#boy you is a top five fic for me. i can’t believe i was close to not posting it!

[tojiscumdumpster]

Let me just say this…. I’m obsessed with boy toy..and I WILL reread it every night bc no other fic is doing it for me like boy toy does rn 👆���😪

eye— you’re too kind. you got me blushin’ (๑ > ᴗ < ๑) im so glad you’re enjoying it. i can’t believe it’s almost done, either. the final chapter is coming to be craaaaaazy. i appreciate your support bby. ♡

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, alcohol, cursing, objectification of women and mild sexism, bad parents, angst, fluff, mentions of drugs

Summary: Bucky and Y/N are the children of the two most prominent mob bosses in New York. When their parents use them as part of a deal, they’re left to figure out how their lives fit together.

A/N: Wow! Another long fic because I have no self-restraint. There’s a bit of Irish in this because I couldn’t resist it when I wrote Steve. Translations are at the end, and anything incorrect can be blamed on Google Translate. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, reblogging, and supporting me in all the ways you do. 

There is an unspoken rule amongst the mobs in New York that the more drug manufacturers a man controls, the nicer you treat his daughter. So, when Bucky’s father tells him that he’s once again been pimped out as part of a deal, Bucky knows to ask the question,

“How many does he control?”

If Bucky had his way, of course, he would treat all girls as well as he is able (which is very well). He likes girls, and he likes going out with girls. He just wishes he could choose which girls he got to take out.

“Seventy-five percent,” George Barnes says, and Bucky freezes with his glass against his lips. He has a club soda to his father’s whiskey—he’s in a good mood and was actually hoping to enjoy the day, though now he’s reconsidering it. His plan to lounge by the pool with Becca and soak up as much of the late spring sunshine as possible is quickly dissipating. 

“That’s not possible,” Bucky replies. He quickly does the math in his head. His dad owns over half the manufacturers in Brooklyn. “We own—“

“Not anymore.”

The library falls silent as Bucky tries to wrap his head around the news. Just yesterday he’d overheard his father on the phone with one of his men, explaining in great detail what he’d do if they didn’t get him a sample of their newest product by the top of the hour.

“How?” he asks. He sets his glass aside and sits straighter in his chair. “Did something happen? You didn’t tell me about a takeover.”

George takes a sip of his whiskey. “That’s because there wasn’t one.” He sets the crystal tumbler on the small bronze tray nearby. Marta will come clean it up later. “I sold them.”

“You sold them? If you’ve already struck a deal, then why am I taking out his daughter? Isn’t that normally something you have me do to butter their fathers up before you make the deal?”

Bucky watches as his own father stands and goes to watch the landscapers through the library window, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s long since been out of the army, but some habits die hard. Very rarely did the man ever relax.

“You are the deal,” George answers, his voice much too casual for Bucky’s liking.

“What the hell are you talking about?” snaps Bucky.

“Watch your tone, boy,” his father replies. He doesn’t turn around to witness the way Bucky grinds his teeth together in response. “In exchange for the majority of Theo’s territory, you and Y/N will be married within a year and a half, though the exact date is up to the two of you. I believe that Theo mentioned his daughter likes spring, so perhaps a spring wedding. June is popular, from what I’m told, though that’s cutting it a little close to the deadline.”

Bucky’s up out of his seat now. He can feel his pulse thrumming and he can’t quite catch his breath.

“So what? You threw me in to sweeten the pot? Am I just another bargaining chip to you now?”

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

George turns and regards him in silence, and, like always, his expression betrays nothing of what he’s thinking or feeling. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by Bucky’s outburst.

“You’re my heir. I make my decisions based on what’s best for our family. Nothing about this decision is impulsive or frivolous, James,” he finally answers, his voice cool and even. There’s nothing familial in his tone—George Barnes is all business. 

“You can’t just decide that I’m getting married. I won’t do it. I refuse,” Bucky tells him. He balls his fists at his sides and he sets his jaw, furious. How dare his father try to control his life like this? It’s one thing to occupy the majority of Bucky’s nights and weekends with dates, meetings, dinners, and weapons runs, but it’s another to throw him into a marriage he doesn’t want.

“I can and you will. If you don’t, there will be consequences. To start, you will be immediately cut off from our family. You will have no money, no home, no resources, and no contact or communication with anyone involved in the business, including your mother and your sister.”

Heart pounding, Bucky glares at him. He’s got a migraine coming on. He knows his father isn’t kidding, but he wants more than anything for Steve to pop out and say that this is all just a joke. He’s never even met Theo’s daughter. He’s barely even met Theo. According to the rumors, his only daughter is his most prized treasure. She isn’t someone who frequents any of the bars, clubs, and restaurants that he and the other “mob children” frequent. Maybe “mob children” isn’t exactly the right term, at least not anymore. After all, Bucky’s engaged now. He’s just part of the mob, another pawn to be moved around the chessboard.

“You have the rest of the day off. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning,” says George. He picks up his glass and downs the last of the liquor. “Theo and his family are coming for breakfast, and then Y/N will be moving in with us. I want you on your best behavior.”

He pauses and Bucky continues to glare at him, not validating his words with a response. George’s eyes grow dark with a thinly veiled threat. Bucky knows that look—if he pushes his father any harder, he’ll regret it. 

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

Turning on his heel, Bucky stalks out of the library and slams the door behind him. He immediately heads down the hall, then down the stairs and across the ground floor of the Barnes Estate to the garage. His keys are still in his pocket; he’d only just gotten back from a night out with Steve when his father had summoned him.

It doesn’t matter that he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Bucky climbs onto his bike and revs the engine, speeding off down the long driveway that winds around the house. The guards barely get the gate open in time and then he’s flying down the road, heading straight to Steve’s bar in the city. He knows his friend will be there, most likely nursing his hangover and going over the books in his back office. He won’t be hard to convince to go out again, though Bucky knows he won’t approve of the plan to drink as much as he possibly can in the next twelve hours. It doesn’t matter, though—it’s Bucky’s last night as a free man, and he’s determined to make the most of it.

You sit between your parents, staring at the empty seat across from you. They’d told you this morning that you were going to the Barnes Estate for breakfast, and while you’d expected the grandeur of the dining room and the meal, you didn’t expect the eldest Barnes child to be completely absent. You’ve never met him, but your mother has insisted that you speak to James—George Barnes’ only son and heir—as much as possible during the meal. Supposedly, he’s the same age as you.

Rebecca Barnes is a ray of sunshine and her cheery disposition is a stark contrast to the dark clouds that now hang over your fathers’ heads. Maybe it’s a deal gone wrong or maybe it’s something else, but you don’t like it. It leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Silently, you sneak a hand under the table to find your mother’s. You squeeze and your mom squeezes back, glancing over to give a reassuring smile.

“Y/N,” Mrs. Barnes starts, and you jump a little in your seat. You haven’t been verbally addressed since you’d been seated a half hour ago. The food has yet to be served. “Your parents tell us that you’re very interested in horticulture. Did you know we have a rose garden out back?”

You force a polite smile. “I don’t know about very interested. I have a few house plants that I’ve managed to keep alive, though I would love to see your garden sometime. I’m sure it’s beautiful,” you add.

“Maybe Bucky can take you,” Rebecca says, earning herself a sharp look from her mother. She simply shrugs.

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

“Where is James?” your father asks. His voice is a low, threatening growl and you sink down in your chair, staring at the cloth napkin still folded atop your plates.

“He knows to be here,” Mr. Barnes growls back. “You’ll have to excuse his tardiness, he’s not normally like this.”

Mrs. Barnes gives Rebecca an even harsher look when she opens her mouth to speak, and this time the girl actually looks ashamed. She takes a sip of her orange juice to hide the guilty look on her face. She’s the first person to have actually touched something on the table, and it’s like whatever spell the room has been under is broken.

All at once, the dining room springs to life. A short, slightly heavy-set woman in a gray dress and white apron enters through one door. She’s holding a delicate silver coffeepot and the smell of coffee instantly fills the room. Two younger women in identical uniforms follow behind her, each of them pushing golden carts laden with food. Through the door across the room, a tall man with short, dark brown hair stumbles in. He’s wearing all black, from his rumpled button-up and jeans to his boots and sunglasses. His hair is sticking up in every direction and just like the coffee, you can smell the stench of alcohol coming from him even from your seat.

You grimace at the smell and pull your napkin into your lap as one of the women comes to place food in front of you. It’s a formal dining service and the strange new man who’s entered feels entirely out of place. From his attire to the way he shuffles across the antique rug, everything about him screams that he’d rather be anywhere else. If you acted like that, your father would be pulling you back out into the hallway to reprimand you, and you look anxiously at Mr. Barnes, who’s seated at the head of the table. 

“James,” he greets, his voice unnervingly even. A chill runs down your spine. “It’s nice of you to join us. I trust that you slept well last night?”

James collapses into the only empty chair at the table, the one across from you, and pointedly ignores his father. You risk a glance up at him as he reaches for the cup of coffee that’s already been poured.

True to form, Rebecca leans over and claps a hand on her brother’s shoulder blade. “Good morning! Aren’t you excited to have breakfast with our guests?” she shouts, and her smirk makes it much too clear that she’s fully enjoying the way her brother’s scowl deepens. Rebecca also ignores her parents, including her mother, who leans forward to look past James and give her a look of warning.

James shrugs his sister off of him and starts buttering the toast on his plate. You watch for a moment, then start picking at your own food as your mother also begins to eat. Everyone’s acting so strangely that you’re already on edge, and you’ve only managed to get down a few grapes and two bites of dry toast by the time your father speaks up again.

“So when are we signing these papers?” he asks, sipping his coffee. 

“As soon as the marriage license is signed,” answers Mr. Barnes.

You frown. Marriage license? Who’s getting married?

“And the terms are the same as when we last spoke?”

Mr. Barnes sips his own drink, something that looks suspiciously like whiskey, and sets down the glass. “Yes. I have that contract in my office. We’ll review and sign after we’re done here. Are all of your daughter’s things ready to be moved?”

Your stomach drops and you turn to stare at your father with wide eyes. He nods, not even paying attention to you as he continues his conversation with the other man. Your mother pointedly ignores you, choosing instead to stare at her plate as she eats. When you look around the room, it seems like almost everyone else is doing the same. Rebecca is the only person who actually meets your panicked gaze. She gives you a pitying look as your anxiety rises.

It feels like your mouth is filled with sandpaper, and you grab your glass of juice. You have to drink half of it before the feeling even mildly abates. As soon as you set it down, one of the women in gray appears to refill it.

“What’s going on? Why are you moving my stuff?” you finally choke out. You twist the napkin in your lap with both hands, wringing it as you look from one person’s face to the next.

Mr. Barnes stops mid-sentence and the whole room freezes. Even James, who’s pouring something into his coffee cup from a small silver flask, stops what he’s doing.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” your mother begins, taking your hand under the table.

You want to pull away. You don’t.

“After breakfast, your father and I are going home, but you’ll be staying here with the Barneses.”

“What?” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “No, I don’t— I don’t want to stay here. You never said anything about me—“

“We’re getting married,” James interrupts. He’s chewing and you look over at him, gaping at the casual way he’s sprawled out in his chair. You can feel his gaze on you even from behind his sunglasses and it makes you feel dirty. 

“Excuse me?”

He chuckles and sits up, then leans forward in the chair. He drops the greasy strip of bacon he’d been eating onto his plate. “We’re getting married. They’re using us like bartering chips, sweetheart. You and me in exchange for all the drugs and all the territory in New York.” James gestures grandly with one hand, a too-wide grin on his face. There must be at least ten rings on each of his hands and you swallow thickly at the threatening display of black and silver metal.

You’re trembling now and you pull your hand away from your mom’s. She reaches for you again but you shake your head, shying away from her touch. Frantically, you look around the room to see if this is some kind of joke or a drunken rambling, but no one is laughing. Even Mrs. Barnes has the decency to look sympathetic on your behalf.

“No, no. You wouldn’t—“ You look back at your parents, imploring them to say that it isn’t true. You swallow thickly, trying to stave off tears, and your voice wavers as you prompt, “Mom? Dad?”

Their silence speaks volumes and a whimper escapes you as you wring your hands in your lap. The napkin slides onto the floor. It suddenly feels like you can’t breathe and when your mom reaches out for a second time and starts to tell you to calm down, you jerk away and stand. The chair falls backwards behind you, but you ignore it as you rush out of the dining room and into the hallway you’d entered from. Everything is unfamiliar. Frantically, you pick a door and yank on the handle. It doesn’t give way and you continue the process until one of them finally opens and you can rush inside. You lock it behind you and press your back against the door. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows are closed, shrouding the room in darkness. You can’t make out much of the furniture through the tears in your eyes.

Out in the hallway, you can hear your mother calling for you and your father arguing with Mr. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes is yelling at somebody too, but it���s hard enough to hear the others over your own gasps and sobs. You’re properly crying now and you sink to the floor, curling up on the carpet as you heave. It’s a good thing you weren’t able to stomach much breakfast.

A knock on the door makes you yelp and then cry harder, and you crawl into the darkness of the room to try and find a hiding spot. You’re lucky enough to find an old, heavy desk right away. It’s the perfect size for you to crawl under for shelter, and there’s no chair for you to move out of the way. The drawers on both sides create a cubby for you, so you crawl into it and curl up into a ball with your back towards the door, just in case someone manages to get in. If you’re quiet enough, it’s possible they’ll walk right past you.

The crowd in the hallway has definitely heard you by now. The doorknob is rattling as whoever’s on the other side tries to get in, but after a few minutes, they stop and the hallway goes quiet. You hold your breath after every couple of sobs, listening for any sign that they’ve found a key or that they’re picking the lock. Nothing happens, however, and after a while, you give up on listening.

You sit in the darkness and cry until you’re thoroughly exhausted. Once you’ve run out of tears, you sit and zone out with your head resting against the side of the desk drawers for a while longer, numb from the news. Your body feels light and a buzzing, tingling feeling makes moving your limbs seem impossible. You could’ve never imagined that your parents would be so capable of treating you so poorly. You’ve always felt so loved by them, and to hear that they’ve practically thrown you away at the first chance of a profit makes you want to puke. Upon that realization, you actually do throw up, and the stink of your vomit on the carpet of whatever room you’re in makes you want to cry all over again.

The door opens just as the stench is becoming too much to bear. Light floods in from the hallway and you squint, curling up in fear. After a moment, the shorter woman in the gray uniform that you’d seen at breakfast appears a few feet away from the desk, right in the path of light. You look up at her. 

“Oh dear,” she sighs, and you instantly feel ashamed at the disappointment in her voice.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. Your bottom lip is trembling again as fresh tears somehow appear in your eyes. Sniffling, you wipe your nose with the back of your wrists. “I can clean it if you—“

“You’ll do no such thing,” the woman says. Her voice is gentle and kind, so much so that you don’t feel the need to argue with her. She waves her hand dismissively and approaches you, then holds out both hands. She’s careful not to step in the mess you’ve made. “Now come on, up you go.”

You let her help you to your feet and then you straighten out your clothes, sniffling and wiping at your nose again in a desperate attempt to look more put together than you feel. Still a bit unsteady, you whimper for a second time, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, dear.” She gives you a warm smile. “My name’s Marta. I’m the head housekeeper here. It’s very nice to meet you.”

You don’t feel the same way about meeting her, given the circumstances, but you hold that comment to yourself and simply nod in agreement. Marta leads you back out into the too-bright hallway. It’s empty except for a bald man mopping the floor on the far end.

The high ceilings and glossy marble floors make it look like you’re in a castle. Even the silence feels regal. Everything seems so cold compared to your home, and you feel too small in the massive space.

“What time is it?” you quietly ask, looking back at Marta.

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

Your stomach sinks and you press your lips together, inhaling deeply as you look around again. Three hours have passed.  “My parents…”

“They left about fifteen minutes after breakfast,” she tells you. Her words are matter-of-fact, even if she delivers the news in the softest possible way.

Somehow it hurts worse that they’ve left you than finding out they’d practically sold you to the Barneses in exchange for God knows what. Drugs or territory, whatever James had said. Not only did they treat you like nothing, but they’d deserted you after it was clear you didn’t agree with their plans. They hadn’t even tried to reassure you that they still loved you or that you’d still be able to see them. Maybe you wouldn’t be. Maybe they didn’t.

You nod numbly. There’s been nothing to prepare you for this, no precursor or warning, so you keep looking around the hall, though in reality you’re not really seeing anything. 

“Your room is ready upstairs, Miss Y/N. Would you like me to take you?” asks Marta.

You nod again. You feel like you’re underwater as you follow her up a grand staircase and then down a long, narrow hallway. It’s decorated similarly to the ground floor, though with a plush Persian rug running its length. Marta talks as she walks ahead of you, no doubt explaining what the many doors lead to, but her words simply go in one ear and out the other. It’s all so surreal that when you finally get to your own room, you don’t even open the door. Marta has to reach around you to open it, and then she gently ushers you inside when you still don't move.

Just as they had said at breakfast, your belongings have all been moved into the Barnes Estate. The furniture here is different, grander than what you’re used to, but your blankets and pillows are on the bed, and the two bookshelves are packed full of the books you’ve collected over the years. Even the strip from the photo booth at an old friend’s wedding is pinned to the bulletin board above the desk. Someone’s even thought to put your plants on their own table by the window. 

“There’s a bathroom on the left and your closet is on the right,” Marta explains, pointing to each. “If you’re hungry, dinner is at five.”

“Do I have to eat with them?” you ask.

If Marta is surprised by your question, she doesn’t show it. She simply shakes her head with a gentle smile. “No. We can bring food here if you’d like.”

You nod and stand in silence until she leaves and closes the door behind her. Then, after another minute passes, you drag yourself over to the bed, climb under the covers, and close your eyes.

If there’s any mercy left in this life, you think, I’ll fall asleep and never wake up again.

Weeks pass and you still haven’t adjusted to life at the Barnes Estate. The staff is only slightly less friendly than those you grew up with, but they’re more attentive. It helps that there are more of them. For every member of the Barnes family, yourself included, there are at least four staff members to attend to their every need. It makes you feel like royalty, but it also makes you feel guilty. You don’t need this much. You certainly didn’t ask for it.

You haven’t seen James since the ill-fated breakfast, nor have you seen your parents. They’ve gone so far as to block your number. After that discovery, you’d locked yourself in the massive ensuite bathroom and cried for an hour. Marta had been the one to coax you out. The poor maid who’d found you when coming to get you for dinner hadn’t known how to help. You’d spent that entire evening curled up on your bed while reruns of The Nanny played on the TV embedded in the wall across from the massive mattress. Marta had spent every second with you that she could, but eventually Mrs. Barnes—Winnifred, as you referred to her in your mind—had scolded her for neglecting her nighttime duties across the estate. That made you feel even worse.

“Are you okay?” Rebecca asks, and you turn to look at her from where you’re staring out the hallway windows at the gardeners. The backyard is massive, complete with a rose garden in full bloom, an outdoor swimming pool, a forested walking trail, a large green expanse for games and parties, a gazebo, a fountain, and what seems to be stables far in the distance, though you haven’t ventured far enough to be sure. A visit to the rose garden hasn’t been brought up again either, and nothing seems interesting enough to explore on your own.

Nodding, you don’t say anything before turning back to watch the men work. They talk and laugh with each other as they prune, pick, and water. You wish that you could trade places with them. 

“You don’t look okay,” she says. Rebecca props herself up on the window ledge to your right, facing you with a suspicious look on her face. “We haven’t seen you at any meals, and Valerie told me that you were crying in the bathtub three nights ago.”

You should feel ashamed, but you’re too numb to care. It feels like you’re floating through each day, detached from most things. You’ve spent your entire life thinking that you would marry for love and live happily ever after. Now, your parents have sold you to the highest bidder and your husband-to-be is a cruel, disgusting man-child that wants nothing to do with you.

Rebecca’s fingers lacing with yours jerk you back to reality and you look down at your joined hands in confusion. Her nails are bitten short and she wears a single ring with the Barnes family crest. It’s dainty and gold, a stark contrast to the many rings on her brother’s fingers.

“You’re safe here, Y/N,” she tells you, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to be alone. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you. If I had any say in it, you could be home right now with your parents, but I’m far from the top of the totem pole.”

“I hate them.” You spit the words out and jerk your hand away from hers. “I hate my parents.”

That’s the first time you’ve ever said that in your entire life and your heart skips a beat as the anger makes your lip curl. You’re baring your teeth at her but Rebecca doesn’t even flinch. She’s a mafia princess, through and through.

“They made me believe that I could have anything I wanted, that I could marry whoever I wanted whenever I was ready, and then they threw that all away and treated me like shit the first time it was convenient for them.”

She nods. “That’s true.”

“I was so foolish to have believed them,” you growl, but the fight in you is fading just as quickly as it came. You burn bright, but you burn quickly, too.

“No,” Rebecca says, shaking her head. “You’re just human.”

You look away, embarrassed by your display of emotion as your eyes begin to water with more tears. You were raised to be reserved. You knew very little about the inner workings of your parents’ business, but you’d learned as a young girl that you’d fare better if you always clung to the edges of the room, avoiding the dirt and grime and blood that surrounded your whole life. Over the years, you’ve grown very good at hiding yourself and your emotions from the people around you. From the spark in her eye, you have the feeling that Rebecca is the exact opposite. She could hold her own if it came down to it. You couldn’t.

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

Shaking your head, you take a deep breath and look back out the window. You lift your chin slightly and when Rebecca tries to rope you into another conversation with her, you ignore her and focus on the men outside. They’re finished tending to the roses on the edges of the garden. Now they’re working their way inwards.

You’re finally left alone a few minutes later and as soon as she’s around the corner, you let out a heavy sigh and relax your posture. Slumping forward, you lean forward into the window ledge, curling up just a little as you continue to watch the gardeners. The silly song from Alice in Wonderland pops into your head and you hum along, eventually mumbling to yourself about painting the roses red.

You feel a little bit like Alice, you realize. You’re out of your element in a strange land where everything you’ve learned about life seems to be turned on its head. In this world, nobody marries for love and the girls are just as entrenched in the business as the men. Does Rebecca conduct business with her father and older brother? You could certainly picture it. Will the same be expected of you?

That afternoon, Marta knocks on your door with a written invitation from Winnifred. Your presence is being formally requested at their dinner table, though from the look the housekeeper is giving you, it’s more of a demand than a request. With her help, you pick out something to wear. By the time five o’clock rolls around, you’re crossing the enormous hallway in a dress and heels that you’ve never seen before. It’s far too showy for your taste, but it’s clearly something someone wanted you to wear. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have put it in your closet.

George Barnes and James stand when you enter the dining room, as do several other men you don’t recognize. Your father is standing near the head of the table with George, though your mother and Rebecca are nowhere in sight. Besides Winnifred, you don’t recognize any of the other women. The only empty seat is beside James and your immediate instinct is to flee, but then he’s stepping aside to pull out the chair and all eyes are on you.

Slowly, you close the distance between the two of you and sit. He helps you scoot in, then takes his own seat on your right. The other men sit as well and then dinner resumes. You sit in silence, staring at the top edge of your plate with your hands in your lap. You’re not really listening to the conversations around you, either, but you can feel someone’s eyes on you as you try to stay as quiet and motionless as possible.

“Are you sick or something?”

You startle and look up with wide eyes. James is watching you. He’s got one hand on the table with his fingers brushing the stem of his wineglass and the other resting on his thigh. Unlike your fateful breakfast weeks ago, James is dressed in a neat, all-black suit. He has no tie, and his rings are all gone except one. It’s identical to Rebecca’s family crest, except his is silver and has a thicker band.

His eyes are full of something you can’t place and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. As quickly as you turned to him, you turn away and look back at your plate. The napkin is folded in some elaborate way on top of the plate. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to resemble anything at all, but maybe if you stare at it long enough, it will look like something.

“Y/N?” he prompts. You nod once, tightly, and then pull the heavy cloth napkin into your lap when a server appears to present the first course.

Between the second and third course, you can feel James’ eyes on you. After the third, he gets roped into conversation with a man sitting across the table, but you know that he’s glancing at you all the while. After the fourth, he bumps his arm against yours. You shirk away and feel him tense beside you.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, and you push your chair away from the table. Immediately, the conversations stop and all the men stand again. It’s too much attention on you and you hurry out of the dining room as fast as your heels and dress will allow. You’re stumbling over yourself by the time you get back to your suite on the third floor. The door slams behind you and you collapse onto the floor beside the bed, too overwhelmed to even climb atop the oversized mattress. You’re on the verge of tears when there’s a soft knock from the door, and that rips a sob from your chest that you hadn’t expected.

Immediately, the door opens and James is standing in the open space, a dark look on his face. You sob again and scramble backwards until the edge of the bed frame is digging painfully into your spine.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You swallow hard and take several gasping breaths, trying to control yourself. Your mind is spinning with insults, calling you weak and pathetic, and you believe every one.

“It’s just too much,” you answer through your tears. “I don’t want this!”

James huffs. His angry expression has faded, now replaced with something more akin to irritation. “And you think I do?”

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

“These are the cards we’ve been dealt, doll. You’re gonna have to get over it. Let’s just get married and then we can live happily ever after in a big house where we never have to see each other. I’ll do what I want and you can do what you want. Sound like a plan?”

You look down at your hands. A big part of you wants to say that no, it doesn’t sound like a plan. You don’t want that life. You don’t want a house so big that you practically need a golf cart to get from one side to the other. You don’t want a husband who ignores you in favor of his blood money or his side chick or the next shiny toy off the black market. You don’t want James.

Though every part of you is screaming the opposite, you nod. He crosses the room and you inhale sharply to steady yourself as he approaches you with no care. His black dress shoes are tracking dirt across the rug. James holds out a hand to help you up and you take it. The heirloom ring on his right hand digs into yours until you’re standing, and then he drops your hand like it’s on fire.

“We need to go back,” he tells you, and you nod again. “Our parents are pissed.”

“Of course they are,” you mumble. 

James pauses, staring at you critically. You’ve been staring at the baseboards since he helped you up, but when he doesn’t move or speak, you glance upwards at him. He’s got one eyebrow raised. His expression is thoroughly unreadable otherwise and an unsettling feeling blooms in your stomach.

“What?” you ask. You step back a little, but there’s no place to go except up against the bed again.

He shakes his head at you. “Nothing. Come on, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” You scrunch your nose. “Anything but that.”

“Sugar?” he offers, and when you shake your head, he sighs. “Well, what do you want me to call you, since you’re suddenly the one calling the shots?”

His words cut deep and you look back down, hating the way shame immediately pools in your belly. How could he seem angry and irritated with you, then borderline kind, and then completely disinterested in your feelings the next? It’s disorienting, and you don’t need that on top of everything else.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

Grabbing your arm in a grip just bordering on painful, James pulls you out of your bedroom and back down the hall. He holds on as you stumble behind him in your heels. When you reach the ground floor hallway again, he drops his hand and offers you his arm. You’re hesitant to take it, but he sighs a little and you decide that it’s easier to give in than to put up a fight.

The two of you walk back into the dining room and the conversations immediately hush. James leads you to your waiting seats, pulls out the chair for you, and then helps you scoot towards the table again once you’re seated. As he takes his spot beside you, your father speaks up.

“Have you and James discussed when you’ll be getting married?” he asks.

You pick up your fork and stare at the strange food on your plate, ignoring him. Though your stomach is churning, you force yourself to take a bite. He can’t expect you to answer while you’re chewing—it would be bad manners.

“Next spring,” James answers. “In the rose garden.”

You want to spit on the roses. You swallow your food instead.

“Good choice,” Mr. Barnes agrees. He turns his attention back to your father. “Your daughter is quite the well-behaved woman. She’ll do well with our James.”

Beside you, James tenses again, his grip tightening slightly on his fork. You glance at him, holding your breath, and wait until he relaxes again to take another bite of your food. 

The rest of the dinner passes with mundane, meaningless conversations. Nobody addresses you for the remainder of the meal, not even your parents, and finally the men begin to make their way out of the dining room to an adjoining room. You hadn’t even realized there was a room connected; the door is hidden amongst the paneling and crown molding on the walls.

“You can’t go in there.” James grabs your wrist as you stand to follow the group of men into the new room. His voice isn’t malicious and his grip isn’t tight, but you flinch away from him anyway. It’s only then that you realize the few women that had been in the room are leaving through the door to the hall with their wineglasses in hand.

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

“Because you don’t want to hear the things that they’re going to discuss,” he answers. He tosses his napkin on the table and stands, towering over you. After a long second of eye contact, he steps away from you and heads towards the men.

You watch him go and silently weigh your options. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have even thought about following the men into the second room. You would have simply taken the same path as the other woman, though your wine would have continued to remain untouched. Now, however, with your wine in hand, you stood at a crossroads. You could go into the room and potentially face the wrath of your father, James, and George Barnes, or you could live forever curious as to what was actually being discussed. 

With your mind made up, you down your wine, step around James, and head through the open door into the room. It’s a study with dark wood paneling on the walls, leather couches, and stale cigar smoke in the air. As soon as you enter, the laughter and conversation stop and all eyes land on you.

“Y/N, you should be with Winnie and your mother,” Mr. Barnes says, stepping towards you. James is behind you now and though you’re hedged in, you simply lift your chin at the older man.

“Why? Am I not allowed to know what family I’m marrying into?”

His face darkens. “Girl, I’m warning you—”

“Don’t speak to my wife like that.” James’ voice from over your shoulder startles you and you quickly turn your head, looking back at him with shock. 

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

“Hold your tongue, James,” his father snaps. “You aren’t married yet, and Y/N needs to learn her place. One would think her father would have taught her better, considering the problems his wife caused.”

Though you hate your parents for what they’ve done to you, your blood boils at the insult. Your anger rears its ugly head even more when you realize that your father doesn’t look intent on standing up for you or your mom, either.

“That’s enough!”

You swear the room rattles around you when James shouts and you grit your teeth, furious at Mr. Barnes. How dare he insult your father? How dare he talk to you and his son that way?

James grabbing your hand shocks you back into reality. Once again, his grip is almost painfully tight, but you force your face to reveal nothing.

“Y/N and I are going out. If I so much as hear that you’ve said a single thing about her in my absence, you will regret ever giving me any kind of power in this business,” he growls. “The next time you see her, I expect that you’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.” 

The men stare at you and James in disbelief, and then you find yourself being practically dragged out of the room. You’re too stunned to fight back, so you let him pull you across the ground floor of the estate to a door only two down from the dark room where you’d hit the morning your parents had left you behind.

“We’ll have to take the car, unless you’re okay riding the bike in that dress,” James says, pushing open the door. He doesn’t look back at you as he speaks, and it takes you a second to realize he wants a response.

“Car,” you answer after a few seconds. “Please.”

The room James has led you to is a massive garage, stretching farther than you ever realized a similar room could. Three of the walls are made of light gray cement, as are the floor and ceiling, and the fourth wall is made up of windowed garage doors, each one big enough for several cars to drive through simultaneously. Running down the center of the rectangular garage, there is a row of seven parked cars, with enough space to fit at least another car between each one, and beyond that, you can see a row of several motorcycles parked in a similar manner. The cars are in varying shades of gray and black, with the exception of one red sports car at the far end of the group. You can’t see the bikes well enough from the door, but you catch glimpses of blue, silver, gray, and black.

Four enormous, black and silver tool chests are lined up against the wall facing the hoods of the cars, but there isn’t a spot of oil or dirt in sight. You don’t even see any loose tools or equipment. Looking around, you wonder if the tool chests are just there for decoration, or if someone on the estate actually works on the cars and motorcycles.

Maybe James works on them?

“Are all of these yours?” you ask, unable to help yourself. He seems like the kind of guy who would enjoy driving around for fun, and he’s just mentioned something about a bike. You stare at the side of James’ face as he plucks a set of keys off a black pegboard on the wall. There’s a button embedded in the wall beside the board. James pushes it with one thumb and the keys in his hand bump against the wall.

One of the garage doors near the last few cars starts to roll upwards onto the ceiling, revealing the outside of the estate. The sun has completely disappeared from the sky, and the moonlight is blocked by the clouds you’d seen rolling in earlier in the afternoon. The leaves of the large shade trees that surround the estate and form a protective shield from the outside world rustle in the wind. Crickets and cicadas chirp, reminding you of the cool spring nights you’d spent on your family estate as a little girl. You’d run around in the grass near the garden while your mom or your nanny watched you. Sometimes your father’s men would watch from the perimeter of the property, and when you’d wave, they’d wave back, asking what you’d done that day. You always answered them, even if you knew it would get you in trouble. They never stopped asking either, even if it got them in trouble, too.

You stop walking and close your eyes, then breathe in deeply as the night air rushes into the garage. It’s the first time you’ve been even close to the outdoors since arriving at the Barnes Estate. Your skin is still warm from the stifling dining room and the anger you’d felt in the men’s study. The breeze is a blessed relief, even if you do shiver after only a moment. Goosebumps form on your exposed skin—the dress Marta had picked out for you did little to keep you safe from the elements. 

