, first year economics. Nice to meet you.”

And thus, started your friendship.

~~~

Two months into your college life, you are fast friends with the blond, Kozume Kenma. He introduces you to Akaashi Keiji, and their respective roommates, two incredibly loud and embarrassing second years, with ridiculous hairstyles. Apparently, the four of them had been friends since their school days and played volleyball together, though the seniors seldom hung out with you as they were always busy.

By now you have also had enough time to get to know your own roommates, to watch sappy romance movies with them, and pledge lifelong friendship to them. Your social life has never been better.

And of course, come calculus class, you meet Sakusa, chat with him about whatever novel you last read, and listen to him describe the intricacies of volleyball. You find yourself thinking that you have never met anyone as passionate about anything as Sakusa is about volleyball.

His dark eyes get a glint to them, and though he refuses to take off his mask, his voice comes out clearer than anytime else. He gestures wildly with his hands, and his hair keeps flopping onto his forehead. He pushes it back impatiently each time, but continues to nod his head off each time you understand a concept clearly.

He kind of looks like one of those little dolls with springs on the bottom, that you stick on your car dashboard for amusement, with the way he bounces on his spot with enthusiasm.

It’s cute.

And you notice he has pretty hands. Like, really pretty hands.

You notice the way his eyebrows quirk in amusement when you talk about the second-hand embarrassment you endure, caused by the heroine of whichever book is your newest obsession. It makes you want to see his full smile, maybe elicit a laugh. You notice the way he raises his right eyebrow until his moles disappear under his hair, when you squeal about something especially hot in the story.

You notice that you seem to be noticing a lot about Sakusa.

~~~

One month later and you find yourself hanging out with the oddest group of friends you have ever had. You have your two roommates, one loud and social, the other adventurous and kind. Then there’s Kenma, who’s always got his nose in a game, and his ears peeled for any gossip he may inadvertently come across. There’s Keiji-kun, and he’s your favourite. He loves his studies, and he’s quiet, but he loves reading and oh boy does he have a talent for overthinking. He’s the most relatable person you have come across in college.

And of course, there is Sakusa. He is reclusive, but by now you know that it is only because he cares more about the germs on people than the people themselves. He tends to hang out more with you or with just the other two boys, than with the whole group. You are yet to figure out whether that is because he deems the other two too germy for him, or because he only likes people who like volleyball.

It had been a surprise to you when you’d introduced him to your group, only for the other two boys to just nod as if they knew him already. And then they’d told you about their volleyball history, and how his school always beat theirs.

“Oh yes y/n, didn’t I tell you Bokuto-san considered him his rival, because Sakusa-san was the nation’s top spiker, and Bokuto-san narrowly missed being in the top 3?” was Keiji’s very succinct explanation of the whole situation.

And that’s how you had found out that not only was Sakusa a volleyball-freak, he was the nation’s top volleyball-freak, and had represented the country several times in the under-19 category. 

(So had Bokuto-san, the owl-like senior who was Keiji’s best friend and captain, but you found that out only when you went to sit in on your college team’s practice sessions.)

