#anyway hope your Boxing Day is going well lol

[commodoreshock]

Objectively speaking Boxing Day is probably the stupidest day to send off joycon controllers to Nintendo to get fixed, but that’s the day I had motivation and time for it, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[ratatatastic]

do you write fic on ao3?

unfortunately for everyone involved i do!

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[harrysfolklore]

another instagram prompt with madison beer as face claim but relationship focused please!! 🥺

WELL HELLO THIS IS MY FIRST F1 BLURB 🥹 i’m kinda nervous idk why but i hope you like it! i left this open for a part two so lmk if that’s something you’d like to see

btw this is obviously inspired by taylor and joe breakup and taylor and travis lol, also harry ilysm sorry for making you the villain here, anyways, ENJOY!

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON | PART TWO HERE

liked by arianagrande, sabrinacarpenter and 5,028,299 others

yourinstagram THE SPINNIN TOUR STATRS IN 10 DAYS 🥲🤍 who am i seeing there??

view all 76,044 comments

ynfan1 SO FUCKING EXCITED

conangray LETS GO 🔥

ynfan2 this is going to be the biggest concert tour in history and i’m so serious

↳ ynfan1 i mean the pre sale broke ticketmaster, three stadium dates on each city sold out. it’s going to be insane

harryfan1 i can’t wait for the boyfriend harry content this tour is going to give us

ynfan3 she’s getting ready to make history

annetwist ❤️❤️❤️

harryfan2 soooo ready to see harry at the vip box on opening night and all the other nights

dualipa an angel 🤍

oliviarodrigo 💘

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 6,754 others

harryupdates Harry out in London today !

view all 309 comments

harryfan1 MY BUUUUB

ynfan1 what is he doing in london??? the spinnin tour starts today

harryfan2 HARRY GET YOUR ASS TO ARIZONA RN

ynfan2 he’s not attending opening night :(

harryfan3 what is he mad about lol

liked by charles_leclerc, sza and 6,826,239 others

yourinstagram 7th night of the spinnin tour done ! houston thank you so much for your love and your loud singing, i’m making the best memories of my life on this tour thanks to you 🤎

view all 78,203 comments

ynfan1 TOUR OF THE CENTURY

conangray this tour changed my life fr

↳ ynfan2 BEST OPENING ACT EVER

harryfan1 okay but WHEN is harry doing his spinnin tour debut

↳ ynfan1 i wonder the same thing 🤔

arianagrande 🖤

charles_leclerc I can’t wait to see the show 🙌🏻

↳ charlesfan1 CHARLES ???

↳ charlesfan2 he’s a pop girlie wbk

harryfan2 get your ass to the next show NOW

//

liked by harryfan1, ynfan1 and 109,035 others

people It’s over 💔#YN and #HarryStyles are calling it quits after six years of dating. Tap the link in our bio for the full story.

view all 25,364 comments

harryfan1 WHAT?????

ynfan1 NO WAY

harryfan2 nah i don’t believe this

ynfan2 but what about lover??? delicate ??? pov??? so american ??? golden hour ?? paper rings ?? WERE ALL THOSE SONGS NOT REAL

harryfan3 man im so confused right now, how did this happen

ynfan2 lord she must be heartbroken and she has to continue with the tour performing for 70k people every night

harryfan4 this is clearly fake

liked by charlesfan1, ynfan1 and 29,827 others

profesionalfangirlie UM HELLO I JUST MET CHARLES LECLERC AT YN’S SHOW !!???? istg i just wanted a refill for my lavender haze margarita and he was there in line too WTF ?? #thespinnintour

view all 2,927 comments

charlesfan1 NO WAY 😭😭😭

ynfan1 THIS IS SUCH A SLAY

ynfan2 yn is a celebrity to celebrities

charlesfan2 HES SUCH A FANBOY

charlesfan3 i need to see him trading friendship bracelets

charlesfan4 HOTTEST MAN ALIVE

ynfan3 he’s about to experience the best show of his life

charlesfan5 THE CONTENT WE DESERVE

ynfan3 WAS HE AT THE VIP TENT??

↳ profesionalfangirlie i think he’s up there in a suite of the stadium with family and friends

↳ charlesfan1 OHHHH

liked by charlesfan1, charlesfan2 and 9,265 others

charlesupdates “I wanted to give YN a friendship bracelet with my number on it, since I knew her shows were all about friendship bracelets. She didn’t want to meet me after the show so I took it personal. Other than that the show was completely out of this world, she’s amazing.” -Charles on attending the Spinnin Tour for Fedez podcast !

view all 828 comments

charlesfan1 OMG???

charlesfan2 THIS MAN ISTH

ynfan1 girl wtf why didn’t you want to mee him ? @yourinstagram

↳ ynfan2 i bet it was a timing thing and not her actively not wanting to meet him 🥹

charlesfan3 is he shooting his shot ???? publicly

charlesfan4 NOT CHARLES BEGGING FOR A CHANCE

ynfan3 this would be such a powerful ship… ferrari’s golden boy and the pop princess.. do you see the vision…

↳ charlesfan1 I SO DO

INSTAGRAM DMS

//

liked by charles_leclerc, jacobelordi and 6,398,002 others

yourinstagram last night of the spinnin tour in the us 🥹🥹 you can tell by my fave here that i’m going to miss these crowds every single day. THANK YOU for coming to the shows, singing every lyric and making friendship bracelets, all the memories we made together will stay with me forever 💘 LATIN AMERICA YOU’RE NEXT 🇲🇽🇦🇷🇧🇷

view all 69,026 comments

ynfan1 IM SOBBINGGGGGG

ynfan2 IM SO EXCITED FOR THE NEXT SHOWS

arianagrande easily the best show anyone has ever put on, love you sister 🤎

theweeknd The GOAT 🐐

ynfan3 she finished her stadium tour after getting out of a 6 year long relation and being completely heartbroken. she loves her art more than anything

↳ ynfan1 she can do it with a broken heart because she’s THAT good

charles_leclerc Congratulations, excited for what’s coming next 🙌🏻

↳ charlesfan1 CHARLIE ???

↳ charlesfan2 WHATS GOING ON 😭

ynfan4 harry styles you have nothing on her

liked by ynfan1, charlesfan1 and 10,296 others

ynupdates YN AND CHARLES LECLERC OUT AND ABOUT TONIGHT !!!

view all 1,028 comments

ynfan1 HUHHHH???

ynfan2 GOOD GOD

charlesfan1 IS THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENING

ynfan3 wow and some people clowned him when he said he wanted to give yn a bracelet with his number

harryfan1 she’s dating someone already ??? wow

↳ ynfan1 she has all the right do it especially after realizing that she wasted 6 years of her life with someone who never made any sacrifice for her

↳ charlesfan1 ntm that charles has done more in what a week??? (commenting on her posts, holding hands in public, not making her run from the paps) than harry did in 6 years

↳ harryfan2 i will always mourn ynrry

ynfan3 IM SOOO HERE FOR YNS WAG ERA

//

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 9,302,933 others

yourinstagram my first race 🏁 i had the best time with the best people🤍

view all 99,027 comments

ynfan1 OMFGGGGG

charlesfan1 the jacket ????? the bracelet ????? the last pic ????? INSANIYY

dualipa ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

ynfan2 THIS IS SO SERIOUS ALSJAKA

harryfan1 she never posted harry in their 6 years together but she posts dumps about her rebound 😭

↳ ynfan1 as if harry wasn’t an ass who never wanted their relationship to be publicly acknowledged, bffr

ynfan2 IM SO HAPPY FOR HER

charlesfan2 i lowkey love this, charles is proof that persistence is key

charles_leclerc ❤️❤️❤️❤️

↳ charlesfan1 AHHHHHH

↳ charlesfan3 I CANT DO THIS

ynfan3 idk if they’re dating but it’s so good to see her proudly attending events and posting about them and not hiding to please the person she’s with

leclerc_pascale Belle 🤍

↳ charlesfan1 MAAAANNNN ITS SERIOUS

lilyhme queenie ⭐️

↳ ynfan1 told ya she was going to befriend all the wags 😭

liked by scuderiaferrari, yourinstagram and 2,038,766 others

charles_leclerc Perfect race ❤️

view all 44,827 comments

charlesfan1 LOML

ynfan1 perfect bc yn was there so true

arthur_leclerc 🙌🏻

charlesfan2 checo in the back is killing me

ynfan2 HARD LAUNCH YN ON INSTA NOW !!!

leclerc_pascale ❤️

harryfan1 you’ll never be harry

charlesfan3 i need yn on every race now

yourinstagram 😍😍😍❤️‍🔥

↳ ynfan1 HEEEEELP

↳ ynfan2 CONTROL YOURSELF

liked by charlesfan1, ynfan1 and 9,643 others

charlesupdates Charles and YN in Argentina today !! YN has a show there tomorrow, we love a supportive boyfriend 🥺

view all 997 comments

charlesfan1 OMFGGGG

charlesfan2 WE STAN THIS

ynfan1 maannn this is what she deserves, someone who's willing to travel across the globe to support her

↳ ynfan2 i can't believe harry just went to ONE show of the positions tour and we used to think that was the most romantic thing ever

charlesfan3 I KNEWWWW he would be at every show once her tour started again

ynfan3 I CANT WAIT FOR ALL THE CONTENT

charlesfan4 we need a charles cam at the spinnin tour crowd

liked by ynfan1, charlesfan1 and 14,382 others

ynupdates YN JUST CHANGED THE KARMA BRIDGE TO "KARMA IS THE GUY ON THE PITS COMING STRAIGHT HOME TO ME"

view all 1,005 comments

ynfan1 WTFFFF

ynfan2 SHES INSANE 😭

charlesfan1 LORD PLEASE HELP ME

ynfan3 she's so silly. she's also deranged

charlesfan2 what a time to be alive

charlesfan3 MAN I CANT STOP WATCHING THE VIDEO OF CHARLES REACTION

ynfan4 FRUIT BOY YOURE SO OVERRRRR

liked by carlossainz55, yourinstagram and 4,973,229 others

charles_leclerc The Spinnin Tour🤍

view all 66,044 comments

charlesfan1 GOING INSANE

ynfan1 OMG BABYYYYY

leclerc_pascale 💕❤️

ynfan2 FINALLY SOMEONE WHO POSTS ABOUT HER !! AND ATTENDS HER SHOWS !! AND IS SUPPORTIVE !!

charlesfan2 this boy is down BAD

carlossainz55 🙌🏻

ynfan3 i cant believe some people still want her old relationship when we have THIS

charlesfan3 charlie's popstar boyfriend era

yourinstagram thank you for being here 🥺

↳ ynfan1 SHE DESERVES THIS AND MORE

liked by charlesfan1, ynfan1 and 29,265 others

thepopbuzz YN and Charles Leclerc spotted on a yatch in the Bahamas, the couple seems to be enjoying their days off before they have to go back to touring and racing respectively. Tap the link in our bio for more details 👌

view all 6,022 comments

charlesfan1 AHHHHHHHHH

ynfan1 i love one fairytale couple

harryfan1 trying to rewrite history i see

ynfan2 WE STAN

charlesfan2 that should be me

ynfan3 finally a boyfriend who likes pda

charlesfan3 I LOVE THEM SO BAD

liked by yourinstagram, arthur_leclerc and 4,027,119 others

charles_leclerc I wanted to take pictures of my girl but she beat me to it

A much needed break

view all 58,266 comments

charlesfan1 STOP THIS

ynfan1 IM SPIRALING

carlossainz55 Enjoy mates 🙌🏻

lilyhme cuties 💓

charlesfan2 THE BOYFRIEND CONTENT I SIGNED UP FOR

ynfan2 HIS 🥹 GIRL 🥹

yourinstagram lover booooy ❤️

↳ ynfan3 AHHHH MY HEART

charlesfan3 we love simp charlieeee

ynfan4 i can’t stress how happy this makes me. from running to get in a van to this

liked by arianagrande, charles_leclerc and 10,278,683 others

yourinstagram SURPRISE !! my new album THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT is coming soon 🤍

ALL IS FAIR IN LOVE AND POETRY

view all 102,826 comments

ynfan1 KAHAIAJAYAABAJAI

ynfan2 WHAT ON EARTH

oliviarodrigo NO WAY ‼️‼️‼️

conangray thank you mother for constantly serving

ynfan3 THE COVER ??? THE NAME ?? THAT LYRIC ??? we’re not ready

charlesfan1 oooohhhh this is exciting

ynfan4 and fruit boy better HIDE

dualipa 🖤🖤🖤🖤

postmalone 🙌🏻

charles_leclerc So proud of you ❤️

↳ charlesfan2 AWEEEEEEES

↳ charlesfan3 i know they just started dating but i hope we get songs about him

[httpiastri]

control freak – ln4

lando hates a lot of things. not being in control is definitely one of them.

genre: smut

pairing: female reader x lando norris

warnings: smut 🤭 i dont remember what it's called? but lando gets tied up. he likes to be in control, so i guess dom!lando is kinda insinuated. it's a bit dirtyyy but there are also some soft elements bcs who would i be to not include those :)

requested?: yes! thank you for requesting 🤍 (requests are still open!)

author's note: this was supposed to be just a blurb but something happened lol. also, very much inspired by this ask and the just him talking about how he needs to be in control in that video. this thought has been living in my mind rent-free since that moment. hope u all enjoyyyy<3<3 (if this doesn’t work this time. idk what to do. anyways.)

f1 masterlist

18+ content below, minors dni!

–

"there we go..." you say, leaning back slightly and letting go of lando's wrist. "you alright?"

"my hands, yes. my ego, however..."

earlier this year, you and lando had agreed to buy one of those adult christmas calendars, one with a new toy or tool for the bedroom every day. so far, you'd gotten a blindfold, a massaging oil, and even a smaller vibrator. and today's present? a pair of sleek, white silk ribbons.

lando had immediately pulled the little strings out of the box, measuring them around your wrists. but you had shook your head, snatching them out of his hands and telling him it was his turn.

he had just cocked an eyebrow at you, assuming you were kidding. but the grin you had worn, one that told him that you were fully serious, had made him chuckle, rolling his eyes. no way, he'd told you, giving you a pat on the head before he leaned down against his pillow again. he had assumed this would be a lost cause for you, because there was no way he was letting you expose him to one of the things he hates.

lando hates a lot of things. number one: he hates not being in control, and he hates it so much.

the fact that he needs to be in control is very well-known in your relationship, and it applies to most situations. he needs to be the one driving, even if you're just going on a short trip to the supermarket; he needs to know who's invited to a dinner party so he can plan ahead; and of course, he feels a need for power in the bedroom.

but you are nothing if not persistent. lando is the very definition of stubborn, sure, but you would not give up on this one.

your boyfriend always thought you must be some kind of witch, because your effect on him is paranormal. the way you bat your eyes at him, your soft touch on his cheek, and your sweet kisses lingering on his lips – they could get him to agree to almost anything. even this, apparently.

since today was a friday, you had gone out for dinner and some drinks tonight before hurrying back home to try out your new present. lando was still a bit hesitant, but your lips pressed against his and your hips brushing his crotch as you sat on his lap on your bed made him give up yet again.

and that's how you find yourselves here, him already stripped out of everything except his boxers, with the sleek white ropes connecting him to the headboard. you twirl the fabric by his right wrist around your finger one final time, smiling at the little bows you've made. "you look so pretty right now," you hum, leaning down a little and tracing a finger along his jaw. "kinda wanna take a picture."

"do it."

you shake your head, not wanting to bring out your phone and possibly ruin the moment. you smile at the firmness in his voice, pressing a quick peck to his lips. "next time."

lando's chest vibrates with his chuckle. "oh, you think there will be a next time?"

"i know there will, because i'm in charge here."

the retort he was planning gets caught in his throat as your lips meet the side of his neck. he sighs at the feeling of your kisses traveling down to his chest, tongue coming out to lick the skin occasionally. he instinctively tries to grab your hips with his hands, momentarily forgetting about his restraints and letting out an annoyed groan when he's held back. you giggle against him when you hear the ropes snap against the headboard.

"already?" you ask, hands dragging up and down his beautifully tanned skin as your kisses trail even further, meeting the skin of his hipbones, giving both sides equal attention.

you can see how he clenches his fists from the corner of your eyes, knuckles already turning a little white. "i hate this. i really hate this," he mumbles.

"but you like me, don't you?" you counter, sitting back on your heels between his legs and letting your hands find the waistband of his boxers. "let me have my fun."

"great to know one of us is having fun, i guess." you take your time pulling down his underwear, enjoying every second of watching his impatience. when he's finally fully naked, his cock springs up to his stomach, a little precum leaking from him already.

"lando," you start, your thumb rubbing around the tip before spreading the precum along him. "don't you trust me?" you lower yourself down to press a kiss to his tip. "do you really think i won't make sure you enjoy this, too?"

his answer comes in the form of a shaky exhale, his eyes fluttering shut when he feels your tongue lick up a stripe along the side of his dick.

"i thought so."

your lips wrap around him, pushing yourself down his length before moving back up again. you're excruciatingly slow, wet lips sliding along his skin and only taking a little of him as your tongue swirls around him just once.

number two: lando hates being teased.

it's something he avoids at all costs, which you learned early in your relationship. he'll give you a stern look and push your hand away when you reach for his thigh during a company dinner; he'll grab your hips to hold you still when you intentionally grind onto him as you sit in his lap; and when you text him revealing pictures when he's away doing something important, he'll turn off his phone rather than let it get to him. it all comes back to his hatred of not being in control – he wants to be the one to tease you, not the other way around. so when you get a chance to tease him and he can't do anything about it, you take it.

speeding up your actions is not something you even consider, and now that lando's hands aren't in your hair to usher you, you take your time. you do, however, push him further into you, letting him hit the back of your throat before pulling entirely off him. when you sink down on him again, he buckles his hips: his way of trying to retake control. your hands find his sides, holding him down as you slide off him, leaning back to look at him as a grin spreads across your lips. "impatient, are we?"

his eyes are scrunched up, head thrown back to show off his thick neck. his muscular chest is heaving for air, already, and his hands are still hanging sloppily from the ropes. you love to see him like this. so weak, so helpless. it's not often that you get to take in this sight, so you savor every second of it.

when he feels the bed rock, lando's eyes shoot open. he watches you climb up from the bed, standing right next to it as you slowly let the sleeves of your dress fall down your shoulders. he does not enjoy the moment as much as he wishes he would, because all he can think of is how much he wishes he was the one sliding the dress down your body; how much he wishes he was the one unclasping your bra; how much he wishes it was his hands dragging your soaked panties to the floor.

you move to straddle his lap, your hips hovering over his as you let his tip nudge your entrance. when you finally descend on him, he bottoms you out so perfectly. you press your hands to his chest, leaning your weight on him as you feel yourself getting stretched out.

if lando thought you were done with the teasing, he was very wrong. you rise from him painfully slowly, before going down just as slowly. when your hips meet his again, you stop for yet another moment, rolling down on him.

number three: lando hates not being able to control the pace.

he's used to driving cars at 300 km/h, for god's sake, so this slow motion-pace you're going at is not ideal for him. he doesn't always need to thrust in and out of you like you only have a minute left to live but regulating the pace is, according to him, one of the perks of being the boyfriend. but not today.

you find a rhythm, bouncing on him like you are in no hurry whatsoever. your lover's moans are muffled and he's seemingly doing his best to not let anything slip out. he doesn't want you to know how much he likes this, despite not being in control.

"don't hold back, baby," you say, thumbs stroking his skin encouragingly. "you're allowed to feel good even when i'm in charge."

and when he finally lets go, the sounds he makes are like music to your ears. his hearty groans send a shiver down your spine and you can't help but pick up the pace a little, needing to hear more. you want to pull every sound and twitch out of him, and if that means going faster, it's a change you're willing to make.

you feel the shudder passing through his body when you clench around him. you know he's close when his heels dig into the mattress and he thrusts into you, trying to make up for lost time. you're almost there, too, and the way you feel all of him pump into you turns your brain into mush.

your nails dig into his chest when you reach your climax, likely leaving indents in his skin. you continue riding him, helping him chase his high, your pulsating insides helping draw it out instantly. when you feel the spurts shooting into you, you collapse against him. he's twitching inside of you, his chest jumping with his breaths, and your fingers reach to brush along the side of his neck to help him come down from his high.

"okay, i'll admit," he starts, taking deep breaths between every word. "that was so fucking hot."

a giggle escapes past your lips, and you prop your chin up on his chest to look up at his face. "i knew it would be." you brush back his curls, freeing his glossy forehead. "thank you for trusting me."

his face is adorned by a soft smile, and it replicates on yours. "are you okay?" he asks, always so caring, and he lets out a breath when you nod.

number four, the most important one: lando hates being unable to hold you.

he hates not being in control of your well-being; he hates not being able to ensure you're okay. he hates not cupping your face in his palms, stroking your cheeks, pulling his fingers through your locks. so, it would be an understatement to say that he was ecstatic when you pulled yourself off him, sat down on his side and started working on undoing the ropes.

his skin shows off a burning red color, and it hasn't occurred to you yet how much he actually must've been itching to touch you. usually, when he ties you up, your skin gets a bit irritated too, sure. but it's not often this bad. "let me get you a lotion for your wrists," you say.

you're practically off the bed already when lando grabs your hand, dragging you onto him again. "later." he pulls your back to his chest and nuzzles his face into your hair, pressing a peck to your scalp. "just wanna hold you right now."

you shake your head at his antics, but take both of his hands into yours. you hold them up to your lips, giving him a few kisses around both of his wrists. "maybe that's better?"

"perfect." his voice is low, arms snaking around your waist to tug you closer. "i think they're completely fine now."

"let me at least get you something in the morning?"

"mmm. shush and sleep now."

and there it was, an order – back in control already. just like he should be.

[jinhyun]

—one touch.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

genre: fluff, pining, non-idol au, best friend’s brother au

word count: 3.5k

summary: when simply flirting wasn’t enough for you to notice that hyunjin was hitting on you, he knew he needed to move on to some physical contact for you to realise. unfortunately for him, the first touch ended up being way harder to achieve than he had intended.

author’s note: it’s hereeee! of course i needed to write how everything went down for hyunie trying to initiate physical contact with y/n :’) it might’ve been hard at first but thankfully he pulled through lol. i hope you guys enjoy! and as always i would love to read your opinions on it<3

“If I said I was craving hotteok right now,” your voice caught Hyunjin’s attention, making his eyes travel from the TV in front towards you next to him in a heartbeat. “Would you go buy some with me?”

He smiled, shaking his head in amusement. “Do I even have another option? Like, what else am I supposed to do? Wait here for you to come back?”

“I mean, you could…” you agreed.

“As if I’d let you go out alone at night”.

“Nothing I haven’t done before,” you pointed out with a shrug of shoulders. “There’s this stall a couple of streets from here, I won’t take long. Although I guess there is also the chance for you to talk me out of it and just stay here”.

“Nah, you already made me crave hotteok as well now” he sighed, throwing a playful glare at you, which could only have you chuckling the next second. “Let’s put everything away and we can go”.

Agreeing with his small condition, you began to grab the cutlery you’d been using minutes ago, while Hyunjin shoved the empty takeaway boxes into the bags they’d come in, in order to clear the coffee table that had been serving you both as a dining one.

Hyunjin followed right behind you when you made your way to the kitchen, leaving the bags on the counter as you told him to, and then just leaning against it while he stared at you quietly —and rather quickly— washing the dirty dishes.

He couldn’t help his eyes from focusing on your mouth, admiring it for longer than it’d be considered normal, before they travelled down to your waist. Just like him, you’d decided to wear something on the lighter end inside your place, given that the heater was on and, up until then, you had no intentions of going out that night. A white t-shirt had been your go-to that evening, and although it was quite loose, he could still see the curve of your waist under the fabric.

Touch her. Jisung’s words popped up in his head for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

Hand on her back when you pass her by.

Hyunjin’s eyes went to the already dried dishes he supposed you’d washed earlier that day and forgot to put away. If he offered to put them away right then, he’d have to go behind you to get to them, and since your kitchen wasn’t the most spacious one, he guessed he could gently place his hand on your waist to make his way over there without it being suspicious.

It would seem natural. You probably wouldn’t even notice.

It wasn’t that big of a deal anyway, right? He had touched you before. Like at new year’s eve when he placed his hands on your shoulders to guide you through the crowd, or when you fell asleep together on your couch and ended up cuddling. You didn’t protest when it came to the first —had you even noticed he was touching you back then?—, and with the latter you had explicitly told him it didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.

No, of course touching you wasn’t a big deal. But then why the hell couldn’t he bring himself to move?

It had been like this ever since he stepped a foot inside your place earlier that evening. It was his first time seeing you in person since Han planted the idea in his head, and he couldn’t help but take too long overthinking every single chance he’d get to have some physical contact with you, to the point of self-sabotage.

Just like it happened now, because before he could even get away from the counter, you were done washing the dishes and guiding him towards the entrance to your place, so you could put your shoes on and get ready to head out.

When Han brought the idea of having some physical contact with you, Hyunjin didn’t think it would be this hard, not when he had touched you a few times before. But there was a difference between all those previous times and now: the purpose of his touch.

Before, he’d seldom touch you just to feel you close, because he felt the need to and it just felt right, natural. They were all very casual little touches that anyone else could try without it meaning anything. Unlike now, that he needed them to be more frequent, and for you to be able to tell them apart from just a friendly touch.

Now, it was to send a message — the one of him being into you.

Now, he wanted you to question his touch, and although it was a very fine line when it came to both purposes, what was at stake for the second one was so much more. Because what he wanted was for you to take a hint at his feelings for you, and, even though there was a chance for you to accept them and allow yourself to try and fall for him as well, there was also a chance for you to turn him down without a second thought. And it was your rejection what terrified him the most.

By the time you made it out of your building, he was already growing frustrated, not to say hopeless.

Not even the snowdrops that started to fall the next minute could cheer him up, for the moment his eyes travelled down to your hands and then to the slippery floor, making a lightbulb light up in his head to reach for your hand and pull you closer, with the excuse of preventing you from slipping over on the icy sidewalk, you were already shoving your hands inside your pockets to keep them warm.

Still, he did the next best thing he could think of: walk closer to you, causing the fabric covering your arms to rub against each other with every step you took. Just in order to get some body warmth, and to stay close enough to you in case the sidewalk did become too slippery at some point. You didn’t seem to mind, after all.

Truth was, flirting with you was so much easier through texts, for he didn’t have those pretty eyes of yours staring into his soul and making his knees go weak before he could utter a single word out. And touching you was so much easier when he didn’t think of the romantic implications that came with it; not because he didn’t want there to be any romantic implications —fuck, he wanted nothing but for it to be romantic—, but because he could only then make it seem natural and not overthink the possibility of you turning him down.

One touch was all he needed. One simple first touch, to test the waters and figure out whether he could do it again without feeling like his heart would rip out of his chest any minute at the thought of you pulling away.

“I think I’m just going for the OG this time,” your voice brought him back to reality. “But they also have red beans and cheese, I think”.

“Huh?”

“Hotteok? The filling?” You clarified with a teasing smile, motioning with your head towards the stall that was now only a couple of meters away on the street. “Earth to Hyunjin?”

“Ah, yes… sorry” he apologized, feeling his cheeks begin to heat up — and then straight up burn when you looped your arm through his to pull him towards the hotteok stall.

You made it seem so easy. Was it really that easy? Just grab his arm in yours and go? Like his heart wasn’t going wild over that simple little contact you initiated?

“Hello~” you sweetly greeted the old woman once you reached the stall, earning a gentle smile from her and a very loving one from Hyunjin. “We’ll be having an original one and…” your eyes travelled up to Hyunjin, realising he hadn’t told you what he was having before. “Hyunie?”

“A traditional one and a red bean one, please” he completed your previous sentence.

With a nod of her head, the lady in front grabbed two cups to place your orders in.

“Red bean?” You scrunched up your nose.

He scoffed. “Am I really being judged by the carrot cake girl right now?”

“Not judging” you denied; much to his disappointment, removing your arm from around his so you could hold both your hands up in surrender. “Just saying… choosing red beans when the original one exists is just…”

“Here you go~” the lady announced, handing you both your orders.

“Oh, thank you” you received Hyunjin’s first, handing it to him before you turned back to her to grab yours and hand her the money. “Be careful, they’re hot”.

He smiled at your warning, watching you blow on the hot pastry for a few seconds before you took a bite and he did the same.

“What?” You asked when you could no longer ignore the smile he was staring at you with.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, still with a smile adorning his lips. “You’re cute”.

“Must be the snow giving me some kind of angelic look” you playfully batted your eyelashes for him.

“No,” he denied once again. “If anything it makes you look cuter, but you already look cute all the time”.

The sudden shy look in your eyes with a mixture of adoration in them as you silently stared at him, reminded him why it was easier to flirt through texts. Still, he loved getting to see your reaction after he did. He wanted to believe you were flustered enough to realise he wasn’t saying it as a friend.

“Your cuteness won’t save you from trying the red bean hotteok, though” he added when you wouldn’t reply anymore.

Your protesting whine sounded like music to his ears. “I’ve tried it before though?”

“When?” He pushed it.

“Like… I don’t know, two years ago?”

“If you made me try carrot cake years after my first impression of it, then so are you trying this one again”.

“Ugh, do I have to?”

“I’m afraid you have to” he taunted with a pout, bringing his hotteok up to your mouth. “Now open up”.