James keeps walking down the aisle formed by the wall and the front of the cars, though you hear his footsteps pause a few moments after you stop following him. 

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You’re a little surprised that he’s not demanding that you catch up. When you open your eyes, you immediately meet his gaze, and a weird feeling bubbles up in your stomach. The expression on his face betrays little, but his stare reminds you of the way your father’s men looked at you all those years ago—interested and almost fond, but ready to push you away at a moment’s notice. You nod and hurry to catch up with him.

Once you get closer, James presses a button on the key fob in his hand. One of the cars in front of the open garage door rumbles to life. The sound it makes is a low purr, almost seductive, and you raise an eyebrow as James approaches, then runs his fingers over the hood. Even if the others aren’t, this car has to be his. It’s a sleek black, with dark tinted windows and a gleaming silver grill in the front. The BMW logo shines proudly in the center. It looks like a car your own father would own. Though you know he’s never owned a BMW, if this car is anything like the ones in your father’s fleet, you know that the inside will be as much a picture of luxury as the outside.

You slide into the passenger seat when James opens the door for you, and in the time it takes him to cross around the front of the car to the driver’s side, you take inventory of the interior. It’s a manual transmission—something your father once said was obsolete, except for car collectors and enthusiasts—which means that you wouldn’t be able to drive it, even if you tried. The car is pristine, so much so that you’re afraid to move. Two water bottles are in the cupholders, and it still smells brand new inside. There isn’t a speck of dirt or dust on the dashboard, nor on the floor mats. The leather seat is soft and there’s a control for seat warming and cooling on the control panel.

James climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. He buckles up and you follow his lead, and then you sit back as he reverses the car out of the garage and onto a winding driveway that leads you around the front of the estate, then along the other side to a large gate with a guard house. You’d forgotten about the extensive security since the last time you’d been outside the Barnes Estate. Your father had handed over your driver’s license, along with his and your mother’s, before breakfast all those weeks ago, and there’d been a strange code word of some kind. It dawns on you as the guard opens the gate for you and James that you’d never gotten your license back.

“Where are we going?” you ask as James pulls onto the main road. It leads away from the estate and into the city. 

“To get some real food,” he replies. His tone is gruff, and it feels like he’s on the verge of an angry outburst, so you slump back in your seat as he shifts gears and the car accelerates. The tension in the car is thick. You don’t want to be the one to deal with it, especially since he’s the one creating it.

After several minutes of watching the enormous mansions and the forests surrounding them pass by, you look over at James again. His expression, just like in the garage, reveals nothing, but you can tell that he’s more put-together than the last time you’d interacted, and it’s not just the tailored suit. His hair has been trimmed and styled, and he has an even dusting of stubble that frames his jawline nicely.

In the time since you’d learned you were engaged, James hasn’t said anything to you. You’ve heard him talking in the hallways as you wandered, but you haven’t wanted to be near him. This is the closest you’ve ever been. Your brief conversations so far tonight make up the majority of the words you’ve spoken to each other. His words from the bedroom echo in your head, until finally, you can’t help but blurt out your thoughts.

“Do you really not want to marry me?” you ask. Your voice sounds small and pathetic, and you hate it, but it’s too late now. 

He glances over at you with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. “What do you mean?”

You sit up a little in the seat, though you keep your hands in your lap and you try not to move your feet, just in case there’s dirt on your shoes.

“I mean,” you say, watching him carefully for his reaction, “that when you came to get me upstairs, you said you didn’t want to marry me. Is that really true?”

“I never said that.” He shifts gears again as you near a stoplight, and the car slows. 

“Yes, you did.”

“No,” he shifts again, his teeth now clenched, “I didn’t. I asked if it looked like I wanted to marry you, and you said it didn’t. But I never said I didn’t want to.”

Now you’re confused, and you frown at him, ignoring the obvious irritation in his voice. The car rolls to a stop behind a Ferrari blasting music out the open windows. 

“So you do want to marry me?” you ask. 

He sighs and drops his hand from the gear shift, then looks over at you. “Y/N, I’m not going to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do, so if this is you testing to see how I’ll treat you, then you have nothing to worry about. I’m not a monster.”

“It’s not. I just…” You stop, unsure of how to phrase what you’re feeling. It’s strange to be upset over a marriage you don’t even want, but for some reason, you are. 

“What?”

“If you don’t want to marry me and I don’t want to marry you, then why are we going along with this?” you finally ask, settling for the bigger question than the one that’s truly nagging at you.

“Because we know that if we don’t, life will be hell,” he answers.

It’s the truth. You know it is, and you know it deep down. If the two of you refuse this marriage, your life will be worse than you could possibly imagine, and you’re fairly certain that your fathers will find a way to make it happen anyhow. They’re well-connected in every sphere of life, not just when it comes to drugs and weapons. Your father probably has a priest on his payroll.

The light turns green and James moves the car forward again, merging into the right lane almost immediately. He slows as you approach a valet stand outside an upscale bar you’ve never heard of. It’s not one of your father’s, which means it probably belongs to George Barnes.

Then again, you think as a uniformed man opens your door, maybe it belongs to James.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Barnes,” a valet on the other side of the car greets.

James hands him the keys. “You too, Tommy. Listen, don’t park it too far off. We’re not staying too long.”

The man nods and climbs into the driver’s seat as your own valet leads you away from the curb. James meets you next to the valet stand and offers you his arm, then heads towards the doors.

“What is this place?” you ask as he holds open the door for you.

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

Your stomach twists itself in knots as heavy club music starts to get louder. The bass rumbles in your chest and you dig your nails into his arm as you near a set of glossy black double doors. You haven’t been to a club in a long time. The last time you’d gone, you’d been dragged by a childhood acquaintance, but you’d spent most of the night alone after she’d ditched you for someone she met on the dance floor. You’re not particularly eager to relive that experience tonight, especially with the man you’re being forced to marry. Who’s to say he won’t ditch you for someone else right in front of you, just to rub it in your face? After all, he’d said it himself in the bedroom—you’ll do what you want and he’ll do what he wants. It’s the cards you’ve been dealt.

If these are the cards, then I’ve got a sucky hand.

“James—”

“Bucky.”

You stop and squint at him in the low light of the entrance hallway. The two bouncers in all-black suits stop with their hands on the door handles, ready to open them for you once you start walking again. The music pounds in your ears, so much so that you can feel your eardrums vibrating.

“What?” you ask, not sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Bucky,” repeats James, a little louder this time. “You should call me Bucky, if we’re going to be married.”

“Is that… a nickname?” 

Even in the darkness, you can see him laugh, and a bashful, boyish smile spreads across his face. “My middle name is Buchanan. Steve used to tease me about it when we were kids, and he started calling me Bucky as a joke. It caught on.” He shrugs it off, but there’s a fondness in his voice when he speaks of his childhood friend, and it makes you smile just a little.

You loosen your grip on his arm. “Okay then. Bucky,” you add.

When Bucky steps forward again, the doors are pulled open, revealing a much more casual bar than you could’ve anticipated. Though it’s clean, it looks a little run down, and the heavy music fades into jazz piano as you step through the open doorway and into the large, open space. With almost cathedral-height ceilings, walnut floors and support pillars, and well-worn wooden booths and tables, the bar feels more homier than you’d expected. It’s clearly been well-hidden from the busy crowds of New York. Only a few patrons are scattered around the room, sitting in the booths or at two-top tables, but Bucky leads you to the wood, u-shaped bar that juts out into the room from the back wall. A single man stands behind it, drying glasses with a white bar towel. He smiles when he looks up and sees you approaching.

“Bucky,” he greets, and he reaches over the bar to pull Bucky in for a hug. It’s the first time you see Bucky smile—a real, full, genuine smile—and you watch in silence as he hugs his friend.

“Steve,” Bucky replies. Instantly, your brain starts connecting the dots. This is his childhood friend, the one who gave him his nickname.

“Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil.” Steve turns his attention to you, and you quickly look away from Bucky and at him. Your brain whirs as you try to place the language he’s just spoken. It’s not one you’ve heard before, which means none of your father’s men speak it, and neither do any of the Barneses.

“You must be Y/N.”

You nod and offer Steve a small, polite smile. You’re not sure how to act around Bucky’s friends. If they’re also part of the mob, it’s possible they’ll treat you even worse than George Barnes had after dinner, but a new, surprising voice in your head argues that Bucky would never be friends with someone like that.

“It’s okay,” reassures Bucky. He reaches out and touches your arm, gentler than he has all evening. “Steve’s a nice guy, and he knows about our family businesses. You can trust him.”

Steve looks between the two of you before picking up a glass and setting it right-side-up in front of you. “What’ll it be, Y/N?”

You glance at him, then at the wall of liquor behind him. After a moment, you list off a drink that’s not your favorite, but that you know you’ll be able to stomach no matter the circumstances. Steve nods in response before starting to make it.

Silently, Bucky takes one of the chairs at the bar, and you do the same. He sits with his arms folded on the counter. He’s still wearing his suit from dinner. You feel a little out of place in your fancy clothes, and you wonder if he feels the same.

Your drink is placed in front of you a moment later, and after Steve’s silent prompting, you take a sip. It’s delicious, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“Aha, I’ve still got it!” Steve cheers, and you laugh. He grins at you, a charming type of smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest. You feel a little sheepish at the intensity of his joy, and you fidget in your seat, then with your hair.

Beside you, Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses a round paper coaster at his friend. “Knock it off, Rogers,” he huffs. “Stop flirting with my girl. You’ve already got one of your own.”

You glance over when he calls you that, but you don’t say anything. There’s another weird feeling in your gut now. This one, unlike the one you’d had in the car or the fluttering feeling Steve had given you, you recognize immediately—pride. It feels good to have Bucky call you “his girl”, even if you barely know him. It’s strange, and the thought makes you squirm in your seat again. You drop your hand down to the bartop and take another sip of your drink, trying to quell the strange feelings inside of you. 

What is going on with me? Why can’t I just feel normal about all of this? Is there even a normal way to feel about this?

“You hungry?” asks Bucky, and you nod when you realize he’s talking to you again.

“I make a mean twice-baked potato,” Steve says. He plants his hands on the bar to look between the two of you. “Whaddaya say, Y/N? You up for it?”

“Only if you put the jalapeños on the side this time, punk,” Bucky tells him before you can reply. He seems to remember himself a second later, however, because he looks over at you. “Unless, of course, you want them on top.”

You shrug, not wanting to upset anyone, and Steve groans.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says, and he smiles wide as he gestures around the almost-empty bar. “I’ve got all the time in the world to make your food exactly the way you want it. Don’t make me guess.”

“He’s bad at guessing,” Bucky chimes in.

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

Tentatively, you list off what you want, and Steve makes a note of everything on a notepad that seems to appear out of nowhere. Once he’s got your order down, he disappears through a door in the back wall. Before it closes, you catch a glimpse of a shining kitchen filled with stainless steel, and you wonder how many patrons come through the bar if Steve has what looks to be a full-sized kitchen in the back.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured I’d bring you someplace that actually has good food,” Bucky says. He reaches across the bar to grab a bottle of beer Steve has left out, and he uses one hand to pry the top off. 

You gape at him, too distracted by the blatant show of strength to properly process the very thoughtful thing he’s just said to you. “What?”

“I said that you didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured—”

“You just pulled the top off like it was nothing. How did you do that?” You look around on Steve’s side of the bar for another bottle, hoping to try your luck. Maybe it’s some new kind of bottle that he’s trying out before it hits the market, or maybe Steve has bootleg beer with a different kind of cap.

Bucky is staring at you, seemingly just as confused as you. “With my arm.”

“With your arm?” you repeat. You’re certain that he’d used his hand to pry it off.

He stares at you for a second longer before the confusion disappears and is replaced with a glint of mischief in his eyes. It makes the shadows on his face melt away a little, and his blue irises seem bright and youthful again, entirely unlike a man who’s seen too much.

“My arm,” he reiterates, and then he pulls off the black glove you’d assumed to be part of his personal style. It’s not just for show, however, because he pulls it off to reveal a black metal hand with dull gold knuckles. Bucky continues, standing and shrugging off his jacket, then rolling up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. As he reveals more and more, you realize that the black metal continues, making up what would be his left arm.

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

“It’s metal,” you dumbly say, and he snorts.

“Observant.”

You shake your head and look from his arm to meet his eyes. “You have a metal arm. How didn’t I know that?”

Bucky shrugs and drapes his jacket over the back of the chair. He leaves the glove on the bar where he’d first set it down. Once he’s seated again, he rolls up his other sleeve to match.

“Beats me. I figured everyone knew. My dad wasn’t subtle when he was bragging about the arm he had made for me when it first happened,” replies Bucky. He takes a sip of his beer, then sighs and sets it back down.

You don’t want to pity him, so you try your best to school your expression by taking a sip of your own drink.

“Was it an accident?” you ask after a minute has passed. He doesn’t reply right away, and you scramble to save the conversation. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” he says, and his voice is quieter than before.

You look back down at the drink in front of you. Twisting the glass around and around, you ask, “And it was an accident?”

Bucky takes another swig of his beer. “I was with my dad, working a job. I didn’t even realize I’d been injured until I woke up in the hospital, two weeks later, missing an arm. Apparently, falling shipping containers are heavy.”

You can’t help but curse. What he’s describing sounds horrible, but Bucky only laughs.

“That sounds about right, yeah. I’m lucky I had Steve around to keep me sane,” he tells you. “My friend Sam was a big help too, but he moved down to Louisiana a few years ago.”

“Steve seems like a good friend,” you agree. “They both do.”

You can feel Bucky staring at you now, and you take a sip of your drink while you wait for him to look away again. When he doesn’t, you glance in his direction.

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” you laugh, and you look at him fully this time. Bucky’s grinning, and you ball up a cocktail napkin and toss it at him.

“Okay, I was staring,” he admits, still smiling. “But I can’t help it. You’re pretty, and you’re nice, and you seem smart.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the compliment, and you look away. “You don’t have to say that. We’re already engaged.”

“I’m not saying it because we’re engaged. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before Steve comes out with two hot plates. He places them in front of you, joking briefly about giving you the wrong order, and it’s distraction enough that you sit up tall and smile wide. You push Bucky’s compliment out of your head as you chow down, groaning and moaning about the potatoes. They’re exactly what you need after the stressful dinner. Bucky was right—you hadn’t eaten much, and Steve’s cooking is delicious.

Once you’re full, you push your plate away and lean back in your chair. Steve grins at you before he goes back to counting the cash drawer. The other patrons have left already, leaving you, Steve, and Bucky alone in the bar.

“That was amazing,” you tell him for the hundredth time, and Steve chuckles.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell mo bhean chéile—my wife—you said that, considering she still believes potatoes aren’t a meal.”

You notice the wedding band on his left hand as soon as he says it. Above it, also in silver, is a familiar ring. If you weren’t able to see the family crest, you would’ve thought it was the same as Bucky’s, but this ring has an eagle and a star engraved on it, rather than the wolf you’ve seen on Rebecca and Bucky’s rings.

“Potatoes are a meal!” you argue. You can tell that Steve has clocked you looking at his rings because he shifts his hand, instinctively blocking your view as he looks for your own ring. You’d taken your parent’s ring off the day you’d cried in the bathtub and you haven’t worn it since, but no one in Bucky’s family has replaced it with their own. It’s the first time since middle school that you haven’t worn a family ring, and you’d be lying if you said it was a weight off your shoulders. You’d thought it might be, but instead it just makes you feel naked.

Steve laughs and his posture relaxes. He stops hiding his rings from you when he realizes your hands are bare. “Well, whenever you meet her, you can have that argument with her, because I’ve already had it at least a dozen times.” He closes the drawer and fixes his eyes on Bucky, who’s just finishing his food. “Speaking of, when are you two coming over? I promised Peg I’d wait until Y/N had settled in to ask, and you seem settled enough to me.” He glances at you for the last part, and you look down at your empty plate.

“It’s not up to me,” answers Bucky. “We’ll come over whenever Y/N is ready. This is the first time we’ve been together since my dad dropped the bomb on us.”

Steve pauses, his hands on the tablet he’d set down before starting to count the night’s profits. “Wait. Really?”

You nod when he looks at you, suddenly self-conscious again, and you pull your hands into your lap. “I haven’t been the best house guest…”

“You’re not a guest, Y/N. It’s your home now, too,” Bucky interjects.

Reaching over the counter, Steve smacks the side of Bucky’s head. His accent is thick when he huffs, “Íosa Críost, you thick! You didn’t think to go talk to her? To see if she wanted to watch a movie? To see if she needed anything?”

Bucky stammers over in his seat, and you keep your head ducked to hide your smile. Clearly, Steve knows more about being married than Bucky does—most likely from experience, since he’s already mentioned his wife—and he isn’t afraid to tell his friend off for not looking out for your well-being.

“I’m sorry!” exclaims Bucky, ducking another hit. “I wasn’t thinking!”

“Like ifreann you weren’t!” Steve retreats and picks up the tablet with a huff, then looks at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with him. He’s actually a nice guy when he’s not being stupid.”

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

“I wouldn’t have talked to him even if he’d tried,” you admit, finally looking up, “but it wouldn’t have hurt if he had.”

Steve nods, satisfied with your response. He leaves you a minute later when his phone rings. The wide smile on his face is enough to tell you who’s on the other end, but then he says her name as he walks away, the phone already held to his ear.

“So what’s with this place?” you ask. The quick change in subject is purposeful, and you hope that Bucky will take the bait.

Thankfully, he does. Bucky glances around before finishing off the last of his drink and setting the empty bottle closer to Steve’s side of the bar.

“Well, Steve wanted a place that we—and other people like us—could spend time without feeling like there was always a fight about to happen. We didn’t have that growing up, you know? And now that he’s in charge, he can do what he wants with his money. Everything’s filed properly, he doesn’t advertise, and all employees are paid above the table. If other people show up, then sure, they’re welcomed in, but they’re also fully vetted once Steve gets their IDs. Weapons aren’t allowed, and there’s no shop talk of any kind.”

“So it’s your little hideaway,” you say, propping your head up with one hand. The heaviness of the potatoes combined with the alcohol is starting to make you sleepy, and the emotional exhaustion from the night has started to weigh heavy on you, too.

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

Bucky stands and rolls his sleeves back down, then pulls on his glove. He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket and sets it on the bar.

“Come on, doll. We should head home,” he says.

The warm feeling you’d felt when Bucky had called you his girl comes back, and you smile a little when he holds open his suit jacket for you. A little sheepish at the gesture, you slide off your seat and let him help you into the sleeves, then take Bucky’s hand when he offers it.

“Bye Steve!” you call, waving with your free hand.

Steve looks up from the other end of the bar, where he’s wiping down a counter with one hand and holding his phone with the other. He lets go of the rag to wave back.

Silently, Bucky leads you out to the front, where the valet already has his car pulled up. You’re not sure how they knew to have it ready, but you don’t dwell on it. Stranger things have happened in your world. Bucky tips the valets with another wad of cash before opening the passenger door and helping you in.

You fall asleep on the drive home. You don’t mean to, but Bucky turns on the radio a few minutes into the drive, and he lets the first station that comes on continue to play. The music is soft, and he drives so smoothly that it lulls you to sleep before you’re even fully out of the city.

When you wake, it’s because Bucky’s stubbed his toe on something, jostling you in his arms. He’s muttering curses under his breath and hobbling down the hallway, and though the jerking motion and his tightening grip isn’t the most comfortable for you at the moment, you keep your eyes closed and force yourself to keep your smile at bay. Bucky is a much sweeter guy than you’d first thought him to be, and it seems like he’s trying now to make up for lost time. You’d misjudged him at first; just like you, he has his own ways of dealing with the life forced on him by his parents, but he really is a gentleman underneath it all.

He carries you to your bedroom and carefully lays you on top of the covers. Then, as gently as possible, you feel him lift your foot and pry off the uncomfortable shoes Marta had picked out for you. Bucky stays totally silent as he takes the shoes off and sets them on the floor at the end of the bed. He pulls a thin blanket over you, one that you’re sure is just for decoration when the bed is made, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. You have to force yourself not to smile when he whispers,

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

The door clicks shut as he closes it slowly, and you peek open an eye after a few seconds have passed. Your room is dark and empty. Silently, you smile to yourself and crawl under the covers, your eyes heavy. It’s been a long, exhausting evening, and you’re happy to be in bed. You fall asleep to the sound of spring rain on the estate windows and with Bucky’s jacket still wrapped around you.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky slowly enters your life in both big and small ways. He smiles at you over meals in the dining room and late night snacks in the kitchen. He drives you to the city to visit Steve, Peggy, and his other friends, and when he finds out that his father still has your license, Bucky argues with him for over an hour to get it back. Marta delivers your license to your room the very next day, along with a handwritten note that the dark blue Mercedes in the garage is there for your use. Sometimes, you wake up to a bouquet of flowers with another handwritten note. Sometimes it’s a text, and sometimes it’s a gift. Bucky develops a habit of purchasing anything you mention enjoying or even vaguely liking, and you eventually have to tell him to stop because he’s bought you so much that there’s nothing left to buy for yourself.

Bucky turns out to be a closer friend than anyone you’ve ever known. He’s kind, and funny, and intelligent, and he remembers all the little things about you that nobody else does. When you’re sick or feeling lonely, he’s attentive and his presence alone reminds you of all the good things in the world. He makes your days brighter, even the worst ones. You find yourself falling in love with him, much to your surprise. You admit this to him one day. He kisses you then, and he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first trip you’d taken to Steve’s bar. 

Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas roll around. New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, and Easter come and go. The Barnes’ grand celebrations for every holiday blur together as the months fly by, until eventually, it’s June and you’re standing in your room, staring at your reflection in the full-length mirror.

The wedding dress you’d picked out a few days after Christmas is just as beautiful as you remember it being. It fits you perfectly, thanks to the impeccable work of several tailors employed by Winnifred, and your hair and makeup are flawless as well. There’s no possible way you could’ve imagined how beautiful you look and feel on your wedding day. 

Through the open window, you can hear a string quartet playing outside in the rose garden, where the ceremony is set up. Steve has already come by once to check on you at Bucky’s request, but both men are back downstairs. Bucky’s no doubt at the front of the garden with the priest—the one that you now know for certain is on your father’s payroll—and Steve is waiting with the rest of the wedding party. The only people remaining in your room are Marta, your mother, and Peggy. 

You’ve grown to love Peggy more than any of your childhood friends. She didn’t grow up in the same world as you. She didn’t even grow up in the same country, and you love her all the more for it. She’s rational, cool-headed, and kind, though she’s not afraid to stand up for what’s right. On top of all that, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. It’s easy to see why Steve fell for her during his time in the military.

The quartet finishes the song and moves onto a new one, one that you recognize after only two notes. Your stomach drops and you close your eyes, gripping your bouquet tightly. It’s the song you’d been listening to the morning you’d found out about your engagement. You’d discovered it the night before, and you’d had it on repeat before going to sleep that night, then again that morning as you’d gotten ready. You’d even listened to it in the car on the drive from your parents’ estate.

Who added this to the playlist? Is this some kind of sick joke to them?

The same feeling of dread you’d felt that morning comes back, making your mouth dry and your head spin. You try to take a slow, deep breath to calm your nerves and block out the song, but it doesn’t work.

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

You inhale sharply at the sound of her voice so close to you. She’d been texting Steve from near the window only moments before. You hadn’t thought that anyone would realize your distress, and you’d hoped to be able to collect yourself before it was noticeable. You hadn’t even sensed her coming closer.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell her, but your voice wavers and your lower lip quivers. You try to take another slow breath.

“What’s going on?” Marta asks. Her hand lands on your arm and you pull away, closing in yourself and pulling the bouquet tight against you.

Your mother’s scolding makes you feel like you’re a little kid again. “Careful, Y/N! You don’t want to ruin those flowers. We don’t have time to make another bouquet for you. George is already hounding your father about how soon after the ceremony you’ll be signing the certificate.”

Anger wells up in you at her thoughtless comment, and you open your eyes. She’s standing behind you in the main part of the bedroom, near the foot of your bed. Any guilt you might’ve felt over ruining the flowers is gone now, and you turn and chuck the bouquet at the carpet by her feet. It bounces once, then lays motionless in a heap of smashed petals and ribbons.

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

Marta rushes to close the window so the guests in the garden won’t hear your outburst.

Your mother gapes at you, somewhat surprised, but she doesn’t budge. “Y/N, dear. What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you yell, stepping closer. Your dress swishes as you walk, and you normally enjoy the sound, but you’re too furious to care how pleasing it is. “What are you doing? I am your only daughter! You should be treating me like a princess and worrying about how I’m feeling and what I need, but instead you’re too busy thinking about the damn flowers! I’m sick of you thinking of me like I’m an object you can sell, steal, and trade away whenever it’s most convenient! You and Dad are so obsessed with the timeline you’ve created for yourselves that you don’t even notice how much this has affected me! You didn’t even ask if this is what I wanted!”

She scoffs at you, and any trace of motherly care and concern has disappeared from her expression. Your mother is showing her true face—the mafia wife that has almost as much blood on her own hands as her husband does, if not more.

“It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” she asks. She picks up her clutch from the end of your bed and steps closer until you're standing eye to eye. Her voice is patronizing and infuriating, and she continues, “It’s your wedding day, dearest, and you can’t back out now. We’ve made sure of it. Even James has agreed to the contract.” 

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

“Yes, the contract,” she repeats, smirking. Her cards are all on the table now, and she’s got a winning hand. You both know it.

There’s a malicious glint in her eye as she says, “It’s already in effect. It has been since we agreed on the marriage.”

“What contract? What are you talking about?” There’s a sinking feeling in your chest, like your heart has decided to drop into your stomach, then down to your feet and through the floor. Bucky hadn’t said anything to you about a contract, and you trusted him, but you certainly didn’t trust your parents anymore, nor did you trust George and Winnifred Barnes.

Your mother smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile that makes you want to puke. “That’s a conversation for another time. After all, it doesn’t even matter to you until James gets you pregnant.”

The alarm on your phone rings and you close your eyes, your hands trembling. You’d set that alarm to remind you when it was time to leave for the ceremony. Right on cue, the wedding planner knocks on the door to your bedroom.

“Y/N?” she calls, knocking again. “Are you ready?”

Slowly, you squat down and pick up the bouquet. It’s smashed on one side and the petals have fallen off of various flowers, but it’s mostly intact. It shakes as your hands tremble and tears well up in your eyes.

Marta appears in front of you, having pushed your mother out of the way, and over the ringing in your ears, you hear Peggy talking to the wedding planner. Somehow, you make it out to the ground floor of the estate, to the double doors that lead out to the rose garden. You’re dazed by your mother’s strange revelation. The sound of the alarm is still ringing in your ears. Peggy says something to you, but you can only stare straight ahead. 

Your father is next to you then, as Peggy disappears through the doors and joins the rest of the wedding party. You see her glancing back at you, and whispering to the rest of the groomsmen and bridesmaids. Most of them are Bucky’s friends who have now become your own, and all of them look worried. 

“Let’s go, princess,” your father says, and he pulls you forward by the arm.

Numbly, you follow his lead. Not even Bucky’s initially delighted expression shakes you out of your trance, but the way he rubs his thumb over your hands at the end of the aisle pulls you out of it just enough for you to lift your head and look around. You don’t remember walking to him, nor do you remember handing off your bouquet to Peggy, just like you’d practiced last night at the rehearsal.

“Y/N? Darling?” Bucky asks. He crouches and tilts his head slightly to try to catch your eyes. “You okay?”

“I—” Your mouth is still dry and you swallow, your eyes flitting from one place in the garden to another with no rhyme or reason. The world feels like it’s spinning and you clutch Bucky’s hands, unsure of what to do.

“Someone get her a chair,” Bucky orders, raising his voice enough that you flinch. He immediately starts murmuring reassurances to you, and he pulls you into his arms until he can lower you into a seat.

Someone fans you and a cool glass is pressed to your lips. You drink obediently, closing your eyes as the water helps the sandy feeling in your mouth abate just a little. When the water is gone, the glass is pulled away. 

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks. 

Slowly, carefully, you nod your head. He sighs in relief and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling down in front of you. His shoulders are tense and his forehead is creased with worry. You’ve never seen him this stressed over anything and it makes you want to cry.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, heat flaming in your cheeks. You feel horrible. Bucky has been looking forward to the ceremony—he’d told you last night at the rehearsal dinner.

“It’s okay,” he quickly replies. He reaches forward and takes your hands, and you glance away from him to peek at the guests, your parents included, who are still watching you from their seats.

“Are you ready for this, or do you need a break?” 

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

“She’s fine,” your mother says, and you look over at her from your seat. She’s standing in the front row, her eyes fixated on the priest behind you. “They’re fine, Father. Y/N’s been a bit nervous all morning. Wedding day jitters, you know.”

“I—” You frown at her, still clutching Bucky’s hands. “That’s not what it is.” You look down at him and shake your head. “I’m not nervous to marry you.”

“I’m not nervous either,” he says with a small smile. 

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

You turn to shake your head at him. “No. I’m sorry, Father. I need to talk to Bucky—James—in private for just a minute. Is that alright?”

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

There are more agitated murmurs from the crowd, but you ignore them as Peggy, Steve, and Bucky help you up and back down the aisle. When your mother moves to follow you, she’s blocked by Sam and Clint, another one of Bucky’s friends. She calls after you once, but you ignore her as Peggy helps you onto a bench inside, then leaves, closing the double doors behind herself. She’s handed back your bouquet, and you clutch it with both hands like it’s an anchor in the storm.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asks. He stands near the door, and you can tell from the way he rolls his shoulders that he’s stressed. His prosthetic always bothers him more when he’s agitated, and you suddenly feel even worse about stopping the ceremony.

“Yes,” you say, but then you shake your head. “No, I’m sorry. Obviously, it’s not, or I wouldn’t have stopped everything. I’m sorry, Bucky, but I have to ask you something.”

“Okay…” There’s a wariness in his eyes, one that you loathe yourself for. You put it there, and you wish with all your might that your mother hadn’t told you what she did. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to do this.

“Did you sign a contract? With our parents?”

He frowns and his whole body grows very still. “A contract?”

You nod. “Yes.” With your hands still fisted tightly around the bouquet, you inhale deeply and add, “A contract about getting me pregnant.”

“What?” Bucky’s furious response is immediate. He shakes his head, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you might be making this up. “Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Did you sign a contract agreeing to marry me, and agreeing that my parents get something after you get me pregnant?” The words make you sick to your stomach. You haven’t eaten anything all day, which doesn’t help, but the thought of Bucky agreeing to something so vile… It’s enough to make anyone nauseous.

He’s shaking his head at you again. “Why the hell would I sign anything like that? Do you really think I would do that?”

You shrug a little and look down at the bouquet. “My mother…”

“Darling…” Bucky sighs and comes closer, and he kneels down in front of you again, just like he had outside. All the fight and anger has left his voice. “I would never do anything like that. Not in a million years, and especially not to you. I love you.”

“She said you signed it before they’d even told me we were engaged,” you said, quiet now that he’s so close. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, to see what his face might be telling you that his words aren’t.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

Reluctantly, you lift your eyes from the flowers in your lap to meet Bucky’s eyes. They’re just as blue as the ribbons wrapped around the flower stems, a choice you’d specifically made without the wedding planner’s guidance. You’d wanted him to be your ��something blue”, even if it felt a little cheesy.

“Do you want to marry me?” Bucky asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “Yes.”

“Do you believe me when I say I had nothing to do with that contract? That I didn’t know it existed?” he questions.

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

“And do you trust me to help you find a way to get rid of it, once all of this is over? Do you trust me to protect you?”

You nod for the third time, and Bucky takes both of your hands in his.

“Okay. Then let’s get married, and I swear to you that as soon as our honeymoon is over, the guys and I will start doing some digging.”

“What about me?” you ask, sniffling. You pull one of your hands away to dab at your eyes before the makeup can get too damaged by your tears.

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

Bucky chuckles and kisses your knuckles on the hand that he’s holding, and then he pulls himself up off the floor to sit beside you on the bench. He pulls you into a half-hug and you cling to him, sniffling and smiling as he rubs the your back and answers,

“You can do all the digging you want, doll. I’ll even hand you the shovel.”

Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil. = It’s good to see you.

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If  you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

[littledovesnow]

president snow, the prelude

a/n: so there were like 750 words that didn't make it into the final fic for president!coryo, here they are! i wasn't going to publish this, but it sets up a lot of the backstory for future fics i have planned :)

-----

The room was electric as Lucky Flickerman’s face popped up on the TV, ready to announce Panem’s next president.

Your husband, who was freshly twenty-five and had his name on the ballot fo the first time, stood next to you, hand laced in your own.

