#but if youre gonna inexplicably keep it to yourself just to act like my little buddy is a stain on your life in private like.

[zamalie]

like see the thing is if i have a pet i adore and consistently bring you around and you go on social media behind my back to talk about how gross and weird you think it is im showing you the fucking door actually

[evansbby]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 (𝐏𝐎𝐘𝐓 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark alpha!Steve Rogers x naive omega!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dark Steve, heavy misogyny, a/b/o dynamics, stalking, smut, daddy!kink, swearing, 18+, minors dni!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You walk into the lecture hall and Steve doesn’t know how to act.

𝐀/𝐍: Well, it’s finally here! This is a prequel of my fic Preying on You Tonight, completely in the point of view of everyone’s favourite toxic king, Steve! This is around 11k words. Please enjoy!

The first time Steve sees you, it’s like he suddenly can’t breathe. And the funniest thing is, he doesn’t even see you at first – he senses you, as ridiculous as that sounds. He’s just sitting there in the middle of the lecture hall, prodding the back of Bucky’s head as his friend lays slumped over on his desk, looking comically hungover – dark eyebags, rumpled clothes, red eyes – the works.

And then Steve feels this strange sensation, this prickling feeling at the back of his neck that makes his heart beat faster too. Almost like he’s nervous or anxious – which is stupid because Steve is never nervous or anxious. Even during the biggest football games of the season, with hordes of people in the crowd and even NFL recruiters watching, Steve still doesn’t break a sweat.

So, why does it suddenly feel like all the air’s been forced out of his lungs?

And then it hits him. It’s only the tiniest hint of the most incredible scent that he’s ever smelled, but it hits him like a fucking freight train. He remembers being really young, and his mother would grow magnolias in her garden. He remembers being almost obsessed with the smell, and inexplicably being drawn to the garden countless times before temptation finally gave in and he plucked a handful of the delicate flower, smelling it greedily.

His mother had just laughed – she never got angry at him. And Steve still remembers how he’d clutched the flowers tightly in his little fist all throughout lunch; because now that he had them, he could never let them go. And they smelled so intoxicatingly good – creamy and sweet, like vanilla with swirls of lemon. They smelled like spring, and Steve always liked spring. He’d kept the flowers by his bedside table (in his drawer, so his dad wouldn’t see).

But soon enough, the flowers had wilted – and that had made Steve mad. “What’s it gonna take to keep them alive?!” He’d demanded his mother, probably only about five years old yet angry at the world and angry at his flowers for dying on him. And his mother had patted his head, and soothed him with kisses.

“Love, Stevie. It takes love to keep them alive. Love, and patience and nurturing.”

And Steve remembers looking at his mother, then looking down at his poor, dead magnolias… A beat passing before he’d promptly thrown them to the ground and stomped all over them. If they were weak enough to just die like that, then he had no use for them. No matter how good they smelled.

But now, in the lecture hall on the first day of his senior year of college, Steve smells those magnolias again. Creamy and seductive yet reminding him of innocence, and youth, and memories of spring and new life. Just the right level of sweet, tickling his nostrils pleasantly, before he takes the deepest whiff of his life, like he just can’t get enough of the addicting smell.

And then he sees you.

Half-hidden by the most outrageously large hoodie he’s ever seen, with your books clutched to your chest and the shyest little smile on your face, you tentatively enter the lecture hall and Steve feels like his heart has stopped.

But… why?

He’s not blind – he can see you’re pretty. Very pretty. Softly pretty, is how Steve would describe it if he had to. All shy and hesitant as you make your way into the gigantic lecture hall, like a little butterfly in a jungle. He sees how you smile around, but you don’t seem to know anyone because you take a seat in the front row all by yourself, looking all intimidated and scared and excited and nervous, all rolled into one. And it creates the most attractive combination and he can’t stop staring at you.

You’re an omega, you have to be, judging by your demeanour and your scent – although the intoxicating smell seems to be fading away slowly as the minutes go by. And Steve wonders what exactly you’re doing here. There are barely any girls in this class – and absolutely no omegas. In Steve’s opinion, a World Politics class is no place for an omega to be hanging around – especially one as weak and delicate-looking as you. Maybe you’re lost, because you don’t look like you belong here at all, not in this lecture, and not in this university either – or any other university for that matter.

Steve firmly believes that omegas like you should be at home – cooking or cleaning or waiting patiently on all fours to be fucked by alphas like himself. And that thought – as out of the blue as it was – immediately has his cock thickening in his slacks.

But you stick out like a sore thumb, with your patchy little book bag that looks like it’s been DIY-ed out of a pair of old jeans, and your little sneakers that are still scuffed even though he can tell you’ve tried to scrub them clean and polish them and make them look new. You’re not from here, you’re not like the people he’s grown up with. He’s never seen you before – who the hell are you?

And why do you smell so good?

“Well, well, well – fresh meat.” Bucky is suddenly no longer hungover, eyes alert as he follows Steve’s gaze and locks in on you.

Tiny, little you in the front row of the lecture hall, unpacking all your textbooks and already starting with your notes despite the fact that the lecture hasn’t even begun yet. What could you possibly be writing down? The damn date?

And Steve feels an inexplicable wave of irritation because it’s not just Bucky who’s staring at you. He can see Thor, Andy, Ransom and Curtis, amongst others, lean forward with sick interest gleaming in their eyes at the sight of a little omega like you in their midst.

“She’s gorgeous.” Bucky whistles lowly, nudging Sam, who is also staring at you appreciatively. And it makes Steve want to gouge both their fucking eyes out. And he’s trying to keep his cool but it’s hard to do that when his breath seems to hitch every time he looks at you, and it’s confusing the fuck out of him because you’re just some random omega. And never before has an omega got a reaction like this out of him before.

“She’s probably lost.” Sam snorts, “I wonder if she’s an omega.”

Steve blinks, “She is. Can’t you smell her?”

The two alphas shake their heads before Bucky leans forward on the table to get a better look at you, “She’s probably on suppressants, but she looks like an omega. All shy and weak and shit.” He licks his lips, “That’s really fucking hot, if you ask me.”

Nobody fucking asked you! Steve wants to sneer but he manages to control himself.

“I call dibs.” Bucky announces, sitting up straight and baring his teeth like some sort of comical predator, and never in his life has Steve felt more irritation than how he does right now. Actually, irritation is an understatement – if Bucky wasn’t his best friend since childhood, he’d definitely have punched him in the face or at least verbally insulted him enough to knock him down a few pegs.

Suddenly, Steve’s happy that you’re wearing that ridiculously large hoodie because at least your body’s shielded from all the less-than-innocent gazes that seem to be drinking you in from all angles. And how fucking dare they look at you? When Steve saw you first? Smelled you first??

She’s way below my league, Steve has to remind himself. He’s Steve Rogers, star alpha quarterback and captain of the football team. From one of the most distinguished families in New York, with a future in both the NFL and politics, both with his own talent and his father’s connections.

And then there’s you. With your clothes that clearly look like they’re hand-me-downs, and your scuffed trainers and the fact that you’re probably a nobody scholarship student fresh out of some trashy, no-good neighbourhood. Nope, Steve knows he’s leagues above you, and he knows that the lucky omega he ends up with will be from an esteemed and traditional family. And that’s definitely not you.

So then why does his heart skip a fucking beat when he sees you smile softly at the professor who has just entered the room? And why does he want to rip the professor’s heart out and feed it to him for daring to smile back at you? Dumb fucking asshole professor… Steve could have him fired in a heartbeat. How dare he look at you, how dare Bucky look at you, how dare anyone look at you–

“She’s fucking the professor.”

“Huh?” Bucky stops dead in the middle of explaining his elaborate plan to seduce the class’s newest omega. “What did you say?”

Steve runs his hand through his hair and shoots his friend a smug smile, “I recognise her now. I saw her earlier today when I went to the professor’s office. He had her bent over his desk – and I’m sure it wasn’t the first time.” The lies roll off his tongue smooth as butter, and he feels not a pang of remorse as he watches the dreamy look on Bucky’s face morph into one of disgust.

“Yeah, she’s just a trashy bimbo omega from some small hick town,” Steve continues, relishing the gullible looks of immediate disdain on both Bucky and Sam’s faces. And he knows word will spread fast – it always does around here. “And I’m pretty sure I heard a rumour about a girl sleeping with the dean to gain admission – that was definitely about her too.”

Sam scoffs, “So she’s probably a stupid no-brain slut. As if this place wasn’t going downhill already, now they’re taking in hick-town omegas too.”

Steve narrows his eyes at Bucky, who is still staring longingly at you.

“Hey, Buck. Speaking of slutty omegas – Natasha was asking about you the other day.”

The brunette tears his gaze away from you, “She was?”

Lying comes quite easily to Steve. “Yeah, Sharon mentioned it. Maybe you should give her a call, I know Nat’s an easy slut but at least she doesn’t fuck professors and deans to get herself through college, right?”

Manipulating his friends is almost as easy as lying, and Steve smirks as Bucky finally nods and gets his phone out. And Steve leans back, letting out a sigh of relief because he knows word travels fast, and soon none of these half-wit alphas would be giving you a second glance. And maybe a small part of him knows that spreading this rumour is unfair on you, but in a way, he’s doing you a favour. He’s just protecting you, isn’t he? From all the unwanted attention?

***

Bucky: Heads up, your girlfriend is about to walk in through the front door.

Steve stares at the text for a few seconds, mild irritation brewing inside him. But he feels no real sense of panic or urgency as he glances down at the girl on her knees in front of him – Priya or Ria or something, he can’t remember. Not that it matters anyways. He tugs on her hair, smirking as she protests with her mouth full of his cock.

“Hurry up. My girlfriend’s on her way over.” He informs Priya/Ria, who starts sputtering and trying to push herself off him but Steve keeps her head in place, lazily thrusting in and out of her mouth as he quickly texts Bucky back.

Steve: Stall her for a few minutes.

Bucky replies with a thumbs up and Steve tosses his phone aside, trying to focus on what’s right in front of him. And in this case, it’s a scantily clad girl whose head is currently bobbing up and down on his dick. Steve sighs, clutching her hair harder and increasing the pace of his thrusts, wanting to cum quickly and get rid of her straight after.

He’d already fucked her half an hour ago before taking a smoke break during which she’d unfortunately stuck around. And there’s a part of Steve that doesn’t even care, that wants Sharon to walk in on him getting blown by some random bitch. And it isn’t the first time he’s cheated on her either. The way Steve sees it, why stick to one girl when you could have every single one? And he’s confident that there isn’t a single girl at this university who wouldn’t spread her legs for him.

And then his thoughts fall on you. Fragile, innocent little omega who is now forever labelled as the campus slut. But would you spread your legs for him? Steve bets you’re inexperienced, judging by how shy and studious you look, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get you to sleep with him. Fuck, he can’t help but imagine you on your knees in front of him, eyes wide as saucers and tears dripping down your cheeks as he fucks your face. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He cums embarrassingly quickly, images of you pouting and crying as he shoves his big dick down your throat flashing before his eyes. And God, he knows he can do better than you, better than some lowlife scholarship omega with scuffed trainers and a dumbly peculiar taste in oversized hoodies. Yet he can’t understand why just the singular thought of you blowing him had him cumming faster than Sharon or any of the other girls ever could.

He doesn’t really have time to mull over any of this, however, shoving Priya/Ria off his dick and tossing her clothes at her while she sputters on the floor.

“Get dressed, Sharon’s downstairs.” Steve tucks his dick back into his sweats before grabbing his phone and settling down on his bed.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, why didn’t you tell me she was coming over today? You know she’s head cheerleader this year? If she sees me here, she’ll kick me off the squad!” Priya/Ria laments but Steve is already bored, finding a random Tetris game on his phone more interesting than whatever this bitch is spewing as he lets out a yawn.

Priya/Ria complains and panics for the next three minutes, and Steve doesn’t spare her a second glance as she grumbles her way out the window. Annoying slut. Speaking of which, Sharon bursts into his room not three seconds after Priya/Ria leaves.

“Baby!” Sharon squeals, launching herself at him at top speed, and Steve holds onto her waist gingerly, letting her cover his face in kisses. “I missed you so much!”

She’d been skiing in Vermont with her family for the past two weeks, and it had been a damn good two weeks for Steve. Quiet and peaceful without his girlfriend’s dumb chatter acting as an incessant background noise to his thoughts. In fact, he wouldn’t have minded if she’d extended her trip and stayed away for another two weeks, because hooking up with other girls sure was a lot easier when she was gone.

“I thought about you every night, babe. I really wish you’d come with me!” She gushes, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulders as she straddles his hips. God. Now he has to make conversation with her and pretend he’s interested in her dumb bullshit family life. How has he been keeping up this act for two years now? I mean sure, Sharon’s a good fuck but she’s not that good.

“I told you, it’s football season.” He yawns, hoping she’ll get the hint and fuck off. Or she could stay, he didn’t really care as long as she kept quiet. But Sharon does the complete opposite, instead launching into a whole account about how he should have been there and how good the snow was and how many new outfits she bought and how many pictures she took and blah blah blah. Honestly, all her mindless chatter does is consolidate the fact that he needs to break up with her soon.

“And I would’ve come up to you sooner but Bucky kept talking to me.” Sharon wrinkles her nose, absentmindedly tracing shapes on his chest before laying her head down on it and snuggling up into him. “I think he has a crush on me.”

Steve snorts at that, “Bucky does not have a crush on you.”

She whips her head up, “What makes you so sure?”

Because me and Bucky have the exact same taste in girls and it’s not you, Steve wants to say but he manages to refrain. “He likes quiet girls,” Steve finds himself saying instead except he’s talking more about himself now, “Shy girls who know their place.”

Sharon rolls her eyes, “All you alphas are stuck in the past, aren’t you?” She sighs before bumping her nose against his, “It’s a good thing I lucked out with you, babe. Can you imagine where we’d be if you hadn’t asked me out sophomore year?”

I’d probably be free, Steve thinks to himself. In many ways, he’d been a different person two years ago when he’d asked Sharon out for the first time. He’d always been traditional, wanting to settle down with the right omega after he graduated, definitely have a few children. And even if he had thought Sharon would be his long-term girlfriend-turned wife by the end of college – he certainly didn’t think that anymore.

Nope, Sharon wouldn’t be the one he’d be marrying, she was useful for a good fuck now and again but nothing more than that, not wife material. She definitely wouldn’t be the omega who would eventually carry his children and his legacy.

And then for some unexplained reason, Steve’s mind shifts to you. How shy you were in class, how you kept to yourself with your eyes downcast. He may have falsely labelled you as the campus slut but he was sure you were a virgin, or extremely inexperienced at the very least. And then an image flashes through his mind: you, all knocked up and round with his baby. In a pretty dress of his choosing, cooking him dinner with an obedient smile on your face. Fuck. He feels his cock harden almost immediately.

“Ooh, you missed me, didn’t you?” Sharon sits back up and grinds down on his crotch with a mischievous smile on her face. “I can’t believe you went without sex for two whole weeks. It must’ve been torture for you.”

“You can’t even imagine.” Steve says distractedly. Sharon’s pulling his sweats down and undressing herself but he’s still got his mind on you. God, you’d look so sexy if he got you pregnant. He wouldn’t allow you to wear your stupid hoodies anymore. No, it would be all skirts and dresses – how an omega is supposed to dress. And then he’d bend you over and fuck you real good, like you’ve never been fucked before. Or maybe he’d let you ride him, all pregnant and weepy and shy on top of him, your eyes shining like you worship him…

He's painfully hard now, and Sharon’s jerking him off while he pretends it’s you. You, all innocent and unsure of what you’re doing. Looking up at him and begging him to tell you how to do it, how to please your alpha. You’re a stupid, no-good scholarship omega who is clearly below his league, but in this moment all Steve can think about it how goddamn fucking sexy you’d look holding his cock, or sucking it – or sitting on it.

“Mm, keep going, baby.” Steve murmurs, pretending like you’re in front of him right now instead of his insufferable girlfriend. “Make daddy feel good.”

He’s so deep into his daydream that he doesn’t even notice that Sharon is fully undressed until he feels her line the tip of his dick against her leaking hole. He manages to swat her off just in time, reaching out to rummage through his nightstand drawer and tossing a condom at her.

Sharon’s face falls before she scoffs, “You know, I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t use protection. You never used to.”

“Just put it on.” Steve isn’t in the mood for her bullshit. If he fucked her raw, then she’d most likely get pregnant. Then he’d have to marry her and take care of her – which wouldn’t be ideal, especially since he’s now planning on breaking up with her. But he’s happy he’s trained Sharon well enough to know when he’s not fucking around. Without another word, she unrolls the condom onto his dick before sinking down on it, moaning like a fucking porn-star as she does it.

He flips her over so she’s on her hands and knees and he doesn’t have to look at her. This way, it’s easier to imagine that it’s you. And Steve’s now accepted the fact that if he wants to get off, he’s going to have to think of you. Fuck, he bets you’d cry if he ever fucked you. Either cry or pass out from how good he’d make you feel. He bets you’d beg him to knot you, to give you his babies. And he would. Fuck.

Sharon lets out a moan and a string of curse words along with his name, and Steve has to forcibly shove her face into the pillow to zone her out. Because all he really wants to do is picture you. Fuck, he wishes he could cum inside you, hear you squeak and moan while he completely ruins you for any other man. Except there wouldn’t be any other man because you belong to Steve.

Mine, he thinks with gritted teeth, picturing your nervous little smile when you’d entered the lecture hall that morning, all mine.

***

“A little birdie told me that that little omega is only a freshman.” Bucky says, perking Steve’s interest immediately as they walk into their World Politics lecture a few days later. “Which means she’s either really fucking smart to be taking a senior class, or she fucked her way up.”

“She definitely fucked her way into the class,” Steve finds himself saying, “Omegas aren’t smart, so there’s no way she’d have gotten into the class otherwise.” He feels a wave of irritation, however. A freshman. In a senior class. And an omega, no less. There was no way, no fucking way.

And there you are again, sitting front row with all your pens lined out in front of you like some stupid, eager omega. His nose twitches, trying to sniff your addictive scent but it seems that whatever cheap suppressant you’re taking is extra strong today, because he can’t detect it at all. And this irritates him even more, because, embarrassing as it was, he’d been looking forward to spending the lecture smelling your goddamn fucking scent.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Bucky pipes up when they cross by your table, and you look up immediately. And Steve can feel his heart in his fucking throat because you make direct eye contact with him and not Bucky. The brunette seems unperturbed, however, “I’m Bucky. This is Sam, and this is Steve.”

You look up and nod at each of them. “Hi, Bucky. Hi, Sam. Hello, Steve.”

For a moment, it feels like Steve’s in heaven. And it’s the fucking cheesiest thing in the world, but it’s in the way you say his name. All soft and shy and clearly self-conscious yet in an extremely cute way. Fuck, what was he, fifteen years old? He doesn’t care, though, he wants to hear you say his name again. And preferably not whilst also saying his friends’ names in the same sentence.

And it irritates him that Bucky spoke to you first. Steve had seen you first therefore it only made sense that he should’ve spoken to you first too. It also irritates him how close Bucky and Sam are standing to you, and how you’re shooting them a small smile right this instant.

Steve is silently seething, and Bucky and Sam are grinning at you like you’re some kind of spectacle. You tell them your name (and his heart skips a beat when he hears it, because it fits you perfectly and he feels like he’s known this name all his life).

And then, no one speaks for a while, and he sees you shift slightly, clearly uncomfortable as you bite your lip. For a second, he wishes he could read your mind, but it doesn’t matter because you have the world’s most emotive face. He can practically see your thoughts as they race through your head. He knows that you’re intimidated by him, by all three of them – but that’s nothing new. And then you open your mouth to speak.

“H-How are you guys finding this class so far?” You ask in a voice sweet as honey. And Steve hates how other alphas around the room have whipped their heads towards you again. He hates how Sam’s features have softened as he looks you over, and he hates how Bucky’s got that predatory look in his eye again, the same one he had last time. He knows he has to do something. Fast.

“Funny, we were going to ask you the same thing.” Steve says, and you blink up at him.

“Me? I, uh, I really like it.” You say shyly, and he can tell that you have trouble maintaining eye contact with him but you try your best as you continue, “Some of the concepts are challenging, but I’m really enjoying it.”

“Oh, I bet you’re really enjoying it.” Steve grins, pointedly glancing at the professor before fixing his gaze back on you, innuendo dripping from his tone. Bucky catches on and chuckles, as does Sam.

You look confused, “Um, I don’t understand–”

Sam snorts, “Don’t play dumb.”

“Is it the class you’re enjoying, sweetheart, or what happens after it?” Bucky joins in.

You shake your head, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And sure, there’s a voice at the back of Steve’s head telling him to quit it and back off. That sensible voice that shows its face from time to time, telling him that you don’t deserve this at all. But he chooses to ignore it, and maybe it’s because he’s been irritated ever since he found out you’re a fucking freshman omega in a senior class where you don’t belong. Or since Bucky spoke to you first before Steve could, and he could see that interest in Bucky’s eyes. Either way, he ignores the voice of rationality in his head. He’s Steve fucking Rogers, after all. He can say whatever he wants to.

“Wearing grossly oversized outfits to hide your body won’t hide the fact that you’re a slut.” Steve says it softly, but everyone hears it. And he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the way your head whips up to look at him, the way your lower lip quivers and the way your breath hitches.

“Wh-What? I’m not a… a–”

“A slut? Come on. Everyone knows you spread your legs to get into this class. That’s probably why you sit in the front row, too. So the professor can get a good eyeful of the campus slut before you got to his office after class.” Steve smirks, although it isn’t very satisfying to see your face crumple at his words, and he feels a pang of guilt that he tries his hardest to ignore. You shake your head.

“No! I didn’t–”

“Omegas like you don’t belong in a class like this,” Sam pipes up, and you bow your head. Steve can see your hands trembling under the table as you clasp them in your lap. And God, you look so small, so weak in your big fucking hoodie that nearly swallows you whole. You look like you’re begging for an alpha like him to protect you. But what’s he supposed to protect you from – himself?

He watches you for the rest of the class. You sit there, determinedly taking notes as if three alphas didn’t just embarrass and insult you at the start of the lecture. You don’t ever raise your hand to answer any questions, but Steve can tell that you know all the answers. It’s the way you mouth them cutely, the way you nod when the correct answer is said – as if you knew it all along. It’s the way your nose scrunches in concentration as you read every word of the lecture slides before writing it all down. In a way, he admires your persistence and devotion to your goddamned notes. Omegas are known to be devoted – but to their alphas, not World fucking Politics lectures.

You still look morose and deflated by the time the lecture ends, taking ages to slowly pack your book bag. Sam and Bucky leave, but Steve hangs back. Talk to her! The voice in his head urges him. Tell her you mistook her for someone else, tell her you didn’t mean it! Ask her out! And he lets himself imagine it for a second, asking you out on a date. Picking you up and presenting you with yellow roses, taking you to a restaurant that’s way too fancy for you, and you’d probably be wearing that goddamn hoodie, too.

He almost smiles, before shaking the thought away. I’m not that pathetic, he thinks. Some random scholarship omega isn’t worth taking on a date. There’s a peculiar longing within him but he stuffs it deeper down inside himself. Girls long for him, not the other way around and it’s best if he remembers that.

That doesn’t stop him from following you out of the lecture hall, however. It’s cute, the way you lug your bookbag on your shoulder. You’ve stocked it so full of unnecessary textbooks that it’s weighing you down like a tonne of rocks. His hands itch to help you, but he has to hang back because you don’t know he’s there, and also because you’re now on the phone.

He can’t hear what you’re saying, or who you’re on the phone with. But after a few minutes, your shoulders prop up and the pep in your step returns. Whoever is on the other end of the line – probably a friend or your mom – has managed to cheer you up. He gets close enough to hear you say:

“Yes. I’m going to try harder to make friends. Don’t you worry about me!”

It’s sickening. How cute you sound. And it’s even more sickening how he finds himself following you all the way back to your dorm room, keeping his head low and a small distance between the two of you. And sure, he’s never fucking stalked a girl before and this is definitely unhinged behaviour, but it’s like he can’t help it.

And it’s kind of fun observing you. At one point, you stop in front of a rose bush to smell the delicate flowers. Steve thinks back to how he’d imagined asking you out and giving you a bouquet of yellow roses. He lets himself imagine some more: you bringing the bouquet up to your nose and inhaling gently, a pretty smile on your face as you stand up on your tiptoes to kiss him and tell him thank you.

The picture sits pretty in his mind for a good ten seconds, a smile touching his lips before he aggressively wipes it off. Stop being a sappy fucking loser, he tells himself, before refocusing on his omega. You’re making your way into your dorm building now – it’s one of the cheaper ones on campus. The dorms in there are about the size of postage stamps, and it makes him think of everything he could provide for you: money, clothes, gifts – anything you asked for.

Ask her out! The voice inside his head is beguiling. If he asked you out, he would no longer have to deal with Sharon. If he asked you out, Bucky and the rest of them would all back the fuck up. So then what was stopping him? What was stopping him from marching straight into your stupid tiny fucking dorm room and telling you that he’d pick you up tomorrow at 7 for dinner?

She’s below my fucking league, he reminds himself, although that excuse seems to be getting flimsier and flimsier. He’s distracted from his inner turmoil, however, when he sees you appear in your room through your window. You neatly place your bag on your desk before pulling your hoodie over your head. Steve’s breath catches in his throat, and he watches closely as your tank top is next, joining your hoodie on the floor.

Steve’s lost count of how many girls he’s seen naked in his lifetime, but none of them hold a candle to what he’s seeing right now. The way you slip your leggings down, stepping out of them, now just in your bra and panties. Fuck, you’re so sexy. So fucking sexy, and he can feel himself getting rock hard. And half of him wants to reprimand you, chastise you for being so fucking stupid to be changing without drawing your curtains first. He should take you over his fucking knee for that…

But the other half of him just stands there, transfixed. You wriggle into a tee, your legs still bare and your cute ass on display for a few more seconds before you put on a pair of pyjama shorts. It’s when you sit down on your desk which is facing the window, that he finally backs off. Forcibly ripping his gaze away from you and walking away, the vision of you ingrained deeply in his head.

That night, in the privacy of his shower, he cums harder than he ever has before. Just the sight of you changing replaying over and over again in his brain. Nobody has ever had such an effect on him before, and he wonders what this means. Even after he’s jacked off, he can’t seem to shake you out of his mind. It’s like his eyes are itching to just see you again, drink you in again.

Finally, from the depths of one of his drawers, Steve pulls out an old sketchbook that his mother had bought for him on one of his birthdays. She was the only one who knew that he could draw, and she kept encouraging him to do it despite the fact that Steve hadn’t touched an art supply for years now. But it’s like his fingers are itching to put the images in his head down on paper.

And once he starts drawing, it’s like he can’t stop. It comes so naturally to him, like he’s known your face for years and committed it to his memory. He draws you sitting front row during the lecture, trying his hardest to capture that look of concentration on your face, the furrow of your brow, the way you bite your lip. He even draws you in your ridiculously oversized hoodie, how it practically swallows you whole. And he finds himself smiling at how cute you look in it – despite the fact that omegas aren’t supposed to wear things like that.

One thing becomes abundantly clear to Steve that night. He wants you. He wants to own you. He doesn’t want you to belong to anybody else, not now and not ever. But aren’t you out of his league? So then what?  Just fuck her once and get her out of your system, he tries to tell himself. But would that be enough? Girls have always been easy subjects for Steve, but for the first time in his life, he finds himself confused, and his thoughts seem to be at war with each other.

It's only been a week since he first laid eyes on you but it’s like he can’t get you out of his head. He wants you to be his, yet at the same time he can’t believe that he’s fallen for some random scholarship omega. Fallen? No, he hasn’t fallen for you. It’s just lust. Just lust. Just. Lust.

It has to be, right?

***

The next World Politics lecture falls on a Friday – and it’s been three whole days since Steve has last seen you. Three torturously long days filled with Sharon’s irritating squawking and incessant presence in his room. Steve finds that she no longer makes him hard, and every time he fucks her, he finds himself longing for you in her place. You wouldn’t howl so annoyingly when you came, or scratch at his back like a stupid bitch. Actually, he wouldn’t mind if you scratched his back while he fucked you dumb into the mattress, your eyes glazed over and tears running down your cheeks as he knots inside you again and again.

And that’s what Steve’s daydreaming about before the start of the lecture, when he feels a light tap on his shoulder.

“Ex-Excuse me?”

He turns around and his heart skips a beat. You. In a huge green hoodie, almost eye level to him despite the fact that he’s sitting down and you’re standing up. Fuck, you look really cute, all shy as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. And Steve isn’t used to girls coming up to him. He knows he’s very intimidating, as are Bucky and Sam, who have now also turned to gawk at the little omega standing in front of the three of them.

Steve doesn’t know what to do, because up until a second ago he was in the middle of imagining you naked underneath him while he fucked you so hard you saw stars. And now here you are, standing before him with a Tupperware container in your hands, looking uncomfortable and shy as ever.

“Look who it is, Little Miss Campus Slut.” Sam is the first to speak.

Steve watches you blink and take a deep breath before you speak. “H-Hello, Steve. Sam. Bucky.” You nod at each of them, and Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the sound of you saying his name – he just wishes he wasn’t lumped in with his friends every time.

“I th-think we – uh – I think we all got off on the wrong foot last time,” Your voice shakes as you speak, and Steve finds your stutter kind of cute. “I kn-know you guys were probably joking but, I – uh…” You swallow, and Steve has to admire your guts. He can tell you’re practically shitting yourself with how nervous you look. You shake your head and smile softly, “I made these. For you. I mean, all three of you. As a kind of peace offering.”

You open the Tupperware container and hold it out towards him. Inside, there are about a dozen brownies, cut into neat little squares. The smell alone is heavenly, and he can see that some of them have pieces of caramel oozing out. From his peripheral, he can see Bucky lick his lips.

“I baked them this morning,” You say proudly, “A friend of mine told me that there’s nothing a batch of brownies can’t solve. So, these are for you, and maybe now we could be friends?”

Sweet, naïve, innocent. God, you’re everything Steve wants in a girl. And for a second, he lets his thoughts run wild again. This time, he imagines you baking brownies for him – solely him – in a big house he’s bought for the two of you. You’re heavily pregnant and wearing a cherry print apron, and you sit on his lap while you serve him the freshly baked brownies. An alpha and his little omega, knocked up and completely devoted to him. A perfect family. The perfect life.

Which is why it makes little sense when he slaps his hand upwards, knocking the container out of your hand and sending the brownies flying everywhere, landing on the floor in a sorry heap by your feet. Sam and Bucky burst out laughing, and Steve smiles coolly, although he doesn’t really feel like smiling on the inside. Why did he do that?

Because she’s a stupid scholarship omega, and I can do whatever I want, he answers his own question but even he has to admit that his reasoning is less than satisfactory.

Your eyes widen in shock before your face crumples, “Wh-Why would you do that?”

Steve shrugs, “It’s not very nice of you to try and feed us your weird, contaminated brownies. I mean, we don’t know where your hands have been, do we? Oh wait, we do.” He looks pointedly at the professor at the front of the room before looking back at you, a smug smile on his face that he tries hard not to let falter when he sees the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

“I worked re-really hard on those.” You look like you’ve wilted, and there’s that one part deep inside him – maybe his soul? – telling him how fucked up he is for doing what he’s just done. But it’s just a joke, he justifies to himself.