Glaring at him, yet knowing well enough there was no escaping from it, you opened your mouth as told and took a bite of it.

“You call that a bite?” He called you out, this time earning a small laugh from you as you chewed the small piece you took. “You didn’t even get any of the filling!”

“Yes, I did?!”

“No, you didn’t, Pinocchio”.

“Hyunie…” you pouted.

“Nope, being cute won’t help you out of it”.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you grabbed the cup of the pastry he was still holding up for you and brought it once again up to your mouth, this time taking what he considered to be a decent bite of it.

Looking down to it and seeing that you had gotten some of the filling this time, he smiled. “So?”

You rolled your eyes at the teasing look in his face, rushing to swallow it down so you could give him your final verdict. “Okay, maybe it is better than I remembered…”

“See?!”

“Still wouldn’t choose it over the traditional one, though”.

“It’s a nice change from time to time” he nodded to himself, taking another bite.

“You wanna try this one, though?” You offered, bringing yours up to his mouth just as he swallowed.

Hyunjin nodded effusively, opening his mouth for you to feed him. Laughing at his cute antics, you brought your hotteok even higher up, for it to go inside his mouth.

“Aigoo, what an adorable couple you two are”.

Only then, right as he bit into your pastry, you were both reminded of the fact that you were still standing in front of the hotteok stall, acting like that in front of a very oblivious woman who mistook the whole scene going on before her for a romantic one.

Thank God it was snowing and there was no one else in line appreciating the whole thing.

Your cheeks burned in an instant, looking at Hyunjin next to you rushing to swallow before you focused back on her. “Oh, we—”

“Thank you, ma’am” Hyunjin interrupted you before you could finish your rather panicked sentence, making your head snap in his direction in surprise, right as he gently leaned towards you. “Isn’t she the prettiest?”

When the woman agreed with him and commented on how good-looking the two of you were, he saw his hundredth chance that night and finally took it before it was too late, reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers, just like he had wanted to minutes ago.

He almost laughed at himself right then. All night he had spent figuring out how to touch you in the subtlest of ways, looking for the spots of your body that would raise little to no suspicions in your head, and then inevitably chickening out before he could even reach for his goal. Yet here he was now, holding your hand on a whim.

In his defense, a chance as good as this one wouldn’t show up a second time, and he’d be an idiot not to take it — regardless of the possible consequences.

Maybe he should act without thinking more often. Then he’d be able to hold your hand and feel the softness of it as many times as he wanted.

With you being still too stunned to speak, he lifted your interlocked hands up to thank the old lady once more and wave goodbye to her, before he pulled you to him as the two of you began to walk away.

“Thank you, ma’am?” You mocked him when you were far enough for her not to hear.

“She would’ve been embarrassed otherwise,” he explained, fighting against his wishes to rub soft circles on your hand with his thumb. “There’s no need for her to know we aren’t a couple. We know we aren’t, after all”.

Unfortunately.

“You calling me the prettiest surely did the trick” you laughed under your breath.

“Well, you are”.

You lowered your head, with a shy smile curving up your lips. And, for a moment there, he swore he made you blush.

“And holding hands was absolutely necessary?” You questioned, holding your still interlocked hands up for him to see.

“Oh, absolutely” he smiled, trying his best not to show just how terrified he was now that you pointed it out. “Gotta make it look believable”.

The next second felt like an eternity. With your hands still intertwined, he could feel you ponder whether it was okay or not.

Whether he had crossed a line or not.

Most importantly, whether you would pull away —and with that set a clear boundary for him to stick to from now on— or not.

“Okay, I’ll allow it”.

His heart jumped. “You will?”

“Mhm…” you nodded, completely unaware of the way his heartbeat skyrocketed when your hold tightened around his fingers. “We’re not far enough from her yet, can’t have her think it was all an act”.

God, he loved it when you played along with his nonsense.

“Besides,” you added. “It’s cold, I didn’t bring gloves, and your hand is warm”.

“Oh, so you’re just using me”.

You chose silence, taking a bite of your hotteok instead.

“Wow, so this is how I find out?” He squinted his eyes at you in feigned offense.

When the corners of your mouth curved up in a smirk, he dramatically let go of your hand, speeding up his pace in order to make it known he was not having it.

And maybe for a second there he regretted letting go of the opportunity to hold your hand for a little bit longer, but the sound of your laugh as you begged him to come back and rushed to catch up with him, was enough for him to enjoy this moment altogether.

“Yah, Hwang Hyunjin” you followed hot on his heels, ignoring just how slippery the floor was as you tried to keep up with him. “Wait for me, your legs are too long”.

“Great, so now you insult my legs as well”.

You giggled behind him, making him laugh under his breath as well. “It’s not like t—holy fuck!”

As expected, it was only a matter of time before you slipped.

Thankfully for you, you had just caught up with his pace and Hyunjin’s reflexes were no joke, managing to catch you just as your body leaned back.

“Are you alright?” He asked, unable to hide his concern.

You nodded rather effusively, feeling his arm on your back keeping you from falling down, and having your eyes travel down for a second to the firm hand of his holding your waist.

One look into his relieved yet still worried eyes, and the realisation of you being safe and in his arms, was all it took for you to hide your face in his chest as a laughing fit took over.

“Oh, God, I’m so embarrassed” you somehow managed to say in between laughs, refusing to look up. “I’m sorry”.

With your laugh being so contagious, Hyunjin couldn’t help but laugh as well, pulling you closer to him and helping you to stand up straight, as your face remained hidden in his chest.

“It’s okay” he reassured you with a laugh, gently running his fingers through your hair.

You shook your head no, taking a deep breath in order to stop your laughter before you finally pulled away from him. “I almost dropped my hotteok” you half laughed, half pouted, making Hyunjin throw his head back as a throaty laugh escaped his mouth.

“I almost dropped mine trying to catch you” he admitted.

“Please no, I would’ve felt so bad” you lamented, wiping a couple of tears from the corners of your eyes.

“Don’t, we could’ve just gone back to get some more,” he reasoned, gently removing a few loose strands of hair from off your face and then using his thumb to wipe a single tear you had missed rolling down your cheek. “Wouldn’t mind hearing what a good-looking couple we are once again anyway”.

“I doubt she’d point it out again…” you mumbled timidly.

“Wanna go check?” He smirked.

You chuckled, shoving him off before you shook your head in both amusement and disbelief. Had he always been this bold?

“Let’s go back to my place already,” you suggested. “This night has been way too k-drama coded and I’m scared a tragedy might happen now”.

He laughed incredulously. “What kind of k-dramas have you been watching for you to be this traumatized?”

“Just the normal kind” you shrugged nonchalantly. “You’d be surprised over how many tragedies there are”.

“Well then, I’m still offended but I guess I’ll let you use me and hold my arm on our way back” he offered with a dramatic sigh, holding his arm out for you to wrap your own around it.

“Why thank you, that is so chivalrous of you” you playfully cooed, wasting no time in doing as told.

Feeling you hold on tight to his bicep, he smiled, shoving his hand into the pocket of his jacket as the two of you resumed on your walk for once and for all.

“Just to avoid the tragedy of you might slipping again” he made it clear, trying to cover the smirk curving up his mouth by taking a bite of his pastry.

“Oh, totally” you agreed, unlike him, not even trying to hide the big smirk taking over your face. “Wouldn’t want to make you catch me again when you’re oh-so-mad at me”.

Funnily enough, whether mad or not, he would always run to catch you anyway. And now that he discovered how nice it was to hold you close to him, and just how perfectly your hand fit in his, he was afraid he’d have to stop looking for a reason to touch you every time he wanted to and just do it instead, because he couldn’t keep waiting around for someone to point out how cute the two of you looked in order to hold your hand again, or for you to —God forbid— almost fall down for him to hold your waist once more.

The one touch he needed to test the waters had already happened, after all. More than one touch had happened that night, actually, and you didn’t seem to hate it in the slightest. If anything, the way you leaned closer against his body as you held on tight to his arm, told him just how comfortable you felt being so close to him.

And he’d be damned not to let loose from now on and get as physically close to you as you’d let him — as many times as it’d take for you to figure out his feelings for you, and as many more as you’d allow him to.

tag list: @jehhskz @iknowyouknowminho @doohnut @saintcosette @lailac13 @kayleefriedchicken @rikibun @yongbokkiesworld @seungzsmin @beautifulcolorgarden @hyunetopia @velvetmoonlght @automaticpersonabatpaper @httpdwaekki @brinnalaine @wondering-out-loud @feelikecinderella @nujeskz @amarecerasus @liknws @nhyunn @midsoulz @tirena1 @tinyelfperson @thatonexcgirl @iovecb97 @hynier @phenomenalgirl9 @your-favorite-pirate @jin-from-the-block @yearofthetiger25 @quokkacidal @stayconnecteed @kwanisms @yoonguurt @143hyunes @iiriam @cookielixie @hyunlvrs @allyrarara @machaandlofi @mehli-00 @justiceforvillains @minhosprettywife @whats-my-question @armystay89 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @hyeon-yi @skzstannie @onlyhyunjin @shyshyshytwice @nicoleparadas @​broken-glowsticks

[buckyshoneybunny]

Friendsgiving

College!Quarterback!Bucky Barnes + Curvy!College!Reader 

Summery- You and Bucky explore your new relationship while you and the gang celebrate Thanksgiving. 

W.C.- 4221 

Warnings- Smut, oral (fem), fingering, unprotected sex 

A/N- I am so so sorry this is late. I’ve been stressed and I didn’t know how I wanted to do this. But I keep it sweet with no drama, for now anyway, the next one will have lots of drama lol. I do hope you enjoy this. Home For Christmas will be long since it’s going to have a lot in it. But that one and the one for new years might be late and I apologize in advance for that. Anyway enjoy and see you next time my loves! (The picture of the kitchen is mine) (not proofread)

Taglist-  @calwitch @winterslove1917 @hi172826

Masterlist           Series Masterlist   

“He’s doing it again,” Sam snickers. 

“Doing what?” Steve hums. 

“Looking at her with those love sick puppy eyes.”  

Steve looks up from where he was fiddling with the lights for the back patio to see you and Bucky cuddled on the couch. Bucky had a small smile on his face as he watched you ramble on about this new book you were reading.  

“Give him a break, he’s happy.” Steve set the lights back in the box. Since you and Bucky had started dating the guys had been coming over more often, spending the nights too. You didn’t mind though; you had the room and if anything, it felt nice to have a full house. It made it feel more like home in a way.  

Sam looks back over to you and Bucky. He smirks, knowing damn good and well Bucky has no idea what you’re saying. He's too captivated by the way you look and the joy on your face to pay attention to the plot of your book. 

You and Bucky had been together almost two weeks now, when you had told the others they seemed happy and relieved. No more tip toeing around and no more arguing.  

You had laughed as a grumpy Steve handed $20 to a very happy Sam. Bucky grumbled and smacked Sam’s arm. Steve had bet Bucky would be the one to confess while Sam bet you would be the one to break first. 

Now even though you haven’t been together long, you were enjoying seeing this new side of Bucky. You were learning new things about him and seeing the side of him he didn’t even show Steve.  

You found out his favorite books were The Hobbit and Lord of The Rings. He loved to watch older movies; he was a big nerd when it came to anything space or scientific related. And what surprised you the most was he knew the answer to just about every history question you could think of. 

Bucky was also learning new things about you. How you procrastinated until the last second and somehow whatever you were working on always came out amazing. How good you were at drawing; how creative your mind was when it came to writing stories. He just about fell out of his chair when you told him you knew how to change the oil and tires on a car. 

You both were taking it one step at a time, exploring the unfamiliar grounds of this new relationship.  

Steve and Sam walk over and join you on the couch. Steve sits next to you while Sam sits next to him. 

“You know he has absolutely no idea what you’re saying, right?” Sam chuckles. Steve elbows him. 

“Yes, he does, right Bucky? Bucky?” You wave a hand in front of his face. “James,” you sigh. 

Bucky blinks his eyes, refocusing them. “Hmm?” 

“Seriously Bucky?” You scoff a laugh. 

“I’m sorry, princess. You're just so cute when you’re excited,” he smiles.  

You blush and hide your face while Steve and Nat coo. Sam and Yelena make gagging faces, those two like two peas in a pod.  

“Since Thanksgiving is in a couple of days shouldn’t we go food shopping tomorrow?” Steve asks. 

“Me and you can go after we get back from the fall festival tomorrow,” you answer. 

“Fall festival?” Sam asks, disinterest clear in his voice. 

“Yeah,” Natasha nods. “We’re going to the Barton farm; they’re having a fall festival.” 

“I thought we already went to a festival there?” Sam groans. 

“We did, but that was for Halloween. They have three festivals every year, one for Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.”  

“Well, have fun, cause I’m sitting this out.”  

“You’re going,” Yelena says sternly. 

“No, I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

“No.” 

“Please?” Yelena sticks her bottom lip out in a pout and gives him her puppy eyes. 

“Fine,” Sam grumbles. He rolls his eyes when everyone laughs. It had been Yelena’s idea to go, there was a certain someone she wanted to see.  

A little while later you and Bucky lay in your bed rewatching a show you’ve seen a thousand times on your computer. You were just starting to doze off when he speaks up. 

“You didn’t go to the Halloween festival,” he says softly. His bushy eyebrows set in a frown.  

“What?” You yawn, blinking your eyes repeatedly and doing your best to keep them open.  

“The Halloween festival, you didn’t go.” Bucky closes the laptop and sets it on the nightstand.  

“No, I didn’t,” you sigh and snuggle into Bucky’s side. That same stuffed dog squished between you both. 

“Why? Was it because of me?” He whispers.  

You let out a small laugh. “No, I didn’t feel good that night, nor did I want to get dragged to the haunted house. I hate scary things.” 

“Oh, okay.” Bucky pulls you impossibly closer. “Goodnight princess,” he kisses your forehead.  

“Goodnight Bucky.”  

The next morning the six of you get ready for the festival. You and Bucky are the last ones to be ready, Bucky having gotten a little handsy while you were in the shower together.  

You wore snug blue jeans that hugged your thighs and ass. A silk tank top-one that accented your curves and made Bucky’s mouth water-under a long-sleeved shirt. You then stole one of Bucky’s jackets to wear, claiming it would keep you warmer, it went down to about mid-thigh on you. Bucky helped you put your boots on and laced them. You slid on some gloves while Bucky wrapped a scarf around your neck and slid beanie on your head.  

Though you were covered up, Bucky’s mouth still watered at the sight of you. He didn’t understand how someone could look so adorable yet sexy at the same time. 

Bucky, Steve, and Sam all wore jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and jackets. You practically had to force Bucky to wear gloves and a hat. And while he looked like a three-course meal you’d never understand how he could wear so little layers in this freezing weather. Some people just don’t get cold.  

Steve, Natasha, and Yelena took Steve’s car while you, Bucky, and Sam took Bucky’s car. Once you got there you pulled Natasha aside. 

“You know you’re gonna have to help her, right?” You say quietly, watching Yelena fix her outfit. 

“Don’t worry, babes. I’ve already got a plan,” Natasha smirks. You can see the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. 

You arch a brow. “And what kind of plan would that be?” 

“All you need to know is by the end of the day, Kate and Lena will be a couple.” You laugh and shake your head. 

Natasha links her arm with Yelena’s and drags her off in the direction of the face painting station, the one Kate Bishop was currently working. Sam tags along, eager to see what mischief plan Nat has.  

You and Bucky walk hand in hand through the festival, Steve on the other side of you. The three of you making your way to where they keep their homemade goodies.  

“If Nat’s plan goes well, Sam will be the only single person left in the group,” You wonder aloud.  

“Hmph,” Bucky hums. He couldn’t care less.  

“We should set him up,” You suggest.  

“You know, Sam has had his eye on someone for a while now,” Steve speaks up. 

“Who?” You ask a little to excitingly.  

Steve chuckles. “Lila Taylor? Lina Taylor, something like that.” 

“Leila Taylor?”  

“Yeah that.”  

“Wait, isn’t she on the college’s reporter team?”  

Steve nods. “Yeah, she also supports a lot of activist movements and stuff.” 

“Oh cool,” You smile. “I’ll circle back with the girls to come up with a plan and then coordinate with you.”  

“Hold up,” Bucky interjects. “You really think it’s a good idea to go snooping around in Sam’s love life?” 

“Hey! It’s not snooping,” You argue. “It’s more like giving him a little nudge in the right direction.” 

“Well, whatever it is, I want nothing to do with it. Cause if this blows up, it won’t be pretty.” You just roll your eyes.  

You and Steve pick out some jams and spices to use in Thanksgiving dinner before heading off to the face painting booth. There's not much of a line so you wait, looking for Nat, Yelena, Sam, and Kate. When it’s you guys’ turn, you walk up to see Cassie Lang running the station.  

“Hey Cassie,” You smile. “Where’s Kate and Lena?” 

She points behind her. “Back behind the station.” 

“Good for them,” You laugh. You get a bunny painted on your face, Bucky gets a cat, and Steve gets a dog.  

You thank Cassie and Steve heads off to find Nat and Sam, telling you to meet up at the hayride line. Bucky keeps his arm around your shoulders as you walk. You relax and lean into him, letting him guide you. 

It almost doesn’t feel real, being here with him. It's almost like a dream come true; one you never knew you had. You cherish the feeling of being in his arms, the comfort and warmth it brings.  

You, Bucky, Sam, Steve, and Nat meet up by the hayrides. Even Yelena and Kate tag along too. While you wait you make small talk and get to know Kate a bit. You learn that she’s mastered in archery and is taking an engineer course. You could see Yelena relax a little when she seen how well Kate got along with everyone. 

During the hayride, Bucky’s gaze kept drifting back to you. His heart fluttered as he watched you, the way your eyes shine in the sunlight. How your nose scrunched just like his when you laugh and smile. 

He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer. He buried his nose in your hair, closing his eyes as your peach scented shampoo filled his nose.  

From the moment he met you, something told him you were different. That feeling was just pushed back and blinded by a false sense of hate. One thing he knew for sure, even if this was just the start of the relationship, was that something was different.  

None of his previous relationships had ever felt this, what’s the word? Special. He just wishes you and him would have come to terms sooner. But later is better than never.  

You guys spend most of the rest of the day doing various activities. Just laughing and having fun, spending time with one another. A lot of people argue over what family is, whether it’s being blood related. Or just knowing someone for a long time, always being there for them and having their back.  

Whichever it may be, you knew this was the family that you would ever need. And while your heart does ache for the family you grew up with, you’d never felt more loved than you do with this family. Right here, right now.  

Before it got too late you guys called it quits. You and Steve headed to the store while the others headed home. You giggled at the sad puppy eyes Yelena had when she had to say goodbye to Kate.  

You and Steve browse the aisles, grabbing ingredients and checking them off the list. You're almost done when you pass the area they keep the turkeys, except, they’re out.  

“Crap, Y/n,” Steve sighs. He looks at the empty display that was once filled with Turkeys of all sizes. “What are we going to do?” 

You grin. “You know how they say women are smarter than men?” You snicker. 

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with the fact we won’t have a turkey for thanksgiving?” 

“Me and Nat picked one up last week, Steve,” you laugh.  

“Oh” 

“Oh!” You gasp. “So, I have a request to make,” you bite your lip. 

“What’s that?” 

“So, you’re cooking the turkey this year, right?” Steve nods and you continue. “Well, I was wondering if maybe we could smoke the turkey on the grill?” 

Steve pauses, considering the idea. “That actually doesn’t sound too bad,” he hums. 

“Right? I mean, any other dish we cook on the grill tastes amazing, so why not try it with the turkey?” 

“Yeah,” he nods. “I think that’s a good idea. So that’s what we’ll do then.”  

Once you have everything, you pay and pile everything in the trunk of the car and head home. Sam and Bucky help bring the groceries inside when you get home, you and Nat put them away.  

Since everyone was tired from the fun filled day and no one wanting to cook and clean the already prepped kitchen. You guys just decided to order some pizza. The TV is playing some cooking show, one that was actually decent.  

Sam and Yelena sat on the floor between the coffee table and couch, munching on the pizza. You and Bucky sat on one end of the couch, squeezed together under one blanket. Steve and Nat sat at the other end, hogging the bigger blanket.  

“So, what all are we having tomorrow?” Sam asks around a mouth full of pizza. Natasha nudges Sam’s shoulder with her foot, playfully scolding him about not talking with a mouth full of food.  

“Well, we’re gonna have turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, Nat will make her mac & cheese,” you list the dishes out. “Probably some corn too.” 

“What about homemade bread?” Yelena asks. 

“Absolutely,” you smile. 

“You make homemade bread?” Bucky asks, surprised. You nod. “Since when?” 

“Since I was like, 15 or 16?” You shrug. He hums and pulls you closer. 

“Oh, by the way, I invited Kate to come over after. If that’s okay?” Yelena says. 

You nod. “That’s fine, I invited Wanda.” 

“I invited Clint, too,” Nat adds.  

You, Bucky, Steve, and Nat head to bed early since you have to get an early start on cooking tomorrow. 

The alarm on your phone goes off at five in the morning, jolting you awake. Bucky groans and shuts the alarm off, tightening his arms around your waist. 

“I gotta get up, baby,” you whisper. You card your fingers through his hair. 

He buries his face in your neck. “No,” he mumbles, voice muffled.  

You smile softly. “Yes.” When he doesn’t let you go, you pinch his shoulder.  

Bucky grumbles and let's go. “You’re mean,” he pouts. 

You press a quick kiss to his lips. “Here,” you hand him your stuffed dog. “Fido will keep you company.” Bucky smacks the dog away, making you gasp. 

“How dare you!” You pick him up and coddle him to your chest. “It’s okay, I got you.” You kiss its head. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Are you really talking to a stuffed animal?” He asks in that deep, sexy morning voice of his.  

You hug the dog closer to your chest. “Don’t listen to him, he’s a big meanie,” you mumble against its fur. Bucky raises a brow. “You up set him, now you have to give him a kiss.” 

“I’m not kissing a stuffed animal, Y/n,” he huffs. 

“What’s that? He has to give you cuddles?” Bucky shakes his head. “Now, James,” you say, trying and failing to sound stern. 

He rolls his eyes again but takes the stuffed dog. He cuddles the dog and gives it a kiss. “Happy now?” You can see the hint of a smile on his face. You nod.  

You quickly use the bathroom, brush your teeth and pull your hair back. You quietly head back to your bedroom to grab your phone and meds. You have to cover your mouth with your head to keep from laughing. 

Bucky had already fallen back to sleep, but he was holding you stuff dog like it was his lifeline. You figured he’d chuck it once you left, but he didn’t. You snap a picture and head downstairs. You see Steve in the kitchen and a lump under a blanket on the couch. Sam.  

“Morning Steve,” you say quietly.  

“Morning Y/n,” he whispers with a smile. 

“Look at this,” you giggle. You show Steve the picture of Bucky to which he laughs. You hear Sam grumble something about being quiet. 

“You should have gone to bed sooner,” you snicker. Sam stuck his arm out from under the blanket, flipping you off.  

You get started on the bread while Steve fires up the grill. You both work in harmony to get things started and prepped.  

Around 8, Sam decided to give up on trying to sleep in. He made himself a bowl of cereal and plopped on the couch to watch some cartoons. By 8:30, Bucky had sauntered down the stairs and immediately plastered himself to your back. 

“Morning princess,” he mumbles into your neck. He presses a kiss there.  

“Morning Bucky,” you smile.  

After about five minutes of him hanging on you, you make him get off. He pouts but lets you go, grabbing a bowl of cereal and joining Sam on the couch to watch cartoons.  

By 9, Nat and Yelena had come down. Yelena joining the boys and Nat helping out in the kitchen. At 11, you and Nat force the three stooges to get ready and clean up. Slowly but surely, you, Nat, and Steve get ready.  

Bucky and Yelena keep up on dishes, so you aren’t running the dishwasher ten different times today. Bucky washes them while Yelena dries and puts them away. You and Yelena set the table, Bucky and Sam had cleaned up the living room by then. And finally, by 1, the table was being filled with food.  

Steve had cooked the turkey and while that was cooking, he did the gravy, mashed potatoes, and stuffing. Nat cooked her homemade mac & cheese and some corn. You had cooked the homemade rolls that, in Sam’s words, were to die for. You had also made some fudge and a pumpkin pie.  

Finally, once everyone sat down, Steve and Nat on one side, you and Bucky on the other, Sam at one end, Yelena at the other. The wine was poured and Steve said grace. Steve cut the turkey and everyone filled up their plates with food.  

While you ate, Bucky rested his hand on your thigh. After a while it started to slide up, his pinky toying with the hem of the long-sleeved dress you wore. He didn’t move it much more than that, just wanting to tease you.  

By the time everyone finished, Kate, Wanda, and Clint had shown up. They were just in time for dessert. You and Kate had fudge while everyone else had pie. After a little more pie and wine, everyone moved to the living room to hang out, leaving you and Steve to clean up the mess.  

You put the food away and loaded the first load of dishes in the dishwasher. Steve threw napkins and various things away, sweeping the crumbs up and taking the trash out. Steve went to join the others while you finished wiping the counters.  

When you finished you headed to the living room, pausing in the archway. Steve and Nat were cuddled on the couch under a blanket, watching a Christmas movie. Clint, Kate, and Wanda were playing some board game. Yelena and Sam were building a Castle out of Legos.  

You smiled. This was your family. This was your home.  

Your smile widened when you felt two arms wrap around your waist. 

“Hey,” you say, your voice soft.  

“You did a good job on the bread and pie,” Bucky says. He starts to kiss your neck. You tilt your head and relax against him.  

“Thanks,” you bite your lip. “Since everyone is preoccupied, what do you wanna do?”  

He hums and slides his hands to your waist, spinning you around. “I think I want some dessert.” You can hear the lust in his voice.  

“Didn’t you already have dessert?” You giggle, knowing full well that’s not what he’s talking about.  

“Not that kind of dessert princess, this one’s more...sweet.” He runs his nose up your neck to nibble on your ear.  

“I don’t know, that pie was pretty sweet.” 

He huffs and tosses you over his shoulder, making you giggle. You playfully grope his ass as he walks, he really did have a nice ass. He kicks your bedroom door shut with his foot and tosses you on the bed.  

Bucky kneels on the bed between your thighs, pushing the loose skirt of you dress up around your waist. He spreads your legs and rips your panties, growl coming from him when he sees you’re already wet. 

“You have got to stop ripping my panties! I’m gonna run out soon.” Your laugh turns into a gasp when he runs his thumb over your clit.  

“Sorry princess,” he mumbles absentmindedly, eyes focused on your pussy.  

“No, you’re not.” 

“No, I’m not,” he agrees with a smirk. He leans down, laying on his stomach between your legs, kissing and nipping the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.  

He makes his way up one thigh before switching to the other, causing you to huff. He presses one last kiss to your thigh before hovering his lips over your pussy. He blows on your pussy, causing you to shudder. He chuckles and runs his tongue through your folds up to your clit. 

You gasp and thread your fingers through his hair. He eats you out like a man starved, like this is his first meal in days. He sucks on your clit, making your hips buck. He throws his metal arm over your hips to keep them still. 

He runs his tongue down to your slit, sucking up your juices. He starts to fuck you with his tongue, he thrusts it in and out. His two-day old stubble rubs against the skin around your pussy, making you close your thighs around his head. 

He brings two fingers to your entrance, thrusting them in and curling them in that way that has you seeing stars. He adds a third one, fucking you with his fingers, his mouth back to sucking on your clit.  

He moans against your pussy, the vibrations running through you and bringing you that much closer to the edge. Your fingers tighten in his hair. With one last curl of his fingers, you cum, moaning his name. 

He helps you ride it out, lapping up your juices. He gives your clit one last kiss before sitting up. He pulls your dress over your head and throws it behind him, he flings your bra in the same direction.  

He pulls his shirt over his head and you run your hands over his abs. You don’t think you’d ever get tired of seeing this man naked. Once his pants are off, he covers you with his body, lips latching onto one of your nipples, his metal hand squeezing and pinching the other one. 

You reach down and grab his cock, stroking him a couple of times and making his hips buck. You run his tip through your folds and line him up.  

“Ready princess?” He pants. You nod. 

He slowly pushes in, burying himself all the way in with one thrust. He laces his fingers with yours and pins your hands above your head. You wrap your legs around his waist.  

When you give him the okay, he pulls out and thrusts back in, starting a slow pace. He buries his face in your neck, sucking and biting, leaving his mark on you. 

His pace starts to pick up, your moans and whimpers like music to his ears. Soon enough he’s pounding you into the bed. Skin slapping against skin fills the room, the air smelling of sex. You bite your lip to keep from moaning too loud, knowing your friends are still right downstairs. 

“Let them hear,” he pants into your neck. “Let them hear I good I can fuck you.” he angles his hips to hit that special spot, making you cry out. “There you go,” he grins. 

Each thrust hits that spot, bringing you closer and closer. The patch of hair above his cock rubs against your clit, adding to your pleasure. Bucky can feel you squeezing him, he knows your close.  

“Come on, princess, cum for me. Be a good girl and cum.” That all you need, the band in your stomach snapping and stars blurring your vision. Your back arches and you moan his name, probably a little too loud.  

Bucky fucks you through it before his thrust grow sloppy and he’s cumming inside you with a groan of your name on his lips.  