(It had bugged you that Sakusa had never told you this before, but you let it go. Sakusa was a very private person, and the only times he spoke voluntarily were when he talked about volleyball. He had no ill intentions.)

~~~

Your first semester ends, and you celebrate with your group by playing games in Kenma’s apartment. It feels nice, talking and laughing with everyone, but after a point, your social battery dips and you find yourself zoning out from whatever banter was currently happening. Something about whether Kenma’s best friend and roommate Kuroo Tetsuro had a better hairstyle than Keiji’s best friend and roommate Bokuto Kotaro.

Honestly though, that wasn’t even a conversation worth having. They both looked stupid. One looked like a rooster shat on his head, the other looked like an owl sponsored his hair gel supplies.

Kenma had dug out an old Monopoly board from somewhere and that was the game currently happening, with you and Sakusa acting as joint bankers. You had both learnt long ago that it is more fun to incite the players against each other than to be one of them. And this was a modified version of Monopoly that you lot had come up with, having a lot of extra and needlessly complicated rules, so it was definitely more fun to just watch.

Sakusa was strangely quiet too. He generally tended to be quiet, but just a couple of hours ago he had gone into a very passionate speech over how strawberry ice cream is the best ice cream to ever exist. He’d accepted no arguments to the contrary.

“It may be pink and look like something Barbie puked, but it tastes exactly like Barbie’s dreams. Strawberry ice cream tastes like freedom and empowerment: I can be anything! It is sweeter than vanilla, not that vanilla is less good, no, vanilla is also a great flavour; it is just that strawberry is superior. Strawberry ice cream is sweet like syrup, like the drinks your grandmother made for you in your childhood when you came home after rolling in mud the whole day. If ‘happy memories’ had a flavour, it would be strawberry. Yes, my argument is based on nostalgia, and you can laugh all you want, but you have to admit that if you had a happy childhood, it was pink. If you didn’t have a happy childhood, well you certainly wish you did. You wish for happy memories and a future you can look out on with hope and love. La vie en rose, I say! Life in pink! That is the wonder of strawberry ice cream! And not to mention, all your childhood drawings of ice cream had a pink scoop dripping off the cone. Whether you want to or not, subconsciously you have all accepted that strawberry is the default, and hence, the best ice cream flavour. Thus, I rest my case.” 

With that, he’d sat back down, and licked off the final drops of his chocolate ice cream, and grabbed the controller for the next round of Mario Kart. You’d clapped, because come on, an impassioned speech like that deserves applause. One single corner of his mouth lifted, and he turned to you to flash you a dimple before his eyes fixed back on the screen. The gesture did not make you imagine what it would be like to poke your tongue in his dimple.

But after that incident, he was mostly silent, the speech probably draining him of whatever social battery he did have. He sat next to you now, calculating the amount each person owed the bank, and adding the penalties Keiji had accumulated from making fun of the strawberry-speech.

Yes, the penalties were for incidents that happened before the game started. You can’t argue with the banker for the banker is God.

You mostly left the banker-ing to Sakusa, while you got lost in your daydreams. Kenma was now in jail because he said that his school’s libero was better than Sakusa’s.

Which reminded you of the last book you’d read. It had had a character who was in jail for most of the story. He’d coordinated his attack plans from there. When the villain came to taunt him, he’d very suavely escaped and kabedonned her. But just when he expected her to swoon from his good looks and his proximity, she’d pulled out a dagger from under her skirt and stabbed him.

You’ve always wanted a dagger to hide under your clothes. Actually, you wouldn’t mind being kabedonned either, but Sakusa had very firmly declared the gesture ‘lame’ when you’d told him about it, and now you remembered that you were supposed to be annoyed at him for it. Because seriously, the audacity!

DHONN!

You jerk upwards to see the group laughing at you. Sakusa had apparently just banged a juice can on the table next to your face to get your attention.

“Huh?”

“You’d zoned out for longer than usual y/n. and you looked pissed. All ok?” Sakusa asks, but he is clearly amused.

“Kabedons are cool,” you declare, and get up to fetch yourself another slice of pizza.

He just snorts.

For some reason, it sounds cute. And now your brain is filled with images of a cute pink piggy with an incredibly curly tail. Like an oinky Kiyoomi. Kiyooink.

You laugh. You are definitely going to tell him this later.

~~~

The next semester starts, and you and Sakusa don’t have classes in common anymore. You see him around campus less, and spend less time together. Now that he has also adjusted to college life, he is paying more attention to volleyball. The end of the previous semester was filled with matches, but this semester he spends less time with the college team, and more time with the national under-19 team. You attend some practices when you can, sometimes with friends. Keiji-kun and Kenma explain various moves to you, and introduce you to other players they know. It is a fun experience. All the boys are like Sakusa, incredibly passionate about the sport, incredibly talented, and at least a foot taller than you. They towered over you when you first went to talk to them, but you soon learn that they are all sweet goofy kids with only volleyballs for brains.

You notice that they maintain a physical distance from Sakusa, only getting closer to him when necessary. But even so, he seems more at-home with his team than in your motley group of friends. It makes your heart ache sometimes, that there is someone right in front of you, whom you want to be closer to, but there is a seemingly uncrossable chasm between you. And yet he would turn towards you and flash a dimple, and you would berate yourself for not being grateful for the attention he already gives you.

~~~

First year ends, and you all go home for the holidays. You make no plans to meet each other, since you will inevitably meet once the new semester starts. You spend your two-month break laying about in bed, watching anime, and reading books.

You also make sure to call and text your friends regularly. Keiji-kun sends you memes, Kenma texts you about whatever anime character you get obsessed with. Your roommate-groupchat is filled with vacation photos of you 3. Life is good.

You notice that Sakusa never texts. Sakusa never calls. Sakusa never reaches out to you. But when you do call him, you both talk for hours, and time passes by in the blink of an eye.

With every phone call, every text, and every laugh you share, you wish and wish he had started it. You wish he had been the first to reach out to you. You wish, for once, he would call you. You wish, for once, he would share something about himself with you that was only for you to know.

You wish, and you wish, and you wish.