“Don’t get all emotional just because we don’t want your STD brownies.” Steve says, trying hard to keep stone-faced as he watches you flinch and gasp at his words.

“I-I-I don’t have an STD!”

“I-I-I don’t care.” Steve mimics your stutter, making his voice all high-pitched. Sam and Bucky laugh again, along with a bunch of other people who are within earshot. And the look of hurt that crosses your face seems to ingrain itself in his brain, searing him from the inside out till he almost feels sick. Fuck. Why did he keep going?

Because she doesn’t matter, he tells himself. He’s made fun of billions of others in the past, and this shouldn’t be any different, right?

With your lower lip quivering, you swallow back your tears. And he’s surprised when he sees you narrow your eyes at him, “Th-That was really mean.”

And maybe it’s because you’re glaring at him and he doesn’t like that, or maybe it’s because you look so fucking small – standing there with your chin upturned and hands shaking in anger at being wronged. But Steve feels himself getting hard – rock hard. Part of him wants to gather your quivering body in his arms and kiss you and hug you and protect you from it all. But a larger part of him feels this strong need, this hunger, to control you. You look so small, so hurt, so submissive. He can see licks of anger through the tears in your eyes, however, and he wants to snuff it out. Control you completely. Make you bend to his will and listen to his every command.

“Y-You shouldn’t have done that.” You say quietly and Steve narrows his eyes.

“Shouldn’t have done what, omega?” He chews the word around, savours it before spitting it out, and he loves how your eyes widen at being called by your designation. He’s never called anyone by their designation before, and the surge of power he feels over you when he does? Fuck, it’s irreplaceable.

“Th-That’s not my name.” You try and stand your ground but really, it’s not like you’re any match for him. “Don’t call me that – p-please.”

“Why not? That’s what you are, after all. Your name doesn’t matter to me – whatever it is.” (He knows exactly what your name is, because he’s spent the past few days thinking about how great it would sound if you put his last name next to it, but that’s beside the point).

“And I don’t think you’re in any position to tell me what to do, omega.” He adds smoothly, noting how you bow your head in submission, but there are still angry tears glistening in your eyes and he can see your hands balled into fists by your sides, and you’re opening your mouth as if to argue with him. Snuff it out, he tells himself, snuff out any fight she has left in her.

“Don’t think you can talk back to an alpha. Just because you fucked your way into college doesn’t mean the rest of us are going to give you special treatment.” He says, every one of his words dripping in acid. And he wonders how far he can take it, how much further he can control you…

“Now, I want you to keep your mouth shut, walk back over to your seat and sit down and remain silent for the rest of the class.” He orders you before shooting you a smirk. “Now.”

He watches your eyes widen when you realise that it’s an alpha command, and then you’re walking away, head down and an empty Tupperware container in your hand. And the pure power trip Steve gets from it all has adrenaline and excitement pumping through his veins and straight down to his cock. Fuck. He’s never alpha-commanded an omega like this before. Sharon sometimes but it’s never been as gratifying as this.

It's in your stance, how weak and little you look as you walk dejectedly back to your seat. You’ve listened to him, and the power he gets from that is unbeatable. And addicting. He wants to feel it again. Sure, he’s always been domineering with girls but with you, it’s different. You’re different. So perfect and shy, so pretty and submissive… Fuck, he’s so hard now.

He leans back in his seat, staring at you while you get your books out with shaky hands. That’s when he notices that you’re crying, your hands keep reaching up to wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie and your shoulders quiver uncontrollably. Shit. Steve had made you cry, and his heart pangs with guilt. But it’s confusing, because there’s a dark part of him that’s so turned on right now, that wants to lick your tears up then embarrass you some more. Then you’d cry some more and he’d push you down to your knees, shove his cock in your mouth and really give you something to cry about.

But he also wants to gather you in his arms, hold you in his lap and comfort you. Tell you that he didn’t mean it, that he doesn’t know why he’s doing all this. Well, he does know why – but sometimes he isn’t convinced by his own rationale. Control you. Comfort you. Control you. Comfort you. Control you–

“Hey, these are pretty good.” Bucky’s voice knocks Steve out of his reverie, and he looks down to see his friend scooping up pieces of brownie off the ground.

Sam groans, “Please tell me you’re not eating the floor-brownies.”

“What? They’re good!” Bucky defends himself with a mouthful of the sweet treat. “Shit, you know what? I wouldn’t even mind getting an STD. I think she’s worth it. So fucking hot and she bakes too? I wonder what else she can do.”

Steve rolls his eyes, wanting nothing more than to punch Bucky in the skull for calling his omega hot. Because of course, Steve’s already consolidated in his mind that you’re his. He just has to figure out what exactly he wants from you. For now, however, he’s content with staring at you from afar, and imagining how pretty you’d look baking brownies for him and bending over while he made you cum on his knot over and over again.

***

“You know, I’d let you mark me if you wanted to.” Sharon says one day, out of nowhere. Steve’s walking her to one of her classes (or more like, she’d seen him walking with his friends and dragged him away).

Steve barks out a laugh, “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you? We’re both seniors, about to graduate and we’re in a serious, committed relationship.” Sharon squeezes his hand, and Steve feels a sudden urge to throw up. What a dumb fucking idiot Sharon was, as if he’d ever mark her. He’s still trying to figure out how to break up with her – he absolutely hates talking to her and he doesn’t even consider her a good fuck anymore. She’s lucky he’s kept her around for this long, yet has the audacity to talk about marking.

“You shouldn’t be thinking about things like that.” He says, hoping to drop the subject but of course, she doesn’t seem to want to let it go.

“Come on, babe. I remember back when we first started going out, you told me that you wanted to marry me and have a ton of kids! I remember thinking how cute you sounded when you said that.”

Steve doesn’t even have the energy to correct her. Sure, he’d said that he was a traditional alpha just like his father. He wanted to get married young and have kids young too. However, he’d never mentioned wanting all of this with Sharon, but of course the dumb bitch had selective hearing and liked to make stuff up, but that wasn’t Steve’s fault.

He lets her talk for the duration of their walk up to her lecture, and all he contributes is a disinterested grunt now and again. But Sharon loves the sound of her own voice, so she doesn’t seem to notice his lack of interest in conversing with her. Finally, outside her lecture hall, she stands up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. And it’s while he’s kissing his girlfriend that Steve feels a prickle in the back of his neck. Almost like he’s being watched.

He opens his eyes, looking straight ahead beyond Sharon’s shoulder. And there you are, sitting in the courtyard. You look like a fucking angel, bathing in the sunlight that peaks out at you through the branches of the tree you’re sat underneath. And you’ve got this almost curious look on your face as you watch him kiss his girlfriend. He makes eye contact with you for about five magical seconds before you realise that he’s watching you, all while his lips move against Sharon’s.

Quickly, you bury your nose in the book you’re reading, and he can see your eyes widening in alarm. Somehow, he knows your heart’s racing – because his is too. And he feels this longing for you, wishing so bad that it was you he was kissing instead of Sharon. But you’d been watching him! What did that mean? Maybe you liked him how he likes you?

I don’t like her! He tells himself stubbornly, she’s below my league… But he doesn’t know who he’s kidding with that excuse anymore.

Bidding Sharon goodbye, he can’t help but feel this gravitational pull, tugging him over to you. For a second, he imagines sitting down next to you, asking you what you’re reading and watching as you happily tell him. And he’d be interested in what you have to say, because you’re not a stupid bitch like Sharon or any of the other girls on campus. You’re special. And so beautiful.

He watches as you slowly lose yourself in whatever book you’re reading, and you’ve got a fucking juice-box next to you which you sip on every so often. God, could you be any cuter? You look so innocent, and for one dark second, he wishes he could just take you and lock you up in his house. You’d be safe over there, inside the house and away from any college like a good, traditional little omega. And he’d buy you a whole library full of books to keep you happy, and you’d cook and clean and dote on him and carry his babies, and that would make him happy.

Steve finds himself walking over, casting a shadow over your figure as he looms above you, and you look up at him fearfully. Fuck. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the way you’re looking at him right now. Like you’re wary, scared – like he’s this formidable alpha that could completely ruin you – which is all true.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is.” He says softly, and you gulp.

“H-Hello, Steve.” You attempt a smile but you’re shaking like a leaf. And he’s surprised that you’re still greeting him nicely despite how horrible he was to you in the last lecture.

“What are you doing?” He asks, but it comes out sounding like a demand.

“Just reading.” You answer, and he can see that you’re trying to hide your shaking hands. The book rests open in your lap, and you look so sweet, sitting down by his feet. It makes him imagine nasty things, like wanting to pull you forward by your hair, make you mouth at his crotch in front of everyone in this courtyard, make you beg for his alpha cock before he shoves it down past your quivering lips.

Which is why it doesn’t make much sense when, in one fluid motion, he steps down hard on your juice-box, the liquid spurting out and splattering all over your top, and the open book too, immediately leaving large, blotchy stains on both.

“Oh no!” You lament, panic overtaking your features as you immediately begin to fan out the book, shaking it and trying to get the water out. But all Steve can focus on is your wet top – it’s oversized but it’s not a hoodie, at least – and the way it clings to your skin. You’re so fucking hot, and you don’t even realise it – you seem more preoccupied by the damn book.

“It was a library book!” You say quietly, tears forming in your eyes and Steve feels another pang of guilt because he’s made you cry again. “I can’t… I can’t afford…” Your voice trails off.

Steve smirks, “You can’t afford to replace the book, can you?” It consolidates every assumption he’d made about you. You come from nothing and you’re a no one, with your hand-me-down clothes and DIY bookbag. He truly could give you anything and everything you’d ever want, and he lets himself imagine it. Him buying you bags and bags of clothes, helping you put them on, dressing you up like his own little doll that smells sweet like magnolias and is devoted to him. He bets you’d be so thankful – you’re not used to any kind of riches after all – and you’d worship him in return.

And all of this gives him an idea. A way to exert even more control over you, and give you a bit in return too. Grabbing his wallet from his jacket pocket, he fishes out a hundred-dollar bill. You’re too busy trying to shake the liquid off your book that you don’t even notice it when he reaches forward and tucks the crisp note into the hemline of your top.

You gasp, “What’s… What’re you doing?”

“You know that report we have due next week, don’t you?” Steve muses, scanning your face carefully. He sees your throat bob as you swallow, hanging onto his every word as you hold the hundred-dollar bill between your fingers gingerly. “Why don’t you do mine for me, omega?”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head, “Th-That’s dishonest! And I have my own report to do–” You try to hand him the money back but he bats your hand away. And he knows he could easily use an alpha-command on you and make you exactly what he asks of you, just like how he made you walk away in the lecture last time after the brownie incident.

But he craves true control over you, and maybe he can manipulate you? Mould your pretty little mind into wanting to please him? He knows you’re biologically wired to please him; your base omega desires want nothing more than to make an alpha proud – he knows that. He could play into that, use that. Manipulate you, and find out just how far he can take this sweet control over you.

“Come on, omega, I really think you should do my report.” Steve keeps his voice even, his eyes boring into yours with intensity, and you look like you’re about to melt under his gaze. “Otherwise, you’ll disappoint me. And you don’t want to disappoint me, do you?

Almost as if you’re hypnotised, you shake your head no. And Steve can’t believe how easy this is, and he wonders whether his scent smells good to you, and whether it has any effect on you. It must do… because you look like you’re about to turn into putty in his hands.

“B-But it’s cheating.” You whisper.

“That doesn’t matter. You’re going to do my report for me, and you’re going to put all your effort into it. Because at the end of the day, that’s the only thing an omega like you is good for. Pleasing an alpha. You want to please me, don’t you?”

He loves how he can practically read every single thought that crosses inside that pretty little head of yours. He loves the look of conflict on your face, how you’re trying to fight against your base desires. It makes him feel powerful, strong – how someone can have that much control over another human being, it thrills him.

Finally, you nod, and whisper a delicate “okay” that goes straight to Steve’s dick. You’re so beautiful and submissive, he can’t help but reach out to tap your cheek condescendingly. What a good girl, he wants to say, but that would be overdoing it. Instead, he just smirks and leaves, loving how you sit there, stunned and with the hundred still between your thumb and forefinger.

He goes home that day and jerks off thinking about you and all the power he exerted over you today. How easy it was to make you cry, then manipulate you into doing exactly what he wanted you to. He pumps his dick to the thought of how innocent you are, how sweet and pretty and how you’re everything he’s ever wanted in a girl – he just didn’t know it until now.

He also thinks about what you’re going to do with the money he gave you. Replacing the library book wouldn’t cost that much, and he hopes you spend the rest of the hundred on clothes or jewellery for yourself. That way, it would be like he bought something for you, he bought it for you and now you’re wearing it on your skin. Something he bought. Because you belong to Steve. And then he cums hard, slapping the bathroom wall so hard that one of the tiles chips.

Then, he cleans off and gets his sketchbook out. He draws you sitting under the tree with your little juice-box. He makes sure to make the drawing as detailed as possible, down to the top you were wearing and the way you looked so engrossed in your book. At the last second, he adds one more detail. A jagged mark on the side of your neck. His mark. Then he slams his sketchbook shut and buries it under his bed.

You give Steve his finished report only two days later, at the start of the next lecture. Quietly, you scurry up to him and wordlessly hold out the typed-up paper placed neatly in a binder. He snatches it from you, making sure to remain stone-faced except you don’t even make eye-contact with him – which is mildly irritating. But he guesses you’re too scared of him, and this proves to be true because you quickly walk back to your seat as soon as he takes the report from you.

Sam whistles lowly, “Out of everyone in this class, you made the slut omega do your paper?”

“Good luck redoing the whole thing, unless you want an F.” Bucky adds.

Steve opens the report to scan through it, and the hundred-dollar bill flutters out from where it was tucked in the first page. Huh. You’d returned the money. His heart can’t help but sink, because here he was trying to help you and you’d thrown it back in his face. Curiously, he watches you in your usual seat in the front row. You’re texting someone on your phone and he feels a wave of jealousy. Was there someone else taking care of you? A boyfriend?

He pushes that thought out of his mind as soon as it enters it. No. You’re too sweet, too pure to have a boyfriend. You’re a lonely little omega, and the only person who talks to you on campus is Steve. That’s how he’s painted you in his head and that’s what you are.

But now he wants to find out more about you. And it’s easy enough, going to the admin office and flirting with one of the secretaries. Easily noting down the password to the computer that had all the freshman student details on it, and when the giggling secretary excused herself to go to the bathroom, he quickly typed in your name.

And all your information pops up on the screen in front of him. Home address (some random, desolate hick-town, just as he suspected), your phone number (he quickly saves it on his phone) as well as your mother’s contact details. No father. Interesting. It meant you probably had some sort of daddy issues that Steve could undoubtedly take advantage of in the future.

Back in his own room, Steve stares at your number on his phone. He could easily call you right this instant, or text you. He could thank you for doing his report and offer to take you out. And then he’d show up at your doorstep with a bouquet of yellow roses, take you to the most expensive restaurant in town and then he’d drive up to a great spot he knows, where the two of you could stargaze and then he’d kiss you for the first time before taking you to the backseat of his car and making love to you, all soft and sweet – because you’re soft and sweet.

Steve has to forcibly push these sappy thoughts out of his head. He’s not a lovesick fifteen-year-old kid, for fucksakes! He’s an alpha, way above the league of some small, hick-town omega who comes from a broken home. It’s just lust, he reminds himself, lust and control. That’s all you want with her, Steve. Remember that.

Weeks go by where Steve doesn’t miss a chance when it comes to bullying you. It’s just an extremely easy thing to do, despite the fact that sometimes, it feels like he’s putting his heart through a shredder when he sees you bow your head and cry. Why can’t he just leave you alone? Why is he so goddamned obsessed with you?

He stares at you a lot, too. And sometimes, he finds you staring back at him before you quickly look away. She has a crush on me, too! He thinks to himself before shaking his head and trying to focus on something else. But he can’t. You’re everywhere. Even when he hooks up with other girls now, he picks ones out who have the same features as you. Same hair colour, same skin-tone. That way, it’s easier to pretend it’s you when he’s fucking them from behind.

But it’s not you. You’d be so much better. So much sweeter, so much more subservient. And Steve wants you so bad, it’s starting to become a physical need.

He, along with Bucky and Sam, sit in the row behind you on the day everyone gets their graded reports back. He does it so he can catch another whiff of your scent which he hasn’t smelled since the first day he saw you. But to no avail – your suppressants are too fucking strong and this irritates him no end.

Bucky and Sam spend the lecture poking fun at you, juvenile jokes which Steve doesn’t even find funny despite the fact that he’s the one who started the whole ‘campus slut’ movement in the first place.

But from his position behind you, he can see you type in your passcode to unlock your phone, and subconsciously he commits it to his memory. He wonders who you text and call, what friends you have. Ever since he looked you up on the computer system, he just wants to know every single thing about you. And he knows he’s acting like a fucking creep – sometimes he has the strong urge to just grab you and smell you, smell your hair and your neck and just bury his nose into you. It’s insane. No other girl has made him feel like this, but it’s like he can’t help it.

Steve gets an A+ on his report, and when he glances at you holding your own paper, he sees you got an A+ too. Which means you submitted two top tier research papers. A smart omega, he thinks to himself. And he hates that you’re smart. Well, he admires you for it but he hates that he admires it. Because you shouldn’t be here writing reports on world politics. No, you should be inside a kitchen. Or in his bed.

He watches you smile and clasp your hands together, clearly happy with your grade. And he hangs back again, waiting for Bucky and Sam to leave at the end of the lecture before he approaches you.

“Congratulations, omega. Did you let the professor put it up your ass so he’d give you the highest grade in class?” Steve asks nonchalantly.

But this time, you don’t even protest against his lie, or even look at him. No, you keep your gaze diverted, staring intensely at the floor before you scrunch your eyes up. Shit. You’re well and truly afraid of him – he can practically see you shaking. And is it possible to feel bad yet get hard at the same time? Steve doesn’t know anymore, he’s always hard when he’s in your presence.

He watches you scurry away, looking intimidated beyond belief. And as you leave, you accidentally brush up against him. Your whole body, brushing up against his front, and Steve feels like someone’s kicked him in the fucking balls because it winds him. His heart seems to skip several beats and he feels like he can’t breathe.

Your body had only made contact with his for a few seconds at most, but he can’t believe the effect it had on him. Your soft little body, like a boost of serotonin straight to his heart. And his cock. Fuck. You practically half-run out of the room in a bid to get away from him, and you have no fucking clue that you’ve left him reeling. He’s 6’6 and weighs about 240 pounds but an unassuming little omega has almost knocked him off his feet.

And this incenses him. It embarrasses him. It confuses him.

I need to fuck her; he thinks to himself. I need to feel her again. Claim her. Make her mine.

Maybe then I’ll get her out of my system once and for all.

A/N: And there we go! i know yall may be a bit disappointed since this does not advance the plot at all and nothing really happened but!! this is just meant to be an insight into Steve’s head!! i know a lot of you want to know what he was thinking so here you go!! I do want to note that he DOES come across as a fucking psycho askfsdajkfn but he’s a dark character what can i say??? He develops a lot from here tho! ANYWAYS, please leave feedback, i’d love to know what you think! I hope you enjoyed!! bye dhfsdnk

[schrijverr]

Please, I Got a Family at Home

Divergence from chapter 7, where instead of not getting to finish, Buck gets to tell Bobby he has a family that relies on him and his income.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (percieved one sided)