He collapses on top of you, panting and still feeling the after effects of his orgasm. You rub his back and run your fingers through his hair as you both catch your breath. He makes a contented sound and nuzzles his face into your chest. 

After a few moments of silence his phone vibrates on the nightstand, indicating a text message. 

He carefully pulls out and rolls over to grab his phone. He makes a ‘hmm’ sound before setting it down and pulling you back into his arms, spooning you from behind, ready for a nap. 

“Who was that?” You ask softly. 

“My mom,” he mumbles into your hair. 

“Oh..is everything okay?” 

“She wants us to come home for Christmas.” 

[writa-anon]

"is that.. supposed to be me?"

francis mosses (the milkman) x artist!reader

a / n ~ boom! first fanfic :3 i was a little inspired by uh.. myself LOL when i started playing tnmn i realized i was horrible at memorizing faces so i started drawing the characters to help me remember and it works sooo much. but anyway, super cute oneshot where they first meet, hope u enjoy :D

content included ~ isaack mauss, francis mosses, reader is an artist and doorman, no pronouns mentioned for reader, use of (y/n), shy n wholesome first encounter

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 4.10.24 | 1.6k words

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Another slow day at work, huh?”

A enthusiatic-ridden voice boomed, instinctively making me look up to meet the gaze of a strong-jawlined man. I cleared my throat and placed my pencil on the scratchy sheet of paper, sitting up in my chair.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gauss.” I greeted, grinning that customer-service smile.

“Good afternoon, (y/n). I assume work is treating you well?” He said before sliding both his ID and request form through the letter hole. “Only your third day and you’re occupying yourself with side hobbies!” He exclaimed, squinting a little to see my doodle through the glass screen. I chuckled a little as I examined his ID.

“Eh, yeah..” I sighed. “But this actually helps with my job, believe it or not!” I said proudly, pulling out the floor 2 folder to compare his ID number. “I’ve been drawing neighbors in order to remember their features better. It’s especially helpful because of my terrible memory.” I said, shaking my head. Isaack simply chuckled as I placed the folder to the side as I went through his request form.

“That’s pretty smart.” He commented. “Who have you drawn so far?” He asked, curiously tilting his head. As I went through the checklist as I idly thought to myself.

“Umm..” I hummed. “The Schmitts and the Mikaelys are definitely in here.” I finished up the last check before rolling back to my sketchbook, using my finger to thumb through the pages.

“Unfortunate. I haven’t been drawn yet.” He faked pouted. I rolled my eyes before flipping one or two pages before presenting the portrait to him.

“I’m not necessarily finish. Your face is pretty hard to encapture.” I sighed, looking at the smears of led blended together. Isaack was something of a character: a big prominent smile that is not hard to catch a glimpse of in a room full of people. His hair perfectly styled each morning that still manages to maintain its shape by the end of the day. His voice had depth to it, almost like he was born to be the daily news reporter for radios and TVs of all kind. He stared at the drawing in satisfied awe before leaning back.

“Wow, it surely is accurate!” He beamed. I smiled proudly before placing my sketchbook down.

“Thank you,” I politely nodded. I slid his ID back through the letter box. “Everything seems to be good to go. You’re allowed in, Mr. Gauss.” He nodded in his head in gratitude, but however, did not my window just yet. He took a minute to ponder, as if contemplating his next move, before beaming his teeth once again.

“Ah, before I go,” he quickly inputed. “is there by chance Francis Mosses is on today’s list? He’s the local milkman around here.”

I raised my eyebrow a little, not exactly sure as to why Isaack chose to bring up this person’s name. I shook my head gently before folding my arms in front of me. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gauss, but I’m afraid I cannot disclose that information for you.”

“—Ah, of course.” Isaack quickly fixed himself, putting his hands up a little in defense. “I understand. I was just curious is all. I’m sure you know him though, no?” Thinking for a minute, I’ve realized that this is a neighbor I have not encountered yet.

“No, actually..” I pondered out loud. “Huh, that’s interesting. I guess he works a morning or night shift because the name doesn’t really ring a bell.” I noted out loud.

“Interesting.” He muttered. “Well, keep the name in mind. He’s a rather interesting person, and I think you would find him just as interesting.” Before I could say anything else, he gestured a quick wink before walking through the unlocked door. I quickly snapped out my thoughts before locking the door back up again.

Isaack never really mentioned other names— it wasn’t necessarily out of character, but it felt a little outlandish. I looked down to see my pencil in hand again and blank surface of paper. My eyes trailed over to the paper taped on to the wall next to my window, realizing that Frances was in fact on today’s check-in list. Out of curiousity, I located his room number before surfing through the folders. After locating folder 3 and apartment 02, I was able to find more about him.

He was a slim, tall man with a crooked nose and ruffled brown hair. His eye bags were prominent from what I assume to be lack of sleep. As I stared at his picture, my hand moved by itself across my sketchbook, forming a circle to start defining out the headshape. I squinted slightly, trying to feel for each detail in his face. From the way his eyebrows were rotated a little outward, defining more of his tired expression, to the bump in his nose bridge, making it a bit more interesting to draw. It was mesmerizing, almost wishing I could sit here and draw his face in perso—

tap, tap!

I nearly jumped out of my seat. The pencil flung out of my hand, rolling off of the desk. My eyes flickered up—

and there he was.

My breath near caught in my throat as I stared up in shock. The man behind the glass was barely shocked to see my reaction. His white “milkman” hat rested perfectly on top of his brown hair with small curls slightly peaking out. I was swift to regain my composure in my head as I folded my hands in front of me with my legs crossed under the desk.

“Good afternoon, sir.” I smiled. “I haven’t seen you before. ID and entry request?”

He let out a small hum, barricaded by his pink lips, as he took out his paper and ID. He politely slid them through the letter slot before I took the items to examine.

“Mr. Francis Mosses.. Lives on floor 03.. Room 02.. Coming from work as a milkman.” I glanced up to look at him, comparing the photo ID to his face. His expression was exactly alike: tired eyes, slight frown on the lips, crooked nose, and a clean shaven face. I double checked with his file already on my desk, making sure that the ID numbers and the description aligned with his ID. “Everything looks good.” I confirmed as I slid his ID back to him.

“Mmm.. Thank you.” He hummed. I turned around to place his request form in a folder, but once I sat back up, I realized he was still standing at the window, curiously staring through the glass. I raised my eyebrow a little, confused as to why he was still lingering.

“I’m sorry, did I forget something?” I asked. Francis shook his head before pointing down at my desk.

“Is that.. Supposed to be me?” He asked. A tiny bit of emotion seeped into his voice, dripping in interest and curiousity.

“I— oh—” I looked down to see the rough drawing of Francis sitting at my desk, drawn with sketch lines still lightly defining his features, while the harder drawn areas sculpted his prominent details. “Yeah..” I mumbled. “I-I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable!” I exclaimed. “It’s just a way to help me remember faces and I was going through the files and I realized I haven’t met you before so I—”

“You make me look so pretty.” He mumbled, almost breathlessly. A faint pink color brushed his cheeks as he was unable to take his gaze away from the paper.

“W-Well.. I do aim for accuracy.” I chuckled, complimenting the man right back. My nerves had calmed down after noticing his calm demeanor. “You could keep it, if you’d like that is.” I offered. It would be awkward if I kept the drawing rather than give it to him— I mean— this is his first time ever seeing me and it was an awkward first interaction right off the bat. It was the least I could do for him. Francis nodded his head and in response, I tore the piece of paper out of the scrapbook before sliding it through the letter slot.

“There you go.” I smiled.

“Thank you..” He replied, graciously taking the piece of paper and admiring it once again. “Oh— um,” He quickly looked up to me. “What is your name? I’m sorry, I’m not really good with.. Introductions.” He trailed off, but something about his shyness and reluctant voice made me grin even harder.

“My name is (y/n). I’m the doorman in training for this building.” I greeted.

“Ah, of course. I’m Francis— Mmm..Though you already know that.” He said, shaking his head a little by the end of his sentence.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Francis. I’ll be seeing you around, I assume?” I said, sitting at the edge of my chair as I looked up at him.

“More often than before.” He smiled. It was the widest he’d grin throughout our whole conversation. Something inside me told me that he doesn’t pass around smiles like that easily. It made me feel accomplished in some sort of way. But with that, he departed from my window. I made sure to unlock the door and listen for the door closing behind him before locking it again.

Francis Mosses.

I think I have someone to look forward to on tomorrow’s entry list.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

really hoped you enjoyed! replies, reblogs, and even likes are super appreciated! thank you so much for reading :]

[hysteria-things]

can u do one where you and matt/chris are about to make sec and he’s going in your drawer for a condom but he find a a vibrator and starts asking u about it and you got the rest lol

"WHAT'S THIS?"

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!chris x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: chris finds something in your drawer and asks you about it. you’re embarrassed because you got it a while ago but never used it, and chris comes up with something to do about it.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, vibrator, oral (male receiving), throat fucking, darcryphilia (sorta)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 987

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: gonna start doing some requests AND thank you sm for over 100 followers in a day??? that’s crazy.

anywho i hope you like it anon! thanks for being my first request💕

finally, you and chris have some alone time. because of your job and chris’s busy schedule, it’s almost impossible to hang out with each other no matter how hard you try.

this saturday was the only day available for the both of you until further notice. why not make the most out of it, right?

chris doesn’t take his lips off of yours while he reaches and opens your bedside table drawer to get out the condom box he knows you have in there. instead, he feels another box.

he furrows his eyebrows and pulls away, turning his head to where his hand rests on the object. “y/n?” he questions. “what’s this?”

he pulls out the box and holds it so you can see, but he knows damn well what it is. a hint of a smirk appears on his face when he sees your cheeks turn red.

“i— um…” you stammer, scurrying to your feet that were straddling his legs and standing at the end of the bed. he still lays on the bed with his head resting against the backboard, his eyebrows raised with a grin. “i-i got it a while ago. i haven’t used it because as i was buying it i knew it was a stupid decision anyway. i-i forgot it was even in there.”

you rub the back of your neck, now sweating from the embarrassment. chris slides himself to where you’re standing and stands in front of you, the vibrator box still in his hand.

he starts to open the box, causing your eyes to almost pop out of your head. “w-what are you doing?”

“there’s a first time for everything,” he states, now sliding the purple bullet out of its packaging.

he pulls down your shorts and underwear. you step out of them and kick them somewhere when they reach your ankles. he presses the lowest setting and moves his hand so the vibe touches your clit.

you moan lowly, licking your lips and throwing your head back from the sudden vibration. chris doesn’t put it in just yet, instead, he moves it up and down.

“chris, come on,” you whine, wanting him to do more. you grip onto his shoulders to stay stable when you feel your legs become weak.

“hold this and get on your knees,” he demands, handing you the vibrator. you stand there for a few seconds before following his command, going on your knees and keeping the object between your legs.

you’re still moaning when he takes off his sweatpants that have the outline of his hard-on.

his dick springs out in front of you, and you open your mouth without him having to tell you. he smirks at this. “so desperate.”

you whimper and start to take the vibrator off of your clit, but chris notices this and stops you. “no. leave it there while you suck my cock.”

you look up at him through your lashes and move your mouth to where it sucks on the tip. he groans, taking his hands and grabbing your hair. you start to move your head down his length, choking here and there since only so much can fit in your small mouth.

you feel his tip touch the back of your throat, and you take your unoccupied hand and start pumping the amount you can’t fit.

he grunts and moans, looking down at how beautiful you look sucking him off.

your hand that’s on the vibrator tends to move faster than your brain so without a second thought, you turn it up to the max setting. you’re wet enough at this point and slide it in.

you moan around his dick. you try to focus on the two things you’re doing at once, but you can’t. you lift your lips off of his dick and start humping the vibrator to get closer to your high.

chris grabs onto your jaw and forces you to look at him. “what’s wrong, hm? can you only take so much?”

“please.” you moan. “i want to cum.”

“so do i.” he doesn’t give you a chance to reply when he shoves himself back into your moaning mouth. the vibrations from your sounds make his dick twitch.

the unholy sounds of his cock plowing into your mouth fill the room, along with the sound of the vibrator moving in and out of your pussy. with each thrust you moan, and each time you moan, chris’s orgasm builds.

drool drips onto your chin and neck. your eyes start to flutter backward until you feel his grip on your jaw tighten.

“don’t even think about it.” he thrusts a little harder this time, causing you to gag and tears start to form. “i want you to look me in the eyes when you come.”

you try your best to not roll your eyes back when his dark eyes look dead into yours. a tear sheds from your eyelid, and he takes his thumb and wipes it away. “you’re so pretty.”

you feel your white liquid start to ooze out of you, and for some reason, you try to talk. obviously, you can’t, so instead it comes out as hums.

luckily, chris understands. “is my girl making a mess on the floor? hm?”

you whimper but nod. he halts his movements when he’s all the way deep in your throat, making sure you swallow every drop of him.

he pulls out and you cough a few times before turning the vibe off and setting it down next to you. he cups your face, rubbing your tear-stained cheeks.

he helps you to your feet. “i’ll run a bath for you and clean up. then we can cuddle and watch your favorite movie. how’s that sound?”

you smile and nod, your brain still fuzzy from what happened mere seconds ago. he kisses you, picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom connected to your bedroom.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing

[mothwingwritings]

Can we have Ren/Fox (TPOF) and Mc with a child?Long after Fox decided to stay with MC, they both had a daughter (probably not something with consent and a bit of Stockholm syndrome).The daughter asks her mother how she got the scars and this makes MC have memories of post-traumatic stress.

I was so tickled by this ask that I started manically typing out a response for it nearly as soon as I saw it in my ask box (which at this point, was quite some time ago. Forgive me, I am a mess lul). I wrote the whole damn thing in a fit of passion, excited to release it into the world… But ultimately hated it and thought it was garbo, so I scrapped it and tried again. Wrote a second iteration and thought ‘hell yeah, this is it!!! Sick!’, but then I read it AND HATED THAT ONE TOO AAAHHH!!!

I rewrote this… so much…

But I never give up on my dreams, and you shouldn’t either! Persevere! Don’t give up on yourself! Here’s your daily motivation for the day! Keep writing even it makes you cry!!! :D

Anyway, so I wrote this third one, comprised of new stuff and the stuff I actually did like from the first two stabs, and it ended up being the one. Truly it is a Frankenstein of a fic lol. Regardless of all the reworking, I had a lot of fun writing this and enjoyed the prompt very much!!! I I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. :)

I’m sorry if the writing seems a tad too mature for the reader’s daughter in this, writing children isn’t my forte. ^^;

Due to the nature of this fic, IT IS 18+ ONLY!!! Thank you!

WARNINGS: Incessant mentions of abuse of all kinds for reader and mentions of physical abuse for her child!!! Reader is heavily scarred from said abuse and that’s a main theme in this fic so please avoid if that is upsetting to you. Also, though not the main focus, there are multiple mentions of child abuse in this fic, as well a part where reader goes off verbally on her child, so please be mindful of that as well! Other things of note: reader is a parent in this (which you can probably tell by the prev warning lol), reader getting hurt, blood, manipulation, Stockholm syndrome, being held against your will/isolation, mentions of noncon, sad family stuff :(

Diminishing rays of afternoon light splayed through the open window of your quaint living room, casting a comforting orange glow over everything they touched. The light gave the environment an ethereal and nostalgic feel, wrapping you in peaceful warmth as the sun sunk lower and lower. The loveseat you occupied was plush and inviting, and a mug of your favorite tea stood at the ready on the small coffee table beside you, steadily cooling with help from the last hurrah of winter blowing in gently from the outside. Besides the slight chill, the wind brought with it the heavy scent of freshly bloomed flowers, a delightful precursor to the oncoming spring.

Relishing the rare moment of serenity, you couldn’t help but wish that all your days could be this lovely.

You smiled down at your daughter who sat perched in your lap, happily flipping through the newest gift she had acquired from her Father- a thick picture book full of bright illustrations highlighting various exotic animals. As it lay sprawled across her tiny lap, her chubby finger pointed out each animal she took an interest in, her high pitched voice chirping away as she explained what she liked about the creatures. She got particularly excited when she spotted the page full of foxes, jabbing at the red one feverishly as she exclaimed “its daddy!”

Spotting the foxes began her down a path of assigning an animal to not just herself, but you as well. She didn’t find it fair that only her father had kin in the animal world, even though you pointed out that she technically did as well by sharing half the man’s blood. Your revelation did little to deter her, she wanted something new, something just for herself, and she wasn’t going to stop until she found her perfect soul animal. So she continued on, scanning each page in earnest until she found a creature that suited her.

She ended up picking a bunny for herself, supplying you with a comprehensive reason as to why she chose it. As she explained in great length, skimping no details, you couldn’t help but hold back laughter. She spoke as if she were a professor teaching a class, and you did your best to keep a straight face as she yammered on with her shoddy reasoning, deep down knowing she only picked a rabbit because of how cute they are.

After she was done waxing poetic about bunnies, she continued scouring the book, coming to a halt once she reached the wild cat section. She stopped with a gasp, beaming up at you as she pressed her finger firmly against one of the images on the page.

“Mommy this one is you!”

Your eyes traveled to the picture she was rapidly tapping, “An African Wildcat, huh?” You smirked down at the little girl in amusement, “Why did you pick that one for me?”

“Because it looks just like you!”

You chuckled at her enthusiasm, “It looks like me? How so?”

“It has marks just like you do!”

Her innocuous words sent a chill up your spine. Eying the stripes that crossed the cat’s legs, you felt a great unease begin to overtake your body. Her reasoning was not lost on you, the cats coat did quite resemble the jagged scars that covered nearly every inch of your body, and just like the feline in her book, your limbs were the most prominent location of said ‘markings’. You quickly shook your head, not wanting to dwell on it further. In hopes of moving on from the subject, the outpouring of words that flew from your mouth were jumbled and messy.

“O-oh, I see,” you stuttered, clearing your throat to steady your voice, “well you certainly picked a cute animal for me! Thank you baby, it was a good choice.”

She smiled at you innocently, a gesture that usually made your heart melt with affection. But as her tiny hands moved from the book to your arms, that smile did nothing but fill you with dread, the realization that you wouldn’t be getting out of this sticky situation hitting you like a brick to the face. 

“Yeah mommy, the kitty’s marks are just like these ones,” her stubby fingers gently traced the old wounds, a look of reverence reflected on her cherubic features. “They make you look like that kitty mommy,” her little voice cooed, “I like them a lot!”

Your muscles constricted at her words, a slight tremor coursing through you as you involuntarily tightened your grip on her. She took note of this, looking up at your strained features with a puzzled expression on her face.

“Don’t be sad mommy,” she spoke assuredly, “I really do like them! I think they are pretty!”

Her words burned you, scorching the inside of your frozen shell of a body, leaving you feeling sickly and discombobulated. The room around you started to spin in a hazy blur, a wave of nausea making you nearly wretch. Your breathing grew erratic as you tried to calm yourself, inwardly repeating that your daughter was just a child, a little girl barely four years of age who had an incredibly limited view of the world. Her words were not meant to upset you. Her opinions were coming from a place of total naivety.

Yet still, the mental assurance did little to help with the extremely uncomfortable position you now founds yourself in. It wasn’t as if this was her first time noticing your scars. She had mentioned them before, her curious mind trying to piece together the reason that her arms appeared different from your own. Each time she brought your old wounds up you couldn’t help but feel flustered, responding with weak explanations and misdirection to try and quickly brush off her questioning.

The marks came from a silly mistake, or a childhood accident, or from a careless moment when mommy should have been paying more attention. It was always excuses on repeat. How many lies had you told her on this topic alone?

But even if they were lies, it beat telling her the truth. You didn’t want to have to explain where the scars on your body actually came from to anyone, let alone a child, and especially not to your own daughter. How could you possibly word it gently, or in a way that she would understand, when you barely understood why you had them yourself? How could you look her in the eye and tell her that these markings were a permanent sign that you had been very, very hurt and that it was her own fathers hands that inflicted the pain?

Reliving the horrific moments that left your body in such a state was overwhelming enough on its own, but to also have to lay bare her father’s sins, relay to her the unsavory proclivities of a man who she idolized and adored, was not something you were keen on doing.

She didn’t know her daddy like you knew him. She was ignorant to the constant state of concern you lived in, unaware of the worries that plagued your mind and kept you up each night. All the troubles of the hell she had been born into were completely lost on the small, carefree girl.

But honestly that was for the best. You had made an unspoken promise the moment she entered your life that you would protect her no matter what. From the day of her birth onward it became your mission to keep her as happy and healthy as possible.

Ren had broken you, but she did not have to suffer the same fate.

At this point in her life, your daughter knew nothing of her daddy’s profession or ‘hobbies’, and you wanted it to remain that way for as long as possible, if not for the rest of her life. You dreaded each time Ren came home from an auction, terrified he may let casually slip too many details about his ‘lively client’ or that he would carelessly step through the door with the stains of his liaisons still littering his clothes. Your daughter was at an age where she was brimming with questions, and she was relentless in getting answers to each question she asked. Everything had to be explained in complete detail for her to be satisfied, drop the subject, and move on. She was a smart little thing, possibly too smart for her own good. You highly doubted a silly joke or wave of the hand would assuage her whirring mind should Ren grow too impetuous in her presence.

And should her questioning become too pesky, you fretted over what Ren’s reaction to it may be. The more you tried to avoid thinking about it the more you seemed to fixate on the topic, pondering just how much goading it would take from your daughter before his temper would rear its ugly head.  You, above anyone, had firsthand experience in just how volatile the man could be, the scars that littered your body a testament to his turbulent emotions and violent outbursts.

Looking back on it now, it’s a wonder you survived any of it at all.

Ren often told you he loved you, each confession spoken through honeyed words that spilled from his lips easily and often.  And while you didn’t doubt those words (you knew better than to, at this point), you also knew his sweet nothings weren’t merely a term of endearment, they also served as your curse. He loved you, but he also loved your fealty to him, your adoration and worship of him and only him. Should you not reciprocate his feelings as quickly or ardently as he expected, the mere thought of whatever punishment he would concoct was enough to send you into a debilitating panic attack.

There were few things he loathed more than when you flinched from his affection or if you exhibited any sign of distress towards his presence, especially after he had spent so many years going above and beyond to provide for you, devote himself to you. You had learned early on to keel any feelings of aversion you had to his advances, several of your more prominent scars a brutal reminder of that misstep alone.

 If your daughter uncovered the truth and saw her father for who he truly was, if she began to fear him the way you feared him, how would he respond?  If not only his partner, but his own daughter started shying away from him, what length would he go to to correct this behavior?

Dwelling on it made your skin crawl.

But perhaps all of your worries were asinine. Despite his inclination for cruelty, Ren had never so much as raised a hand towards your daughter, even when she did act up. If anything, he was overprotective of her, barely letting her move faster than a brisk jog lest she fall and hurt herself. He hated seeing his little girl experience even a modicum of physical pain, mentioning to you previously that were he able, he’d keep her locked up in a padded room all day and night to prevent any foreseeable accidents or injuries. Surely it was just his idea of a joke, but the insinuation still made you cringe.

It was almost comical, just how greatly the manifestation of his affection for her differed from how he showed his love for you.

His domineering nature shielded her from experiencing any true pain. Every scrape, bruise, and cut she ever received was superficial, nothing that caused major bleeding or left a lasting impression. She had no way of knowing what had been done to you to cause the scars that marred your form, the torment and hell you experienced with each slash, smack, burn. Hell, she probably didn’t even really understand what a scar actually was. All she knew was that her mommy and daddy had strange marks on their skin that didn’t follow any kind of set pattern, weird jagged lines and indents that her soft skin was curiously free from. The mystery of it all was as puzzling to her young mind as it was enticing.

However, some mysteries were best left unsolved, and just as with each other time she brought up this hot topic, you found yourself unable to look into her clear, bright eyes and tell her any semblance of the truth. She may have been forced upon you, but she was your daughter. You loved her, and you refused to be the one to shatter her innocence. You would keep her ignorant for as long as possible, shielding her to the endless nightmare of your daily lives, even if it cost you your sanity.

“Mommy,” her voice jarred you, dragging you from your thoughts, “mommy did you hear me? I said I think they are pretty!”

“T-that’s… I…” You stuttered, struggling to find the right words to say, your voice coming out much smaller than you intended it to. The room felt like it had dropped thirty degrees, your body twitching in response to the sudden chill.

“Daddy told me he gave some of them to you, like this one,” her pudgy, cold finger pressed into the faded heart that resided on your chest, the first of many indelible sins he had etched onto your form. Only the top half of the carved symbol was viewable above the collar of your shirt, so she tugged at the loose hem until she could see it in its horrible entirety.

“Daddy said he gave you this one because he loves you so much,” her voice grew quiet, a thoughtful look in her eye as they drank in wounds you wished you could forget, “Daddy loves me too, right mommy? You think he’ll give me a cute heart someday too?”

You felt as if you had been hit by a train.

“S-top,” the words were forced from your throat, airy and breathless, as if someone was wringing your neck to make them come out, “p-please, just stop talking.”

“What did you say mama,” your daughters sing-song voice responded as her fingers continued to trace and prod your scars, “You are whispering, is it a secret?”

“I told you to SHUT UP!”

As if following your command, your booming voice instantly silenced the small girl. Unused to such a violent outburst from her mother, her happy-go-lucky nature quickly shifted to one of alert, her tiny body going rigid as she stared up at you with fearful eyes.

Seeing her in such a state and knowing that you were the cause of it would normally have killed you inside, making you fall to your knees to beg for the child’s forgiveness. But right now, the thin thread that had been holding you together had snapped, and your words rushed out in a torrent you couldn’t begin to quell.

“Shut up, shut up, shut UP!” You seethed, clasping your hands to your ears to try and block out your own intrusive voice, “Just STOP TALKING about it! What are you even saying? Why would you ever want to look like this?!”

Tears started to flood your eyes, blurring the image of the girl who had quickly jumped from your lap and was now cowering before you. Through your bleary vision, you could see tears were brimming her eyes as well.

“You… You have no idea,” your voice warbled, shaking in equal parts grief and frustration, “You have no clue what you are saying, so just STOP IT. KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK OF IT AGAIN!”

You slunk from the chair down to the floor, burying your face in your cold, stiff hands. The soft blubbering of your daughter could be heard through your own sobbing.

“I-I’m sorry mommy. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Hearing her broken voice began to shatter the spell you had been under, instant regret jerking you roughly back to reality. Your head sunk lower, your body scrunching itself up as tightly as possible to hide from this cruel reality.

Your screams were born from deeply buried feelings of hatred, tucked far, far away as a means of self-preservation. For a moment, you felt as if you despised your daughter, her existence tethering you to this wretched excuse of a life, binding you irrevocably to Ren. But as you lifted your heavy head, glancing up to stare into her young face, a face so very similar to your own, a face contorted in panic and sadness over her mother’s abrupt descent into madness… you realized it wasn’t her that you hated.

It was yourself.

Your daughter didn’t deserve this. She deserved normalcy. She deserved a father that didn’t pose a threat to her. She deserved a mother that wasn’t ruined by his hands. She deserved a happy and untroubled life, not to be stuck being raised in a barbed cage, navigating her way through life with nothing but the shattered remains of a battered woman to guide her.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked under the weight of your overwhelming emotions, snot and tears running freely down your ruddy cheeks and chin, “I’m so, so sorry baby…”

“What the hell is going on?”

You hadn’t heard the front door open, nor had you heard Ren’s jubilant greeting as he entered your home. He had no doubt been upset by the lack of welcome-it was one thing to be ignored by a child, but his doting wife? That was not something he was not apt to look past.

But surely any feelings of annoyance or frustration fled from his mind the moment he entered the room, his eyes falling upon your crumpled, messy form collapsed on the floor. You cursed his arrival, upset that he entered the scene at such a compromising time, right as you were struggling to regain an ounce of composure and properly apologize to the little girl who had done nothing wrong.

“D-daddy,” your daughter’s voice warbled as she barreled towards him, colliding into his waiting embrace. You wiped at your face in a desperate attempt to hide your previous outpouring of emotions, doing your best to avoid eye contact with Ren as his sharp gaze quickly flicked from you, to his daughter.

This had already become enough of a scene without Ren’s interference, it was best to try and begin damage control now. 

“Daddy I-I made mommy cry!” Tears continued to pour from your daughter’s eyes, her face twisting into a look of pure dismay. Her misguided admission of guilt made you recoil, knowing full well it would grant her no favors with the person she seeking comfort from. “I’m really sorry daddy! I didn’t mean to!”

After several endless seconds of silence, Ren spoke.

“… You made her cry?”

His voice was far sharper than it needed to be, further agitating the precarious state of affairs. In most cases he would have offered your daughter leniency, letting her get away with far more than she probably should. However that leniency was null and void if you ended up suffering in the process.  Ren could not forgive anyone that caused you any duress (himself, of course, being the exemption) even if that person was his own flesh and blood.

“What do you mean you made her cry? What the hell did you do to her?”

“I-I don’t know,” she wailed, a fresh wave of tears spurred on by the accusatory tone of her father’s voice, “I just told mommy I thought her marks were pretty and then she started crying! I wasn’t lying daddy, I like them! I think they make mommy look really pretty!”

“Her marks…?” Ren’s look of vexation began to dissipate as the meaning of her words donned on him. He lifted his arm, rolling up his sleeve to reveal his own scars to the little girl. Pointing a clawed finger to them, he leaned down until he was looking her in the eye, “You mean like these?”