“You’re a shoo-in, Coryo, I don’t know what they’re even doing counting the votes. Everyone knows you’re going to come out on top. After all, Snow lands on top.”

Coriolanus smiled softly at the sound of his family’s favorite phrase. He knew he had most likely won the election as well, but he wanted to hear the final vote before celebrating anything.

“The results are in,” Lucky Flickerman’s dramatics were dialed to a hundred tonight, as he flicked open an envelope brought to him by a station worker.

“Panem’s next president is,” he trailed off, wanting to build the anticipation.

You could feel the electric in the air, squeezing your husband’s hand as Lucky opened his mouth to continue. “The Capitol’s own Coriolanus Snow!”

Cheers erupted from the Snow’s great room, Coriolanus’ closest family and friends having gathered for the momentous occasion.

Mr. and Mrs. Plinth, who thought of you considered your in-laws, wasted no time in congratulating the young man, their next president. “We always knew you had it in you, Coriolanus. Ever since you and Sejanus first were mentors way back when!”

You and Coriolanus shared a look, neither of you had ever come out with the truth about what happened when Coriolanus was exiled the summer after the 10th Hunger Games.

Putting on a smile, Coriolanus hugged the older woman, and shook hands with his late classmate’s father. “You’ll do this nation proud, boy.”

“Thank you, Mr. Plinth.”

Mrs. Plinth brought her attention to you, the nation’s next First Lady. “You’ll be a splendid First Lady! Oh, the Capitol will be overjoyed to have a young couple at the helm again! Especially once a child is brought up!”

You stopped yourself from frowning, instead giving the woman a soft smile.

Coriolanus watched with a careful eye, not wanting to cause a scene at the woman’s comments. He and you had been trying for a child for a few months, to no avail. One of his first tasks as president would be to find better fertility care, as he was growing worried that each failure was taking a larger toll on you than you let on.

“If you’ll excuse us, I believe I do need to go make a speech.” Coriolanus smiled, tugging you out of the room with a promise to catch up at his inauguration.

You waited until you two were in the privacy of your bedroom before letting any emotions go, inner turmoil over your husband’s victory and sadness over Mrs. Plinth’s comment.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” Coriolanus murmured; voice much softer than when he is in public. “What’s going on in that pretty mind of yours?”

 You looked at your husband with tears on deck, stomach rolling over. “She’s true. The Capitol’s going to want us to start a family as soon as possible. I’m going to be seen as a failure if I can’t even get pregnant!”

Coriolanus wrapped his arms around you as your emotions crumbled, heat growing in his heart. He wanted to immediately call for her to lose her tongue, with little regard that she was one of the two people who had helped him financially be able to make it to this point in his life.

“We’ll figure it out, my love. I vowed to help you become a mother, and it’s a vow I intend to keep.”

You sniffled, wiping your nose on your sleeve, earning a tsk from the president-elect. “I just wish it was as easy as It is for everyone else. I deserve this, for God’s sake!”

Coriolanus frowned, hand running up and down your spine. “I know, my love.” He wasn’t sure what else to say, so he kept his lips closed.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments more, until there was a knock at the door, an Avox opening it once Coriolanus granted permission.

Holding a phone up, the Avox gestured to Coriolanus, who begrudgingly stepped away from you to take the call, which was Lucky Flickerman himself, conducting a phone-style interview live on air.

Coriolanus rolled his eyes, playing into the pizazz and cheer over the phone, stating how excited he was to have this honor as president, all while sitting on the luxurious bed you two shared, hand moving up and down your arm as you curled into his side.

-----

a/n: and there it is folks, basically why i made coriolanus want funding for a fertility clinic :)

[jungle-angel]

Snow Bunny: Part 1 (Bob x Reader)

Summary: One little critter becomes a big part of yours and Bob’s lives

Notes: So, I recently saw a fic that was really cute where it was a Phoenix x little!Reader where she ends up getting them a bunny stuffie along with the slightly adorable and really steamy fics where Bob calls the Reader “bunny” and my brain got rolling. Big, big shoutout to you guys for the writing you do, I wish I knew your names so I could really give the credit where it’s due. 

Tagging: @nobody7102​ and @sebsxphia​

Bozeman, MT

December 7th, 2022

You were so close. 

So......friggin....close. 

“C’mon baby, one more, one more,” Bob encouraged as he held your leg. 

You were exhausted, almost out of breath from having been in labor since midnight. You could feel the tiny little human trying to make her way out of you, eager to enter the world and meet you and Bob. Your face scrunched up as you pushed, Bob’s free hand on the back of your head as you let out an exhausted breath, the feeling of relief suddenly washing right over you.

A tiny cry filled the room before your daughter was placed on your chest. She was tiny!!!! Tiny and red faced with a howl that would have put your husky to shame. She couldn’t have been any more than five pounds on the dot!!

“Baby you’re unbelievable,” Bob said as he leaned down and kissed you, the tears starting to well in his eyes as you returned the kiss. “She’s so beautiful.” 

Deidre Bridget Floyd was officially welcomed into the family on December 7th at 8:15 in the morning, the snow falling harder than it had the night before. The nurses took their time helping you with any last minute details before taking Deidre for her shots. You looked at Bob who paced anxiously around the room, worried that there would be a huge trench in the floor from the amount of pacing he had done. Once the nurse wheeled Deidre back in, the tension on his shoulders had lifted quickly. 

It wasn’t long before Bob noticed his little princess’s tiny hands balling into a fist, her annoyed little cries threatening to get louder before he handed her off to you. 

“God I can’t believe how tiny she is,” you remarked as Deidre latched onto you to feed. 

“Auggie was tiny and he got big pretty quick,” Bob pointed out as he crawled in beside you. 

“Yeah but Auggie was a preemie, remember?” 

How could he have forgotten? Tiny little August had already shot up like a weed at three years old along with his Irish twin, Patrick. 

“Ah well,” you sighed. “She’s here and that’s all that matters.”

“I’m just relieved we finally have a girl,” Bob chuckled. “I love the boys to pieces, but Nat needs someone she can teach when she gets older.” 

You laughed a little and noticed a slight tickling sensation against the skin of your breast. “Her little nose is twitching,” you said to Bob. 

A huge smile began to form on Bob’s face as he kissed the silky tufts of dark blonde hair on Deidre’s head. “She’s like a tiny baby bunny,” he cooed. 

“Hey, don’t you start with that....” you joked. 

Bob laughed before he propped himself up a little bit and finally got up from your bed. “That reminds me,” he said. “I’ve got something for her.” 

He went to the window seat where his duffel bag was, unzipping the top before drawing something out of the bag. When he showed you, you nearly gasped.  It was a little stuffed white bunny, a little too big for her to hold, but adorable nonetheless with its floppy little ears and the pale pink silk ribbon around its neck. 

“Oh Bob where did you....?” 

“My sister found this and thought it’d be perfect,” Bob said. “I mean she can’t hold it right now but.....” 

“Bob it’s perfect,” you told him. “She’ll love it, I promise you.” 

Bob crawled back in beside you, hooking his arm around your shoulders before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. His hand gently stroked Deidre’s hair and the soft spots on her head. “You wanna hold her?” you asked him. 

Bob eagerly took his baby girl into his arms, tangled a little in her pink crochet blanket. You snapped a picture of Bob holding her and giving her a gentle little Eskimo kiss with the tip of his nose, promptly setting it as your background and sending it to the rest of the gang. 

“I love you my little snow bunny,” Bob whispered. “You and your Momma both.” 

[topguncortez]

Out of Love

pairing: Bob Floyd x Reader word count: 700 genre: angst warnings: nothing major, just Bobby boy gets his heart broke notes: am I gonna turn my old gvf fics into TopGun fics??? possibly, cause some of them fuckers was good and I have major writers block right now

You don’t know when it happened, but it happened. You heard it before “Girls fall out of love first,” but you never believed it. You didn’t think you could fall out of love. You had been the type to always fall first and fall hard. You had learned that after getting your heart smashed to pieces by way too many lowlife men. You didn’t think it could happen with you and Bob. You loved Bob, you really did.

Bob made you feel warm and safe. You had met Bob at a low point in your life, and he was quite literally the light in your life. Bob was the first one to say ‘I love you’ and he made it known that you didn’t have to say it back until you were comfortable. When you finally said it, Bob felt like he could cry. He wrapped you up in his arms and kissed all over your face, and made sweet love to you all night.

But something had changed, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. You two had slipped out of the honeymoon stage and into the stagnant relationship phase. You wouldn’t say it was boring, nothing with Bob was ever boring, but it became routine. You’d wake up to an empty bed, send Bob a goodmorning text, go to work, come home to an empty house, and Bob would come home from work late. He had promised that weekends were yours, and he kept that promise, for a bit. Things started getting busy with him becoming a part of the permanent dagger squad at TopGun.

You were staring at the dripping sink, something that Bob said he would fix. The house was quiet as Bob was staying late on base to work on flight plans with Phoenix. The only sounds were the consistent drip from the faucet. You counted the seconds between each drop, they were about twenty-five seconds apart.

“Babe?” You lifted your eyes from the faucet and over to Bob, who was walking through the door, “Hey, baby,”

“Hey,” You said softly and he walked over to greet you with a kiss. You closed your eyes and placed your hand on his cheek, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you could feel something. Bob pulled back and looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed at the sight of your eyes turning glossy.

“What’s wrong?”

“I-I don’t feel it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The love, Bob. I can’t feel it anymore,” You said softly and Bob leaned his forehead against yours, sighing.

“I thought that was what was happening,” Bob whispered.

“I don’t know what happened.”

“You fell out of love,” Bob shrugged, stepping back from you, “It happens. It’s okay.”

“I don’t like it,” You were now crying, tears running down your face, “I feel like shit.”

“Don’t,” Bob said softly. God, it was so hard to hate him. And you wanted to, you thought it would be easier to break this to him. You had spent all day trying to think of something to hate Bob for, but you couldn’t, “It happens, Y/N. I didn’t think it would happen to us… but I could feel the disconnect for sometime.”

“I’m so-”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Bob said, and grabbed your hands, “It’s late, why don’t we go to bed. I’ll sleep on the couch, okay.”

You nodded and Bob kissed your cheek as you headed up the stairs. You paused at the top of the staircase and saw Bob walking over to the basket that you kept all your blankets in.

“Bob,” You said.

“Yes?”

“Come lay with me?”

Bob nodded wordlessly, and put the blanket back. You held your hand out to him and he took it, as you led him down to your shared bedroom. You two both changed out of your clothes, slipping on pajamas. Usually, Bob would sneak glances over at you, but tonight, he kept his brown eyes at the gray bedroom wall.

Once you were changed, you both slipped under the covers. Bob held his arms open, allowing you to curl into his side and lay your head on his chest. He kissed your forehead and softly hummed you into a dreamless sleep.

[sanakiras]

MASTERLIST!

NOTE — these works contain mature content. read at your own risk. minors please don’t interact!

keep in mind you are responsible for the content you consume. warnings are included at the top of every fic. don’t like, don’t read. thank you!

disclaimer! — please note all these works are fiction and in no way intended as sexualization of these idols nor am i claiming to make an accurate depiction of the way they are in real life. they are just placeholders for characters.

works published on this blog are seventeen fics only. for my other works, please refer to my ao3.

reader is always female (she/her) in all of my works.

requests are closed. suggestions are always welcome.

LEE CHAN ❍

TREAT YOU BETTER | 3.7k

your boyfriend of five months has been treating you like hell, and one of your closest friends, lee chan, refuses to let it go on any longer, taking matters into his own hands.

KIM MINGYU ✰

BLOOM FOR ME | 18.1k

even though you and mingyu share the same friends, there’s a clear distance between you. when you make a drunken mistake, he suddenly becomes increasingly aware of your lack of a relationship with him, and he takes on the challenge of changing it — not expecting to fall for the ice princess who turns out to be less cold than he thought.

IN THE DARK CORNERS | 2.2k (feat. csc)

mingyu used to be your lover. now he has to watch from the sidelines as you’ve moved on to someone else.

LIAR, LIAR! | ONE | TWO | 30.5k

in a dramatic turn of events, a rich businessman is found dead in his lavish estate, and the authorities believe it was no accident. as the detectives dig deeper, they ultimately end up with two key suspects: you, the businessman’s very own daughter, and your sworn enemy, kim mingyu. as the time progresses, tensions rise and secrets spill — and the truth has the power to either bring you closer together or tear you apart.

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL ⚡︎

IN THE DARK CORNERS | 2.2k (feat. kmg)

mingyu used to be your lover. now he has to watch from the sidelines as you’ve moved on to someone else.

TIDAL WAVE OF LOVE | 1.3k

even the strongest of people break sometimes. you’re used to hiding your feelings; your boyfriend is there for you when everything gets too much.

JEON WONWOO 𑁍

HEAVEN | 3.4k

wonwoo has a reputation for being distant, quiet and a bit mysterious. once you get to know him better, though, you come to find the sweet, shy boy underneath the surface.

XU MINGHAO ✧

DISTRACTION | 1.5k

you can’t help staring at your best friends’s hands. when he pushes you to tell him why, things in your relationship take a turn.

HONG JISOO 🂳

nothing_yet

YOON JEONGHAN ♧

BOUND BY BLOOD | TEASER

in an attempt to escape your past, you join your mother when she moves in with her soon-to-be husband at the other side of the country. the only downside is that your new stepbrother causes you to sink deeper into the rabbit hole you were so desperately trying to leave behind.

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[sluttywonwoo]

the bet || j.ww x reader

Summary: you help your boyfriend’s best friend win a bet against your better judgement

Warnings: swearing, lil bit of jealousy, light smut (18+) 

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: originally posted on my tom holland fic account ( @wazzupmrstark )

Masterlist

“Hey, can I ask a huge favor?”

You hoisted yourself up from your beach towel onto your elbows and pulled down your sunglasses to glare at the boy in front of you. You narrowed your eyes at him in suspicion. What could Kim Mingyu possibly want from you?

“What is it?”

He ran a hand through his still-wet hair awkwardly. “Um, the boys and I are about to play a game of volleyball, and we’ve bet some money on it…”

“Okay?”

“And, well, it’s me and Hansol against Wonwoo, Soonyoung, and Seungkwan. Wonwoo’s their best player and I was wondering if you could distract him? So that we have a better chance of winning?”

“Distract him… how?” you asked, not fully understanding.

“You know… whatever it is you do that drives Wonwoo crazy. He’s your boyfriend, I’m sure you know how to wind him up.”

“You mean you want me to get him hard during your game?”

Mingyu nearly choked at that. “Um, I mean pretty much, yeah. Just do something that will throw him off his game.”

“So you want me to help you guys cheat?”

“It’s not technically cheating.”

“I think your definition of cheating is much looser than mine.”

“So is that a no?” he asked.

You thought about it for a second. “Is there anything in it for me?”

“We’ll give you a cut of the winnings.”

You found yourself grinning. “How much did you guys bet?”

“Two hundred if they win, three hundred if we win. Basically whoever’s on the losing team has to cough up a hundred bucks.”

“Jeez, I can’t believe Wonwoo is risking that much on a stupid game.”

“Are you upset?”

“No, it’s his money he can do whatever he wants with it. I just think he’s a dumbass.”

“Not arguing with that.”

“Do you need me to remind you that you’re betting the same amount?”

“Fair enough,” he chuckled. “So you’ll do it? For a hundred?”

“Yeah, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Pleasure doing business.” Mingyu smirked and held out his hand for you to shake. You rolled your eyes at the formality but shook his hand anyway, just as Wonwoo came up to the both of you and clapped Mingyu on the shoulder.

“What are my best mate and my best girl talking about?” he asked, leaning down to kiss you.

“I wanted to go swimming, but Mingyu said you guys are about to play volleyball?” You piped up before Mingyu could say anything. Maybe you should’ve felt guiltier than you did about lying to your boyfriend and for what you were about to do, but hey, a hundred dollars was a hundred dollars . And if everything went according to plan, you’d be getting some good dick too. A win win.

Wonwoo frowned a little bit. “Oh yeah, sorry. Wanna play, love?” he offered. “There’s still some room on Mingyu’s team.”

You made a face. “What about your team? Can’t you make one of your other team members switch?”

He winced. “I love you, y/n, but you’re shit at sports.”

Any trace of remorse left over what you’d agreed to do dissolved in that moment. He fucking deserved what he was about to get.

“The stupid game is that important to you? Asshole,” you scoffed, and put your sunglasses back on before laying back down on the towel.

“Y/n,” Wonwoo whined, and crouched down next to you. “I-”

“Go play your fucking game.”

He stood back up, but lingered for a moment. You could tell he felt bad, but you weren’t having it. “Wanna go swimming after?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Sure, whatever.”

You could tell he’d walked away when the shadow over you disappeared. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you were a little pissed about the comment he’d made. Were you shit at sports? Yes, definitely, but could he have at least pretended to love you enough to be on the same team as you? Also yes. He should’ve known you were going to say no anyway.

While you were still fuming you hadn’t even realized the boys had started the game. Not even a minute in and you were already slacking on your end of the bet. You propped yourself back up for a moment to watch. You could see why Mingyu had asked for your help. Wonwoo and his team were dominating so far, and you couldn’t help but admire how fit your boyfriend looked as he served the ball to the other side of the court. You licked your lips absentmindedly, ready to pull him back to the car right fucking then.

You forced yourself to stop watching the game stood up from your towel, brushed yourself off, and began walking towards the water. You made sure to pull your bikini bottoms as far up your ass as you could in the process just to get Wonwoo’s attention as you walked past the volleyball net. Sure, you’d agreed to go swimming with him after the match, but you’d never promised to wait for him.

As you made your way down to the shore, you noted that not only Wonwoo’s head turned to watch you walk, but all five of the boys cast their attention away from the game and towards you. You glanced behind your shoulder for a second, and caught Mingyu’s smirk. He took advantage of Wonwoo’s lapse in concentration to spike the ball back over to their side and score a point.

You heard some yelling and protestation, but pretended to ignore it and continued to wade into the water.

It was warmer than you thought it would be, and deeper. There was a steep drop a few feet in that you might have tripped over if you weren’t careful. You only ended up staying in the ocean for a few minutes; Wonwoo couldn’t really get distracted by you if your whole body was submerged underwater. You weren’t there to swim around anyway, just to get your bathing suit wet so it would stick to your body.

You’d worn one that didn’t have pads in it so you knew that once you got out of the water the whole beach would be able to see your nipples poking through the fabric. You didn’t have a problem with that. Wonwoo might.

While you were down there you got your hair wet too, just for good measure. Might as well pull out all the stops since a hundred dollars were on the line.

You weren’t sure what the score was by the time you made your way back up to your towel, but you didn’t make an effort to ask. What you did know, though, was that Wonwoo was getting frustrated. Even from where you were you could see that his jaw was clenched and his brows were furrowed.

The opposing team seemed to be doing just fine though, and you stopped to watch them high-five each other after Mingyu scored another point by slamming the ball over the net onto Wonwoo side of the court.

“Damn, nice one, Gyu!” you called out from where you were standing, giving him a big smile and thumbs up. It was sort of dorky, not to mention a cheap shot, but if you knew Wonwoo as well as you thought you did, it’d be the perfect thing to rile him up.

“Thanks, y/n!” he shouted back and winked, ignoring the weird look Hansol gave him. “It’s about time you started rooting for the winning team!”

You struggled not to laugh when you looked back over to the other side of the court and saw all three boys scowling at Mingyu. You didn’t even know why he needed you in the first place, he knew how to push their buttons so well already.

Wonwoo’s fists were clenched now, and he looked this close to tackling his best friend to the ground. The two of you weren’t even flirting with each other, not really, but Wonwoo was the most competitive person you knew and it wasn’t always the best color on him. For you to be cheering for the team that he’s not on, and for that team to be winning- there was no doubt in your mind that he was royally pissed. Not to mention, that you just so happened to be cheering for his attractive best friend who may or may not have mentioned having sex dreams about you once or twice in passing.

It was good, but it wasn’t enough. Soonyoung made some offhand comment about how close the scores were so you knew you needed to keep going. You turned your attention away from the game again and lowered yourself down on your stomach on top of your towel and casually undid the strings of your bikini top to “sunbathe”.

If anyone asked it was so you didn’t get tan lines on your back, it was something that a lot of women did. In reality, however, you didn’t give a shit about tan lines, you just wanted to see how Wonwoo would react.

You pulled out your book to read while you tanned, tuning back into the game every once and a while to see how it was going. You could hear Soonyoung and Seungkwan yelling at Wonwoo to ‘pay attention’ or ‘snap the fuck out of it’ and smiled to yourself, excited for what was to come.

After several more minutes, your bathing suit was almost dry and you were starting to fall asleep on your towel. The volleyball game was taking way longer than you anticipated and you just wanted Mingyu and Hansol to win already. You didn’t have any other ideas to distract your boyfriend so you hoped they could pull it off.

Then, what you would call a fucking miracle happened. You were still nearly dozing off on top of your book when a pink Frisbee landed on the sand right in front of your face.

“Sorry about that!” called the voice of its owner and you squinted to see him jogging over to you. A few of his friends weren’t far behind and they all congregated in a little group in front of your towel. They looked to be about your age, maybe a little older. “Sorry to wake you up,” the ringleader apologized again, but smiled like he wasn’t really that sorry.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, one hand holding your loose bikini to your chest, while the other handed the Frisbee back to smiling guy. “No worries, I didn’t mean to fall asleep anyway.”

“What’s your name?” Ringleader asked. “I’m Jeonghan, and these are some of my fraternity brothers.”

Of course. You should’ve guessed. They were all jacked, tan, and had an air of privilege about them that you couldn’t miss. They were objectively cute, sure, but nothing in comparison to your boyfriend playing volleyball behind you. Not to mention their pack mentality freaked you out a little.

“I’m y/n,” you said and held your free hand out to them to shake, still keeping your other hand on your bikini top so you wouldn’t flash them. “Are you guys on a holiday break or something?”

“Yeah, just trying to make the most out of our last few days.”

“You from around here?” another boy asked, not being subtle at all in the way he was eyeing you.

“No, we just took a little day trip,” you explained and cleared your throat, wondering how long they’d stick around and when Wonwoo was going to come over and dick you down out of jealousy.

“We?” Ringlea- Jeonghan asked, cocking his head to the side. “Are you here with your friends?”

“Her boyfriend, actually,” Wonwoo piped up calmly from behind you. You looked back and saw him standing a few feet behind your towel with his arms crossed. He could be annoying, but fuck if he didn’t have good timing.

“Oh-uh, well I was nice to meet you.” Jeonghan mumbled abruptly and nodded to his friends to get back to their Frisbee game. They were gone before you could even say goodbye back.

“Attracting all sorts of attention today, aren’t you, love?” Wonwoo sneered and knelt down beside you.

His words went straight to the heat between your legs and you turned over onto your back to get a better look at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, daring him to challenge you.

“I think you do, y/n,” he continued. The way he whispered your name sent a shiver down your spine. “I mean, you’re practically naked in front of the whole beach right now.”

“I’m wearing a swimsuit.”

“You know what I mean. And all for what? To make me jealous? So I’d fuck you? Because you could’ve just asked, baby.”

You whimpered, but didn’t say anything and leaned up to kiss him, desperately wanting to feel his lips against yours. He leaned in too, but stopped just short of your mouth, pulling back a bit to look into your eyes. “I could just pull your bikini bottoms to the side, no one will notice.”

You moaned softly, wanting nothing more than for him to do exactly that. You weren’t even sure if you could wait to get home at this point, you wanted him inside of you now. He put a hand on each knee and spread your legs apart, whistling in awe at the wet spot on your bathing suit. You felt your face heat up in embarrassment. “I haven’t even touched you and you’re already this wet.”

“All because of you,” you panted, reaching out for him, but he pulled back.

“You know all of your teasing made me lose the game, right? I couldn’t focus because I was so distracted.” You nodded. “I was so fucking hard the whole match because of what you were doing”

And then your dumbass had to open your big mouth. “So Mingyu told you?”

Wonwoo pulled back, and gave you a confused look, clearly caught off guard. “Told me what?”

“Y/n, that was incredible, you were perfect!” Mingyu exclaimed as he ran up to you and Wonwoo, holding out a hundred dollar bill to you.

You winced as you took it, wishing you hadn’t said anything.

“Y/n, what the fuck?” Wonwoo demanded, even more frustrated than he had been a minute ago. “What were you incredible at?”

“Fucking distracting you, dude. I asked her if she’d be in on the bet with me for a cut of the winnings since you guys had more team members.”

Your boyfriend glared at you. “Is that true?”

“I mean, it’s just a game… and I thought it’d be fun,” you said quietly.

“That’s what you guys were talking about earlier, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, she didn’t need any convincing she was totally down-”

“Mingyu,” you interrupted, pinching the bridge of your nose, “please, if you have any mercy for my pussy please shut the fuck up.”

His face went scarlet and he shut his mouth without further comment.

“So that’s it?” Wonwoo asked, obviously not ready to drop the subject yet. “You’re just gonna sell out your own boyfriend that easy?”

“You said you didn’t want to be on a team with me!”

“Don’t turn this around on me! You’re the one who helped them cheat!”

“Oh I don’t know if I’d call it cheating,” Mingyu interjected again.

“Shut up, Mingyu!” you and Wonwoo both shouted.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Mingyu said quietly. “If I had known it was going to be this big of a deal I wouldn’t have asked her. I just thought I was being clever, that it’d be a fun way to beat you guys, but I’m sorry I went too far.”

Wonwoo sighed and ran a hand through his wet curls. “It’s fine. I’m sorry I overreacted.”

“So… we’re good?” Mingyu asked, holding out a hand to help Wonwoo up.

“Yeah, we’re good. Next time, though, we’re playing fair.”

“Deal.”

“Y/n, you still want to go swimming, love?” Wonwoo asked, turning back to you.

“We’re not- we’re not going home?” Despite everything you were still incredibly horny, and you’d been patiently waiting for Wonwoo to rail you for what felt like hours now.

“Not yet,” he said and helped you to your feet. “Let’s make the most of our beach day.”

“I think the rest of us are going to find an ice cream shop,” Mingyu added. “Winners are buying. Do either of you want anything?”

“No thanks, we’ll hang out here by ourselves for a while.” Wonwoo answered for the both of you.

He wrapped an arm around your waist as you walked down to the water together and you relaxed, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin on yours. Only once you were out of Mingyu’s earshot did he lean down and whisper “your ass is going to be seven shades of red for that little stunt once we get home,” in your ear. Now it was your turn to be distracted.

lmk what you thought; i always appreciate feedback)

wonwoo tags: @wonw00t 

shoot me an ask if you’d like to be added to my taglist

[quindolyn]

Hey I was wondering if you could write a sub!regulus X Dom!fem reader fic?

One where it’s angsty as Regulus had been acting different around the reader, and eventually after being questioned about it alone, Regulus breaks down and admitting his parents forced him to get the dark mark (there was nothing he could do about it), and the reader comforts him while they fuck. Regulus had been through a lot and the reader wants him to know that they love him.

Including: praise kink, subspace regulus, scar/mark kissing, aftercare for regulus, riding, and anything else you think would suit this situation <3

Resilience || Regulus Black

Word Count: 6154

A/N: Do I hate this? Yes, most definitely, without a doubt. Did I only proof read 5/15 pages. Yes, again, certainly. But I'm tired and I'm with my friend so it's not gonna get better than this. I love you all and hope you enjoy it

warnings: pretty much included in the ask, can't really think of anything else

Being light on your feet it doesn’t appear as though Regulus notices you tip toeing your way across the Slytherin common room. As you come up behind him you peer over his shoulder; he has his legs tucked beneath him with what appears to be his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook resting in his lap. Standing over his shoulder you let your eyes scan across the pages laid open and what you first believed to be a chapter on counter curses you realized was actually detailing how to cast the curse.

Realizing what you’d just read you let out a small, involuntary gasp that catches the attention of the boy sitting in front of you.

“(Y/N)!” Regulus quickly exclaims, glancing over his shoulder before slamming the book closed and sliding it into his book bag which sits next to him on the plush, green velvet sofa.

“What was that Reg?” You ask, brow furrowed as your eyes lock onto Regulus’ grey ones.

“Just a book love, that’s all.”

“Your Defense textbook?” You ask, hoping he would slide it back out of his satchel to show you the familiar scarlet cover you’d scratched your initials into on the bottom right hand corner.

“Something of the sort,” He answers vaguely, pushing himself off the couch to face you. Instead of making his way around the couch to meet you he stayed on the other side of the piece of furniture. Feet planted, hands fiddling with each other while instead of making eye contact with you his gaze seemed to be directed just past your right ear.

“Don’t lie to me Regulus,” Your voice is clipped, when you’d come to check in on Regulus after he’d come home from winter break at his dreaded family’s house this wasn’t what you had expected.

Regardless, it was what you’re met with, “What the hell is that book?”

Your voice jumps and you can hear the panic rising in it. Regulus had spent the weeks up to his departure date dreading the time he would have to spend at the Black Mansion. You’d stayed up countless nights, wishing you could somehow keep him from having to go to that hellish house but when it came down to it there was nothing either of you could do.

Finding him pouring over some dark arts book the first time you saw him after nearly two weeks apart wasn’t exactly the reunion you’d been picturing in your head. Nor was it comforting.

You can barely make it out but you believe you hear him whimper something about “it’s nothing” as his gaze drops from just over your shoulder to his toes.

You two stand there for a minute, then two, each waiting for the other to say something, anything to break the tension currently hanging heavy over the room. Regulus silently begging you to let it go, to leave the room and give him some time to stash the book before coming to find you to act as though nothing had happened and it was all fine.

Unwilling to yield, you hold your ground, maintaining your silence while your eyes bore into the top of his head, awaiting his explanation as to what you’d walked into.

You’re the one to finally break the silence.

“If it's nothing, then I’d like to see it Regulus.” It's the second time in the span of five minutes you opt for his full name instead of one of the nicknames coined by his brother, who he’d recently mended things with, and made popular by yourself. You knew it would strike a cord for him but you were scared, you were on the offensive.

With a deep sigh Regulus retrieves his bag from the spot it’d fallen to on the floor, pulling the book from the bag, bound in emerald green, Regulus hold it both far from his body and with a surprisingly tight hold, somehow both wanting it as far from him as possible and not wanting it to leave his grasp.

Though visibly ancient the book appears to be in remarkable condition, engraved on the front cover in gold leaf reads “Mendel's Most Malicious Curses”.

Studying the cover you don’t recognize the book’s title but based on what you’d glimpsed inside of its pages you hadn’t expected to. Even as a fifth year you doubt this would ever be included in O.W.L. curriculum.

Despite knowing better you can’t help but feel a strange, strong attraction to the book, an overwhelming urge consuming you to take that book. Your fingers itch at your sides as you imagine getting your hands on the book, wondering how hard Regulus would fight before relinquishing it from his grasp.

Somewhere in your subconscious you register that these thoughts are not organically your own, that somehow that book is influencing you and that in reality you want nothing to do with it. Frightened thoughts simmer at the back of your mind but they are lost in the shadows of your curiosity regarding the secrets that lie beneath the ornate designs swirling over the cover.

Expectantly you extend your arm, a nonverbal signal for Regulus to hand you the book but your movement throws him into action and has him clutching it close to his chest, both arms cradling the text.

“No no no no no,” He chants frantically, shaking his head as though to shake off the thought of relinquishing the book to you. “I can’t give you this (Y/N),” He swallowed deeply, shining silver eyes seaking out yours, ablaze with conviction.

“And why’s that?” You challenge with a raise of your brow.

Inhaling deeply he seems to be bracing himself to respond, “Because you’re a muggle born, it’s not meant for you to touch.”

You can feel rage bubbling up in your stomach, threatening to spill out your mouth in a flurry of angry words admonishing Reg for his remarks, “What? Is my simple muggle born mind not worthy enough to read words in that precious little pureblood book of yours? Do I need my pedigree intact to understand what it says? Not meant for mutts, is that it?”

You thought you were past this, you thought you’d left the aloof little third year you’d first met who’d called you a mudblood and asked you to move to a different table in the library because he didn’t want you looking at his charms homework behind.

Had the past year and a half of apologies and growth on Regulus’ part all been a lie? Was that hate not as small a part of your boyfriend as you’d thought? Did it really only take just shy of two weeks back with his biggoted relatives for him to start spewing this pureblood nonsense again?

Bouncing around in your head those questions overwhelm you as you try to ignore the most pressing one, pushing at the forefront of your mind.

Does he even love you?

“B-because you’re not a pureblood, this book (Y/N), it can’t be held by anyone not of pureblood,” Reg’s shaking voice broke through the flurry of questions wreaking chaos in your mind.

“God damn it Regulus! I thought we were past this! I thought-”

“It’ll kill you (Y/N)!” His voice is frantic and you pick up on the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, threatening to leak over.