Warnings: referenced addiction

~~~

Bobby is angry. Angry at himself, because he didn’t put his foot down soon enough and angry at Buck, because Bobby is trying to help him, mentor him, but he’s acting out and now he’s pushed too far.

He doesn’t like it, but he can’t keep being kind. First it was the fire engine, then refusing the teen mom entrance to the ambulance and now it’s the fire engine again. Clearly, Buck doesn’t do well with a kind hand, clearly he doesn’t take this seriously enough. Bobby can’t have a liability like that on his team, can’t keep covering for Buck, not when he still has so much to make up for.

“You’re fired,” he tells him, watching how Buck’s face drops.

“What?” he chokes out with a high voice. Shock and disbelief, as if he never considered such a thing could happen to him. “Wait, that’s not fair. You said I got three strikes.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bobby says, because it shouldn’t. Buck didn’t officially get three strikes, but there are three strikes against him and he clearly didn’t learn. His decision on this is final. Even if Buck looks a little like a kicked puppy. “You’ve made this choice yourself, and you rubbed it in my face. The same exact infraction two days after I wrote you up. You’re out of line and you’re not taking this job seriously. So you’re out.”

With those final words, Bobby starts to walk away. Buck is an adult, he can figure out that he needs to sort himself out and bring the fire engine back.

Before he can get very far, Buck has tucked his dick back in and has caught up with him. He looks to be near tears as he pleads: “Wait, Bobby! Bobby, I- I need this job. Please, don’t do this to me. I have people that rely on me and my income, I need this job. At least until the end of my probie year.”

God, he looks absolutely devastated and it takes everything in Bobby to not give him another free pass, but to stay firm on his decision. He needs to keep his resolve. Besides, what or who could he possibly be funding?

So, he shakes his head firmly: “No, I don’t care that you can’t fund your little frat house parties anymore, you can find another job. You can disrespect yourself like this, but but you are done disrespecting our firehouse and this fire department.”

“That’s not what I’m funding,” Buck frowns, he looks hurt, though resigned. Bobby is just wonder what that is about when Buck suddenly drops a bombshell. “Please, I got a family at home.”

“What?”

“I got a family at home,” Buck repeats, sounding almost surprised that Bobby isn’t cutting him off, but letting him explain. “Chris, our kid, he has CP, he needs this insurance. And Eddie is recovering from an injury he got in the service, I need to support him until he can get back on his feet and find a job.”

The only reason he lets Buck talk, is because he’s too shocked by and still processing the new information he has just received. Buck isn’t some frat boy funding his parties, he’s a father and a husband. Suddenly the flashes of inexplicable maturity make more sense to Bobby, however, that goes hand in hand with a revulsion at what he caught Buck doing. He thought this was a good kid, a bit lost, maybe, but with his heart in the right place.

“You telling me you’re not just fucking some girl on the job, but cheating on your husband isn’t making your case better, Firefighter Buckley,” Bobby manages to spit out.

Realization dawns on Buck face and he flails his hands around as he trips over himself to assure Bobby: “That’s not what this is, I swear. It’s not like that. We’re-” he cuts himself off, suddenly looking heartbroken, “We’re gonna divorce soon.”

That sends Bobby reeling once more, Buck has gone from single frat boy, to father and husband, to cheater, to divorcee in the making in a minute and Bobby needs a second. He holds up a hand, as he says: “Wait. Just wait. Gimme a moment.” Buck diligently does, anxiously awaiting his next word. “Chris and Eddie, start there.”

“Uh, yeah, so Eddie’s my husband, technically, and I adopted Chris last year,” Buck says. “Eddie is Chris’s actual dad, you know, biologically. Shannon, Chris’s mom walked out on… us, I suppose, two years ago. God, has it been two years? Yeah, two years, Chris was four. He’s six now.”

A six year old. Fuck, that’s three years younger than Brooke had been when she died. And Chris has already had one parent walk out and now his parents are getting divorced. Bobby can’t imagine doing that to a kid, let alone your own. “And you two can’t work it out?”

Again Buck gets that surprised look on his face and Bobby wants to strangle him a little, because why are you surprised at the notion of trying to work it out with your husband? That should be the first thing you’re trying.

“Oh, no. No. It’s- uhm, it’s not like that. We were never together. We’ve always had an open marriage, since it wasn’t romantic, but I don’t know if you know that term,” Buck says, with a tone that implies he is explaining something, but like Buck guessed, he doesn’t know the term.

“An open marriage?”

“Yeah, that sleeping or dating other people is fine,” Buck explains. “It depends on what you communicate about, but me and Eddie always said we’d find other people. It’s a marriage of convenience, not-” he swallows, “not love. We knew we were gonna get divorced the day we got married.”

This whole this is only getting more confusing. Bobby rubs his brow and says: “Wait, explain that to me again.”

“We got married for Chris. I’ve been in his life since he was three, only met Eddie a year later when Shannon left. I babysat, kinda turned into a co-parent to fill the gaps when she fell away. But then Chris needed two surgeries and bills piled up, so Eddie had to re-enlist, but he didn’t want to his parents to take them – they’re kind of horrible sometimes – so instead we got married, so I could watch Chris while he was away and divorce when he got back.”

“So you’re now in the process of getting divorced?” Bobby asks, trying to wrap his head around the whole thing. At least the mom walking out on a kid backstory explains his behavior at the call with the baby in the pipe.

“Oh, no, not yet,” Buck shakes his head, complicating it further. “Eddie got hurt on his tour, so Chris still needed insurance and he needed time to recover, so we switched Chris over to my insurance and I am providing financially right now until Eddie can go look for a job of his own again.”

“But it’s okay to sleep with people, because you have an open marriage,” Bobby says to check if he got it all correct.

“Yeah,” Buck nods enthusiastically. “You got it.”

That- That still is a lot. Firing Buck for being an irresponsible kid without a care of consequences is one thing, firing a man who has a kid, who needs medical attention, and husband, who can’t work right now, both of which are dependent on him, is a whole other story.

Still, one thing bugs him about the whole thing. Buck has proven, he is capable of stepping up. He’s seemingly raised Chris by himself for a good while when Eddie was on his tour and Bobby knows he can be mature when it counts. He obviously cares about these people and what happens to them with how devastated he looked at the news of his firing. So why do it?

“Why do it?”

“What?”

“If you have a family to provide for, people that rely on you, what are you sleeping with girls on the job for? You say you have an open marriage, then you don’t have to sneak around in your free time, right? Or am I still misunderstanding the situation?”

Buck gets a resigned look on his face, remembering what had caused him to explain his whole situation in the first place. He drops on the seat Bobby had caught him only a little while earlier and rubs his face as he sighs.

There is a moment of silence, then he says: “Because I’m helplessly in love with Eddie and he’s never going to love me back, because he’s straight and soon he’ll divorce me and find someone he does love and I have to stand there and watch as the family I’ve loved and fought for these last few years is ripped away from me and I get replaced.”

And that is a lot. Even more than Bobby was anticipating after the first few wild cards had been put on the table. He has no clue what to say to that.

Buck doesn’t seem to mind his silence as he continues: “So, I’ve been pathetically clinging to the time I do still have with them off the clock and trying to cope on the side. Which I do with sex. I, uh- I don’t have the healthiest relationship with sex. Might even be an addiction at this point.”

Bobby might know nothing about how to handle anything about this whole situation, but he does know addiction. He sits down next to Buck, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as he tries not to think too hard about the fact that Buck was fucking the snake lady on that very same seat moments ago.

“Hm?” Buck makes a confused little noise as he looks up at Bobby, appear surprised at the show of support, but also so desperate and hopeless.

“You did a good thing, admitting that. But you have to quit if you want to keep your life together. It’s not healthy, Buck. I’m not going to let you throw your life away like that.”

“A little too late, huh,” Buck laughs humorlessly. “I already got myself fired.” He looks over the city with dead eyes. “God, Eddie’s gonna hate me. I don’t know how I’m going to explain to him that I lost our son his insurance and our family its income.”

“You’re not fired yet,” Bobby says determinedly. “No one knows I said that, it’s not on the record.”

“Are you for real?” Buck asks, dull eyes lit up by a little sparkle. Hope.

“Yes, I am for real,” Bobby uses Buck’s words clumsily. “Can your family handle a week suspension with no pay?”

Buck’s expression gets a little tight and his voice sounds a little strained, but it’s still mixed with an utter and complete gratitude. “Yeah, yes. Yes. Uh, we can definitely swing that.” Then as if to assure Bobby he’s not lying, he adds: “I do the budget.”

Bobby can guess that Buck still dreads having to explain to Eddie why he’s home for the week, but he can’t not act. He’s already been way too soft on Buck, it feels unfair to let this slide too. If he wants to remain credible as Captain he needs to give Buck some sort of punishment.

So, he says: “Then I’m not firing you, just suspending you. For one week. Go home, get your head on straight, figure yourself out. You can’t keep going like this, you need to find a better outlet. Go to a meeting, if you think it’ll help. I can recommend you some, if you’d like.”

“Thanks. Truly, thank you, Bobby, this- this means the world to me. Not just me,” Buck says, gripping Bobby’s hand in a sort pseudo-handshake-prayer-thing.

Bobby places his hand on top of Buck’s in what he hopes is a comforting manner. “Of course. I’m here for you, if you want to talk.” Then he clears his throat. “Now, let’s return the equipment to the firehouse so it’ll be there when there’s an emergency.”

Buck becomes a little pink at the reminder of what Bobby caught him doing and he clears his throat too, letting go of Bobby as he says: “Uh, yeah, let’s- let’s go do that.”

They arrive back at the firehouse together and Bobby leaves Buck next to the engine with a clap of the back, before going to his office. He’ll start on the paperwork now and leave this mess behind him. Plus, if he is honest with himself, he doesn’t want to see Buck’s pinched face as he packs his stuff up. It’s not permanent and Bobby knows he made the right choice. He won’t soften his stance again, he’s done that enough already.

He never gets to finish the paperwork, because they’re interrupted by the alarm ringing. He finds Buck in the locker room with Hen, he gives him a pointed look, before he can get any ideas. “Go home, Buck.”

“Yes, Cap,” Buck says, a little resigned and maybe a little resentful, however, he doesn’t move to get up or follow.

Bobby doesn’t let it get to him. Being out on the emergency serves the same purpose as doing the paperwork would have; not seeing Buck leave with that defeated slump in his shoulders.

Though, it’s a little harder to dodge the questions of the others on the call than in his office, but he avoids them nonetheless. It’s not his business to share. It’s clear Buck hasn’t wanted to, him never mentioning any of this since he started says that much.

Still, despite telling himself he’s made the right call with suspending Buck, he can’t deny that he’s a little relieved when Hen tells him about the second chance she gave him. Buck has enough trouble at home, Bobby didn’t want to add stress to it, but he had to do something.

When they get back to the firehouse, Buck isn’t there yet, so they all wait for him to return. He gets out of the engine and immediately says: “I know what this looks like and I know you told me to go home, but I swear it’s not what it looks like.”

“I know, Buck,” Bobby assures him with a smile.

“You do?” Buck asks surprised.

“Hen already filled me in,” he says nodding to Hen, who gives a quick wave. “And Sargent Athena Grant called me, wanted to tell me what an asset you are. Told her she was half right.” He lets him sweat for a second, then breaks character: “You did good, kid.”

A relieved smile breaks out on Buck’s face, he probably couldn’t stomach the thought of more punishment.

“In fact, you made up for the stunt you pulled earlier today. Go get changed into your uniform again, you’re back on the shift,” Bobby says, quite pleased with himself.

“Really?” Buck practically sparkles. “Thank you so much, I won’t forget this,” he calls out, skipping back to the locker room.

“Are you sure that’s the right call, Cap?” Chimney asks as they watch Buck go.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Bobby answers. “The fear of what could have happened was enough of a wake up call for him. He won’t do it again.”

“If you’re sure,” Chimney shrugs, willing to trust Bobby’s judgment. “Come on, Hen. Let’s see if there are left overs.”

“You’re hungry after that call?” Hen asks as she starts to follow Chim. “That guy’s leg looked like minced meat. Don’t we only have shepherds pie?”

“I can compartmentalize,” Chimney retorts as their voices disappear up the steps.

Bobby waits until Buck comes out of the locker room again, once more in uniform. Buck spots him and joins him, softly saying: “I am really thankful for what you did today. I meant it when I said I won’t forget it. If you ever need anything – and I mean, anything – I’m here. I’ll show up with a shovel, no questions asked.”

“Thank you, Buck,” Bobby says with amusement. “Just take the time to be with your family when we’re done with this shift. Remember what almost happened today. Eddie doesn’t have to know, but promise me you’ll remember?”

“I promise,” Buck says immediately. He shudders: “I don’t think I’m capable of forgetting that moment. I never want to let Chris down like that.”

“Good,” Bobby nods. He knew he made the right call. However, there is no use in lingering in the moment longer, so he asks: “Want to help me get started on dinner? I’m pretty sure we’re eating something vegetarian.”

“Oh, gnarly accident?” Buck asks as he joins Bobby as they follow the same path Chimney and Hen took a minute earlier.

Bobby nods and Buck starts rambling about how he’s got a pretty iron stomach, but he’s been cooking with less meat more often recently, before speculating why brains do that.

If he’s honest, Bobby only half listens, but it’s comforting anyway. He still has so much to make up for, so much to make right. However, he doesn’t feel like Buck is jeopardizing that mission anymore, he’s not angry with him anymore either. He made a difference in Buck’s life today. That’s what he’s meant to do. It’s not a name off the list, but it’s a good deed to put on his slate to make it ever slightly more clean.

~~

A/N:

Poor Bobby trying to follow the whole mess of a relationship Buck has gotten himself caught up in lmao, he’s trying so hard xp

Also wouldn’t it be hilarious if he does end up hiring Eddie in this universe, not realizing who it is and then he finds out and goes to Buck like “uhh, are you ok working with ur ex?” and then has to have a crisis as Buck replies: “oh, he’s not my ex.” like I think that will be the final straw for him lol

[jcs-singular-slut-strand]

sleepover weekend from me!!

-> would you rather go to a party with jin guangshan or do coke in a gas station bathroom with wen ruohan/joke (i missed this joke tbh i had to make it)

-> yunmeng jiang sect headcannons! c'mon heap them on me. thoughts on them making, dyeing and exporting silk? i love worldbuilding.

-> choose between chengxuan and chengsu! reasons if you wanna give?

-> tell me three good things that happened to you or around you since the start of may, and also tell me about any random ass thing that irritates so, so much.

-> rec me anything honestly, i'll take it. i know you've got tolkein stuff on your alt, but if have to start lotr/similliarion (did i get that correctly), where do i start?

-> tell me about your first crush (no pressure at all, feel free to skip this)

I would do coke with Wen Rouhan in the bathrooms at Annandale Waters Service Station. They have clean bathrooms and a Burger King, I feel as if Wen Rouhan would enjoy a Whopper

YMJ headcanons

Yunmeng Jiang has the strongest trade relations with Meishan Yu out of the four greatest sects for obvious reasons.

The people of Yunmeng 100% have songs about the amazing Sandu Shengshou, which the Jiang disciples would obviously then sing just to piss Jiang Cheng off (they taught them to Jin Ling when he was merging from babbling toddler to chatty 5 year old).

All new disciples (and the older ones if they're acting in a way Jiang Cheng deems irresponsible and hazardous) are required to sit a Water and Boat Saftey Course. There's a written and a practical at the end, obvs. If you fail well then tough shit, you're resitting the course along with the disciples who have been reckless. This headcanon is inspired by my 90 year old grandpa who has sat the British speeding awareness course 2-3 times

Chengxuan vs Chengsu is actually really hard. However, Chengsu is more realistic I feel, especially during the time skip and after it. I love childhood best friends AU for Chengxuan and also all that Sunshot Campaign Chengxuan and modern AU's. But Chengsu takes the win; a high profile affair, raising a child who isn't yours with someone who isn't your husband, saltiness and self pity over the people you love choosing a Lan over you. Incredible.

On Sunday, my dad felt bad about forcing me to help him put up 2 coat racks, so he bought me jolibee and bubble tea

I went to Jolibee again yesterday

I had pepsi max for breakfast this morning

There are many, many things that truly piss me off but I can't be bothered going into detail right now so to keep things plain and simple, im gonna stick to something that's pissed me off today. Snapchat has this filter where you and a friend put in a photo of yourself and then it uses AI to generate what your child looks like. Me and my best friend, one of my favourite people ever, make ugly children. And I hate that. Why was that little girl so fucking ugly what was the reason snapchat???

I'm not sure what you mean so I'm just gonna link some of my fave fanfiction but also explain how I feel is the best way to get into the Tolkien fandom

Inexplicably around each other by adasinon = I just think this is sweet. Zhancheng nation ig

The Bounty of Our Days by remiges = Yu Ziyuan x Zhao Zhuliu, God I love them. It's like a character study and a backstory, I think it's really nice and fleshes out the characters

Sappy song on the old radio by Morethancupcake = oh my lord. Chengxian, modern au, childhood something. Past wangxian, past jiang cheng x literally anyone that is remotely bad for him. Couples therapy except Jiang Cheng didn't want to be there and they're not a couple anymore/yet, angst, coming back to each other later in life. I've only read this once but it's just that memorable.

Love you to death by KayllanBreak = Jiang Cheng kills Yu Ziyuan but no one can work out why (police inspector song lan). Wei Wuxian and Jiang cheng rocky relationship, Jin Ling idolising Jiang Cheng (naturally), Jiang Yanli lying her ass off for him, Jin Zixuan being his lawyer. Jiang Fengmian bashing 💗💗💗💗. Lan wangji is barely in this but when he is he's an utter arsehole.

Keep making trouble (till you find what you love) by Silveryogus = I FUCKING LOCE THIS FIC!!!! CHENGXUAN!!! Modern AU road trip to Lanling after the Xuanyu cave. Jin Zixuan has a talent for shoplifting (Jiang Cheng sent him to get clothes and he came back with too small trousers, yellow shirts, and sunglasses). Oh yeah and Jin Zixuan gets shot in a corner shop. Fellas is it gay to get into a high speed police chase whilst the guy you're semi unwillingly travelling with leans out the window and tries to shoot out the police's tires? Especially when said guy mentions smoking once and you spend some of the limited money you have on cigarettes??? Apparently I've visited this 70 times

Stray Dogs Parable by natcat5 = Post burning of Lotus Pier, no golden core debacle, jiang cheng recognising that his parents leadership strategies won't work in his situation/are just plain ineffective, proving his worth as a Sect Leader and earning the loyalty of his incredibly small number of disciples (the ones who survived), also Jiang Cheng sucks poison out of someone's ankle

Anyways, if you're getting into the Tolkien fandom I would recommend watching the hobbit films first, even though they're not entirely book accurate it's still a good way to get a feel of the story and work out if it's something you'd like. Then I would read the book. Same process for Lord of the rings. The silmarillion... God i actually can't say anything, you've just gotta re read the first 3-4 chapters a couple of times and then you should be fine...

My first crush is a dickhead who has progressively gotten worse and worse looking as time has gone on. I genuinely have no idea what I ever saw in him except for the fact that he laughed at my jokes and used to give me the answers in class. It was very embarrassing for all parties involved, I feel 😭

[flashyfucker]

by the water, euphoria pt2 | sidney crosby ✷

PART ONE / MY MASTERLIST summary: you and sid are all tangled up. still, you grit your teeth and dance around it: you’re both determined to make the rest of the vacation worthwhile. well, you are. you think sid might just be out to ruin your life. sidney crosby x fem reader. word count: like 8.6k because i am a (say it with me) dumb sl*t !!! warnings: vague angst. mutual pining. smut and it’s proper this time. dom sid, obvi. maybe corruption kink. like, daddy kink but barely. sex in uhhh communal areas. sorry. alcohol. age gap (all 18+ always). btw jus gonna go head and say the teammate married to the sister is hmmm [spins wheel] letang, because finding different ways to write “your sister’s husband” is absolutely murdering me. ps thank you for reading and commenting and messaging and making me feel so welcome i could cry. i’m always keen to chat about writing stuff. let me know what you wanna see next! request/suggest/scream at me here xxxx

On your way down to the beach, Sid didn’t touch you. You suppose you hadn’t expected him to (paying little mind to how you wanted him to), but you had expected things to be a bit stilted, maybe, without any address given to the moment on the couch. 

Maybe it was worse, for you both, equally, that things weren’t stilted.

Maybe it was worse that you talked. You traded anecdotes and laughed until your sides ached. He wanted to hear about even the dumb things, stories of losing friends while travelling in faraway countries during your gap year and getting tipsy to go grocery shopping at midnight during your time in college.

It was definitely worse once you made it to the place where two rocky outcrops gave way to a tiny beach, more pebble than sand, where the water gleamed cobalt, and swirled rather than crashed. There, you learned how much you liked hearing the chronicles of Sid’s times in locker rooms and tunnels, and going home to see his family.

It felt like you’d lived three chaotic lives, comparatively, to his single, hockey-centric one, but his musings bought with them a sense of steadiness. Sure, he didn’t have tales of Italian rooftops (and questionable hostels) to match yours, but, on that same note, you didn’t have stories of finding a minuscule slice of heaven in an empty rink (nor your parents sacrificing their lifestyles for your dreams). 

Your circumstances had been wildly different from his, yet your experiences were inexplicably similar. A different breed of the same pressure burdened heavily on the backs of both of you since childhood. He, to be something great, and you, to do something great.

And, the one fact that effloresced from the shot-for-shot trading of your experiences was growing clear: sometimes, you both wished the world around you would just slow down.

Once your ribs stopped hurting, the sun low in the sky when the laughter died, your chest felt bruised, because, you were realising, you didn’t want to talk to Sid like this. Not after the thing on the couch, the way you’d asked him to see you like that, to take you like that and he did, so tenderly.

If you talked, and if you laughed, you couldn’t feign nonchalance at the dinner table, keep your family none the wiser. You couldn’t fake it was just a sex thing, or a power thing, and act as though his quirks weren’t rapidly growing endearing, as if you weren’t watching him open up to you in real-time. 

If you knew how his mom kept safe a dried-up bouquet of flowers for each of his individual achievements, you wouldn’t be able to go back to not knowing. 

Once he’d told you those things, you couldn’t lie, tell yourself you didn’t care.

And, if you were smarter or stronger, maybe, once the jig was up and the lie was a bygone, you’d have stopped all this whatever it is in its tracks. Save yourself some trouble later on.

“What’re you thinking?” Sid asked quietly, propping himself up to look at you for the first time since you’d both thrown your towels down and lain, lazily, side by side. The dark sunglasses resting atop his cheeks made it easier for you to stand up and swipe down the backs of your thighs. Made it easier to move away from him. 

“A whole lot of nothing.” The side of your mouth quirked up in what you hoped would be taken for a show of assurance. 

You haven’t done anything wrong, you wanted to say. I just can’t afford to catch feelings for someone I can’t have.

Sid followed suit, brushing the sand from his trunks before shedding his shirt. He stood on the shore for a second, the ocean lapped at his ankles, tide at a slow rise while you stood there, too, back to him, shoulders tense as your arms were crossed. 

“Can I touch you?”

And, like that, there you were, in his lap again. All his. And, if that was going to work without shredding your heart to mere ribbons, you decided, it would have to be exactly as it was. His hands on you, nothing more, and you, all his, only ever for that moment.

His breath fanned delicately over the nape of your neck, and your skin tingled, ears ringing. 

“Please.”

The way the word left your throat in a powerless whimper felt a little pathetic, but when the back of his hand ghosted a stripe along your spine, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You shivered despite the high sun’s warm bite, and the ocean’s coolness was felt all at once, soft peach fuzz prickling. 

With one hand settling on your hip, Sid’s hot, lax mouth fell to the crux between your shoulder and neck. Your shoulders softened with arousal imitating relief, arms falling to your sides.

His free hand came up to toy with the tie of your swimsuit at the curve of your back, a lone finger hooked underneath the string with no intention of removing it, but a reminder that he could. 

You pushed back into him, sighing when his tongue and teeth pressed against your neck with the clearest deliberation. 

And, if you’d felt how hard he was, Sid thought, you didn’t say anything.

His kiss was taken nearly as soon as it had been given, replaced gingerly with his forehead lulling against the back of your head, an arm draping itself around your body mindlessly. 

“You feel what you do to me, Baby?” He spoke low, broken with rasp.

Once again, he was here. Apologetic for that tightness in his trunks, and even more rueful now he’d put words to it, albeit in a sick, roundabout way. His face felt searing, and you sensed his trepidation. You could feel it in even the most diminutive shifts of his muscles. 

Your heart raced at it, brow furrowing. That all-too-familiar slipping feeling seeping in. Reaching for the forearm he’d lain across your ribs, you nudged it just a little lower, willing his big hand to the seam where your swimsuit bottoms met your skin.

“I love this, Sid. So much.” You stopped your voice there, lest the continuation you could’ve given discourage him. You could’ve told him, truthfully, how badly you needed him to take you. How, if he’d asked, you’d have gotten on your knees for him, right there. 

Moreover, you wanted to tell him that you hoped, desperately, that he was even half as into you as you were into him. 

(And maybe that tension in his shorts made you feel a bit more secure in those hopes, and a bit less like a charity case.)

Regardless of could’ves and wanted tos, Sid let your few words catch him, for they were all he’d needed to hear: 

whatever it was he felt, you didn’t mind. You’d grasp it, and you’d hold him in it. Maybe this whole thing was a favour, just a moment. But it belonged to both of you, now, equally.

He smiled, the burgeoning relief he felt teetering on overwhelming, and his hand splayed over your stomach, fingertips finally dipping underneath your bikini. 

“Anyone ever touched you here before?”

He hadn’t even cared about the answer, he thought. His goal, now, was nothing but to rile you up. Occupy your mind. After all, that objective was the genesis of this. And it was becoming nothing, really, if not a game the two of you were playing. 

Within these moments, were they to continue, Sid decided, it was his job to follow your lead: pull you out of yourself, safe at his side. And for now, all he wanted was to make you squirm.

You turned your head in hesitation, enough for your lips to find purchase below his jaw. His hand was static, not yet deep enough to feel where the wetness pooled. His thumb caressed your lower stomach, tiny strokes coaxing your answer forward.

“Don’t remind me about my ex right now,” You exhaled shakily, flustered smile against his skin wringing at his chest, just a little. “He never wanted to try it.”

Sid hadn’t cared about the answer at all, until the answer was no, not really.

“Fuck.” He spit, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple, mouth lingering there while his middle fingers skimmed over your clit, sending a jolt through you, relieving only an iota of pressure. The tiniest of moans broke in your throat as your brow furrowed, eyes crushing shut.

“’M gonna fuckin’ ruin you.” 

Before you could process his words, the way your body pulsed at them before they’d fully washed through your head, Sid withdrew completely. You watched in awe as the man took a step around you, wading a little way into the ocean.

“You’re fucking cruel.” Words you’d meant to jest came from you more akin to a whine.

“M’ not fingerfucking you on a public beach. Much less when it’s your first time.” He explained sternly and logically, the way you’d imagine he’d explain something to a rookie teammate on the bench, something which felt unfair and frustrating. He paraded an undercurrent of experience and confidence which reassured you.

Still, it didn’t satiate the slick between your thighs.

“You fingerfucked my throat on a... public-like... couch.” You tried to quip as though it’d convince him, but Sid only laughed. You watched (stupidly, you felt) with your hands on your hips as he sunk back into the water, cupping his hands to splash it over his rosy face, card his fingers through his hair.

“Whatever. I’m going home.” You finally huffed childishly, turning for your towel and tote bag. 

You could nearly hear it on his face: the crooked smile, an unguarded moment.  

“Y/N. Swim with me?”

He sounded bright.

Cruelly, it only reminded you of how, sex removed from the equation, he and all his unguarded brightness couldn’t be yours. 

Your chest felt open. You slung your tote over one shoulder, nothing but your phone and a half-empty water bottle swaying inside. 

“That’s probably not a good idea.” 

You tried not to sound sad about it. Raised your voice a little and said it with a smile, so he could hear you over the shuffling of rocks and sand and relentless water enveloping him. Still, all your tries couldn’t prevent the way Sidney’s grin fell.

He knew why. He really did. Perhaps the age difference could’ve been negligible, unique circumstances considered, but your family couldn’t. Sid knew how proud Letang was to play the role of your big brother, he had been since the very day things got serious with your sister. You were the closest thing he had to a sibling, even before the wedding had put it to paper, and he’d always held you in that regard. 

Kris had never told his teammates not to fall in love with his brand-new baby sister, but, in all fairness, he hadn’t thought he’d needed to: that kind of a thing was a given. And he’d never once even considered he’d have to have that conversation with Sidney, of all the guys in the entire league.

Knowing why you bent down to pick up your still-dry towel did nothing to ease the hurt when you did.

“I’ll see you when you get home, Sid.”

You tried on that ill-fitting smile once more and hoped he could tell, somehow, how badly you wanted to stay as you left.

When he got home things were so normal it hurt, waltzing in a little after dark with his towel cloaking his hips and shirt slung over one shoulder. 

You were alone, living room lights turned down a fraction on the dimmer with an old Pens game playing loud on the TV. With a knee tucked up to your chest, you scrawled messily on the notepad taken from the kitchen fridge, typically reserved for scribbling takeout orders and neighbours’ phone numbers, a page now marked with questions and exclamation marks and a shoddily drawn diagram of a rink, right at the bottom.

“Hey,” You started, pausing your shorthand to turn down the volume when you heard the door swing open. “Kris has shrimp going on the grill.” 

Sid tried skimming over it, the shred of irony he found here, you tucked up on the couch like this, room glowing by the light of a game on the television while he stood, damp and salty. The floridity of your complexion told him it wasn’t lost on you, either.

“What’cha writing?” He asked on his way to the fridge. “If you don’t mind sharing.” 

You swallowed around your tongue, face hot. 

“Just a few things I don’t understand. I tried googling some of them but all the articles are written for, like, sports bros. So I was gonna ask Kris, or you, if you want to answer them, maybe,” 

So much for keeping it at his hands on you, nothing more. 

You wanted to scold yourself, roll your eyes at your own behaviour and just how tangled your feelings were becoming. You’d flicked the TV on when you’d arrived home, and a game queued up from earlier in the day played, and for probably a hundred reasons, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn it off. 

Sid couldn’t help it, the blushing like a high school freshman, the hand which came up under the delicate chain below his throat, fidgeting with its tiny links. 

“Of course I’ll answer them.” He said, soft-toned as ever.

You smiled at him, across the room, shuffling to find a glass in the cabinets, crease in his brow reading determination.

You liked him like this, you thought. He wasn’t an NHL superstar like this, half-dressed and still warmed by the sun under downlights, front office staff and media all so far away that they couldn’t touch him, no matter how badly they wanted to.

“The game’s not over yet, so I’ll hold you to that, later, when my list is done.” You breathed smoothly, put at ease by the coolness he was showing, like he’d entirely forgotten you’d been at the beach at all.

Mid-morning, at the kitchen island, you argued an absolute lost cause with Kris and Sid. 

“If they penalise it, players won’t slug the puck, like, halfway across the country just to kill time, basically. It means it’s not worth it for the players.” Your sister tossed down the magazine she’d been clutching in the living room and closed her eyes, exasperated by just listening to your determined vexing. 

“Jesus. Neither of you could’ve just said that ten minutes ago?” You stressed back at Kris and Sid with a roll of your eyes, a dramatic flick of your hands.

Maybe you were playing it up, and maybe you’d understood perfectly fine what icing was the first (or, like, the second) time they’d tried to explain it. But the fingers rubbing at Sid’s temples while he slumped over the counter were a bit like a reward. To have thrown him off his game (and turned a few grey hairs out of him) felt like some kind of comeuppance following the way he’d slighted you on the beach.

You were having too much fun to really hear the steady pull up of cars in the drive out front. Referring back to the notepad in your hand, about to open your mouth once more, your sister lifted a pointy finger at you across the room and warned, “Drop it, I swear to God,”, and you did, if only for her sanity, instead opting to watch her move towards the front door.

You sat in the kitchen, leathery barstool clammy on your thighs, as a patchwork of hockey players and their partners rolled in, Kris and Sid equally beaming at the surprise organised by your sister. The players represented a few teams scattered over the league, and catch-ups weren’t common at all, let alone ones without the looming pressure of a game or high-profile, highly-strung event. 

The piling in of people for the weekend felt nice. The walls would vibrate with the clamour and booming voices and laughter, and there were too many people for the number of bedrooms or patio chairs, but it felt like a surrogate family, strangers or not.

At the bottom of the stairwell, Sidney, ever the gracious leader, had traded away the comfort of his guest bed in exchange for the pull-out couch before anyone had even asked. 

You glared at the back of his head for that—  for bringing that insane idea to fruition, as your sister stared blankly at you in your peripheral, awaiting a similar foregoing of your bed to allow another of the couples some privacy during their weekend stay.

“My bed is so comfy,” You started, petulance grinding to a painful halt when you, once more, met the eye of your sister, who stood there with a harsh crease in her brow, head tilted in a way which put the intrinsic fear of your mother into you. 

You finished quickly: “Which is exactly why you should enjoy it, Nathan.”

If growing up with your family had taught you the mastery of one thing, it was faking one killer smile. Kris caught your eye, mouthing an endearing thank you alongside a smile more genuine than your own, which sweetened the deal a little. Partly because you liked Kris, but more than that, because you liked having Kris owe you favours, being that he was the only other person here well-versed in the language of your sister.

Once the newer guests had settled, drinks flowed in the yard (we can day drink, right?!, one of the ladies gleamed, already popping the prosecco). You stood at the kitchen counter before you joined them, mind mulling over nothing at all while you found rhythm in slicing lemons, content in listening to the muffled music and laughter chiming through from outside.

Sid, after moving the last of his luggage away to the office to allow one of the couples a little more space in the guest room, entered the open-plan living room. 