As she nodded her head vigorously in confirmation, Ren tutted, “That’s the reason for all the water works? An innocent compliment started all this fussing?” He scoffed, shaking his head, “Isn’t that a little bit… silly?

You tensed at the sound of his barking laugh, your frown deepening as an amused grin spread wider across his lips. You wished that you could say it was shocking for him to have such disregard after finding the two of you in such an agitated state, but it was painfully in character of him to shrug off your misery and suffering as inconsequential.  How he could so nonchalantly normalize this hellish situation he kept you and your child ensnared in, you would never understand.

Your daughter was apparently sharing similar thoughts, as her face began to once more morph into a pre-sobbing scowl. She was no doubt wounded that her father was not offering her the comfort she was seeking, her emotional state already greatly weakened by her mother’s venomous tantrum.

To help quell another round of tears, Ren pulled the child closer, wrapping her up in his arms so that her tiny form was nearly enveloped by him.  “Shhh, no more tears angel,” he cooed sweetly, patting her head gently to appease her, “There isn’t any reason to cry, especially because… Well, you’re right! Mommy’s whole body is pretty, isn’t it? Her marks just compliment the beauty that’s already there.”

Slowly but surely, her tears began to dissipate. Hunched over shoulders loosened, and sniffles and hiccups gave way to even breathing. Like clockwork, her father’s gentle handling soothed her, the same touch that destroyed you offering her salvation.

As if under a spell, the turmoil that had overcome your daughter quickly began to vanish, her sobbing fading into quiet sniffles. Once she was fully calmed, Ren continued speaking, “That’s all you meant to say to mommy, right angel? I’m sorry she took it the wrong way, she’s probably just tired or hungry, you know how mommy gets. She’ll get over it in no time flat!”

Heat spread through your body at his flippant dismissal of your feelings, an indignant blush lighting your cheeks as you gripped your hands tightly at your side. Your previous emotional episode left you all but drained, but your will to fight back against his callous commentary could never truly be contained.

“In fact, I bet she is already over it now,” Ren’s voice took on a jovial tone as he directed his focus solely on you, “Aren’t you, pumpkin?”

With the ball suddenly in your court, you flinched as both sets of expectant eyes fell on you. Your own eyes darted from Ren’s piercing glare, down to your daughter’s wide-eyed look of unbridled hope. You felt much like the rabbit that had been caught by the fox, stuck in a lose-lose situation. Seeing him hunched over her small body as she clutched to him as a life line, openly concerned that her mother may once more reject her while her father remained a bastion of strength and understanding, left you reeling. Either you would get heated again and stay the villain, but possibly hold on to an ounce of your dignity, or concede to Ren and have yet another piece of your soul wither away and die-the price to pay so that your daughter could remain in blissful ignorance for another day.

“Aren’t you, pumpkin?” He repeated himself slowly, enunciating each word. The kindness in his voice serving only as a mask for the threat buried beneath.

“Y-yes,” you responded quickly, shooting them both a smile you hoped was convincing, “I am very sorry, baby. Daddy is right. Mommy is just… tired.”

A serene smile lit her face, your words placating her. Seeing her happy once more helped relieve a bit of the ache in your own heart, making the lie worth it.

“Good, good,” Ren affirmed with a nod, carefully detaching himself from your daughter as he stood, “but you know little one, mommy deserves some love too, don’t you think? She may have been in the wrong, but it’s not nice to make her cry like that. Why don’t you go give her a hug, hm?”

With no further persuading necessary, she quickly padded over to you, hopping on your lap with so much enthusiasm that it nearly knocked the wind from you. Her arms tightly latched around your torso as she smushed her face into your chest, rubbing it back and forth like she was trying to burrow beneath your skin.

“I love you mommy,” her voice spoke clearly, any hint of previous sadness long gone. You sighed, relieved that this dramatic chapter was over as you pulled your daughter closer to you.

“I love you too.”

During this show of affection, Ren had made his way behind you, slinking so deftly you hadn’t even known he had moved until you heard him chuckle softly behind you.

“This is what I like to see,” he spoke with a sickeningly dreamy sigh, “nothing makes me happier than when my two girls are happy.”

He placed his hands gingerly atop your shoulders, trailing them down until they rested on your arms. His thumbs pressed gently against the marred skin, rubbing in a small circular motion in an attempt to subdue you. His claws grazed your flesh, uncomfortably scratching against you as they snagged against your skin.

He planted a firm and lingering kiss to the side of your head, pulling away just enough that his lips grazed the shell of your ear. “There really was nothing to cry about,” he whispered breathily, his words quiet enough that despite your daughters’ proximity, she would have no chance of hearing them. “It’s almost unfair how gorgeous you are, scars and all. But you must know that, right my sweet pet? I tell you all the time.”

Ren took in a deep breath, releasing it in a shaky sigh, “Seeing these scars reminds me of all we have been through, all that we share. They are a symbol of our bond.”

One of his claws pressed down sharply, a small bead of blood pooling around the piercing. Leisurely he began to drag his finger up your arm, a thin red line following in its wake. You shivered at the burning sensation, but deigned to give him any reaction further than that.

“Don’t forget pumpkin, these pretty marks are a reminder of my constant love for you.” He chuckled softly, peppering a few kisses to the back of your neck while his claws slowly sunk deeper, “And right now I am feeling  terribly sentimental, so for old times’ sake, why don’t I add a few more to remind you just how precious to me you are~?”

[s6lars]

dress.

a harmless prank leaves jamal acting unexpectedly and you're determind to find out why — even if it forces you to get dangerously close. (wc: 7.5k)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. jm42 x reader, ft. mathys tel

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. smut — mdni! with a good chunk of plot, jealous brother’s bsf jamal.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. cursing, drinking, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering + more

𝐀/𝐍. requested here, thank you for waiting patiently anon !! this is also my first time writing in months, i'm so terribly sorry that i'm rusty and it might not be my greatest work. but i hope you enjoy ! (also this is not proofread lol)

“Fuck!” you groan, examining the plastic bag in your hands.

“What? What’s wrong?” You chew on on your bottom lip, setting the bag on your thighs where you kneeled on the floor. You pick up your phone, flipping the camera so your friend could see on Facetime.

“They sent me the wrong one.”

Nothing destresses you quite as much as online shopping, and with your finals finished a few days ago, you’d gone crazy on the internet — fitting as much as your cart would allow it. The stack of boxes in your room began to pile as the orders came in one by one, and once they all did, you treated yourself to your own version of Christmas.

“Which one did you get originally?” your friend, Andrea, asks. You’ve been giving her an unboxing of everything you’d bought for yourself, opening packages on your bedroom floor with your speaker blasting Drake in the back.

“I ordered this in green, they gave it to me in black.” 

“Oh. Well, at least it’s the same dress right?” Andrea takes a bite out of the donut she’s eating. “I still think it looks nice.” “Yeah, me too. But I already have, like, 3 other black dresses,” you sigh.

“I think you should still try it on.” “You think?” “Yeah, why not? It’s just in a different color anyway.” Andrea’s right. You’re not really in the mood to go through the hassle of online returns and back-and-forth conversations with the seller. 

You leave your phone on your bedroom floor to get changed off-camera, standing in front of your mirror. The dress feels promising as you pull it out of the bag — it’s strapless, jet black in color with a few cutouts on the side joined by metal rings, exposing your sides. It feels smooth as you slide it on, the stretchy material hugging your curves and the hem stopping on your mid thighs.

“So…” You pick up your phone, showing the dress off to Andrea. “How does it look?”

Andrea gasps in awe, making you giggle at her reaction. “Oh my god, I think I’m liking this one the most so far,” she raves, and you look to the pile of the other dresses you’d bought on your floor.

You adjust the dress, smoothing it out, pulling the hem lower. The dress is gorgeous, hugging you in all the right places. You check yourself out in the mirror, feeling more confident the longer you have it on.

“This is so nice, actually. Who even cares about the color anymore, I’m obsessed,” you gush.

“Mhm. And you can wear it with that purse you bought, and with the gold jewelry as well,” Andrea suggests, and you hum in agreement. As she’s talking, you reach for your water bottle on your nightstand, disappointed when you realize it’s empty. “Hey, I’m gonna fill up my water, give me a sec,” you state, muting yourself and tossing your phone on your bed.

You waltz in the kitchen, bringing your speaker with you, taking advantage of the fact that you’re home alone. You incoherently hum along to SZA, waiting for your bottle to be filled — and a loud noise erupts from behind where you stood.

“BOO!” 

You shriek, body jolting forward, causing some of the water to spill on your dress and your speaker to almost fall loose from your grip.

“What the fu— Oh my god, J.” You’re met with familiar brown eyes as you turned around, seeing Jamal with his hands flat on the kitchen island where he’d slammed them. He giggles at your annoyance. 

To most, Jamal is Bayern’s starboy, a young player dazzling in the world of football. To you, he’s your brother’s best friend, and someone who shows up unannounced to your house a lot. Your older brother Noah works in the industry as an agent, and the two of them met many years ago as teenagers. Now, they’re close as ever — so close, that Noah trusts him enough to give him a spare keycard to your shared apartment.

You met Jamal not long after they hit it off, and you can safely say you’ve also become friends with him now.

Just friends. That’s all you’ll ever be.

Like Noah has stressed multiple times before.

You grab a towel, dabbing the wet spot on your dress. “What do you want, J?”

“Is Noah home?” “No. He went to the gym,” you respond, groaning, making sure your dissatisfaction is heard loud and clear. Once you do, you turn off the obnoxiously loud speaker that prevented you from hearing his entrance. 

“Without me?”

“Yeah, he needed the time alone, clearly,” you snap back, circling around the kitchen island to face him. As you do, Jamal’s eyes trail down your body, your dress now revealed, his face twisting in a mix of confusion and awe. 

“Bit early for a night out, no?” He says, clearly referencing to your dress. He’d be right, it’s only the early evening.

You look down at your dress before meeting his eyes again, seeing him shift uncomfortably. “Who said this was for a night out?”

He cocks his head to the side. “It’s not?”

The devil on your shoulder is telling you to get back at him for almost ruining your dress and breaking your speaker. If he can show up unannounced, why can’t you lie and pull a few strings? “No… it’s for a date.”

You lie straight through your teeth, making up a story as you go. Jamal’s jaw falls slack, like he’s about to say something, but then it closes before he does.

“A… date?” He heard you the first time. He just wants to know if you’re being serious.

And you keep pretending that you are. “Yeah, a date. Why’s that so shocking?” You fold your arms, leaning against the kitchen island.

Jamal pauses. “With who?” While you’re biting the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from laughing, he’s having none of it. His eyebrows are furrowed, his jaw tense as he questions you.

“With this guy from uni. He’s just so sweet,” you sigh dreamily for dramatic effect, dragging the gimmick as long as you could. “We’ve been talking for a while and now he wants to get serious.” “Serious?” 

“...Yeah. I really think we could be a thing.” Your face falters at Jamal’s deadpan response. You’re only joking with him, but even if you weren’t, why is the mention of a date getting him like this?

You succesfully pulled his strings— but you don’t know if you should be happy or not. Jamal looks at you, almost in offense, and you can practically see the steam coming off of his ears. You’ve known him for a while, and yet this is the first you’ve seen of him like this.

“Tell Noah I’m not hanging out today.” Jamal storms out the kitchen, your mouth falling agape at his reaction. You trail behind him, worried that you took it too far.

“What? No, Jamal wait—” He doesn’t spare a single glance as he marches out the door, slamming it in your face, sending the hinges rattling. You’re frozen in your spot, unable to move or even process what just happened for a few moments before you’re dragging yourself back to your room, still slightly shaken.

You grab your phone and unmute yourself, still seeing Andrea on the line.

“Hey.” 

“Hey, what took you so long?” She notices the startled look in your eyes, sitting up in her bed.

“Sorry. Jamal … came over earlier. It was weird,” you say, slumping against your headboard.

“Weird? Isn’t he your friend? Or a friend of your brother?”

“Yeah, but… well, I—” you exhale, taking the time to string your words properly. “I was joking around, but then he got really upset and stormed out,” you explain.

“What the hell?” “I know. I’ve never seen him that pissed off. Not because of me at least.”

“That’s so weird. All over a joke?” “Yeah.” “What a prick,” Andrea sneers.

“No, don’t say that.” You’re not sure why, but you don’t really want to tell Andrea that the joke in question involved you lying about going on a date. “Hey, I gotta go. Bye.” 

You abruptly end the call carelessly tossing your phone aside. Now that you’re alone, you stare at the ceiling, finally having the time to process the interaction. The mood has shifted now. An inkling creeps into your thoughts as to why Jamal got so defensive, but you shrug it off, terrified of its consequences, terrified it would manifest.

“It’s probably nothing,” you mumble to yourself. But is it? You’re tossing and turning in bed because something is telling you that it’s not just nothing, and you have to find out for yourself.

You have to talk to Jamal.

“You’re up early.”

Stopping in your tracks, you turn around to see Noah splayed on the living room couch, working on his laptop.

You take a sip from your mug, setting it down on the coffee table before replying. “And you’re home for once.”

Noah gets exceptionally busy during the transfer window. You’ve been getting used to spending weeks home alone, or only catching him in the early mornings or coming in late at night, but almost never when the sun was out. Part of you thinks it’s not just work that’s been holding up, though.

“You know how busy I get in January,” Noah says. He squints as he watches you sit adjacent to him, putting on your socks and shoes. “And where are you headed?”

You pause. “Just going on a walk.”

Noah doesn’t need to know that the walk in question is en route to Jamal’s house.

Last night, you went to bed uneasy, hoping you could sleep it off. You woke up this morning and nothing had changed, and that’s when you decided you had to talk to Jamal immediately or you’d explode by midday. Noah being home wasn’t part of your plans.

He’s always been a little protective, as all older brothers are to their sisters. You vividly recall when you first met Jamal at one of his infamous house parties— alone in the kitchen, getting drinks for your friends when he strolled in, starting a conversation. It was an instant connection, with you finding yourself taking your sweet time just to keep talking to him.

Of course, Noah barged in at one point, throwing his arm around you and escorting you out of the kitchen himself, not before interrogating you on your conversation with Jamal.

Although he’s loosened up since, you know Noah would start getting skeptical if you told him you were headed to Jamal’s place first thing in the morning. But what Noah doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“Right, bye.” Just as you stand up to leave, Noah interrupts.

“Wait! Can you get some sandwiches from the café when you come back? Thanks!” 

“As long as you pay me back!” you chime, already halfway out the door.

The walk to Jamal’s place is a rare but not unfamiliar one. You live not too far away, and there have been countless times where you had to pick Noah up after a night out, so you knew the way well. You could’ve taken your car, but you decided you need the extra time for yourself, deciding on a walk.

You’re not really sure what you’re getting out of this. Your mind fluctuates between feeling like this is the right thing to do and the urge to turn back and buy those sandwiches Noah was talking about earlier.

But you never do, and now you’re standing in front of his doorway.

Unlike with your house, Jamal’s never given you a spare set of keys so you can waltz into his at any given moment. You take a deep breath before ringing the doorbell, your heart beating out of your chest as you do.

Silence. You ring the doorbell a few more times, hearing the soft pattering of footsteps behind the door. 

You fix your hair and adjust your clothes, awaiting Jamal’s arrival. 

Instead, you’re met with the sight of a woman when the door swings open.

A half-naked woman.

She looks slightly older than you, dressed in only a sports bra and sweats, her hair tussled like she just woke up. You’re both looking at each other up and down, confused. This is the first you two have seen of each other.

“Can I help you?” She’s the first to break the silence. You reluctantly meet her gaze. There’s a weird territorial atmosphere lingering between you two, like the person standing before you shouldn’t be here.

“Uh, I’m looking for Jamal,” you say, your voice coming out a lot shakier than you anticipated. A pit continues to grow in your stomach. You probably should have turned back home when you had the chance.

“Oh, he’s in the shower.”

Your heart drops. You’re not an idiot, and you’re no child— you can put two and two together. Neither is Jamal, and you know he probably hooks up with someone whenever he gets the chance. But why does that bother you so much? And why are you only feeling this way now?

You’re lost in your thoughts, and the woman waves a hand in front of your face, trying to pull you back to reality.. “Did you need anything? He’ll probably take a while.”

You shake your head, already getting ready to take off. “Just tell him I was joking yesterday.”

“Huh?” Turning around on your heels, you leave the woman hanging, walking away from the door. Whatever you were expecting to happen when you got to Jamal’s place, it surely isn’t this.

You glare straight ahead, not caring for whoever you bumped into. All you knew was just in that moment, you had to get as far away as possible from Jamal’s house. And so you did, marching as far as your legs would take you, until beads of sweat ran down your temples and your breathing turned heavy.

Maybe Noah was right in trying to put some distance between you two.

Meanwhile, Jamal dries himself off with a towel as he leaves his bathroom. He walks into the kitchen to grab some breakfast, passing by his front door, seeing the girl he picked up last night standing by.

She hears his footsteps as he comes down the stairs, turning to face him. “Morning, baby,” she coos, putting on the best lovey-dovey voice she could muster.

Jamal winces at the remark. “I’ll get you a taxi after you shower,” he replies, walking right past her and into the kitchen. The girl rolls her eyes, groaning silently. She doesn’t know why she keeps trying to get closer to him when all they’re doing this for is sex.

“Some girl came over while you were in the shower, by the way,” she brazenly states, hoping to get his attention for once. 

“Who?” “Like I know. She just came by and asked if you were here, and then told me to tell you that she was just joking yesterday?”

It works. Jamal stops dead in his tracks. “And what did she look like?” The girl starts describing how you looked from the short appearance you made earlier. The more she speaks, she sees the gears turning in Jamal’s head as he puts two and two together, ultimately realizing that you had gone all the way to his house just to talk to him.

He looks at the girl before him. She came all the way to his house, probably to apologize, just to be met with one of his random hookups who he barely even spoke to outside his bedroom.

Jamal’s eyes widen in realization at how horribly he’d fucked up, abandoning his breakfast and rushing back up the stairs.

“Where are you going? Who is she?” The girl asks, waving her hand to get his attention, though all her calls are ignored as he shoves his way into his room to go looking for his phone, unplugging it from where it was charging on his nightstand.

His fingers rapidly dart across the screen as he types out a message, a desperate attempt at reaching you before it was too late.

[07:42] jamal: did you come over earlier? [07:43] jamal: i promise it’s not what it looks like [07:43] jamal: we can talk if you want to [07:43] jamal: just the two of us

Your phone buzzes four seperate times as you stand in line at the café down the street from your apartment building. Sometime during your walk, Noah had transferred some money into your account for both breakfast and you figured you needed the distraction.

It didn’t last long as you pulled your phone from your pocket, seeing the notifications from Jamal poured in. You shut your eyes, collecting your emotions before you shoved it back in, fixing your hair in frustration.

Out of sight, out of mind. Jamal got his chance when you were at his doorstep, willing, and he you weren’t about to give him a second. The fact that he thinks you would sets something off in you.

He watches as his texts stay on delivered. Deep down, he knows you read them through your lockscreen, and now you were choosing to deliberately ignore him. He stares at the screen in defeat, before another text comes in.

[08:01] noah: you’re coming over tomorrow night yeah?

The party. Noah had invited him and some other players to hang out before the season started, a tradition that’s persisted in the friend group for years. It’s hosted at his place this time around, a golden oppportunity.

Jamal has to talk to you.

For the first time in his life, Jamal regrets going to a party.

He’s used to having a blast, used to being the man in any room he walks into, instantly greeted by faces both familiar and unfamiliar, desperate to show him around— desperate to be seen with him.

Now, he throws his head back agains the wall of Noah’s living room, drink in hand, asking himself why he even left the house today.

Jamal arrived extra early to his friend’s place, hoping to catch you in a moment alone before it got busy. To his dismay, Noah informed him that you’d been out since the morning. Then he had to help him clean. A total nightmare.

He’s not so sure if you knew he was coming today, or just so happened to not be at home. Whatever the reasoning, he’d rather not have turned up altogether had you not been here.

While he’s drinking away his sorrows, you’re pushing him out of your mind as you spent the day with your friends. Shopping, going to the spa, more shopping, bar hopping— it was a perfect day.

Your smile quickly faded when you came home and was greeted with a crowd of men in your living room.

“Hey! You’re home,” Noah greets, pulling you into a hug. He gives you a look of guilt as he sees your eyes squint in confusion, knowing he didn’t tell you he was inviting people over.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But I figured you’d be out the whole day!” he reasons. 

“You’re so fucking annoying, I hope you know that,” you sneer, and Noah can’t fight back. You scan the crowd, seeing a few familiar faces. If it wasn’t for them, you would have cussed him out right then and there.

He knows you’re tired from going out all day, he knows you just want to rest. “Okay, listen, this isn’t anything crazy, we’re just gonna drink and talk, no loud music or inviting more people. It’s just my friends.”

Friends. You scan the crowd once more. If Noah ever mentions anything about friends, one person is almost always involved.

Jamal. You lock eyes with him, he’s been staring at you from across the room since you walked in the door. There’s a mix of anger, frustration and yearning brewing in your chest. You want to shove him down a flight of stairs. You also want to run into his arms. It’s complicated.

Noah shoves a can of beer in your hands, and you finally look away from Jamal. “Here, take this. Loosen up,” he says before leaving. You sip away your unwanted emotions and wince like it stings going down. 

Knowing Jamal is here and with the intention of talking to you sparks an idea in your brain, washing a boost of confidence over your body. He can’t look away from you and you know it, and you had to take this chance in sending him a message.

Your message comes in the form of a youngster sitting on the living room couch.

“Mathys!” You approach him, arms wide to pull him in for a hug that seems a little too friendly in Jamal’s eyes. He grips his glass harder.

“Hey! When did you come in?” he asks, and you sit next to him, grazing your thigh against his. You take a big swig from the can, needing the extra tenacity.

“Not too long ago.” You start talking to Mathys about your day, striking up a normal conversation. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch glimpses of Jamal glancing at you from time to time. It’s not enough. You want him to feel the way you did when you showed up on his doorstep the other day.

Mathys was happily recounting his encounter with some rapper he’d crossed paths with when you put your hand on his leg, rubbing his thigh up and down. You leaned in to his ear, covering your mouth to avoid Jamal from reading your lips. He jumps slightly at the motion, you’re never this close to him.

“Can I tell you something?” He nods, scared but intrigued.

“I’m trying to piss Jamal off. Will you help me?” Similarly to Jamal, you and Mathys have always been close friends. He’s younger than you, so you’ve always viewed him like a little brother more than anything, but that’s not to say you don’t appreciate his company. You knew he would definitely be down to help you tonight.

Mathys pulls away, searching deep in your eyes for certainty. He discovers you’re serious.

A smirk plays on his face as he nods slowly to himself. He’s not stupid, he quickly pieces things together. If he’s being honest, he’s always known something was going on between you and Jamal anyway. “Alright, alright. Deal.” “Deal, yeah? If anything I do gets too far, just tell me,” you assure.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be worth it in the end. Do what you must,” he says, winking.

It didn’t take long for the ball to start rolling. It starts off innocent — you laugh just a little too loud at one of his jokes, planting your palm on his chest as you do, playing with your hair. The small gesture has Jamal shifting uncomfortably where he stood.

It wasn’t enough.

You pull out your phone, asking Mathys if he wants a picture. He extends one arm behind you on the couch, leaning into you. Wrapping his shoulders with your free arm, you pushed your heads together, scooting closer to him, to the point where your legs were folded over his thighs. Jamal knows what you’re doing now, and it’s driving him to insanity. Yet, he stands there, unmoving.

It wasn’t enough.

The final straw came from Mathys. You tipped your drink as far back as you could, trying to get the last few sips from the can. A few stray drops landed on the corner of your mouth instead, dribbling down your chin as you raised your hand below it to make it stop. 

He reaches over to catch the beer with his thumb, cupping your face, gently swiping your lips.

Jamal storms out of the living room.

Mathys takes his hand off of you immediately afterwards, and you two share a laugh, feeling achieved. “Well, he’s really pissed now,” he remarks.

“Good.”

He glances at you in curiousity at your deadpan, sly response. He had fun doing this whole tidbit with you, but he doesn’t even know why you’re doing it in the first place. “What’d he even do to you for you to do this?”

“Long story,” you say it in a way that lets him know you’re not going to go into further detail. You stand up from the couch, bag in hand. “I’ll be in my room. Thanks Mathys, that was fun.” He winks at you, clicking his tongue in response.

You made the walk to you room with your head held high in victory. The message you were delivering was definitely heard by Jamal, loud and clear. He’s not the only one that gets to mess around with whoever he wants. 

You kick your heels off, throwing your bag on the floor and plopping down on the bed, scrolling on your phone. Tossing and turning, you ended up curled with your back facing the door, and that’s when it barges open.

“Hey.” You turn around, it’s Noah. You go back to scrolling on your phone.

“What do you want?” “I’m not gonna be at home tonight, yeah? Most of the guys already left anyway. Just wanted to let you know,” he says, rambling. “It’s just, work stuff…” You roll your eyes. Noah’s always been bad at keeping secrets, especially when it involves girls.

“Yes Noah, I’ll be fine alone while you go spend the night with that girl you met in Berlin. We all know you like her.” You don’t even have to look at Noah to know his mouth had fallen slack, the words being ripped from his throat.

“Man. That bad, huh?” Noah chuckles. “Alright, I’m leaving. Bye,” he says, shutting the door behind him.

A few minutes pass as you lied there unmoving. still scrolling through your feed when the door opens a second time. You hear the hinge creak open and the click of the knob as the person enters your room without saying a word.

You sit up straight, looking behind you. “Mathys? Is that y—” It’s Jamal. Daggers shoot from his eyes, watching you roll your eyes and go back to using your phone.

“What do you want, Jamal?” you groan. The fact that you’re not calling him by his usual nickname, not bothering to even spare a glance has his face contorting.

“Since when have you and Mathys been that close?” His voice is deep, interrogative, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t tense up at his tone, chills arising through your body.

You build up the courage to face him properly, sitting on the edge of your bed. “Why should I tell you about the people I’m hanging out with?”

“Hanging out?” he spits in disbelief, vitriol laced in his words.

“Yeah! Hanging out, Jamal, what’s so wrong about that? Huh?” you exclaim. You can’t believe the sheer hypocrisy in his words. “You’re one to judge, at least I was only talking to Mathys anyway.” “He had his hand around your neck and he was just gawking at your body the whole time, don’t act stupid!” he snaps back, raising his hands and dropping them to his sides.

You jump onto your feet. “At least I don’t go around fucking other girls as soon as one of them stops giving me attention!” Jamal’s eyes widen, offended. You both know what you were referring to.

“You told me you were going on a date with someone! You said he was the one — how the fuck was I supposed to know you were joking?!” He takes a few steps closer.

You struggle to find the right response, your mouth periodically opening and closing. He’s got a point. You hate that he does. “You didn’t even give me the chance to explain myself! You just stormed out of the house!”

“Yeah, of course! After hearing you say that, of course I did!” “Why?!” you ask, watching his eyes go wide, his mouth shut, unable (or maybe not wanting) to respond. “Tell me why.” Now it’s you who takes a step closer, and Jamal’s at arms length, causing you to look up at him as you speak.

He says nothing back. 

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief.

“That’s what I thought,” you mumble. You move past him, lightly bumping your shoulders together as you do to convey your anger. You need to get a drink from the kitchen, and hopefully by the time you come back, Jamal will be gone.

Just as your fingers graze the doorknob, a strong grip gets a hold of your arm. It all happened so fast. One second you were facing the door, the next — your back hit the wall, and Jamal’s lips were on yours.

The kiss was hungry, one of Jamal’s hands on the back of your head, tilting it to kiss you deeper, the other on your waist. Your arms naturally wrapped around his neck, scratching the back of his head, pulling him closer.

One of Jamal’s knees slipped between your legs, rubbing against your crotch. A breathy moan escaped your lips, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth, meeting yours. It was a messy, desperate kiss — a clash of teeth and tongue, Jamal making up with his lips what he can’t with his voice.

Jamal runs his hands up and down your dress. Your dress — it’s the same one you wore a few days ago, when you first got into the argument. It’s driving him crazy and you know it, it’s evident in the way he trails his mouth lower to your neck and down to your exposed cleavage.

“Jl,” you whine, teetering on a plea. He presses his forehead against yours, watching your eyes trained on him, your lipstick smeared and loose strands flying from your hair. He don’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful.

“This dress looks so good on you.” It’s all he can say before he’s kissing you again, a lot softer this time around.

“Mhm. Wore it just for you,” you breathe in between kisses. “Now take it off, please.” Your voice, your words, they rush straight to his cock. 

“Jump,” he instructs, and you do. Jamal walks over to your bed, plopping you on the soft pillows, his lips moulding against yours the whole time. He presses kisses lower on your neck, sucking, biting, being sure to leave a trail of purple marks for to blossom tomorrow morning.

Jamal takes the cut of your dress in his hands, pulling the fabric down, groaning at the sight of you without a bra. He wastes no time in swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud, causing you to throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist. He sucks and pulls with his teeth, moulding the other with his hands before switching, grinding down on your clothed core.

Once he’s satisified, he takes one last look at your tits — now glossy with his spit and marked purple, before climbing lower down your body. He bunches the material of your dress up your waist, exposing your panties to him.