Those words that seemed to carry a fatality in themselves cleared away the din clouding your mind, everything went silent. Too silent even as the implication of those words wash over you.

That book may as well be a gun, cocked and being held steady at your temple as you feel tears of your own begin to well in your eyes, distorting your vision.

The mess of questions doesn’t return to your mind, instead they begin thumping one by one at the base of your brain though they all carry through the same theme.

How could he have brought that near you?

“Kill me?” You curse yourself for how obvious your voice is shaking but the book that just moments earlier you were dying to get your hand on seems to have cast an oppressive air over the room and has you recoiling away from your boyfriend.

Regulus nods, holding eye contact with you as he slips the book back into his bag, sliding it under the sofa before cautiously striding towards you.

“That's why I can’t give it to you to look at, it's cursed and if you so much as bump it you’ll…” His voice trails off, the words too terrible to speak aloud.

Your arms wrap around yourself, clutching as hard as they can as you fight to wrangle your thoughts under control. His response revealed to you that he doesn’t intend to hurt you, not with the book anyways which has dozens of other worries popping up in your head. You’re desperate for answers as to what happened to Regulus at his house. He seems ready to give them to you as he offers to take you back to his dorm away from any prying eyes or ears that may lurk about in the Slytherin common room.

You’d both agreed to arrive back at school two days early hoping to get some alone time in but that didn’t mean that the castle was empty and that anyone couldn’t walk into his common room at any moment.

You stall as he lets you into his dorm, you’ve been there a thousand times, often under the mask of night but your usual spot, atop his always made perfectly bed, seems wrong now. Without answers to your countless questions the entire room feels foregin to you and leaves you standing by his desk, not quite leaning against it but also not quite supporting your own weight.

Regulus seems equally awkward but eventually settles on his bed, perched precariously on the edge of the mattress, he barely looks comfortable.

You stay there so long in silence that after a while your breathing syncs, the singular sound becoming the only noise in the drafty room.

Long after it becomes clear Regulus isn’t going to speak first and you finally tire of the silence you find your voice, somewhere deep inside of you summoning the words to your most pressing worry; “What happened at your house Regulus? What did they do to you?”

Your words have him crumbling, your usually stoic boy folding in on himself until he is but a ball hanging off the bed.

You hesitate for a single second before you’re racing towards him, dropping before him at his knees to cup his face in your palms. Directing his visage upwards to meet yours you feel your heart wrench in your chest as you take in his puffy, red eyes, red nose and flushed cheeks already marred with twin trails of salty tears cascading down his face.

“Regulus,” You choke out feeling tears from earlier resurface as you push yourself off the ground to take your place next to the scared boy beside you.

Pulling him into your lap as much as his size permits you too you take great care in cradling his head, clutching him to your chest as your rock gently back and forth humming into his hairline in hopes to calm his sobs. Raw and ragged they each tear at the fragile, brave exterior you’ve erected in hopes of comforting the boy, giving him something solid to hold onto.

Whispering sweet nothings into his ear you feel him melt into your touch, slowly the breathing becomes stronger and his sobs quiet to weak sniffles swallowed by the occasional gulp.

Feeling him shift under your touch you can tell he’s working himself up to something, he always gets fidgety when he’s trying to summon the courage to do something hard, his movement triggers a memory.

It floods through your mind as you’re reminded of a similarly terrified Regulus, knees bumping against the table at breakfast one lazy Sunday as he repeatedly bounced them, seemingly unable to sit still. He’d spent weeks working himself up to speaking to his brother for the first time in far too long.

The memory of him being so strong and brave even as the entirety of the Great Hall tracked his movement from the Slytherin table to the Gryffindor had you drawing a deep breath. The strength the memory provides you has you summoning the breath to prompt Regulus into some sort of explanation, anything.

“Reggie, your mother gave you that book didn’t she?”

He goes still at your words and even involuntary actions seem to still, his lungs draw no breath and his pulse seems to fade away under your touch.

“Bellatrix,” His voice is hoarse from crying, “Her idea of a Christmas gift.”

“That bitch,” You spit.

“Walburga’s was worse.”

You pause at the mention of her name, there is no doubt in your mind that he is the one who’s actions have sent Regulus into this downward spiral of despair and fear. You’re not even sure if you wanna hear what he has to stay but what you want stopped being important a long time ago.

“Do you wanna show me Reg?” You ask, breathless.

“No,” Comes his meak voice, “But I need to.”

You nod understandingly as you regrettably allow him to slip from your grasp so he can turn to face you, one leg tucked under his bum and the other hanging over the edge of the bed.

His eyes are downcast before he peaks them up through thick, dark lashes to meet your gaze, “Do you promise not to hate me (Y/N/N)? I don’t know if I can do this if you hate me.”

Your brows are drawn together as your response comes emphatically, “I could never hate you Regulus, I could never and I will never.”

“You can’t make that promise,” He says through a watery chuckle, leaving you wondering where the hilarity in the situation was. “I shouldn’t have asked you to.”

“Regulus,” You latched onto his hand before he could turn away from you, “I am incapable of hating you my love, please. Tell me what happened.”

Silver eyes locked with yours as though they would reveal the solidity of your promise. You’re not sure what answer he found in them but regardless he broke your gaze as he snuck his hand out of yours.

You watch as he slowly rolls up his sleeve and an idea as to what he’s going to show you begins to form and you find yourself regretting ever demanding to know what’s going on. You quickly shove those thoughts back down, there's no use in even entertaining them, ignoring your problems won’t make them go away.

Your worst fears are confirmed as Regulus rolls the sleeve of his black sweater to reveal swirling black ink sunk deep into his skin. Even just by looking at it you could feel the permanence of the ink, the meaning behind it causing a chill to shoot through your bones.

In the back of your head this had always been a possibility but not one you’d ever truly considered. You always thought that you would be able to get yourself and Reg away from everyone, from everything. Blood purity, the ministry, his family.

You were going to get out and you’d thought you’d have plenty of time, half way through his fifth year neither of you ever expected him to be forced to take the Dark Mark before his eighteenth birthday.

You were supposed to have until his eighteenth birthday.

Staring at the ink that seemed to pulse with life against the pale white of Regulus’ skin you suppose that it doesn’t really matter what you were supposed to have, what was supposed to happen. Regulus has taken the dark mark.

Godric, Regulus has taken the dark mark.

“Y-Your mother did this to you?” Your voice wobbles, anger, confusion, and terror evident in your voice, each betraying the strong front you’re trying to keep up for Regulus.

“She came for me in the middle of the night, (Y/N/N). First time I’ve ever been woken by her instead of Sirius or a house elf and she forced me up, made me get dressed before taking me downstairs and they were all there,” His voice cracks as a silent sob racks his body, you can only imagine how difficult it must be to relive the horrific events of that night. Hoping to provide him with any sort of comfort you inch closer to him, throwing your arm around his shoulder allowing him to rest his head on yours before continuing.

“They were all there (Y/N), not just her and Father. Bellatrix, Cissa and her husband, the Lestranges,” He pauses to swallow, “ And him. He was there.”

Regulus needn’t clarify who “he” was. The idea that he had even been near Regulus made you sick to your stomach and you could feel the distinct sensation of bile rising tickle at the back of your throat.

“Shhh, it's okay Reg,” You soothe, tightening your grip on him as sobs shake his body, “It’s going to be okay Red we’re going to figure this out.”

“He did this to me,” He sobs as he shakes in your lap, letting the enormity of his circumstances finally sink in after suppressing it for the past week, the fear of your response keeping him occupied.

To say you aren’t scared would be a lie, you’re fucking terrified but holding Regulus’ trembling form you know that this decision was not his. He would never swear allegiance to a group hell bent on destroying you and people like you, a few years ago maybe but not today. Not the Regulus you’d come to love, even if it began despite yourself.

Without hesitation you reach out, wrapping your hand around the skin now stained by dark magic.

Regulus let’s out a hiss at your touch and you feel him tense under your hand, afraid you’ve hurt him you start to pull away, “Does that hurt Reg?” You ask warily.

“Yes,” He spits out through gritted teeth, “But don’t let go please,” He pleads, raising his gaze to meet yours, “Please don’t let go.”

“Not gonna let go,” You promise, keeping your hold on his forearm tight.

Dipping your fingers under the strong bone of his mandible you turn his visage upwards to meet yours, heart breaking at the sadness and pain swimming in those beautiful grey eyes of his. Slowly you lean in before your eyelashes are brushing against the soft skin of his cheeks and your eyes flutter closed as you watch his do the same.

Your lips brush each other’s gently as your hand cups the side of his face, giving you complete control of the kiss as you keep the swipes of your lips light, you can just barely make out the taste of the pomegranate lip balm you’d given him as a part of your holiday gift to him.

“I didn’t wanna take it (Y/N/N),” He sniffles against your lips, “I don’t wanna be a Death Eater, I don’t wanna hurt you.” The sincerity in his voice has more tears welling in your eyes, you just can’t bear to see your beautiful boy in so much pain.

“Oh I know you don’t bubba I know,” You calm him, throwing a leg over to the other side of his lap so that you can perch yourself atop the hard smooth surface of his thighs. Gently pressing kisses along the canvas of his face you feel his arms wrap around your waist and the tips of fingers graze against your ass as his hands hover above it.

“Can I touch you please?” His words are barely audible but his desperation is loud and clear.

You grant permission as you lean forward to capture his lips in another kiss, this one more passionate than the last. Posing little, if any, challenge before letting your tongue delve into his mouth, quickly claiming dominance over his as you feel his palms clutch the globes of your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he holds onto you as tight as possible.

With care you slowly guide him onto his back as your lips trail from his down the column of his throat, in your journey down you leave sloppy hickeys along the delicate skin of his neck. Pulling away slightly you smile to see the various shades of purple and blue painted along his pretty ivory skin.

You know you’re going to have a real conversation about this later, what it means, what the two of you are ready to do about it but right now all you can think about is how you can make your pretty boy feel better, how you can show him that your love for him hasn’t changed. And there’s one way you know how to do that best.

“Do you want me to make you feel good Reggie?” You whisper against his skin as your lips ghost over his collar bone, drinking in his scent.

“Please,” He whimpers, “Need you.”

That’s all you need to hear before your hands are delving under the hem of Reg’s sweater, hands sliding against the smooth planes of his abs, your hands gliding over the occasional ridge of a long healed scar.

Sliding the hem up all the way to his collarbone you look down to see the beautiful lines of his chest and stomach. The scars you’ve become used to seeing a dark but faded pink now shine an almost brilliant purple as though the dark magic imprinted upon his arm had somehow interfered with scars caused by Walburga, most of them when he was much younger. You know for a fact that there are more ones on his back, deeper and darker from taking longer to heal.

“Come on pretty boy,” You coach, propping him up so that you can slip the soft sweater over his head before discarding it over your shoulder, “There we go, that’s a good boy.”

He lets out a low whine at your praising words as his hips thrust up towards yours which are perched directly atop them.

While removing your own sweater you smile, realizing it’s actually one of Regulus’ old Quidditch jumpers from the year prior. With no bra beneath your top your tits are left bare for Regulus’ viewing. His eyes gloss over as lust creeps into the stormy grey of his irises, they’re locked on your tits as though they’re the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.

“Do these hurt more than normal baby?” You ask as your fingertips graze over the raised scars on his chest, if the dark magic of the dark mark made his scars more sensitive you wanna be careful not to hurt him.

“A little.”

Frowning you lean down to press your lips against the puckered scars, your kisses light and fleeting as you trace the dark lines with your lips.

Dancing from one scar to another you hear him exhale deeply and the tension seems to be slowly leaving his body as he settles into the mattress and he becomes malleable under your touch.

“You’re so beautiful Reg,” You praise against his scarred skin, needing him to understand just how much you love him.

“I love you so much,” You look up through your lashes to see Regulus’ eyes already locked on your body.

“I love you too.”

With that your lips are ceasing his once more as you feel the overwhelming need to comfort your boy. Gently, you grind your hips up against his as you become lost in the kiss, savoring the feeling of his lips against yours before you feel a familiar bulge pressing on you.

Your hand ventures back down the hard muscle of his stomach before you bump against the bulge of his erection, straining against the soft material of his sweatpants. You palm gently over his cock as your face buries itself in the crook of his neck, giving him sweet, light kisses while teasing his throbbing member.

“Please,” Comes his choked pleas at being teased, “Please, need more.”

“Of course pretty boy,” You promise as you lift yourself off of him, giving him one last kiss at the waistband of his sweatpants before helping him ease off his bottoms and boxers.

Once he’s devoid of all clothing you too strip down so that you’re both bare naked, your eyes are fixed on the red, weeping head of his half hard cock, sitting against the inside of his muscled thigh.

He whimpers as your hand wraps around his member, pumping up and down his hardening length, brushing your thumb along the sensitive tip of his cock.

“Wanna be inside of you,” He whimpers, hands grappling for your wrist to stall your movements and pull you on top of him but all he succeeds in doing is making you stubble closer to him.

You release your right hand from his cock, instead taking his hand in yours while your unoccupied hands resumes stimulating his member.

“I know you wanna be inside of me, pretty boy, but I gotta get you hard first.”

“But I am hard,” He argues in a pretty little whine, and now that he mentions it you realize that he is harder than he was when you’d pulled him from the tight confines of his pants.

“Your cock’s so gorgeous,” You murmur watching the way he twitches in your hand, “Think you’re hard enough now, yeah?”

He nods his head, squirming as he fights the urge to buck up into your hand.

Making sure that he’s comfortable, propped up against the pillow at the head of the bed you brush away the hair that’s fallen into his face as you straddle his lap, the shaft of his cock pressing against the warmth of your cunt.

Lifting yourself a few inches off his thighs your help guide his prick to your entrance, slowly sinking onto him you allow yourself to take your time accepting each and every inch of him inside of you.

Reg’s eyes are glued to your pussy as he watches himself disappear inside of you, all the way down to his base. His eye brows furrow from the overwhelming pleasure that swims through his veins, sinking deep into his every nerve at the bliss of being completely surrounded by your warm pussy.

Pleasure shoots up your spine at the sensation of slowly becoming full, once you’ve finally taken every inch of him inside you you throw your head back, mouth dropped open as the breath is stolen from your lungs. It feels so good to be so full with him you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Good boy,” You say breathlessly, rubbing your arms up and down his flexing arms, fists furled with the sheets between them as he too adapts to the sensation that comes with being inside of you.

“You ready for me to move?” You ask once you finally become used to the full feeling.

Desperate nods answered your question, it takes you a minute to find your rhythm but soon you’re grinding his hips against his, lifting yourself slightly off his cock before grinding back down onto him.

Your movements are slower than usual when you fuck Reg, but after the terror he’d gone through in the past weeks you’re deliberate in your gentle movements.

As your hands grip the muscles of his arms you hear him take a sharp breath, your eyes fly open, landing on his face, your movements stalling before you realize that you’re clutching the newly marked skin on his left forearm.

“Oh baby I’m so sorry,” You apologize, loosening your grip on him as your lips frace the dark lines of the ink against his skin.

Seeing that mark on anyone else would’ve made you recoil, have ice shooting through your veins as fear petrified you. While you would’ve preferred never to see that symbol of hate tattooed into Regulus’ skin it didn’t evoke its usual reaction from you. The only fear you have is fear of the future, fear of what lies in wait for the two of you beyond the walls of Hogwarts, but it doesn't matter right now. All that matters is comforting your boy, all you think about as you press your lips to his mark.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear sobs break through Regulus’ lips, quickly you abandon the stain of ink , moving to cradle his head so that your tits are right in his line of vision.

“I thought you were going to hate me,” He cries into your chest, tears wet the soft skin of your tits.

“No baby, I’ll never hate you, not ever.”

You feel the wet warmth of his mouth brush against your right nipple, gazing down you see his tongue lazily circling the pebbled flesh and you’re reminded just how cold the room actually is but pressed up against Regulus it feels like your entire body is on fire.

“You wanna suck on my titty Reggie?”

He responds with a weak nod and quickly you’re easing your nipple into his mouth, helping him find the correct angle all the while stuttering your hips against his.

“You fill me up so good Reg,” Your praise, fingers tangling in the dark mess of curls.

At your praise he begins lifting his hips in times with your thrusts, helping you as you fuck youself on top of him, wanting so desperately to make you feel as good as you make him.

“There we go, that’s a god boy.”

“M’getting close,” His words are muffled by the soft flesh of your tit stuffed into his mouth.

You too are nearing your orgasm as your clit brushes against the hard bone  of his pelvis pulling a sharp whimper from you. To better grant Regulus access to your breast you’ve settled on rolling your hips in circles, ceasing the up and down movement from earlier so as to not disturb him.

A familiar tightness is brewing in your belly as Regulus’ hands run up and down your back before gripping the globes of your butt, maintaining as much physical contact as possible.

“Go ahead bubba, go ahead and cum. Fill me up pretty boy, want your cum. Need your cum. Godric I love you,” You ramble, seizing his lips again, needing them against yours as you feel him cum inside you.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” He mutters as your cunt grips around him with the tell tale signs of your quickly approaching orgasm.

“Y’gonna cum with me baby?” You ask as you press your lips to his forehead, his mouth having once more found the plush of your breast.

“Yes,” He nods, “Please.”

You throw your head back in ecstasy as your orgasm washes over you, wave after wave of pleasure racing through your veins as you ride out your orgasm, continuing to move your hips as you simultaneously help Reg through his. Stars flash behind your closed eyelids as the pleasure building up finally releases, sending you into euphoria so intense it seems to cloud your every sense.

The second he felt your cunt squeeze around his cock it tipped him over the edge and as he lost himself in pleasure, rope after rope of cum releasing inside of you, he tried his best to match the movement of his hips to yours.

You flutter your eyes open as the warmth of his cum floods your pussy as you come down from the height of your orgasm, letting yourself collapse so that your chest is pressed up against his.

With your chests pressed so close together you notice the exact moment that your breathing syncs, feeling as Regulus’ arms wrap around your bare torso keeping you close to his body.

“How are you feeling?” You murmur against the ivory skin of his chest, keeping your voice hushed.

“Better. A little happy.”

Glancing up you catch the smallest smirk slink across his lips as he stares up at the vaulted ceiling.

“Happy?”

“You make me happy,” His eyes flicker to yours as he pulls you closer to him causing his softening prick to slip out of your tight hole. You both hiss as the cool air hits his cock and the cum he’d emptied into you begins flowing out yout pussy.

Regrettably you push yourself off of him, pulling his sweater over your head before waddling into the connecting bathroom, being ever so conscious about the sticky white mess between your legs as you wet a washcloth using warm water from the sink before applying it to the insides of your thighs. Ginger touches hastily cleaning up the excess cum before rinsing the wash cloth to take it to Reg.

“Hey pretty boy,” You coo upon reentering the room to find him in the same position you’d left him in, “You ready for me to clean you up?”

“You look so beautiful in my clothes (Y/N/N),” He responds instead of answering your question, pushing himself onto his elbows so that he can watch you, his black sweater enveloping you all the way to your lower thighs.

“And you’re just beautiful,” You smile, sitting next to him on the mattress. You aren’t lying, he looks absolutely gorgeous leaning back, mop of dark hair in tangled tresses, grey eyes glossed over, abs sheening with sweat as are his equally toned thighs. Merlin bless the poor bastard who invented Quidditch.

Dragging up his muscled legs your eyes settle on his softening member, just as pretty as the rest of him.

With care you make quick work of cleaning the cum off his cock, resting your hand on his thigh when he tries to squirm away from your over stimulating touch.

“I know baby, I know but I gotta get you all nice and clean for me.”

“Hurts,” He mumbles in a pathetic pout.

“I know it does pretty baby but look,” You say, pulling the cloth from his skin, “All done already.” Pressing a kiss to his temple you go to stand but you’re quickly pulled back down to the mattress by cold hands wrapped around the warm folds of your waist.

“Don’t go,” He mumbles into your hair as he keeps you tucked into his side.

“Just gotta go put the washcloth back Reggie,” You explain trying to slip from his hold but he’s not having it and just tugs you back against the hard planes of his chest.

“No,” He says simply before reaching over to the bed side table where he’d set his wand, mumbling a quick banishing spell the rag flew from your hand before flying into the bathroom.

Resting your head against his strong shoulder you yank a blanket from the end of the bed up to throw it around your bodies, nestled close together.

“You said you were happy Reg.”

“Mhm,” He responds with a noncommittal hum.

“What else are you feeling, love?”

You hear him take a deep inhale, as his own answer seemed to overwhelm him, “I don’t know. I’m scared, I’m really scared but not so much now that I know that you don’t hate me.”

You nod against his chest, you can only imagine how petrifying that thought must’ve been for him and you can’t deny the tug you feel in your chest at the idea of Regulus ever thinking you would hate him.

“I’m still terrified but I think I’m gonna be okay.”

“I know you’re gonna be okay Regulus, you are capable and strong and smart and the bravest boy I have ever met,” You can feel the blush radiating off of him at your words.

“Thank you (Y/N/N),” He mumbles bashfully into your hair once more.

You were telling the truth, if there was one thing that you know for certain its that Regulus is just as resilient as he has proven to be and if Walburga, or anyone else for that matter thought he was going to take this lying down. If they thought you were going to take this lying down, they have another thing coming. There is no doubt in your mind that Regulus will fight for what he knows to be true and if there was ever a point that he would have obeyed his mother’s every command without question that time was long past.

Reg isn’t to be underestimated. He’s just as every bit courageous as he’s proved to be over and over again. To underestimate him is to dig your own grave; and unlike Walburga you aren’t ready to count him out quite yet. On the contrary actually, your boy wasn’t about to take this lying down and even if it meant total self destruction, the two of you are about to raise hell.

taglist: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @amourtentiaa @kittykylax @superbturtlemakerathlete @oliviashea05 @pinkandblueblurbs @thatvenusbabe @zzzfour @temporaryissue @gubleryum @msmb @marauderswhore07 @st0nesnglitter @priii @miraclesoflove @shadesofvelma @drachoesimp @artemis1orion @skaratjung @ava-brooke-blog1 @fairyprettygirly @ohwowimlonley @padfootswife @roonilwazlibswhore @swearingsolemnly @teenwolfbitches28 @lilypad-55449 @jamespotterslover @wh0reforthemarauders @myalupinblack @ashesandstars @daisyyy2516 @remugoodgirl @itzstacie @planet-wolfstar @steveharringtonswhore @saintlike78 @i-love-scott-mccall @thatdummymarie @trashyvicks @sprucewoodlover @slut4drvc0 @pagesbetweensheets @locnylupin @mjoubertt-1@blowing-mikey @slvt4fakerealities @kaqua @pottahishotasf

[soonsluv]

woozi + fingering

pairing: sub!woozi x dom!gn!reader

contains: reader has a vagina, top!woozi lowkey, praise(giving AND receiving), fingering(receiving), cum eating

a/n: this was supposed to be horny and instead turned into a comfort fic. i have no excuses whatsoever.

work had been kicking your ass for the past few weeks and you were in dire need of rest, even though you were too stubborn to admit.

finally arriving at your place after what seemed like the longest drive of your life, you enter your bedroom to find your boyfriend, woozi, laying on your bed while watching a movie on his computer. he’d often randomly come by to spend some time with you so this wasn’t out of the ordinary, though lately you had been spending more time in your study than with him.

“hey y/n,” he said with a small smile on his face.

seeing him made you want to fall into his arms and sleep for the next five weeks but the lingering thought of the deadline for your statistics report made it so that you wouldn’t be able to close your eyes without feeling guilty.

“hey,” after that single word fell from your mouth, you realised just how drained and tired you sounded. you probably looked the part too, seeing how jihoon’s smile turned into a concerned look and before he could even suggest the idea of taking a nap, you spoke: “i have work to do.”

“do you really believe you’ll get anything done in the state you're in?”

touché.

“maybe,”

“just come lay down with me please,” he pleaded, patting the spot next to him then closed his computer and put it on the nightstand. and though you were tempted to remain stubborn, you knew that he had your best intentions at heart so you changed into more comfortable clothes and joined him.

he kissed your forehead and closed his eyes, trusting you’d do the same.

seeing jihoon fall asleep so easily made you envious as you had now been tossing and turning for the past 40 minutes. your boyfriend wasn’t a heavy sleeper so your movements eventually woke him up.

“what’s up?” he asked in a groggy voice, drool trickling down his lips.

“i can’t fall asleep,” you trailed off as you took a hand of his into yours and kissed his fingers tips, “i think you need to help me.”

that sentence made his eyes widen and heat rush to his cheeks as he knew what you were trying to say. you two hadn’t really had the chance to do anything lately due to your demanding job and since your boyfriend didn’t want to bother you, it had been a while.

“r-right now?”

“only if you want to,”

“of course,” he replies, trying to sound unbothered.

he places the hand that was previously in yours on your hip, caressing it with his thumb while slightly pushing your shirt up. he then leans in for a kiss that you deepen which makes him exhale through his nose, your bluntness turning him on.

one half of his body was now laying on top of yours so that one of his legs was between yours and one of yours was between his. his lips trail along your jaw until they arrive at your ear where he teasingly bites your ear lobe. you furrow your brows at that and entangle one of your hands in his hair. he then burries his face into your neck, harshly sucking on the skin, making your hips buck up against his thigh. you hum in content, the light stimulation feeling like an electric shock.

“you’re so pretty,” says jihoon, lips against your neck and though he can’t see you, you know he means it. he lets his hand trail down your tummy until it slides into your underwear, his touches light as a feather. your grip on his hair tightens and he props himself to be able to look at you.

“more,” you order and he immediately complies, two of slender fingers applying pressure onto your clit and moving them in circles, eliciting a hiss from you.

“that’s it. good boy,” you gasp.

he knows his ears are red by now, your honey dipped words making him throb in his shorts, yet he tries to stay focused as he knows you must’ve been pent up due to work.

he teases your folds and slowly pushes the first finger in.

“fuck,” you sigh.

your hips twitch in reaction as filthy thoughts swirl around jihoon’s head feeling just how warm and tight you are. he pumps his finger in and out of you, careful not to hurt you. sighs and hums of content slip past your lips and fill up the room.

“it’s been too long,”

“‘m sorry,” words slurring as he rests his forehead against yours.

“it’s okay baby,” you reassure, voice cracking mid-sentence as he pushes a second finger in.

for some reason, no matter how harsh and demanding you are, jihoon remains gentle with you and though you appreciate that in him, now wasn’t the time for gentleness.

“faster,” you grunt.

“yes,” he breathes, the dirty sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you fogging up his mind.

he pushes his fingers further in you, curling them and presses his thumb against your clit, drawing out a moan from you.

“you make me feel so good baby,” you praise and he can only whimper in response as you start to fuck yourself on his fingers. he notices and starts to move faster.

“shit, right there jihoon,” you moan, making his head shoot up to look at you again.

“you’re so beautiful,” he sighs and you would’ve smiled at that comment if it weren’t for you trying to chase your high.

he can tell you’re almost there and he gives you that extra push by leaning down and biting a soft spot of yours right under your ear.

your back arches and you throw your head back as your orgasm comes crashing down on you. he helps you ride it out, gradually slowing his fingers down. when you’ve settled down, you open your eyes to jihoon sucking on the fingers you’ve just cummed around while looking directly at you.

“you’re looking for trouble young man,” you chuckle weakly, the promise of a second round hiding in your words.

after he cleans you up, you finally close your eyes for what felt like the first time in an eternity.

[spencers-renaissance]

i can't forgive me & you can't forget

Summary: Spencer is happy that his boyfriend is as compassionate as he is, but watching Derek do everything he can to help Strauss with her alcoholism when he stood by and did nothing back when he was struggling with his dilaudid addiction is beginning to take its toll.

Tags: hurt!spencer, miscommunication, angst, insecurity, est. rel., hurt/comfort, cuddling & snuggling, angst w a happy ending, fluff TW: referenced past drug use, addiction, and overdose, implied/referenced alcoholism

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 4.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // The other fic in this universe

Inspired by @marisatomay’s post here!!! The title is from the second part of the poem Betrayal by Lang Leav.

It’s pushing ten pm by the time Spencer finally hears the front door open and close with a soft click, hears the rustling of Derek ditching his leather jacket on the crowded coat rack and toeing off his shoes — no doubt placing them neatly at the side of the hall like he always does — and listens to his footsteps as he nears the bedroom where Spencer’s been holed up since Derek left.

“Hey, baby boy,” Derek says with a warm, relaxed smile, his fingers already working on undoing his shirt buttons, before digging through their wardrobe to find a more comfortable top.

“Hey.”

Spencer watches him with tired eyes. He’s been feeling as hurt and despondent as he does this evening for weeks now, but tonight is the first time he doesn’t have the energy to hide it. He’s spent the entire afternoon in bed, and he’s certain it shows in the imprints of the creased pillowcase on his cheek and his messed up hair, and where just a couple of days ago he’d rush to hide those tells, he simply doesn’t care enough anymore.

Derek turns around from the wardrobe and shrugs off his shirt, replacing it with a soft blue t-shirt Spencer’s always liked on him. “Have you had anything to eat yet?”

Spencer shakes his head. Derek undoes his belt and switches his trousers for a pair of grey sweatpants before walking over to the bed and climbing onto the mattress, grinning cheekily as he rolls over Spencer’s body and leans down to press a tender kiss to the tip of his nose.

It’s sweet and romantic and so painfully normal, and maybe that’s exactly why he suddenly finds himself swallowing back tears. He’s hardly spent any time with Derek outside of work in weeks and he’s hurt and sad and struggling, and it’s only making it worse that his loving and attentive boyfriend hasn’t seemed to notice. Really, Spencer knows he needs to communicate, and that a significant part of his pain is his responsibility, but the shame—

“Well that just won’t do,” Derek murmurs, interrupting his thoughts as he brushes his fingers over a lock of curly hair resting on Spencer’s temple. “I’ll go and make you something. Or we can order in? What do you fancy?”

Spencer shrugs, looking away. He’s not trying to be difficult, it’s just incredibly hard to think about food and a relaxing night in with your partner when you feel like your insides are splintering and you’re just barely holding yourself together.

Even without looking directly at his face, Spencer can see Derek’s brow furrow and his happy expression fade, and soon enough Derek’s fingers are at his chin, gently moving his head until he’s looking at him again. “Hey, pretty boy,” he says gently, looking so concerned it makes his chest ache, “what’s wrong? Tell me what’s going on in that big old head of yours.”

So much of him wants to give in and tell him everything, wants to spill his fears and his anxieties and his anger and his shame onto the sheets of their bed and lay it all out for him. He wants to shout, “See? This is who I am! This is all my mess and my pain and my regret! Look at it!”

But he can’t. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again to meet the swirling worry in Derek’s deep, beautiful brown eyes and he wills himself not to cry. “Nothing,” he lies. “I’m just tired. Hungry.”

He knows Derek doesn’t believe him, but there isn’t much he can do if Spencer isn’t willing to communicate, so he nods reluctantly and leans down to place a kiss on his forehead this time, lingering there for a moment longer than he usually does. The feeling of his boyfriend hovering over him and asking him what’s wrong and kissing him so tenderly is all Spencer’s craved for weeks, but now it’s here, he still feels sad and empty and hollowed out by shame and bitterness, desperate for something more without so much as an idea as to what exactly more might entail.

“I tell you what, I’ll go make you some tortellini, alright? There’s a pack in the fridge and it only takes a couple of minutes so I’ll be back before you know it,” Derek promises, and Spencer can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Regardless, Derek hops off the bed and heads out to the kitchen, leaving Spencer alone in the softly lit bedroom. He pulls the duvet further up to his chin and buries his face in it, the soft fabric gentle on his skin, and the comforting scent of Spencer’s shampoo mingling with Derek’s cologne settling him slightly.

Derek had spent the afternoon with Strauss at the rehab centre. And not for the first time.

The problem is, how can Spencer be mad at him for that? Really, it’s the epitome of his character: genuine, constant, unconditional compassion for everyone around him, no matter who they are or what his history with them might be. Of course he’d see Strauss struggling with her addiction and swoop right in, getting her settled in at the centre and spending hours with her on visiting days, fighting alongside Hotch to persuade the director to let her keep her job.

But watching him leave every week, watching him text her encouraging messages, hearing him talk about her progress and recovery… it strikes a nerve deep inside Spencer. He isn’t proud of how he feels. He knows it’s petty and illogical, but he can’t help it.

Because somewhere deep in his soul, an old version of himself, a sad, lonely, scared, addicted-to-dilaudid boy is crying out, why didn’t you do that for me?

It’s that question that really plagues him. They’re called into work the next day for a fairly interesting case in North Dakota, and there are some fairly strong links to the world of academia, so usually, Spencer would be all over it, reeling off facts and statistics and reaching out to his contacts to further the case. But for some reason, he just can’t get his head in the game.