“Hey,” He begun, pulling your attention, quirking your brow over your shoulder. He had a feathery stack of bedding scooped up under one arm, and had started folding it over the arm of the sofa. He continued.

“Are you on birth control?”

You nearly choked. 

At the question itself, obviously, but moreover, the casualty with which he’d asked it, like there wasn’t a pack of people just past the glass doors which broke the patio from the living room. Like it wasn’t broad daylight, he wasn’t folding the eiderdown, and you weren’t minding your business, in an oversized tee, chopping fucking lemons, taken so very off-kilter by him.

You glanced over your shoulder, eyes wide. He looked at you like he’d asked something weightless, waiting patiently for an answer. You didn’t respond for long enough that he felt the need for elaboration.

“We’re sharing a room now. Thought I’d be precautious.” 

He simpered, and the enthusiasm with which he’d offered away his guest room started to make some sense.

“Sharing the living room, Sid. I’ll take the little sofa.” Your voice occupied a strange midpoint between exasperated and trembling, and you returned to your chopping board while he began to pace for the door, his bed linen stacked neatly. His hand lingered on the iron door handle, sight flitting back over the expanse of space between the big, grey couch, and the little velvet loveseat you apparently intended on sleeping upon. 

You let your mind wander to the potential for the total breakdown of whatever this was, which would occur if you were to be found in bed with Sid when morning light broke and someone came down to brew coffee.

But, you also thought about the reward if you weren’t found out. With the imagining of that reward tucked away somewhere dark, you called to Sid before he stepped outside:

“I am, by the way.”

By mid-afternoon, you’d downed two spiked lemonades to help pull you precariously out to join the party. Kris’ friends were intimidating, somehow equally in the offseason, when they were mix-matched with their guards down, than when they were uniformed soldiers prepared to dazzle thousands on the ice.

It was warm outside, one of those weird days where the breeze sticks to your skin and makes it tough to breathe. Clouds rolling in the distance thickened the briny air: you could smell the storm coming, the salt and grass mixing with the pavement intoxicatingly.

You’d not had any complex interaction with Kris’ friends since the wedding, when you were a smidge shorter and a smidge shyer, and of course, that shiny college acceptance letter from somewhere hard to get into was how your family introduced you.

Nathan Mackinnon seemed to be the only one who remembered anything about you at all, now, and maybe that little extra mile shouldn’t have surprised you. 

In the earliest hours of the morning following the ceremony, your face numb and brain surging, one of the bridesmaids had pointed a lazy hand to Nate in a back corner, still a little uncomfortable in this glitzy world and it showed, and, she slurred, he’s been eyeing you up all night.

Now, you wondered, whether things might be different had you crept over to the corner occupied by Nate and asked him to dance. Maybe you could’ve wound up looking across the table at him, here, and Sid, sat beside him, head tilted back hungrily, would be meaningless. Maybe.

Things would’ve been simpler. It would’ve made sense, you and a guy closer to your age, playing on a team closer to your college, a little further from Kris and your sister, not one of Kris’ closest friends. It sure as hell would’ve made a lot more sense than whatever feelings flurried about your head, now, years later. 

But, that night, in a whirl of powder and heady perfume at that velvet-foiled table, Nate didn’t matter. You were busy talking to Sid.

For all your flaws, now, you were relatively good at cards. But, God, you were thankful you weren’t playing with cash. It’d only taken Kris emptying your pockets one time (on your birthday, no less) for you to learn one lesson: hockey players play a lot of card games. On planes, buses, in hotel rooms. He’d bought all your drinks after taking your money, but no amount of top-shelf tequila could patch up your pride after the beating you’d taken at that green felt table.

Your dwindling chips were serving as a painful reminder of that night, but there was a sliver of hope left, maybe. It was just you and a stupidly smiley Nate left, his stack only a few chips taller than yours.

You felt the hope abating when Sid tapped Nate’s shoulder and leant in to whisper something, bravado puffing his tanned shoulders, the slightest of smiles on that tender mouth.

Whatever that something was, it must’ve been good.

“All in.” Nate sucked in a sharp breath, neck red from the rum and coke by his hand.

The company around the table was spring-loaded, grasping their drinks in wait.

“What the fuck?!” You gaped, giving yourself away, and the table went up in playful jeers. 

You tucked your cards to the table, face down so nobody caught the off suited two and four you’d held strong with for, probably, far too long, and ran your hands down your face for a juncture, someone moving to reshuffle the cards as you rubbed your temples, eyes scrunched.

“Count me out of the next hand. I’m going to be a sore loser over there, in the pool.” You sulked, pushing your chair back from the table. Your thighs clung stickily to the mesh when you stood, shirking away from the disappointed babbling with an apology you didn’t mean. 

“Good hand, Nate. You had me going for a while there.” You smiled even if you didn’t fully believe it, the sportsmanship of your father barrelling back to you.

“I’m gonna apologise for that one,” Sid commented, a pitiful excuse to follow you away from the table after you’d already stepped into the pool, knee-deep and peeling your shirt from your body. 

With your hands hooked on the limestone lip at the water’s surface, wet chin against the warm, dry pavement, you watched Sid pace over.

“What the fuck did you say to him?”

If you weren’t halfway livid with Sid, there’d have been something unreal about the angle you had on him right there: the mounts of his bowed legs in shorts just a little too short, curving through the view of taut abs— why was he still shirtless, again? It’d been hours since they were in the pool. You’d be lying to say you weren’t at all contented by it. 

His dark eyes were gleamy, reflecting the glowing below him, and while he looked straight down at you, the angles of his face were made sharp by the water’s ripples. And yet, you were halfway livid, so none of that mattered. Kind of.

“Just told him you were trying not to smile.” 

Your stomach pitted.

“Whatever.” You scoffed quietly, glancing back to the table where the group was absorbed in a new game. The trifling curiosity ate you quickly. “How would you even know that?”

Sid looked around the yard, avoiding your eye.

“Your temple flexes when you clench your jaw, which you do when you’re stopping yourself. From showing anything, not just smiling.”

If you’d thought about it for more than a second, it would’ve made your heart burst, the way he’d noted such an incredibly insignificant thing. But, again, there were more pressing things to concern yourself with. 

“Y’know getting me beat in poker isn’t going a long way in convincing me to fuck you tonight.” 

You’d not known whether the closely-gathered crowd at the table could hear you across the lawn, but, at that point, you didn’t care. You peeked over at them, awaiting any indication they’d heard your dig. If this was how you were caught, you hoped it’d be funnier than it was controversial, but still, you watched. 

Sid didn’t miss a beat. Your body, once soft and liquid, turned rigid in an instant.

“Somehow I don’t think you need any more convincing.”

Long after dinner, after good-nights and still-hollow plans for tomorrow (the driving range missed us today, I’m sure of it, someone chaffed), Sid and Letang sat on the patio, the two of them. 

Listening to Steve Mears’ voice at the lowest volume on the surround sound, you found yourself there again, lime tang stuck to your tongue, amber lights turned down. One of their beers you’d stolen from the cooler sat on the coffee table, barely a mouthful gone before it lost its wet chill. You never really liked beer, more liked the way holding the bottle made you feel.

“You won’t finish it,” Kris had ribbed with a smile, watching you retrieve the bottle. 

“I will.” You swore, palming a few waxy lime wedges from a small dish on the table.

And, in the way that older siblings are meant to be, Kris was right. You poured it down the sink, listened to it gurgle as Sid and Kris came inside for the night, still laughing from something said behind the glass doors.

“What’d I say?” Kris pointed at you, grin growing on his mouth despite his hushed tone, the threat of waking the house looming.

“Shut up,” You replied, pointing the neck of the bottle at him like a threat, only making him laugh. “Maybe if you bought better beer I’d finish it when I steal them.”

“Less than half, right?” Kris pressed on, smiling, your resignation his glorious win. “You drank less than half?

A stupid, grousing little part of you felt warm, not at the banter, but more so, at Sid stood off to the side, bearing witness to it. Like on the first day, when your sister had made you sweat a little in front of him, made you feel like a kid again. 

The cool, older guy, watching you shrink, trying to prove yourself and failing. That stupid, grousing little part of you regretted grabbing a beer at all. But, whether or not Sid had picked up on your sudden disquiet, you didn’t know. It didn’t matter. The hand he slid against the curve of your back as he passed you, remaining a little too long, maybe, the weight of it pulled you back to yourself, drained all your feelings of smallness.

When Kris went to bed, the click shut of his bedroom door upstairs rang through like a starter pistol. Neither you nor Sid spared a word. You brushed past one another in the hallway, in and out of the bathroom to brush teeth and dress down, and pretended the intensity in the room hadn’t grown tenfold. 

Everything wound, coiled tight like a spring, waiting for something to give. 

You nearly gasped when Sid spoke first, felt it in your chest, his placid timbre.

“We didn’t end up getting past icing today.”

He eyed the notepad that sat on the coffee table fondly, all its smudgy ink. 

Half the tension gone, you scoffed.

“It just sounds fake!” You said, throwing a hand out at the TV despite the intermission on screen, the game long ignored, anyway. He helped you reel out the sofa bed wordlessly, toss out creamy sheets, and he pretended he didn’t see the way you were brooding, brow furrowed. 

“I really do think the game could be more interesting if there was a little more chaotic, pointless scurrying back and forth.” You finally collapsed on the bed, duvet puffing up around you, unbearably soft against your skin. 

Sid resigned to the place beside you, chuckling softly, “We don’t need to argue about this again.”, both of you wilfully ignorant to the magnitude of you in his bed, there, in his space like you belonged there (and maybe, by some measure, you did).

“Sid.”

He looked at you, just-hooded gaze knotting you inside. Your eyes were big, looking up, melting him. He swallowed hard before his head tilted in acknowledgement, breath on hold.

“Do you wanna touch me?”

“What?” He asked, voice buoyant, as though you’d started a joke. For a moment your throat went dry, starry eyes forever away, waiting for some kind of mocking you’d not known from Sid, but it didn’t come, of course, it didn’t. 

Lifting a hand to your hairline, to your jaw, instead, he stroked, drew a soft line.

“I thought the poker thing killed my chances.”

Elation teetered in the centre of your throat. Poker was a million miles away, everything was.

“You’re on thin ice.”

“I’m used to it.”

You caught the brittle shell of the joke but his index finger, now curled with a knuckle bent against the seam of your lips, reigned a lot more alluring. 

He started with two fingers, tempting your tongue, mouth lax and forgiving, waiting on an unspoken cue from Sid, something more. The quick press of his thumb up into your lower lip edged your mouth shut around him, and in doing so, pulled from him a sigh as you sucked, eyes drifting shut.

Your chin tilted up to follow the gentle motions of his hand, infatuated by how his breaths were growing shorter, more audible. 

His wrist twisted carefully as his hand thrust, drool collecting at his joints lewdly, soft suction hardening behind the press of your plush lips. 

He gulped, blinked slow. For a second Sid allowed himself to see you the same way he had just a day prior, this same place, occupying this same space in his head. 

Under auric light, even the most overt of the curves of your body lustred, soft from your nightly routine. Sid loved your eyes, the way they’d blaze when you spoke of something you cared for, and now, looking up at him, despite your lashes weighing heavy with lust, you still mouthing at his fingers hotly, he swore that blaze was almost the same.

For all he wanted to acquiesce his best senses telling him to stop it all, everything, right now, Sid couldn’t bear to pull his eyes from where they met yours. With his brow knitted as ever, the tight space under his ribs burned.

At a particularly hard drive of his wrist, you drew in a hard gasp around him, hips mindlessly gyrating, searching for something more than your silken sleep shorts. 

The sight of you, for how endearing and mind-numbingly pretty and dully burning it was in his torso, also mounted in him an urgent need, a fresh sense of arousal, you and those blazing, begging eyes. 

“You know anyone could come out here and see you like this. Yet you don’t seem to care, do you? Do you wanna tell me why that is?” 

He withdrew his hand, touching your cheek where a limpid tear had branded its track. Your eyes fluttered open. You didn’t know what to say. Everything you wanted to say hung behind your teeth, remained shapeless in your mouth, your jaw agape.

“You can be honest, Baby.” He told you earnestly, brushing your hair from your face, the lock shadowy against your skin, only aglow by a few dimmed bulbs in the kitchen, a sick reminder of the publicity of your location. 

“I want it,” You start, swallowing hard. “Really fucking badly, Sid.” 

Your fingertips sunk into his wrist beside your head, thumb resting at where you could feel his pulse, fastening beat keeping you firmly on earth. You looked at him, followed the glowy orange line along his side profile where the washy golden light backlit his skin. 

“Want what? What is it you want so badly?” 

His voice was so soft, tiny smile ruminating. He was fucking with you. He had to be fucking with you, playing dumb like this. Really, though, Sid needed to hear you call this for what it was: something more than a favour, more than a moment. 

He needed to know that he wasn’t imagining it all. The bottom of the stairs, and the patio table, sitting on the sand at the beach— that the sum of these seconds was something more than just this, family be damned. 

He didn’t think his heart could take this otherwise, whatever was about to happen, what had already happened.

“I want you, Sid. I need you to ruin me.” 

At that, maybe unwisely, Sid kissed you, the weight of your words not lost on him. 

It was mellow and chaste, as if he was testing the waters at first, perhaps a little afraid you’d stop it. When your hand found his throat for leverage, his kiss quickly hardened. He dropped his hip against the bed so he was on his side against you, one elbow to leverage his upper body, and you could feel him, even in the places your bodies didn’t meet. 

As the softness of your tongue met his in sync, your fingers followed suit at the waistband of his sweats. A tentative hand dwelled there, and the warmth of your mouth left him for a bare second.

“Can I?”

“Yeah, Baby.” 

Then you licked your palm and your fingers were below his waist, finding the hot, sticky tip of his length. He kissed you again, quick and open on your mouth, cut off by the loose glide of your hand down his warm cock, fingers barely ringed around the thickness.

You could hear the blood battering in your ears at the sound he made, a sharp hiss of air through his teeth while he watched you, trying to keep his eyes open: he didn’t want to miss any of this, needed to remember. The throbbing in your gut matched your pulse, growing heavy there in your lower belly, your pelvis surging thoughtlessly.

A little exploratory, you swiped a soft thumb over the head, smiling breathlessly when his hips kicked up. You revelled in the tiny reactions from him, the speeding up of his breath, chest surging. He clasped your wrist before you had the chance to push it much farther, changing his mind on a dime.

“Another time,” He said at your displeased little hmph. He pulled back up to his knees, resting on his haunches beside where you lay. 

“You keep saying that.” You quipped. “What if there is no other time?”

You could’ve gone cold at the inflamed words now hung in the air between you. You hadn’t even really known what they’d meant before you said them, didn’t what you meant by them, if anything at all. He didn’t let you go cold, though. Didn’t let the moment falter. 

He grabbed your jaw, squeezing just enough to open you up, mouth red and glossed. 

“Tongue out,” Is all that came, bypassing your annotation, the way it nipped at him. Still, you wanted this, your body trembled with it, all that want, so pent up. You stuck your tongue out as instructed, taking him down when he spit eagerly, a chill running down your spine to join with the beating in your belly, between your legs, where his free hand had begun flirting with the inseam of your shorts. 

The nipping at him only grew tenfold when your head lolled into the weight of his hand, captivated eyes glittering up at him, looking like he’d just told you he loved you for the first time. You stuck out your tongue again, proof you swallowed it, and Sid nearly folded.

Your legs spread further in anticipation as his fingers drew down your torso, and you found yourself mouthing at the hand now held on your jaw, thumb bridging over your lips heavily.

“I love your mouth.” His voice wavered some when your teeth found purchase around his fingertip.

“But, I think,” He pressed on, four fingers finally tugging your shorts and panties to the side, “I’ll like your cunt more.”

You gasped to save yourself making a noise any cruder, shivering at his words. The air, cool and moving, was a relief on your centre, but Sid didn’t give you time to appreciate it before he had a lone finger run the seam of your pussy, garnering some of your slick before rounding your clit. You moaned through lips crimped shut, face screwed up in a way so stunning it threatened to ruin the man above you.

It was one finger at first, dipping tentatively, daring you to say something, to breathe, even.

“Your fingers are,” You stopped to finally exhale, fearing your lungs could’ve exploded, “Bigger than mine,”

He chuckled at that, and tried his best not to let the image of you, your own fingers between supple thighs, working yourself over, distract him. Instead, that coaxing smile still on his mouth, he crooked his finger and eased in a second. You pulled your forearm over your face instinctively to cover your mouth as the pleasure forged and tightened, but just as quickly, Sid knocked it away, collecting both your wrists in his one free hand and holding them still.

“You gonna be a good girl? Stay quiet?”

His thumb nudged at your clit, wrist oscillating the tiniest amount to let him rub circles at your g-spot. You could’ve sworn you saw stars, vision gone spotty after you forced your clenched-shut eyes back to him where he watched you, even-faced, still expecting a response.

Your tongue poked out to wet your lips and you gulped, trying to compose yourself somehow. As if that was even possible like this.

“Yes. Yeah, I am.” You managed.

“Perfect.”

Your cunt fluttered at the inkling of praise, and Sid sighed a breathy laugh at your reaction, riling you up a little, hand moving faster, rubbing at that one delicious spot inside you with his thumb still trained on your clit, stroking attentively. 

“Please, Sid.” Your body squirmed and strained thoughtlessly and your hips bucked, hands struggling against the firm grip he held on your wrists. 

“I don’t know what you’re asking for.” His voice was shot, eyes dark. “Need to be more specific for me to give you what you need,”

Just like that, your resolve dissipated, need overtaking. 

“I need you to fuck me, Sidney. Need your cock inside me. I can’t take it any longer. Please put it in.” 

Your muscles tensed around his fingers once more, a soft thigh brushing against him, you enveloping him. His hand thrust slowly forward once more to nudge your sweet spot, now starving your clit of any attention at all. Your legs pressed tight around his wrist, writhing and bucking and trying. 

“You want me to put my cock in you, Baby? You want me to put it all in? Push it all the way inside until you can’t think about anything else?”

His voice got away from him, muttering sternly before he had the chance to vet his words. He could feel your reactions everywhere, sure his skin lay over white-hot coals, it was the only explanation for his roiling nerves. He loved what his unchecked words were doing to you, the way your mouth was split, whimpering from your throat, brow knitted, your body flowing with all of it, everything.

“Nothing else, Sid,”

Sid knelt back, hand leaving your cunt only to sweep your shorts and panties down in one motion. He watched in awe as your legs fell asunder for him once more, his shaky hand rubbing at the silken skin of your shin closest to him. You wanted to frame it, the look on his face in this light, all doe-eyed elation and awe, and you felt tight and pleated inside, seeing him like that, the anticipation overwhelming.

“Nothing but how stretched out you are, huh? How deep you can feel me inside you?”

You were sure he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

He gripped one of your legs, lifted your hips over the palisade of his thighs and shifted your body so he was situated between your knees, and you bit back a reaction to just how hot it was, the way he could throw you around at will. You watched him strip his shirt and ruck his sweats to his midthigh, and didn’t bother masking the drop of your jaw at the sight of his cock, leaking and heated, all for you. 

“Please, Sid. Please. I need it. Nothing but you.”

You looked like a fucking painting, halo of hair thrown out around your face, all glistening and rosy. And who would he be, now, like this, to deny you what you needed? 

He could’ve finished on the spot when the first swollen inch popped in— your hot, dripping walls choking him, blowing his mind. Both hands encircled your midsection, bracing himself while pressing you into the mattress as he rocked forward, filling you wholly. 

You sobbed nonsense into your own palm, fingers dug into your cheek so you wouldn’t whine too loudly. Your other hand came up under the shirt bundled around your ribs to tease at one of your nipples, quickly followed by Sid shoving the shirt up entirely, putting your tits on show for him. 

For all his elated doe-eyes had first roused you, nothing could’ve prepared you for this, his slack-jawed smile as he watched your cunt stretching around him obscenely. His hair, longer from the summer, curled and stuck to his forehead, sweat beginning to bead along his temple.

The first time you choked out his name, after his instinctual reaction to press you harder had subsided, he flipped you over with a hand on your hip, cock barely gone for a second before you mewled for it, helplessly empty without it.

You’d begun to say something quickly forgotten when Sid spoke and your blood felt bitter.

“Put your fingers in your mouth when I fuck you. I want you to remember.”

You let out a needy cry, head reeling like you could feel the chill flood from your brain to between your legs, remnants of your clipped orgasm building once more.

You did as you were told and eased your own two middle fingers over your tongue with the side of your face pushed into the bed. Sid made easy work of pulling you back into him by the flesh of your thighs, fingers heavy and rough, tearing a muffled yelp from around your fingers. He manoeuvred you so smoothly, nudging one leg to bend at the knee, opening you up for him, and crawled up closer to you while kneading the flesh of your thighs with greedy hands.

“You comfy?” Sid asked lowly, kindly, pulling your swimming mind back up, your desperate hands moving to seize fists of the duvet beneath you. The consideration bloomed in your abdomen. 

“Yeah, Sid.” 

With that reassurance, he inched forward, the hot head of his thick cock catching at your slicked entrance.

You were fucked, you thought, if someone came out here while he had you like this, nudging back inside you gently with the slightest shifts of his hips, stretching you slowly. 

There would be no hiding this. Something dark in you liked that thought: the idea that they’d know, whoever they were, that you were Sid’s. They’d see it and they’d know, even if it were only for a moment.

Cock finally fully seated in you, he reached forward with a hard sigh, brushing your hair from the sliver of your face he could see. The motion, the steady uptick of his body had him rubbing impossibly deep within you, coaxing a noise that was all head and throat, so pretty he needed to hear it again. 

“Pretty Baby,” 

You pushed back on him at that, trying to meet the calculated moves of his pelvis, heighten their intensity. Reciprocating, Sid found a steady, deep rhythm. An arm coiled around your hip, lifting your body the slightest amount, and his flexors pulsed against your lower abdomen, rubbing over your clit delicately.

You could’ve cried, a stunned moan probably a little too loud, circumstances considered, breaking from your mouth. You could feel the pressure mount in your pelvis fast, and Sid must’ve felt it, too, your heat ticking around him.  

“Hold it, Baby. Hold out for me,”

His thrusts were slow and hard and deep, and you vaguely registered his hand digging into the flesh of your ass, but you could only maintain focus on the fingers at work over your dripping pussy, where his cock railed into you, messy and raw.

“Please, Daddy. I need it. Please let me cum,” You were outright begging now, with little regard for how pathetic you must’ve looked (nor now into it Sid was, eyes pinched shut and head ripped back), and even less regard for the words leaving your mouth (Where the hell had daddy come from, anyway?). Sid had never really considered he’d like it, but now, from you, fuck.

You caught it, for a moment in your periphery, the hard column of Sid’s throat like stone, chin tipped. It took all you had not to swivel and push yourself up, take his skin in your mouth. Instead, you pressed your hand down, down, down, brain whirring, fingertips meeting his between your thighs. 

The stretches of space where his skin flattened heavily against yours, clammy and titillating, were growing to be too much. 

“You can let go, Baby. You’ve been so good.” 

Your body stuttered, muscles pulling. His hand between your thighs, rubbing soft, quick strokes at your clit didn’t stop for a moment, his body surrounding you, pressure everywhere at once in the most extraordinary way. At the crest of your orgasm, blinding heat flowing through you with your mouth pressed into the bend of your elbow to muffle yourself, you thanked him again and again, eyes scrunched shut, your tight heat milking him.

“There she is, atta girl.” His grunted words kept the feeling rolling, your skin tingling all over while your muscles throbbed, reaching fiercely to push his rutting hand from your clit to suspend the overstimulation, you both straining disbelieving laughter, curtailed by the contraction of your muscles around his cock cutting a filthy noise from his throat. 

His rhythm stammered barely a moment after, hands coming to the thick of your thighs and squeezing so severely, as all he’d done to hold out his own release collapsed, the feel of you falling apart at the seams beneath him, tautening around him, and your voice wrecked, still choking on your thanks, all of it too, too much. 

Sid hummed at the keen of his name that fell from you as he pulled out carefully, running a gentle hand over your ass. He could feel his cheeks heat up at the view of his cum leaking from your sopping cunt, burying away the borderline confusing feeling that it could’ve been the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, he ever would see, you looking so much like his. Dry-mouthed, Sid hiked his sweatpants back up and grasped for his shirt somewhere on the floor alongside the bed to save the duvet. God fucking forbid he have to explain the stain.

Propping yourself up a little higher on your hands and knees, your fingers came to your core, face, impossibly, glowing even deeper at the evidence of him there, adding to the aftershocks still trembling between your hips. 

Sid groaned quietly at the sight of you, a little unsteady and still affected before him, with two fingers pressing back into your sensitive pussy. You whimpered as your thighs buckled, pushing his seed back in messily. Sid’s shirt was bundled tight in his hand, the same one he then used to turn you back over sharply, tired giggle falling from your lips as your back collided with the bed.

With a nervy smirk, you propped yourself up on an elbow and ran your tongue over your fingers, sucking them clean and humming at the heady taste.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ end me.” Sid strained and shook his head, mind blank of all other thoughts. His smile prevailed, though, over the arousal stirring in him once more. He nudged at your knee as soon as he managed to snap out of that feeling, opening you up for him, and you shared shallow smiles following your little yelp as he pawed over your used pussy with the soft cotton.

Following the passage of a breathless moment, the pair of you sat across from one another and his hand came to yours, lifting it to toy with your fingers, caressing the knuckle where your teeth had scraped, comparing the insignificant marks to the ones he had, matching them.

When the warmth of his hand on yours began to roil in your chest, you stood up, both hands on Sid’s shoulders to steady your spent body. With a tenderness that had your cheeks full with a stunning grin you simply couldn’t help, Sid helped pull your panties back on, followed by your sleep shorts, and he let his hands remain on your hips, a quiet savouring of the moment, disallowing its inevitable slip for a while longer.  

“I’m gonna go clean up a little,” You murmured after a few beats, one hand collecting under his chin in a messy fist to nudge his eyes up to yours. Sid hadn’t realised his eyes were screwed shut at all until it took a moment to coax them open, the glow of your complexion a sweetener.

You whispered, “I want to kiss you again,”, and his eyes fell back to his lap, that tiny devastation creeping in.

"Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

The air left his mouth slowly, like the drawing out of heavy nectar. It killed him to say it, to remind you of your sensibilities. 

You didn’t want to remember them, either.

Still, you were at a stalemate with your feelings. Regardless of what you wanted, now, you left without kissing him.

[calaofnoldor]

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290​‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass​​ (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural​‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant​‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo​ and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes​ Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.  

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.  

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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[kohanayaki]

.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 4

Snape looks back on your days at Hogwarts, how your friendship came to be, and how it came to end.

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2    CH 3   CH 4  CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

___________________________________________________________

Ch 4  .:Budding Feelings and the Beginning of the End:.

Severus Snape had made a lot of mistakes in his life, and seeing you again after all these years was forcing him to relive every single one of them.

He stared blankly at the wall in front of him, shrouded in the darkness and grim silence of his empty house. He never thought he'd see you again, and certainly not under these circumstances. When he'd laid his eyes on you in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld place he couldn't believe it. He, much like the rest of the Order (except for Molly, apparently) assumed you wouldn't be at these meetings any longer. After James and Lily were murdered and Sirius was thrown into Azkaban, you'd left London and headed to New York under the Ministry's alliance with MACUSA, hoping to help bridge the gap between muggle-borns and purebloods in America. He knew you had been back to meet Harry a handful of times, but he also knew that being in this city brought up painful memories for you, so he was as stunned as anyone else to see you standing there in the doorway, greeting them as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

He could see that traveling had been good for you. He'd heard through the Hogwarts circuit that you were back on auror duty across the world, taking special assignments from Dumbledore and the Minister for Magic himself. You seemed like you were doing better, but when you turned to smile at him he could see the hesitation and the sadness that brewed behind your eyes, likely his doing.

He desperately wanted things to go back to what they were before—

Before he'd ruined it. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1974  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright students,” Professor Slughorn said as everyone finished filing inside the room, “today we're going to be pairing off into new partners for the upcoming project.”

Groans and nervous chatter flooded the sound space immediately, no one very thrilled with having to work with someone new out of their control. You cast a glance over to Lily who looked equally displeased. You liked being her partner, you both excelled at the subject and worked really well together.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Slughorn said, waving the complaints off, “However, I am going to be giving you the luxury of choosing your own partners this time, but everyone—”

The energy in the room instantly shifted, everyone shoving around people to get to their friends.

“—keep in mind, if I see any slacking off or trouble brewing in these new partnerships I will not hesitate to rearrange them!”

Slughorns's words were completely lost among the commotion as people paired off before you could even get your bearings. Snape stalled as he stared at you from across the room; Lily had already been dragged away by Mary, and his brain was trying to work out how to ask you to be his partner.

Suddenly an arm was slung over your shoulder and you turned towards the new presence in surprise. You looked up to see Evan Rosier, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows and his Slytherin tie loose around his neck.

Oh, sod it, Snape cursed internally. He was too late.

“Wanna partner up?” Rosier asked, a crooked grin gracing his chiseled features, “It'd be my honor to have the smartest Potions partner in class, not to mention the most attractive.”

You rolled your eyes at the praise. Evan was your friend, and he was nice to look at, but if he thought that you would be willing to do all the work for the both of you in exchange for some cheap compliments, then he had another thing coming. You locked eyes with Snape from across the room

“It would be your honor,” you smirked up at Rosier, “but I already have a partner, sorry.”

It took Snape a few seconds to realize what you were doing, but once he snapped out of it he made his way towards you. You almost chuckled at how robotic he looked as he did, clearly shocked.

Rosier looked between the two of you and rolled his eyes.

“Suit yourself, sweetheart,” he said, letting you go and pushing you lightly in Snape's direction, “but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He sent a wink your way that left Snape's blood inexplicably boiling,

“Thanks for that,” you grinned, “and just so you know, I would have chosen you even if he didn't come up to me, so don't get all pouty about it, okay?”

Severus just looked at you blankly. Even after four years it was frightening how well you were able to read him; for a moment he was scared that he'd accidentally projected his thoughts to you, but he wasn't anywhere near that level of legillemency yet. He wanted to say something that had some semblance of gratitude but settled on:

“Whatever.”

To which you just laughed and dragged him to your now shared desk.

You really were something else.

“Now then,” Professor Slughorn addressed the room, “today we will be beginning the new unit on toxic concoctions, starting with the Draught of Living Death. If you would all turn to page ten of your books, we will get started presently.”

You turned open your book and Severus did the same. As he did, you noticed that nearly every page was covered in small notes littering the margins, with some of the instructions circled, crossed out, or modified. You were hardly surprised, Snape had been pouring over this book since last year when he'd stolen it from a fifth year Slytherin who'd been speaking poorly of you (that last part you were unaware of).

You turned your attention to the directions, reaching over to preheat the burner so your cauldron would be hot enough by the time you began. However, as soon as you lit the flame with the tip of your wand, your cauldron shot up into the air, hitting the ceiling with a loud BANG! before crashing down back onto your table, breaking several of the glass instruments that were settled there.

Your face burned embarrassment as everyone in the room turned to look at you in shock.

“Snape, (L/n),” Slughorn said, surprised, “whatever happened?”

“I. . .” you began, not knowing what to say, “I don't know, I'm sorry, Professor.”

“Quite all right,” he said uncertainly, restoring your table and equipment with a wave of his wand, “just be sure whatever that was doesn't happen again.”

“Of course,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the snickering around you. If you noticed the way that it stopped as soon as Snape sent a deathly glare at the culprits, you didn't show it. You reached down to grab your cauldron, noticing that the bottom was dusted in some sort of orange powder. As you turned it over, a note fell out of it.

You're welcome, (L/n). Sorry I couldn't be there for the fireworks~

J.P.

“That sneaky little, ugh,” you crumpled the note, growling in frustration.

“What is it?” Severus asked, peering over your shoulder to glance at the paper. However, as soon as you tried to show it to him it vanished in your hands in a wisp of glowing embers. You turned to look at Severus who was still staring at you expectantly.

“It was Potter,” you rolled your eyes.

Anger flashed in Severus' eyes before confusion replaced it momentarily.

“But that was your cauldron, not mine. Why would Potter want to mess with you?”