~~~

Second year starts, and all your friendships pick up right where they left off. Except that Sakusa is hardly ever around anymore.

When you asked about his absence, he simply said, “I studied hard and played hard during the holidays. Now I do not have to put in as much effort into classes, because most of the hard work is already done. I can focus on volleyball to my heart’s content.”

And that is what he does. You have no idea whether or not he attends his classes, but whenever he has free time, either he is studying by himself, or he is off doing drills by himself. It has been a full year since you became friends with him, and yet, he seems as distant today as he was on the first day.

It hurts. You miss having more free time to spend with him. And yet, you have no right to complain. His first love is volleyball, and he has made it clear to you that his priorities will never change.

It hurts, but you push it aside. You have other friends to spend your time with. On days when all six of you unexpectedly have free time, or on less academically challenging days, your group, including Sakusa, hangs out together. You generally go to the local fast-food joint, he would sanitise the table, and never take off his mask. But he would be there. He would be there for these small moments, and you cherish every mask-covered smile he gives, every sarcastic comment he makes.

You miss your friend, but for now, this is enough for you.

~~~

Second year passes thus: you are swamped with coursework, you hang out with your group whenever possible, you go out exploring the city with your roommates, and you get fleeting moments with Sakusa.

You’re almost happy with the set-up, but each time you talk to Sakusa, you want more. You want to talk to him more. You want him to talk to you more. You want to listen to his excited volleyball rants.

You want the days when your biggest problem was your inability to focus on differentiation because of a head of gold-infused raven curls. You want your friend.

So you call. You roughly know what his schedule is. Sometimes you go meet him when practice gets over, sometimes you call. He is tired, irritable, and excited all at once, but he seems to love gushing over whatever play he tried that day, and you enjoy the moments you spend with him.

He never calls though. He tells you that he appreciates you calling him, because your company is always welcome, yet, he never calls. You know that that in no way implies that he doesn’t like you, and yet, it hurts.

You tell yourself it hurts because he is your friend, and he has a scarcity value attached to him.

~~~

The only difference between second year and third year is that, Sakusa now has an undercut.

The semester starts with your group meeting up to celebrate Japan’s performance in the recent 2016 Rio Olympics. Sakusa and Bokuto had been second-string spikers on the team, and Sakusa had been called on-court multiple times as pinch server. His nasty wrists made it damn near impossible to dig out the ball, even on the international level – the world stage. You were so, so proud of your friend, and your celebrations continued well beyond midnight.

When the party finally ends, it is with Keiji dragging off a mildly-drunk but sleepy Bokuto, back to their apartment, Kenma asleep on the couch, and Sakusa offering to walk you back to your apartment. The other two girls had left already, since they have classes early in the morning and you don’t.

You walk back in silence, and for the first time, it is suffocating. You look up at him, wanting to gauge his mood after such a raucous celebration, and notice that he hasn’t put his mask back on yet. You figured out pretty early on in your friendship that that is a sign that he trusts you aren’t disgusting enough to warrant wearing a mask around. It’s quite flattering really.

“The weather is nice, isn’t it?” he starts, and stops immediately when you snort at the lame conversation starter.

“Well, you aren’t talking, so I thought I could try,” he shrugs, and you smile.

“Not a bad effort,” you answer. “Well, Sakusa-kun, we are being blessed with sunshine these days, and it’s very nice and warm at all times. Although, one could argue that the warmth right now is due to your inherent hotness.”

You look up at him, anticipating his reaction, and he doesn’t disappoint. He throws his head back and laughs, a quiet, precious thing, and you bottle up this moment to keep with you for the next time you miss him.

“I missed this. Training was gruelling, and the matches were exhilarating. I was always so high on emotions that by the time the Games were over, I was just done. Exhausted. Came home and just slept for the next week. I didn’t realise how much I missed your nonsense until just now, when I have to deal with your nonsense.” His eyes are soft, but all you can focus on is-

“Nonsense?! Sakusa Kiyoomi, I will have you know that the only nonsense here is you...”