He finds himself zoning out on the jet and wandering off at crime scenes without even knowing where he’s going. Initially, his team had assumed that he was thinking, or was going somewhere deliberately that might help them with the case, they’d all counted on Doctor Reid to come up with some brilliant theory to bring them closer to catching their unsub.

But Hotch had quickly realised that his head was somewhere else and kept him close to his side from then on. At least staying at the police station with Hotch and being tasked with reading through the unsub’s literary work and constructing a geographical profile both gives him something specific to focus on, and — as much as Spencer hates to admit it — keeps him away from Derek.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Hotch asks gently when they both find themselves at the coffee pot in the late afternoon. He doesn’t look over at him, his eyes focused on the stream of coffee and creamer headed straight for his mug. Spencer knows it’s a tactic to make him feel less ambushed and more relaxed, but that doesn’t stop it from working.

“No,” he says honestly.

Hotch nods in acceptance. He puts a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezes briefly. “Well, you know where I am if you change your mind.”

Both JJ and Emily eye him suspiciously throughout the case as well, but no one is more confused and concerned than Derek. Spencer tries not to think about the irony.

“Baby, what’s got you all distracted like this?” Derek asks softly when they’re finally alone in their room that night, full up from the rushed dinner they’d all had in the lobby before crawling to their rooms for a couple of hours’ sleep before the manhunt continues in the morning. “This is so unlike you and you know it.”

Spencer doesn’t reply, just continues quietly changing into his pajamas before brushing his teeth and washing his face. Derek’s still sitting in the same position when he comes out, looking frustrated and contemplative, and Spencer feels guilty for making him feel this way, but he just doesn’t know what to do. He can’t act like everything's okay because it isn’t, and he’s tired himself out from pretending that it was for weeks, now. But he can’t tell him what’s going on either.

The thing is, how is Spencer supposed to admit that he’s still hurt over something that happened almost five years ago now? And how is he supposed to admit that Derek doing the right thing is only reopening wounds he’d tried so hard to heal and close? That both Derek and Hotch had specifically helped him heal and close?

He doesn’t know how to verbalise his feelings without sounding petulant or pathetic, so he doesn’t. He keeps them buried deep inside him and hopes desperately that no one comes digging.

“I’m fine, Derek,” he lies again, leaning down to kiss him gently before rounding the bed and crawling under the covers. “Just having an off day, I guess.”

Derek sighs but doesn’t push any further, clearly knowing a lost cause when he sees one. Instead, he follows in Spencer’s footsteps and gets ready for bed silently, whispering a quiet good night before switching off the lamp and climbing into bed on the other side.

It feels like the expanse of white sheet between them goes on for miles.

It’s the first time Spencer’s regretted Hotch’s decision to continue letting them share a room.

The question continues to plague him over the next week. He gets marginally better at pretending he’s not falling apart at the seams, and it’s enough to make almost everyone back off, but Hotch is still concerned and Derek is still confused, and he can feel himself drifting further away from the team each day, as though his rope tying him to the others has been cut, and now the current is having its way with him.

Nothing much changes. He continues in his hurt and lonely quietude, and Derek continues to ask what’s wrong, sighing sadly when he gets nothing out of him, and they exist in tandem.

It had always felt — ever since the beginning of their relationship — as though their relationship was a salsa dance. They were tangled in one another’s lives, both physically and emotionally, and they existed in this relaxed kind of ease that Spencer’s only ever seen before in long-term relationships. They’d fallen into a lucky, easy kind of love, and it was never as much work as everyone had promised him a relationship would be.

They’ve been together for four years, and their worst fight was over whether the cheese grater went in the cupboard next to the sink or above it. (Granted, it had spiraled into some other disagreements that came along with cohabitation, but. Still.)

Spencer knows he’s introducing a dynamic they’re unused to, and he hates it. Guilt plagues him, mingling with his shame and sadness until he’s drowning under the weight of it, no way to claw himself to the surface to take a breath.

They exist on parallel lines: next to one another; yet never crossing over. Their relationship is no longer a salsa dance.

The next off-day they have, Derek can’t get out the door fast enough. “I’m off to visit Erin,” he tells Spencer, and it still makes him irrationally angry that he’s stopped calling her Strauss and now refers to her like a friend.

Is it better that Strauss is now Derek’s friend? Him helping someone he actually cares about makes him not caring about Spencer all those years again slightly less of a gut-punch, he supposes. But the fact that Derek and Strauss of all people are becoming closer while he and Spencer drift apart hurts in a way he can’t even begin to explain.

This time, he spends the entire day crying. Every time the tears slow down and he catches his breath, another wave of grief and pain and anxiety and shame and jealousy crashes over him, and all of a sudden he can’t breathe again. It’s an exhausting cycle, and by the early afternoon his stomach muscles are aching and his ribs feel bruised.

It’s also the first day he gets a craving.

He’s an addict, right, he’s had periods of intermittent cravings over the years, that’s completely normal. Sometimes, even thinking about it in passing is enough for the itch to come back, to whisper the number of his old dealer in his ear, to recall in both his physical and mental memory the feeling that came with each press of the syringe.

This is the most intense one since his withdrawal immediately after waking up in hospital following his accidental overdose in his parking garage. It’s so intense that it scares him.

Crying harder than he thought it possible, he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand and — fighting the temptation to type in the digits of his dealer — he dials the number he’s had memorised since he was nineteen. He can’t speak through his gut-wrenching sobs, but he knows the sound of him crying this hard will be enough, so he lies in bed and continues his pity party until he hears the front door swing open and the rapid steps through the hall.

Soon enough, Hotch is pulling him into his arms and he finally feels a little less alone.

Hotch lets him cry himself out, and only when his tears have dried up and the hiccups have subsided does he say anything besides the reassuring murmurs he’d spoken into Spencer’s ears as he cried.

“Spencer,” he says — somewhat desperately — “please. You have to tell me what’s going on. Let me help you, okay? Whatever it is, I’m here. I won’t let you suffer on your own anymore, I promise.”

Spencer doesn’t raise his head from its position buried in Hotch’s t-shirt, but he does finally say something. He doesn’t know what overrides the shame that’s kept him quiet — maybe it’s the exhaustion or the loneliness finally winning out — but whatever it is, he’s glad it does.

“I had a craving today,” he whispers, because it seems like a good place to start. “Haven’t been feeling good since, uh. Since… Strauss.”

It’s hopelessly phrased, but it’s the best way he can explain it and Hotch, being the miracle profiler and father figure of Spencer Reid, figures it out instantly.

He feels the way he slumps slightly, hears the tired, frustrated sigh, and knows he’s probably beating himself up for not figuring it out sooner.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just… I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.”

Hotch shushes him. “You don’t need to apologise for that, Spencer, don’t be sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry for being so blind, and I am. I hate that you’ve been suffering like this and we’ve all been too stupid to realise why.”

“It still, it still hurts,” he says quietly, sadly, regretfully, “it still hurts that no one helped me until it was almost too late. But everyone dropped everything to help Strauss— I’m sorry, it’s so selfish, I shouldn’t be—”

“Hey, Spence,” Hotch interrupts him, caressing his arm gently. “It isn’t selfish. It’s human. And you’re right, we should have helped you sooner and it’s always been my greatest regret that we didn’t, and that because of that dereliction of duty, we almost lost you.”

“I’m not, I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or anything—”

“Spencer, I know that. But you need to stop feeling guilty for how you feel, alright? It makes complete sense that this is bringing up both the feelings of rejection and betrayal, and also cravings for the drug you were addicted to at the time. It’s so obvious that I don’t know how I didn’t see it earlier.”

Spencer nods, but he doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. “Derek’s been visiting Strauss on our days off,” he admits quietly. “I’ve barely seen him for almost a month now, and that— it isn’t helping.”

“I can understand that. Have you talked to him about any of this?” he asks, even though Spencer’s sure Hotch already knows the answer.

He shakes his head.

“I know it’s hard, Spence, I really do, but I think you need to talk to him. Obviously, it would’ve been better if both he and I had figured it out without you having to tell us, but clearly, he isn’t going to realise by himself. I know that as soon as you explain it, he’ll understand completely.”

Spencer sighs. Some part of him had known this was coming, he just didn’t know how it would come about. He wouldn’t have put money on Hotch being involved, but maybe he should have done. He always seems to come to Spencer’s rescue.

“He’ll probably be out for a while. He usually stays out for hours when he goes to visit her.”

“Well, how about I stay until he comes home, and then you can talk to him? How does that sound?”

Spencer looks up at him. “What about Jack?”

“He’s out with a friend and their family anyway,” Hotch reassures him, smiling as he runs a hand down his arm. “Now how about I make you some tea and we go and sit on the sofa?”

Spencer reluctantly agrees and moves from the safety of his bed to the comfort of his sofa, but he has to admit that the light streaming in from the big bay window and the feeling of sitting up makes him feel just a little better straight away. Once Hotch is back and placing a cup of chamomile tea into his hands, he doesn’t feel quite so much like he’s going to burst into tears at any moment.

“I have to ask, Spencer,” Hotch says carefully, “did you buy any dilaudid? Or attempt to contact your dealer?”

“Thought about it,” he admits, not meeting Hotch’s concerned eyes, “but I didn’t.”

Hotch relaxes. “Good. I’m proud of you, you know.”

Spencer looks at him with a hesitant smile that only grows when Hotch beams back.

They spend the afternoon watching nature documentaries — and Spencer admittedly dozes through a lot of them, exhausted from the burden of carrying so much pain around and the physical exertion of crying so hard — until Derek comes home at just gone five thirty.

“Hotch?” he asks, confused, and his voice wakes Spencer up from one of his unintentional naps.

He scrambles to sit upright, going inexplicably red at the thought of what he knows is coming. For some reason, he feels like he’s done something wrong and he’s about to be told off. He hates that this is what his relationship with Derek has come to.

“Hi, Derek,” Hotch says, squeezing Spencer’s ankle and getting up from the sofa. “Spencer asked me to come over earlier” — which is a bit of a stretch when really Spencer sobbed into the phone until Hotch showed up — “and I was just keeping him company until you came home.”

Derek’s eyebrows only furrow further, looking between them, confused. “Right.”

“Spencer,” Hotch says, meeting his eyes, “are you okay if I go now? You’ll tell Derek what we talked about?”

Immediately, Spencer blushes red as Derek’s scrutinising eyes fixate on him, but he nods and smiles weakly at Hotch, following him with his eyes as he lets himself out, if just to avoid meeting Derek’s.

“Pretty boy?” Derek says cautiously, slowly taking off his jacket and approaching the sofa like Spencer’s a wild animal liable to be spooked away at any given moment. He supposes it’s probably quite a good analogy, actually.

Spencer shifts nervously in his seat, moving his legs out of the way to give Derek more room to sit down on the sofa.

“You finally gonna tell me what’s been up with you these last few weeks?” Derek asks, and Spencer isn’t oblivious to the hope in his voice. “I’ve been worried about you, baby.”

Spencer nods and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a couple of deep breaths to compose himself. He’s told one person, and it went fine— it went well, actually. Derek is his life partner, his soulmate, and they tell each other everything. He just needs to start at the beginning. He needs to tell him all of the disclaimers, remind him that he’s not angry at him for doing the right thing or for being the compassionate person he is, he just needs to— He needs to focus, and he needs to tell the truth.

“I called Hotch earlier because I was scared of myself,” he says, finally opening his eyes and looking into Derek’s. “I was having some of the most intense cravings I’ve had since being sober, and I was seriously considering calling my dealer, but I managed to call Hotch instead, and we talked about how I’ve been feeling.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” Derek says regretfully, his face melting into the very picture of apologetic as he scoots a bit closer on the sofa so he can grab Spencer’s legs and pull them over his lap.

“I know,” Spencer replies, ignoring for now that him not being here is why they have a problem in the first place. He moves on. “I’ve been… struggling… over the last month or so with feelings that I haven’t really known how to rationalise or explain, and when I finally did make sense of them, I felt that I couldn’t share them with anyone, which is why I’ve been so distant and private. And I’m sorry for that, by the way.”

Derek just smiles, caressing his bare ankle with one hand as he rests his other over his shin.

He pauses for a moment, trying to find the best way to word his thoughts, but before he can think about it too hard, the words come spilling out, unbidden. “I’ve found it hard to reconcile your attentiveness and willingness to throw everything at helping Strauss, and the way no-one helped me with my addiction back in 2007.”

Derek’s face instantly falls, and saying the words out loud brings all the emotions he’d managed to control back again in full force, and suddenly his face is crumpling, too. Derek surges forward, moving them both until he’s situated between the sofa cushions and Spencer, cuddling him as close as he can while Spencer cries into his chest.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice breaking as he begins to cry as well. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything then and I’m sorry I didn’t put two and two together to realise why you were struggling so much. I can’t believe I was so oblivious, Spence, oh God.”

They lie there for a long time, crying together as Derek runs his hands through Spencer’s hair and Spencer clings desperately to the fabric of Derek’s t-shirt.

“I was just feeling so distant from you because we weren’t spending as much time together, and I had no idea how to admit that I was feeling hurt about something that happened almost five years ago,” he continues when they’ve both calmed down again, and they’re ready to resume the conversation. “I guess I just felt… ashamed of both my feelings now and being jealous, which is so ridiculous, I had no idea how to tell anyone how I was feeling. And I’m so sorry that my lack of communication affected us so much.”

“Oh, baby,” Derek sighs, leaning in to press a kiss to Spencer’s lips. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m sorry that I was hurting you when I should’ve known the effect my actions would have. This whole mess is on me for so many reasons.”

“Der, I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Spencer says insistently, urgently, looking at him imploringly. “You’ve apologised enough for what happened back then, and there’s no way we can change what happened. You were just being the same kind and compassionate person you always are when you were helping Strauss.” He reaches out and cups Derek’s face gently, hating the tells of guilt and self-loathing he can see all over it.

Derek sighs and moves Spencer’s hand to his lips so he can kiss his palm. “When I was sitting in that hospital room waiting for you to wake up,” he explains, “I made a promise to myself. I told myself that I would never let anyone down like that again. I was never going to stand back and watch anyone else I knew fall into the same trap you did. So when I realised Strauss had a drinking problem, all I saw was an opportunity to keep that promise.

“The only problem was that I was so wrapped up in doing the right thing in helping her that I wasn’t doing the right thing by you. I should’ve realised all the feelings, physical and emotional, that this would bring up for you, but I didn’t think. I’m so sorry, baby boy, I really am.”

Spencer cuddles back into Derek, burying his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder and relaxing into the reassuring scent of his person. “I know, Der. I forgive you.”

“How about we order in some Thai for dinner from your favourite restaurant and watch some Doctor Who?” Derek suggests after a couple of minutes of silence. “I think we’re long overdue for some quality time together.”

Spencer smiles at him, feeling so much of the heaviness that’s been weighing him down over the last few weeks lift that he feels almost like he’s floating. “I think that sounds like a plan.”

They set the living room up to be as cosy as possible, lighting the candles Penelope had made for them and using only their soft lamps to light the room, before piling the couch high with blankets and pillows until they’re cuddled together in a little nest.

The evening is spent eating their favourite food and watching their favourite season of Doctor Who, and while Spencer’s still hurting and they still have healing to do, this feels like a damn good start.

“I’m proud of you,” Spencer whispers to Derek late into the night, when they’re close to falling asleep in the comfort of their blanket pile.

Derek turns to him, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

“You made a mistake when you let things get bad with my addiction back in 2007,” Spencer explains, “and when you saw someone headed down the same path, you stopped at nothing to make sure you didn’t make that mistake again. If anything shows me how much you regret not doing anything sooner, it’s your devotion to Strauss’ recovery.”

Derek smiles at him, his eyes a little watery, and holds his chin gently as he leans in to kiss him. “I love you,” he murmurs. “I love you so much.”

Spencer kisses him again before cuddling back into his side. “I know you do, Derek. And I love you, too.”

And really, when it comes down to it, that’s enough.

Ahhh, this was the first fic in forever that actually felt fairly easy to write thank GOD. I loved this concept and writing that good, good angst was so much fun. Plus, we always love a happy ending in this house! Also, a reminder that how other people when you confront them with the way they hurt you or made you feel is not your responsibility.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds @wifeyprentiss @cmily @love-pyramus @notevanbuckley @thebipolarbisexualnerd (add yourself to my taglist here!)

[cowboysamkiszka-archived]

A Cowboy Christmas | Chapter 1

Cowboy! Sam Kiszka x Fem! Reader

Genre: Hallmark?

Warnings: None :)

Word Counk: 1K

Sneak Peak / Chapter 2

a/n: hello and welcome to my debut into the gvf fic writing world… this idea has been rattling around for a while and im glad to finally get it out. I know this chapter is short, but bare with me friends, i just gotta get it set up. i love and thank yall for the support this has already gotten, without even posting a chapter yet im cryinin tha club. i hope you enjoy <3 ...

Chapter One

When your father told you that you would be spending Christmas in the south, this was not what you had in mind. Your fantasies of tanning on white sand beaches while sipping piña coladas were quickly squashed as you stepped off the plane and onto the tarmac in…? Dry, cold wind whipped around your now hot-with-anger face as you looked around at the brown, rolling landscape before you.

“You have got to be kidding me.” you seethed, rushing over to the only waiting car and ripping open the door, “Do you mind telling me where the hell I’m at?!”

Without looking back the driver merely grumbled, “Borger, Texas ma’am.”

…

“You sent me to Texas, TEXAS!” Your shrieking over the phone caused your father to pull the receiver away from his ear before responding.

“Honey, you used to love spending Christmas with your grandparents.”

“Yeah, WHEN I WAS FIVE! I can’t believe -”

“Well since I have to work through Christmas and I don’t want you to be alone, I thought it might be good for you to spend time with your grandparents.” He sighed over the line, already tired of your attitude even from over 1,500 miles away in the Big Apple. As you tried to interject again, he cut you off, “Listen y/n, you’re staying on that ranch. I’ve already put a hold on your credit cards so don’t even think about trying to leave. Relax, get back in touch with them, and I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

The overwhelming silence marked the end of the phone call and soon after, the end of any cell service as the car pulled under the wooden arch reading “Silver Bell's Ranch”.

And that’s how you ended up here - sitting on the porch of your grandparent’s farmhouse, drowning in your Papaw's old Carhart coat. Unfortunately, you had packed for a much warmer trip and with no money to even shop in town, you were reduced to wearing your Mamaw's hand me downs that were most definitely the height of winter fashion circa 1995. The bright purple geometric patterned sweater was hard to hide, even from underneath the bulk of the classic tan coat over top of it. With your chin resting in your hands, you continued to survey the acres of cow-covered land before you, wondering how many brain cells you could possibly lose from mind-numbing boredom.

“Y/n, come and try this pie-filling! I think the church ladies will love this one!” Your Mamaw called, making this the fourth pie filling she wanted you to try over the course of the morning and your second official day in Texas.

So you decided, since there was no way to tell any grandma no, to quietly sneak off and wander the expansive property. After following a worn, dirt path for what felt like eternity, you reached the top one of the larger hills on your trek, catching sight of a barn with horses in the field surrounding it, and three yelping boys. From where you stood you could see two sat on the fence, watching as the third rode a horse around the small, attached corral doing what you could only describe as circus tricks. Wanting to see more of the action up close, you crept down the hill and through the barn doors to hide behind a conveniently placed stack of hay bales.

The two boys sitting on the fence laughed loudly, the one closest to you very nearly falling off of the railing a couple of times. His dark hair reaching just below his shoulders, the top half pulled into a small ponytail, probably to keep the hair out of his eyes while he worked. He looked broad and strong from hard labor, but small compared to the other boy whose long, dark mess of curls accented his wide shoulders. Both of their smiles were bright, but nowhere near as shining as the boy who was currently laying across the horse’s back in a lounging pose. He looked like he was born to smile, and to be quite the showman as he popped the collar on his Sherpa-lined denim jacket, saluting the others.

You had to place your hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter, these boys seemed like fun but what were they doing on your grandparents ranch? You knew the ranch hands who had been here since childhood, why would they need any more help?

“Well, well, well… hello darlin’.” A deep voice drawled from behind you, causing you to turn and fly backwards into your hay bale fortress. Staring back at you was a tall, very handsome stranger, with a smirk playing on his lips.

“I- I was-” you sputtered, words escaping you as the stranger lifted his head, revealing piercing chocolate eyes that had been previously hidden by the brim of his black cowboy hat. His facial hair, scruff actually, coupled with his layered, shoulder length waves took your breath away - he was gorgeous. You weren’t sure how long you stared before the scratchiness of the hay against your body and the clearing of his throat brought you back to reality.

“You were..?” he prompted, the humor in his tone causing you to blush a deeper scarlet than you already were. With this, you realized that the other boys had gone quiet, the near silence of the barn becoming suffocating.

“I was leaving.” You tried, pushing off the hay in an attempt to pass the man but he simply blocked your path, grinning back at you as if that had been the funniest joke in the world. You looked to the sides for another exit, trying to flee this embarrassing encounter but you only found closed stable doors and the riding equipment strewn across them.

“It really didn’t look like you were... it looked like you were enjoying the show.” His gloved hands moved to his hips, drawing your eyes down to the large belt buckle adorning the front of his Wranglers.

“Sammy! Are you gonna come join us?” One of the boys hollered from outside, causing you to turn your head as if you could see him, giving the male in front of you the opportunity to lean down to you.

“I’ll see you around darlin’.” Sammy’s warm breath fanned over your ear, a smirk evident in his voice, causing a shiver to run down your spine. He stepped back once more, grabbing horse blankets from the stall next to you, and disappeared out the door.

country bois i love youuu: @tlexx @secretgvfstan @miidnightcarlights @ageofflowerpower

please just send me an ask if you want to be added to my taglist and ill add you!!!! <3 :)

[1025cherrystreet]

funeral

y/n attends a funeral and feels hopeless after losing her best friend until she meets her late bsf's cousin Harry.

a/n: this is for @harrystylescherry​ Playlist Fic Challenge!!! this is inspired by the song Funeral by Phoebe Bridgers. i used the name Phoebe in the story but i wasn't picturing Phoebe Bridgers when I was writing that character, i just liked the name and decided to go with it! but, y'all can picture her however y'all like lol. i went from loving this story to hating it, but i hope y'all like it! any feedback is appreciated!! <3

**despite it being surrounded by depressing matters, it's actually a cute and fluffy story lol! just wanted to point that out because i, myself, kinda avoid reading sad stories

warnings: a LOT of talk about death and dying and funerals, mentions depression/depressive episode?, mentions drugs and alcohol, swearing. i'm ceo of rushing the ending, soz <3 (also, gave up on proofreading lmao)

word count: 8k+ (this is the longest piece i've ever written lol)

Y/N has this dream. Where she's screaming underwater while her friends are waving at her from the shore. She's desperately calling for them, hoping and waiting for them to help, but, seemingly, her friends can't hear... and can't help. Submerged beneath the thrashing waters, her wails fall silent; her familiars deaf to her pleads. The more she struggles to get to the surface for air, the deeper she sinks. Her friends just waving at her as she drifts to the bottom. Every time she jolts awake from these dreams in a sweat stained bed and sticky clothes, she decides to brush it off. Not wanting to think about the problems she needs to face or what she needs to work on. Always concluding that she doesn't need anyone to tell her what it means or overanalyze her life through misplaced visions. Deciding to not believe assumptions made from vague, painful pictures.

As the familiar sinking feeling in her chest starts yet again, Y/N snaps her eyes up at the casket as the sound of her best friend's mother releasing a heart wrenching sob catches her focus.

The contrast of the white roses that lay on top of Phoebe's mahogany stained casket almost glow in the evening light, seeming like a mock to such a somber evening. The way the living looks so effervescent and bright, casting shadows on the less fortunate. The dead never celebrated in such light but rather mourned in dim grief and sadness.

Y/N doesn't like funerals, and not just because her best friend of 10 years is the recipient of this one. She's never cared for them. Believing they're just an excuse to get over the one they are to be honoring, they carry a stigma that everyone in attendance has to cry or you're seen as heartless, while the people who were never close to the deceased are presumed fake for showing emotion. Y/N thinks they're a big joke... with a cruel, cruel punchline.

The sound of despondent music playing and cries ring throughout the cemetery as Phoebe's casket is lowered six feet into the ground. The unchecked emotions start to boil inside of Y/N. Anger boiling deep inside of her quickly reaching its point, anger that stems from betrayal, that stems from hurt, that stems from...loss. She quietly scoffs, shaking her head with a stone cold look, before quickly getting up and walking away from the ceremony as her late friend's uncle, Bill, wraps up his poor excuse of a eulogy.

Phoebe wouldn't have wanted this. She wouldn't have wanted people to cry over her casket, stuck laying in a padded box while people who don't even know the real her, speak of her existence like they were the best of friends. They weren't. She was. Y/N was her best friend. These people don't... didn't know her like Y/N does. It's all bullshit.

In Y/N's quick pace away from the tent around the damp open ground, she spots a bigger gravestone with a stone bench built into it and takes a seat.

She inhales deeply, taking a moment to herself to look up at the sky. The clouds that overcast part of the blue sky drifting farther away from the graveyard as the sun starts making its way to set. She breathes in, the delightful scent of honeysuckle and dewy grass filling her nose before it's tainted by fumes of petrol from the road just on the other side of the cemetery gates behind her. It's so unfair; why of all people did Phoebe have to-

"It's all a joke," A deep accent says to her left.

She almost jumps out of her seat when she turns to the man who took the empty spot next to her. Jesus Christ, where the fuck did he come from? she thinks to herself. He had brown curly hair and green eyes (well, thinking green from what she can gather staring at the side of his face), wearing a black suit with a black button up shirt underneath. Rings clad his fingers and the sunset gleam shines off his cross necklace. She stares wide-eyed at him for a few moments before shaking her head to get out of her daze.

"Huh?" She says when she realizes he had spoken before.

"It's all a big joke," He repeats himself, the British accent more noticeable this time around. His head faced towards the funeral, having not spared a glance at her once this whole time.

She settles back into her seat, shifting her gaze to match his with the group of mourning people in the distance.

"Yeah." Y/N sighs in agreement.

The two of them sit in silence for a moment before Y/N decides to speak. Thinking to herself that if anyone would listen to her thoughts, a man who's also ditching the shitty eulogy would be her best bet.

"They all talk about her as if she was God." She chuckles humorlessly.

He scoffs with a small smirk, "Far from it."

Another wave of silence crashes over them, before Y/N breaks it once again.

"She would've hated this," She whispers, "People she barely even knows crying over her like they had any significance in her life. She probably only talked to five people here. She didn't even like her uncle." She laughs, referencing the man who gave the half-assed eulogy about how Phoebe being such an innocent, bright young girl.

"They're grieving her loss instead of celebrating her life, it's all fucked," He clears his throat before continuing, "Funerals are for the living."

"I hate funerals..." She says in reply.

Glancing at the boy beside her when she hears him digging through his jacket pocket, pulling out a flask.  He takes a sip, and another, before gesturing it to her. Not overthinking it too much, she takes the cool metal bottle and takes a big gulp. Tasting the burn of vodka in her throat and mint from what she supposes is the mysterious strangers mouth.

Handing the flask back she says, "She would've wanted a party. Something where everyone was having fun in her honor, not some substandard funeral full of random people and careless words."

This time he's the one who chuckles humorlessly, "Yeah, she would've wanted everyone t'take shots and dress up in fancy clothes n' wreak havoc on this fucking town,"

Y/N smiles at this because Phoebe really would. Phoebe was the type of person who everyone wanted to be friends with, but also who everyone was scared of. She was mysterious and intimidating (a bit like the man next to her, Y/N thinks). Phoebe was a master at persuasion and could get almost anyone to go on crazy fucking adventures with her. One of Y/N's favorite memories with Phoebe was when they dressed up in wedding dresses they had gotten from a second-hand store and walked down the street yelling random things at strangers, taking turns drinking tequila from a metal water bottle.

"She really was something else, huh?" Y/N says a bit somberly, reminiscing on her late best friend.

"Definitely, a know-it-all," He laughs, bringing the flask up to his mouth.

"Oh, of course, she always thought she was right." She smirks.

"I mean, most of the time she was." He shrugs.  

"Yeah, how did she always know everything?" The two of you laugh, taking turns drinking from the flask.

He shakes his head in disbelief, silence settling over the pair again.

"How did you know her?" He asks, still staring at the gathering of people in the distance.

"...She was my best friend," Y/N responds quietly, still staring out at the sunset.

He hums in return, "You?" She asks as she hands the flask over.

"Her cousin." His rough voice speaks out.

"You're Harry?" She says, less as a question and more in disbelief. Phoebe always mentioned her cousin Harry from England, always telling Y/N of stories they had together getting into reckless shit.

She turns her head to look at him just as he does, "And you're Y/N."

He offers a soft, knowing smile, both having heard countless stories of one another from Phoebe. He leans back and extends his arm on the top of the bench behind her, feeling the warmth of his body radiate off of him.

"I wonder what she'd say to me now. Sitting on a random gravestone in our hometown, drinking out of her cousin's flask, ditching what's supposed to be her remembrance." Y/N says, leaning back on the bench too.

"She would've said, 'quit y'crying, it's a sign of the times' and then would drag your arse t'the nearest pub." He laughs.

She joins in on the soft laughter, shaking her head because she knows that's exactly what she would've said. Phoebe was such a joy to be around, her presence unmatched.

"You know, she always talked about wanting to leave a legacy behind. Most of the time, I just laughed at her, thinking it was just another bizarre thing to come out of her mouth. But, she was always saying she wanted to be remembered as some enigma when she dies..." Y/N recalls the many memories of her and Phoebe staying up til 4am talking. Chills suddenly covering her body, not only from the cool Winter air but because of how Phoebe had talked about her death and now she's actually...dead.

She turns her head to look at Harry and he has a bittersweet smile on his face.

"I think she's accomplished that quite well, hasn't she?" He replies.

"How?" She questions softly with furrowed brows.

"Well, f'starters, her funeral is full of people who never even knew her, or frankly even cared about her, while two emotionless people just got up and stormed away from it t'drink vodka out of a flask on some random person's gravestone." He laughs before tacking on, "Trust me, the people over there are wondering who the hell she was and who she knew, right about now."

She turns her head from the (quite pretty, she thinks) boy to her left, looking at the wake, only to be met with a few people staring back at them.

"Well, I'll be damned," She scoffs. "Of course, the bitch did it." A smile bright on her face, probably the only real grin she's pulled since Phoebe's passing. Her best friends wishes coming true makes her heart warm just a tad, a relief to how cold losing her best friend made it.

"Always able t'make her life seem like an episode of Pretty Little Liars." He says shaking his head with a knowing smirk.

This comment makes Y/N laugh quite loudly, drawing a few — what she could only think were glares — back at her. Wiping a stray tear from her face that fell due to her laughing. The sweet sound coming from her lips only tacking on Harry to join her.

"Oh my god, she practically lived in an indie movie, always the role of the mysterious main character!" She chuckled out, creases forming at the corners of her eyes that Harry has taken a liking to.

As both of their laughter slowly dies out, another silence comes over them; only this time it's almost deafening. It's like the weight of the matter finally settled in.

Harry lets out a deep sigh, staring out at the never ending field of stone. Flowers accompany very few of the many graves; some wilted, some looking fresh, some long gone by now. Name placards littering the ground, all of these lost and forgotten people just decomposing underneath them. People coming and going to visit, only to be forgotten as time goes by, memories fading from their loved ones' mind. He wonders if he could ever forget Phoebe. No, I could never, he thinks to himself. He could never forget the only person that ever truly believed in him and embraced him for being himself.

Deciding he doesn't want to give anymore thought to the painful insight that one day he might forget Phoebe, he asks Y/N something instead.

"Y'wanna get out of here? M'starvin'."

The quiet girl next to him looks his way, his green eyes meeting her's that shine in the last few minutes of orange sunlight. Her eyes are so pretty, he tries to mentally shake that thought out of his head. He can't be hitting on his late cousin's best friend at her funeral, for fuck's sake.

Y/N only nods in response, gathering her bag and phone before standing from the bench. Harry towers over her when he gets up and the observation of how tall her his makes Y/N feel all giddy inside for some reason. Placing the flask back in his suit jacket pocket, he leads the way to a small restaurant nearby. She walks beside him the whole way there, the two of them just quietly observing everything around them.

***

The crisp, cool air passes through, goosebumps creeping up their arms as they sit in the outside seating of a small restaurant. Comfortable silence wraps them up and spits them out as their minds explore all the vast depths of their troubled minds, giving them time for their treacherous thoughts to eat at their sanity bit by bit.

"Phoebe told me once," Y/N cleared her throat, trying to get rid of the scratchy feeling from not using it. Harry's green eyes moved to her from his observance of the lonely street they're next to as she spoke softly. "She told me the only time she truly felt alive was when she made decisions that were reckless and spontaneous. She said living her life precariously was the only reason for her happiness, claiming that the perfect life is just an illusion. That dreaming of labor should not be the goal, but instead becoming your authentic self and living with no regrets..."