And now the anger was back again. Snape was used to Potter’s crew targeting him; bullying and suffering through minor hexes had become an everyday occurrence, but when he imagined them doing anything to you it was enough to make him see red.

“Ah, well. . .” you trailed off, deciding that telling him you'd yelled at the group of Gryffindors: 'if you jerks want to have a go at Severus you're gonna have to get through me first!' was a bad idea.

“I sort of, maybe, kind of. . . started it?” you said. Severus raised a brow at you. “Look, Potter was asking for it, okay? It was about time someone messed with him for a change. And besides, it was hilarious, even Lily got a kick out of watching that broom hit him in the head.”

Severus chuckled at that, a hint of pride welling in his chest at yours and Lily's shared distaste for the Potter boy.

“But that was the last straw,” you declared, grabbing a Sopophorus bean from the bowl in front of you and a knife to cut it as per the instructions, “I'm sick and tired of him acting like he's better than everyone else,” you said, stabbing down with your knife for emphasis. The Sopophorus bean jumped as you did, sliding out from under your blade and skidding across your cutting board. You huffed as you grabbed it again, placing it back down and holding it in place. “And he walks around with that little posse of his like he runs this school!” You brought your knife down again, moving your fingers at the last second, but the bean still managed to slip away, trying to bounce back into the bowl.

“This means war!” you seethed, grabbing the runaway legume again, now at your wit's end, and crushing it in your fist. It stopped jumping as the beet-red juice of the plant dripped down your arm, and Severus looked at you with a small smirk on his face.

“Well, that's one way to do it,” he said.

“Shove off,” you said playfully, throwing the bean in his direction. He dodged it easily, his smile growing.

“No, really,” he said, almost more to himself than you as he scribbled out the word 'cut' and replaced it with 'crush' in his notebook, “you might be better at this than you let on.”

You blushed at the unexpected compliment, backhanded as it was.

“Excuse you, I happen to be fantastic at Potions,” you said, grabbing another bean and avoiding his gaze.

“Right, that's why your cauldron exploded.”

“That was sabotage,” you shot back.

“I was talking about last week,” Severus said cheekily, taking in your flustered expression.

You both went back to your ingredients, eventually discovering that crushing the beans with the flat of a knife was the best way to extract the juice without them jumping. You watched Severus out of the corner of your eye as he measured out the African Sea water, adding it gradually as he stirred the mixture counter-clockwise. The elixir turned a bright blue color, shimmering as if light were being reflected off of it. He continued on with the formula, snapping off a few fluxweed sprigs before adding them and lowering the heat with his wand, hardly looking at the instructions at all.

You wondered where this newfound confidence had come from. Severus was usually so rigid and withdrawn, but right now he looked more at ease than you had ever seen him. A spark was present in his eyes as he worked that you rarely ever saw, and it made you smile despite yourself.

The rest of your potion making process went on without a hitch, and you silently applauded yourself as you watched the other students around you struggle to get their concoctions together. Even Lily seemed to be having trouble, though Mary wasn't really helping other than offering moral support.

You turned back to focus on your own potion, stirring it with the ladle and mesmerized by the way it began to turn a deep plum color. Meanwhile, Severus was cleaning up your shared station, looking over at the brew. His brows furrowed as he examined it.

“Just stir it a bit more,” he said, coming up behind you and placing his hand on top of yours, “the color is still off.”

Your face burned at the unexpected contact; Snape certainly wasn't a touchy person, so the act caught you completely off guard, though you'd be lying if you said you didn't like it. Severus nearly jumped backwards, absolutely mortified when he realized what he was doing. It was him micromanaging more than anything; he was so focused on getting the potion right he didn't even notice he was moving his own body as he gave you the instruction.

“Sorry,” he said, feeling quite possibly the lamest he'd ever felt in his life.

“It's okay,” you said, biting the inside of your lip nervously and continuing to stir like he said. Your light response allowed Snape to relax, his shoulders lowering a full three inches. He'd been certain you would have reacted to his mistake with disgust or repulsion, but you didn't. What did that mean? You were utterly confusing. Despite how well you could read him, Severus was unable to get a read on you at all. If he had been, he would have noticed the tiny smile on your face as you stirred, silently wishing his hand were back on yours.

You and Snape stood at attention as Slughorn peered down at your potion, looking mildly impressed. He reached into his robes, procuring an oak leaf from who knows where, and dropped it into your cauldron. The leaf floated on top of the liquid for just a moment before its edges began to burn. It furled from the unseen heat, folding in on itself and disappearing into the inky depths of the liquid. Slughorn's expression lit up, his impression no longer mild.

“Merlin's beard, it's perfect!” he exclaimed, “in all my years I've never seen a pair recreate this potion exactly as you two have done today.”

You beamed at the praise, your smile only widening as you saw your emotions mirrored in Severus' face, albeit more subtly.

Over the course of your fourth year, you and Snape continued to excel in Potions, receiving much praise from Professor Slughorn and a lot of glares from your fellow students. However, there was something else that continued that year, and that was your increasing interactions with James Potter.

“I just don't get why you even bother with him,” Snape had said to you one day while you were in Potions. Your prank war with James was at its peak, and you were sidetracked that day in class coming up with new ideas to get back at him.

“It's a full on battle now, Sev,” you said, “I can't back down! Now, for my next one I was thinking something along the lines of a callback to one of his earlier stunts. Maybe get him back for tampering with my cauldron at the beginning the year.”

“(Y/n)—”

“I've got a few friends in Gryffindor, and apparently he talks about his prank plans way too loudly in the common room, so I have a head start on this one. They mentioned something about my shampoo—“

“(Y/n),” Severus stressed, finally catching your attention. You looked up at him, embarrassed at you rambling. “Why do you keep doing this?” he asked, “he's just baiting you. You know that.”

“It keeps them from doing anything that targets you, right?” you questioned back.

Severus didn't know what to say at that. It was true, ever since you had declared war on James, he and his stupid friends hadn't really bothered with him at all. Were you doing this for him? He didn't know what to do with the thought.

You were, of course, but you thought it better not to mention that in the last few months this had been going on, you'd also begun to find the rivalry and banter between you and James fun.

“Gather 'round students, gather 'round!” Slughorn beckoned the class over, disrupting your train of thought and putting an end to your conversation, “now, would anyone like to identify the potion in this cauldron here?” He gestured to a shockingly pink liquid that seemed to swirl on its own. Plum and periwinkle smoke wafted through the air above it in delicate spirals.

“That's Amortentia,” Lily said, “it's a love potion that's supposed to smell different to everyone depending on what scents attract them.”

“Right you are, Miss Evans,” Slughorn said proudly, “would you like to tell us what you smell?”

“Cinnamon,” she started slowly, “warm spices, butterbeer, sandalwood. . .” her cheeks reddened significantly, as if she'd made some sort of realization. “Th-that's all.” You stared at her quizzically but she just shook her head. You'd have to ask her about this later. . .

“(L/n),” Slughorn said, “would you be so kind as to do the same?”

“Sure,” you said, stepping up to the cauldron. It was captivating, almost drawing you in physically. “Wild lavender,” you said, smiling, your mother had a garden full of them when you were growing up, “rain when it hits the pavement, and old leather books.” Scents you wouldn't realize until much later all correlated with a certain person.

“Very different scents for very different people,” Professor Slughorn said, “thank you for demonstrating, you two. Now, we will not be brewing this potion today for obvious reasons. It is incredibly dangerous, capable of creating not true love, but unhinged obsession. What we will be doing, however, is studying its effects. . .”

“Strongest love potion in the world, huh?” Evan suddenly appeared at your side, “funny, I could have sworn it smelled just like you, although you wouldn't need a potion to reign me in~”

“Put a sock in it, Rosier,” you said, shoving him away playfully.

“Aw, come on, just one date wouldn't hurt,” he said, “I'm pulling out all my best lines here!”

“That's the best you've got?”

“Ouch.”

Snape couldn't help but glare at the Slytherin boy, not liking how close he was to you. Nice as he seemed, Snape knew how he could really be. He didn't think you'd be such good friends with Rosier if you knew he was knee deep in the dark arts as soon as the sun set on the castle. Then again, Severus wasn't one to talk.

Over the course of the year he noticed that you only grew closer to James, something that bothered him immensely. He was grateful that you had gotten his bullying to stop, but he hated that the way you had gone about it was to turn Potter into a friend. . .

“Merlin, he keeps looking over at you, Lils,” you said.

Lily and Severus looked over to where James sat with Sirius, Remus, and Peter in their corner table as usual. Somehow they always managed to be at The Three Broomsticks at the exact same time as your trio, almost as if they knew you were there. James Potter was, in fact, looking towards your table, until your friends not-so-discreetly turned to look at him and he diverted his gaze elsewhere.

“Idiot,” you rolled your eyes as you took another sip of your butterbeer.

Lily looked between you and James' table for a moment before turning back to you.

“Actually, (Y/n), he's staring at you.”

You looked at her like she'd grown a second head but then began to laugh.

“Is he? Jeeze, what a creep,” you said, but with affection in your voice that wasn't missed by Severus, “it's probably because I saved his ass the other day and he's still reeling from it.”

“Oh,” she said, a hint of what you swore was relief in her tone until she realized what you said, “Wait, you what?”

“Sirius and I were talking in the forest and we got ambushed by Malfoy's motley crew,” you said, “and Potter showed up because of course he did. It was just a little duel, no big deal.”

“What?!” Lily said, concern written all over her face, “they fancy the dark arts, (Y/n), you could have been hurt!”

Severus stared into his drink, unable to look at either of you.

“I'm fine, Lils,” you insisted, “and trust me, I don't think Malfoy's going to be bothering anyone anymore. Just show him a picture of a squid and he'll probably screech like a banshee.”

Lily laughed along with you, partially in confusion, until the first part of your statement hit her with a slight delay.

“Hold on, you were in the forest with Black? And did you just call him Sirius?” she asked, her teasing making your face flush.

“We just. . . figured some stuff out. . . It was nothing like what you're thinking, so drop it,” you grumbled, taking another drink to hide your embarrassed face.

“Whatever you say, (Y/n),” Lily sang, taking a sip of her own drink.

Severus felt jealousy bubble up in him like a disease. He cast his gaze upwards, his eyes locking momentarily with James'. His arch rival rose a cocky brow at him, his gaze unmistakably shifting to you and Lily before staring Snape down again. Severus took a sharp breath to steel himself, that feeling in the pit of his stomach never really going away.

That was the beginning of the end.

Read chapter 5 here!

Taglist:  @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi @nxstalgicnxbxdy

[euphoriic-dysphoria]

Blue hair - Bucky Barnes

Firs time posting something like this on Tumblr, I welcome constructive criticism, anything to make my writing better and easier to read. As long as you're not an ass about it.

Summary: you've wanted to dye your hair for sometime now, but you're too scared to do it all by yourself and it seems like a whole big thing now that you keep kinda wanna do with a friend. Yes I'm projecting😅😅

THERE MIGHT BE A PART TWO, NOT REALLY SURE YET.

Warnings ⚠️ : none, just extreme flustered bucky, whipped bucky, fluff ig yeah. Without further ado,

Bucky was falling for you. Hard. He fell more each and everyday, but somehow, you were either not into him at all, or painfully oblivious.

He said painfully, because everytime you expressed even the slightest discomfort, even if on the Quinjet you just couldn't fall asleep, bucky just had this inexplicable urge to suddenly bring you all the pillows in the world to make you happy and laugh and smile your beautiful smile.

Bucky wasn't stupid. He'd seen how smart you were on missions, and how fast you'd solved riddles to annoy Tony. You would never be oblivious to things like this. He'd long ago accepted that he was just gonna be a friend to you, of course that didn't stop him from daydreaming about you, or freezing up everytime you brushed your arm with his.

After all, some might assume what with bucky falling head over heels for you (literally, but that's a story for another time, including Sam and being at the beach) that you guys were probably best friends or at least pretty close. Nope. Bucky was embarrassed to say that you stole away all his old fashioned Brooklyn charm the minute you were in a 2 meter radius. He was so nervous he stumbled over his words and opted to just stay quiet and enjoy your presence.

Of course, you thought that bucky was just naturally shy, and well- akward. It never occurred to you that you were the cause of that shyness, but you didn't mind. You found it endearing and utterly adorable the way a pale pink would wash over his features, and brush across his nose.

Today, he was utterly relaxed, pink free, in his room in the Avengers tower, reading and trying to get the thought of you out of his mind. That was hard when abruptly a hard knock sounded at his door, and he was just about to turn around and ignore it, when he heard you mumbling and thinking outside. Supersoldierhearing

Closing his book, he straightened up and furrowed his brow, thinking as to why you'd be outside his room. He hoped everything was alright.

"buckkyyyyyyyy! Woa-hiya, how are YOU on this verrrry fine morning?" You stumbled into his room, bucky was so deep into his thoughts he wasn't aware he opened the door so suddenly, you almost fell in.

A whirlwind of chaotic energy, you recovered quickly and jumped about, before turning back to where bucky was frozen at his door.

You were only wearing a T shirt.

Now, it was 7 in the morning, and most of the avengers were well aware that you walked around in a t-shirt in the mornings, well, only Steve and Nat cause they were the only ones that woke up then. Normally, bucky wakes up earlier to do his run, and so by the time you wake up, he's showered and reading in his room.

Shaking his head a bit to uh, clear up his thoughts, he quietly trudged back to his bed, where you were sitting and excitedly bouncing up and down on.

You gave him a good morning half hug, as you were practically buzzing with energy.

Oh. That alone was more that enough to make Bucky's cheeks start to glow a dusty pink.

However, you were already setting up the boxes of hair dye on his night stand.

"ok. Alright buck, are you ready for maybe the most important decision of your lifetime?? Ahem-" Buckys eyes widened as you did a little drumroll, jiggling your thighs and bringing up your shirt a bit, but you were too absorbed in the boxes you didn't even notice.

In your best announcer voice, you looked at him and grinned. "Blue, or red?" Holding up each colour respectively.

Huh? Bucky was so focused on your smile he practically missed what you said, which would've been hella embarrassing.

"uh- I'm not- where is this coming from?" Bucky almost winced at his voice, coming out hoarse and deep.

With an angelic smile on your face a devil would fall for, you patiently explained the hair dye situation. You wanted to dye your hair. Check. You already bought the hair dye. Check. And last but not least, now you were waiting on one of your friends to reply to you about dying their hair too. This wasn't a demanding act, for you only hit up the people you knew also had wanted to dye their hair too.

"i-i uh whyreyaaskingme?" Oh god. Before Bucky had anytime to mentally smAcK himself for mumbling like that, you were already replying.

With a soft smile you said, "well of course I'm asking you buck, I don't think it's very nice to knock on people's doors at 7 in the morning unless they're awake, and Nat and Steve left together to get coffee. Plus, I trust your opinion, I'm sure you have an excellent sense of style." You teased, reminding him of the time he refused to wear a ridiculous suit that Tony had jokingly, not really, designed.

Buck sighed quietly, as you made your way to the bathroom to compare the colours. Ouch. It was never a nice feeling to know you had come to him out of necessity. Little did he know, you had earlier rushed Nat and Steve straight outta here, in attempts to build a closer bond with bucky. Those two just shared a smug little knowing look, before hightailing it right out of the tower.

Lost in his thoughts, bucky didn't realize you had stopped muttering to yourself about the hair colours.

It was quiet. Too quiet. In the bathroom, there was absolutely no sound.

Bucky frowned, making his way over, and knocked on the door.

"can-uh do you mind if I come in?" Bucky knocked.

The door creaked open, and Bucky peeked inside to find your dejected expression and little pouty lips as you sat on the edge of the sink counter, scrolling through your phone.

"hey- wh-whats wrong doll?" Aw jeez. Cut it out, he said firmly in his head. Stop stuttering, just talk to her like a normal person.

"you- wanna tell me why you're looking like a sad puppy down over here?" Bucky's breath hitches as he's in the middle of berating himself for comparing you to a puppy, when you finally look up and meet his eyes, droplets threatening to leak and break past your waterline.

Bucky's heart just about cracks at the sadness radiating off of you. As far as he knows, you of all people should never have to feel this sad. All nervousness forgotten, he quickly bends down and tilts your chin up, tenderly wiping away the tears that have now started their journey down your cheeks.

It's been 5 minutes of you and him, leaning against each other as he wipes away the quiet tears that keep replacing each other.

Finally, in a quiet voice, you explain. At first it was just the dissapointment of no one wanting to really dye their hair with you. But you understood. Really, it was early in the morning, and it was easy to see why people didn't wanna dye their hair right away, or at all even. You completely and totally respected them and their choices. But then, you thought, maybe they're annoyed at me. Maybe, they don't like me anymore. Maybe they wish I'd leave them alone. Maybe they'd be better off without me.

You were well aware you were spiralling, but after the negative thoughts started, it was hard to stop. You had anxiety of these types of things.

Countless times, Nat and Wanda had had to reassure your wanted presence and that the team did love you.

While you were explaining, Buckys arms slowly snaked around to embrace you, and put his chin on top of you head. He was sad, simply because you were.

But listening to your thought process made him realize that you were human too, and it opened his eyes to listen to your anxiousness, no matter how much it still hurt.

Uh oh. The feeling was coming back, tugging at bucky, eating him away, making him want to do anything to make you happier.

Tightening his arms around you one last time before releasing you, he blurted, "uh- I'll dye m-my hair."

Your eyes widened. A small smile slowly creeped onto your tear streaked face. "Yo-you'd do that f-for me?" You hiccuped.

Holy shit. Oh man. Bucky would've tattooed his face if it gave you that little glowing smile and hopeful face you were giving to him now.

"Oh doll. You wouldn't believe what I'd do for you."

PART TWO IS NOW UP

[stormyoceans]

[VICE VERSA episode 8 parts 3&4]

Tess is such a bitch lmao

So… this is awkward

“Mek looks like someone I liked” the casual queer-friendlyness in this show makes me want to cry

Also side note: I really appreciate that Puen doesn’t get legit jealous learning this because that trope is utter garbage for how possessive and unreasonable it makes a character look

“How DARE you not like me back then when we didn’t even know each other” yeah no fuck off

Appreciate that Puen’s being honest about Mek’s intentions right away rather than keeping it a secret for some flimsy reason

“Let’s try to trust him” seems like a risky call given how big his hate-boner for Tess is

“Do you have a problem?” “yes, I could be riding Puen right now instead of having to look at your damn face”

ALESSANDRO MAHMOUD?????

Don’t fucking touch him

“Our characters don’t click” that’s because one of you is a nice person and sadly it’s the fictional one

He’s wearing his “just quit” shirt again, following your own advice my guy

Omg Talay fucking insulted Mek asjkdlfj

I know I’d probably be on Mek’s side if Tess was still himself and the show’s giving us a very biased pov since we’ve all grown to like Talay /and/ I’m all for revenge after being wronged but yeah I can’t help it, this guy’s a dick

CATS!!!!!!!!!!

The orange one looks so confused, the poor thing

“Are you a cat lover?” ANSWER THE QUESTION

Cakes all over this episode for some reason

TAWAN????? *raging war flashbacks*

I’m sorry but all I’m looking at is the cats

The grey one must feel really comfortable since it’s letting Jimmy hold it like a baby! The way Sea’s holding his is plain wrong though…

This poor guy must be like “what is wrong with this lady”

“If it’s not this cat, I won’t be director” how petty is this bitch

TESS HAS NOT ONLY ONE BUT /TWO/ PEOPLE INEXPLICABLY LIKING HIM????

“I’m going back to liking him” Puen to himself: “brb gotta check if there’s enough budget left to hire an assassin”

T&P: let me have a tasty 0% drink as I think it over

“My mood is just cloudy grey” ROLLLL CREDI–

I see you smiling after Puen touched your belly Talay

But also what is this whole scene

I mean, mirroring each other would be the perfect excuse to kiss…….

Oh? OH????

GO FUCK YOURSELF TALAY

Mek went back to liking him real fast, holy shit

“GREYLLERY”??? THAT’S NOT EVEN A PUN

Puen being jealous here is completely different from what I mentioned earlier, here I actually get it even if jealousy is never a good thing

Puen literally RUNNING to join Talay alkdskld

It makes me sad how sad Puen looks

DON’T LEAVE!!

Puen listening to the perfect sad music to fuel his broken heart

Talay, c’mon, can you really not figure out what’s bothering him?

Grabbing his cheeks omg

“I haven’t even seen your face, yet I like you” MY HEART!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was worried Talay was gonna blow it after Puen showed so much vulnerability but THIS IS GREAT, I’M SO HAPPY

FINALLY!!!!!!

Take that, Mek, you little bitch

Also is this the right time to bring up that they are using other people’s bodies to make out……..

Tess is such a bitch lmao <<<<< HE'S REALLY ALWAYS BEEN THE BIGGEST ASSHOLE JUST DITCHING HIS FRIENDS AND BRAGGING ABOUT STEALING OTHER PEOPLE'S CRUSHES AND THEN HE GOES AND COMPLETELY RUINS TALAY'S LIFE AND /STILL/ IS A TOTAL JERKFACE TO TUN IM SORRY BUT THIS IS A TESS HATE ZONE

“Mek looks like someone I liked” the casual queer-friendlyness in this show makes me want to cry <<<<< IT REALLY IS SO NICE i know we've already talked about it in a previous episode but i will never get tired of saying how much i love this. talay says he liked a man before and it's something that can just BE. kita and fuse pretty much know that he likes puen even if he hasn't actually admitted it and they never question it. puen and talay don't have to come out to up and aou because they act lovey dovey once and up and aou just take it in stride and go right into teasing them. and i said it before, but this isn't only a thing in the alternate universe, where same sex marriage is legal, queerness in vice versa just is and it's beautiful

Also side note: I really appreciate that Puen doesn’t get legit jealous learning this because that trope is utter garbage for how possessive and unreasonable it makes a character look // “How DARE you not like me back then when we didn’t even know each other” yeah no fuck off <<<<< REASON NUMBER 9264828648 WHY I LOVE VICE VERSA!!!!!!! other love interests in BLs: you liked someone else? you liked someone else before meeting me? jail for almost-boyfriend! jail for almost-boyfriend for one thousand years!!!!! puen the walking green flag: [uses that as an excuse to hold talay's hand and give him a cheek kiss] LIKE IDK WHAT ELSE TO SAY HE IS SIMPLY BUILT DIFFERENT

Appreciate that Puen’s being honest about Mek’s intentions right away rather than keeping it a secret for some flimsy reason <<<<< after what happened in episode 4 puen has been trying so hard to be honest and upfront with talay (except for his name, which is way more about puen's own sense of self rather than any actual malicious intent of hiding stuff from talay), and even when talay tries to deal with everything by himself (like with tess' clothes) he's always the one to remind him that he's not alone and that they're a team and that they can find a solution together!!!! they do have some misunderstandings throughout the show but they never last longer than an episode because they're just SO GOOD AT BEING OPEN AND COMMUNICATING

“Let’s try to trust him” seems like a risky call given how big his hate-boner for Tess is <<<<< puen was trusting the talay effect to work its magic and the talay effect is gonna come through!!!!!!

“Do you have a problem?” “yes, I could be riding Puen right now instead of having to look at your damn face” <<<<< THE WAY I CHOKED ON MY OWN SALIVA THE FIRST TIME I READ THIS COMMENT AND SPENT THE FOLLOWING 10 MINUTES COUGHING MY LUNGS OUT TRYING TO RECOVER SFJKSGFKSGDKSG funny you would mention that though because one of my favorite headcanons is that talay indeed likes to rid-- [GUNSHOT]

ALESSANDRO MAHMOUD????? <<<<< THE DOUBLE TAKE I DO EVERY SINGLE TIME JUST BECAUSE IT FEELS SO WEIRD TO ME THAT PEOPLE OUTSIDE OF ITALY KNOW MAHMOOD TOO

“Our characters don’t click” that’s because one of you is a nice person and sadly it’s the fictional one <<<<< SFJKSGFFKSGDJ YOU AND TALAY ARE BOTH BEING SAVAGES THIS EPISODE AND I LOVE IT

Omg Talay fucking insulted Mek asjkdlfj <<<<< HIS FULL NAME IS TALAY RAWI 'IM A NICE PERSON BUT I WILL CUT A BITCH' LERTPANYA DO NOT TRY HIM (also not to be that person but talay is so hot when he's angry)

I know I’d probably be on Mek’s side if Tess was still himself and the show’s giving us a very biased pov since we’ve all grown to like Talay /and/ I’m all for revenge after being wronged but yeah I can’t help it, this guy’s a dick <<<<< weirdly enough mek is pretty much the only character in the show that im very neutral about. i recognize his narrative purpose because they needed to parallel the pangpuentalay situation in episode 7 to have talay being the one to choose puen this time around, but aside from that i don't really feel much for mek. that being said, i unfortunately have to admit that if i believed the person in front of me was tess, i would be an absolute petty bitch too ;;;;;;;;

TAWAN????? *raging war flashbacks* <<<<< SFJKSGDJGSJDG THE KINNPORSCHE EFFECT

I’m sorry but all I’m looking at is the cats // The grey one must feel really comfortable since it’s letting Jimmy hold it like a baby! The way Sea’s holding his is plain wrong though… <<<<< im pretty sure jimmy actually has a cat while sea has a dog!!!!! which would definitely explain why the cats seem so comfortable with jimmy while sea's idea for putting them at ease is meowing at them sfjksgdj also im never letting go of my puentalay cat dads headcanon!!!!! which is basically talay finding a small stray crying during a stormy night and bringing it home (because if there’s one thing he can’t resist it’s a pair of big sad eyes), and he wasn't really planning for the cat to stay but puen has already named it and now it’s too late. and then one day talay gets home and there are TWO CATS in their living room because puen thought the kitty needed a friend to keep him company while they’re at work so now talay has THREE KITTENS to take care of (yes the third one is puen)

This poor guy must be like “what is wrong with this lady” <<<<< pang really said 'if puen and talay can let their friends be actors in the movie then i can kidnap this random stranger who happens to look like a famous actor in our universe to play in it too'

TESS HAS NOT ONLY ONE BUT /TWO/ PEOPLE INEXPLICABLY LIKING HIM???? <<<<< you've already watched episode 9 so you know mek didn't really mean it but when i watched the show the first time around i remember thinking that at least mek was attracted to tess in the past but hated him because he was an asshole and only started to like him now that he's actually talay (and lbr who wouldn't love talay), meanwhile im still sitting here wondering why the hell tun never stopped being in love with that jerk

“I’m going back to liking him” Puen to himself: “brb gotta check if there’s enough budget left to hire an assassin” <<<<< puen sitting there like 'i should have known the talay effect is too powerful and now i can't even blame this guy because talay IS nice and cute and of course every single person on the planet would fall in love with him i've just played myself once again'

“My mood is just cloudy grey” ROLLLL CREDI– <<<<< me every time a character mentions the title of the episode/show/movie: [points at the screen] THEY SAID THE THING!!!!!!!!!

I see you smiling after Puen touched your belly Talay <<<<< talay tries not to show it but he's just so ridiculously fond and charmed by everything puen does THEY'RE BOTH SO GONE FOR EACH OTHER IM EMBARRASSED FOR THEM

But also what is this whole scene <<<<< IT'S TWO BESTIES BEING RIDICULOUS TOGETHER AND YOU MUST BE TIRED OF HEARING ME SAY THIS BUT IM SO HAPPY THEY CAN BE SILLY AND HAVE FUN TOGETHER LIKE ACTUAL FRIENDS

I mean, mirroring each other would be the perfect excuse to kiss……. // Oh? OH???? // GO FUCK YOURSELF TALAY <<<<< WHEN I TELL YOU TALAY LOVES TO TEASE PUEN WHICH IS GOING TO TRANSLATE TO HIM SEXUALLY FRUSTRATING PUEN TO NO END AFTER THEY GET TOGETHER

Puen being jealous here is completely different from what I mentioned earlier, here I actually get it even if jealousy is never a good thing <<<<< this is just my personal interpretation but I've honestly never read puen as being jealous here, not more than talay was of pang in episode 7 anyway, which was not at all, not really. like puen says, he knows that talay doesn't have feelings for mek, but both him and talay have this fear of being left behind, of not getting to love the person they have feelings for, while also being selfless enough to take a step back if they (mistakenly) believe the other could be happy with someone else. that's why mek was essential as the last step to make puentalay happen, because in ep 7 talay needed puen to choose him, but puen also needed talay to choose him back, and when talay finally does there's nothing standing between them anymore, not even themselves

Puen listening to the perfect sad music to fuel his broken heart <<<<< puen was also listening to music when he was being all sad in episode 6 I JUST LOVE HOW CONSISTENT THIS SHOW IS AND I LOVE PUEN MY MOST BELOVED CRINGEFAIL SAD KITTEN SWEET POTATO DARLING IDIOT

Grabbing his cheeks omg <<<<< not to be incredibly sappy but TALAY IS HOLDING HIS ENTIRE WORLD IN HIS HANDS!!!!!!!

“I haven’t even seen your face, yet I like you” MY HEART!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! // I was worried Talay was gonna blow it after Puen showed so much vulnerability but THIS IS GREAT, I’M SO HAPPY // FINALLY!!!!!! <<<<< THERE AREN'T ENOUGH WORDS IN ANY HUMAN LANGUAGE TO PROPERLY EXPLAIN HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS ENTIRE CONFESSION SCENE JUST SCREAMING SHAKING CRYING THROWING UP SPINNING COUNTERCLOCKWISE ON THE FLOOR WAILING KICKING HOWLING PASSING OUT. the fact that it happens when the lights are out to emphasize that their feelings aren’t about the bodies they inhabit but about who they are!!!!!! puen being so overwhelmed with emotions he needs to grab talay’s wrist to ground himself!!!!!! the tear falling down puen’s cheek and the ear graze and the hand at the small of talay’s back!!!!!! THE KISS PARALLELING THE ONE IN EP 4!!!!!! and not to be that person again but you can actually hear NOISES under the music!!!!!! and i do love that talay likes to tease puen but they both know when it's time to be serious and honest with each other which is why they communicate so well!!!!!! CAN SOMEONE JUST PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY THIS IS GETTING SO EMBARRASSING

Also is this the right time to bring up that they are using other people’s bodies to make out…….. <<<<< SFJKSGDJSGDKS SHHHH WE KNOW BUT WE DO NOT TALK ABOUT THAT

[jackiearbs]

things that rwrb characters have said that i will never forget, a thread:

alex claremont-diaz, giving off dumbass™ energy (he has the most on this thread, for obvious reasons) 

- "put them in my room, put them in my room, put them in my room-" 

-  “Jesus Christ, it’s like they can see into your soul. cornbread knows my sins, Henry. cornbread knows what I have done, and he is here to make me atone.”   

- "do it for the 'gram"

- "leading member of korean pop band bts kim nam-june" 

- "whatever, fine. henry is annoyingly attractive. that’s always been a thing, objectively. it’s fine.”

- "see attached bibliography"

- "i said, you look great, baby!”

- "yo there’s a bond marathon on and did you know your dad was a total babe"

- "awesome, fuckin' love doing things out of spite.”

-”Huge Raging Headache Prince Henry of Who Cares”

-”it is amazing you can sit down to write emails with that gigantic royal stick up your ass.” 

- “who names a dog David? He sounds like a tax attorney.”

-” “Do I go on your side of the cubicle and turn off your Dropkick Murphys Spotify station, no matter how much I want to?” Alex demands. “No, Hunter, I don’t.”

- “for fuck's sake, man, you just had my dick in your mouth, you can kiss me good-night.”

- “Bake Off makes Chopped look like the fucking Manson tapes.”

- “THEY KNOW. THEY KNOW I HAVE ROBBED THEM OF FIVE-STAR ACCOMMODATIONS TO SIT IN A CAGE IN MY ROOM, AND THE MINUTE I TURN MY BACK THEY ARE GOING TO FEAST ON MY FLESH.”

- “You’re from Boston, Hunter. You really want to talk about all the places bigotry comes from?” (he really hates hunter goddamn) 

-”so, what? you want me to quit politics and go become a princess? that’s not very feminist of you.” 

hrh prince dickhead😎  - "the moment you first called me a prick, my fate was sealed. O, fathers of my bloodline! O, ye kings of olde! Take this crown from me, bury me in my ancestral soil. If only you had known the mighty work of thine loins would be undone by a gay heir who likes it when American boys with chin dimples are mean to him.”

-"“I’ve been gay as a maypole since the day I came out of Mum, Philip.”

-”i will turn this car around.”

- “yes, the cocaine, alex.” 

-”i am a delight!”

-”have i mentioned lately that you’re a demon?” 

- “are you psychoanalyzing me? i don't think royal guests are allowed to do that.”

- "i can't believe even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are.”

-“the phrase ‘see attached bibliography’ is the single sexiest thing you have ever written to me.”

-"i just mean to say, you know, Philip is the heir and I'm the spare, and if that nervy bastard has a heart attack at thirty five and I've got malaria, whither the spare?”

- “they wanted something less fruity than the truth, but truly, what is gayer than a woman who languishes away in a crumbling mansion wearing her wedding gown every day of her life, for the drama?”

- “You are a delinquent and a plague. Please come?”

- “fat and sexually conquered, snuffed out in the spring of my youth. Here lies Prince Henry of Wales. He died as he lived: avoiding plans and sucking cock.”

june:  “- that is a clear quartz crystal for good vibes do not @ me.” 

- “He’s just so frail, it’d only take one good push-”

- “ugh! men! no emotional vocabulary. i can’t believe our ancestors survived centuries of wars and plagues and genocide just to wind up with your sorry ass.” 

nora: 

-”sorry, are we not? did i skip ahead again? my bad. hello, would you like to come out to me? im listening. hi.” 

“prince henry is a biscuit. let him sop you up.”  

- “you’ve been, like, Draco Malfoy–level obsessed with Henry for years.”

- “i don’t know, man. I was in my junior year of high school, and I touched a boob. It wasn’t very profound. Nobody’s gonna write an Off-Broadway play about it.”

dahra: 

- “You need to get back to fucking England now, and if anyone sees you leave, I will personally end you. Ask me if I’m afraid of the crown.”

- “both sides need to come out of this looking like your little slap-fight at the wedding was some homoerotic frat bro mishap, okay? So, you can hate the heir to the throne all you want, write mean poems about him in your diary, but the minute you see a camera, you act like the sun shines out of his dick, and you make it convincing.”

-”come on, you backyard-shooting-range motherfuckers,”

ellen (should i say PRESIDENT claremont) 

- “Diaz, you insane, hopeless romantic little shit"

-  “I had Planned Parenthood send over all these pamphlets, take one! They sent a bike messenger and everything!”

- ”where? Are you hiding a turkey habitat up your ass, son? Where, in our historically protected house, am I going to put a couple of turkeys until I pardon them tomorrow?”

-“As your mother, I can appreciate that maybe this isn’t your fault, but as the president, all I want is to have the CIA fake your death and ride the dead-kid sympathy into a second term.”

PEZ !!!

- “frolic naked in the hills, frighten the sheep, return to the house for the usual: tea, biscuits, casting ourselves onto the Thighmaster of love to moan about the Claremont-Diaz siblings, which has become tragically one-sided since Henry took it up with you. It used to be all bottles of cognac and shared malaise and ‘When will they notice us’-” 

-”-and now i just ask henry, ‘what is your secret?’ and he says, ‘i insult alex all the time, and that seems to work.’” 

**extra: nicer quotes from alex and henry 

alex heartthrob diaz  - "never tell me the odds"

-"we were not afforded that liberty."

-“I hate this so much. I know. But we’re gonna do it together. And we’re gonna make it work. You and me and history, remember? We’re just gonna fucking fight. Because you’re it, okay? I’m never gonna love anybody in the world like I love you. So, I promise you, one day we’ll be able to just be, and fuck everyone else.”