He laughs again, and you trail off. You’ve never noticed before, but he’s grown. He was always tall and well-built, but there is a softness in the way he speaks now, that wasn’t there when you first met him. The way he carries himself has changed too, shoulders held back and proud. He is still the wary boy you had befriended two years ago, but there is a manly charm that wasn’t there before. And suddenly you want to continue talking. Comforting as it is now, you don’t want the conversation to trail off into the sweet silence it is heading towards. You feel the sudden urge to know him, stronger than you ever have before, and before you can help it, you blurt out, “You could have called me, you know. Or texted. I missed you as well, but I didn’t want to disturb you during the freaking Olympics! But even otherwise, you do know that I would like it if you reached out to me, right? Like on normal, non-Olympic days, you could text just because you feel like it.”

He frowns, and says, “I probably should. Honestly, it’s not like I don’t text you on purpose, I just kind of… forget. I don’t forget you, I just get caught up in stuff, or my brain is filled with TV static, and I don’t reach out to anybody at all. But I’ll try, okay? Yeah, you would probably ditch me if you are the only one forced to keep this relationship going, and that would be a pity.”

He reaches up to ruffle his hair, a rare occurrence because hair is filled with germs, and that’s when you notice it. The back of his head is buzzed close to his scalp, but hidden by the longer curls above. “You got an undercut?”

He frowns at the sudden change in topic, but nods, “Yeah, my nape kept getting sweaty, and other guys in the national team had undercuts and they found it functional, so I thought I’d try it. It does feel very nice actually. I still have my curls, but I don’t have to deal with too much sweat. Why?”

“I noticed it just now. It looks good. Really brings out your jaw. Probably explains why your jaw looks more prominent now. Good going.” You give him a thumbs up as a reassurance that it does look good, and turn around to enter your building. “Thanks for dropping me off, get home safe, okay?”

He waves, and disappears into the night, his own apartment a short walk from yours. You sigh as you climb the stairs.

Good was an understatement. Hot was better. Sexy was probably apt. You wonder if he will let you run your fingers through his shorn locks, and sigh again.

You are a reader. Perhaps all you can do is dream.

~~~

After the party at Kenma’s, college life went back to normal. Sakusa seldom hung out with the group, choosing instead to spend his time on volleyball. But after your conversation, he made it a point to text you every once in a while. True, they were just forwarded ‘good morning’ messages, sometimes memes about clichéd romance tropes, but it was better than nothing. Each text from him made your heart beat just a little faster.

~~~

It does not come as a surprise to you when you realise you have a crush on your friend. On your friend whose heart belongs to volleyball. On your friend who never opens up to you, and who is happy talking to you once every couple of weeks.

You embrace the feeling, and the sadness it brings with it. What else can you do? He’s one of your dearest friends, and he does deserve to know how you feel about him.

But again, you have a crush on someone you already love dearly. Can it even be considered a crush? You’ve had crushes before, and those feelings were always made of just a combination of wild giggling and nervous excitement. This however, this is a warmth in your chest and a smile on your face. This feeling, is a quiet little laugh, dispersing in the night like dandelions in the wind. This feeling is the excited glint in dark eyes when passions are aroused. This feeling is a cute head bobbing along to your words. This feeling is two moles on a forehead, curly hair over a shorn nape, pretty fingers gesturing wildly.

This feeling, it feels like strawberry ice cream on a warm summer day, when you’ve just returned home.

~~~

Obviously, you tell the rest of your friends. You do need people you can fangirl to about him. They’re quite supportive really, given the circumstances. They encourage you to tell him how you feel, but Kenma adds, “You need to remember that he may not reciprocate, y/n. In fact, there is a greater chance he won’t reciprocate. I don’t want you to get hurt or lose your friend, but I do think you would feel better if you tell your friend that you’ve got a crush.”

And that is the problem, isn’t it? You want to tell your friend that you have a crush on somebody. It kills you that if you tell him whom you’ve got a crush on, he’ll probably avoid you. But if you don’t tell him, you’ll suffer in silence, wondering about all the ‘what if’s’.

For now, you bury the matter. You want to enjoy this, this feeling, just a little longer.

And so you simp. You squeal over his voice and his muscles with your roommates, you swoon over every sweet gesture he does, and you endlessly simp over his pretty, pretty hands to Keiji-kun. He’s probably grown sick of you by now, but it is funny to see him annoyed.

~~~

Third year ends with Bokuto signing on to Division-1 team MSBY Black Jackals. 

Your last year of college begins with heavy research for your final-year project. On top of that, you now have to study for entrance exams, and college exams, and explore colleges for further studies. You know that you want to go into finance, and for that you now have to deal with an internship on top of everything else.

All of a sudden, you are under more stress than you have ever been in.