Jamal takes hold of your legs, pressing a kiss to your crotch, smirking when your back arches, whining at the contact. 

“Fuck, don’t tease, please.” Your hand pushes his head closer to where you’re dripping, where you want him the most.

Jamal chuckles at your desperation, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and tossing them carelessly aside. He spreads your lips, cursing under his breath when he sees the string of wetness that’s accumulated.

“You’re soaked,” he says, planting delicate kisses to the inside of your thighs, intently watching how you jolt at each one.

“Jamal, please.” He loves it when you beg. 

“Shh, I know, baby.” And he finally licks one long strip up your pussy, relishing in the way a moan is punched from your lips. You’re lucky your brother is out for the night, because he’s certain it can be heard through the walls.

He plants a few more kisses before spreading your lips, delving his tongue in your hole. Your thighs clamp shut around his head, but his strength pries them open. He alternates between fucking you with his tongue and sucking your clit, swirling figure-eights on it.

You’re a writhing mess, your throat dry from moaning and calling his name over and over. Jamal never wants to stop hearing the pretty noises you make.

He continues to push his tongue in your cunt, using his thumb to circle your clit, doubling the pleasure. He explores your walls, finding the spongy spot that punches a particularly loud moan from your throat.

“Fuck! Don’t—ah—don’t stop,” you beg, and Jamal is happy to oblige. He moans into your pussy, the vibrations rushing through your body. He feels you get wetter by the second, your juices coating his mouth and running down the sheets.

Your breathing is short and erratic, your fingers tugging at his hair as your orgasm washes over you, cumming all over Jamal’s mouth. He licks the slick running down your inner thighs, pressing some final few kisses to your clit before hovering over you, meeting your eyes.

The sight of Jamal above you is nothing short of glorious — his chin glossy from your juices, his eyes blown out and his lips plump and swollen. He can say the same for you below him, once snappy and sarcastic now panting and ruined.

You cup his cheek, adorlingly gazing into his eyes before tasting yourself on his tongue. He takes your wrists, one by one, pinning them above your head with one hand.

“Need to make sure you can take me, baby,” he coos. “Is that okay?” You nod rapidly. You’d say yes to anything if he asked.

Jamal chuckles, his free hand trailing lower down your body and finding your clit. You’re still sensitive from your last orgasm, bucking up into his hand when he does.

“J—oh.” He slips a finger into your cunt, watching the way your eyes roll to the back of your head and your jaw falls agape as you do. He pumps slowly at first, feeling your pinned hands try to escape his grip, but he pushes them down harder.

After a few moments, he slips another one in, filling you with two digits. “Shit,” you whine, closing your eyes shut.

“You can take it, yeah?” he asks. 

“Mhm, I can take more, a lot more.” Jamal feels his cock throb in his pants, desperate to be freed. He picks up the pace, and you squirm beneath him, taking your bottom lip in your teeth.

Jamal pushes deeper, curling his fingers inside your walls. Every time he fucks into you, his palm rubs against your clit, only adding to the pleasure. Once he finds your sweet spot, he relentlessly goes faster, chasing your second orgasm.

“Oh my god, fuck,” you blabber, unable to focus on anything else than the feeling of Jamal’s fingers.

“Hey, look at me,” he instructs, and eyes shoot open on instinct, seeing his brown eyes bore into yours.

“Want to see how you look when you cum.” 

You struggle in keeping your eyes open but do so to the best of your ability, your chest heaving up and down as your moans get more sporadic. Jamal is lost in your eyes, his wrist starting to tire from his movements. After one rough push of his hands, shockwaves rippling through your body as your second orgasm washes over you.

Slick runs down your thighs, onto the bedsheets and on Jamal’s wrist. He pulls out, causing you to whimper at the loss of contact before he licks them clean, tasting every last drop. Jamal sits up on his heels and you follow suit, kneeling in front of him. You grab the hem of his shirt, quickly pushing it up and over his head, exposing his torso. You’re entranced by his physique, trailing your nails down his chest and abs. His hand cups your cheek, pulling you into a kiss.

“Fuck me, J,” you plead in between kisses, and how could he say no?

“Get on all fours.” You flip over, arching your back, hanging your ass in the air for him. You hear the clink of his belt as he pulls down his trousers, watching from over your shoulder.

“I told you to take my dress off,” you remind him, lightening the mood a bit. You have to stifle back a moan as he spreads your ass, pulling you flush against the shape of his bulge, lowly moaning when he does. 

Jamal pauses for a moment. “Nah.” He pulls his boxers down, taking his cock in his hands, hard and throbbing, jerking himself off before aligning the tip with your pussy.

“Wanna fuck you in it.” 

He slides his cock up and down your slit before pushing into you in one long stroke. A long moan is drawn from your throat as your head drops, feeling him slowly stretch you out, stopping until his pelvis was flush with your ass. 

It takes a few moments for you to adjust to his size, hearing Jamal whisper soft praises as he grips your hips, rolling his slowly to help. Once you do, he pulls back out, only living the tip in your cunt, before slamming back in and finding a rhythm.

“Shit,” you spit through a mix of moans and curses, feeling him push into you over, and over, and over. After a particulary rough snap of his hips, your elbows give out under you, causing you to bury your face in the sheets, arching your back harder.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect.” You hear Jamal breathe from behind you. His eyes are trained on where you’re taking him raw, seeing the glossy sheen coat his shaft, glowing underneath your bedroom lights.

His hands are rough where he gropes, alternating between bunching your dress up higher, spreading your ass and gripping your hips, slamming you against him harder. 

Jamal pulls you up to his chest, one hand loosely hanging around your neck. You can barely process the change of position until you feel his bare chest flush against your back.

His lips curl into a smirk, watching your mouth slightly open, the filthiest of sounds pouring out into his ears, spit welling in its corners. Your eyes struggle to stay open, your head lulling on his shoulder.

“Don’t—ah—don’t stop, please,” you blabber, drunk on his hips snapping up into you. 

Jamal plants a featherlight kiss on your temple. “Never.” He plants another. “So good, so good for me.”

He moulds his lips against yours, a messy clash of teeth and tongue. You struggle to kiss back, only whining into his mouth.

The knot in your stomach grows tighter by the second, your moans getting increasingly higher pitched by the second, your face contorting in pleasure. You’re close, Jamal knows it too.

“I’m close, fuck.” You reach out to him behind you, trying to lock him in place so he doesn’t stop. Not like he was planning on it, anyway.

Jamal twitches inside you, and you know he’s close too. His thrusts get sloppier, more sporadic, chasing your high before his own.  “Cum for me, go on,” he coos, lips ghosting over your earlobe. 

He reaches around your torso, his fingers finding your clit, circling figure-eights. It’s all it takes for your orgasm to wash over you in waves, sending your thighs shaking. Jamal doesn’t stop, he fucks you through it all, pressing kisses on your neck and shoulder, fingers still trained between your thighs. Jamal pulls out, causing you to hiss at the sudden sensation of being empty. You’re spent, chest heaving and sticky with sweat, but you still find the energy to turn around, facing him. He’s jerking himself off in his hands, his cock red and throbbing, begging for a release.

You look up at him with mischievous eyes, his own watching your every move. You pull your dress up and over your head, leaving yourself bare in front of him, sitting on your heels.

Jamal kneels high above you, groaning when he watches you push your tits together, inviting him closer. His head tips back when you stick your tongue out, kitten licking the tip of his cock, tasting the precum dripping from its head.

Strings of white liquid are painted across your chest as Jamal cums, shuddering. You feel some hit your chin, darting your tongue to get a taste, never breaking eye contact.

He cups your chin, pressing his lips onto yours, leaving chaste kisses. You both stay like that for a while, lazily making out, smiling against each other’s lips.

Jamal plants one final kiss before pulling away. “Stay here, I’ll get you cleaned up.” He walks in your bathroom, leaving with a towel and a water bottle he’d found somewhere not long after. 

You let him gently swipe the towel against your chest, his hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing back and forth against your skin. While you two sat in silence, it wasn’t an awkward one, far from it. It was comforting. It felt familiar, this domesticity. It felt natural.

You don’t say anything when he pulls you to lay on his chest. You don’t say anything when he pulls the blanket over you two, turning off the lights. You just focus on his heartbeat.

A throbbing headache has been your alarm these past few mornings, and today is no different.

The sunlight spills through the cracks in your curtains, bleeding through your shut eyelids. You slowly ease into consciousness, sitting up and rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

The first thing that hits you is the cold. A shiver runs through your body, instinctively pulling the blanket closer to you.

The second thing that hits you is your lack of clothes. You blink away the drowsiness, examining yourself, completely bare. Peculiar, but not unfamiliar.

The third thing that hits you is the weight on the opposite side of your bed when you yank the comforter. Your eyes widen at the sight of an undressed Jamal, blanket only covering so much, stirring awake next to you. His toned abs in full display, glowing golden in the sunlight.

It doesn’t take long for your brain to floor your memories of recollections from last night. You wince, face scrunching in disbelief as the images flashed in your head one by one.  What were you thinking?

You bend down to grab the first article of clothing you could find — Jamal’s shirt. Not ideal but it’ll do. You put it on to cover yourself, standing up with the plan of getting as far away from him as possible.

A strong grip on your arm stops your plans. 

Jamal calls your name, voice gruff and thick with the early morning. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the sound.

“Where are you headed?” he asks, adoringly.

No. This is wrong. You can’t think of him that way, someone who’s supposed to be irrevocably off-limits — so you get right to the point.

“Jamal.” His eyebrows furrow at the sound of you calling his full name. You’re never in a good mood when you do. “This, this cant… we can’t…” You watch him look up at you like he was expecting this from a mile away. 

With one pull, he tugs you back in bed, causing you to sit on his lap, albeit not fully. You don’t want to run away from him, deep down you know you don’t, and he knows that too. 

“Why? You scared of Noah?” 

You’re not sure how to respond.

“This isn’t even, I mean, we’re not even…” you struggle to string the right words together.

Jamal cups your cheek and you melt into his touch. Your words say one thing but your body suggests another. 

“I like you, I really do. I know I didn’t get the chance to say it last night,” he assures. You feel your cheeks heat at the sudden confession. “I don’t want to see you with someone else. I don’t want to act like I’m perfectly fine when you bring up some other guy.” You look deep into his eyes with a look that says, me too. After last night you knew you and Jamal would never be the same, for better or for worse. You pick the former.

“And especially not Mathys, Jesus.” You chuckle, finally lightening up. “Out of all the people you wanted to use to make me jealous, you chose him. Blegh.”

The giggles leaving your chest are unabashed the second time around. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, and it sucked.” Jamal’s palm lets go of your face, dropping down to take your hand in his. He resumes to his original point. “I want this, okay? I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to see you in my shirt every day,” he says while fumbling with the hem of his shirt hanging off your frame. 

“I want you.” 

You wrap an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in closer, this time properly sitting on his lap. “Never took you for such a romantic, J.” 

He stifles in a laugh, pressing his forehead against yours before closing the gap. You’re finally his.

[erensfeed]

OKAY BUT.

I woke up this morning with like, a flashing need to send you an ask about your LADS Actor AU, which sometimes just consumes my thoughts at random times.

👁️ But the boys recording the MYTHS.

Angst CENTRAL ANGST.

I just remembered the last update where they were doing Caleb's death (haha temporary of course, he's just taking a break) and she's acting out how she passes out and he pops up next to her like, why so sad?

And like... Recording the HEART BREAKING bits of their myths?

Spoilers ahead in case you HAVEN'T seen them all, won't go into detail but...

Dying in Xavier's arms? Forseer Zayne reading her fate and giving up everything for her? Rafayel having to chose between her life and his people's?

Whatever the fuck Sylus has got goin on? With the whole stabbing in the chest?

I was just consumed by the thought of them having to get into that headspace before the scene, having to pretend to see her die or hurt or knowing they won't see her again, when it's fake.

The aftermath of it too, getting out of that, maybe they're all whipped (yes) and just need a good hug and to ground themselves. Method acting you know...

Anyway 👁️ I've ranted enough 👁️

Thank you for reading through this whole ass paragraph, hope your day is wonderful!

content: how i imagine they’d be as actors when filming their myths. * some minor spoilers from me on xavier as well ! * ૮ ˶ᵔ ~ ᵔ˶ ა

you literally have no clue how i literally love you for still thinking ab those silly hcs😭 THANK YOU THANK U THANK UUU !! AND STOP BC THIS IDEA??? ate down.

cause omg they’d literally be love interests who grew head over heels in love with the main co-star in a fr deep(ressive) story. and it’s like gawd. what a life they’d come to lead if they really were actors then LMAOO

but anyway ! they would be told and agree (months prior), that method acting would be the best thing when filming each of their intense myths. and i know for a fact that rafayel would be the one waayyy too into that method acting stuff because it’d all end up feeling really personal.

‘i can totally work with this’ were the exact words that came from him as you watched and listened to him, munching on his box of donuts (this was a habit between you two — going over to the other’s trailer to snack on whatever the other got to eat). not to mention the times he’d re-read his copy of the script analysis for the nth time / before main rehearsals, and how he’d be all “pft, i wonder why [main director’s name] thinks acting all of this would ever even get to me”. and that never aged well at ALL because he ended up being more attached to it than he expected, as his natural reactions were already in tune with his lemurian character anyway.

but anyway during the era of, rafayel would suddenly stay to himself a little more / even got confused on his real feelings for you (?). and of course he’d recognize that and try to keep things professional, but he would also catch himself sometimes looking at or treating you like mc. and it’s like oh ! all this because he somehow tied everything to your irl friendship / dynamic ??? LOL

but anyway much like rafayel, xavier would also see you as the mc. just in a different way of course. cause it doesn’t help that you just so happen to naturally act like the mc, even off camera.

now when acting the real deal of his myth — when you lay lifeless in his arms — he would imagine that you really were the mc, keeping his head down as the feeling of the idea of holding the one he loved but couldn’t save hit him. his eyes would also be vacant during this scene, especially as he held the star tassel, the weight of it feeling heavier as he envisioned you giving it to him before dying.

in this same scene where he had to hold one of your limp hands in his, it actually felt colder. this didn’t show in the final take because xavier acts so authentically, but it did catch him off guard — as no one told him your hands would actually have to be cold for the real scene. and that made the moment feel even more real and intensified this ache in his chest at the thought of losing you. (lolol ofc the directors kept that because gawd everything was so realistic)

he’d tell himself it was just that scene that got to him but he’d eventually grow to randomly start reaching out to hold your hand in his more often, just to feel its warmth.

stop im giggling now bc im abt to go read smth angsty w xavier

moving on though ! zayne and his foreseer myth? especially dawnbreaker?? .. let me not go there bc this would be longer than needed. though i will say that zayne hadn’t planned on being “affected”. but he would quietly start to observe you more, as his way of not directly discussing his emotions. (this was also what prompted him to be quick to protect you on set)

in conclusion. rafayel as an actor, who has the biggest soft spot for you, would pull back just a little while in that headspace. quietly growing to wonder if you’d also forget him & all the moments you shared, once love and deepspace was over. and he would also start joking about his feelings more to mask them during that time. xavier, on the other hand, would develop a habit of finding lame excuses to have your hand in his whenever you were together, since feeling your cold hands that day did actually do something to him. zayne wouldn’t want to admit how it actually affected him but he would eventually be vulnerable about it with only you. lastly and not surprisingly enough, sylus would remain the only sane one regarding his character's darker lore LMAOO. so i’ll just leave that there (until his myth comes out).

but even though their well hidden feelings for you complicated things, they were great actors so it wouldn’t really affect them terribly for long, as they had ways to separate their personal lives from their roles by all the way you’d comfort them after you found out.

a/n: THIS WAS SO FUN & FUNNY TO ADD ONTO. althoughhh i personally don’t feel like this is 100% spot on & tied to the (1st) actor au hcs, as it’s just some ways i think they’d react but that could just be bc i wrote this in one sitting. didn’t also plan on talking that much and ab my glorious 6ft prince rafayel either but anyway thank yeww for this pooks. (also, im giving you a moon emoji for all our next discussions bc i look forward to them🙂‍↕️ )

[lamoobsessions]

To Guild A Lily

Synopsis: You and Hazel have been together for six months now and things have been going really great. That is, until you stupidly invite her to meet your family over spring break -your family, who does not know your gay.

Warnings: Homophobia, very little use of y/n, things get a twinge spicy but its not smutty, kinda cheesy but it's cute.

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Hey 😏 It's been a while, and i'm sorry. But I'm back AND with a new story. This one will be a short mini series -probably three chapters tbh. Originally, I didn't think I was going to post it, because it lwk feels too personal. But what the heck, I like it, so here it is!! Christmas break is here, so i'll defiantly get some writing in for anyone who cares, lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! (And also apologies in advanced)

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The decision to attend a university outside of your home town was the best decision you’ve ever made. It’s been everything you hoped it to be. You made friends, you have your freedom, you have your independence, and, the best part of all, you have a different social demographic. Which may be a weird detail to others, but to you, it’s a blessing. No longer do you have to live behind the social constraints provided by the community you grew up in.

Though, that isn’t to say college is fantastic. The workload is insane, your apartment is depressing as hell, living expenses are through the roof, and making a healthy consistent meal plan for yourself feels near impossible. College can be awful at times, but it fulfills your small box of expectations. 

Truly, you’re quite happy with where you are in life. Everything has a certain glow to it, a certain beauty. With this new-found freedom and privacy, you joined new social cliques, attended parties, joined clubs, and took all the classes that attune your interest. Which is how you met Hazel.

She sat next to you in a gender studies class in the second semester of your freshman year, which you later found out she only took the class with her friend PJ to meet the ladies of the campus. Which, to her credit and your pleasure, she accomplished. 

The two of you hit it off almost instantly; from quipped, sly whispered jokes in the lecture halls, to not-so productive study dates, the two of you eventually fell into place with each other. She introduced you to her friends, both of whom you found very intimidating at first, since they make a very chaotic duo. Even so, they grew on you, and it wasn’t long til you became a part of their group. It also wasn’t long til your feelings for Hazel began to sprout. 

It happened at the library -of all places. She made the first move and the two of you have been together for almost six months now. Things have been great. 

It takes a lot for you to open up to people, but when it came to Hazel, things felt easier. Suddenly, you felt more bold, more electric with your personality. Those around you could sense the shift, even your family, who lived hours away.

In your eyes, this is a good thing. The relationship you have with your family is complicated. You love each of them to death. Your mother, your father, your sister, all of them you’d take a bullet for. Unconditional love, as many may call it. But they were… different when it came to values. More on the old-fashioned side than you typically prefer. But the thing with college is, you get to break away from home, and that’s exactly what you did -well somewhat. Your mom still calls every day to check up, mostly asking if you've met anyone yet, and by anyone, she means a boy. 

It’s isolating at times, knowing your family doesn’t know this integral part of who you are. But, in your eyes, it was for the better.  

Though, after six months of being with Hazel, a certain consensus within yourself was breached. It felt unfair to your family, since they were always asking if you’ve made any friends or found a boyfriend yet. And secondly, it’s unfair to Hazel. You met her mom three months after dating, it wasn’t planned, but it happened, and now you feel an insatiable obligation to introduce her to your family. 

But the kicker is, Hazel doesn’t know that your family is oblivious to her existence. They’re even oblivious to the fact that you like girls. So, you’ve avoided bringing it up. 

You don’t want to ruin a good thing. Things are so easy, why mess it up? 

“So, when are you leaving?” Hazel asks from the foot of your bed, watching as you shove ungodly amounts of clothes into your small suitcase on the floor. 

You shrug, placing another chunky sweater that surely will not fit into the luggage. The thing isn’t going to close, but you’ll be damned if you weren’t going to try. “I think maybe early tomorrow morning? What about you?”

“Oh, I’m not going home,” she casually reveals. “I think I’ll just stay here.”

You stop your pushing and look up at her questioningly. “What? Why not?”

“My mom will be out of town the whole week, so there’s basically no point in me going back home.”

“She’s going out of town the week of your spring break?”

Hazel nods with a slightly solemn expression, to which you purse your lips, knowing her complicated relationship with her mother. 

“What about PJ and Josie, they’ll be going home too, right? Why don’t you go with them?”

She sighs, leaning into the mattress. “Josie is going on vacation with Isabel and her family, and PJ said she’s going on some ‘pussy’ retreat -whatever that means.”

You frown at this. The college campus was nice, but there wasn’t much to do. Without any friends around, it gets boring and depressing fast. You would know. You spent the first semester of your freshman year losing your goddamn mind, rotting in your dorm room binging the entirety of ‘Orange is the New Black’.

“Well, you can come home with me,” You offer, wanting to bite your tongue the second the suggestion leaves your lips. 

“Really?” Hazel perks up excitingly. 

“Yeah, why not? It’s only a five-hour drive, it will be like a fun little road trip or something.” For you, it wouldn’t be a fun little road trip. It would be a nightmare of spiraling thoughts and contemplative re-routes to the nearest cliff. But you can’t stand the thought of leaving Hazel, knowing she would be left alone on campus for a whole two weeks. 

“You sure your family won’t mind?”

As you stop packing and grab your phone off the nightstand, a nest of anxiety burrows behind your ribcage. You’re a good liar, or, to put it more lightly, you’re good at masking your true emotions. “I’m sure they won’t. I can text them and ask if that will make you feel more comfortable with it.”

“Can you?” She questions with a look of sincerity. “I don’t want to just show up unannounced.”

“Yeah, of course,” You plant yourself next to her on the bed, subtly hiding the phone screen. Now, with the phone in your hands and your mother's contact photo glowing on the screen, you begin to wonder what you’re even supposed to say.

 ‘Hey mom, I know I haven’t told you this yet, but I’m gay, and I have a girlfriend, and she’s coming over. Hope that’s cool. Cool? Cool. Alright bye bye now.’

Immediately, you regret offering to text her. Yet, even with your discretion, you begin to type. 

YOU: ‘Hey, just want to let you know I’ll be heading home tomorrow. Probably around early morning.’

YOU:  ‘But Is it okay if I bring a friend down with me?” 

You curse yourself as soon as the word floats into the chat. Friend. 

Shutting off your phone, and tossing it out of your hands, you nod with a not-so reassuring smile. “There.” 

Thankfully, Hazel misses the uncertainty in your expressions and returns an optimistic smile.  “This is exciting, I finally get to meet these parents I've heard so much about.”

You shake your head bemusedly. “Look, there’s a reason I don’t talk about them. I mean, they aren’t exactly the most agreeable people.”

“I’m sure I can handle it.”

“I know you can,” you brush off, as you allow yourself to fall onto the satin sheets. “I’m just not sure I can.” 

“You can. Everything will turn out fine.” She joins you, lying next to your side and taking your hand hers. “Besides, I’m great with parents.”

You smile softly, nuzzling your head into her shoulder. Internally, your heart sinks. How could you not tell your parents about her? Since the second semester of freshman year, she’s been this symbol of comfort in your life. Yet in that same sense, she’s also your girlfriend. So, how could you tell your parents about her? 

You exhale a long, pent-up breath -unaware that, through this spiral, you’ve briefly forgotten to breathe. “I guess I can’t keep you from them forever.”

Hazel lifts her head and leans over you with a smug look. “Forever, you say?”

You laugh upon realizing the implications of your words, and turn away to avoid her demanding stare. “Shut up.” 

“Forever is a long time to be together. Even longer time to go without meeting one’s parents.” 

You shrug, “I think we could get away with it if we tried.”

She perks up, as if having an epiphany of her own. “Oh, maybe we’ll do one of those lavender marriages,” She encourages. “You know, we’ll pretend you're straight, and I’m just some estranged sister-in-law that you inevitably fall in love with -because how could you not? And then, you’ll get divorced, and we’ll run away together, and that way, I’ll never have to officially meet your parents, and they’ll just know me in passing. ”

You pause a moment, mouth set slightly agape at her nonsensical ridicule. “Are you done?”

“I mean, I could keep going, but that’s just a quick summary.”

Pursing your lips, you bite back a broad smile, and bring a hand to her cheek to pull her closer. Leaving a quick peck on her lips, before pressing your forehead to hers, “You’re the worst.”

A giggle reverberates off her chest, and you could swear that sound can kill. “We’ll be fine, I promise. Worst-case scenario, they end up hating me, we elope, move to Barbados, and live happily ever after.”

“Not a bad worst-case scenario.”

“Mhm.” she purrs, placing a hand on your waist and pressing her lips to yours, as you bring a hold to her cheek. The minimal space between your bodies lingers before it begins to diminish; her figure hovering over yours, effectively stabling herself by pressing a leg between your thighs. 

You melt under the touch, allowing the heat to rise to your cheeks and your stomach to do an insurmountable amount of flips. A smile curves against her lips, one that you cannot help but to reciprocate amidst her near suffocating rapture. 

Slicing through the once sensual atmosphere, your phone dings. Breaking away from her embrace, you turn towards your phone on the other side of the bed. “Shit, it’s probably my mom.”

Hazel hums. Though understanding, you can sense a slight disappointment in the way she relaxes next to you onto the bed. 

Swiping open your phone, the message reads:

MOM <3: That’s perfectly fine, hun. Can’t wait to me this friend of yours 😉 

MOM <3: Text me when you leave, love you!

You bite the inside of your cheek, knowing, even through text, she’s aware this friend isn’t like every other. She read you like a book, immediately picking up on the lack of assurance behind your words. She knows if it was just any other friend, you wouldn’t have asked. 

Your mother knows you well, but not well enough to know it isn't a boy you’re bringing home. 

YOU: I will, love you too <3

Shutting off your phone once again, you turn back to Hazel and put on a more heartening expression. “We’re good to go.”

“Really?” she questions. “You didn’t look too sure for a second?”

“Yeah, it’s just- some other stuff she was saying. It’s all good.” 

Hazel quirks her brow, not buying your reasoning.

“Seriously,” You add, wanting to end this questioning as soon as possible. “It’s fine,” You lean in and plant a quipped kiss on her cheek before catapulting yourself off the bed. “I should get packing, though.”

A hand grips your wrist before you can get any further. “No, stay,” she whines. “We were just starting to have fun.”

You gently take your other hand and guide yourself free of her grasp. “As much as I’d love to continue having more fun, you should probably start packing, too.”

Hazel groans, falling onto her back with an exaggeration you found to be quite endearing. 

You feel bad for deceiving her. She should know about the issue surrounding your parents, at least before you arrive at their house mid-afternoon tomorrow. You just didn’t know how to tell her, not that she wouldn’t understand, cause she would. The problem is how it would make her feel. 

Yet, in an undeniably selfish way, you hope that by finally introducing Hazel to your family, this unrelenting guilt entangled in the back of your mind will finally resolve. Maybe, just maybe, telling your parents about your girlfriend would make this thing you have with Hazel feel all the more better. Maybe, just maybe, telling them would allow this already perfect thing to blossom into something better. Maybe, you’ll finally sleep well at night and dream again once more. 

…

Come late morning, around 11 a.m., you and Hazel have already packed your bags and stuffed them in the trunk of your car. Having taken this route home on numerous occasions already, you didn’t bother typing your address into the GPS before setting off. 

Before leaving town and into the interminable country roads, you stopped by a small family owned convenience store for breakfast. You grabbed a pre-packaged blueberry muffin and a small coffee, while Hazel wandered aimlessly around the store with an indecisive contemplation -which is per usual. Ultimately, she meets you at the counter with an energy drink and a ‘freshly made’ breakfast sandwich -also her usual.

You grin teasingly upon seeing her choice. “You spent all that time deciding, just to get what you always do?”

She shrugs defensively, “I was wondering if I should try something new.”

You huff shaking your head, watching as she hands the cashier her card. 

Hopping back into the car, quiet conversation fills the air. Hazel grabs the aux cord and puts on the road-trip playlist she made just the night before. It’s full of songs and bands the two of you share a liking to, most of which you can scream every word to. 

The drive home is beautiful. It’s full of curvy and long countryside roads, and old historical district villages. Although, your favorite part is around the halfway mark of the drive, where the bundles of farmland are located. Here you pass numerous herds of cattle and their calves, all tucked safely behind mesh wire fences. 

Making this drive with Hazel is something you never thought would be so exciting. You felt like a tour guide of sorts, telling her miniscule stories about random experiences you’ve had in the area. Like how you stopped at one particular gas station on the way home once, and swore to never go back again after you had a near scrap fight with a group of opossums. Or how you once got a flat tire on the side of the road, and the only person who stopped to help you was someone fully dressed in drag. .  

“Sometimes I forget you’re from the middle of nowhere.” Hazel comments. 

“It’s not really in the middle of nowhere.”

“Really?” She retorts, giving you an unimpressed look, “Cause I haven’t seen a proper grocery store for miles.”

“What? We passed like fifty Dollar Generals, which around here is like the equivalent of a Whole Foods.”

She laughs lightly. “That’s exactly my point.”

“Don’t worry,” you chaff. “When we get closer to home, things will start looking a little more developed.”

She smiles with a shake of her head, as she looks back out the window. “You know, you never talk much about where you're from, better yet your family.”

You tense, gripping the steering wheel slightly, unsure of what to say.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Hazel confirms, looking back your way. “How come?”

Her question sounds so innocent, as if she doesn’t know the true extent of where a conversation like this could lead. The two of you have been living in this comfortable bubble for the entirety of its existence. It’s safe here, it’s content. It’s a place where your family can’t come in and hurt you, or even worse, hurt her. 