- “On purpose. I love him on purpose.”

- “history, huh? Bet we could make some.”

- “But the truth is, also, simply this: love is indomitable.”

-“Take anything you want and know you deserve to have it.”

- “Someone else’s choice doesn’t change who you are.”

- “I am the First Son of the United States, and I'm bisexual. History will remember us.”

- “America: He is my choice.”

- “Give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart, There's so much of you.”

- the entire list of the things he loves about henry. i would die 

henry: 

-”i’ll be damned but i miss you.” 

- “when you rang me at truly shocking hours of the night, I loved you. When you kissed me in disgusting public toilets and pouted in hotel bars and made me happy in ways in which it had never even occurred to me that a mangled-up, locked-up person like me could be happy, I loved you. and then, inexplicably, you had the absolute audacity to love me back. Can you believe it?”

- “it sounds like you did your best.”

- “I’ve bloody well had it. I’ve sat about long enough letting you and Gran and the weight of the damned world keep me pinned, and I’m finished. I don’t care. You can take your legacy and your decorum and you can shove it up your fucking arse, Philip. I’m done.”

- “Should I tell you that when we’re apart, your body comes back to me in dreams? That when I sleep, I see you, the dip of your waist, the freckle above your hip, and when I wake up in the morning, it feels like I’ve just been with you, the phantom touch of your hand on the back of my neck fresh and not imagined? That I can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache? That, for a few moments, I can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all?”

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Bad Behaviour

Ok, anon who commented about finding Tony attractive, I think this one is just going to appeal to you and me but what the hell, I had some fun writing it.

Pairing: Tony Deppen x OFC

Word count: 2,276

Content advisory: graphic sexual content

You tense up as soon as you see him approach, stalking around, as usual, all the grace and subtlety of a freight train. As soon as you see him coming in your direction, you brace for impact, or rather, you brace for some sort of interaction that you do not want to have.

This time, he doesn’t say anything, he just wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. It makes you glance around to see if anyone else notices. It wouldn’t be suspicious even if they did. Tony Deppen flirts with all the women, or rather he acts as if all the women must be desperate to get him into bed for no reason any of you can figure out. Why would any of you be chasing after his scrawny ass? He’s repulsive.

And you fucked him.

You’re still trying to figure out how he bamboozled you. You were on the same page as all the other women at the shows you worked together: you wouldn’t have had anything to do with him anyway but the fact that he acted as if he was this gift to women made the idea even more ridiculous.

The afternoon before IT happened, you’d helped unload some equipment and get the ring set up. Of course, you’d hurt your arm doing it, just the thing you needed with a match coming up that night. So you’d iced it and grabbed a beer to blunt the pain a little. Was it possible that you’d gotten an hours-long buzz off of one beer? No, it wasn’t. But it just had to have affected your judgment. Had to.

You’d noticed him trying to chat Willow up at several points. That wasn’t odd, though. He tended to make a spectacle of himself when he was hitting on women and she hadn’t yet ripped him a new one. His behavior would have been threatening if he wasn’t so obviously a wimp. If he really started to bother a woman, someone would step in and tell him to piss off. But that was rarely necessary because the women he put the moves on usually just ended up brushing him off like the joke he was.

“Oh my god, no! Gross!” Willow yelped, stepping away from him. Her face was halfway between shocked and laughing. He was red as an apple and backed away quickly, obviously not wanting to push his luck with her.

You’d stared at him as he retreated past you, which was always a mistake.

“Worried you missed your chance with me?” he quipped.

You’d cracked up in his face, which should have sent him running even faster but which inexplicably stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Oh god, just keep walking,” you groaned.

“Hey, I’m just saying that you shouldn’t wait too long. You don’t know when I’m gonna be off the market.”

“Believe me, I am not worried about that eventuality. No one is worried about that eventuality.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you. “Oh, I see the way you look at me.”

“Well if what you’re seeing makes you think I’m interested in anything you have to offer, you need to get your eyes checked.”

He wagged a finger at you and winked. “You sound tense. And you know I can help you with that, so whenever you’re ready, you just come and ask.”

“Jesus, Deppen, how are you even real? Do you listen to yourself? Do you see the reactions you get from women?”

“Laugh if you want. I know what’s really going on.”

“Oh I’m laughing, believe me.”

“Won’t be when my face is between your legs, I promise.”

“Get away from me,” you growled. “How in god’s name did you ever manage to land a wife? What, did you drug her and throw her in a bag?”

“Oh, she was plenty happy to find me.”

“Plenty happy to drop you, too. Who was it she dumped you for again? The pool boy? The gardener? The guy who cleaned your septic tank?”

His face turned serious and a little panicky. “That was a low blow.”

Right away, he’d stalked off and you felt just a twinge of guilt because right there was the reason all you women put up with his obnoxious shit: a couple of months before, his wife had indeed ditched him for a guy who did some kind of work around their house. He had been just destroyed by it and while he’d always been kind of an idiot, it had gotten considerably amplified as he tried to process his heartbreak. So while none of you were going to put up with this behavior indefinitely, you were willing to cut him some slack in the short term.

You saw him in the locker room while you were getting ready for your matches and he was uncharacteristically quiet. One of the girls had even joked about it.

“You think someone finally kicked him down hard enough that he got the hint?” a voice behind you giggled.

“I just wish it had been me,” came another.

The two of them brushed past you towards the door, not noticing Tony looking up at them as they left. At that moment you realized that he’d heard what they said and that it had hurt. As improbable as it seemed, you felt really bad.

When he stood up, he still looked slumped in defeat.

“Wait,” you called after him, but he didn’t turn. “Tony, hold up!”

You had to grab his arm to make him look at you. The second your eyes met, he’d straightened up and squared his shoulders but his eyes still looked pained.

“Hey, I shouldn’t have said that shit before about your wife. I’m sorry.”

He screwed up his face and you swore he looked like he was about to cry.

“True, though. She kicked me to the curb because she found a hotter ticket.”

You tried to say something else but he took off. So there you were, knowing that what you’d said had been more than justified by his behavior towards you and other women and at the same time feeling like a monster.

His match was right before yours and you’d tried to grab his arm as he walked to the back but he just brushed you aside. You’d finally cornered him right after your match, before the locker room filled up again, and pulled him aside.

“Look, I meant it. I’m really sorry about what I said. It was insensitive. You didn’t deserve it.”

“I get it,” he sighed, eyes scanning the floor. “I know I come on strong but I haven’t been with anyone since she left me and I’m fucking lonely.”

“Well, maybe if you toned it down just a little,” you offered.

“I only do it because I figure someone might think it was funny. I mean, I have to be funny because that’s all I have. I’m a marriage reject. I’m ugly-”

“You’re not ugly, Tony.” The truth is that you had up until that moment thought he was ugly. But seeing him all vulnerable, you needed to say something to make him feel better, if only so that you didn’t feel like such a bitch.

“Really?” he glanced up at you with just the hint of a hopeful smile.

“Not at all.”

He’d leaned in and kissed you so fast and so hard that for a few seconds you weren’t even sure what was happening. There was just suddenly something clamped on your mouth, keeping air out of your lungs. You’d smacked his shoulder twice, which was enough to make him jump back.

“What the hell?” you panted. “No!”

He put his face in his hands and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I got carried away. That was awful of me.”

There was that bitchy feeling again.

“It’s ok,” you assured him, patting his arm, “it’s fine.”

So he’d kissed you again and he was really surprisingly rough, teeth snapping at your lips and tongue while he pushed against you so hard that you almost fell over. Once again, you hit him, and once again, he backed off.

“I meant it wasn’t a problem, not to do it again!”

He shook his head and angled it away from you.

“I just need to get a grip,” he mumbled. “Please don’t tell anyone about this.”

You wondered for a second why he thought you’d ever tell anyone that you’d kissed but then it dawned on you that he was more concerned about the rest of it.

“Of course I’m not going to tell anyone,” you groaned. “But yeah, you need to get a grip. It’ll happen for you eventually. You’re not going to have to go without sex for the rest of your life. Or companionship. You’ll be ok.”

You’d headed out and back to the hotel, acutely aware of the way your lips were stinging and a little swollen just from two brief kisses. You kept running your fingers over them and feeling weird about it.

To clear your head, you’d gone for a short walk and when you came back, there was Tony at the front desk, apparently having some trouble checking in.

“Everything ok?” you queried.

He gave an exhausted shrug. “They had my reservation for tomorrow night instead of tonight.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, they’ll find me a room, I think. They’re just checking to see what’s available.”

What the hell happened to your brain? You’ve tried to recall exactly what you were thinking in that instant but you can’t. Were you still feeling guilty? Did you feel like he’d had a lousy enough day without having to deal with this? Did you hate seeing the normally cocky but admittedly kind of funny bastard looking so deflated? You don’t know because your mind won’t tell you. File not found.

But whatever you were thinking, you reached out and took his hand and said, “Don’t worry about it. You can stay with me.”

He looked shocked and a little bit like he suspected a prank. “Your room has two beds?”

You winced. “It’s ok. Stay with me.”

And so you’d led him to the elevator and up to your room like you were in some sort of trance.

“You’re telling me I can stay in your bed?”

“Come on.”

You guided him down the hall and into the room and the second the door closed behind you, he was all over you again. It did very much feel like he was starved for it, although it was clear he also just liked to play a little rough. That was something you hadn’t expected but as long as you’d gone this far, you figured it wasn’t going to kill you to let him do this the way that he wanted.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered into your lips, “I’m really good at this.”

What kind of idiot says something like that? You’d almost said that out loud even at the time and you still marvel at the sheer gall of it. If he hadn’t been full-on attacking you, you might have laughed in his face.

The thing was… it was no lie.

It started out with you thinking you’d just go along with what he wanted as long as it wasn’t objectionable but it morphed pretty quickly into you being very excited by what he was doing, morphed into you being a moaning mess on the bed because the guy was like some kind of super-determined safecracker who could figure out how to unlock any kind of reaction he wanted. And that morphed into you practically begging to suck his dick, accepting it eagerly when he pushed in to fuck your throat until there were tears streaming down your cheeks. You’d happily let him fuck your pussy, hard, and even let him finish in your ass and, sure, he’d used a condom that he’d had in his bag, because of course he’d been prepared in case his idiot schtick actually worked, but you hadn’t ever let a guy go in the back the first time you’d been with him. Somehow, Tony Deppen had gotten you so worked up that you’d thrown your unwritten rule book out the window. Tony fucking Deppen.

You’d woken up the next morning and seen him next to you and the second his eyes opened, there was that godawful look he always had when he was strutting around like a damned rooster, terrorizing all the hens.

What the hell had you been thinking?

Ever since then, it’s been unbearable. You can’t avoid seeing him (although you’ve been careful to avoid being alone with him) and every time you do see him, it’s a litany of comments and suggestive looks that make you want to find a grave to bury yourself in.

He still flirts with other women but when he does, he glances at you like he wants to make sure you’re aware that he could slip through your grasp if you’re not careful. Fat chance. Trying to get rid of him is like trying to dislodge a spider web from velcro.

You feel someone close behind you and your entire body tenses up again. You don’t even need to hear his horrible low cackle to know who it is.

“You should really just stop pretending that you don’t want a rematch,” he gloats. “It’s pretty damn obvious.”

“Please fuck off,” you groan. “Fuck off to the end of the earth, and when you get there, fuck off some more.”

He digs his fingers into your hips for just a second.

“Totally obvious.”

He disappears as quickly as he arrived. You wish you could too.

[zillennial97]

Friends to Lovers | Larry Fanfic Recs

Hiding Place by alivingfire | 365k | Explicit

Louis never wanted a soulmate, didn’t really care for the whole Bonding thing at all, really. Enter Harry Styles, who’s wanted to be Bonded for as long as he could remember. With one fateful meeting in an X Factor bathroom, Louis gets a dagger on his arm and the realization that just because Harry is his soulmate doesn’t mean it’s mutual.

From the X Factor house to Madison Square Garden, from the Fountain Studios stage to stadiums across the world, Louis has to learn to love without losing himself completely, because someday his best friend will Bond to someone and replace Louis as the center of his universe. Meanwhile, Harry begins to think that maybe fate doesn’t actually know what it’s doing after all, because his other half has clearly been right in front of him the whole time. All he has to do now is convince Louis to give them a chance.

Or, the canon compliant Harry and Louis love story from the very beginning, where the only difference is that the love between them is literally written on their skin, and there’s only so much they can hide.

And Then a Bit by infinitelymint | 158k | Explicit

“We’d like to give the fans what they want.” Magee states, placing his hand on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “We want to give them Larry Stylinson.”

Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts.

(aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.)

Wild Love by purpledaisy | 130k | Explicit

“Good,” Julia says, clearly pleased to have them both uncomfortable and unable to look at each other. “Now, I only have one more question before you can go. What are you planning to do when this experiment ruins your friendship?”

“We said we’d stay friends no matter what,” Harry says smoothly, his chin lifting in defense.

“That was our one thing going into it,” Louis agrees. “Stay friends no matter what.”

Julia raises a perfectly manicured brow, “That’s all fine and good. But I hope you realize your emotions aren’t going to realize this is an experiment in the end. If one of you falls for the other and finds out those feelings are not reciprocated, you’re not going to be able to laugh it off as a social experiment. I’m not saying you shouldn’t do this, I’m just hoping you’ve considered all of the possible outcomes.”

- AU: Two best friends try to date each other for forty days. It's supposed to be fun until emotions make it complicated.

California Sold by isthatyoularry | 123k | Mature

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore | 113k | Mature

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

Like a Bullet in the Dark by Vurdoc | 99k | Explicit

Prince Harold Edward Styles Lancaster is second in line to the throne of Great Britain. He is also your average Uni student- or he tries to be, anyway.

With a promise from the press (and his father) that they'll leave him alone for four years, he sets out to be a student at Cambridge, when he meets his very normal, very working class, very handsome suite-mate, Louis Tomlinson.

Louis makes Harry feel more like a person than he ever has before, which might cause some issues later on- 'cause Harry has a secret that he's only told his sister Gemma about.

Little does he know though, that Louis has some secrets of his own.

A Will & Kate Au- with a twist.

Christmas-ing With You by dolce_piccante | 65k | Mature

Two writers from Loving Heart Television, the premiere network for holiday romance films, find that, sometimes, love is not only in their works of fiction.

Faking It by TheCellarDoor | 46k | Mature

A uni AU in which Louis has been Harry’s best friend since he offered him cubed fruit on the playground, and they spend more time cuddling in their dorm beds than they do apart, but it’s not like that. Or is it?

Aka Harry pretends to date his best friend to escape unwanted attention from a too insistent classmate and hopes it won’t blow up in his face. Featuring embarrassing dildo accidents, awkward boners, longing, first times, late night conversations, emotional discoveries and Niall as the exasperated friend with bad advice.

if the sun don't shine by falsegoodnight | 36k | Explicit

Louis finds himself struck frozen, fingers stuck in place where he’s flattened them against the cold railing. It takes every bit of his remaining strength to pull them away, sliding them under his shirt and pressing them to his stomach to leech some of the warmth. He hardly pays attention to the bite of the wind and air on his shivering body. He can only pay attention to the music.

The music that is undoubtedly new to Louis’ ears, yet listening to it is the most familiar thing Louis has ever experienced. An inexplicable rush of emotions flood his mind and body, rendering him speechless and hollow. It’s a call of loneliness. It rings of everything Louis’ been feeling.

And the pure yearning - the intense longing for something and someone - tears through straight to Louis’ heart. The desperation feels all too intimate, all too real. It makes Louis think of what he yearns for more than anything. It makes him think of his soulmate.

-

In a world where you meet your soulmates in dreams, Louis has spent the last three years going to bed hoping to finally meet his, only to end up disappointed time and time again. It all changes with a violin.

From the Start by allwaswell16 | 32k | Explicit

Louis has no idea that one act of kindness will cause his life to spiral out of control. But that's what happens when his new friend fake proposes to him and a video of it goes viral.

Barefoot in Blue Jeans by indiaalphawhiskey | 24k | Explicit

AU. Louis Tomlinson is trying desperately hard not to fall for his son’s au pair, but he can’t, for the life of him, remember why.

475. The hope that this fear is unfounded.

In Dreams by dolce_piccante | 23k | Mature

AU. When Harry moves to a new city, his new flat come with a number of sweet, anonymous gifts and surprises that brighten his days. Could it be a friendly ghost? Another friendly presence in his new building is his tattooed neighbor, Louis, who seems determined to put a smile back on his face.

You're Writing Verses About Me by Rearviewdreamer | 23k | Teen And Up Audiences

Everybody knows that Louis has never been one for serious boyfriends. His reputation around campus precedes him, which is why he doesn't think twice before proudly telling his mother about his new and completely fabricated relationship with his oddly quiet and completely

And I Will Hold On To You by darkmarkburning, staybeautiful | 23k | Mature

“I can’t believe my best friend is about to be Prime Minister of Canada,” Harry whispered in his ear, his arms tight around Louis’ shoulders. “Who decided it was a good idea to let some brash kid from Doncaster run a country?”

“I don’t know,” Louis laughed into his shoulder, “but if you promise not to tell them they’ve made a mistake I’ll give you a posh office.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Tomlinson.” Harry pulled away and smacked a kiss onto Louis’ cheek. “I’m proud of you, Lou, I can’t fucking believe it, but I’m proud of you.”

or Louis has just been elected Prime Minister of Canada and Harry is his best friend since childhood.

the way the storms blow by rbbsbb | 21k | Explicit

Louis doesn’t have a habit of thinking about Harry’s dick.

That would be weird, seeing as they’re best mates, and they share a flat, and they’ve spent holidays at each other’s family homes. Their friendship hasn’t ever risen to a point where Louis should want to see his mate’s dick, and he’s happy to keep it that way.

Except, all that Louis can think about is exactly that. The size of it. The shape. The amount of people it’s been in.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, or the fact that Louis’ just recently walked in to an eyeful of Harry taking turns on some slags that he’s never seen before, but. Louis’ mind can’t stop obsessing over the idea.

Autumn At My Window by TheCellarDoor | 20k | Mature

A canon-compliant AU, in which Harry and Louis are both in the band and have been sharing flats and hotel rooms for nearly five years, but never made the leap past 'friends who are too close for comfort'.

Featuring a lot of pining, Louis' addiction to Harry's scent, and a whole lot of sexual tension that might just snap loose when they decide to spend some time together all on their own.

The Sex Methods by Alice_Novelland | 19k | Explicit

Harry and Louis explore alternative methods aka sex methods to help each other out.

once bitten and twice shy by pinkcords | 19k | Mature

This time as his stomach rolls, there’s no doubt about it. He’s going to vomit. And if he does, it’ll be on Louis’ shoes, a nice little parting gift to go with the embarrassment he’s caused the both of them. “I’m gonna throw up,” he says just as Louis turns to look at him, blue eyes swimming with shock and confusion, and asks, “Is that true?”

Or, in a rush of bravery only senior year can bring, Harry confesses his feelings in a letter to his neighbor and best friend, Louis, only for the entire school to hear it and laugh him out of their small town in Wisconsin. Ten years later, Harry's a successful lawyer at Columbia Records, coming home for Christmas for the first time since he departed for college. He plans to work his way through the trip, eat his mom's cooking, and avoid everyone from his past for as long as possible. The only problem is best laid plans hardly ever go as intended.

Oblivious by Speechless | 19k | Explicit

"You say it's nothing serious after you've been obsessing over it for months," Liam observes, pausing their videogame. "But now you barely talk about it-" "You guys fucking ignore me whenever I try!" Louis shouts, bumping his shoulder against Liam's and hurting himself in the process. "You're postponing sex, when it's obvious that Luke's up for it at this point." Liam ignores him. "For some reason you've left Harry in the dark about it-" "What?!" Louis snaps, banging his controller against the coffee table. "I have not!" "And no matter how blatant it is, no matter how fucking ridiculous you both get when it comes to it-" "Shut your hole." Louis urges, pinching his thigh, as soon as Harry enters the room. "Shush."

* Where Louis gets a little crush on Luke and for some reason Harry starts acting weird *

searching for a sweet surrender (but this is not the end) by feelslikehxme | 18k | Teen And Up Audiences

Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles, the two most loved coaches on The Voice UK known for their banter on the show and best friendship off. Louis’s determined to win and finally end Harry’s winning streak with Zayn Malik on his team, but Harry’s flirting and Liam Payne have different plans.

— Or an AU based off the Voice where Louis’s Adam, Harry’s Blake, Niall’s Shakira, Zayn and Liam have a cliche Romeo/Juliet love story and Louis’s too old for pathetic pining.

Can I bother you for a sex? by perfectdagger (sincerelyste) | 16k | Explicit

Reason #40 – Called/texted the wrong person, but he was into it anyway

“So, this isn’t really an invite for a sex, I see,” Louis spoke, not missing the chance. There was a teasing smile on his lips as he turned around to face Harry again after he had just closed the door.

Harry let out a laugh as he closed his eyes and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh for fuck's sake, Louis,” he looked back at Louis, “this will haunt me forever now, won’t it?”

Louis shrugged. “Not my fault some people manage to mistext and sext others at the same time.”

When Harry mistexts Louis, Louis realises that he wouldn't mind Harry bothering him with anything, especially not with sex.

You'll Be Home For Christmas by 2tiedships2 | 15k | Not Rated

“Honesty, Lou, just ask Harry for help.”

Louis remained silent as he continued to scowl at the Christmas calendar Niall had hung on their refrigerator.

“And be nice to my calendar filled with holiday cheer,” Niall instructed. “You’re going to burn a fucking hole in it from the way you’re glaring at the innocent thing. It’s not the calendar’s fault that your heat is starting so close to Christmas.”

You're The One That I Want by spacecakesandmilkshakes | 15k | Explicit

Harry had always been Louis' best friend and...well...his baby, until one day he realized that his baby was all grown up.

show you the stars in the daylight by bruisedhoney | 13k | Explicit

Louis laughed, the sound loud and borderline obnoxious. Harry winced. “Are you kidding, Haz? I wouldn’t even look twice at someone that couldn’t pick me up.”

And, well. That was new information to Harry. It’s not like Louis had ever mentioned to him that he was his type in any way, shape, or form. Harry shifted closer into the space between Louis’s legs, even more intrigued than before. “Why not?” he asked curiously, all pink lips and big curls. Louis smiled.

“Tiny, innocent, little Harold. Need someone that can pick me up, don’t I? I like being tossed around a little. You know, pinned down and made to take it. Lifted up like I’m nothing,” Louis said it all with a confident smile, his sharp little teeth tugging at his bottom lip as he locked eyes with the jock across the kitchen. “Think he might come over here. Move over. I don’t want him to think we’re together.”

Or, the one where Louis has a type and at sixteen and scrawy, it's definitely not his best friend's little brother Harry...ten years later, he changes his mind.

when everybody wants you by nightwideopen | 11k | Mature

Harry nearly faints on the spot. He got the job. He’s going to be on Saturday Night Live.

Three of Harry's dreams come true, then one of them falls apart.

or

the SNL au that no one asked for

Shape of You by Only_angel_28 | 11k | Explicit

“Seriously?” Surely, Harry must be joking. Louis arches a skeptical brow and snaps the waistband of Harry’s joggers playfully. “What exactly do you have down there, Styles? I know you’ve got four nipples, d’ya have a couple extra bollocks as well or summat?”

“No!” Harry shrieks, his voice bordering on shrill. “No,” He repeats a little quieter, calmer, “I just—I’m, er, kinda…big, I guess.”

Louis rolls his eyes in fond exasperation. “That’s hardly a problem, curly.”

*Or Harry is insecure about a certain rather large part of his anatomy that is apparently intimidating to the point where it has actually scared off potential shags. When he ends up confessing this to his best friend and roommate, Louis takes it upon himself to prove that Harry’s size doesn't have to be a curse, and decides to help show him just how perfect he is.

Waiting by allwaswell16 for LadyLondonderry | 10k | Explicit

Louis Tomlinson was Harry’s omega, of this Harry had always been sure. Unfortunately for Harry, Louis seemed to think they were just best friends. The six weeks that Harry has to live with Louis were going to be rough.

You Give Me Fever (What A Lovely Way To Burn) by my_fandom_OTPs | 10k | Explicit

Louis walks in on Harry jerking off in the shower. What happens after is just… Impulsive and spontaneous.

the value of this moment lives in metaphor by clicheanna for hattalove | 10k | Teen And Up Audiences

Louis and Harry are best friends and absolutely nothing more. It’s a bit strange that, suddenly, everyone thinks they’re dating.

Or the one where they’re all teachers at a high school and students are more invested in their lives than normally expected.

trusting things beyond mistake by sarcasticfluentry | 9k | Explicit

"Is that even possible?" asks Harry.

All of them stare at him for several seconds, and then Louis says, "What, coming untouched?"

"Christ," Zayn mutters, throwing his hands up. “This fucking band, I swear.”

...or, Harry wants to see if he can come without touching his cock and ends up getting more than he bargained for.

And I Will Steady Your Hand by kiwikero | 9k | Explicit

All first year university students who had not yet presented were strongly advised to join the Fire Away meetings, a support group for so-called 'late bloomers.'

They were not, however, advised to fall in love with someone else at the meetings without knowing what they might eventually present as.

A Christmas Wish by Snowy38 | 8k | Mature

"So when are you going to tell him?"

Louis pursed his lips at his sister, his Skype video call relaying his thoughts on that subject perfectly.

"Next question," he mused.

Lottie rolled her eyes.

"It's your birthday in four days, Louis."

"What difference does that make?" He scoffed.

She shrugged.

"You can get drunk and confess how you feel and take it back afterwards if he doesn't feel the same."

That might work if Louis wasn't in love with Harry. But Lottie didn't know that and she didn't need to find out.

"Thanks Lots," he said anyway.

"Seriously Lou what's stopping you?"

Louis sighed.

"Fear mostly."

Under that Damn Mistletoe by hickeystyles | 7k | Mature

Louis' heart froze when he looked over and saw Liam whispering in Harry’s ear and nodding towards the mistletoe. Louis’ eyes widened comically before he dove out of sight so Harry couldn’t see him standing under the mistletoe like an idiot, or worse, like he was part of Liam’s plan to have Harry kiss him.

Or a Christmas Party AU where Louis is in love with his best friend Harry and everyone else is trying to force the two of them under the mistletoe together

We Could Be A Dream by Bearandleonardwrite | 7k | Explicit

“So, I’ve never seen you at one of these parties before,” Harry says as he hands Louis his drink. “Who’re you here for?”

Well, shit. Louis was definitely not expecting that. He sips on his drink to give him a few moments to think of an answer and then, “Oh, y’know. I’m dating the host’s brother. What about you?” He’s quite pleased with himself. Great answer. He takes another drink as a reward.

Harry grins at him, eyes bright, and shrugs. “Gemma’s my sister.” Louis hums around the rim of his cup waiting for him to elaborate. “She’s the host,” he tacks on, smug smile on his face. Louis chokes on his drink and tries his best to glare at Harry while he coughs. Harry rubs at his back until he can breathe properly again, which is actually really not that helpful. “Didn’t realize we were dating, Lou. I’m flattered.”

(Basically; Louis meets Harry at a party that he wasn't invited to. He ends up asking Harry to tutor him so he can keep seeing him. Featuring a bit of pining and a tea party.)

Mission Fucking Impossible by orphan_account | 7k | Mature

“Are you and Louis fucking?”

Harry nearly spits out his drink as he tries to communicate a "what the ever living fuck" to Niall with his eyes.

Niall takes another casual sip of his beer “Not like I’m the only one thinking it mate, I’m just the only one saying it out loud.”

- Harry is in love with Louis, and he is almost positive Louis is in love with him too. Naturally, Harry deals with this by trying to get Louis horny and hope for the best.

Things don't exactly work out how he plans.

One day to believe in you by mediaville | 7k | Explicit

A mysterious force compels Louis to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Even when it's really inconvenient.

Harry blinks and has the nerve to look surprised. "You think about me when you get off?"

"Yes," Louis says. He wonders how hard he'd need to punch himself in the face to knock himself out.

"Often?"

"Yes, Christ, Harry," Louis groans. "Probably eight times a week for going on six years now. On average, you know. More when we were touring, less when I've been visiting family. Anything else you'd like to know?"

Fake It Till We Make It by whileatwiltshire | 7k | General Audiences

#33- Keeping up with the Neighbors

“We can fake it.”

What?

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“No I did not. Say it again.”

“I said” Harry started slowly, “We can fake having sex to teach them a lesson.”

It was clear to say that Louis's mouth went a little dry at the suggestion.

Or ,

Their neighbours were a bit too loud during their bedroom activities and Harry comes up with the worst plan to shut them up. Louis agrees anyways.

Web Me Harder by iwillpaintasongforlou | 6k | Explicit

Louis Tomlinson, otherwise known as London's masked hero Spiderman, finds himself crashing through the window of Harry Styles one night after a particularly nasty fight with a villain. Luckily Harry is a nursing student with a soft spot for caped crusaders who's more than happy to tend to all of Louis' wounds, no matter how many times he swings by.

candy in your mouth (i know you love me) by embodied | 6k | Explicit

“You’re wrong,” Harry says, jaw clenched tight. “Because if all I wanted was a fuck, I’ve got at least three willing parties a phone call and a five minute drive away. What I want is you. I want us, I want it to be normal again -”

“What the fuck is normal?” Louis yells, much too loudly, and has to pause to consciously lower his voice before he speaks again. “Because a year ago, normal was eating too much takeaway and watching B-movies on Netflix in your room, and then normal was me choking on your cock at half past two in the morning, and I don’t know about you, but as of the past few weeks, normal is not seeing or talking to you at all, because I’ve all but admitted that I’m fucking crazy for you and you don’t know what to say to that.” Louis’ chest heaves, his breath coming out short. He hears his own throat stick when he swallows, and his voice is decidedly weaker when he asks, “So which one is it, Harry?”

AU. Things have shifted since last Christmas.

Running Through a Cloud of Steam by allwaswell16 | 5k | Mature

As Harry’s long anticipated twenty-first birthday approaches, he anxiously awaits the moment when he finally meets his soulmate. He’s not even sure he believes in soulmates, but at the very least, he hopes to prove to his best friend that nothing can come between their friendship--not even a soulmate.

You Can't Blame Me For Tryin' by lululawrence | 5k | Mature

Reason # 38 - Because He Is From One of the Countries You Haven't Had Sex With a Person From Yet.

Louis had been accepted into the study abroad program through his uni back home and therefore got to spend a year in rural Minnesota, of all places, but he wasn’t going to complain. It was still a pretty cool experience, even if it was far different from what he had been expecting. And besides, if he���d been sent to literally any other university, he’d never have met Harry.

If It's Meant To Be (It'll Be, It'll Be) by lululawrence | 4k | Not Rated

“So, anyway. I’m done here and on my way to the airport. I think I’m expected to be there in the morning, around ten. I’ll let you know when I’m getting close.”

“Sounds good.” Harry pulled back from the window and threw himself onto one of the beds. Once he got comfortable, he steeled himself and then went for it. “It’s been too long this time, Lou,” he finally whispered. He watched as Louis bit his lip and nodded slowly.

“I know,” Louis agreed, just as quiet in return. “We have to swear to never go this long without seeing each other again. Two months is just...unacceptable. I’m gonna go now, but I’ll see you soon. ‘Kay?”

“Yeah. See you. Be safe,” Harry said, far too fondly for his best friend. He couldn’t help it though. It was how he always had been and probably always would be.

They hung up and Harry threw his arm over his face.

“I am so in love with him,” he whined to himself. “Fuck.”

Satisfaction by iwillpaintasongforlou | 2k | Teen And Up Audiences

Louis and Harry have known each other since before they could remember and been in love with one another for about as long, even though both steadfastly refuse to admit it. When Louis starts dating other people, it is only to help himself move on and not at all to make Harry jealous. And the sulking sort of anger Harry feels when he watches Louis kiss other people is completely irrelevant anyways.

[winsmoke]

𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤

You and Yuta have both hit a wall in your respective lives. Loneliness seeks comfort.

⊹ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 2.3k ⊹ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 english student female y/n x Yuta ⊹ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 college au, idol au, strangers to lovers au, angst, smut ⊹ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 drinking, kissing, swearing, unprotected doggy position, unprotected reverse cowgirl position, unprotected missionary position ⊹ 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 disclaimer | masterlist

   “Another unfamiliar place with more unfamiliar people,” Yuta murmured to himself while stuffing his slender fingers into the pockets of his straight jacket.

　He had an inexplicable urge to leave his hotel room to wander around the city. Even though he risked a lot of trouble with his managers for a simple stroll, the walk still wasn’t making him feel any better. He had been to New York City several times but it still felt...empty. 

   The more he traveled around the world with NCT 127, the more he realized how small and insignificant he was - an incredibly stupid mentality to have as an idol. Yuta felt like he was always chasing his next high and lately not much was making the cut.

　Performing, practicing, and simple downtime with his members had initially been so fulfilling. That was when he felt like he had something to work towards. It didn’t feel like he was working at all anymore. He didn’t know if he should be more concerned that it was easy faking stability or that none of his friends could recognize his unease. 

   Perhaps that’s why you caught his eye so easily.

　While Yuta restricted his insecurities within his body, your vulnerability stretched across your trembling figure. You were speed-walking to Barnes & Noble, desperate for a gentle relief to get you through the night.