Harry stays quiet, reflection in his eyes as he stares at her from across the table, chewing the food in his mouth. Y/N plays around with the food on her plate with her fork and waits for his acknowledgment (although, she doesn't even know if he would say or do anything -- she doesn't know why she decided to tell him that)

"I mean, she's right, righ'? I never understood when people would ask what your 'dream job' is from a young age. No one's dream is t'work everyday 'til they die. They have to, t'make a living and survive, but what's the point in living if you aren't enjoyin' it. But, if y'workin' all the time, how do you make the time to really live?" He says, furrowing his brows as he talks.

Y/N takes in his words. The moonlight and street lamps casting a soft glow on his face, his carved features looking even more beautiful at night.

"Yeah... I guess, I guess I just envy how she viewed life, ya know?" She states, looking at the cars drive by as she tries to explain how she feels. "Always saying things to make you rethink your existence and purpose..." She looks back at Harry and whispers, "...She talked about life so much like she knew she was going to die."

"Well, we're all gonna die eventually." Harry rests his arms on the table with a quiet sigh, his features passive, but his mind is thinking of how he just wants to hug her and tell her everything is going to be alright.

"Yeah, but she just...she talked about it like she knew all the answers. She knew exactly what to say, when to say it. Sometimes, I feel like she was telling everyone around her how to live in complete happiness because she knew she didn't have much of her own, despite convincing everyone she was carefree and unbothered." Y/N shrugs and watches as they fall into a short silence.

"...I miss her." Harry breathes out after a moment, reaching his hand across the table to hold hers. Her skin is soft against his as he rubs his thumb against her hand in an attempt to comfort both of them.

Her eyes soaking in his softened expression, her cherry tinted lips whispering, "Me too."

They eat the rest of their dinner in silence, the only sounds reverberating from the road with the occasional car or pedestrian. Harry pays for the food, but not without many protests from Y/N.

As the two walk side by side down the street, back to the cemetery to pick up their cars, Y/N suddenly falls anxious. She doesn't want to be alone tonight, scared of being alone with her thoughts when she goes back to stay in her childhood home. Her parents, still living in the house they lived in since her youth, had to drive up to another town for a few nights to stay with her cousins because they planned to go there before the news broke about Phoebe. Leaving Y/N alone in the empty house since there wasn't room for her at her cousins.

The black cemetery gates coming into view, eeriness and gloom becoming more apparent when the sun is down, Y/N and Harry can see their two cars sitting idly on the side of the road. Y/N fidgets with her fingers as they grow close to departure.

"D-do you, maybe, wanna hang out for a little while longer?" She turns to face him, looking up at him nervously. "I just don't want to be alone right now." She rushes out when he doesn't respond.

"Yeah, I didn't really want t'go home alone right now either." He offers a sliver of a smile before unlocking his car, grabbing two brown paper bags that look to hold bottles, and gesturing his head, "C'mon, we'll pick up my car later. Let's go celebrate Pheebz, yeah?" He grins.

She smiles at him, unlocking her own car and waiting for him to get in, putting on a playlist full of Phoebe's favorite songs. She drives through her hometown, memories stirring up of her and her best friend smoking weed in the park the summer before graduation and jumping in the lake naked in the middle of winter. The two end up at her house sitting in her abandoned driveway, both unbuckling but neither making the move to get out of the parked car, the engine still running as they sit listening to the melodies playing from the speaker.

Harry suddenly pulls out two bottles from the brown paper bags at his feet, one of vodka and the other tequila.

"Pick y'poison." He says with a smirk.

She picks the vodka and Harry mutters, "Good choice, tequila is more m'speed."

"Weren't you drinking vodka at the funeral?" She laughs, unscrewing the cap.

"Yeah, figured I'd drink Phoebe's favorite since it was her party." He chuckles.

"To Phoebe." Y/N says, sorrow lacing her voice as she turns in her seat to face Harry.

"To living your life precariously." He says before the two of them take a big gulp of the sharp liquid, starting what will only be the beginning of a long night.

***

Light shines through the white curtains, the room glowing bright in the soft, yellow sunlight. The white comforter tangled up in bodies as birds chirp in the morning tranquility. Y/N's eyes flutter open, immediately feeling sweaty and clammy. The headache that sets in reminds her of the amount of alcohol she consumed last night. Waking up in her childhood bed after blacking out in the backseat of her car the night before doing very little for her sanity.

As she lays in bed, groggy, she needs to pee. She moves to get up and walk to the bathroom connected to her room, only to freeze when an arm wraps around her and pulls her closer. Warm breathes pant at the back of her neck, unintelligible murmurs coming from the person behind her. Her eyes widen, realizing Harry is the one she is snuggling with in the early morning (afternoon?) light. Despite needing to pee really badly, she finds herself only melting into his touch. She can't remember the last time someone held her like this, can't remember the last time she felt this content. In fact, she thinks the last time she cuddled with someone was with Phoebe when she slept over in her room at their apartment... Well, just Y/N's apartment now.

Y/N and Phoebe would have movie nights in Y/N's room and in the midst of the fun, they would grow tired. Phoebe would never want to leave the comfort of Y/N's warm bed, so she always asked, sleepover?, with a wide grin. To which Y/N never refused and the two would put on The Notebook and fall asleep spooning one another. The first time it happened, when they were children having sleepovers, she tensed a bit; thinking it weird for her friend to cuddle her because no one had ever done that. But, as the years went by and their friendship grew stronger, knowing that despite both of them being bisexual it wasn't an act of intimacy, but one of platonic comfort.

So, Y/N figured (in her touch deprived mind) that this was just an act of friendly, platonic intimacy...nothing else. After coming to that conclusion, she let herself relax into his touch, his warm embrace nodding her off to sleep once again.

What wakes her up the second time is the sound of a gravelly voice groaning. The arm around her waist squeezes tightly before the body it's attached to tenses up. Harry tries to take in the position they're in -- his arm snuggling her close to his bare chest and legs intertwined with hers -- but his hangover headache clouds his mind too much to think about it. Only registering that he's never felt this comfortable with someone before, never felt someone so warm and cozy. He's cuddled lots of girls (and guys), has spent many mornings waking up in someones hold or holding someone in his, but they've never been as addicting as her. Never being so relaxing, so soft. He's about to just say, fuck it, and fall back asleep as to spend as much time with her in his clutch, but Y/N had stirred awake from his groaning and she really has to pee!

She slowly turns in his arms, their legs shifting apart, and is met with probably the cutest sight she's ever seen. His eyes are glassy and the green of his irises shine in the soft light. His lips pink and his face holding a hesitant look, like he thinks she might yell at him for accidentally ending up in his arms throughout the night, but she can also sense the underlying feeling of content reading on his face. The way his eyes soften when they meet hers and the way his hand involuntarily squeezes at her side. The serene feeling almost tangible as her childhood room becomes their own little world. All the responsibilities and pain of the outside fall ceased at the door decorated with heights of a growing Y/N.

"G'morning," His gravelly voice going straight to her heart, melting it at the beautiful sound.

"Good morning," She says in a raspy whisper, her throat dry from the alcohol and singing at the top of her lungs the night before.

She takes the quiet moment to look at his body, her gaze drifting from tattoo to tattoo, not realizing how many he has. She knew he had some from the ones on his hands yesterday, but she didn't know he had so many. His long sleeve button up had covered the view of the ones adorning his arms, but she looks at them now in awe, thinking how pretty they are.

She's about to tell him how much she likes the butterfly tattoo on his chest, when her bladder has other plans.

"I'm sorry, but I really have to pee," She bashfully smiles as she looks at him.

"Oh, m'sorry. Probably should've told ya' I'm a cuddler." He gives a small smile with embarrassment soaking his words, thinking he's made her uncomfortable.

"No need to apologize," Her eyes light up at his out of character shyness, "I am too, I just really have to go to the bathroom." The harmonious sound of her giggles soothing every worry in Harry's body.

He playfully sighs, "Fine, I guess I'll let y'go piss."

A smirk pulls at his lips as she rolls her eyes and gets up, but he can see the corners of her lips turn up.

She goes to the bathroom, doing her business and washing her hands. She takes the time to brush her teeth and wash her face, cringing when she looks in the mirror. She feels gross that she looked like this when Harry woke up with the resemblance of an angel.

When she's finished, she walks out back into her room, excited to get back into the warm bed (and hopefully cuddle with Harry some more, but she would never admit that out loud), but she's met with abandoned sheets and panic consumes her. Did he leave? Did I make him uncomfortable by waking up in his arms? He was the one to cuddle me and he joked about it! But maybe he was just trying to be nice so he could escape? Her mind starts to race a mile a minute of anxious thoughts before they're all suddenly wiped away at the smell of coffee wafting in from the open doorway.

She throws on a sweatshirt and socks and makes her way down the stairs of the familiar, yet foreign after spending so long away from home, house. Her sock clad feet pad on the hardwood floors as she walks into the kitchen, spotting Harry silently staring at a spot on the wall with a cup of coffee in his hand (he's using the same pink and green mug with a little ceramic pig sitting on the top of the handle that Phoebe would use every time she'd sleepover in high school).

She walks in quietly, coming up behind him and grabbing a cup of coffee for herself, noticing the two pain killers next to the pot (which made her heart swell if she's honest). He had heard her coming down the stairs, but despite her presence his focus is still on the spot on the wall. Taking a sip of her pick-me-up and swallowing the pills, she takes up space next to Harry, following his eyes that stare intently at a picture frame hanging up and her eyes immediately soften.

"That was freshman year," Y/N spoke delicately, staring at the picture herself, "We had both been asked to prom by these senior guys. I was ecstatic because no one had ever shown any liking to me, but Phoebe had played it cool, of course." Harry lets out a quiet breathy laugh because of course Phoebe didn't care.

"We spent weeks planning out how prom night would be. Imagining how the senior parties would be like and if the boys would kiss us by the end of the night or not. She came over at 9am the morning of the dance and we spent all day getting ready and laughing with each other. She had even done my makeup all pretty and I helped her get into her dress. I remember I laughed when she decided she was going to wear converse under her dress, and she almost convinced me to do it too because she said 'you're not gonna be the one laughing when we're at all the after parties and your feet are killing you'." A genuine smile forms on Y/N's face as she reminisces on the cherished moment.

"But, two hours before the dance, our dates cancelled on us and told us they were going with these senior girls." Harry scoffs bitterly, understanding how cruel teenage boys are.

"I remember I was so upset because the one time I thought someone actually liked me or thought I was pretty enough to go to prom with, had just made me a second choice..." She recalls to Harry, who is now looking at the side of her face as she looks at the picture of Phoebe carrying Y/N on her back, piggy-back style, in long prom dresses, dirty white converse peaking out from under both girls' dresses.

"So, she grabbed me by the arms and looked me in the eyes and said 'Y/N L/N, we are deserving of the love we wish for. No senior boys are going to make us doubt that. We are not little freshmen girls who can be seen as cheap thrills and easy hookups. We are women, who demand respect and complete infatuation.' Then she took the tickets that the boys had pre-purchased for us, took my hand, and dragged me to that dance. We had been each other's date and made prom our bitch. She even got us into a party afterward...And we had one hell of a night."

She smiles fondly at the sweet memory. Harry's eyes flutter between the picture and the beautiful girl next to him. How could she ever think of herself as a second choice?, is all he can wonder to himself.

Letting his gaze fall to the picture one last time, he mumbles, "Well, those boys missed out on the best thing t'ever happen t'them."

He doesn't catch Y/N's blush that creeps up on her cheeks as he turns around, taking a sip from his little pig mug.

She shakes her head as to get out of the crushing haze she falls into, turning and walking to the countertop, leaning against it as Harry stands in front of her on the other side.

"Thank you. F'letting me stay the night, last night." He speaks up.

Y/N notices how he's still lacking a shirt, making her mouth dry up just a little at the sight of how fit he is. The tattoos stretching across his tan skin so perfectly, the black ink creating such a beautiful contrast on his body. He catches onto the not-so-subtle gawking and smirks.

"Uh, yeah. It's really no problem. There's no way I'd have let you drive home intoxicated and it was the least I could do after I made you practically spend the day with me." She blushes.

"Y'didn't make me," He shakes his head gently with a smile.

Y/N doesn't know to feel about how her cheeks heat up at his remark, shyly looking away as the teasing gleam in his eyes might make her combust.

"O-okay. Good to know." She squeaks out, the action only fueling Harry's ego and playful mood.

"I should go get m'car from the cemetery before it gets towed," He says almost disappointedly, like he doesn't want to leave yet. If she's being honest, she doesn't want him to leave yet either.

"Yeah, that wouldn't be good. I'll give you a ride." She says, shaking off the saddened feeling of his departure.

"Oh, you don't have t'do tha'." He shakes his head but Y/N quickly shoots him down.

"Nonsense, I'll take you. It's no big deal."

He smiles at her objection, nodding, and going upstairs to grab the rest of his clothes, feeling uncomfortable in his dress pants from the funeral that he had put back on when he got up this morning, not wanting to make Y/N feel weird by staying in only his boxers.

***

Vodka Lover: hey... are you up?

She chews on the skin around her thumb, a nervous habit that Phoebe had always teased her about, as she sends the text to Harry (having exchanged numbers when she had dropped him off at his car at the cemetery). Phoebe had always said, 'You're not gonna have any thumb left to chew, babes, if you keep at it'. To which Y/N just rolled her eyes, but in the deafening silence of 4am, she wishes she cherished those moments with her best friend more. Wishing she didn't take for granted in those little encounters of Phoebe's care and concern with her well-being. Y/N would give anything to be able to spend one more minute with her.

Butterfly Boy: yeah, everything okay?

Vodka Lover: um, can i call you?

Suddenly, breaking the bitter quiet with a ringtone, her phone she holds in her palm lights up with Harry's contact. A tear falls from her face onto the screen and she has to wipe it away before she presses accept.

"Y/N?" Harry's deep voice rings out, laced in worry, from the other line.

She chokes out a sob, not being able to hold it back anymore. The floodgate of her emotions she has been trying to keep at bay suddenly burst. Salty tears fall onto the blue fluffy blanket from her senior year she's wrapped up in.

"Hey, hey, s'everythin' okay? What's wrong?" Harry says, more alert now that he hears her in such a fragile and frantic state.

Y/N just cries harder, desperately trying to catch her breath, she feels like she's suffocating.

"Hey, love, just breathe. Just breathe, Y/N." He tries to coax her down in a soothing voice.

A raggedy breath is heard on Harry's side, making the worry dissipate just a little now that he knows she's breathing. Harry sits up in his bed, calling out to Y/N, repeatedly telling her to just keep breathing. He can't get to what's wrong if she hyperventilates.

He was laying restless in his bed when she had texted, lost in thoughts of life and replaying memories with his cousin. Trying to grasp everything she's ever told him before, hoping that by watching the moments he spent with her like a film reel in his mind would help him not forget them.

"Love, can y'tell me what's got you so upset? Please," He asks softly when she calms down enough where her breathing is regular and not sporadic inhales gasping for air.

"I-I-I miss her," She cries out into the phone, the thought of embarrassing herself by breaking down to Harry not on her mind; the only thought she has is how empty she feels.

"I know, I know, love. I miss her, too," He sighs out sadly, wishing he could take away her pain, hating the way her voice quivers with every word. "Do you want t'talk about it?"

She wipes the tears that sting her eyes and cascade down her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. The one she wore when Harry slept over, smelling a little like him still from the car ride to his car that day, three days ago.

They had been texting each other and talking every day since then, usually about light topics like asking how their day's were or what they were doing. However, tonight (or early morning), everything felt like it was crashing down on her. Y/N's strong front she had put up since the funeral for Phoebe's family finally collapsed, and she's found herself stuck under the rubble. She was trying so hard to keep it in because she shouldn't be feeling sorry for herself when someone's kid is dead.

She had bored herself to tears, not knowing what to do. The only thing that seemed right was to call Harry.

"Talk to me, babe." He begs her, running a hand through his disheveled curls.

"I-" She sniffles, "I feel like I'm fucking drowning,"

He hates how defeated her voice sounds and he wishes he could just be there to hug her and tell her everything's going to be okay, eventually.

"It-it feels like my whole life is in ruins. Harry, I miss her." Her face scrunches up again as she starts to sob, "Sh-She was my best friend, I d-did everything with her. How am I s-supposed to do this without her? How am I supposed t-to live without her?"

"Oh, darling. I know, but you will..and you can." He frowns, racking his brain for the right thing to tell her, "You got t'live so you can experience all those ways of life she always talked about. Y'haven't experienced all those feelings Pheebz would mention when she would live her life precariously. Don't y'want to know how she felt when she would talk of such a beautiful life she lived, yeah?"

He hears a hiccup and a quiet, albeit breathy, yeah, from the other side of the call.

"You are so strong, Y/N. I don't know how y'made it this far without breaking down..." He tells her whole-heartedly.

"D-don't know how you haven't either," She gets out, realizing how selfish she's probably being, bothering Harry with her grief when he has his own to deal with.

"Honestly," He breathes out through a somber smile, "The only reason I haven't is because I have you, love."

Y/N's heart swells tenfold, she thinks. She didn't realize Harry needed her just as much as she needed him.

"...I'm sorry for calling you, I know it's late." She says through sniffles when she notices the time.

"There's no reason to apologize. It's okay, love. It's okay to hurt or be angry or upset. No one expects you to be perfect all the time." He pauses, listening to her breathing.

"Ya know, one day, it won't hurt this much. One day, you'll be able t'look back at this moment and it won't break y'heart as much as it does now. You're just in the thick of it right now, pretty girl. But, the light's coming soon, I promise." He continues and Y/N feels her heart beat faster at the pet name.

"You promise?" Her voice barely above a whisper and Harry thinks his heart just broke at the sound.

"Promise." He says, wiping the stray tears rolling down his cheeks, "Phoebe wouldn't want y'to be this upset. She would want you to keep living your life and find out the ways to how she was so in love with it. If not for yourself, love, then for her...F'me."

She nods, despite knowing he can't see. Silence falls over the pair, only the sound of bated breaths assuring the other one is there.

"One summer," He speaks up, "One summer, my family had come t'visit them, partly because of the lake near her house. It was after we had moved t'the States from Cheshire, and Phoebe and I would go walk to the little pond near the park,"

"The one near Hope?" She asks quietly if they had gone to the park she had always played at as a little girl.

"Mhm. We would walk there in the blistering sun and when we got there she tried to convince me how fairies were real." He said in a calm voice.

He hears an airy puff of breath escape her mouth, which he takes as a small giggle -- making him want to continue his story as it's helping her cheer up, and because he'd probably do anything to hear her that sound from her.

"Yeah, fairies. She told me that they live at the pond and t'see them, I would have to find a pretty flower and then jump in the water with it in only m'underwear." He breathes out a laugh.

Y/N gasps, trying to keep quiet but fails when she lets out a loud laugh.

"Oh my, did you do it?" She asks bewildered, laying down so her head rests against the pillow.

"So, I told Phoebe 'no way', yeah? But, then she said she can't just tell me about them and not follow through with seeing them. Convinced me that it would bring bad luck." He scoffs, remembering the memory vividly.

"Bad luck, indeed." She giggles and it brings the dimple out on Harry's face.

"Yeah, so of course, me being like 8 or sum', I stripped down to m'pants in the middle of the day and jumped in the water." He smiles when he hears her laughing, even if it's at his expense. "Y'laughing, but I think I got ringworm after tha'!"

"I can't believe she got you to do that! I wish I'd been there." Y/N says, out of breath from laughing.

"Scarred me of ponds for the rest of m'life." He chuckles and a pause takes them both over as they settle back down. 

"...Thank you, H." She whispers into the phone, adoration taking up all her features.

“F’what?”

“For being you, for being here. Just...Thank you.” She sighs. 

They get lost in recalling stories of their loved one for the rest of the night, repainting her memories in gold. They laugh with each other until all the pain seems to disappear. The weight, of what felt like the world, lifting off of both their shoulders. Finally being able to breathe after days of endless battles of trying to stay strong for Phoebe's sake.

***

Days pass since the lonely 4am phone call and Y/N and Harry are still talking everyday.

She finds out he lives in her city, only a few blocks from her apartment she shared with Phoebe! She didn't believe him when he first told her, but he said he was always busy with college whenever Phoebe tried to meet up. Y/N's not going to lie, her heart picked up when she found out he'd be so close to her, wondering if he'd want to hang out with her when they leave her hometown.

Almost everyday of the last few days they have visiting, they've spent at Y/N's empty childhood home. Harry asking her to explain pictures and what she was like in high school, whenever he gets the chance. In turn, she's been picking his mind on what Holmes Chapel was like and how his family was growing up. She found out that he lived with his sister, Gemma, and his mom, Anne. They talked about everything, from their favorite things to every pet they've ever had (Y/N, particularly, falling in love with the pictures of his cat, Evie).

Just as the last few days have been spent, they are spending Y/N's last day in her hometown together before she goes back. Harry told her he had to stay a couple more nights with his family before he could leave, assuring her he would've gone back with her if he could've. That comment made her blush and she had to pray the butterflies growing in her tummy to relax.

That's another thing. Y/N had stopped lying to herself and denying the ache in her chest that would form when she was away from Harry, growing very fond of him since their first encounter at the headstone bench.

Harry, also, couldn't deny any longer the way his heart would flutter at every little thing she did. Just wondering to himself how everything about her was just so pretty. He loved the way her eyes would light up every time she saw him and how he would catch her checking him out whenever he took off his shirt.

He especially loved the way she let him sleepover a few times and how they would end up cuddling into the late hours of the morning. Both parties not minding one bit, the comfort and warmth actually preferred than sending Harry home to sleep in his own bed.

"Bet I can reach that branch right there," Harry shouts with a gleeful tone, a bit out of breath as he tries to stretch his legs far enough so his shoe brushes against the leaf on the end of the tree branch.

The two of them decided to go to Hope park, where they both held fond childhood memories at. They settled at the swingset, calm swaying in the seats quickly turning into a competition of who could swing the highest. Harry won of course, his legs being much longer than hers giving him the advantage. Playful giggles and sweet conversations of things occurring in that moment help distract them from both Phoebe and the fact that Y/N is leaving.

Y/N is distracting herself from worrying about if Harry will reach out to her when they get back to the city, if he even wants to talk to her again after this weekend or if this was all just out of politeness.

Harry, on the other hand, is distracting himself from wondering if she fancies him. He wonders if the cuddles and small touches meant as much to her as they did him, if after this weekend she would want to hang out again or if she was just being nice because he knows what she's going through.

"Bet I can reach it before you!" She giggles as her hair whips around in the wind she's created. Pumping her legs back and forth, desperately trying to get higher so she can beat Harry in her made up competition.

"Now, love, not everything has to be a competition," He huffs, really reaching out this time, "But, I wanna win, if we're playing a game, I wanna win." He grins, the cute dimple that Y/N has fallen for making an appearance on his face.

The two try their hardest to be the first ones to touch the tree branch hanging not too far from their swinging feet at their highest point. Harry, however, attempts a little too hard and flies off the swing when he lifted up his leg to make the two inch gap he was short of.

Tumbling to the woodchip covered ground, he ends up laying on his back. Groans spill out of his mouth and Y/N's eyes go wide with concern. She slows herself down just enough to safely jump off the swingset, rushing to Harry's side.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" She asks worriedly, trying to hold back the laugh that's trying to bust out. Crouching down to him, she runs her hand over his arm that's grabbing his leg.

He rubs his knee with a pained smile, "Yeah, just peachy, pet."

"Is anything hurting? Bruised?" She questions with a loving smile.

"Just my ego," He chuckles, looking up at her and admiring her caring nature.

She can't hold it in anymore, she laughs loudly at his comment, her carefree happiness making Harry's ears perk up and his heart warm.

"Yeah, love, just laugh at the crippled man." He jokes, smiling up at her happy face, wishing it could stay that way forever.

She lets out another laugh at his comment, delicately grabbing his arm to help him up, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It wasn't funny," She attempts to calm herself but fails, "Okay, it was a little bit funny!"

Giggles fall out of her mouth as Harry brushes off the mulch from his jeans, "See how much you're laughing when I push you out of the swing."

"I'm soo scared." She mocks fear.

"Oh, just wait, pet. You'll never be safe on another swing set again." He playfully grabs her sides to tickle her, but her fighting his tries just ends up bringing her closer in his hold.

Their laughs quickly die out when they realize he's holding her in his clutch, his hands at her waist, hers around his neck. Harry stares into her eyes as she stares back into his. The empty park is serene, no other noises besides the chirping of birds and the sounds of other animals sprawling about. The sweet moment causes Y/N's breath to hitch and her palms to sweat. They've only been this close when cuddling, she's never been this close to his face before. His features glow in the sunlight, his green irises complimenting the bounce of his skin and dark eyelashes. Her skin is soft and warm against his, and he just wants to lean in and-

Y/N's eyes flutter close as Harry's face comes closer, his lips meet hers in a gentle caress. With the sweet kiss, he takes note of how soft her lips are, how warm and fuzzy her intimate touch is making his head. While one hand is squeezing at her side, the other is brought up to cradle her face and she leans into his touch. Harry sucks on her bottom lip before peeling away so they can catch their breath.

Y/N lets out a whine at the loss of contact, her bottom lip jutting out as he pulls away.

"What are y'pouting for, pet? W-was that not okay? Should I not have done tha'?" The blood almost drains from his face at the pouty look on her beautiful face.

She shakes her head at him, "No, I liked it. I want more," She pants, pulling him by the collar of his shirt to bring him back to her lips.

He chuckles at her cute antics (and in relief of not fucking up his shot with her). He smiles against her lips as he melts back into her, her hand around his neck reaching up to tangle in his curly hair. He groans when her nimble fingers pull tenderly at the curls at the base of his neck, causing him to squeeze her side gently.

She breathlessly kissed him, slotting her lips between his and immediately opening her mouth in acceptance when he brushes his tongue against her bottom lip in a silent ask to take it further. As the kiss deepens, the need for air increases. They naturally separate, Harry sucking her bottom lip as he goes until it pops back.

Taking in her reddened swollen lips and her pretty flushed face, he presses one last chaste kiss on her lips, and one to her cheek and her nose.

A big, genuine grin adorns Y/N's face as she stares up at the man in front of her.

"Thank you f'letting me do tha'." He says with a gravelly voice.

"I've been thinking about you doing that since the first night you stayed at my house." She tells him bashfully.

"Me too, love. And it was better than I ever expected," He says whole-heartedly, leaning in to press one more quick kiss to her lips again.

"So, does this mean we're gonna hang out when we both go back home? Because I really want to do that again." Her glassy eyes blink at him with hope awaiting his answer.

He smiles and shakes his head, bewildered at how she could ever think that he could just ghost her after that, "I think Phoebe would come back just to slap me upside the head if I ever kissed her best friend and just never saw her again."

She chuckles at his comment, shyly looking down to her hand on his chest when he doesn't say anything else.

"Of course, I want to hang out when we get back. I want to take y'out on a real date, if you'd let me."  He looks at her all starry eyed, squeezing her waist.

"I think Phoebe would come back and slap me upside the head if I ever kissed her cousin and just never saw him again," This time he's the one that laughs.

"I'd love that very much, Harry." She beams up at him.

Going back home couldn't come sooner to the both of them.

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

ahhh i hope y’all liked that, i’d love feedback :) i’m thinking of making a series out of it, but only if that’s something y’all would like! so, pls let me know if you enjoyed it or if i should make a part 2 ?? 

anyways, stay safe and much love <3

[enhyupn]

start of it!

pairing: jungwon x fem!read (ft a little sunghoon)

disclaimer: there might be a few mistakes here and there since it’s not fully proof read. swear words are mentioned too!

word count: 7.1k+

genre: fluff, angst if you squint, best friends to lovers!au, rich kids!au, slow burn kinda?

a/n this took a while to write but i like how it came out :) i think i got a little carried away but it’s fine i suppose!! i hope you enjoy this longer than necessary fic :]

jungwon and you were always together, then and now. maybe being the children of two most influential families korea helped that, the constant underlying jealousy between the two families made for some interesting dinners. you two were the stereotypical rich kids, top of the class, class president and extremely involved in school. your image was the type other chaebol families would use to compare their children to. maybe that’s why every time you stand at the top of your class to make announcements, all you get are sneers from your classmates as they not so subtly laugh at you. it was inventible nonetheless, if you were in their situation you’d do exactly the same. it didn’t help that you were strict and blunt with your classmates, staying true to the cold and distant chaebol child stereotype.

jungwon the next class over however, was incredibly popular with the people in his class and even yours. you didn’t know how he did it, balancing his studies, taekwondo and still maintaining a good relationship with his class? you looked up to him immensely, even with your parents constantly reminding you that jungwon wasn’t your friend but a pawn from his family to get information on the company. obviously you never believed them, how could jungwon get information from you when all you talk about normal things. normal things like tv shows, books and his taekowndo matches. you wouldn’t know what to do with jungwon, he was your other half and you’d never be able to function properly without him.

dinner was never comfortable at your house, the silence only being broken up by the clattering of utensils and chewing didn’t even help the gloomy and dark aura your father always seemed to radiate. you were the only child and the heir in training to take over the family company. everyone around you had high expectations for you, being number one in everything you ever did allowed people to believe that you were going to skyrocket your family’s company to the number one spot.

“y/n, how was school” your mother always tried so hard to make conversation with you and your father every day. as much as you wished to be close to her, you couldn’t help but feel forced and awkward whenever you replied to her.

“it was good, we got our ranks today” you slowly chewed on the piece of duck you were served, not having the heart or energy to tell anyone that you never really liked the taste of it.

“i’m assuming it’s first place” your father butts in, the serious look in his face never fails to make you flinch in your seat.

“yes father, first place in my class and in school” you couldn’t help but gulp at the mood of the dinner table.

it was always like this after exam season, tension so tight that it was suffocating to be around. even the maids and butlers around the place hated being around your family every time results were announced, the thought of what would happened if you ever got anything lower than first place was terrifying.

“wonderful” a nod from your father was enough for your maids to stop holding in their breaths.

not even a good job? you had grown to learn that your father wasn’t someone that praised others easily. sadly, you had to learn it the hard way. countless memories from your past of you desperately wanting your father’s attention and praise flashed through your eyes. even so, it still hurt every time he wouldn’t acknowledge your achievements.

the ice rink was your special place, second to jungwon undoubtedly. still, you loved being there. it made you feel so free and happy, like all your worries had disappeared whenever you skated. you weren’t the only one that loved the rink, jungwon adored the moments when you would show off a new move you had finally nailed. the look of you being so carefree made him feel overjoyed, knowing he was the only one that could see you like this.

“jungwon did you see that?” a radiant smile appearing on your face after you landed an axel. the sound of your slightly hitting the rink’s barrier slightly scared you before looking up again at the boy.

“yes, and i’ve also seen the other five times you’ve done it” the pout formed on your face from his teasing only brought a larger smile on his face. jungwon’s face suddenly twisted into a confused look as he suddenly remembered a conversation you two had the previous week. “weren’t you struggling on that last week? i remember you telling me that”.

“oh i was!” the pink tinge from your cheeks due to the cold temperature in the air added to your cheerful chatter. “but sunghoon helped me with it”.

“sunghoon?” the name sending an unsettling feeling throughout jungwon’s body. the boy shook it off when he had made eye contact with you once again, your eyes wide with spirit. it was a shame that your classmates couldn’t see this side of you, the cold and scary y/n unironically melting when on the ice.

“sunghoon’s a really talented figure skater in my class!” the admiration in your voice and eyes churned things in jungwon’s stomach. “his triple axel is the most beautiful thing jungwon, you should really see him in action. he gave me some tips and they really worked!”.

“that’s great” jungwon couldn’t understand why he couldn’t feel as elated as you were. shouldn’t he be happy? his best friend perfectly landed something they were working on for a while and he couldn’t even be sincere with his praise? no, it was that boy sunghoon. that’s what was getting him annoyed and bothered, was it jealousy?

“look there he is!” you showed jungwon. the boy had proportions that were perfect, he towered over you and had undeniably incredible looks. jungwon watched as sunghoon’s eyes shined in delight when noticing you. the boy skated over quickly to you in excitement, anyone could tell that he was over the moon to see you.

the jealous feeling jungwon had in him only grew more watching you two. when sunghoon’s skates accidentally took him at a too fast of a pace, you lightly bumped into you. the countless apologies he spit out while you laughed loud and glowing at his ridiculous accident only made jungwon chew his cheek in spite. the unnecessary skin ship you two made didn’t help too, you were holding onto sunghoon’s shoulders in an attempt to stop him from falling again. that’s when jungwon had enough.

“y/n” he called out, catching the attention of the both of you. you turned around holding the same smile you gave sunghoon.

“jungwon?”