And then in the middle of the seventh semester, Sakusa drops a bombshell, “I think I will move to Higashiosaka after my graduation. I want to try out for the Black Jackals. They have Miya Atsumu and Bokuto-san, and I will be lucky to continue working together with those two monsters.”

Your heart stops. You need to tell him. He deserves to know. You had put off your feelings as a problem for the future, but the future is now.

~~~

Barely a week has passed after this conversation, and you call Sakusa crying, “Kiyoomi-kun, please can we meet? My project is going nowhere, and I think I have way too much on my plate right now, and I feel so selfish saying that to a person loaded with the same coursework as me, and is balancing a professional athletic lifestyle on top of it, but I don’t know what else I can do!”

Ten minutes later finds you both sitting on some bricks in an abandoned alley in your neighbourhood.

You rant and rant and cry out all your overwhelming feelings of helplessness about your current academic load. Sakusa sits quietly, and just listens to you cry your heart out, offering water every time you pause for breath.

“… I think that covers everything, I’m sorry for dumping it all on you so suddenly. I think I just got overwhelmed and had to let it all out of my system. I’ll be fine once I sleep,” you conclude.

“It wasn’t a problem at all y/n. And it isn’t selfish to be overwhelmed, or to tell me that you are. I have been balancing volleyball with studies for my whole life, obviously I’m doing fine now. But thanks for trusting me.”

You sniffle a bit more, and manage a small smile. He presses your bottle into your hands, and you chug down more water.

It hurts. He’s your friend, and he’s perfect and it hurts. You hadn’t sought him out today because you wanted him, but because he is your closest friend and his presence comforts you like no one else’s. but he’s sitting right next to you without his mask, despite your disgusting runny nose, and he’s offering to be there for you when you need it, and he tries to message you because it makes you happy, and it just hurts. You need to tell him.

“There’s one more thing. Just hear me out, okay?” you stand up and start pacing and continue without giving him a chance to reply, “I love you. You are one of my best friends and I love you. Except that I also like you. As in, I like you like you. As in, I have a crush on you. Except that you are my friend and I love you, and is it even possible to have a crush on someone you already love so dearly? Therefore, I think I’m in love with you. And it hurts. It hurts that there’s something, no someone, I want so deeply, and they’re right here, but they don’t want me the way I want them. You love volleyball, and you’ll be in Osaka this time next year, and I could try to look for placements there, but then, I should probably just let go, right? I mean, you barely text me because your brain is filled with ‘TV static’, so really, what are the odds you like me the same way I like you? You find romantic stuff lame and you find germs too germy. So yeah. That’s it. I’ll shut up now before I do irreversible damage to our friendship.”

You finally look up and meet his eyes.

~~~

He’s there.

When you’re smiling, he’s there.

When you get excited about your books, he’s there.

When you worry about your fears coming true, he’s there.

And when you’re at your lowest, he’s there.

How could you have been expected not to fall in love with this man? This man who has been there for you through all your highs and lows, who has smiled for you each time you’ve felt joy, who’s laughed with you each time you planned for the happy days ahead, and who’s just been there each time you needed somebody to be there for you; how could you not fall in love with this man?

You look at him. You look at him and you see your best friend, your confidant, your first love. But for the first time, you see beyond his pretty fingers and his soothing smile and his calm rationale. You see the apprehension in his eyes, the very real fear of what is to come.

And even then, he smiles.

He’s there. He’s right there in front of you and you are looking at him, and for the first time, you see a lover.

He must be able to see the hope blooming on your face, for his own tentative smile unfurls into that quiet chuckling laugh you have grown to love.

“I thought it was all in my head y/n. Your weird flirting and the sexual tension that popped up out of nowhere,” he announced, clearly very proud of having figured you out before you announced yourself.

“Weird flirting? I was not trying to flirt…” you started, before he laughed again and started to stride towards you, gleam in his eye as if you were Miya Atsumu’s toss just waiting for him.

“Wha-“ DHHONNN.

You were too stunned to even flinch. Did he just kabedon you? His left forearm was right next to your right ear, and he had a little smirk on his face, probably excited that he caught you off-guard. It was, without a doubt, a kabedon.

Wait. Did Sakusa Kiyoomi just kabedon you?

Did you just experience the first kabedon of your life from Sakusa-I-think-cliché-romance-hero-gestures-are-lame-Kiyoomi?

Holy fuck do you need to fangirl. Right now.

“You really need to work on your flirting skills,” he breathes, his face mere inches from yours, his arm resting so casually near your face that one would think he practised kabedonning as a hobby.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEE-P“

He shoves his palm against your mouth, cutting off your squeal, and very effectively ruining the moment. Obviously, you lick the offending appendage. He looks scandalised.