　It was your last year at New York University’s aggressively cutthroat creative writing program. The thrilling environment of competitive writing had engaged you for three years but now you just felt burnt out. You did it all… gotten published, received distinguished awards, and had met your favorite authors but now you’re not so sure of yourself. And with your confidence went your writing stamina. So you decided, after re-writing the ending of your final non-fiction story three times, to run away to the bookstore and read stories from your childhood.

   It wasn’t in Yuta’s nature to talk to strangers so he curiously traced your steps. He was pleasantly surprised when you led him to a bookstore and even more surprised when you eagerly reached for children’s books. After flipping to the first page of The Rainbow Fish, you looked up at the first person you saw, pointed at the paper, and exclaimed excitedly: “Pictures!”

   Having read countless academic papers and various literature throughout the semester without a single picture, seeing such colorful and nostalgic images were putting you in a child-like frenzy.

　Yuta felt his lips twitch uncontrollably. You wore your emotions so shamelessly and he found it to be both terrifying yet charming. You started laughing at yourself, realizing how ridiculous you must look.

   “Sorry, I must seem like I’m on acid or shrooms… I swear I’m intelligent,” you mumbled while hungrily paging through the children’s book. Yuta blinked in confusion. He was good at English but he wasn’t sure what “acid” or “shrooms” was. 

   “I read that when I was a boy,” Yuta said awkwardly, nodding to the book you held. Your ears perked up at his articulation and you looked more closely at the guy standing next to you. 

   “In what language?” you asked, trying to place his accent. 

   “Japanese.” 

   You sat down on the carpeted floor and patted the space next to you. 

   “Issho ni yomimashou.” Let’s read together.

   “Nihongo o shitte imasu ka?” You know Japanese?

   “Just basic stuff,” you said shrugging. “Can I practice with you? Like I’ll try to translate the sentences from this story and you’ll tell what I said wrong?” 

   “Ano… okay?” Umm... 

   Over the next thirty minutes, Yuta was amazed by how comfortable he had become with you. He hadn’t heard Japanese in months; a strange ache lodged itself in his chest when you spoke it so smoothly. He remembered how anxious he had been when he was learning Korean, but whenever you made a mistake your bit your lip not from embarrassment but frustration. You were so foreign yet familiar. 

   “Wanna come over to my dorm? The store is gonna close soon and I want to keep practicing with you,” you asked with your most captivating smile. You were always forward with people, especially those you like and he had certainly caught your eye.

   “I don’t know your name yet and you’re already inviting me home?” Yuta hid the bubbling feeling in his chest with a satisfied smirk.

   “I’m y/n.” 

   “Yuta.”

   “Okay now that we’re no longer strangers, Yuta, would you like to come over?”

   “Yeah,” Yuta breathed. He didn’t care about the repercussions, it had been so long since he actually wanted to do something. And right now he wanted more time with you. 

   While the two of you walked to your dorm, you pointed out your favorite spots and places when you had done some fuck-shit, slipping in and out of English and Japanese. Yuta watched you in amusement, slightly amazed by your brazen tongue and reckless past. He couldn’t quite understand you… you had acted so carelessly before and yet, you always ended your stories by explaining what you had learned. He wasn’t sure if he would call you balanced or chaotic.

   Upon unlocking the door to your dorm, your eyes shot to your opened laptop and you remembered the paper you needed to complete. This was your last story before the semester ended, and it had to be spectacular. But the ending was kicking your ass. Your shoulders immediately sagged and you staggered over to your fridge.  

   “What’s up?” Yuta asked, noticing your deflating figure.

　You grabbed the giant vodka bottle and some cherry soda, your usual liquor and chaser combo. Collapsing onto your bed, you gulped down several mouthfuls of both substances and offered some to Yuta. He mimicked your actions without hesitation.

   “I just…am tired of my life,” you said softly.

　Yuta watched as your face crumbled into distress. He set the bottles carefully on the floor and approached your bed steadily.

　You couldn’t read his expression. No one really could.

   “I’m sorry,” he confessed in a low tone, “I’m not good at consoling people. Or talking in general.” 

   You searched his face. Quite possibly the most handsome and emotionless being you had ever laid your eyes on. You noticed before that his face only portrayed happiness or nothing. If he wasn’t smiling, he wasn’t anything. You, on the other hand, oozed an array of emotions.

   You crawled to the edge of the bed where Yuta stood. You sat directly in front him with him looking down at you, your noses almost brushing.

   “You don’t need to speak,” you whispered. 

   Yuta’s hands glided to the curve of your hip and held you firmly in place. As soon as you spread your legs to bring his body closer, Yuta’s lips found yours. He tasted like the cherry soda, the smell enveloping your senses.

   Yuta pushed your hips back further onto the bed so he could position himself properly in between your thighs. While you continued to explore his mouth, his hands began to roughly grope your thighs through your tights. The thin material felt unusual but alluring against his hands and eventually his nails started to fray the nylon. 

   “Just take them off already,” you snapped, breaking away from the kiss when you realized what Yuta was doing and that this was your last pair of black tights. 

   “You look good in them,” Yuta hummed against your neck, licking and kissing below your ear until you were twitching with need. 

   As soon as he began lifting the edge of his sweater, you slithered out of your clothes while Yuta did the same. You positioned your legs for missionary position but Yuta nudged your hip to indicate his desire for you to flip over. 

   “Fine,” you grumbled.

　You already knew your thighs would give out in a few minutes but you let your body be maneuvered to his liking. He pulled your hips up so you were on your hands and knees and pushed his cock in your pussy.

   “Ummph,” you moaned in satisfaction.

　Yuta pushed your wobbling knees further apart to compensate for his girth, causing you to fall onto your forearms. 

   You pushed your hips back in time with Yuta’s swift thrusts. Yuta closed his eyes and tensed his muscles, completely surrendering himself to pleasure. The syrupy sounds of his dick slipping in and out of you echoed in your small room. 

   Although your stamina was quickly depleting, Yuta’s unyielding grip on your hips forced you to continue your movements. Impatient with your decelerating speed, he eventually just held your ass in place to maximize his pace, his balls slapping against your ass with every stroke.

   “You gonna make me do all the work?” Yuta breathed in your ear, pulling your torso up so he could grip your boobs properly. You shivered slightly, impossibly more aroused by the feeling of Yuta’s hardened chest against your back.

   “If you don’t plan on cumming while I’m in control don’t ask for me to take over,” you warned, getting your shit together to not stutter. 

   “Can you make me come?” Yuta challenged, purposefully fingering your clit while continuing to hit you from the back. You rolled your eyes.

   “Please. I could make you cum in three minutes tops. You won’t be getting any pretty little moans out of me.” 

   Yuta groaned and shoved you away. Propping himself on your pillows, he gestured towards his erect dick, still moist from your juices. 

   “Sit. Impress me,” Yuta instructed. 

   Eye contact was not the move for tonight. His look infiltrated you further than his dick could, you felt psychologically naked under it. 

   So you sat facing away from him, with your legs folded on either side of his legs. You nimbly gyrated down on his cock, clapping your cheeks together whenever your thighs needed respite. Yuta reached out to grope your quivering ass but you would stop completely to slap his hands away. 

   “Fuck,” Yuta moaned, unconsciously rolling his hips up to try to cram himself impossibly deeper. You were not gonna lie, this boy’s dick was stretching you and you had been aching from the beginning but that didn’t matter. You both needed a release and sore thighs weren’t going to stop you.

   “Let me be on top,” Yuta growled after you slapped his hands away again.

   “Dignity dented? It’s only been a minute,” you huffed out, just barely closing your mouth in time before a moan could escape.

   “Kinda hard to pull out if you’re on top of me,” Yuta said in a pleading tone. You could tell he was close. 

   “I’m on birth control,” you panted.

　Your abdomen was completely tightened, the coil in your stomach beginning to unravel. You blinked rapidly to bat the sweat from your eyes, you were starting to get dizzy from the intense fucking.

   “I want to look at you when I come,” Yuta begged.

　He surprised himself with his honesty. This whole time, you two had been avoiding each other’s eyes but now that the climax was drawing near, and your encounter was coming to a close, he wanted to see your face. You slowed down your hips, contemplating whether you should just let him cum down your throat or turn around. 

   Screw it. You thought and maneuvered your body so you were straddling him properly. You looked down at him, slightly transfixed by his impressive body. It was the first time you two looked at each other naked. 

   Your hair had fallen out of the ponytail long ago, it circled your flushed face in a way that made you look more captivating to Yuta. He held back the urge to cup your cheeks. 

   You lowered your body onto his and moved your hips sensuously around Yuta’s dick. You didn’t feel like fucking anymore, you just wanted tender sex to try to elongate this as much as possible. You didn’t want to admit this was a one-night stand and soon he would be gone. 

   Yuta seemed to understand your thoughts and caressed your body as if you were worth something to him. Even though you both had slowed dramatically, your bodies were ready for relief.

   “What if I want to hear your pretty moans,” Yuta whispered, effortlessly flipping you below him. His brown eyes were a pool you were drowning in. You weakly smiled and gave in to his request, allowing your low moans to spill from your lips, but not before you closed your eyes. In return, he whined into your collarbone, licking everything he touched. 

   His simple grinding had been enough for you both to reach your limits. Before coming, Yuta couldn’t resist one last kiss, this one much rawer than the first. But instead of relief he just felt lonely all over again. Now that it was over, now what? 

   “I guess you have to go now,” you said, heartache written all over your face. How was it possible that you got so attached to this guy you had just met an hour ago? 

   Yuta fished his phone out of his jeans pocket and groaned looking at all the missed calls and texts. They were flying out early in the morning for their next tour stop and the managers and members were flipping their shit trying to contact him. But when he looked back at you with an expression that mirrored his feelings, he knew he couldn’t leave without being honest for once.

   “I haven’t been this happy in a long time,” Yuta revealed hesitantly. “I-I want – no – need to see you again.” 

    You licked your lips, deliberating his words. He seemed genuine. You traced his flushed lips with your pointer finger, trying to memorize the sensation. 

   “I’m an open book,” you smiled widely. “Read me whenever you want.”

[kindahoping4forever]

All I Want For Christmas Is You // Ashton Irwin

Day 3 of Hoe For The Hoe-lidays! I hope everyone is enjoying the event so far, we’re having a lot of fun! Please be sure to let us know what you think either via ask or in your tags if you’re a kind reblogging soul 😉

Stay tuned today for a new Cal blurb from Cass on her @cal-puddies​​ blog and as always, each new piece will be linked on the masterlist below.

Warnings: Oh you know, just gifting Boyfriend!Ash with some good old fashioned road head for the holidays 😌

Word Count: 1785

Hoe For The Hoe-lidays Masterlist

Masterlist // Taglist and Ko-Fi linked above

Let  me  know  what  you  think!

“I would’ve taken you to get some real coffee if you’d asked,” Ashton comments grumpily.

You ignore his negativity, pecking his cheek. “It’s good! I mean it’s still gas station coffee but it’s not flavored or anything. Unsweetened and disgusting, exactly what you like,” you cheerfully reply, sitting the drinks in the cup holder.

When he’d heard you were planning to travel a couple hours away to pick up a gift you wanted to give your mother for Christmas, he eagerly offered to accompany you on your journey, even volunteering to drive.

The trip there went smoothly; he picked you up early, you stopped for breakfast along the way and had fun singing Christmas songs, sharing holiday memories and enjoying each other’s company. You’ve only been dating since the summer so every new fact you learn about each other is fascinating and the idea of spending time together is even more novel as the holiday season unfolds.

The rest of the trip, however, is a different story: you got caught up at your destination and your one-stop shopping trip turned into a multi-store, multi-hour tour of the mall, putting your return trip smack in the middle of rush hour traffic.

You'd hoped that your suggestion of pulling off the freeway to fill up the tank would’ve helped either his mood or the traffic but as you plop back in the passenger seat, wincing at the latest traffic delays, you concede your plan may have failed.

“That bad, huh?” Ashton guesses, seeing your face as he starts the car back up.

“Yeah… traffic looks pretty light if you skip the freeway and take the streets, though,” you offer positively.

“Traffic’s light because no one’s taking the streets unless they have to,” he scoffs. “Long stretches of road without anyone or anything nearby and it’ll add at least another hour, if not more to our trip.” He runs a hand through his long hair and over his tired face, scratching at his beard, frustrated.

You’re not used to him like this, so pessimistic and combative. You respond, much quieter than before, “Just thought it’d be better than white knuckling through another hour of bumper to bumper.”

He immediately notices your change in demeanor and reaches over to squeeze your knee. “Hey... you know I’m not mad at you, right? It’s just been a long day and stuff like this makes me a little crazy,” he explains.

“I know… I’m just sorry I turned this into a way bigger deal than you thought it was going to be, I didn’t mean to take up your whole day,” you shrug.

“I offered you my day, baby,” he corrects. He takes a sip of his iced coffee and makes a displeased face, yet keeps drinking it. “We haven’t seen each other much lately and I’m not gonna see you at all for the holidays so I’m not complaining about a few extra hours with you.”

He laces his fingers with yours, bringing them to his face to place a kiss on your knuckles. He gets back on the road and it takes less than 10 minutes of freeway traffic for Ash to agree with you about taking the alternate route.

His disposition may have lightened but he’s clearly not in the mood to talk so you flick the radio to the local Christmas music station. You hear him take a deep, steadying breath but don’t think anything of it as you quietly sing to yourself while you sip your coffee and answer texts.

The music simply exists in the background, neither of you paying it much mind until the opening tinkles of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” sound out through the speakers. You excitedly sit up in your seat to sing along but notice your boyfriend clenching his jaw, gripping the steering wheel as if his life depends on it.

You get through the first verse before you steal another glance at Ash and he looks inexplicably, comedically furious. You don’t want to push your luck based on the day you’ve had but you can’t imagine what the issue is. “Um, babe? Everything alright?” You tentatively ask, turning the radio down.

He takes another deep breath and says as evenly as he can manage, “Sweetheart. You know I care about you. You know I want you to be happy. I love when you’re happy. Nothing makes me happier than when you’re happy. But I swear to fucking GOD if I have to hear that fucking song one more fucking time I’m going to lose my goddamn fucking mind.”

You can’t help but burst out laughing. “What?!”

“Baby, it was on the radio a few times on the trip there, we heard it at the breakfast place, every goddamn store in the mall played it. I’m at my wit’s end," he insists.

“Was my rendition really that bad?” You joke.

A grin threatens to creep up his cheeks but he remains stoic. “Just trying to get us back to our respective homes with my mind and body in one piece.”

“Homes plural? I don’t even get to invite you in to make up for how today turned out?” You tease, walking your fingers up his thigh.

“You're not ready for a break from a grinch like me?” He asks with a faint smile. You feel a rush of serotonin shoot through you when you see the sparkle back in his eyes.

“Aww, I’m pretty sure I know a way to raise your holiday spirit,” you smirk as your hand settles on his crotch.

"That so?" He laughs coyly, enjoying the build up.

You drape yourself over his seat, attaching your lips to his neck while you palm him. "Long stretches of road without anyone or anything nearby?" You quote his words back to him as you hastily undo the button and zipper of his jeans. "Sounds like a perfect opportunity to help relieve some holiday stress."

Ashton inhales sharply as you pull him out of his boxers, attentively massaging his tip between your thumb and forefinger. "You know you don't have to do this just because of earlier, baby," he states softly.

You press a soft kiss to his cheek before ducking down to lick a long stripe all the way up his shaft, suckling gingerly at the head when you reach it. You let your spit collect in your mouth and fall onto him when you pull off to say, "Oh, I meant I'm doing this to relieve my stress but you're right, I can see how this would help you out too."

He laughs loudly and you think there may not be a sweeter sound in the world - at least not until you hear the awed way he mutters your name when you slowly slide your mouth down his cock, almost making it all the way to his balls before you start to choke and pull up.

You hollow your cheeks and bob your head, tongue working him over in your mouth just how you've learned he likes. His hand rests gently on top of your head, occasionally tangling his fingers in your hair but careful to never apply pressure. It enters your mind that part of you wishes he would and you moan around him at the thought.

Ash can't help but quickly cast his eyes down to take a peek; he groans loudly at the sight of you in his lap with his cock nearly buried in your throat. You swirl your tongue around him as you pull up, hand cradling his balls.

"God, baby… feels so good… your mouth is fucking heavenly," he sighs breathlessly.

You press your legs together at his praise, regretting you didn't wear that skirt you'd considered this morning, wishing there was some way you could relieve the ache between your thighs before you got home.

He must've noticed your struggle because suddenly he's asking, "Being such a good girl turning you on, baby? How wet has sucking me off made you?"

You whine, pulling off with a loud pop. "Ash… been wet since I first thought to do this," you admit, stroking him while you catch your breath.

"Poor baby," he replies with a smirk. "Can you behave and wait to cum until we get back? Or are you so desperate for my cock that I'm gonna have to pull over and fill you in the middle of this goddamn highway?"

Your head spins, overwhelmed by arousal. "Only ever wanna be good for you," you whimper, sloppily kissing up and down his length. "Wanna be good and make you cum." Your declaration has barely left your lips before you're sucking him again, with renewed intent.

"Fuck, baby, yes… wanna give you my cum, you deserve it," he babbles as your mouth works him, up and down, up and down.

You pull up to pump him again and out of the corner of your eye, you notice his blood moon tattoos practically jumping off his skin with how tightly he's beginning to grip the steering wheel.

Before you even have a chance to teasingly comment, Ashton's breath hitches and with a sharp cry of your name, his cock is suddenly throbbing in your hand, cum shooting up and onto the shoulder of your sweater.

You giggle in shock but act quickly, moving to try and get him back in your mouth, a task made difficult by the forceful pulses of his orgasm; you can't help but moan as you feel the stripes of hot cum hit your cheek before you're able to wrap your lips around him, sucking the final drops from his tip.

He finally lets out an exhausted huff, followed by an elated chuckle. "Jesus, baby, I'm sorry," he apologizes, looking over in disbelief as you shift back to your seat, trying not to make a mess of the car, digging through the glove box for tissues. "That came out of fuckin' nowhere."

You wipe your face, snickering, "You're telling me." You use your water bottle to dampen a tissue and start carefully dabbing at the stain on your sweater. "To be fair, you did say you wanted to give me your cum. So. Mission accomplished, pal."

He cackles, stealing another glance at you, unsure if this memory will ever leave his mind. "Gonna make you feel so fucking good when we get back," he promises breathlessly.

"Decided to come over to mine after all, then?" You tease with a smile.

Ash squeezes your knee. "I've got favors to return, my dear," he giggles. "Plus, we need to go online so you can pick out the new sweater I clearly need to give you for Christmas."

————-

Taglist issues again so my apologies if you get notif’d more than once (or not at all)

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[hanijunk]

Alright boys, girls, and nonbinary folks of the world. It’s 5:36am (1/30 when I first started) as I decide to give up on my attempt to continue to focus on learning statistics, avoid studying for my two upcoming midterms, and put off my two actual essays for two different classes.

Instead we’re going into a dive about ✨ KazuFuuma ✨ . Is this me telling you you gotta ship it? No of course not, you’re entitled to your own ships! You don’t really gotta care about it as a ship. But I do want people to recognize it’s THERE canonically, and how disregarding it is extremely unfair to Kazuki as a character particularly. Also, I’m working on the assumption anyone clicking this at least knows the bare bones about what KazuFuuma (ex. You know they are a ship of Kazuki/Fuuma from Dolce, you know they are childhood friends, you know who Dolce is, you know about Honeyworks, etc.) I’ll be making references to specific things, but I won’t always go into heavy detail. Might just hope you know it or take my word for what it is, and go into analyzing it. Some I’ll put direct references to find, but some I’ll trust you can find it yourself. If you somehow read this MAMMOTH and want reference to a specific thing mentioned, hmu I can help you find it!!

Also I hate tumblr formatting sm if you legit wanna read this 7 page essay but hate tumblr format lmk I'll add it as a google doc link instead too. anYWHO

Before actually getting into the meat of things lemme preface some stuff.

Again it’s like almost 6am so this will be disorganized and very train of thought (and likely long due to the fact when I fly by the seat of my pants I’m known to get unnecessarily extensive). It’s definitely gonna be in large part why it’s important to recognize as a romantic relationship foundation and what about it shapes Kazuki’s character in particular. Maybe a bit of how it’s been built up and its general focus and implications. Dunno yet. We’ll see LMAOO

I say f*ck. Not a lot, just a handful of times. This ain’t something scholarly this is for my own enjoyment so if you don’t like that might not wanna read. And it’s not like spitefully I just curse a lot if you haven’t...read my tags before lol

Again this is through the lens of a Kazuki stan. Of COURSE I’m going to have some level of bias, but if anything that bias may help more than hurt because that means I become FIXATED and think a lot about Kazuki. Which plays into establishing just how important it is that Kazufuuma’s relationship is recognized, especially in a romantic light at this point. Lmfao. 

I’ll have a few more prefaces about the actual content below but to keep this from getting too long if you wanna read come below the cut owo

I have extremely limited knowledge of Japanese just taking a few classes in highschool (so like 3 yrs ago) and live in America. This means a lot of my knowledge is gathered through the english translations of the super duper incredible and lovely people in the Honeyworks fandom who provide translations (delaix and takanenene esp have provided so much for me being able to understand Dolce) and my own limited Japanese paired with Google Translate for things that remain untranslated.

This only will be drawing on information I have come in contact with and have access to and making assumptions based on that, most (if not all) of which is in the public domain. So things like the Dolce Manga Volumes released via Animate, exclusive 4komas, and Light Novels are out of my area for the most part (apart from again snippets of translations thanks to this fandom’s godlike and generous translators).

I will not be drawing on anything from the first Dolce album with the exception of Nade Nade. From a meta standpoint, I consider those songs as songs made as performance media as opposed to character explorations. Nade Nade is the exception because (1) it was released a whole year before the album and (2) you can tell it’s explicitly an exploration of Fuuma and Kazuki’s interpersonal relationship even if it’s in a slightly more performance based context than the songs that came out with the Dolce LNs. Easiest parallel I can make to show this is if you held Non-Fantasy, Yume Fanfare, and Samishigariya up against each other, you could tell the difference in intended audience and intended purpose the same way the Dolce 1st album, Nade Nade, and the songs of the LNs do respectively. Even if there is some basis to ground Kazufuuma, for the purposes of this essay I’ll be acting under the assumption the 1st album falls under the Non-Fantasy equivalent category.

THAT WAS A LOT OF PREFACING CONSIDERING LIKE 2 PPL WILL PROBABLY READ IT I just have a tendency to anytime I do anything analytical lay down ground acknowledgements for myself to work on just...cuz it makes me feel less guilty for any accidental misinformation even if I’m writing towards my future self to read lolll IM SORRY WITHOUT FURTHER TO DO HERE’S THE BRAIN DUMP

First let’s go ahead and establish why it needs to be recognized as an important relationship. Again, I’m a Kazuki stan. He’s my favorite character not only of Dolce but also of the entire Honeyworks series, and as much as I love him for reasons outside the ship, whether you like it or not Kazufuuma is an essential aspect of his character and narrative. Of course there’s the fact that him and Fuuma are childhood friends, so that’s going to in part define their characters and interactions with each other and those around them. They’re both going to be relevant to one another and important to one another’s stories to an even greater extent than the rest of the members of Dolce. But on Kazuki’s side at least, it’s an EXTREME amount. A running plotpoint in Dolce Diary is the sheer amount of dedication Kazuki has to Fuuma and how much his thoughts and decisions are influenced by Fuuma, whether it be how he feels happiest spending time with Fuuma, how he decided to get his piercing to represent he wanted to protect Fuuma, how he doesn’t want to dislike food so he can eat what Fuuma dislikes, etc. Not to mention running jokes about his borderline overprotectiveness and downright possessiveness of Fuuma, how proud he is when Fuuma gets praised, or that one 4koma that literally explicitly states he can read Fuuma’s mind when he thinks motherfucking ‘dirty thoughts’ about his childhood friend (Fuuma). I still don’t know what the fuck to make of that last bit. Genuinely. Or the fact it’s a fucking running joke. As in it’s not a one off. It’s been brought up multiple times. Kazuki what the fuck. 

That’s not to say that he doesn’t have character outside of Fuuma or he doesn’t interact with people other than Fuuma. He’s great friends with Sara, Girisha, and Kippei and is shown time and time again to have fun interactions with all of them, generally acting as the best support friend for every member of the group, not Fuuma alone. For instance how he helps Kippei with his self confidence issues or stays over at Sara’s to protect him from a cockroach (which he fails at lol). Nor is that to say all his interactions involving Fuuma focus solely on his devotion to Fuuma, especially in instances where the manga focuses on Dolce as a group dynamic (though even in that setting there are times where jokes about his devotion are thrown in). He’s kind, he’s stupid, he’s friendly, he’s an amazing character in his own right, and I love him for all those reasons. But that doesn’t change the fact a major part of his character and his character interactions are rooted in Fuuma, and arguably some of his most interesting, eccentric, and notable behaviors and traits revolve around Fuuma (again the mind reading for example).

Hell let’s take it one step further. If you look at the character bios of the Dolce members, you get everyone’s motives for being an idol and interests. Of them, Kazuki is the only one to have another character mentioned directly, not to mention that supporting Fuuma is explicitly stated to be his primary motive as to why he became an idol. Not even Fuuma’s sister is mentioned, though two arguments can be made for this. The first would be that Fuuma’s backstory about wanting to fulfill his dream for himself and his sister was decided later to explain Fuuma’s choice to crossdress though it can be argued it was intentionally done to leave it as a reveal at a later date, to which I would argue I don’t think this backstory was a choice in post. While Fuuma’s dedicated Dolce Diary extra exploring that backstory was released a little less than a year after Dolce was revealed, the preview to set up Fuuma’s backstory was actually the first thing released after the character bios on the Dolce Official Twitter page if you exclude a drawing of Dolce from Yamako. The second argument could be that information about his sister was intentionally withheld to set up the reveal when Fuuma’s extra released to explore it. However, going by that logic (which I do agree with), that would also mean that Fuuma’s inclusion and importance in Kazuki’s character bio also set up his dedicated extra, which I don’t think would be incorrect to assume considering what his actual extra turned out being.

Which brings me to the thing that makes it inexplicable to write off the romantic implications behind Kazufuuma: Kazuki’s dedicated Dolce Diary extra, Suki. I shipped Kazufuuma before even knowing of Suki, sure. But the fact that Suki even exists is a shock to me and drove into me the fact that Kazufuuma wasn’t just my own projection. Again, it’s not a surprise that Fuuma shapes Kazuki’s life. They’re childhood friends, of course they’re going to be important to each other. But this extra explicitly brought Kazuki’s feelings towards Fuuma under a direct spotlight. At first I was thinking oh, this extra was just to acknowledge the fact that Kazuki and Fuuma’s relationship can have romantic implications, but the end of it the conclusion that we got was that it didn’t matter what type of “like” he felt for Fuuma. Originally, I thought it wasn’t anything more than saying there are all types of like, and it doesn’t always need to be explicitly defined, but I appreciated the fact they were aware that they were writing Kazuki in a way that conveyed romantic implications. 

Then I thought about it because, again, I love Kazuki of course I’m going to think about his character extra, and realized...that’s not how these character extras have worked. There are only three character extras out as far as I know and have read: Fuuma, Kippei, and Kazuki. If we look at Fuuma and Kippei’s, each extra had a conclusion, sure, but they didn’t have a resolution. Rather, they were simply setting up explicitly what each character’s primary character arc and conflict were. Fuuma’s extra brought attention to the fact that he’s particularly a crossdressing idol by exploring the motives behind it. His choice to be a crossdressing idol is constantly under fire both by himself and the world around him. He’s not immune to those who consider his crossdressing strange, and a part of his story is both finding people who accept his decision to crossdress and to succeed for himself as a crossdressing idol. It’s an essential part of how we understand and define him as a character and it’s a central part of how he interacts with the world around him. For Kippei, it lays the severity of his insecurity under the spotlight and his journey and motives for improving himself. Again, this isn’t something isolated and resolved in the extra; his extreme insecurity and negativity is constantly affecting how he interacts with practically everyone from his fellow Dolce members to his fans despite the fact in all honesty? He’s fucking insanely talented in his own right, his own brother mentioning how smart he is and how he has amazing reflexes. For Kippei, his negativity is an essential part of how we understand and define him and central to how he interacts with the world as much as Fuuma’s decision to crossdress is to him.

Which brings us back to Kazuki, of course. In his dedicated extra, in the chapter that’s supposed to explore and establish and bring attention to an essential part of his character, the aspect of himself under investigation is how he feels about Fuuma. It’s not just how he behaves around Fuuma, it’s explicitly an exploration of his feelings, on top of the fact it’s explicitly an exploration about whether or not he likes Fuuma r o m a n t i c a l l y. Literally the conflict is spurred on by someone outright asking “Do you like him?” and having to clarify “I mean romantically.” What they decided to focus on for Kazuki’s character and emphasize and establish is that Kazuki’s like towards Fuuma toes the line between friendship and romance. His ambiguous feelings towards Fuuma (if we leave them inconclusive as Suki did) are just like Fuuma’s crossdressing and Kippei’s insecurity in the sense the weight of whatever those feelings may be are seen in how he interacts with the world around him and influences his behaviors. It would be another story if they introduced the potential and shut it down all within the extra, because then his central conflict would to me be less directly open to romantic potential and more simply about how his arc was meant to explore the dynamic of the behavior of an extremely dedicated best friend. The fact that he may be romantically attracted to Fuuma or may be only platonically dedicated to Fuuma is instead something that looms over Kazuki in the same way Fuuma’s decision to crossdress constantly looms over him. It’s what Dolce wanted to point to and say this is Kazuki’s central character conflict and central arc: exploring what type of feelings he has towards Fuuma. 

Sure, it can be argued that there’s only three Dolce Diary character extras, there’s not enough to be sure about that being the purpose of the extras unless we get the other two’s extras. First, at this point I honestly don’t know if or when they’re going to release an extra revolving around Sara and Girisha just because not only has it been over a year and a half since the latest Dolce Diary Character Extra (Kazuki’s) was released despite the gap between the first and latest Dolce Diary Character Extra (Fuuma’s and Kazuki’s) were within a year of release but also because the Dolce 4komas and comics they’ve been posting to Twitter have decreased (last one being over half a year ago) potentially due to them deciding to focus on releasing Dolce manga content through the purchasable volumes instead. (This is not particularly related to the Kazufuuma argument, just wanted to put out there my two cents on what Sara and Girisha’s extra/focal arc would be. Based on a large part of the Dolce Diary in conjuncture with Can’t an Idol Fall in Love, I’d argue Sara’s would be his journey to regain his passion for performing, and if it’s not that I’d say it’d be coming out of his self-imposed isolation and opening up to people again. As for Girisha, I have less of a concrete idea but I’m assuming it’d be something pertaining to how people often misconceive him whether it be in tandem with his determination, his optimism and sociability, or his stupidity/ability to ignore those misconceptions and work past them. But Girisha is treated like the comedic relief 90% of the time so I’m not entirely sure, but his primary conflict is definitely rooted in misconceptions of him being his roadblock imo. #MoreGirishaContentPlz) That being said, I personally feel like the three are already enough evidence, especially considering it would be honestly even more cruel for Kazuki’s character-centric extra to be focusing on something that wasn’t essential to his character and character arc, anyway. And though it’s not explicitly stated that these chapters are extras exploring a central character, you can kind of tell based on how they are (to my knowledge) the only Dolce Diary updates with cover/title cards each which include their focal character front and center. So working off that fact, the Kazuki-centric chapter established that a pillar to his narrative was his feelings towards Fuuma and that those feelings are still open to romantic potential. 

But if you follow me, this is why up until Can’t an Idol Fall in Love With Another Idol’s release, I was terrified of them writing that off. I would have been ok if it was just an arc that was given attention then continued to actively work in the background, as all the character arcs have been over all of Dolce’s content. The fact that they might be giving Fuuma a love interest and giving Fuuma a love arc while Kazuki’s feelings were still up in the air and were still the primary highlighted narrative for him would have been fucking scuffed. To me, it would be like… why would they make him so Fuuma-centric to the point that even his dedicated chapter was not just focused on Fuuma but focused on the ambiguity and potential of him having romantic feelings for Fuuma, yet reduce him to being Fuuma's designated right-hand man. Don’t get me wrong, friendships are just as important as romantic relationships. But again, rather than conclude Kazuki’s answer in Suki to be that his feelings were of friendship, they left it open ended and allow audience members to be actively aware that Kazuki’s feelings towards Fuuma still had potential to be romantically coded. It would just be so weird to quickly close off that narrative by giving Fuuma a love interest as opposed to letting Kazuki conclude it himself. It would be fucking beyond frustrating for me, at least Eventually, I kept trying to drive my hopes that they would explore Kazuki’s narrative at all down to the ground because it was a Fuuma-centric novel; maybe if anything they’d explore those feelings in his own novel after the fact. But then they kept having little drops here and there of Kazuki being even the slightest bit relevant and I’d go back to questioning “Are??? They??? Is this on purpose??? Do they know what they’re doing or are they just doing this because Kazuki’s just so important to Fuuma as his best friend that he’s there as his right-hand I genuinely can’t tell???” And um. Welp.