You’re used to their overtly derogatory teasing, but Hazel isn’t. What if your family steers her away from you, what if she projects their behavior onto you, or starts to perceive you as one of them -they are family after all.  

You finally broke free, went off on your own, and got to choose the people you surround yourself with. Things finally felt like they were in your control. You could keep your family life separate from the one you live away at college. You could keep this perfect balance of family and friends. You could finally separate yourself from your upbringing. But the thought that your family could drive something so perfect out of your life, stressed you out beyond comprehension. 

“Hey,” Hazel interjects, bringing you out of your spiraling thoughts. “You alright?”

“Yeah-uh, sorry.” You reply, anxiously tapping your fingers on the steering wheel. 

“It’s okay” She reassures with kind eyes. “You just kind of spaced out there when I asked about your family. Is everything okay?”

You exhale a long breath. Even feeling the motions of it all and knowing this trip could make or break everything with Hazel, you’re aware that she deserves to know. 

“They don’t know, Haze.” you finally blurt. 

She hesitates a moment. Her expression is evidently confused, as she turns down the music. “Who doesn’t know what?”

“My parents. They don’t know. They don’t know I’m…” For some reason, it’s hard to say. You’ve always been comfortable in your sexuality, so why is it so hard to say it now? 

“Gay?” She finishes for you.”They don’t know you like girls?”

You bite your lip, shaking your head. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve told them sooner -long before I even thought of bringing you to them. Which also should’ve been way sooner. I just didn’t know what to say or how to tell them or-”

“So they’re homophobic?” She interrupts.

You stutter on your words, struggling to form a proper response, before letting out a defeated breath. “Kind of?”

“Kind of?”

“Well, they’re not like homophobic in a way where they think gay people shouldn’t have the right to marry or exist. To them it’s more like, ‘i dont care if you’re gay just don’t do that stuff around me’ kind of way. So they are homophobic, but it’s like…it’s just…” You hesitate, glancing at Hazel’s expression carefully. 

For a moment, she stares at you in bafflement. What she could be thinking appears unreadable -that is, until a small laugh escapes her. 

She’s laughing?

“Hazel,” you sigh. ”It’s not funny. I’m serious.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry for laughing,” She apologizes with a waving of her hand. “It’s just… I’ve never heard someone describe it that way.”

“Hazel,” You complain, desperately trying to keep your focus on her and the road. 

She purses her lips as she tries to bite back an amused smile. After a deep exhale, she finally regains her composure and meets your weary expression. “Look, it’s fine they don’t know. I get it, it’s hard coming out, especially to people like that. I don’t expect you to tell them right as we walk through the door. Although, I’d love to see such a dramatic proclamation of your love for me, I understand not telling them. So, you don’t have to… for now.”

She pauses for a moment, placing a comforting hand on your forearm. “But I do wish you would’ve told me about them before bringing me all the way out here. I need to like, be more prepared for a situation like this.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before,” you apologize, wishing you would’ve swallowed your transgressions and told her sooner. “You don’t have to do this anymore. If you’re too uncomfortable-”

“No, I want to.” she interjects. “Things will just be a little more awkward, is all. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“No Hazel, you don’t-... this was a bad idea. I should’ve told you-”

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m okay with it, really.” 

You flatten your lips, dissatisfied with how you’ve made things. Her circumstances are unfair, yet she’s still willing to meet them. 

“Are you sure? I can text my mom, cancel the whole thing, and I can just stay with you on campus for spring break. I’ll make it up to you-”

Hazel interrupts with a stern call of your name. “Seriously, it’s fine”

You switch your worried gaze from the dark roadway to Hazel’s pitying stare. You didn’t think it would be possible, but you begin to think you might want to turn around more than Hazel. You’ve finally built up enough courage to offer for them to meet, and a part of you wonders if it’s for the best, if the timing is even right. 

“It’s just…my relationship with my family is complicated. They’re not… easy people to get along with. I don’t want them to make you feel uncomfortable. I don’t want them to say some dumb shit and hurt you. I don’t want them to ruin things between us. And I’m scared that after this, things between us will change. That you’ll see me differently, like I’m one of them, and want to leave. And, honestly, Hazel, these past few months with you have been really really amazing and I don’t want to lose that …I don’t want to lose you.”

Hazel is silent for a long moment, seemingly mulling something over in her head. And with each passing moment, you get more nervous that she had changed her mind and did, in fact, want to turn around and leave you with your family troubles.

“Pull over,” She suddenly demands.

“What?” 

“Pull over, I want to give you a hug.” She implores with a strange sophistication in her words. “And because you’re crying and probably shouldn’t be driving.”

You hadn’t even realized it before, but tears were streaming down your cheeks, your voice was hoarse, and your vision was far too blurry to be driving in the dark. 

You wipe your tears abashedly with a weak laugh, and pull over onto the side of the empty highway. Shifting the vehicle into park, Hazel’s arms immediately wrap around your shoulders -the unwarranted comfort making you fall apart at the seams. All in one fell swoop, everything comes crashing down. 

You tuck your head between her shoulder and neck, desperately attempting to suppress the lump in your throat. Her affection is warm and safe. To you, her embrace isn’t a new feeling, yet, it’s still somehow refreshing. Like a much-needed breath of fresh air, or a sip of ice water on a hot day. 

“You’re not going to lose me because of them. Nothing they say or do will ever change how I feel about you, alright?” she whispers over your shoulder. 

You nod, unsure if you can trust your own voice. 

She let's go, placing a small peck on your cheek. Her palms cradle your face as she stares into your eyes. “Everything is going to work out just fine. And if it doesn’t, we’ll leave. Simple as that.”

You nod once more, hating how speechless you feel. Here she was, sacrificing her spring break to meet your homophobic parents, yet she’s the one comforting you. 

“Alright. Now, switch seats with me. I’m driving now.”

Not even bothering to argue, you unbuckle your seatbelt and open the driver door. 

You type in your address into the GPS, and allow Hazel to take the wheel. 

…

Pulling into the rocky driveway, your heart’s in your ears and there’s a knot in your stomach. If the prolonged carsickness from the car ride didn’t make you throw up, walking through that front door surely will. 

Hazel puts the car in park and turns the ignition off. “You okay?”

You stare at the dash, eyes glued straight ahead and you nod slowly. 

A hand grabs yours, squeezing it three times over, a gesture you have yet to understand but never fails to ease your racing heart. Glancing at this impossibly calm and collected girl next to you, you wonder how you ever got so lucky to be a part of her world. It seems nearly inconceivable. She’s too good to be true, too good for you. 

Flashing a weak smile, you open the passenger door and step out into the cold air. 

The sun has set into darkness, as the crickets chirp in a harmonious choir. One thing you did miss about home were the quiet nights. Compared to the college town, where police sirens were an atmospheric staple and the oxygen is thick with pollution, your hometown was silent. Everything could be heard throughout the still nights, including your favorite calls of the mourning dove. 

You ultimately decide to leave your bags in the car, figuring you’ll grab them after dinner, which is supposedly ready according to the text your mom sent ten minutes prior to your arrival. So, not wanting them to wait another moment to eat, the two of you walk to the front door. 

Typically, when you visit home, you barge through the door, not bothering to announce yourself. It’s your home after all. But this time, being so filled with nerves, you knock. 

“Come in,” your mother's voice beckons from inside, followed by the excited barking of the family dog. 

The moment you open the door, two paws meet your abdomen. “Hey, buddy,” You shakily greet, ruffling the dog's head, as his tail wags excitedly. 

“Hazel, this is Ru,” You introduce sliding off your shoes. 

Ru is the name everyone decided on, and the one you came up with. Though you never had the heart to tell your family you named him after Rupaul. But it’s funnier if they don’t know. 

“Hi Ru,” Hazel coos, squatting to the pups level, allowing him to sniff her hand, to which he immediately accepts. Originally, your family wanted a guard dog. Instead they got Ru, who wouldn't hurt a fly.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest?” Hazel laughs, flopping his ears. Already you could tell the dog loved her. Seeing her with Ru, both of them lighting up at the interaction, made things feel slightly better, like everything might turn out alright.

“Hey, hun!” Your mom greets, rounding the entrance corner, her arms open wide. 

“Hi,” You put on your best smile while wrapping your arms around her, using every last piece of willpower to suppress the nerves. 

“Missed you,” she reminds, pulling away before her gaze quickly drifts to the girl behind you. 

“Mom, this is Hazel.”

Something falters behind your mother's stare, and in an instant you notice her subtle surprise. Indeed, not a boy.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Hazel stands, offering her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” She shakes her hand briefly with a smile, then turns back to you. “Where are your bags?”

“Oh, we left them in the car. Didn’t want to hold up dinner any longer, you know?”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she brushes off, as she saunters back to the kitchen, “But after dinner, I’ll send your father out there to help you unload all your stuff.”

“Speaking of which, where is he?” You ask, gesturing for Hazel to follow you further into the home. 

Your mother scoffs, grabbing the plates from the pantry. “Bathroom, you know how he is.”

“Gross, I’m eating.” A voice calls from the dining table. 

You peek your head around the corner to find your sister, who not surprisingly didn’t wait for your arrival to eat. “Good to see you too.” You tease.

She nods, her mouth full of food. 

Looking at the stove, you find fresh cooked salmon, cubed baked sweet potatoes, and charred asparagus. If there is a second thing you missed about home, it’s the home-cooked meals. 

“Dinner looks good, mom.” You smile, grabbing a plate for both you and Hazel. 

“Thank you,” She chirps, filling her plate and looking at Hazel who has been shadowing your side. “Please, help yourselves to whatever.”

“Thank you so much,” Hazel lightly mutters, joining your side to fill her plate. “And thank you for having me. I know it’s last minute.” 

“No worries. It’s always nice to have a new guest.” 

Finally taking a seat at the table, Hazel sits by your side. You could tell she was being overly conscious of how close she sat next to you. Despite knowing she only wanted to avoid unwanted attention, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Her comforting presence is an inescapable desire, one that you cannot have -not here. 

“You know, when you said a friend, they thought you were finally bringing home a boy.” your sister ridicules from the seat across from you. 

A distaste for your sister settles on your tongue. Of course that was the first thing she’s said since you arrived. It didn’t matter that it was a diss towards you. What mattered was how Hazel glanced in your direction -a mix of dejection and pity- it killed you. 

“Well…” you begin, unsure of how to respond to such a remark. “It's best not to assume things, is it?”

Her eyes flare with amusement, indicating she wasn’t expecting a defensive remark. It wasn’t like you to respond in such a way, but these are different circumstances.

Without introduction, your father walks in with his plate in hand. On his way to his seat, he plants a small pat on your shoulder. “Good to see you home for once.”

You smile flatly. Every time you visited home, the subject of your frequent absence was always brought up. Even with the easy drive home, Christmas and Spring break were the only times of year that you ever visited home. 

“Um,” You clear your throat, “Dad, this is Hazel.”

Directing his attention to the girl, he offers a curt nod. “So, what are you majoring in Hazel?”

Mentally, you roll your eyes, because of course that’s his first question. 

“Uh, engineering, sir.”

His expression lightens, “Really? That’s a pretty good one, make a lot of money in that field.”

“Yeah, definitely. But it’s very competitive, so we’ll see how it goes.” 

“I’m sure you’ll do great.” Your mom chimes in, as she takes a seat next to your sister. 

Hazel smiles warmly, “Thank you.” 

“Hazel actually got a perfect score last semester on her Calculus three final,” You bud in, trying desperately to keep a conversation floating.  

“Wow, calculus, huh?” your dad replies, evidently impressed. “How’d you pull that off?”

“Well, I’m pretty accustomed to the formulas by now. I’ve been working with this sort of thing ever since I joined the fight club in high school and made…” She pauses, reconsidering her story. “I just helped everyone with their calculus homework, really.”

“Wait, did you say fight club?” Your sister adds. “Like the Brad Pitt movie?”

“Yeah -um, it wasn’t necessarily a fight club, more like a self-defense club. You know, for female solidarity and stuff.” 

“Oh, well that’s very cool,” Your mom comments. “You know, we made y/n take a self-defense class before going to college.”

“Really?” Hazel questions, eyes lightening with surprise as she turns to you.

“Mhm,” your mother grins proudly. “best of her class.”

“What? Why did I never know this?” 

You shrug with the first genuine smile you’ve mustered since the night began. “I don’t know, I never thought to mention it.”

She lightly laughs, making your nerves ease ever so slightly. 

The night goes on as the conversation picks up. Hazel and your family exchange  stories, jokes, and current happenings in their lives. Things are looking up, you think. Dinner has long been eaten, and no one has even bothered to move from the table. The earlier tension has finally dissolved into an air of comfortability, and your nerves have finally settled into an ease. As far as you could tell, your family has found a liking for Hazel.

You made a deal with yourself.  Before spring break ends, you’d indefinitely tell them. The only question is, how would you find the proper timing? Things are going so well now, what if telling them ruins it? 

Eventually, Hazel excuses herself, discreetly asking you for directions to the bathroom. You stood, grabbing both your plates and pointing her in the general direction down the hall. 

 Discarding the plates into the dishwasher, you return to your seat on the table, hazel now absent from your side. Without her comforting presence, the energy seems to shift in the room. There is a thick silence among your family. For a moment, you can’t tell if it’s all in your head. Although, almost in an instant, your earlier hopes for a peaceful spring break dispel into thin air.  

“So, your friend Hazel.” Your sister begins. 

You look up expectantly, awaiting some derogatory remark with deep trepidation. 

“She’s got a personality, doesn’t she?”

You narrow your eyes, “What does that mean?” 

“She’s just different is all.” 

“Yeah but what does that mean?” You ask once more with impatience, eyes darting between each of your family members, looking for some unknown answer. 

“She just means,” Your mother adds, “She’s a lot more different from your other friends. She’s…”

“Funny,” Your dad finishes, though it’s not a compliment. It’s a passive tone, one you know all too well. 

“Funny?”

Your sister shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, the way she dresses, her hair, her humor. It’s all just different from what we’re used to.” 

“So…You don’t like her?” you question with a twinge of hurt. Wherever this is going, you dread it. That same tangled ball of nerves in your stomach have finally resurfaced, and all it took was for Hazel to leave the room. 

Your dad scoffs, “You know that's not what we’re saying, y/n. “ 

“Yeah we like her she’s just-”

“Different, yeah I got it. You don’t have to say it a million times.”

“You don’t have to get so defensive about it. It’s not that big of a deal,” Your sister remarks with a condescending laugh, “I mean, what? Are we not allowed to talk about her?”

“Not the moment she leaves the room, no. That’s fucking weird and condescending.”

“Hey!” Your dad warns. “Watch your mouth.”

You feel at a loss for words. Everything is escalating so fast. From what you observed, everyone was having a good time. Why do they have to go and ruin it? How could they be so insolent? 

“I don’t see why you’re getting so defensive about her though?” Your sister adds. “It’s not like we’re saying anything bad.”

“No, but you’re making passive comments, and I can tell what you’re actually thinking, and it hurts my feelings that you think that way.”

“Oh god forbid we hurt your feelings,” Your father claims. 

The hurt is soon replaced with anger, as your father’s remark seeps into your skin. After all these years of growing up with them by your side, you’ve never seen them so… ugly. You knew they weren’t the most agreeable people, but this was a whole new side.  “Why would you-”

“We’re sorry, honey,“ Your mom interrupts. “We don’t mean to upset you. You’re right, it’s rude to talk about someone when they're out of the room.”

You give her a disbelieving look. “It doesn’t matter if she’s here or not! The stuff you're saying still sucks, and it’s weird, and all of you are being rude.”

“Oh my god, we aren’t even saying anything bad! We just said she’s different from your other friends.” Your sister complains. 

You groan, “Yeah and you keep saying different and not actually elaborating on what you mean.” 

“Y/n, honey, calm down.”

“No! I wanna know what does ‘different’ mean? What does that mean to you?”

A subtle silence envelopes the air, a heavy, understanding silence. You aren’t mad because you don’t understand what they’re saying; You're mad because you do. You want to hear them say it. You need to hear them say it. 

“You know what we mean,” Your sister finally confides. 

It takes everything in you to not burst at the seams. Can they not even say it? Was it that hard for them? 

“Why can’t all of you just be… supportive, unconditionally.”

Your dad shakes his head, “Why does it matter what we think anyway?” 

“Because, she’s my girlfriend!” You cry. The moment the words finally reveal themselves, a weight is lifted off your chest.

The room falls silent, their faces painted with complete bewilderment.

“We’ve been together for five months now. And I didn’t want to tell you guys because I knew you would react this way, and I knew you wouldn’t understand, or in the very least, even try to. But it turns out, I don’t even need to tell you she’s my girlfriend for all of you to absolutely lose your shit! I mean, you’re my family for Christ's sake! I just wish you’d be a little more supportive, or at least have a heart when I tell you i’m…I-” The rest of your words fail to fall from your mouth, as they bubble up behind the lump forming in your throat. 

They give no response, not even one from your father to correct your language. They simply stare, and it’s an unbearable silence, one that fills you with an impending dread. One that holds the weight of all that is unspoken. One that says absolutely nothing, yet everything all at once. 

Maybe it’s disgust or maybe it’s shock, yet the uncertainty of their expressions remains. All that can be certain is the very fact that you can’t be here anymore.  

Though, all you can manage to do is study their contemplative stares. You study them with a pained glare til your eyes drift to the hall, where Hazel stands in the entrance. You don’t know how long she’s been there, but with her sympathetic yet ultimately, disappointed expression, you presume she's been there long enough. Now, only one thought floats through your mind: Hazel shouldn’t have to be here.

You abruptly stand from the table and pace out the door.  “Thank you for dinner,” You mutter, as you grab your keys and wallet off the counter. You take Hazel’s hand without meeting her eyes, and usher her out the door. 

Faintly, you hear your mother call out from the kitchen, though her voice only mumbles under the rumbling thoughts in your head. 

It’s funny, you thought the worst response would be one of disapproval. But it turns out, no response is worse. With no words spoken, you don’t know what they’re thinking. Sure, the silence is enough to make you want to curl up inside yourself and disappear, but you can’t tell if it was shock or dismay. 

Before you can open the driver door, Hazel cuts in front of you, giving a knowing look. She was going to drive, no questions asked. And you had no energy left to argue, so without another word, you hop in the passenger seat and tuck your knees to your chest, holding back the fountain of tears that threaten to spill. 

As the car leaves the neighborhood, Hazels sits behind the wheel with the same face as before. You don’t know if the disappointment in her eyes is for you or your family. Or maybe it’s both, being of the same blood and all. You are them, and they are you; they are you, and you are them. It doesn’t matter either way, because they’re family. And when you needed their approval most, they chewed it up and spit it out.

They’re the people that are supposed to support you most, they’re supposed to love you unconditionally. But when it comes to a love that is unconventional to them, all that goes out the window. Maybe simply being their daughter wasn’t enough.

All these interminable, chastising thoughts suddenly come to a halt, when the hand that’s been anxiously gripping your shin, is pulled away.  Your eyes drift upward to find Hazel’s hand intertwined in yours. Her eyes are glued to the road in such a steadfast way, you begin to wonder if she’s even paying attention to her driving. She seemed out of it, lost in her own world. Til, she flips on the blinker and makes the turn out of your hometown.

[crappy-writings]

Safe

Maria HillxReader // Angst/Fluff

*Image is not mine, credit to its creator

Summary: When the Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S. Facility is destroyed and you’re trapped under the rubble, Maria has to balance her job as Deputy Director and her relationship with you.

Trigger Warnings: FwB relationship (mentioned), Cursing, Guns, Death, Anxiety, Hospitals, Injuries, Amputation (mentioned), I think that’s it.

No pronouns for the reader were used, I think

Word Count: 6,970

A/N: Thanks to this Reddit thread for helping me figure out the timeline of The Avengers, as well as all the Marvel Wiki pages I visited, lol

Anyways, I'll forever be mad at Secret Invasion for doing my girl so dirty, so I'm jumping back to 2012 Avengers. Don't know if this sucks, so constructive criticism is always welcome.

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist | Recced Fics Masterlist

May 2nd, 02:47 hrs

“Sir, evacuation may be futile,” Maria says as she steps down the stairs, right on Fury’s heels. “We should tell them to go back to sleep?” Fury turns his head towards her while still descending the stairs. “If we can’t control the Tesseract’s energy, there may not be a minimum safe distance,” she argued.

“I need you to make sure the Phase Two prototypes are shipped out,” Fury orders as he reaches the entrance to where the Tesseract was being kept. “Sir, is that really a priority right now?” she asks incredulously. 

“Until such time as the world ends, we will act as though it intends to spin on,” he says, turning towards her, his tone leaving no room to argue, “Clear out the tech below. Every piece of Phase Two on a truck and gone.” 

“Yes, sir,” she says as she passes him by. She had her orders. “With me,” she orders the men who stood at either side of the door as she descends into the lower levels of the facility.

“Dispatch any available teams to the underground levels. Clear out any and all remaining Phase Two prototypes,” she speaks into her communicator. To say that Maria did not agree with focusing on the Phase Two prototypes would be an understatement. If anything, determining a minimum safety distance should be top priority, if there even is one. If not, destroying the Tesseract would be a better option. Regardless of what she thought though, she trusted Fury to know what he was doing. He is the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. for a reason.

“Copied, two additional teams have been dispatched,” the deep voice of an agent rang through her communicator.

The two dispatched teams were already there by the time she arrived at the underground lot, yours being one of them. She takes in a deep breath and subtly braces herself. She was hoping she would not be running into you for at least a few days. 

The two men who came down with her began helping both teams with the prototypes. You load up a few boxes before closing the trunk of the truck, the slam echoing throughout the underground garage. 

“Davidson, you’re driving this one,” you said as you threw a set of keys to one of the agents. Davidson catches the keys easily. “Menendez, Martinez, and Lee, you’re going up with Davidson. Gold leader is already waiting topside.” 

“You,” you point to one of the new arriving agents, “What’s your name?”

“Agent Callahan,” the man you pointed at responded. 

“I’ll have you join Davidson,” you order as you turn to the other agent, “what about you?” 

“Agent Moore,” the agent replied. You nod in acknowledgement, “You’re joining my team in the meantime.” 

The five agents jumped inside the truck and began transporting the prototypes to the surface. 

“Harris, you’re driving that one over there once it’s loaded up. Williams, Parker, Garcia and Moore are going with you. Bennett, you’ll be riding with me,” you continue giving out orders, “Gold leader is waiting for us before moving to the established rendezvous point.”

As you turn to load more boxes, you notice the Deputy Director standing between the cylindrical columns of the large underground parking space. Your gaze lingered on her for a few moments before grabbing one of the small crates and putting it in the truck. Maria noticed this but ignored it. She cannot afford to be distracted by you and this… fling.

She did not know how to describe your relationship as it stood.

“Keep loading boxes, I’ll be back in a minute,” you tell your team, before climbing up the platform and standing beside her.

 “Most of the equipment has already been moved, Gold leader’s team is en route, and my team is taking care of the last few boxes. This should be the last truck from this level and Red and Blue leader reported their levels are cleared. We should be out of here in no more than eight, ten minutes,” you report, crossing your arms over your chest as you oversee your team along with her. 

“Make it five,” she says without looking at you, “I want everyone out of here as quickly as possible.” Her posture remained stiff beside you, and you couldn’t help but be upset by that. 

“Have you thought about what I told you?” you ask quietly. Her posture does not ease. She instead inhales sharply.

 “Yes,” her tone was tense, her answer short. “And?” you prodded after a few beats of silence. “I don’t know,” she answers. 

You sigh in disappointment, but you were not surprised. For as long as you’re known the woman beside you, her main focus has always been her job. You knew this going into this ‘relationship.’ The “friends with benefits” thing had been working out just fine. You met up whenever you wanted to, did whatever you wanted to with no strings attached. But just like one of those cliché movies you sometimes watched, you caught feelings for the woman who had become now more closed off than ever. 

Despite your attempts to keep your changed feelings hidden, she had noticed the subtle shift in your actions, gestures and the way you spoke to her. You yourself did not think you were doing anything different, but apparently, you were wrong. She asked you if anything had changed and you were honest. You told her your feelings about the arrangement had changed and were wanting something more with her, if she agreed. You were foolish for bringing it up at all to her.

She began to shut you out almost immediately, much to your anger and disappointment. Thus, you offered her a sort of ultimatum. She was to decide what she wanted out of the ‘relationship’, out of you, but if she could not, you would call everything off and you would go your separate ways.

The echo of a trunk closing snaps you out of your thoughts. The truck’s engine turns on and you watch as Harris and the other assigned agents drive out of the lot. “Green leader, do you copy?” your comms buzzed with the other team leader’s voice. “Yes, Gold leader, I copy. The remaining prototypes are already en route to topside. Do we have the green light?” you ask. 

“Yes, we do. We are awaiting you and the rest of our teams to arrive up here to head for the rendezvous. See you in a few minutes.”

“Will do Gold Leader, expect us in about 10 minutes, over and out,” you shut off your comms device. You take a deep breath before turning to her, your face serious. 

“I need an answer soon, Hill. I don’t like wasting my time,” you say quietly before straightening up and leaving her side.

“Alright Bennett, hop in, time to go,” you announce loudly as you jump down from the platform, “Let’s go!” 

Maria watches you hop into one of the unattended Jeeps and turn on the ignition. Her tense shoulders loosen up, but her jaw does not unclench. You began to drive as soon as Agent Bennett sat beside you. Her eyes trail after you as the car leaves the parking space.

“So,” Bennett draws out the word casually. “No,” you shut it down quickly.

“You and the Deputy Director?” he pressed on, a smirk creeping up on his lips. “No,” you insisted. 

“That’s a yes.”

“Bennett,” you say warningly. He did not take your tone seriously, knowing that it was all in good fun. Except that it was not very fun for you.

“HR would have a field day with the both of you. Do you think she would get suspended for it? Would you get suspended? Oh, do you think Fury knows?” he pressed on, going off on a tangent now like a gossiping hen. 

“Adrian Bennett, if you don’t shut up now, I will suspend you for spreading rumors,” you say in a serious tone, your grip on the wheel getting tighter.

“Oh, come on boss, it’s all in good fun,” Bennett replies, nudging your shoulder good-naturedly. 

“For you, maybe. Besides, there’s nothing going on between the Commander and me. So, don’t go spreading that around,” you say firmly. Part of you feared that your voice would betray you as you spoke those words, but you managed to keep your tells in check.

“Alright, whatever you say, boss.”

But what he said had struck a chord in you. Had you really been that obvious? You weren’t a spy after all, you were a soldier. Your confusing, undisclosed “relationship” with Hill could get you both in a huge amount of trouble.

You cast your thoughts aside. She could very well choose to end what you have, reject any potential future involvement with you. You sigh softly, opting to focus on the winding tunnel ahead of you.

“Thinking about your girlfriend?”

“Adrian.”

“Okay, okay, I’m done, I’m done.”

You watch as a few cars come into view from your rearview mirrors. It wasn’t until the sound of gunshots echoed within the tunnels that you figured out something was wrong. A blue flash of energy flew towards one of the cars, obliterating it in the process. 

“What the fuck?!” you yell as you watch the remains of the car lose control, going up a ramp and flipping over. The destroyed vehicle swung slightly, stilling in a parallel position, blocking the other cars that had followed behind. 

“Do I shoot?!” Bennett asks as he pulls out his firearm, waiting on your orders. “Stay vigilant but don’t engage yet!” you tell Bennett as you reach for the communicator on your hip.

“Agent Hill, we’re in line of a hostile force, do we engage?!” you yell into your comms as you continue to drive forwards, speeding up as you go. The earth beneath your vehicle began to shake violently. 

“Engage, if possible, but focus on getting out, I won’t have any heroes tonight,” the strained voice of Maria crackles through. The hostile force’s vehicle passes you by, and Bennett trains his gun on it. 

“No heroes, Bennett,” you remind him, but watch the vehicle for any hostility. A man dressed in strange clothes sat in the cargo bed of the truck. He looked ill, but his eyes were fierce. A man on a mission.

 A few moments later, a truck skidded into the tunnel, narrowly avoiding collision with the wall. The car drifts, turning in a half circle to face the hostile force. Both vehicles collided, the backwards facing car attempting to slow down the hostiles. Shots flew from each vehicle, which prompted Bennett to shoot, too.

The strangely dressed man looked at the both of you, his eyes holding a cold determination. He pointed a bright gold staff at you and your eyes widened. Before anything could happen though, the hostile’s vehicle began swerving from side to side, shaking off the truck that was blocking its path. 

The driver recovered control quickly though and continued in hot pursuit. What sounds like a crackle of thunder follows closely behind you, much to your confusion. You stare through the rearview mirrors and watch as the tunnels begin to collapse, and it's gaining on you, fast. 

You press all the way down on the gas pedal, the vehicle lurching forwards with renewed ferocity. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” the string of swears leaves your mouth as the tunnel collapse seemed to be faster than your car ever could. 

“Fuck!” you scream as a large piece of the underground structure falls right in front of you. You turn the wheel hard in the attempt to dodge it to no avail. The rest of the structure continues to crumble, and you lose control of your vehicle. There was little you could do as the jeep was headed for what used to be a stone ceiling. You press down hard on the breaks and turn the wheel to the side. You crash against it, but not as hard as you expected. The last thing you see is what remains of the ceiling crashing on top of you as you raise your arms over your head.