“One moment. One moment, y/n! I thought I could surprise you with some lame cliché romance-hero move, and you just have to squeal in my face and lick my hand. You think you can look all cool and profess your undying love for me, but I can’t get one moment to one-up you? That’s it, romance over. We are done here.”

He turns away, as if about to leave, his hand still over your mouth. You reach out to grab him, but before you can, he turns back around and scoops both your wrists up in his one hand and pins them above your head in one smooth swoop, as if he practises this stuff every day as a hobby. His left arm has not moved even half an inch from its place near your face.

All you can do is stare at him as his smirk returns, with a light dusting of pink across his pale cheeks, as though he himself can’t believe his smoothness. Clearly, the ruined moment can be salvaged.

Very wisely, you keep your mouth shut and your squeal inside your throat.

He walks further towards you, until you feel your feet touching and there remain only a couple of inches separating your faces.

He deliberately looks down at your lips, before slowly lifting his face to your eyes. His own lips look soft and pink and pouty, and you have no idea what must be happening on your face, but it must be good enough for him to blush harder.

You have dreamed of kissing the pink off those cute pouty lips for ages and now that you actually can, he isn’t moving. He is just looking at you, drinking you in, as if mesmerised by whatever romantic fantasies are unfurling behind your eyes.

Or maybe he is just waiting for you to consent to him kissing you? Your brain very helpfully provides. 

You close your eyes and nod, unable to bear the intensity of the moment.

It seems that that was all he was waiting for because you immediately feel his hand cup your face, leaving its place near you head. And suddenly, you feel the softest pressure against your lips. 

The moment ends as soon as it begins, and when it becomes obvious that it will not continue, you open your eyes. Sakusa Kiyoomi stands in front of you, your face in his hand, your wrists in his other hand, his face as pink as his lips, and all you can say is, “hey man when you have your moment, you decide to end it even before it starts! Kiss me properly, I seem to be unable to move.”

He starts laughing, and dives back towards your face, muffling his laughs against your mouth. His fingers tighten around your wrists, and you squirm, wanting to touch him properly now that you have got your bearings a bit. His hand doesn’t loosen though, damn volleyball hand training!

He smiles against your mouth, as if sensing the direction of your thoughts, and you feel his knees parting your own. Very weakly, you part your legs, knowing that at this point, you are very pliable putty in his very capable volleyballer hands.

He doesn’t let the moment escalate though. All he does his keep one leg between yours to pull you close. He keeps your hands out of reach of his body, with his other arm somehow magically around your waist as if to pull you into him, and continues kissing you.

You decide to make as much of this situation as you can and let your tongue peek out of your mouth, but he pulls back. It feels like rejection until-

“One step at a time y/n. I need to sanitise my hand where you licked me, let’s not go into both our tongues licking the others’ yet.” You deem this as enough of a not-rejection, your ears giddily ringing with the word ‘yet’, as he releases you.

He steps back, letting your arms fall back to your sides, and caresses your jaw once before whipping out his sanitiser and practically dousing his hand in it.

“Want me to set it on fire? Alcohol is flammable and it has a greater chance of killing all germs,” you tease, as he pulls your hands towards him, sanitising your wrists where his hand had held you.

Once he is done sanitising, he turns to you and says, “In case that wasn’t a clear enough answer- yes, I want to date you as well. I love you, and have, for a while. We’ll figure out the future together, okay?”

And before you can answer, he grabs your left hand again, but this time, simply holds it as you both walk towards your neighbourhood. The sky has turned darker by now, a pretty shade of pink that you think very accurately matches the colour on both your cheeks. All you can do is turn towards him and smile your biggest smile, as your brain finally decides to reboot.

Sakusa Kiyoomi loves you. Sakusa Kiyoomi is yours for the foreseeable future. Sakusa Kiyoomi is holding your hand in his.

Sakusa Kiyoomi just turned one of your deepest kabedonning fantasies into reality with the same hand that is holding yours right now.

You can’t help it. You are a fangirl after all.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE……”

“DAMN WOMAN WILL YOU STOP SQUEALING YOU SOUND LIKE A RAT TRING TO EVADE CAPITAL PUNISHMENT!”

But his smile never wanes, and his hand tightens around yours, pulling you closer.

~~~

“Hey, I’m really in the mood for some strawberry ice cream right now.”

“Hah, so you agree strawberry is superior!”