“i’ll get going now, dad wants me back home” a pretend smile placed nicely on his lips for you to not suspect something was wrong with him.

“sure!” the corner of your eyes crinkled, you lifted up your hand to wave him off. he was incredibly thankful that you weren’t observant enough to catch his cheerful facade. “tell him my father wants to have dinner with him again too!”.

“i promise”

standing from his seat he lifted his hand to wave you off. the disappointment in his eyes becoming more visible when he realised that you had already turned around. the dejected frown on his face showing up when he caught a glimpse of the boy beside you, laughing and chatting with you with a wide grin. you too having the exact same grin.

you were always the same at school, a blank face while in class and during after school activities. your parents always told you that school was never the time to make friends or have fun, it was for preparing yourself in the future. they drilled into you that everything you did in school would only add to you in the future. if you were to ever fail or do anything that was the opposite of what you were meant to be doing, you would inevitably ruin your future. the unimaginable amount of pressure your parents had given you slowly turned you from crying silently at night in your room to dealing with it with a blank stare on your face.

the only thing that made everything the slightest bit bearable was jungwon, you met him during breaks and lunch and even walked with him to your after school programmes. the feeling of being isolated by your class could only be ignored when you were with him.

“i don’t get how you do it” you stared at him in admiration. jungwon was practicing his taekwondo as you watched him, it was a routine you had every morning before school started. the boy chuckled as he continues doing his warm up.

“says you, you’re number one in our school plus you skate pretty too. everyone would love to be you”.

“no! that’s different” a growing blush tinted your cheeks, the small compliment makes you shy due to the fact jungwon never compliments you. “i don’t get how you balance taekwondo, your social life and still get good grades? plus have a good relationship with your family”.

“oh” jungwon’s smile faltered at the mention your parents. he always has felt guilty knowing the fact he can’t do anything to help you besides distract you from your parent’s extreme expectations. “i don’t know, maybe i’m just lucky” he tries a joke to keep the mood up.

“so it’s luck?” your laugh giving enough confirmation to jungwon that you weren’t affected by his comment.

your phone ringing distracts you from the conversation you and jungwon were having, even scaring you a little in the process. the bright expression coming from your face made jungwon notice that it definitely wasn’t a call from any of your family members. letting himself breathe again with the positive mood in the air, he decides that he needs to stretch before testing out any moves.

“sunghoon!” suddenly maybe the mood wasn’t so positive for jungwon. you turned to jungwon mouthing it’s sunghoon! happily as he tried to share the same excitement you had. “no i’m not busy”, you looked over at jungwon sending him an apologetic look as you stood up from your seat. “i’ll just be outside jungwon!” you covered the microphone as you told him before quickly walking outside.

what was that about? jealousy was creeping up behind him even if he didn’t notice. he never wanted to feel possessive when it came to you. truthfully, he was waiting for this day. the day that someone saw past your shy personality disguised with a cold and blunt front and saw you. he couldn’t stop the lingering feeling in his stomach, he hated it. but who was he to think about your relationships with other people?

that’s when he remembered the smile on your face when you mentioned him, the glee in your voice and expression when you were around him. you two were even close enough to call each other out of nowhere? maybe that’s when it clicked in jungwon’s head, did you like sunghoon? you were entitled to like anyone you wanted to, it shouldn’t be jungwon’s problem if that person just so happened to be sunghoon.

but why did the thought bother jungwon so much?

from the way you were dressed people would think that you were attending some special dinner with the president. however, your prettily styled hair and your best outfit and shoes seemed to only be reserved for the yang family. there always seemed to be an unwritten rule between the two families that you had to go all out when visiting each other, however you and jungwon just suspected if it was just a way to show off all the newest jewellery and clothes subtly.

there you two were, standing by the side of your parents in the hallways of your house. the size of it was unimaginable, maybe even being the length of an average apartment in a middle class area. the hallways was adorned with expensive paintings and sculptures being used to write off taxes, a large rug that might of costed more than your high school tuition placed right in the middle of it all. it was visible proof that your family was disgustingly rich, just how your parents wanted it to look.

there wasn’t an answer to why the two families stood in the hallways to speak when you had an equally, if not larger living room a door away, the room also being adorned with expensive paintings with a large tv nobody in the house used. jungwon and you always had trouble staying serious while your parents spoke to one another. you two would usually mouth things to each other, not even understanding what was being said. the small grins you two held were enough that if one of you let out a laugh, the two of you would be on the ground laughing your heads off.

“the food’s ready” your cook interrupted your father’s reply to jungwon’s parents. your father sent him a small grin and a nod as he signalled everyone with a extended arm to the dining room.

the dining room gave a view to the kitchen, it was like a performance for everyone in the kitchen whenever you had guests over. your favourite activity to not bore yourself besides talking to jungwon, was watching your cook plate everything while your parents conversed about business or what type of wine they were having that night.

“steak again” jungwon joked quietly at your side. you two always sat beside each other, while the parents talked the whole night you two would try and not cause a huge mess. it usually ended up a mess, remembering the time you two dropped roast potatoes all over the ground in an attempt to entertain to each other. now when you two are finished eating you are excused to go back to your room where you two can actually talk.

“be thankful it isn’t salmon” you giggled quietly. the memory of jungwon’s parents scolding him at the dinner table for not eating his salmon reappears back into your heads, the thought of it making you laugh a little louder than you were. “sorry” you politely said, noticing the silent glare your father had sent you for making a ruckus at the dinner table.

“i would of answered properly if you weren’t laughing silently about it in the corner of my eye” the main reason why the memory was so funny for the two of you was the fact that the reason he was scolded was due to the fact he couldn’t even attempt to pick up the piece of fish without you two laughing. you two were incredibly easy to make laugh as there is nothing more entertaining than your best friend doing absolutely nothing.

in the corner of your eye you noticed your father staring at you and jungwon, while at the same time participating in the conversation the adults were having. it was unsettling, knowing that in the next five or so minutes he’d ask you a question regarding anything to seem like his family is better than anything the yangs do.

“y/n” an automatic faux smile was placed on your lips when you heard his voice. placing down your cutlery before turning to him you captured the sickly sweet smile on your parents smiles, a sign they were trying to milk your achievements out one by one.

“yes father” the pitch in your voice going a little higher than what jungwon usually hears, but was used to it due to the many times he’s heard you talk to your parents.

“we were just talking about the fact that you’re starting out figure skating!” the tone in your fathers sudden cheery voice was so obviously fake to you, he never liked the fact you took precious time off to practice figure skating rather than studying to get into a seoul university.

“i am” you turned to the yang parents with the innocent well put child facade. “i started six months ago, my trainer told me that i was improving at a great speed!”.

“how beautiful” jungwon’s mom commented, “i’m sure jungwon’s watched you skate before, right sweetheart?”.

“they’re very graceful on the ice mom” the flattery turned your cheeks a soft rose colour. you turned to him to give a thankful smile, not noticing the growing red on the boy’s ears.

you turned around to glance back once again at your father, the look of his smug grin made you want to get up and leave. you hated feeling like just a trophy to show off to others, you longed for the feeling of being praised for the person you were.

“i’m sure jungwon’s doing excellent in school” your mother continued, looks like they’re about to hit them where it hurts.

“not as well as your daughter i’m afraid” a bitter smile was obviously placed on his father’s face, teeth gritting as he let it out. “jungwon’s told us quite a lot about y/n’s rank in school, number one right? a terrific achievement”.

“yes, it’s a shame that jungwon can’t seem to reach the same” jungwon’s mother continued. your father took a sip from his glass of wine. what was it and using your children as weapons to bring down one another? in the corner of your eye you could tell jungwon didn’t feel comfortable with any of this at all, he stiffened his body as you chewed slowly on his steak.

“he’ll get there some day” your mother was simply just adding fuel to the fire, it made you feel terrible for your best friend. you looked over to see the boy’s blank stare, the small frown on his face made it seem that it was almost begging you to go comfort him.

“can jungwon and i be excused?” you knew that you two needed to get out of there immediately, you weren’t going to let your parents excuse any of this. “i feel a bit queasy from the steak, jungwon can keep me company”.

“do what you wish dear” your father let out quite bitterly. you bowed in response before standing up, placing your hand on jungwon’s hand. you shook it a little as a way to signal him that you two were about to leave.

the oh he let out was all you needed to know that jungwon was going to follow you up to your room. you watched as he bowed for everyone in the room, before silently following you as you gripped onto his hand. the mood you two were letting out was unreadable, was he thankful for you? or was he completely and utterly embarrassed at the fact you did that.

“thank you” he whispered behind you, the warmth in his hand was all you needed to feel the comfort you were longing for at the dinner table.

“don’t sweat it jungwon” a smile forming on your face as you turned towards him. “it was suffocating being in there anyways”. he laughed to himself, understanding what you were saying as you dragged him forwards once you reached your room.

your room was unnecessary big, like every other room in your house. your bed was double the size you actually needed and you had a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. your ceiling also had hand painted flowers decorating it, simply adding to the beautiful chandelier. there wasn’t any expensive paintings or rugs in your room however, just a large vanity as well as a desk and a huge bookshelf with every book imaginable. you also had framed pictures of you and jungwon as children dotted around your room.

“look” jungwon picked up a picture of you two when you were in first grade. you were crying while jungwon was right beside you laughing, beneath you two was a broken sandcastle who you could distinctly tell who it belonged to. “i was so evil as a kid”.

“tell me about it” you looked at the picture in admiration. “i swore to myself that day i would hate you for a million million trillion hundred years” a chuckle left your mouth at the loving memory. memories with jungwon always left you happy, even the ones that weren’t as nice to experience firsthand.

“and this one” he picked up another picture. this time it was you and him maybe around three years ago at your family’s lake house. “you ignored me for the rest of the trip after i did this”. the two of you were on the balcony as he lifted you from the legs up, the scared look in your eyes made it obvious that the whole thing was a surprise. you were fond of that memory, you realised something that day about jungwon you never realised before. the thought of dating your best friend popped up in your head for the first time when that picture was taken. the thought horrified you so much that you ignored him for days on end after, making up the excuse that you were mad at him for scaring you that.

“look at my face oh god” the pink tint coming back to your cheeks remembering the story behind that picture. “that day i started—”. you shut yourself up quicker than expected.

“started what?” jungwon looked at you confused. you start curse yourself in your head for your mistake.

never in your many years of friendship could of prepared you for this. the you three years ago was exactly the same, except the fact that three years ago you found out you had feelings for jungwon and now you were about to accidentally spill the beans about those exact same feelings.

“it’s nothing” you shook your head dismissively . trying to distract yourself, you looked at the corner of your eye and noticed a picture of you two at your middle school graduation. your features softened at the happy grins on your faces, both holding a pretty bouquet of flowers the two of you gave each other. “i love this day so much, look we’re so happy”.

“our graduation?” jungwon moved closer to you to get a good look of the photo. “we look so cute”.

turning around to jungwon with a grin of being reminded of the special, you stopped abruptly. noticing how close he was you stepped back quickly, in a quite panicked manner. his eyes widened noticing your frantic moves, unsure why his stomach was churning at your panicked face.

“sorry” you play with the hem of your sleeve, embarrassed at the fact you were so close to him. you feel you face heating up and you weren’t so sure if you were blushing at the fact his face was almost touching yours or embarrassed by the way you staggered away from him. “you were really close to me”.

“sorry did it make you uncomfortable?” jungwon asked you with a concern expression on his face. you couldn’t tell him the reason you were so panicked was because your crush was so close to you. “i’ll be more careful next time”.

“no! you’re fine” a reassuring smile spread across your face in an attempt to calm him down.

the awkwardness following that incident was undeniable. you sat on your bed unsure what to say to make conversation with him, the problem was that you two usually had a lot to say. the situation right now was not how the two of you usually acted, the voices in your head silently yelling at you for being dramatic at the fact jungwon was so close to you.

jungwon on the other hand couldn’t stop replaying the image of you being so close to him. an unfamiliar feeling kept reappearing in his stomach, he’s never looked at you in this way ever. maybe the feeling sunghoon gave him was similar but at the same, it was far different.

“i don’t think— be careful” in rich kids fashion, jungwon was playing tennis with his equally as rich friend ni-ki, a transfer student in his class studying in korea until he graduates from a seoul university. a big emphasis on seoul due to the fact every rich child in korea have parents almost begging them to get into a seoul university or an ivy league.

the ball accidentally almost hitting jungwon rolls behind the boy, he could feel the exhaustion finally catching up on him from the non-stop moving he had done. he holds a hand up with a drained expression signalling his friend that he was done for maybe another thirty minutes or so.

“as i was saying...” ni-ki walked towards the tired boy holding out a water bottle. he quickly grabbed the drink from him before taking a large gulp, wiping off the excess water from the sides of his mouth. “hey! don’t drink all of that”.

“sorry” an exasperated gasp escaped jungwon’s mouth as he tried to catch up with his breathing. “carry on”.

“i don’t think you have the right to be jealous on who y/n likes” ni-ki takes a sip from the water bottle he took back. “isn’t kinda weird too? that you’re jealous about all of this”.

“i’m not jealous” he corrected him. “i don’t know, that sunghoon guy gives me a bad feeling”.

“that’s definitely jealousy” ni-ki let out a laugh looking at him. jungwon sent him a scowl before taking back the bottle from him. “anyways i thought you always had a thing for them” he starts to say as jungwon takes yet another sip, the boy looks at him in a confused way before pulling the bottle away from his lips.

“what are you trying to say ni-ki?”

“what i’m saying is that you can never go a day without mentioning y/n” he raised his eyebrow to try and convince him further. “plus you look at them with hearts in your eyes, and the fact you’re so bummed out about this sunghoon thing just confirms my suspicions”.

“i’m not following” jungwon looks back at ni-ki with a blank stare. the younger rolls his eyes before lightly hitting him on the shoulder. “no, seriously”. the boy sent him a glare before sighing.

“are you genuinely this oblivious or you just don’t want to tell me you like y/n?”.

“what do you mean like?” the word like seemed so unfamiliar to him at that moment. of course he liked you, you were his best friend. although from how ni-ki was speaking, he understood that he wasn’t talking about the best friend sort of like.

“you romantically like them” ni-ki said it casually, “here, i’ll ask you a question and you, silently, in your mind answer it. i want you to do it silently so you can have a realisation of some sort”.

“what do we need questions for—” he was quickly shut off by ni-ki’s shhhh as he continued his conversation. rolling his eyes at his friends antics, he quickly shuts up before listening to what he was trying to say.

“do you think about y/n when they aren’t around?”

yes? isn’t this normal though

“do you miss them when you aren’t with them?”

yes? again, isn’t this a normal thing?

“do you get happy when they achieve things? like you want to hug them or like... that thing people do why they lift someone up and spin them around”

yes?

“do you get jealous when other people get more attention than you?”

yes...?

“when you see them do you get butterflies?”

sometimes, i do definitely get nervous though

“i feel like all of those should more or less answer your question on if you like y/n or not” ni-ki finished off his short quiz. jungwon gave him a puzzled look, he thought everything he had mentioned was a normal thing that every feels with their best friend.

“aren’t these just normal things?”

“i mean they’re just the basics jungwon” he started out saying, “everyone’s different when they have a crush”.

“so that could mean i have a crush on you?” the joking smile placed on jungwon’s lips only made ni-ki roll his eyes at the corny joke.

“i’m flattered honestly but i’m sadly not y/n”

the sunset was a pretty shade of pink and orange, it made you feel light and at a sense of peace watching it. the thought of taking a picture suddenly appeared in your head, quickly reaching for your phone in a frantic action before the sky changes in colour. you felt embarrassed at the fact you were standing at the end of the sidewalk patting the sides of your coat in an attempt to find your phone, a confused expression spread across your face.

“aha!” you felt a familiar shape in the back pocket of your jeans. lifting up the object, you felt it slipping slightly. your eyes widened noticing a small thud behind you on the ground. turning around to reach your phone in hopes it wasn’t broken in any way, you noticed a familiar figure hovering above you holding out your phone in his hands.

“you dropped this” a playful tone rolled off sunghoon’s tongue. you happily take it off his hands before looking back up at him.

“sunghoon!” you beamed gleefully at him, “i thought you went home already?”.

“no” he rubbed the back of his neck, “i missed my bus so i had to wait here for a while. turns out there was an accident twenty minutes away so everything’s delayed”.

“oh no” you frowned at his words. your brain scanned through all the possibilities you could do to help the boy, your eyes lit up having the realisation on the perfect solution. “do you wanna walk with me? where do you live? i can just tell my friend that he doesn’t need to pick me up”.

“no no it’s fine y/n” sunghoon waves his hands dismissively. “you don’t have to do that, plus i bet you’d rather walk with your friend”.

“don’t be silly” you chuckle as you unlocked your phone, pressing jungwon’s contact you typed in many apologies telling him that you can’t walk with him since you’re walking with sunghoon. “i already told him”. your phone lights up again, a notification showing a reply from jungwon saying a simple okay.

“he doesn’t seem very happy” sunghoon stares at the notification. he looks back at you with seriousness in his eyes, “isn’t this the jungwon you and i were talking about?”.

“well yeah” you avoided eye contact with him, embarrassed that you were probably about to get scolded. not only does sunghoon help you with training but he also helps you in your love life. you two have probably talked more about jungwon than actual figure skating, sunghoon always sighing at you for once again not being able to tell him your feelings. “he’s been like that ever since last week, i thought this was normal. don’t boys also have puberty mood swings?”.

“what happened last week?” you two started to walk towards your destinations. sunghoon luckily lived quite near your house, well if you count just twenty minutes away from the gate of your gated community. you two have walked home together before, the action usually having a romantic undertone but you two never felt that way. you always have seen sunghoon as a friend, understanding that he’s never really given you the same feeling jungwon does. it goes the same for him, he sees you more as a younger sibling than anything.

“well, he started acting a little weird when you called me that morning”

“the morning i asked you how you and jungwon were doing?” sunghoon raises an eyebrow.

“yeah” you nod, confirming his guess. you let out a sigh before moving on to your next point, “and you know when i told you about that thing that happened when his face was really close to mine?”.

“the one where it was really awkward?”

“you didn’t need to mention it was awkward” you shiver in embarrassment remembering that night. “and yeah, after that he wasn’t really the same. plus do you know the weirdest part?”.

“what happened” sunghoon chuckled at your embarrassed pout silently to himself. you turned to him with your eyes wide and hands in the air about to animate your following words.

“his friend messaged me, his friend! the transfer student nishimura riki” your nose scrunched in confusion and frustration. your arms too also expressing your frustration. “his message was so weird too!”.

“what did it say?”

“i know who likes you” your frustrated expression was even more prominent. “it was so childish! i even replied with a question mark and he just sent me a sticker of a cartoon animal giggling!”.

“maybe he does know who likes you” sunghoon raises an eyebrow.

“he wouldn’t, nobody likes me” you frown at your own words. “he’s probably just messing with me like everyone else at school”. sunghoon stops in his tracks when he realised your miserable mood.

“hey—” sunghoon bent down a little to get a look at your face. “what’s wrong?”.

“it’s— it’s silly” you wipe your tears away. you weren’t expecting yourself to cry on an evening like this, especially not on the day you were walking home with sunghoon on.

“no y/n it’s okay” sunghoon looked around the area to see if there was anywhere to sit down at. noticing a bench near the two of you, he held onto your wrist bringing you to sit on it. “you can tell me anything y/n, i hope you know this”.

“i know” you sniffled, sadly smiling at the situation at that moment. “it’s just that i’m so tired of everything. jungwon acting weird with me was just the tip of the iceberg. i can’t help but think if i did anything to make him act like this”. sunghoon listened in silence, nodding at your words as he watched you in pity while tears streamed down your face.

“the fact that my classmates still ostracise me even though i try so hard to get to know them hurts so much. even though my parents tell me school isn’t for making friends, i desperately want to. i mean jungwon was there to help but like what i said before, he’s being really distant” the pace of your tears slowing down. “plus what his friend said didn’t help, it just felt like i was just the pit of a joke i wasn’t even aware of”.

“y/n i don’t know if i should say this but i think jungwon really—”

“y/n?” a familiar voice cut off sunghoon’s words. “are you okay? why are you crying?” you look behind sunghoon and realised it was jungwon saying all those things. you watched as his concerned expression warped into a furious one, his focus on sunghoon’s hand still on your wrist. you felt your eyes widen as you quickly shook off his grasp, standing up from the bench as you wipe the excess tears on your face.

“what did he do to you?” his words directed at you but his glaring eyes didn’t leave sunghoon. the realisation that jungwon misunderstood the whole situation dawned over you. taking a step forward you tried to open your mouth in an attempt to calm him down, only to be stopped by sunghoon who had his arm extended out, blocking your path to jungwon.

“i didn’t do anything” sunghoon explained calmly. he turned to you before looking back at the enraged boy. “i understand why would think that but honestly, it’s you two who need to have a talk, a long talk” he chuckles silently to himself before standing up.

“i wasn’t done talking to you—”

sunghoon gave him a smile before patting his shoulder, “just listen to what they have to say”. you watched as he waved you two off as made his way home. you stared at sunghoon’s walking figure in shock, not sure if you were entirely thankful he left you with an angry jungwon.

“did he do something to you y/n?” he made his way to you in a panic, his eyes scanning you to see if there was anything wrong with you. “i swear to god, i knew there was something wrong with him” he tried to look at your face, your head facing the ground blocking his view. “hey, look at me” his voice softening as he tried once again to get your attention.

“i’m sorry” tears welled up in your eyes again as you made eye contact with him. you couldn’t understand why you were crying, maybe it was all the emotions building up to this moment. even so, you were incredibly happy that jungwon was so concerned and even came to look for you. “sunghoon didn’t do anything, i was just venting to him”.

“y/n... did something happen?” his worried eyes looking hard into yours.

you played with you fingers as you tried to think hard on what to say next, is this the right time? i mean, in all honesty you had nothing to lose. in fact it was the perfect moment to confess your feelings, well after you explain everything to him.

“no” you sniffled, wiping away more tears you turned to him with a small smile. “let’s get home, shall we?”. he looked at you with bothered feeling, noticing it you frowned. “maybe i should tell you” you quietly let out, a silent chuckle following it.

“please tell me why you were crying y/n” his soft voice had hints of distressed tones in it, he was so visibly concerned about you. it’s possible that’s when you were reminded why you love jungwon, he cared about you so much that it felt like he could do anything for you. you gulp before opening your mouth, instantly closing it when words couldn’t come out. “hey... y/n?”.

“i can’t explain” that’s when you opted out of telling him how you felt. you thought that he already cared about you as a best friend, if he didn’t like you back. it was break down everything you had. you sigh before facing him once again. “we should really get going—”

“when— when you sent me that message, telling me you didn’t need me to walk you home because of sunghoon, it made me so upset and mad” he laughed to himself, the stutter in his words making him realise how nervous he was. you jump a little in shock when you realised his hand found its way to yours. the warmth of it soothed you, a pink tinge finding its way to your cheeks, an occurrence that always seems to happen whenever you were with jungwon.

“i stayed home sulking about it, messaged ni-ki about it and he was so mad at me” his eyes looked sincere, the pink tinge suddenly growing into a red one. “he told me if i didn’t, and i quote, get my ass there and walk you myself, he’d tackle me onto the ground”.

“i don’t get why you’re telling me this—”

“so i did” he continued, not stopping to explain anything to you but his own story. “i got up from bed and started travelling on the street you usually walked home on. i don’t know what i was expecting, but seeing you cry on that bench with that sunghoon guy beside you made me incredibly upset. i thought he did something to you! i can tell that i misread that completely”.

“jungwon” you speak up. you had no idea why he was reciting any of this, what was this even leading up to? a grin lights up on his face, the feeling his hand squeeze yours lovingly confusing you even more. “please tell me what your telling me-”

“i like you y/n” a sudden serious tone appearing. “not even like, i’m probably in love with you”. the shocked look on your face made him laugh endearingly, he pulled your hand lightly to bring you closer to him. “i mean it, honestly. it took three days of me thinking about what ni-ki had told me to even realise it”.

“so he wasn’t lying” you let out, still not recovering from the shock. you slowly move your head up to catch a glimpse of jungwon’s face, who quite literally snapped you back into reality. “wait, you like me really?”.

“yes!” he laughed as he pulled you into a hug, sending butterflies to your stomach. “why? do you not like me back?”.

“no!” you look at him in surprise. “wait! i do like you, it might be love too. i figured it out three years ago, when we were at my lake house”.

“three years ago?” the surprised look on his face slowly morphed into an endeared one once he caught you looking up at him with a cheesy smile. “you win with that one i guess”. the smiles on you both of your faces didn’t seem to falter while looking into each other’s eyes, the warm-cold breeze and the lightly tinted pink on both your cheeks adding to the scene.

“are we dating now?” he jokes as he takes out leaf from your hair.

“when did that get there” you place your hand on the spot the leaf was on. laughing it off, you look back up at him. the feeling of you in his arms still made your stomach flip, in a good way of course. “and yes, i suppose so?”.

“so now i can tell my parents i’m dating the smartest person in the country, as well as the prettiest?” he squeezes you tighter in a loving hug.

“so you’re just with me for my brains and looks?” sarcasm dripping from your words as you let out a loud laugh. “i’m kidding jungwon, yes you can tell them if you want to”.

“what are you gonna tell your parents?” a curious grin placed on his face.

“i’m dating my three year long crush”.

“as if they’d believe i’d be their precious child’s crush” he laughed as he loosened the grip on you. holding out his hand, you realised quickly that he wants you to hold it. “let’s get you back home before your parents send the police to look for you”.

“sure” you take his hand as you two walked down the street. both your sides looking as if you two were glued together from how the space was closed between the two of you, leaving no gap in between.

you always dreamt about your high school love story, even with your hectic schedule crushing you down everyday.

what you never expected was that your best friend was the start of it all.

[hazzasgayvodka]

Panty Thief - Harry Styles

So this is kind of a trial run for this fic, I’m inclined to make this a series but I’m not sure how the response to it will be. I have lots of ideas for more parts to this but only if it’s what the people want haha. Here is my belated Valentine’s Day gift to all you lovelies I hope you enjoy this heavy daddy kink/dom harry fic I’ve been working on for ages!

p.s. everyone say thank you Nathan for giving me lots of smut inspiration this is literally based on him sorta 

pairing: daddy!harry x oc

warning: sexual content, smut, daddy kink/dom vibes so if you’re not here for that this is not for you

word count: 5k

In which Harry is a new student at Harley’s university and he seems to just keep popping up everywhere. The tension between them is palpable and she can’t get away from him, especially when he happens to knock on her door with a pair of her favorite red lace panties she left in the laundromat dangling from his finger. 

I roll my eyes as the lady in front of me in line takes out yet another handful of coupons from her purse at the checkout counter. The cashier looks almost as annoyed as I am, but still sporting a smile despite the absolute exasperation rampant in her eyes. She takes the handful of coupons and starts scanning them begrudgingly as the woman digs around in her purse for anymore and I hardly even notice my foot tapping as my eyes instinctively roll once again. I just came to get toilet roll, ice cream, and a bottle of prosecco and the universe decides today is the day coupon Karen ends up at the checkout line five minutes before I do.

“I like your hair.” A voice speaks up behind me.

I know they must be talking to me, I don’t believe any other boring college blonde in this line warrants a compliment like that but the bright purple curls I sport tend to elicit quite the reaction from bystanders, especially the uninteresting conservatives of Publix.

“How do you uh, get it that color?”

I finally turn my head over my shoulder to face the voice, a tall guy with tousled brown hair and quite the shit eating grin on his face. He’s obviously very pleased with himself finally getting me to turn around but I can’t be bothered to entertain this excited puppy of a man with more than a word.

“Dye.”

I’ve barely even gotten the word out of my mouth before I turn back to face the cashier with an uninterested eyeroll. He scoffs behind me, clearly not giving up that easily.

“Wow,” He chuckles, “At least you’re straightforward.”

I turn back around without thinking to face him once again, “Hair dye, idiot.”

“Oh, well I could have guessed that much.”

I turn away from him again just as coupon lady finally pushes her rattling cart towards the exit doors and the cashier gestures for me to come up to the checkout. I drop my basket on the conveyor belt with a thud and she rings it up quickly, sensing my impatience and clearly wanting to get me the hell out of here as quickly as she can. I pay and grab my bags to head for the door and just before I’m home free the voice is suddenly behind me yet again.

“So, are you really not going to tell me?” He asks, catching up to me outside, “It’s going to keep me up tonight, I’m waiting with bated breath over here.”

“Tell you what exactly?” I huff, finally turning to face him.

“How you get your hair that color, of course.”

I roll my eyes, surely, he’s not keeping this bit up for the sake of hitting on me in the fucking supermarket, “Do you want something from me?”

He chuckles a bit, and I’m glad to see my utter frustration is amusing to him, “I mean,” He starts, rubbing the back of his neck, “Maybe your name would be cool.”

“No thanks.”

“Well, I’m Harry-“

I turn and walk away before he’s barely got the sentence out of his mouth. What was he even in line to buy? He wasn’t carrying any bags.

Mental note: always wear headphones to the grocery store.

 ***

“You’re late.”

I collapse in the seat next to my friend Danielle with a huff. She gives me a certain look that says something like you’ve been late the past three times too, but honestly at this point she should know to expect it.

“I’m always late,” I groan, attempting to lean back in the incredibly uncomfortable library chair, “So, why are we at the library?”

“We have a math test tomorrow, or did you forget about that?” She asks, scolding me over the top of her math book.

“Of course I remembered,” I say sarcastically, “Math is my absolute favorite subject how could I ever forget we had a test?”

She rolls her eyes, turning her book to the right page to start taking notes and I try my best to follow along, “So do you have a legitimate reason for the lateness or just regular Harley excuses?”

“Actually, I do,” I say matter-of-factly, sitting back up straight in my chair, “There was a freak at the grocery store, dude would not leave me alone.”

“What was he doing?” She asks, suddenly interested.

“Just talking? I guess? He like wanted to have a whole conversation waiting to check out.”

“So, a nice guy just struck up some conversation with you at the store and that’s a bad thing?”

“Yes,” I huff, closing the book once again, “I was just there to get groceries I didn’t need the extra human interaction.”

She opens her mouth to reply but she’s cut off as a group of guys walk in the front door of the library talking at full volume. I can feel almost every person in the room turn in the direction of the loud noise at the front and suddenly my eyes land on him. There’s no fucking way.

“Dani,” I whisper, sliding down in my seat so I can go unseen, “Dani that’s the guy, the guy from earlier.”

“What?” She whispers harshly, trying not to stare as the boys get scolded by the librarian at the front, “You mean grocery store guy?”

“Yes!” I huff, electing to sit in my chair backwards so my back is to him.

“No way Harley, it just looks like him-”

“No Dani, it’s him,” I whisper, “Tall one with the curly hair in the black hoodie.”

“That’s him?” She asks, “You had a problem with that talking to you?”

“Shh!” I huff, “God he’s going to hear you, are they still at the front?”

“They um, yeah,” She stutters, her eyes diverting to her book again, “They’re still up there, at a table now.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask, sensing the discomfort in her voice and turning around myself.

My eyes immediately lock onto his and I look away quickly, shielding my face from him with my hand and turning back towards Danielle.

“He’s staring right at you.” She says, trying not to be too obvious.

“Yep.”

“Are you gonna go over there?”

“Why would I do that exactly?” I ask, my eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Because a hot boy is staring you down across the fucking library!” She whispers harshly, reaching over to smack me in the arm.

“More like a fucking psychopa-”

“Hey there,” I hear his voice cut in and my whole body cringes in on itself without my volition, “Fancy meeting you here.”

I turn around in my chair, forcing myself to face him while my whole face heats and I’m sure I’m the color of a rather ripe tomato. Something about the way he says hey there in that fucking accent makes my entire body tense up.

“Hey there,” I mimic, “Long time no see.”

I feel Danielle’s eyes on me as the words come out of my mouth, her gaze flickering between the two of us and watching the horrifically awkward exchange play out in front of her.

He laughs, electing to lean on the table, “What are you doing after this?”

“She’s doing absolutely nothing.” Danielle answers for me and I kick her under the table, making her wince.

“Glad to hear it,” He grins, his eyes zeroing in on me once again.

“I’m very busy actually,” I cut in, closing my textbook and throwing it in my bag, “We both are, but um, I’ll see you around.”

Danielle is looking at me with eyes the size of dinner plates as she frantically packs up her stuff, shoving it in her bag to follow suit. I stand up from my chair, slinging my bag over my shoulder and he rounds the table to stand right in front of me, the only thing between me and the front door.

“Can I at least get your name?” He asks, his voice incredibly deep clearly for only me to hear.

“Harley,” I quip, side stepping around him, “See you later uh, Harold is it?”