Maria eventually abandoned her focus on trying to stop Barton and the hostile force. It would be all for naught if she was dead. She pressed down as hard as she could on the gas pedal, the vehicle going as fast as it could. It was not fast enough as the collapsing tunnel caught up to her.  

Maria’s head throbbed as she shifted from her position inside the trapped vehicle. She could feel blood dripping from her nose and fresh bruises forming in her arms and legs. The adrenaline from the chase was beginning to give out, exhaustion settling deep in her bones. She looked over the shifting rubble and debris of the now collapsed tunnels.

Did you manage to escape? She doesn’t remember seeing you or your jeep get out before she had. 

“Green leader, do you copy?” Hill spoke evenly into her communicator. She was met with the silent crackle of her device. “Green leader, do you copy?” she repeats herself, quietly begging for your response. Silence. Your name leaves her lips, dropping all formalities, her voice strained, “are you there?” 

There was still no answer from you. She began switching between radio frequencies, catching different snippets of reports as she did.

“--underground tunnels have colla–”

“--er coming in, several men are dow–”

“--act has been stolen from—”

She continued switching between frequencies until Coulson’s voice rang through her communicator, “Director? Director Fury, do you copy?”

“The Tesseract is with a hostile force. I have men down. Hill?” Fury’s voice quickly followed.

“A lot of men still under. I don’t know how many survivors.” She says, breathing heavily as she climbed out of her mangled vehicle. The image of you being trapped under all this debris and rubble flashed before her eyes. Her heart momentarily stops, worry pulsing in waves throughout her body.

“Sound a general call. I want every living soul not working rescue looking for that briefcase,” Fury instructed.

“Roger that.”

“Coulson, get back to base. This is a Level Seven. As of right now, we are at war.”

Maria clenched her jaw as she processed the last few words. She knew what this meant, what was to come. Despite this, her thoughts wandered to you.

She finishes climbing out of the truck on shaky legs and moves past giant blocks of stone and rubble. Hill switched back to the channel you had last spoken through. She uses your call sign once more; it had dawned on her that, after the collapse, a signal might be non-existent, but she was still hoping to hear an answer. Once more, she was met with dreadful silence.

She calls out your name again, soft and anxious, “please be okay.”

May 2nd, 16:00 hrs, 14 hours later…

The Helicarrier was teeming with life, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents running around in preparation for the arrival of Fury’s new team. The Director had stepped out to recruit Steve Rogers himself, while the Black Widow had been pulled off mission to retrieve Dr. Banner and Agent Coulson had been sent to grab Tony Stark. 

Maria walked around the bridge, looking over the monitors of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents below her. Various agent profiles appeared on a few of the screens, other monitors occupied by mission reports, schematics, maps and graphics. 

Your picture on one of the monitors made her pause, a wave of anxiety courses through her body. She would not let it show though, presenting herself as the poster child of levelheadedness. She swallows hard as she walks closer to the monitor, crouching down beside the agent overlooking the incoming report. 

Her chest tightened when she saw you were still M.I.A. “What’s the status of the search and rescue?” Maria asks, subtly clenching her jaw as she stares at your picture. 

“It’s been slow, only about 31% of missing agents have been recovered, both dead and alive,” the agent, a short blonde, reported somberly, “There’s a lot of ground to cover and there are not enough teams available to work the mission.”

“Keep me updated,” Maria told the agent as she rose from her crouched position, “I want any and all new developments sent to my datapad.” 

“Yes, Commander.”

Maria returned to her position overseeing the main deck. She stared back down at the Main Deck Data Panels, overlooking the Helicarrier’s systems, routing ground teams for the search of Barton and setting up preparations for the Director’s team. Despite her attempts to focus on the influx of reports on Barton, Loki, and the status of Fury’s team, her mind would wonder and think of you. You, trapped under the rubble in the Jeep. You, potentially hurt. Potentially dead. A cold dread settled over chest as those thoughts consumed her mind.    

She stared down at the datapad, switching over to read the names of agents recovered from the facility.

Rodriguez, Vivian, M.I.A.

Porter, William, M.I.A.

Fitzgerald, Liliam, K.I.A.

Harris, Augustus, M.I.A.

Greene, Emiliano, Recovered.

She did not know what was worse, the fact that she had still not found your name on the list, or finding it and potentially reading K.I.A. The longer you went without being found, the less likely it would be a rescue and more of a recovery mission. She pushes the thought away. You will be fine. You are alive. You have to be.

“Commander,” Fury’s booming voice startles her out of her thoughts. 

“Yes, sir?” she asks, her voice firm, hiding having been caught off focus. She had not been informed that the Director had already returned to the Helicarrier. 

“Any progress on the Tesseract or Loki?” he asked, his voice stern. 

“Nothing yet, nothing has been reported on the ground and the techs are still in process of tapping all wireless cameras,” Hill reports as she looks up from her datapad.

“What about the rescue at the facility?”

“33% of agents have been rescued. About 12% of those have been found dead, but that statistic is slowly rising.”

The Director gave no reaction other than taking a deep breath. He raised his head slightly and his face remained neutral.

“Sir, due to those statistics, I want to reassign a few teams to aid in the search and rescue mission,” she states firmly. She held her head high and her posture straight. For a second, your face flashed in her mind and her heart sank a little deeper in her chest.

She was not doing it just for you. It was also for all the agents still trapped under the rubble and them being able to continue living their lives. That is what she was telling herself at least, feeling slightly guilty of the selfish part of her that was focused on you, and only you. Yet, for all she knew, you might already be dead. 

The thought made her stomach churn uncomfortably. She did not want to picture you trapped in those tunnels, crushed under the weight of an entire building. A heavy feeling made her heart sink to her stomach. Was there something she could have done to avoid this?

“Pull the remaining S.P.E.C.T.R.U.M. team and reassign them to the search and rescue, but that is all I can afford to compromise.” 

“Yes, sir,” A wave of relief momentarily soothed the drowning feeling in her heart. She began to walk away, to give the new orders before Fury called out for her once more.

“And Hill? I need you here,” Fury gives her a pointed, knowing look. The look made her somewhat nervous, but she nonetheless acknowledged him with a sharp nod, before returning to her position and reassigning the rest of your team for the search and rescue.

May 3rd, 20:37 hrs, 42 hours later…

Maria’s feet dragged her to her quarters, having been relieved of duty about ten minutes earlier. The last twelve hours had been rough, but the search for Loki had finally paid off. He was located at a gala in Stuttgart, Germany and Fury’s assembled team for the Avengers Initiative had just been dispatched to retrieve the Trickster god.

Her eyes were heavy with sleep and despite having just gotten off duty, her job was not quite done. She sat on top of her cot, her datapad in hand as she watched the stream of recent mission reports and updates on Barton and Loki. After reading those, she began looking through the recovery list, dread settling in her stomach once more. She scrolled through hundreds of agents' names, the status pinned right beside them.

Smith, Jonathan, K.I.A.

Badillo, Sarah, K.I.A.

Sullivan, Nina, K.I.A.

Pruny, Charlie, Recovered

Barrett, Daniel, K.I.A.

Maria swallowed hard as she continued to read the names of both fallen and recovered agents. She knows this is what happens in this line of work. She knows that as much as S.H.I.E.L.D. invests in making sure their agents come back safe, it is not a guarantee and that casualties are not something that can be avoided. There was still a lingering feeling of guilt and profound sorrow, knowing that not everyone gets to come back.

She rubs her eyes, trying to stave off the tiredness that settled into her bones. Your name has still not popped up on any of the reports, you are still missing. The sick feeling she had become well acquainted with returned. 

You cannot be dead. She refuses to believe that. Your last meeting replayed in her head. The disappointment and frustration in your eyes were burned into her mind. Your ultimatum rang inside her head.

Your face would appear every time she closed her eyes. She longed to see your smile again. For your eyes to sparkle with mischief, to feel your warm hand in hers. She wants to hear you laugh at a stupid joke. She missed the sound of your voice, the curve of your nose, the quirk of your lips. She missed you. She cannot lose you, not now, not yet. She loved you, you didn’t know that she lo–

Oh. Oh.

She was in love with you. 

The realization hit her like a bullet to the chest. She was in love with you. She had been so caught up in her job, so caught up in her own responsibilities, she never once realized how her own feelings had changed towards you. Part of her felt like a hypocrite. She had called you out on the near imperceivable changes in your behavior, but she had not realized how her own feelings had changed. How did she not realize it before?

She tries to think back to the last time she felt this way about someone. Has she ever felt that way before? She remembered her past relationships, having crushes and a bit of infatuation, but those had never developed into love.

She had always been married to her job. When she first joined S.H.I.E.L.D., she worked tirelessly to prove her worth as an agent. She rose through the ranks through hard and consistent work, becoming quite a formidable agent. She knew not everyone was on board with the Director’s pick of Second in Command. She did not mind it though, she had nothing to prove to those who disapproved. She knew she was always damn good at her job.

Perhaps that is why she did not realize her feelings before. Maybe that is why she had unfairly pushed you away. She leaned her head against the wall behind her, the horrid, guilty feeling coming back with an unyielding vengeance.

Why did she realize her feelings now? Why not before? Why did you have to be trapped under the damn tunnels, potentially dead? Why has no one found you yet? Why can’t she be there, searching for you herself?

She takes deep, even breaths as she works herself up again. No, she cannot afford that right now. You can’t be dead. She’s holding onto the hope that you are not dead.

She looks down at her datapad once more, a new set of agent names scrolling upwards.

Maguire, Christian, Recovered

Duque, Cristina, Recovered

Taylor, Rosa, K.I.A.

Buchi, Mamelu, Recovered

Bennett, Adrian, K.I.A.

Her heart stops as she spots your name. Her hands shook as she stared down at your status.

Recovered

A relieved laugh escapes her involuntarily. You are alive. You are still alive. The report said that you were in critical condition and were en route to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Trauma Centrum based in Nevada. She needed to see you.

The relief that had soothed her anxiety is short lived as she realizes she cannot leave yet. Her duties, responsibilities and the current state of the emergency the world finds itself in would not allow her to be with you at the moment. ‘I need you here,’ Fury’s voice reverberated in her head. She sighs deeply in frustration, guilt and relief playing tug-of-war with her heart. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers quietly as she stares down at your profile. 

May 4th, 15:24 hrs, 61 hours later…

“Oh, and uh, as for the matter that’s not in question? Where you morons tried to nuke New York? Well, that’s on the record. As in we recorded it. We do that. We’re S.H.I.E.L.D.,” silence hung between all the council members as Maria continued. The council members would not look at her, the shame of their decision hanging over them.

“So, if you’re thinking about coming after Nick Fury, ever,” she emphasizes the last word as her fingers work the control panel to open the privacy door of the Helicarrier’s main deck, “Think really, really hard.” 

With a pointed look and a victorious smirk, she turns off the screen before rejoining the main deck.

“How did that go?” Fury approached beside her shortly after. 

“Sold you down the river, sir. You should have your job within the month,” she replied as she began overlooking the Main Deck Data Panels. 

“Good work,” he says before continuing, “you should maybe ask for a chair.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says with an amused smile. She falters briefly though, as the Avengers make their way into her mind. 

“Sir, how does it work now? They’ve gone their separate ways. Some, pretty extremely far,” she walked alongside Fury as they made their way towards the large windows that oversaw the outside of the Helicarrier. She had had no faith in the Avengers Initiative. How did such a disjointed group with such different backgrounds ever function as a team? Who was to say they could do it again? “If we get into a situation like this again, what happens then?”

“They’ll come back,” he replies as if it were the simplest truth in the world.

“Are you really sure about that?” She did not quite know how his faith in this group could be so unwavering, especially after witnessing all their arguments before and during the recent battle. 

“I am,” he answers once again as if it were the easiest question on Earth.

“Why?” she asked earnestly. 

“Because we’ll need them to.”

A silent understanding passed between them as they overlooked the outside of the Helicarrier, agents running along the aviation runway. It was there that she understood that it was a play of faith. What had consistently carried the Avengers team was Fury’s belief in them, individually in each of them as well as in a group. It is that very same belief that would bring them together if any other event were to occur. 

            She takes a deep breath, her thoughts wondering to you once more. She has not been able to follow up on your status with everything that had happened since early that morning. A naive part of her wondered if maybe her belief that you would be okay had anything to do with your survival. 

Silence hung between both Director and Commander for a few moments. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Agent Hill?” Fury asks suddenly, turning his head towards her and eyed her knowingly. 

“Sir?” Maria asks, startled. Did he know? How did he find out? Perhaps she had not hidden her emotions as masterfully as she thought. Perhaps they would both be in trouble for the duration of the month.

“Go, we’ll talk about this later,” his voice was stern, but it did not match his soft expression.

“Thank you, sir,” she replies in a similar tone, but a ghost of a smile makes its way onto her lips. She leaves his side and hurriedly leaves the main deck.

Fury watched his Second in Command walk away. With a small smile, he approved the take-off of a Quinjet heading for Nevada. 

May 4th, 20:12 hrs, 66 hours later…

Maria had not been allowed to see you for the first 2 hours since arriving at the S.H.I.E.L.D. Trauma Centrum in Nevada. She had to argue her way into seeing you, having been told that only spouses and family would be allowed to enter. She was successful in the end, though, having pulled her rank into the conversation. She was not entirely proud of it, but it got her in and that is all she cared about.

Eventually, she was able to meet with one of your doctors. She informed Maria that your next of kin had been notified of your current state. The doctor also explained your injuries and the status of your treatment. Several of your ribs had been broken, you had a punctured lung, a dislocated shoulder, and had suffered a concussion. One of your arms was shattered and it had been a miracle they did not have to amputate. Maria was both surprised and relieved your injuries were not more extensive. You have still not woken up since arriving at the Centrum.

She was allowed into your room shortly after the meeting with the doctor. Your non-dominant arm was covered in a white cast. The side of your face was heavily bruised and slightly swollen. Other bruises, stitched cuts and patched-up scrapes littered your face, arms and chest. You were paler than usual, and your eyes were slightly sunken. 

Maria swallowed hard as she took in the sight of you. It was hard to see you in such a state. She approached your bed slowly, as if moving too quickly would make you disappear. A soft beeping was the only sound in the room, aside from the gentle buzz of the air vents. 

She sat at your bedside, watching as your chest rose and fell, slow, steady breaths leaving you. It was the most beautiful sound she had heard in the last few days. She took your uninjured hand in hers, the coldness of your fingertips sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. She did not let go though, as she began to gently stroke the top of your hand with her thumb. You were here. You would be okay. She shifted around in the hospital chair in attempts to get comfortable, exhaustion of the past few days finally reaching her. She continued to hold your hand as she began to feel the lull of sleep calling her. 

She woke up when she felt you squeeze her hand ever so gently. Her eyes fluttered open, her body demanding sleep but her heart demanding to see you. Maria first saw her hand in yours and she raised her head to see you. Your eyes met hers, a lazy smile spreading over your lips. She smiled back as she took you in. Your eyes were droopy and slightly red. It was clear you were desperately fighting off sleep.

“Hey,” Maria whispered, running her thumb over the top of your hand soothingly.

“Hey,” you whispered back. Your voice was hoarse and thick with sleep, your eyes fluttering open and close.

“How are you feeling?” Maria asked worriedly.

“I’m tired,” you reply breathlessly, giving her a small, playful smile. Maria smiles back, raising her hand to rest beside your head, and begins to gently stroke your cheek. You lean into her touch, your eyes beginning to droop shut.

“Rest,” she commands softly. You continue to fight off sleep, struggling to open your eyes to stare back into hers. “No,” you whine softly, “I don’t want you to go away.”

“I won’t go away,” Maria replied, a pang of sympathy and guilt spreading in her chest. “Promise?” your eyes begin to close against your will once more. 

“I promise.” 

You continued to struggle against sleep for about a minute before slipping back into unconsciousness. Maria continued to stroke your cheek soothingly, watching your chest rise and fall in a rhythmic pattern. You were here, you were alive. Her hand found yours once more as she laid her head on the bed.

 “I won’t go away,” she repeated quietly as she watched you for a while longer, eventually falling asleep once more.

You were still asleep by the time she woke up again a few hours later. She sat up in her seat, her back popping and cracking as she did, a dull ache having settled throughout her body. She rolled her shoulders in attempts to loosen up her muscles as she walked towards the bathroom, hoping to quickly freshen up.

She notices you shifting in your bed as she quietly steps back into the room, your head lifting up when you notice her. You adjusted yourself to sit up on the bed, a pained wince decorating your features as you did. “Hey, hey, be careful,” Maria scolded, her tone soft and gentle, as she approached your bedside, “You’ve been out for a few days. How are you feeling?”

“I’m better. Less tired,” you reply, your voice cracking as you speak, before giving her a lazy smile. 

Maria cannot help but smile back at you, “That’s good to hear. Do you need anything?” You shake your head gently before resting your head against your pillow, your eyes fluttering shut for a few seconds.  

“You’re hurt,” you ask as you notice the stitches at the side of her brow.

“Don’t worry about me, I’m okay,” Maria replies as she sits beside you once more. She placed her hand on the bed, inches away from yours. 

You take her in. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she no longer wore her S.H.I.E.L.D. suit, instead wore a spare physical training uniform. Her eyes were tired, darkened bags hanging under her eyes. Bruises and small cuts littered her arms as well. Despite this, she held a small, unwavering smile.

Silence settled over the both of you for a few minutes. There was a far-off look to you, your eyes holding a mixture of guilt, worry and fear. Maria sighed quietly, guessing what you might be thinking about. 

“Did… did my team…?” your voice was quiet and pleading. Your eyes did not meet hers, fearing her expression would give away the answer before her lips could.

“Agent Bennett… he didn’t make it, sweetheart,” she says sympathetically, the soft, gentle tone never leaving her voice, “I’m sorry.”

A pained sigh escaped your lips as your eyes began to water. He had a son, one who had been living at the facility with him before everything went to hell. The boy had been evacuated at the beginning of the emergency. But now his father…

“And the rest?” you ask shakily.             “Harris, William and Parker made it out unscathed. Garcia was treated for minor injuries and is approved to return to her usual duties,” she answered in the same soft tone, offering you a sad smile. 

A few tears escaped your eyes, a mixture of sadness for your fallen friend and the relief of knowing the rest of your team had made it out. Maria had inched her hand closer, her fingers ghosting over yours. She gently held your hand when you didn’t pull away, giving it a soft squeeze and returning to stroke the top of your hand with her thumb.

            “So, um,” you begin to speak after a while, your voice still shaky and unsteady, “what-what did I miss?”

Maria knew you wanted to distract yourself from the news of the passing of your friend. She offered you a sad smile and a gentle squeeze of your hand before beginning to tell you about the last two days. From gathering the Avengers, to the loss of Agent Coulson, to the Hulk rampaging in the Helicarrier, to the battle of New York. You listened as intently as you could, the thought of your dead friend still hung in the forefront of your mind. 

Silence hung between the both of you for several minutes after Maria told you what you had missed. Her presence here confused you. She kept her promise, she stayed, but that surprised you. Why was she here? S.H.I.E.L.D. was dealing with the aftermath of an alien attack, yet she was sitting beside you, comforting you. The state in which your relationship currently stood does not warrant this, so why was she choosing to be here?

“Maria?” you ask tentatively. She looked into your eyes at the mention of her name. You swallowed down the bubble of fear that formed at the pit of your stomach, “What are we?”

The words said were just barely louder than the medical equipment in the room. Your gaze fell to your hands, watching as you twiddled with your thumbs. 

You suddenly feel her warm hand cup your cheek, gently guiding you to look at her. Her eyes held an earnest, vulnerable look, one that captured your heart and attention. “I thought I lost you, when you were trapped in the tunnels,” the sincerity in her voice almost caught you off guard, “and that scared me more than anything else.”

She squeezed your hand gently, as if to emphasize her point. The vulnerability in her eyes and her voice were something you had never been privy to before, and part of you almost doesn’t know how to react to it. 

“Even an alien invasion?” you give her a weak smile, while also mentally kicking yourself. This was not the moment for you to be making dumb jokes. Maria takes it in stride though, as she gives you an amused smile, “Yes, even an alien invasion.”

“I’m sorry for pushing you into making a decision you weren’t ready to make. I know how important your job is to you, and…” you apologize, your eyes falling to your hands once more.

“No, I’m sorry for pushing you away,” Maria does not want to hear your apologies. You have nothing to apologize for. All she wanted was you, she knew that now. “I… guess I hadn’t realized I had fallen in love with you, and those feelings scared me.”

Your eyes open wide at her confession as you raise your head to look at her, “You-you what?”

Maria’s eyes widened as well, not having realized what she admitted. For a brief moment of panic, she wanted to take it back. Maybe you were not in that place yet. But she reigns herself in and pushes that feeling away, before taking a deep breath and looking at you straight in the eye. She whispers your name oh so gently and lovingly, “I love you.”

A mixture of emotions, good and bad, swirled in her ocean-colored eyes like a storm. She was laying out the most vulnerable parts of herself to you, allowing herself to drop the emotional walls she had built around herself, letting you see how much she cared for you, letting you know she had fallen for you the way you fell for her.

“I love you, too,” you say softly, almost breathlessly. A quiet laugh escapes you as you say those words. You see as relief and pure joy fills her expression. She joins your laugh as she gently holds your face in her hands.

She leaned over you, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. A warm feeling erupted in your chest, a childlike glee overtaking you. Your lips moved in tandem with each other, following a familiar rhythm. Even so, this kiss felt different, it felt renewed and exciting and right. 

You deepened the kiss, placing your hand behind her neck, your fingers getting lost in her hair. That was until you pulled away to gasp for air, your lung capacity not quite what it used to be. She leaned her head against yours, a soft chuckle escaping her.

“Cheeky,” she whispered, her hot breath hitting against your face.

“Can you blame me?” you replied with a mischievous smile.

The door opened suddenly, revealing two nurses. Maria pulled away from you to look at the door, all parties in the room momentarily freezing as the intimate moment was interrupted. Neither you nor Maria had realized until now that your heart monitor had begun beeping rapidly, despite how loud it typically is. Your cheeks felt warm as you looked between Maria and the nurses.

“We heard the monitor– we’ll-we’ll come back later,” one of the nurses said sheepishly. “Sorry for interrupting, go on,” the other one said as they both stepped out.

Soft giggles escaped your lips once the door closed. Maria looked down at you, as she began to laugh, too. She begins to gently brush the hair on the top of your head. You rested your head against your pillow as you looked up at Maria lovingly. 

Maria sends you a big smile, the ones that showed pure love and happiness. Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of joy and relief and pure adoration. After days of the awful sinking feeling in her chest and the uncomfortable churning in her stomach, there was finally a lightness in her heart.

She leaned over you, placing a soft kiss on your lips once more.

[discotitsposts]

but daddy, i hate you

when spencer recieves a birthday card from his estranged father you help him deal with his feelings

gets a little steamy at the end so 18+ recommended

this is how i deal w my own feelings lol

a little background: set in season 13-14. right before spencer’s birthday. you’re spencer’s wife, you’ve been together around 7 years. You work at the bookstore that you and spencer own. (he helps you run it and is co owner, you run it together) also, Spencer and you live in the apartment above the store.

It’s a beautiful Saturday morning and you’ve been going through boxes of new books for your store before you open for the day. It’s Spencer’s day off and he’s at the counter adding up the figures and making sure everything is in order for your busiest day of the week.

You hear a knock at the front door. “I’ll get it!” You yell to Spencer. You unlock the door and the mailman hands you your mail. “Thanks Jim, how’s Martha?” You ask him.

“She’s great, she’s dropping by later with cookies!”

“Cool! See you tomorrow!” You wave bye and start going through the mail.

“Hey, hon, there’s something for you from…” You stop when you read the name. William Reid. Spencer hadn’t seen nor heard from his father in almost 10 years. He was still very much angry about anything to do with his father. As were you. You couldn’t believe he hadn’t reached out at all.

“From who?” He asks, not looking up from the financial log. He puts his pencil down and reaches his hand out for you to hand him the envelope. You hesitate but hand it to him anyway.

You watch his face drop when he reads the name and address. Oh, how you wished to take the envelope out of his hands and hold him and tell him to forget that silly piece of paper forever. He peels the envelope open, careful not to touch the seal. He feels the dread fill his heart when he sees the contents. A card that says ‘Happy Birthday’ on the front, and ‘to a very special boy’ on the inside.

“What does he think I am? A fucking child?” He shouts, making you jump. “Sorry.” He apologizes and sighs.

“It’s alright, I’ll leave you alone with that.” You start to back away.

“No, don’t. Stay, please.” He begs with his beautiful eyes.

You nod and move closer. He begins reading the handwritten message on the inside of the card.

“Dear Spencer, Hope you’re not too upset with me, I am proud of you. We haven’t talked in a while, you haven’t called. You have the number. Don’t hesitate to reach out. How is Diana? Miss you. Happiest of Birthdays. Love, your father.” He reads it off, mocking every word.

“What the fuck! He hasn’t sent a card in 9 fucking years! Why now?” He raises his voice.

“I don’t..”

He cuts you off, “I’ll tell you why, because he’s either finally feeling bad about everything or he wants something. Well I won’t call him. I fucking hate him.”

“It’s a dick move to blame you for not reaching out, but honestly? Maybe you should, find out what he wants. If he honestly just wants to talk, it might be the closure you need. If he just wants something from you, you can tell him to fuck off. Obviously you don’t have to but maybe you should consider it. I know he was an asshole to you the last time, but you know I regretted not telling my father everything I wanted to say.” You’re watching your words, his father was a touchy subject.

He thinks for a minute and then sits back down and covers his face with his hands. “Maybe you’re right. You alright to open by yourself today? I think I’ll give him a call.”

“Yeah, go ahead. Good luck.”

He walks over to you and gives you a kiss and runs upstairs. He looked like a little kid who had just been given their favorite candy.

Later, when you’re closing the store for lunch break, you hear a loud crash from upstairs. You run upstairs, afraid Spencer had fallen and hurt himself. Worse. He was on the floor crying his eyes out. He had knocked the bookshelf over and he was surrounded by collapsed books.

You carefully step over the books to get to him.

“What happened?” You ask softly, so as to not startle him. He keeps crying into his hands but removes one to take your hand into his.

“I called, told him I received the card and I was willing to talk with him. I- I tried to…” His voice starts to trail off because he’s crying so hard he can’t speak. You rub his back reassuringly. “It’s ok, take your time.”

“I wanted to tell him, I’m married, and my life is going great. I didn’t even get to say anything. He stopped me and asked what card I was talking about. Turns out his new wife felt he should speak with his son, wrote the card and sent it to me. I should have known it wasn’t his handwriting.” He’s so tired from crying he just lays his head in your lap and stares.

“I’m so sorry love.” You say while running your fingers through his hair. Anger coursing through your veins.

“He hung up on me too.” His voice breaks as he says this. It has you fuming mad even more so. How could he do that? You could practically hear Spencer’s heart snapping in two.

He’s crushing your legs, so you convince him to stand up and have him go lay in bed with you. You cover him with the blankets and just hold him until he falls asleep.

You wake up a few hours later and he’s still asleep. You slyly grab his phone and write down William’s number. You take the paper, and your jacket downstairs.

You go to the store phone and as you’re dialing the number your stomach turns. Was this a good idea? After all I’m doing this for Spencer. You think as the line rings.

“Hello? Who is this?” A woman’s voice answers.

“Hello, is William Reid there?” Your voice quivers. You hear shuffling and the woman calls “Will! Phone!” in the background.

More shuffling. Then a man’s voice. “Who is this?” He says sternly.

“Hello, you don’t know me but I-“

“Then why are you calling me?”

“I’m your son’s wife, and I think we need to have a talk.”

“Spencer’s married?” He asks almost longingly. He sounded interested. Good.

“What kind of father are you? You don’t let him know you even want to be in his life and now all of a sudden you do? When he does finally reach out you hang up on him?”

“Ok that was because I went to go talk to my wife about why she sent my son a card from me.”

This goes on for a while, you yelling at Mr. Reid for his rude behavior.

The next morning you wake up to Spencer speaking to someone on the phone. Still groggy, you’re confused and mouth, ‘who is it?’

He holds up a finger to say hold on. He’s smiling. Maybe Prentiss is letting him take the next few days off!

“Alright bye! Love you!” He says into the phone, almost giddy. He hangs up and you tilt your head confused. He has the biggest grin on his adorable face.

“It was my dad. He was calling when I woke up. I can’t believe he reached out and he apologized! Can you believe it? He’s never really apologized to me before! We had a long talk, it was nice. Really nice.” He sits on the bed smiling.

“Is that so? Talk about a change of heart.” You smile to yourself knowing what you had done.

“You know what else he said?”

“What else did he say?”

“He said the little talking-to you gave him worked.” Spencer chuckles knowingly.

“I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

“No, I’m not upset. I actually am glad you did it. He wants to come and visit us. He wants to meet you too.” He pulls you into a big hug. “I love you. Thank you.” He kisses your neck.

“You’re welcome. I love you too.” You pull back and hold his face in your hand.

“Since you did me a favor, I think I owe you one. Lay back.” He gently spreads your legs apart and repays the favor to you. All day long.

the end 💞

it hurt me so bad to write spencer crying

to anyone who read this hope you enjoy! please don’t hesitate to leave feedback if you like this!