Safe to say Can’t An Idol Fall in Love sold me on the fact that they know what they’re doing LOL. And to anyone who thinks that Kazuki’s feelings can still be read as ambiguous in CAIFILWAI as opposed to explicitly romantic - whether it be due to a fear they may pull the “I like him as a friend” card or due to the disbelief that they have an explicit mlm main character in the Honeyworks series - I’d like to cover any bases that may make you think this way. If you think it’s just Kazuki acting like a protective friend, why do you think he calls Yui a rival? If you’ve only seen the MV and think it’s ambiguous or can be taken as the "likfe" for friend, then does that mean you think Yui’s feelings toward Fuuma are also ambiguous or as a friend? With the way Yui responds, she is trying to rival Kazuki’s feelings towards Fuuma. She and Kazuki recognize whatever feeling it is that they hold towards Fuuma, both of their feelings are the same type. I don’t think most people would argue that Yui’s confession about Fuuma was one of pure respect and friendship. Plus, if anything I’d argue of the three characters in the MV, Fuuma is the one whose feelings are left the most ambiguous despite him being the central character. It’s heavily implied that he may be forming feelings for Yui, but nowhere is it established either in the song or in the MV, especially if you compare it to Kazuki and Yui’s declarations or if you compare it to Sara’s feelings for Uru in Can’t An Idol Fall in Love. Fuuma’s romantic narrative here is trying to figure out how he feels for Yui, while for Kazuki and Yui they’ve established a rivalry because they both have mutually established they like Fuuma romantically.

If the MV isn’t enough for you and Suki isn’t enough for you for...some reason…??? You can check out the snippets of the light novel which the wonderful takanenene translated: one which revisits the conflict set up in Suki and one that covers the confession scene in the MV in more detail. If the fact that the conflict set up in Suki (aka the lurking feeling of not knowing if all he felt for Fuuma was only platonic or more than platonic) was specifically reestablished in the LN for anyone who didn’t keep up with Dolce Diary didn’t tip you off that it was something important, his behavior in the confession scene as depicted by the LN definitely should have. He’s possessive about his spot by Fuuma’s side. He doesn’t want that spot to be taken by anyone else. Even if he knows that they can help Fuuma, he wants it to be him. And this line: “Kazuki then trails off his words, quietly saying ‘That’s why…’ and then gave Yui a slightly painful smile, his cheeks turning red,” before he declares Yui a rival and states he likes Fuuma. If you can tell me you read that line and are still on the fence about Kazuki’s “like” towards Fuuma being romantic, please message me and I will see how I can get through to you. Like it wasn’t even just a romantically coded confession. It’s just a romantic confession. That “like” is romantic. And I’m so proud that he’s not only come to understand for himself how he feels, but that he’s confident enough to ask the person he sees as a romantic rival to speak in private and not only clarify her feelings for Fuuma but before she can even do that firmly establishes that he loves Fuuma with conviction. Kazuki my boy I’m so proud of you. *sniffs*

And that’s it for establishing Kazufuuma as at least canonically one-sidedly canon and why there’s not only no reason to deny it but also why denying it is a fucking disrespectful move towards Kazuki. He’s a character, sure, but that doesn’t change the fact you shouldn’t write off his struggle to come to be convicted enough to say it out loud. This has been something weighing on him at least a year, if not more (all I know is it started when both he and Fuuma were in some year in middle school). And as a character in a piece of media, I’ve been saying this the entire time, but brushing it off as non-romantic is literally chucking a fucking pillar of his character’s story into the gutter. And to those who may be saying Kazuki’s confession came out of nowhere and is pandering reread this entire fucking essay again I dare you to do it and tell me to my face it’s pandering. Again. Writing off the buildup as pandering is disrespectful to him, disrespectful to his character and narrative, and disrespectful to the wonderful people who have been creating Dolce so diligently and have crafted this narrative for us. Saying his “supposed feelings” and “ambiguous confession” is pandering is like saying Fuuma’s crossdressing is pandering which. If you say either of those I will find you and I will shank you in the fucking gut. Even if you’re not fully into Dolce, recognize these characters are actually very well developed and executed amazingly, as per every Honeyworks character that has come to exist. I don’t blame you if you weren’t aware of the weight of Kazufuuma, but now that you read this I hope you are. That’s mainly what I needed to get out there, but as follows will be me more exploring how Kazufuuma has been built up and generally waving my hand off at where it may be going. If you want you can dip, thanks for reading up to here because I know I repeated a lot because it’s just. So important to drill into your head and has been something I’ve been hung up about constantly. LOL

As for where exactly they’re taking it from this point on, I honestly don’t know. In all honesty, I didn’t even expect them to take it the direction they did. But honestly, I think the direction they went with it is really interesting and better than I could have imagined, in my opinion at least. Honeyworks never ceases to amaze me with their storytelling and narrative choices, and I don’t think there’s any that stand out to me as being severely questionable that they haven’t reapproached at some point down the line. And, again, I think they’re treating this with a lot of care and deserved respect. So I’m just gonna be gushing about how smart they set it up and how smart they’ve been executing it and maybe my own hopes on the direction it could go.

Whether they make Kazufuuma reciprocated I have no real clue or bearings, but to me my gut reaction is they will. Of course, I’m biased, but again if you trace things all the way back to 2018 and step through Dolce’s content and growth from there, I’d say even if they didn’t know if they could execute it like this and see it to fruition, I’d argue that Kazufuuma has been at least heavily implied since the beginning as a relationship they wanted to explore from both sides of the relationship. Obviously I brought up Kazuki’s character bio already, but if you look at the *goes to count* 5th Dolce Diary update already has a joke jabbing at the fact that Kazuki is technically Fuuma’s type (and the way Kippei and Kazuki excitedly react is so cute). The fifth update. And as stated before there are tons of Kazufuuma moments in Dolce Diary, whether it’s played for comedic effect or played straight (and this is post Suki but oh my god I’ve said it before I’ll say it again get yourself someone who looks at you the way Kazuki looks at Fuuma oh my jesus). But song-wise, I mentioned the one Dolce album song I would bring up is Nade Nade and this is where it comes! 

Not only is Nade Nade specifically focused on Kazuki and Fuuma’s relationship as opposed to the whole of Dolce despite being the first song, it included the setup/preview of the Fuuma-centric extra prior to the full release of the Fuuma-centric extra itself and was released early as fuck. Literally between the 6th and 7th update to Dolce Diary. Sure, it could be to isolate them as a duo for marketing purposes (they’re very often the two promoted idols together if the whole of the group aren’t included), but the way it’s established as a perspective song as opposed to a general idol duet is what fascinates me. Anyone who didn’t know about Dolce prior and only followed Honeyworks for music would be first introduced to these characters through this song alone, and maybe this is where my Kazufuuma bias comes from but I was one of those people LOL. I thought it was just a cute one-off relationship that they had set up for the purpose of a song and that it was an implied friends-to-lovers story that would never get a conclusion. Also I mistakenly thought Fuuma was a girl oop-. In the full context of Dolce, this song in part helped establish Fuuma and Kazuki more solidly as a unique duo out of all of Dolce, but it also specifically explored through Fuuma’s eyes just how much Fuuma recognizes and appreciates the unwavering support Kazuki gives him to follow his dreams as he wishes. For Fuuma, he loves Kazuki too, though whether it holds any romantic potential in the same way Kazuki loves him has never been explored to nearly the same extent. But Fuuma appreciates how Kazuki’s remained by his side and does everything he can to support him, so Nade Nade explores how his way of expressing his love and thankfulness to Kazuki is by never saying that he needs Kazuki by his side. He’s glad Kazuki’s always been there for him, and his reciprocation takes on the form of being ready to unwaveringly support Kazuki and not ask for more than he already has, even if it meant Kazuki would be leaving his side, despite the fact that he really does wish they could remain together forever just as Kazuki does. The one point he lets himself say something vaguely close to always wanting to stay together, he gets a surprised expression out of Kazuki and says an ambiguous “suki dayo.” Of course, this it much less romantically coded than what we get from Kazuki in Suki and CAIFILWAI, but there is an interesting emphasis put on it nonetheless. Keep in mind, this is all established through the song, which released long before not only Fuuma’s character-centric extra released but also Kazuki’s character-centric extra released, so there is at least a substantial setup for Fuuma’s feelings towards Kazuki’s being strong as well and possibly grow to be reciprocated one day.

I think for me the most fascinating part about Nade Nade is how they tied it back around to Can’t An Idol Fall In Love with Another Idol. Again, without remembering Nade Nade, I still thought CAIFILWAI was brilliantly explored and executed, even if some people would have preferred no love triangle. But honestly, revisiting Nade Nade makes me trust even more the direction they’re taking with this. Whether or not they make Kazufuuma canon mutually (which. Even if they for some inexplicable reason didn’t I’m going down with this ship.), I’m sure they’re putting a lot of thought into the story, because the last bit of Nade Nade directly parallels the misunderstanding that arose from Fuuma mishearing the Kazuki and Yui. Fuuma is resolved to support Kazuki in any area he’s given the chance, and that explicitly includes if Kazuki had some girl he liked, which is what he assumes is going on. The fact that they tied this back around in the form of a misunderstanding was really really smart and Honeyworks is always so good at parallels and references back to their older songs, but for some reason I didn’t expect this. I don’t know how to say why, but the fact that the song that started it all, kicked off both Dolce and Kazufuuma, was directly referenced both visually in the MV with a cameo at the start and narratively despite the central dynamic being predominantly explored in this story in particular was that of Fuuma and another potential love interest and involves said potential love interest for some reason makes me think that (sorry Yui) this is all planned out for Kazufuuma in the grand scheme of things. That being said, I don’t know if me thinking it was planned all along is just me with shipper goggles, but the idea it’s come full circle nearly 3 years later is not shipper goggles and a very very well done parallel in my opinion, whether this trajectory was their plan for Kazufuuma from the beginning or not. Just wanted to gush about that some more. 

There’s more I could go into especially if I went into specific details about interactions or specific implications established in Honeyworks' Dolce content about different characters that would be fascinating to explore in relation to and under the lens of Kazufuuma, but I think this is uh...plenty long enough. Plus, I doubt you'll stop seeing Kazufuuma posts from me so those ideas will probably just be miniposts or somethin.

Back to the overarching point of this segment, idk what they’ll do with this story in the end, but do I think Kazufuuma will canon? I’m used to looking at ships that aren’t explicitly apparent with a sliver of skepticism, but all things considered (as I stated before) yeah. I don’t see reason why they wouldn’t now that they’ve explicitly identified there is a romantic dimension to it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Like to me, the setup isn’t something that would be written off as unrequited? And this doesn’t have to play into why I don’t think it will canon, my personal opinion on the Fuuyui relationship (again albeit through the lens of a hard Kazufuuma shipper lmao) has it’s own merits and is really cute, I find it cute in the way I found Koyuhina cute. I personally never really shipped Koyuhina, and especially since they slipped Kotarou into Ima Suki Ni Naru I was more curious about who this kid was and how he played into things I didn’t really see Koyuhina as something that would come to fruition. Similarly, there’s more importance in the overall sense on Kazuki than there is Yui (considering he’s one of the 5 original and focal members of this generation of idols, this would be natural), as well as the fact there’s just way more foundation and exploration in Fuuma and Kazuki’s relationship than there is Fuuma and Yui. As for how much of a balance there is inside the LN itself, the fact that they seem to have spent a substantial amount relaying the foundation of Fuuma and Kazuki’s relationship and re-exploring it (at least in Kazuki’s perspective) at all on top of how much content there is covering their relationship prior to the LN ever since Dolce’s origin just feels like that relationship holds more weight. Pretty much Kazufuuma feels more established as a priority in general. The way I personally hope Fuuyui plays out is whether they wind up holding mutual feelings or not or whether Fuuma doesn’t feel that way towards Yui is they get a relationship akin to Kotarou and Arisa. Albeit, Kotarou and Arisa never viewed each other in a romantic light, but they had mutual respect and solidarity. That’s the type of friendship I hope comes out of Fuyui. And considering there hasn’t been a break-up in any Honeyworks’ canon relationships (nor do I expect there to be… they’re all perfect for each other LMAO) it would actually be interesting if Fuuyui get together but don’t endgame and Kazufuuma is established as the inseparable endgame after some realization or another, though I don’t expect them to go that route nor do I know if that’d be the best way to go about it anyway. Also final point, Honeyworks seems to have a thing for childhood friends trope anyway soooooo owo All in all, don’t know where they’re taking it, just excited to see where it goes. 

TL;DR of this *counts* 7 page essay, stan Kazufuuma. Not gonna proof this. Maybe I’ll edit and repost but yall are getting a confusing clusterfuck of ramblings over 2-3 hr periods of me writing across 3 different days at around 5am each day. Uh. If you got this far like and subscribe and-- jk plz reply to this mammoth anywhere you see fit or tell me if you have stuffs to add or counter or whatnot I like hearing people talk about Kazufuuma ;w; I am Kazuki and Kazufuuma brainrot can you tell after reading this? No? Lemme just remind you I’m K--

[kohanayaki]

.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 3

Continuing the story of how you and Sirius became friends; as James and Remus grow closer to you, Sirius continues to treat you coldly until a late night encounter makes him question everything.

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2   CH 3   CH 4   CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

________________________________________________________

Ch 3 .:Resistance and Reconciliation:.

~Previously~

“I'm not going to bother making friends with someone whose family is so wrapped up in blood politics they forget to be human beings first. Trust me, I've met their mother enough times to know.”

“Did you ever ask them about it?” Remus pressed.

“I don't really need to, do I? They're a (L/n). Open your eyes, Moony!”

Remus' brow furrowed, a shine in his eyes akin to sympathy as he regarded Sirius.

“Perhaps it's you that needs to clear your vision, friend.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1974  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sirius sat on the stone ledge on the window of his dorm room, looking out towards the Black Lake. He could see the push and pull of the wind as the thin branches of the ash trees bowed gently with the rhythm. In the reflection of the glass he could see James and Peter behind him experimenting with an altered set of wizard's chess, complete with fire-breathing knights and bishops that threw daggers, while one of Remus' records spun in the background.

Despite everything he could have been thinking about at the moment, his thoughts, irritatingly enough, drifted to you. He frowned slightly as he leaned his shoulder against the window, annoyed that you occupied even a portion of his mind. He just couldn't understand you. Somehow you had turned James, who had once openly proclaimed you his sworn enemy, into something close to a friend in the span of a year. You had no qualms with pranks pulled on you, yet you were fiercely protective when they were directed at others. You were always smiling, yet your temper took no prisoners. If you weren't a Slytherin you might even be attractive.

The thought made him bolt upright. Where the hell did that come from? He almost laughed. No. Absolutely not. He was Sirius Black, he could get anyone he wanted in this bloody school, and he certainly wasn't going to busy his mind with you. What the hell was wrong with him? It's not like he noticed the way you smiled to yourself when you were reading, or the fact that the sound of your laugh got stuck in his head like a song—

No. Stop it. Get your head straight, they're evil.

Sirius exhaled deeply, rubbing his tired eyes with his hands. For some reason that thought didn't sit right in his brain, and the longer he sat with it he came to a horrifying conclusion:

Maybe Remus was right.

The only time you'd really been nasty to them was when they'd instigated it first, or whenever they had a go at Snivelus, which had become less and less frequent; Sirius suspected because of your tentative friendship with James. He'd always just assumed you were like the other Slytherins he'd come to know. There's been hearsay circulating around you, especially given your family's reputation, but you yourself hadn't really done anything to prove the rumors. Maybe you really weren't like your family at all. Maybe you were like him. . .

Suddenly, he caught movement in the corner of his eye, not from his friend's reflections but from outside the window itself. A figure emerged from the lamplight of the castle gate, making their way towards the edge of the forest. If the green lining of your school robes and (h/c) hair didn't peak his interest, the flash that he saw of your face as you shot a quick glance over your shoulder confirmed it was you.

Sirius' mind began racing as he watched you disappear into the foliage, and suddenly every thought that had given you the benefit of the doubt vanished. He'd heard the rumors about the gatherings in the forest, everyone had. He'd even caught Snape practicing dark magic there himself one of the first nights they'd used the Shrieking Shack passageway.

He jumped off his perch by the window and grabbed a sheet of parchment and a quill, drawing a rough outline of the perimeter of the forest. He labeled the Black Lake so his spell would have a going off point and pressed his wand to the still drying ink.

“Revelare Popularis,”

The enchantment was a work in progress— a technique he'd learned from a seventh year. It wasn't exact, but it was enough to tell him if anyone else was in the forest right now. His eyes darted across the paper as he scanned his makeshift map, and the color drained from his face as he saw names suddenly appear in a cluster by the lake: Mulciber, Wilkes, Avery, and Malfoy.

Was this it? Were you really one of them? 

James looked up from his game as he saw Sirius grab his leather jacket off where it hung from his bedpost.

“Going somewhere?”

“(L/n) just went into the forest,” Sirius said, “I'm following them.”

“Why, Sirius?” Remus said sardonically, having had enough of his unusual grudge against you, “We're not really ones to talk when it comes to sneaking around the forest at night, now are we?”

“He's got a point,” James said, “I mean, what do you think you're going to see?”

“What do I think?” Sirius scoffed, pushing the paper into Jame's hands, “what does it look like?”

James looked down at the parchment blankly.

“What am I looking at?”

“A variation on Revelio,” Sirius explained quickly, “if you have a location in mind it shows you who's there, but only at the time the charm is cast.”

“Are you kidding me?” James' jaw nearly dropped, “You're just now showing this to us? We could have been taking advantage of this spell to dodge Filch this whole time!”

“I'm serious.”

James had to fight hard not to make a joke out of that one.

“If (L/n)'s meeting up with those guys it can't be for anything good,” Sirius continued, “and I'm gonna find out exactly why.”

Before any of the boys could get another word in, Sirius took off running down the corridor. James groaned, rebelling against the urge to slam his head into the wall.  

“I've got to stop him before he does something stupid,” he said, pulling a coat on over his shoulders, “You with me, Remus?”

“Probably not the best idea,” Lupin reminded him, “the moon's full tomorrow. I won't turn, but in the direct moonlight I may get a bit. . . well, you know.”

“Right,” James sighed, running a hand through his hair in distress, “Peter?”

The boy jolted as he was addressed, his eyes quickly cast down to his twiddling fingers.

“I. . . w-well. . .”

“Fine,” James said, waving them off in annoyance, “I'll go at him alone.”

___________________________________________________

You took a grateful breath of the crisp night air, letting the wind whistle through your hair and clothes. You loved your common room, but it could feel constricting at times, especially when there were nights as beautiful as this taking place.

Your eyes drifted up to the moon, smiling at the sight of it. It was nearly full, only a sliver of white missing from the very edge of the sphere. The sight alone was enough to make you feel more at home in your own skin, an inexplicable sense of comfort washing over you. You hadn't been able to really let loose and just run in so long. You'd made doubly sure no one had followed you into the forest, but you still gave your surroundings a quick once over. You jumped as the sound of leaves crunching suddenly asserted itself behind you and you lit your wand quickly, turning to see who it was.

“. . . Black?”

“Sorry, were you expecting someone else? One of your pureblood friends, maybe?”

The confused look on your face only made his anger flare.

“Don't act coy,” he asked harshly, “just what are you playing at?”

Your back straightened in surprise, taken aback by his words.

“Excuse me?”

“I've seen you talking to my brother, Rosier, Snivelus, and all those other Slytherins. Don't think I don't know what you're doing,” the words flew out of his mouth before they had time to pass through his brain, every irrational irritation he had regarding you spewing out of him at once, “I've had to sit through it, you know. All those dinners where my parents talk blood politics with all the fanatics who think just like them. I've listened to your mother brag all about your pure blood line and how her child is 'so eager to carry on the family traditions'. So whatever you're planning by getting close to James, I'm not going to let it happen.”

You felt like you were frozen in place, staring at him as your throat tightened into knots.

“My mom?” you said, voice suddenly small, “Sirius. . . my mom passed away when I was little.”

Your words hit the Gryffindor like a truck.

“. . . what?” he asked dumbly, his brain delaying slightly in processing what you'd just said.

“She got sick. . . an experimental spell gone wrong. If you met someone with my family's name that spoke like that, it was probably my aunt. My cousin goes to Ilvermorny. That's the child she's talking about, not me. The divide between purebloods and muggleborns is even more severe in America, if you can believe it. . . ”

Sirius faltered, this new information going against everything he'd heard and thought he knew about you and your family.

“But,” he hesitated, “your father—”

“Put up the image he had to in order to keep me safe,” you said. You knew he was documented as being very open about his pureblood pride and distaste towards muggles, but it was a cover more than anything, “Since he stopped speaking with my aunt and moved us both away from the estate, she's acted as the new head of the (L/n) House, and that was years ago. . .”

You trailed off awkwardly, not feeling very self-righteous in your explanation.

“I know my family doesn't have the best reputation. . . that's probably why you hate me, huh?” you chuckled humorlessly, wincing at how harsh the words came out. But if you were honest, you were hurt that out of everyone in their group, Sirius was the one that didn't even seem to want to give you a chance. You were the one who had extended the olive branch in the first place on the condition that they ease up on Severus.

“Hate you?” Sirius echoed hollowly, feeling guilt creep up on him like a shadow, “that's. . . shit, no, that's not—”

“Everte Statum!”

You gasped as Sirius was suddenly shot backwards, his body flipping wildly through the air from the force before being slammed against the trunk of a nearby tree. His head spun, heavily disoriented as his vision shifted in shades.

You had drawn your wand on instinct, looking around for your attackers when you saw a black-clad figure lift their hood, revealing a long mane of white hair that stood out starkly in the night.  

Malfoy.

“Well, looky here,” Mulciber taunted, revealing himself behind you, “we've caught the two biggest blood traitors of the last century having a touching little moment together.”

Laughter echoed from the trees, Wilkes emerging from the shadows. You took up a defensive position as their group surrounded you.

“Now, let's not be hasty, Mulciber,” Lucius said, “their father may have disgraced their house, yes, but they didn't have a choice. It's not too late for them to make the right one now.” His lips turned up into a snarl as he regarded Sirius, “get away from that blood traitor, (L/n), he'll rub off on you.”

You grit your teeth hard, preparing to cast a spell when Malfoy put his hand up in a silencing gesture, the pretentious little prat.

“Ah, you don't want to make any rash moves either, (L/n),” he said, looking to your left. You followed his gaze to see Avery coming out of the foliage, grappling with someone under his arm.

“Potter?!”

James smiled weakly as Avery held him in a choke hold, a bit of blood dripping down the side of his head.

“Hey,” he said, humor still light in his voice, “So, this didn't exactly work out as planned.” He groaned as Avery's elbow was driven into his stomach, effectively silencing him.

As soon as you tried to move towards him, Lucius had his wand pointed at you.

“Let him go and get lost, Malfoy,” you said lowly, “you've taken this far enough.”

“You've been avoiding us, (L/n),” Lucius said, ignoring you entirely, “Snape may have come up with some rubbish excuses for you earlier, but you can't keep running from this.”

“If practicing curses on first years and terrorizing other people is how you plan on using magic, then I don't want any part of your little cult,” you spat, “face it, Malfoy— you lot need me, but I don't need you.”

Lucius exhaled sharply, his genuine surprise at your resistance replaced quickly with anger.

“Think about what you're doing, (L/n),” he said, his eyes narrowing dangerously, “don't be a fool like your father.”

That did it.

With a growl you unleashed an orange bolt of energy from your wand, your Stupefy hitting Lucius square in the chest. Mulciber was quick to retaliate with a jinx of his own, which you quickly nullified with a shield charm. Shock flashed across his expression at your casual use of nonverbal magic, and he recovered one second too late.

Sirius was back on his feet, petrifying Mulciber and swatting Wilkes away like a fly with the knockback jinx before either could cast a spell at you. You and Sirius found yourselves back to back, fending off Lucius as he continued to direct a steady stream of curses in your direction. Sirius managed to create an opening for you and you turned to where James was being held.

“Evanossa!”

A flash of blue hit Avery, who shrieked in horror when he saw that the arm he was using to hold Potter had turned gelatinous, fingers drooping down like melting ice cream. James wasted no time paying him back in kind for roughing him up earlier, sending him flying into the oak tree and using the water from the Black Lake to freeze him there before joining you in the fray.

“Expelliarmus!” he called out, sending Wilke's wand spinning out of his reach and leaving only Malfoy against the three of you.

Lucius faltered for a moment as he stared down your group of three, but held fast.

“Leave it, Malfoy,” you said, “it's over.”

He growled under his breath, taking up an obvious offensive stance, but you were too quick.

“Ebublio!”

Lucius gasped as he suddenly found himself encased in a giant bubble, his knockback jinx ricocheting off the inside and hitting him in the back of the head. He pounded against the bubble in frustration but found it to be thick as Plexiglas and just as strong, unable to pop it. Suddenly, he was hoisted into the air as you raised your wand higher, directing him farther and farther away until he was hovering directly over the Black Lake.

“Let me go this instant!” he growled.

A devilish smile graced your features.

“You got it.”

“No, wait, don't you dar—AHH!!”

You turned your back on him, your breaking eye contact promptly bursting the bubble and sending him flailing into the water a few feet below.

You chuckled as you sent a few quick counter-jinxes out from your wand, restoring Mulciber's range of motion and liquefying the ice that trapped Avery.

As soon as Mulciber was unpetrified he took off running towards the Lake where Lucius was furiously treading water, tripping over his feet as he dragged Wilkes along with him. Avery limped after them, defrosted but still chilled to his bones (which you had been so kind to also restore).

“I'd fish him out quickly if I were you,” you called after them, “the giant squid is more active at night.”

“You're out of your mind, (L/n)!” Avery turned around and yelled, but with fear evident in his eyes, “You'll live to regret this, mark my words. The Headmaster—”

“Would love to know who cast the first spell, I'm sure,” you said darkly.

Avery stammered out some lame response under his breath before turning around and running after the rest of group, retreating.

Sirius turned to look at you, awestruck and chocked full of adrenaline. Maybe you really weren't so bad after all.

“That was. . .” James trailed off, grasping for the words and blurting them out as soon as he found them, “Brilliant, (Y/n). You're bloody brilliant.”

You felt your face heat up, not expecting that. You and James had stopped trading insults and threats (serious ones, anyways) and your teasing had become well meant, but neither of you had crossed the threshold of actually paying the other a compliment before.

“Thanks, Potter,” you said, unable to fight the smile on your face. You turned to Sirius briefly. “I hope this cleared some things up for us,” you said, “I'd really like to try and be friends, so. . .”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, wanting to kick himself at the way you turned him into a monosyllabic neanderthal with just a look. You gave him a small smile before turning back to James who was trying desperately to hide his limp and aching rib cage.

“Alright, let's get you to the hospital wing, Potter,” you sighed, “you look like a cheap action star in a muggle movie.”

“Uh,” James said nervously, “better we not. If I go to Madame Pomfrey three times in one day she'll never let me hear the end of it.”

“And who's fault is that?” You huffed, slinging an arm over his shoulder and helping him walk, “at least let me patch you up, then.”

Sirius followed some distance behind you, watching as you walked James back towards the castle and laughed at his occasional jokes. This one night had just turned everything upside down for Sirius. This whole time he was sure that he didn't like you because you were a blood-purist Slytherin and he was jealous that you were taking his best friend away from him; but the way you had stood up to Lucius and his goons made your position on blood politics very clear, and the tight feeling that struck Sirius' chest as he watched you cozy up with James made him reevaluate just which one of you he was jealous of.

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

“Sirius?”

The man blinked, slowly coming back to reality. You were looking up at him in concern, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. It took an embarrassing amount of his willpower to keep from leaning forward just a few inches and kissing you.

Could you pick a worse time, you numbskull? He thought, mentally smacking himself for even thinking about it.

“Are you okay?” you asked hesitantly after he stayed silent.

“I'm alright,” he insisted, giving you a reassuring smile, “just. . . thinking about how far we've come.”

His answer surprised you, though not in a bad way.

“I suppose we have,” you smiled back, “this is a far cry from you scowling at me from across the Great Hall over your breakfast.”

“I did not scowl,” Sirius scoffed playfully, nudging you away with his shoulder.

“Right,” you grinned, “scowling, glaring, glowering, whichever you prefer.”

“I said I was sorry,” he said, putting his hands up in mock surrender, although you both knew you weren't really upset about it. You'd long since forgiven him for his initial misjudgment.

When your light laughter died down, your head found itself lulling to the side again, tiredness taking over your mind as you rested against Sirius once more. When you tilted your head up to look at him he had a surprisingly pensive look on his face. Your eyes traveled across his expression, his gray eyes almost taking on a deep shade of blue in the shadows of his room. You noticed how much younger he looked when he was smiling; it was in moments like these when it really set in how long you had known each other, because you could see the years in his eyes.

Your own flickered down to his lips in spite of yourself and Sirius' heart skipped a beat, fearing you could feel it racing in his rib cage. When had you turned him so soft? He chuckled inwardly. Long before he had fully come to terms with how he felt about you was the answer. Even when he was in Azkaban, with two of his closest friends dead and the world convinced he was at fault, even if he had to live with the fact that he would never see you again, he still thought of you, and that kept him alive, sane— himself. But now you were here in front of him, and he was terrified that at any moment you would vanish into thin air and he would find himself back in that horrible cinder block cell, face to face with a dementor as it took his last memories of you away from him.

Your hand squeezed his, almost as if you had read his thoughts— as if you were assuring him that you were real, and you weren't going anywhere. You noticed him leaning in closer, even if he didn't, possessed by some invisible force. You were nearly about to meet him halfway when you were suddenly startled apart by the sound of quick, heavy-footed steps bounding down the stairs.

You both looked at each other as if you had just awoken from some sort of trance, instinctively putting some distance between yourselves as you shifted away awkwardly.

“I. . . I should probably get to bed,” you said, your face warm.

“Right,” Sirius said, reluctantly getting up from his seat at the edge of his bed, “I've kept you up long enough, I'm sure you're tired. . .”

Before you left his room you turned over your shoulder, a small smile on your face.

“It's really good to see you again, Sirius,” you said earnestly, “we should catch up for real later.”

“Definitely,” he said, a bit of his old self reflected in that smirk of his, albeit forced.

You steeled yourself, turning the doorknob and closing the door behind you gently before you did something to ruin the friendship you had just gotten back after over a decade. You shook the thought aside, your head hurting. You really did need to sleep after today.

You were about to head into your room, but something in you didn't feel quite right. You'd definitely heard someone go down the stairs, but you hadn't heard the front door open or close. Dread pooled in your stomach at your gut feeling, and you found yourself inexplicably making your way back down the stairs.

The house was eerily silent now that its residents had either gone off to bed or disapparated until the next meeting in a few days time. You'd left Sirius upstairs, and you knew Harry was staying here for the time being until school began, but everyone else had gone home. So then why did you still feel someone else's presence so acutely?

You stared at the empty hallway leading to the front door, taking a cautious step forward; the image in front of you didn't feel real. The colors were too saturated, the edges too sharp, and the surfaces too smooth. And that's when it hit you. The smell of rain. Leather-bound books. Lavender.

You froze, staring at the seemingly empty space in front of you.

“Severus?”

The potions master didn't dare make a sound, thinly veiled behind his invisibility charm but clearly not well enough. He was standing not three feet in front of you, taking in the sight of you as if it were the last thing he would ever see.

He panicked slightly as he felt you reach out to him with your mind, shutting himself off expertly. Your hurt expression as you were unable to detect anything pained him, but he wouldn't dare think that he deserved to say anything to you. What was there to say after everything he'd done?

Your gaze roamed the empty hall, and for a moment he could have sworn you stared him right in the eyes.

You knew he was there.

The moment lasted no longer than a second before you looked away, turning to go back up the stairs. As soon as your back was facing the front door you heard it open then close gently, and the tears you had been fighting to hold back finally spilled over.

Read chapter 4 here !

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