He gives me a very particular look as I walk away from him, taking steps backward and relishing in the smirk on his face. He knows what I’m doing. I feel Dani’s hand grab my arm and I finally turn around to face the door, walking through it, but even as I’m outside and carrying my feet down the steps I feel his eyes on me, drilling into the back of my head.

“The hell was that?” Danielle asks, “He was so cute and you just, you just blow it like that?”

“Harmless flirting.”

“You call that flirting?”

“Oh Dani,” I sigh, taking out a cigarette and lighting it between my lips, “I call that winning.”

 ***

I’m woken up with a start when I hear the loud roar of music start from Dani’s room. She always blasts music in the morning while getting ready for class. I look over my shoulder to check the time, at least she waited until 10 to start with the noise. My head is pounding ever so slightly, and I realize why when my eyes land on the empty bottle of pink Moscato on my bedside table.

I drag myself out of bed and into the tiny common space between our two rooms, “Good morning sleeping beauty,” Danielle teases, “I noticed the bottle of wine went missing from the fridge.”

“That’s bizarre,” I joke, “Must be a wine thief in the dorms. I’ll get on that mystery right away.”

She shakes her head at me, rolling her eyes as I grab my basket of laundry from my room. I slide on a pair of slippers electing to go put it in the wash, so I hopefully have a single clean pair of jeans for class tonight. I call to Dani letting her know I’ll be right back and as soon as I open the door to the hall I’m staring at him.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” I groan.

He stops dead in his tracks, taking a glance over his shoulder to see me standing in my doorway. He’s dressed in only a towel, holding it closed while it hangs low on his hips. His hair is wet, clearly making his way back to his room from the showers and his chest and arms are rippling with muscles under his damp skin.

God those arms could crush me like a grape.

“Morning neighbor,” He grins, clearly getting a kick out of this, “Someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?”

“You’re in this building?”

“You bet, room 7C down the hall.”

“Well, neighbor, for future reference, most people in this building take their clothes to the shower with them.”

“You Americans,” He chuckles, starting to walk away from my doorway, “So prude, have a nice day Harley.”

He disappears down the hall and then behind his door and my mind gets to work on picturing what he looks like without the towel. You can nearly feel the tension between us in the air, it was palpable. I could even feel his eyes on me, looking me up and down and lingering on my lips. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to clear my head as I take a deep breath and start on my way to the laundry room downstairs.

I put a load in the wash, briefly tuning into the dramatic soap playing on the tiny TV hung on the wall. I decide to head back to my now empty room since Danielle left for class and end up wasting most of my day away on a bad Netflix original movie, only pausing half way through to go move my clothes to the dryer.

I order a pizza for dinner before my night class and go back downstairs to grab my laundry out of the dryer. Just as I’m opening the dryer and emptying my clothes back into my basket I get a text that the pizza guy is downstairs waiting for me.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I huff under my breath, quickly shoving all my clothes in my basket and slamming the dryer shut behind me.

I rush back to my dorm, chucking the basket of clean clothes inside before heading to the stairwell and nearly sprinting down them to get to the ground floor. I meet the rather impatient pizza guy downstairs before bringing the food back up to my room. I’ve just barely finished the first slice half way through a Criminal Minds episode when there’s a knock at the door. I groan, dragging myself from the couch and tossing the blanket off.

I open the door, rolling my eyes, “Dani, you have got to start remembering your key when you-” I’m cut off as I come face to face with him rather than Dani, “Oh, um, hi?”

“Hi,” He repeats, now dressed in a pair of grey joggers and a plain black t-shirt, “I believe you dropped something in the laundry room earlier.”

He reveals his arm from behind his back, holding out his hand with my bright red lacy thong dangling from his pointer finger. I can feel my entire face heat to match the shade of my panties, but I won’t let him get the satisfaction. I go to snatch them from his hand, but he stops me, gripping them in his fist instead and using them as leverage to pull me a bit closer to him.

“Probably want to be a bit more careful where you leave your panties lying around, darling,” He smirks, “Unless you want to leave them on my bedroom floor of course.”

It’s the final straw, those few words spoken in his deliciously deep voice absolutely dripping with that amazing accented tone, on top of the way he’s dressed, every muscle visible beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. I don’t know what I’m doing until I’m pulling him to me by my own grip on the lacy underwear between us, my mouth meeting his and his teeth instantly biting my bottom lip between them.

“Yours or mine?” He breathes out, pulling away from me just long enough to get the words out.

“Where’s your roommate?” I ask breathlessly.

“Vacation,” He says, “Till Wednesday.”

“Yours,” I laugh, pressing my lips back to his, “Definitely yours.”

He walks me backwards down the hall to his dorm room, shoving me up against the wall as he unlocks the door, his lips working down my neck. As soon as the door is open he walks me through it, bending down to grab the backs of my thighs and hoisting me into the air. He kicks the door closed with his foot and I laugh against his mouth as he carries me past his bedroom doorway, slamming that behind us as well.

He lays me out on the bed, nearly tossing me right on top of the mattress, my lacy red underwear still gripped in his hand.

“Any chance you got something this cute under there?” He chuckles, holding them up in both hands to really show them off.

“Why don’t you come find out?” I tease.

He rolls his eyes, finally kneeling onto the edge of the bed and crawling over to me. He starts to lean over me, but I shove his shoulder, forcing him to lay against the mattress before swinging my leg over him. I can feel him underneath me immediately and it makes my legs clench together on either side of him.

“Hi,” I breathe, planting my hands on his chest and meeting his eyes.

“Hi,” He repeats back to me, that bright smile of his making my stomach flip, “You gonna come down here or...?”

“Oh, shut up,” I laugh finally leaning down and connecting our lips once again.

His lips are ridiculously soft against mine while the feeling of his muscles under his t-shirt are quite the opposite. He reaches up to cup my face with both hands, trying to somehow pull me closer as if we aren’t close enough as it is. I can’t figure out exactly where I want to put my hands; his shoulders, his biceps, god, in that amazing curly hair.

My hips start to move against him without my volition and he groans into my mouth, a deliciously deep reverberation that makes me grind my hips into him even more. He grunts against my lips, finally pulling away and resting his forehead against mine instead, breathing heavily.

“You alright there tiger?” I tease him, threading my fingers through his hair, “Need a breather already?”

“Shut your mouth,” He chuckles, grabbing me around the waist and trying to flip us over so he’s on top.

He greatly underestimates the size of his twin dorm bed when he does so, both of us rolling off the edge and tumbling to the shag carpeted floor beneath us. I expect the mood to be ruined, for him to get up and usher me right out the door because how awkward is this, right? I’m beyond surprised when he starts laughing, both of us splayed flat on our backs and heaves out a sigh as he rolls over to face me again.

“That was pretty smooth of me, eh?” He jokes, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, chuckling too, “No I’m okay, just gonna have a massive bruise on my ass most likely.”

He laughs again, finally pulling himself to his feet and offering me a hand to help me up. I’m not sure what I expect past that, maybe a hug to send me on my way now that the atmosphere has completely changed but that tension is still between us, the same tension that’s been building since the moment he said a single word in the supermarket.

The second I’m back on my feet he shoves me onto the bed and I can’t even begin to hide the shock in my features. He’s back on top of me in seconds, his lips pressed to mine and I’m sure the surprised whimper that leaves my mouth fuels his ego to the gods.

“You alright there tiger?” He mocks, and I resist the urge to reach up and slap him.

“Careful.” I quip, pulling away from him to meet his eyes.

“Careful?” He asks, quirking up his eyebrow at me, “I’m sorry are you telling me what to do sweetheart?”

I gulp, the smooth but stern voice he’s using making my thighs quiver. He seems to notice, his eyes darting down between us and a small chuckle escaping his lips. He looks back up at me, his eyes dark and brooding, before they flicker to my hands at my sides. He grabs my left wrist roughly, holding it above my head against the mattress before doing the same to my right arm as well. I’m nearly squirming underneath him, my entire body steaming to the touch as his eyes bore into mine.

“Something wrong, love?” He asks, the condescending tone to his voice making my whole body shake.

“Course not,” I pant, my breath coming out heavier than I anticipated, “Just fuckin peachy over here.”

He chuckles a bit, his grip on my wrists growing tighter, “You’re not very patient, you know that?”

I’m not sure what it is that’s making me writhe the way I am; perhaps it’s the countless months I’ve gone without sex since my last messy breakup, or maybe it’s the way in which this all panned out with a stranger over some fucking underwear, or fuck, maybe it’s just him and the way that cocky smirk on his face makes my insides twist.

“Patience is a virtue,” I say carefully, making sure to keep my tone even, “I’m more about vices.”

His left hand releases my wrist and I prepare myself for his hand reaching where I need him most, sucking in a breath between my teeth and letting my eyes flutter closed but it never comes. My eyes peel back open to see his hand hovering over my neck instead. He meets my eyes before his fingers finally grace the skin of my throat, applying just the slightest bit of pressure almost as if to test the waters.

I’m nearly dizzy as he does so, the temperature in this room suddenly a million degrees. He removes his hand again, the pressure around my throat leaving me and I whimper in distaste, making him chuckle again.

“Poor thing,” He chastises, my legs clenching together on either side of him, “I can’t do it all though, if only there was a way I could hold down both your wrists and choke that pretty neck.”

I watch his hand dig into the pocket of his joggers and once again pull out the thin red lacy fabric of my panties, holding them between us.

“Mind if I use these?” He asks, clearly knowing the answer but wanting to get a reaction out of me anyways.

“Yes, god,” I gulp, “Please.”

He grabs my hands, moving them completely above my head before wrapping the panties around them a few times, tying them together. He tugs on them a bit to make sure they’re pretty secure before looking back down at me, his eyes completely blown out in lust, his pupil swallowing his surrounding iris.

His lips are back on mine in seconds, his now free hands roaming my body before one hand rests on my neck, gripping the sides and applying a bit more pressure than the last time. I whimper into this mouth and curse myself for doing so as soon as my eyes flutter open to see that cocky smirk on his face once again.

“Eager, sweetheart?” He teases, and my hand reaches up to smack him before I remember I’m bound in a pair of my own underwear, “Ah, ah, be a good girl and stay still.”

Hearing the words good girl come out of his mouth makes my entire body squirm and he grins again, that lopsided condescending grin and I know he’s getting off on this, making me writhe underneath him. He leans down to kiss my stomach, hiking my shirt up as he goes before working his way down and tugging my pants down my legs. I hold my breath in anticipation but when I look down the bed to meet his eyes he simply kisses the inside of my thighs, ghosting his mouth over the thin fabric of my panties.

“Fucking please,” I beg, my breath coming out in heaves, “Is this some kind of joke to you?”

“Please what, princess?” He asks, my legs threatening to squeeze his head between them, “Tell me what you want, hm?”

“You cocky bastard,” I huff, my mind getting fuzzier by the second the closer he gets to my center, “You know what I want.”

He stops abruptly, sitting back up from his small assault on my inner thighs, “What did you say, love? Care to repeat that? Couldn’t quite here you down here.”

There’s an edge to his voice, like glass, it cuts right through me and makes my thighs quiver, “N-no,” I stutter, “Didn’t say anything.”

“That’s what I thought,” He grins, leaning back down between my legs, “Now be a good girl and tell me what you want me to do to you.”

I suck in a breath sharply, but I won’t let him know how his words affect me, “Oh daddy,” I mock, rolling my eyes, “Need you so bad.”

He grabs me by the ankles, flipping me onto my stomach and sends an echoing smack to my ass, the stinging sensation that radiates afterwards making my toes curl. He flips me back onto my back, his dangerously dark eyes meeting mine as he spreads my legs apart once again, holding my thighs down against the mattress.

“Want to try that again, princess?”

“Fuck,” I gasp, the edge to his voice making the whispered swear fall from my mouth involuntarily, “Um, yes.”

“Yes what?” He growls, leaning down to hold my jaw in his hand, his eyes drilling into mine waiting for a response.

“Yes daddy.”

“Now you’re getting it, good girl,” He grins, his hand that was gripping my jaw moving to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, “Now open up,” I oblige, slowly opening my mouth and he pushes his middle and ring finger past my lips. It catches me a bit off guard, but he only nods his head, “Get them nice and wet for me love, don’t want to hurt you.”

He pulls them from my mouth, a small string of saliva connecting them to my lips. He chuckles a bit, clearly getting a kick out of how worked up I am for him before finally pushing my panties to the side and pressing his fingers into me. I instantly turn my head to the side, muffling the moan that escapes my mouth into my pillow. As soon as he realizes what I’m doing he grabs me by the hair, holding my head straight.

“None of that,” He says sternly, “Wanna hear your pretty sounds, babygirl.”

I’m dangerously close to the edge just from the words pouring from his mouth in that accented tone that makes my entire body shiver. That condescending smirk finds its way back to his lips and I know that he can tell I’m close, just teetering on the edge already.

“Needy little thing, are we?” He teases, “Already gonna cum and daddy’s barely touched you yet.”

His words are almost just enough to push me over the edge, but I hold off as much as I can, straining away from his touch as much as I can with my hands bound above my head and his weight on top of me. I feel the particular twist in my stomach, that burning sensation in the very pit of my abdomen just as my eyes squeeze shut and my vision goes white. His fingers work me through it, his mouth finally hovering over where I need him most, sucking my sensitive bud into his mouth and making me shake.

I feel his fingers withdraw from me and suddenly he’s pushing them past my lips once again, but this time I taste myself on them, swirling my tongue around each one to suck them clean. I meet his eyes as he pulls them from my mouth and my hips involuntarily buck up to meet the bulge prominent in his pants.

“Still needy, are we?” He chuckles.

“Please shut up and take your pants off already.” I beg, my hips bucking up to meet him again.

“You see I would but,” He starts, sitting back on his heels, “It seems I don’t have a condom, would you happen to have one?”

“Would I, no, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” I stutter breathlessly, my blood starting to boil in disbelief, “What kind of guy doesn’t keep a pack of rubbers around you idiot?”

“Careful,” He warns, his voice dropping into that deep calculated tone that makes me shiver, “And perhaps a guy that just moved in this week and hasn’t necessarily had buying rubbers on the mind,” He says, “That is until he met a spunky purple haired girl in the supermarket.”

His words make my stomach do a few somersaults, but I don’t let it extinguish the pissed off fire burning in my stomach knowing that I won’t be getting the relief I desperately need right now.

“You’re serious?” I ask, “You don’t have any?”

“Serious, darling,” He chuckles, “But instead of moping about it, you’re going to take what I give you and say thank you daddy when I’m done, understand?”

I nod my head vigorously, despite wanting to do the exact opposite. What kind of hold does that goddamn accent have on me?

“Good,” He smiles, clearly pleased with my response, “And maybe if you’re a good girl next time daddy will remember to hit the store.”

“Next time?” I ask, not filtering the shock from my voice.

He laughs a bit, reaching up to finally untie my hands, “Yes, next time, did you want this to just be a one-time thing, princess?”

I can’t form the words I want to say as I sit up a bit, rubbing my wrists only slightly from the rough fabric of the lace wrapped around them, “I um, I don’t-”

“That’s what I thought,” He smirks, standing from the bed and holding out a hand to me, “Now come on, didn’t you get pizza?”

I smile, taking his hand and starting to stand to my feet, my legs a bit wobbly and I’m thankful for the stability of his arm to lean on.

“Do you have anything to uh,” I start, cringing when I feel the wetness in between my thighs, “Clean up with?”

“Nope,” He says cheerfully, “You keep that pretty mess I made between those thighs, babygirl.”

My knees nearly buckle, and I’m cursing him for his lack of condoms and the ache between my legs as I pull my pants back on, following him to the door to the hall. He stops abruptly just inside the doorway, turning back to meet my eyes.

“What’s my name?” He asks cheekily.

“Harry,” I say confidently, “Why? Are you worried I forgot already?”

He grabs my ass in his hand tightly, squeezing the skin, his voice calculated, “I said, what’s my name?”

I gulp, leaning into his grip on me a bit more as my knees wobble, “Daddy.”

He releases his grip on my ass, giving it a quick smack, “’Atta girl, let’s get some pizza in you so you’re ready for round two,” He grins, throwing his arm around my shoulder and tucking me into his side as we walk down the hall to my room instead, “Maybe after we can hit the store, I seemed to have forgotten to pick something up last time I went.”

[the-last-kenobi]

Most of your fics absolutely destroyed me emotionally so, on my own risk, may I request #13 “You shouldn’t be this easy to carry" with Qui-Gon and padawan Obi-Wan? Thank you!

Ohhh I’m happy to write this one! Thank you! (Always pleased to hear I’ve emotionally wrecked innocent people lol)

From this various prompts list.

_

Qui-Gon descended the ramp of his ship with something less than his usual grace, his expression was rather sour. Other than that, he looked his usual self, untidy but comfortable and serene.

He waved to the attendant heading towards the ship, and bowed to a small mechanic droid that squeaked with excitement, ran in circles around him, and then darted off after the attendant.

Qui-Gon chuckled. He paused to take a deep breath, tasting the metallic scent of Coruscant on the air, but also the warm and familiar notes of the Temple, of home. It was good to be back. Tedious diplomatic assignments that ran well overtime were nothing worth dwelling on, especially when it was done alone.

“Master Jinn!” a warm voice called.

He turned his head and saw Shaak Ti walking towards him, a smile on her lovely face with its striking colors.

“Knight Ti,” he greeted her. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” she answered. “I’m just about to depart to Alderaan; it’s a royal wedding and I’m the token Jedi invitee,” she informed him, but there was no offense in her voice. Alderaan was well known to be genuinely welcoming, and had been more than courteous in their dealings with the Order for centuries on end.

“Enjoy it,” Qui-Gon advised her. “Weddings are rarely something you’d like to miss.”

“I will,” she promised. “Oh, is your Padawan around? I was hoping to catch him when he returned, he forgot to sign off on his departure notice and was scheduled for three shifts in the crèche, which he obviously missed.”

Qui-Gon’s head tilted to one side, and he frowned.

It was obvious that Shaak Ti believed that Obi-Wan had accompanied him on his mission, which had in fact been a solo assignment. The twenty-one-year-old Padawan had remained behind for class rotations.

And Obi-Wan had never missed... well, anything. He was notoriously early for everything, beyond punctual. It was almost annoying.

Perhaps he’d finally slipped into a belated teenage fit of laziness, or he’d fallen so behind on class work that he’d forgotten about the crèche. Both would be extremely out of character, but one instance of this in nearly nine years of training could perhaps be excused.

Shaak Ti was waiting for an answer.

“I’ll talk to him,” he promised, revealing nothing. “Thank you for letting me know. I had no idea.”

She waved it off. “These things happen. You have a good student on your hands; he’s easily forgiven.”

Qui-Gon smiled.

~

The door to their quarters opened for him with a casual wave of the hand. Jedi did not lock their doors often; privacy was an understood thing, something not casually breached. No Jedi would enter another’s rooms without first asking permission.

He wasn’t sure what he expected.

Obi-Wan in the common area, reading.

Or Obi-Wan out and about, somewhere off with some of his more trouble making friends. (Quinlan Vos.)

He was not expecting to find Obi-Wan huddled in the corner of their kitchenette, half-hidden in his cloak, knees drawn up under his chin, crying.

Obi-Wan saw him enter and flinched away, shuddering.

Qui-Gon stared.

The entire scene was so unexpected, so wrong, that for a full five seconds he simply stood there, unable to process it. Obi-Wan had buried his face in his knees and was attempting to stifle his tears, seemingly by holding his breath, which was only making him shake harder.

Qui-Gon jolted out of his paralysis and stepped nearer, dropping onto one knee, sensing that looming over his Padawan was not going to help.

“Padawan?” he asked cautiously.

Obi-Wan looked up reluctantly. His face was a sickly grey; his cheeks were bright red and his blue eyes were feverish. They darted around, seeming to fix on nothing.

“Obi-Wan,” the Master tried again, warily reaching out a hand and resting it on top of one of Obi-Wan’s, clenched around his knee.

Obi-Wan took a rattling breath, more tears spilling down his cheeks. “...What... day is it...?” he gasped.

Qui-Gon’s chest tightened with something close to terror. What in all the galaxy was going on here?

“It’s the 29th,” he said gently. “Taungsday. I returned a day late from my solo mission. Do you remember that?”

Obi-Wan’s tears had increased throughout the brief speech. “Y-yes.”

“All right,” said Qui-Gon, struggling to remain as calm and patient as possible. “All right. Can you tell me what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, his expression crumbling. Suddenly he very much resembled the boy Qui-Gon had met on Bandomeer, uncertain and frightened, although even then he had not cried. This was different.

“Are you sure?” Qui-Gon pressed.

Obi-Wan nodded, strangling a loud sob by clapping one hand over his mouth. He said something, but of course it was impossible to understand behind his clamped fingers.

“What?” asked his Master.

“...so...stupid,” Obi-Wan burst out angrily through his tears. “I just... don’t feel well.”

“Don’t feel well?” Qui-Gon stared at his apprentice in confusion. “You’re sick? Obi-Wan, why didn’t you just go to the Halls?”

Obi-Wan shuddered. More tears slid down over his flushed cheeks. “I...I...I fell,” he said, sounding deeply uncertain. “I was working, and it was late, and I fell. I think I fell. I can’t walk. I can barely move. I don’t know how long it’s been—”

Qui-Gon was already moving, alarm ringing in his head like sirens. In two seconds he had Obi-Wan in his arms, cradled like a child, his head resting under Qui-Gon’s chin.

“You shouldn’t be this easy to carry,” he said tensely. “You haven’t had anything to eat or drink since you fell?”

“Some... some water,” Obi-Wan murmured. His skin was blazing hot against Qui-Gon’s, a sick and feverish heat. He had stopped crying — his tears seemed to have stemmed from a combination of confusion and shame, not pain — but he seemed on the verge of passing out. “I... I got some water... don’t remember when...”

“Stay awake,” Qui-Gon ordered. He was striding down the hallways, ignoring the few bystanders who watched them pass with bewilderment and concern. He did send a grateful nod to one young woman who raised her comm in her hand at him, asking a silent question, and at his gesture raised it to her lips and murmured ‘Tell the Healers that Master Jinn is bringing in his Padawan. Have someone ready.’

Obi-Wan murmured something vague.

“Stay awake,” insisted Qui-Gon. “Don’t fall asleep.”

Obi-Wan moaned but nodded, forcing his eyes to stay open. “I...I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” The words came out harsh and insincere in Qui-Gon’s urgency, and he realized it, because he dropped a swift kiss to the top of the fevered head in apology. Obi-Wan relaxed ever so slightly.

They arrived in the Halls of Healing and were immediately received by a Healer and his apprentice, who had Obi-Wan safely tucked in a bed and monitored in less than two minutes. Obi-Wan had closed his eyes against the bright light and seemed in danger of falling asleep again.

“Stay awake just a little longer, Padawan Kenobi,” the Healer instructed kindly. “I’m fairly sure of your diagnosis but I have to be more certain before I can administer treatment. Then you can sleep.”

“Yes, Healer,” rasped the young man.

Qui-Gon watched from the wall, his hands tucked deep in his sleeves to hide how they trembled. The shock of the last quarter hour was setting in, and he scrambled to keep his wits about him, worried about what this diagnosis might be. He still remembered Obi-Wan’s confusion about the day, his bewildered tears, and that memory was not going to be going away anytime soon.

He had been far too light in his arms.

Just how long had Obi-Wan been trapped in their rooms, unable to call for help and too confused to figure out a way around that? How long had he gone without eating and sleeping?

He found out.

An hour later, Obi-Wan was fast asleep, hooked up to an IV and blissfully pain-free due to a dose of pills he had managed to swallow. The Healer turned to Qui-Gon with a weary smile.

“You’re all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine. I’ve just returned from a mission, but I wasn’t hurt.”

“That’s good to know. I was asking about shock, however,” the Healer said gently. “I know this can’t have been a pleasant homecoming.”

Qui-Gon’s throat tightened, but he said nothing.

The Healer seemed to understand. “Obi-Wan has contracted a strain of the flu,” he explained, moving past the brief surge of emotion. “As you know, most strains of the flu are easily combated these days and many species have evolved or inoculated to the point where it’s hardly a concern. But sometimes the flu is stronger. In this case, it’s clear that it’s job was made easy. I don’t think Padawan Kenobi was eating or sleeping properly before the sickness began to set in. It would explain the severity of his malnutrition, and his confusion.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes flickered to the bed where Obi-Wan was sleeping, the fever still burning in his cheeks.

“...How long?” he asked.

“A few days at most,” the Healer said. “But I suspect it’s a habit that’s related to stress and overwork. Does Obi-Wan struggle with stress or insomnia?”

The Master hesitated a moment, opening his mouth to deny it, and then stopping to think better of it.

“...Maybe,” he admitted. The hesitation stung. Shouldn’t he know? “He’s very private with his habits when we’re in Temple. He prefers to study alone in his room, and we usually only manage to share one meal a day during his busier semesters, if that.”

The Healer nodded. He didn’t look or sound at all accusatory when he said, “That’s understandable. I’m going to suggest keeping a closer eye on that. Don’t force him out of his comfort zone, at least not right away, but make sure he understands that three square meals — or better yet, a light meal or snack every two or three hours — is expected of him. As is sleep.”

Qui-Gon nodded, his throat tightening again to the point of pain.

“Rest easy, Master Jinn,” said the Healer, briefly laying a supportive hand on the taller Jedi’s shoulder. “He’ll pull through this. The illness, and everything else. I believe it’s nothing more than a bad habit formed from good intentions. There are crueler demons out there.”

“Yes, I know,” said Qui-Gon. And he did know. One didn’t reach Jedi Mastery without learning the galaxy for what it was.

But he didn’t think he would ever quite move past the shock of today, of carrying his adult apprentice in his arms, sick to the point of tears and helplessness, and then discovering that he could possibly have prevented this if he had paid a little more attention to Obi-Wan’s work habits.

Well. They would, as the Healer said, overcome this.

Qui-Gon drew up a chair to the side of the bed, resolving to wait until Obi-Wan woke, and slowly reached out and set his hand next to his Padawan’s. After a moment, Obi-Wan stirred, and even in his sleep he gave a contented sigh and shifted his hand, his fingers searching blindly for his Master’s hand. Qui-Gon took it and held it tightly.

They had overcome so many things in nearly a decade together.

They could handle this.

And besides, Qui-Gon told himself, even after Obi-Wan was Knighted, he would always be here to watch his back.

He would never abandon Obi-Wan.

_

[tooweirdforyou]

Top 5 OP Boys Best to Comfort You

Whether it’s because you’re sad, stressed, etc.

A/N : please enjoy. I apologize if it’s not great.

Summary : the top five boys, in my opinion, that would be best at comforting, I guess.

-

5. Red-Haired Shanks

— sorry, but Shanks wouldn’t be able to give a proper hug. Jokes aside, Shanks is a nice, playful and light-hearted guy who will get down to business if needed. He’s so understanding and if he sees that you’re feeling stressed or anxious about something, he’d immediately offer you a drink but if not, he’ll pull you to a private room and just sit you on the bed to talk. Nothing else.

You’re sitting in his lap as he rubs smooth circles on your back and letting you sit there and rant but if you don’t want to talk, then silence it is. He’ll keep ensuring you that you’ll be okay. If you ever need anything, Shanks will make sure you get it.

“If you ever need anything, I’m right here, darling. I’m always available by your side, no matter what.”

-

4. Vinsmoke Sanji / God Usopp

— this was difficult so I decided to put both.

— Sanji loves and cares for everyone deeply, even Zoro, so obviously he cares about you. When he finds you crying one day, he’s quick to jump by your side and make sure you’re alright and not in any pain. When you bury yourself into his arms and chest, he’d blush a little before remembering that this was serious and lift you up bridal style, closely to him.

He’d carry you to the kitchen instead of a bedroom and place you down at the table before going over to the kitchen area and ask what you want to eat or drink. Even if you refuse, he still makes something in hopes it’ll cheer you up and offers to listen while he prepares it. When he’s done, it’s in front of you and you find yourself enjoying it with Sanji watching with a warm smile, holding your free hand in his across the table.

“My Angel, let me have the honor of being the warmth and care you need.. I’m sorry this is happening to you. I’m right here with open arms, [Name]-chan. Trust me. It’ll get better.”

— Usopp, this boy would make panic and look to see if you’re hurt then would repeatedly ensure you that a protective strong warrior is there to protect you. After all jokes are made, Usopp turns solemn and is sitting in front of you, cross-legged and gently asking if you’re willing to share, so he can help.

His eyes are glossed with sadness in them and glassy with tears from your mental pain and stress. First, Usopp would make light jokes and lies to help pull you from the dark place and to lighten the mood. But then, he starts to hold your hand and assuring you that nothing was fair and it’ll be hard and stressful and cause lots of pain, but, it WILL subside. It’ll go away sooner than you think and that you will be okay, because Usopp knows what it’s like. He eventually got out and Usopp will be right by yourself to get you out.

“It’s difficult.. you feel like everything’s crashing down on you and you just can’t handle it.. I get it.. but [Name].. you have to believe it’ll get better! I promise it will! And I, God Usopp, will be right there beside you when you do.. I promise.”

-

3. Marco The Phoenix

— He immediately knows something is wrong when you’re being distant from him so he’d confront you. He’d tell you to meet him on the main deck late at night and when you show up, he’s standing there and kneels down away from you. He’d tell you to get on and before you could react when you did, he’s immediately jumping and now soaring into the sky, flying in circles above the ship with you on his back.

You’re holding onto him tightly and as much as you are scared, you’re actually enjoying it which makes Marco smile before finally questioning you and your distance lately. You’re quiet before you finally admit the truth, Marco listening intently as he flies around calmly. When you tell him about your troubles and anxieties, Marco is calm and he just has the softest smile you’ve ever seen.

“So that’s what it is-yoi..” he would fly for a bit longer before going down gently onto the deck and set you down. Marco isn’t one for hugging, especially not an open area like the deck, but that’s what he does, only for a quick second. He takes your hand in his and gently kissed the back of it. “[Name]-yoi, you should have just came to me..” he leads you to his room and sets you down on the bed and sits beside you, laying you down.

“Feel free to cry, rant or sleep. I won’t judge you, all of us have been through these rough times.. it’s hard-yoi.. but, we’re in this together. So next time, just come to me, okay-yoi?”

-

2. Donquixote Rosinante / Corazon

— His long limbs and tall body, ROSI IS PERFECT to have by your side when you need comforting. Rosi would take a bit of time to realize something is wrong, especially when he’s gone for so long. The day he is finally coming home, he calls you up like usual and asks how you’re doing.

He would be so happy and cheery that he nearly misses the quiet sniffle and quiet, sad tones in your voice when you talk and it breaks his heart and makes him panic. Obviously when he asks, you tell him it’s because you’ve been feeling lonely, since Corazon has been gone for so long. You just want to be in his arms and feel at ease and safe.

Rosinante’s crushed heart is slowly swelling with warmth and love at your confession and just then, the door opens. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m home then, [Name].”

You would be in such shock that you didn’t notice him standing by the doorway with his arms spread and ready for you to hug, which you quickly do. You’re running to him at full speed and jumping onto his tall body, with his long arms quickly wrapping around your torso tightly and he’d fall onto the ground to sit you on his lap.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks rather quickly and you just grip the fabric of his shirt in your hands and bury your face in his chest.

“I’m sorry for not coming home sooner.. Work took longer than expected..” his smile softens as he closed his eyes and pets your hair, securing you closer. “But no worries, my love. I’ll be with you from now on. I’m not going anywhere, unless it’s with you.”

-

1. Monkey D. Luffy

— I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Luffy is one of the best captains ever because he OBSERVES. he’s a huge dumbass, strong as fuck dork and just a weird playful kind of guy who cares and would do anything for his family and crew, so underneath all of that is a observing, self-conscious and sweet kind of person that you would die for honestly.

Luffy knows something wrong immediately but can’t exactly pinpoint it, he just knows that you aren’t yourself. But overtime, he realized that you’re dealing with a lot of personal pain and it kind of destroys him. Is he failing as a captain? As a friend? Figuring it was a personal problem, Luffy waits until you’re alone at night and walks up to you.

You see him and greet him until he walks up close and stands there. And then, he raises his arms and hugs you. Tightly. He stretches his arms to double loop them and just stands there with his arms around you in silence.

You’re stunned, about to laugh it off and pull away when his voice reaches your ears.

“[Name]. It’s okay. You can cry. No ones around to judge you. You can let it out now. In front of me.”

Though you were shocked, all the built up stress and pain you’ve been storaging suddenly breaks at those words and you find tears dripping down your cheeks from your eyes. Many falling much faster than the previous ones before you’re sobbing into his shoulder, standing there with Luffy hugging you silently, his hat lowered to cover his eyes.

“Never..never forget that I.. we are here for you, [Name].”

-

A/N : you guys I want to write a comfort fic but I don’t have the energy to do so, so can someone please recommend me some comfort fics? :/