[bowieandqueen11]

Kissing Roman Roy Would Include...

Request: oh my god! your kendall roy kissing headcanons were adorable! would it be possible to get some for roman as well? i just know that man is touch starved and definitely had an awkward time kissing the reader early on in their relationship. obviously, you can choose to ignore but thank you!

Awww yes of course you can get some my love this man is 100% touch starved you’re so right <3

LADS OKAY I’M COMING BACK TO SAY THIS IS NEARLY 7K AND MY LONGEST FIC BY FAR LMAOO BABYGIRL CODED anyway comments are much appreciated because I am so tired lol ty ty ily all! :)

Warning: mentions of injuries/ blood, childhood abuse, and some swearing! Also MAJOR spoilers for Season 4!!

(I do not own Succession or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @xihatiancai.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

We all really took one look at Roman Roy and went wet pathetic disgusting meow meow man I love you, and I really love and appreciate that for all of us. Because like... if not babygirl, why babygirl coded?

The first time you guys ‘kissed’, you were both around seven years old: on the tennis court, Shiv had sent a ball flying at Roman that had bent his hand backwards, and left quite a nasty gash of blood running down his arm. Instead of comforting the brother she had just bruised for the umpteenth time, the set of Roman crawling down to sit on the grass while cradling his arm just made her furious, and she went storming off towards the kitchen for some chocolate milk to cool down. You had been watching from the doubles side line, dropping your own racket as soon as Roman began to snivel, squeezing his skin back together and wincing as warm blood gushed out onto the grass. You run over to kneel in front of him, the harsh rays of light blushing across your head like a halo as you grab onto his elbow. You press the back of your shirt against it, hoping it will do until a nurse or one of the waiters comes running out with a first aid kit; as you glance up, the furious face of his father comes pacing past the balcony doors, and so you turn Roman’s head to look at you instead, praying that he won’t spot him. It will only make him whine more. It surprises you when he curses curtly instead at the feel of your fingers pressing down hard against his wound, but when you mumble an apology he finally stops scowling down at the ground and looks up: it’s as if he’s seeing you properly for the first time. His eyes light up as you gently lean down and press a kiss against the bloodstains; just the slightest hint of pressure, and tingling warmth of your your lips is enough to send a flourish through his body and make Roman Roy feel nourished. No longer withered, no longer left to rot. Roman gazes up at you: past the dappled sunlight, past the dotted clouds, past the earth and skies and heavens, and past it all he sees you. 

You’re the first and last person he’s ever wanted to kiss. Like craving poison, he knows it will pass through and destroy him if he allows himself to indulge. But by god, if it wouldn’t taste so sweet as it pours down his throat and overwhelms every dilapidated part of his body.

The first time he works up the nerves to kiss you back, is in one of the pool storage huts just past the outer boundaries of his father’s estate. Shiv had finally convinced her father to allow her out into the city to go shopping for some new suits, and Ken had been chained into a business meeting to take notes for Logan, so Roman had been left all alone to wander around the ostentatious shadows and lonely halls of the house he hated to call home. Feeling trapped, like he couldn’t breathe, he wanders towards the ‘safe space’ the two of you had created a couple of years ago: a small nook you and Roman had spent the day nestling out (and nearly breaking his arm shoving unused surfboards and pool cleaning chemical boxes) in the dim, and slightly damp room. Finally feeling at home as he stepped into the mildew-steeped scent cloud that enveloped the square box stuffed full of things his father had wanted out of his sight, his heart is allieved to spot you already there. You don’t even have to look up from your book as he comes dawdling towards you like a puppy afraid it’s about to be kicked. When you open your arm up to him willingly, the true him comes leaping forth: like a darting hummingbird, he comes flying  into your side, nestling his chin on the hard part of your shoulder so he can scan the words lazily past your head. After about half an hour of him gripping onto your shirt, as sweet and softly as infant spring, he glances up towards your face and an overwhelming urge overtakes him. Before he can stop himself, before he can make sense of his decision, before he can chide himself for his weakness, he lifts his head up and presses his lips firmly, if a little harshly, against the side of your cheek. Your book crashes to the floor with a thunderous slap, lifting a small cloud of dust as you raise your fingers to the wet spot in surprise. He immediately shuffles backwards at the noise, before making an awkward, fumbling excuse and running out the door.

He never brings it up again, but whenever you’re round at the Roy residence after that you can feel the intensity of his eyes land on you far more often. He blinks away and scratches the back of his neck nonchalantly whenever you catch him, or sometimes scrunches his nose up and starts biting the edges of his fingernails if he’s really nervous. But the love is there. He just can’t say it yet.

Once, when you were the only person in the house besides Connor and Logan, you were asked by the second-born eldest son to help him find Romie. With a concerned sigh, Connor wanders off to check behind the bathroom door off the living room, his lips forming a tight line as he disappears off down the corridor. Turns out, Logan had found out that Roman had been the one to spill his ice cream cone in the car on the way back from his fencing lesson, and Roman had run off cursing and crying when he heard the roar reverberate out from his father’s office at the news. You know where he is, instinctively. Of course you do: you don’t even need to think as your feet guide you towards his bedroom, and your body shrinks down to scoot under the bed and lie on the pristinely clean floorboards. He’s hiding behind the tendril weeds of his fear, making himself as small a target as possible as he balls himself up, trembling like heavy branches when lanced with frost. From behind his raised elbows that protect his face, he’s sniffling, his feet leaving the ground every few seconds from how harshly they shake. You lie down carefully on your side beside him, so hyperaware of any part of yourself brushing against him, in case the wounded creature decides to bolt. Thankfully, he comes sliding towards you, only stopping when your chest does the job for him; being as physically close as he can get to you, he huddles into your embrace while you stroke back the few curls by his ear. Once you’ve finally managed to choke back your own tears, your lips latch onto the spot of skin by the lobe of his ear, eyes closing and ticking his skin. He warbles against you, shivering, and the kiss just makes him whine more harrowingly against your chest.

Romie’s always around you. Always. He finds it difficult to actually be physically intimate, so it says quite plainly (even if you can’t understand it yet) that you’re the love of his life when he comes barrelling down the front stairs of the veranda and straight into your hug whenever your first foot falls onto the estate. It also means that during family dinners, when he’s finally mastering the skill of slouching back in his wishbone chair and tuning out all the horrible and spiteful things wrapped up in faux sincerity his family are saying about each other, he turns instead to kick your feet under the table. The brush of his ankle against your shoe is soon followed by the heavy pressure of his fingers reaching over onto your lap and entangling with your own. When the two of you are finally excused, you decide not to go back inside straight away. Instead, the two of you go for a dander around some of the verdant fields around the edges of the property: a few green patches here there that are filled with the scent of honeysuckle and freshly blooming rainbows splattered amongst the dirt. You decide to stop and sit for a while on the edge of a cobbled stone wall, laughing as Roman nearly falls off the uneven patch as he settles down beside you. He shrugs you off with a wave of his hand, but he’s smiling as you pluck a daisy from between the blades and tuck it behind his ear. For a while, the two of you just exist: watching the sunset brew violet and lilac gleams across your eyeline, talking shite and poking fun at each other, until Roman shyly takes a break from his rapid talking to blink slowly. He leans his torso forward, and after a bashful burn flickers over his cheeks, he squeezes his eyes shut and plants a wet kiss against your cheek, just like he had done all those years before.

He climbs into your room later that night, and you nearly hit him with a baseball bat when you come strolling out of your bathroom to see a teenager laying splayed out in a heap on your rug, a few pages of your homework flying over your desk from where he had banged his knee and tripped. With a lopsided grin, he decides to just stay lying there (once you had convinced him that you weren’t going to actually hit him). Sometimes Roman just likes to watch what you’re doing: to observe as an outsider what normality, what contentment should and could feel like. As you sit by your lamp and finish off your english essay for the next morning, you notice with furrowed eyebrows that Roman is moochier than normal tonight: he keeps squirming, rolling about and whining as if he’s debating something in his mind. That’s why when he’s gripping onto the ivy and finally climbing back down into the darkness later that night, you grab onto the collar of his sherpa jacket and heave him up through the air like a flustered bird towards you. After his initial surprise at the feeling of you pounding your lips against his own, he melts into you: clumsily, messily, desperately, but with one hand gripping so hard onto your window frame that he splinters the wood. His top lip refuses to let you go: capturing onto your bottom lip over and over and over again, the sweet taste of cherry flooding your senses as you bite down on the lip forcing its way into your mouth. When he pulls away, he looks so uncharacteristically serious for a moment as he hovers a few inches away from your face. His eyes never break from your lips, as if he he looks away the miracle he’s been graced with might fly away and he’ll be left with the hellish nightmare of his normal reality. But it doesn’t, and so you let him go.

He burns a crimson red and starts muttering incoherently as his feet work their way back down the garden lattice, but he’s got this giddy smile and a spring in his swishing walk the whole way home.

I mean, like, of course Connor invited you on the camping trip. And man, I mean the tension that had been expanding between you and Roman over the last few years was becoming more and more obvious to his brothers, and it pierced Roman’s heart with a stroke of fear when he realised it was to him as well. Connor’s little fishing expedition by the river turned out a little differently than he expected: instead of a placid moment between family, learning and teaching new skills together and bonding over one activity they could all share in, it was more of a ‘watch little gremlin Roman flirt obnoxiously with Y/n and, once again, ignore everyone else’ fest. Kendall sat on the shore, itchy against the reeds of grass and sighing every time he looked down at his watch. Connor was still having fun, though, from where he was wading his brand new, and never worn again wellies into the shallow end of the creek. It was just that every now and then he would have to trip over his fishing line and scoot to the right to avoid large splashes of weedy water landing on him; Roman had decided a much better use of his time was to try and pull up handful of mud and chase you around the river side with it. Your squeals, as you ran around the tamarack trees and peered around the sides like a meerkat, could be heard from the campsite. So, too, could Roman’s hyena laugh as he went laughing around the bend after you, and Connor had to spend half the night ignoring your shared snickers as he apologies to camper after camper. 

I don’t even know how, but somehow the two of you managed to convince Connor that it was a great idea for you and Roman to share a tent. Thanks to Kendall’s pointed warning for the two of you to behave and ‘not embarrass the family name anymore’, you were both surprisingly well behaved during the night. Mainly due to the fact that before you fell asleep, you leant over and left a chaste kiss against Roman’s cold forehead, before turning onto your side facing him and wishing him a goodnight. He wiggled down into his sleeping bag like a little worm as the electricity from your touch spread down like firebolts through his body. That man did not sleep one wink that night. Not one. Instead he rolled onto his left side, and chose to spend his time contemplating you: taking you in. The milky buzz of twilight flooded through the loose zip, the chirp of bouncing crickets on the darkened rocks outside match the intense thudding of his heart. Fumbling his fingers up so they rested underneath the side of his jaw, he made himself comfortable as he observed the way your chest rose and fall: the way your nose crinkled up in disgust when you were in the throes of a weird dream, the way your mouth mushed as you turned more into the stony ground. How much he loved you. How happy he could be if he could just summon the bravery to tell you. How fucked he was. How, if he did, his father would immediately utilise it, weaponize his love against him.

Roman wasn’t stupid, but he was. He didn’t know if he could find a way to escape this cage. Deep in his heart, he knew there was no key to this dog kennel, to this bird cage, to this leash. But he lay there, still, dreaming of freedom.

You get invited along on their family holidays a lot, mainly because Logan spends his whole time on phone calls and not mentally being present so he doesn’t really notice you’re there. If you and Roman aren’t spending the afternoons sitting together on a sun lounger, reading aloud softly to him by the pool side, it’s spent actually in the pool. A freshly seventeen year old Roman had seemed nervous, besides the usual annoyance at having to wear nothing but swimming shorts: shaken all day; when you touch his pinkie finger and grip onto it, silently asking him with your stern expression if you were okay, only the most miniscule of grins could cross his face in response. He still seemed unsettled in the water, besides the fact that Shiv’s foot nearly thwacked him up the face as she and Kendall wrestled each other under the water, both unrelenting in their accusation that the other had lost their splashing match. While you watched on in horrified curiosity, you nearly jumped when you felt Roman softly touch your elbow and lead you away from the affray. You think he’s trying to guide you towards the Jacuzzis as you bob across the water, or perhaps back to his room to escape the antics of his family. Instead, Roman leads you further into the deep end for a moment; after a sharp turn right, you’re surrounded by a small well, a shallow area just out of sight of the main swimming area. The imposing walls loom over your head as you take a perched seat on the brick bench that runs around the semi-circle, and Roman’s breath trembles as he follows suit, sitting maddingly close to you. You open your mouth to ask him what’s going on, but before you can get a squeak out he’s lunged at you, fervently enough to make you nearly bite your tongue. It’s not super romantic, and it’s incredibly clumsy as an inexperienced Roman Roy mashes his lips against your bottom one until he can feel his teeth clash against yours. You can taste a touch of pineapple from the inside of his mouth as he sloppily raises his cupid’s bow, and soon after the tang of chlorine as he falls too far forward and sends you both tumbling backwards into the water. But when you come back up for air, heaving him up by his underarms and staring dumbstruck at him as he pants heavily and tries to look anywhere else, you burst out giggling. Roman’s smile grows brightly enough to blight the sun as he looks incredulously at you, the laughter only stopping short on his lips when he catches the squinting look of his sister watching the two of you from the boundary edge.

It’s the first and last time Roman Roy kisses you for a while, terrified that one of his siblings will go squealing to daddy and he’ll take you away from him. And then, suddenly, the two of you have grown up. Roman’s still stuck to you like glue, but the repression festers away in his stomach until he feels as if some kind of scaly tooth monster is gnawing away at his insides. He feels the leather tighten around his neck whenever he’s standing like an affronted ostrich in that office with his father, his master, his demise, his ghost, him. 

So, Roman starts to try and avoid you whenever he’s at Waystar, worried that the grief that never seems to leave his mind will strangle you if he lets you in. Terrified that his father will die, but also that his father will never die. That this is just another cage. Eventually, after weeks of him turning on his heels with a manic jolt and running out of every board room he spots you in: after months of the child dressed up as a man putting his phone to his ear and having nonsensical phone calls every time he passes you in the corridors, you manage to nab him when he’s walking out of the break room. Even though a stuttering cousin Greg thinks you’re trying to kidnap him when you grab Roman by the collar and start dragging him to the elevator, you refuse to let go until Greg’s waving hand is firmly shut behind the metal sheets. You let go, and he fumbles backwards onto the hand-rail that runs around the small rectangle with a bemused ‘what the actual fuck’, but you just cross your arms and stare at him, refusing to talk first. 

Your austere façade quickly drops, and you’re quick to slam your first into the emergency button on the panel, gripping onto Roman’s sleeve as the elevator lurches to a stop between the twenty-second and twenty-third floors. A kind of acceptance has washed over Roman, some kind of known and familiar claustrophobia from having spent his whole life locked up, his whole life thrown about sets in. He picks at his fingernails as his eyes dart about, wild and brutal and crushing as he looks around for an escape route. It’s only when you put a hand on his shoulder and draw him in for a hug that he breaks down; he squats down so the two of you are resting a few inches off the floor, his face buried just atop of your heart as he shakes and he cries and he allows himself the security to just crumble. To melt down. To kick his feet and hope his father feels the wring of the shackles against his own ankles. He hopes for the first time in his life, as you stroke the back of his head and shush him comfortingly, that they hurt him. 

Something changes between the two of you that day. You’re kinder to each other, and slowly to yourselves. It’s not outspoken, or rushed, or ravenous, but it begins to grow and grow and grow until it’s not only confusion and anguish that lies at the pit of Roman’s rotting core.

It starts with him becoming more comfortable showing affection to you around his family. Like you sitting on Roman’s lap at Shiv’s wedding reception, not listening to the speeches but trying to hide your giggles in Roman’s palms as he’s busy trying to take roses out of the centre piece and pin them through your hair. Or his full weight against you during the professional photos out on the balcony, and not even Shiv flicking her brother or Tom waving his hand at Roman to try and get him to behave could stop him from leaning backwards and planting a kiss underneath your jawline once the man said he was taking the final photograph. The two of you go out into the gardens later that night, trying to escape the ear-hammering loud beats of the D.J., and to try and make an early escape from the growing fight that seemed to be coming between Tom and Shiv’s old work acquaintance. With two beers and slightly tipsy heads, you sit down and talk on the dew-ridden grass, shoulders swaying against the other’s in time with the falling pine leaves. You felt like children again, and against the smouldering clash of fireworks that brandished the sky in bursts of red and gold, you both felt undying as well. He kisses you then, his hand reaching up to brush against the side of your cheek, his bottom lip teasingly tugging at your bottom lip and making you swat him away with a laugh. As you take his hand in your own and press a promise filled kiss against his middle knuckle, he hopes that one day he’ll be able to kiss you at your own wedding.

When you know he’s having a rough day at work, you like to try and sneak into his office and wrap your arm around his stomach, peppering kisses up and down his spine. Although he tries to shake you off like a startled starling at first, when he realises that you also managed to close the blinds on your way in without him noticing, he quickly relinquishes himself onto your barrage of adoration. He becomes all whiny, and soft, and needy, and all the things he’ll never allow himself to be outside of the security blanket of this closed off room. Although he still isn’t comfortable with anything too sexual, you won’t find him complaining as he wrestles you to the sofa. Once you’ve had the wind knocked out of your lungs, and Roman’s satisfied with how fully you’re splayed out on your back before him, he’ll go scuttling over to the end of the sofa and kneel down beside it. With a mischievous glimmer in his eye, he’ll swish his hips from side to side and come crawling up the sides of his body like a wolf slinking towards its dinner. Then he attacks: his tongue heavy and slick as he draws a hickey out just under the pulse point on your neck, pressing him firmly against you if you try to squirm away, chiding you with a warning. When it becomes too much, he lets you grip him up by his tie and walk him backwards until his thighs hit his desk. He jumps up to perch on it, and you stand between his legs as they tighten around you. You’re slow and careful as you loosen the material between your fingers, opening the first button of his shirt, and only the first so he doesn’t become too uncomfortable, with a satisfying loud pop. He whimpers as you lean over to scrape your teeth against the exposed skin, working your way up until your lips are tantalisingly hovering over the stubble on his jaw. He can feel your breath, hot and unsteady as it pants against him, but he still can’t stop the shiver that racks through him as he takes your hand and guides them under his shirt. With your hands firmly planted against his abdomen, you look at him quizzically, worried, but he just keeps his fingers on top of your own and answers you by sweetly pressing his top lip over his own. Just once, he wanted to feel safe, to feel okay with the love of his life touching his body.

The two of you have this game where you try to steal kisses from each other during the most inappropriate and annoying times possible. Oh, Shiv’s trying to talk to you in her kitchen about how her trip to England went? Roman barges in between the two of you, nearly making Shiv chop her thumb off, just so he can interrupt his sister by smirking against your mouth. Kendall wants to run through a presentation the two of them have to give the next morning? You’re grabbing onto Roman’s head as you run through the office, nearly giving him a heart attack as he scrambles backwards and allows you to drop his head back onto the cushion. With a full plant landing on his already pliant lips, Kendall’s left with a fed-up ‘hey’, yet unsurprised look of disappointment on his face as you run off back to your own desk.

When his father called Romie a moron in Prague, the look of desolation that crossed through his teary eyes was enough to make an angel weep. But it broke you even more when he pattered out of the dining area, walking shoulder to shoulder with you, but not saying anything. He was just staring down at his hands as if they were blotted: stained with specks of blood, and he would have to spend another sleepless night scrubbing them out of his skin. It wasn’t the first time he heard it, but it was the first time you were there to hear it too, and you weren’t going to let him get comfortable wallowing in that fearful acceptance. You grip onto his shoulder and steer him away from the milling crowd of sheep, stuffing him into a bathroom stall of the east wing of the hotel. Crowded together, Roman’s hamstring bumps against the porcelain as the two of you scoot about until you’re standing facing each other as best as you could. He looks at you, bleary eyed, and you look at him, bleary eyed. He breaks. Choking, gasping, breathless sobs, drowning in his misery. He grabs onto your shirt, clawing into the meat of your shoulders as if he’ll sink if he lets go. He keeps babbling through bubbles of spit about how he just wants to make his father proud, how he wants to be just like him, how he wants to prove that he can rule all this too. How he can never replace him. But he can. He wants it all to burn, but he wants to stand on the ruins and be the one to plant the foundations again. To make a better world, in honour of his father: in honour of the god of war that rages within his head. You press quick kisses on his sweaty forehead whenever you can, doing your best to dodge the quick turns of his head and wiping away the trails of tears with your thumb. All you can do in that moment, as you press your lips against the side of his ear and whisper it to the most intimate, lost parts of himself, is to let him know that you’re proud of him, no matter what happens next. You always have been, and even the ghost of Logan that possess Roman can’t stop that.

The sloppy kisses he gives you the next morning omg. When the two of you are sitting on your bedroom steps, and you’re biting your bottom lip in concentration as you try to do up the buttons of his dress shirt and make him look presentable in front of his family. Like a feral dog, he uses all of his leftover energy trying to nip and bite your fingertips, catching them on his tongue and pursing them against the roof of his mouth whenever he can.

You cannot convince me that Roman isn’t a jealous bitch. Like at Kendall’s fortieth birthday party, when he finally gives up trying to get up into his special little secret treehouse club, and Shiv has left him to go ham on the dance floor instead. You finally manage to convince him into relaxing for a fricking minute, making him join you at the bar. If someone tries to grab your waist, though, or butt into your conversation while the two of you are hyena giggling and seeing who can spurt more beer into the other’s face, Roman will full on goad them into fighting him. I mean, chest puffed out, crazed look in his face, hands up by his side until they send a weak shove in their general direction. It only ends when Roman either: near topples you to press a bracing kiss against your lips, or you dragging him off and having to hold him through the brackets of his arms. In the corner of the room, over by the sheets of warbling fire that seems to be coming from a central room, you stand behind his feet and wrap your arms up his chest. You can feel the fury roll off him, allowing him a moment to blow off the steam, until his head finally falls like putty and begins to synchronise his breathing to yours again after you hold your lips against the nape of his neck.

The kisses when he comes back after being held hostage (I am doing this so out of order apologies) omg??? He clambers sombrely to sit beside you on the deck of the boat, looking so out of place and serious as he leans back against the cushions. His siblings make fun of him, and tease him, and although he realises it’s harmless and he’ll see it as a key bonding moment a couple of years down the line, in the inside the typical Roy storm is brewing. He can’t say anything: just hides behind the jokes and snide comments so the words don’t choke him. You just feel his weight fall against yours little by little, until his hand reaches out and takes your own so tightly you know it’s going to bruise. The muscle in his jaw tightens and he squeezes his eye shut in an enduring pain at the sight of his father’s helicopter coming in to land. So, for that kind second before his life comes crashing back down around him again and he has to revert back, to hide behind the brick wall again, you take him over to the railings. It’s just the two of you, the warm sea salt stinging against your grimacing faces, and the ungodly sight of a near-naked Cousin Greg lying stretched out beside the slide below you. After a few goes, you manage to unlatch his claws from the white metal and replace them with your soothing palm, rubbing semi-circles against the back of his hand. You’re here. You’re here, with him. You’re not going to let him go it alone again, if he wants.

And he does. He could cry, he so desperately does. Some of the tension falls from his shoulders as he raises your joint hands to his lips and kisses them, gracing over every inch of skin his mouth can latch onto. 

You both know, in that moment, that it’s enough. It’s a promise. You’ll stick together, no matter what. You’ll love each other through everything, no matter what. You’ll stay around, no matter what or who he becomes.

Which brings me to... kissing him when you find out about the passing of his father. Standing on that boat, on the most joyous of occasions, feeling as if the whole world is shattering around you. Feeling miserable at the knowledge that deep down, some part of you is overjoyed by the news. Feeling even more downtrodden to realise, as the streaky eyes and thousand-stare faces of the Roy siblings flash back and forth in your line of sight as they pass the phone to each other, that Logan will never really be gone. They’re talking to his lifeless, empty shell through the speakers, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s here in this room. He’s staring through their eyes. Talking in their quivering, harsh voices. Pounding through their feet. Tearing them apart as they try to cling onto each other. In their accusations that burst through their mouths innately. In the ordered instructions hurled out to keep business running smoothly. Hidden between the cracks of their voices as they sharpen their words and seethe them out between clenched teeth when the slightest chance of Logan even being dead is raised. He’s here, right now, as you let go of the death grip Kendall and Shiv have on both of your hands and catch sight of Roman rocking backwards and forth on the floor.

Giving a final squeeze of apology to Connor’s arm, you take Roman out of the room before he combusts. The whole air seems to be chilled: still, like something’s lurking unspoken between the threads of air. Like you’re leading Roman through the cold remains of a morgue. He wanders around for a minute, not even hearing the click of the door as you close it behind you. Not even crying. Not even speaking. For the first time in his life, he looks so much like his father. Too much. It scares you. Until eventually he just closes his eyes and trods over to the wall, thumping his forehead down on the cool metal until it burns. He holds his hand out to you, cufflinks gleaming like the edge of a knife past the ceiling lights, as if he’s offering a contract out to you. Apprehensively, your tentative hand creeps out and places itself gingerly on top of his own. He takes it, his dry lips latching onto you until the bridge of his nose is resting now upon your hand. The deal is done.

When you get back to your apartment though, and Romie finds out that Matsson wants him to fly out and meet him in Norway... that’s when Roman gets weird. Devastated. Freaks out. Grieves. You come out from your shower, wearing one of his suit shirts as your pyjama top, and he doesn’t even give a whistle of appreciation. Instead he’s crumpled on the floor by the canopy of your bed, cradling his knees to his chest, swearing into his kneecaps furiously. But you - you, oh god, you’re the only thing that can stop him from being swallowed up by Logan’s fury. You tilt his chin up during a tangled rush of expletives I don’t dare to copy down here, a scowl setting itself into his face like stone. It begins to soften when he realises you’re touching him, when he can feel the scrape of your nail around his jugular. You do your best to warble an unconvincing smile as you turn his head to the side, so you can better wipe your bottom lip against the edge of his throbbing mouth. You mould yourself to him, working at his pace as he winces at first, before slowly falling more and more easily into your grip. His hands loosen from his arms and fall onto your triceps as he deliriously tries to come back to himself through searching through the velvety warmness of your mouth: by swiping against your tongue and choking back his grievances as you pant into his open, waiting mouth.

You wake him up the next day with a fond kiss against the tip of his nose, and for the first time in a long while he smiles before he wakes fully up. The morning light cradles his bleary face as he sleepily runs a few fingers over the edge of your cheek, before cradling himself into your side again. He feels safe, weary, anguished, loved enough to fall asleep again, after pressing a few gentle licks behind your earlobes to try and hear you laugh again. Even through it all, his main concern is you. 

You trace his features while he restlessly dreams, although he squirms from time to time and alludes you to the fact that he’s secretly awake. A kiss here, between the junctions of wrinkles on his furrowed forehead. A kiss there, on the patchy stubble just underneath his left ear. A few there on the dark circles underneath his eyes, until you’re balancing over him and holding yourself up by the hands splayed over his pillow. He just needs to be reminded he’s beautiful from time to time. That he’s perfect. That he doesn’t need to try and be someone else. To encapsulate his father. 

But also like, Roman fucking hates Matsson. The way he looks at you during the whole field trip, like a hunter about to swallow its prey whole. Although the continuous comments about his family, and the two new Co-Ceo’s, and the legacy of his father make him burn down to the pit of his stomach with a white hot fury, he can deal with them if he would just leave you the fuck alone. He doesn’t take kindly to anyone but him looking at his soulmate with such adoration and lust in their eyes, so if that overgrown yeti gives you the up and down check out one more time he might actually just deck him in the middle of the retreat. He bites down on his tongue so harshly that his taste buds begin to bubble and prickle with blood, deciding it best to storm off and collect his thoughts before he lashes out and does something he can’t take back. You finally manage to track him down a little way off the beaten track, winding your way over some cobbled steps to find a branched alcove with nothing but a bench and a breath taking view of the gushing river down below. He’s hunched over with his fingers knotted over his knees, his lips so tightly drawn together that at first you don’t even spot the droplets of blood until he turns with a raised eye to look at you.

He knows it’s not your fault, so there’s no convincing or apologies when you join him. Just Roman finally getting all of that pent up sorrow and distress out. After an awkward moment of bouncing your foot up and down, you decide your best course of action is to just open your arm up to him again, like you used to do when you were children. At first he raises a confused eyebrow, before the realisation dawns over his face, and his features crumble. His lips purse, his throat bobbing as he heaves the tears back down, but he can’t stop his lips from trembling as he falls into your side. That kiss was the sweetest, as he leans his chin familiarly against your shoulder and bumps noses with your own. He frowns, sobbing at the knowledge that he can kiss you, finally, in the way he’s been yearning for all his life, and yet it all feels so wrong. So upside down. So far away from what he had dreaming. The freedom feels like a tether, and yet he juts his chin out and latches placidly onto your bottom lip anyway, the tears trickling down and falling between your mouths. 

It’s an act of defiance. A key sliding into the lock. He still can’t say it, but he won’t allow himself to smother the feeling anymore. The first sip of poison gliding down his throat, and Roman prays as he presses his forehead tearfully against your own, that it would kill the Logan part of him first.