#but it’s still so bitty and slow and it’s not coming across how i want it to. it’s all descriptions and no feelings

[the-casbah-way]

someone throw bricks at me until i finish my writing

[oftenderweapons]

In Your Calvin's | JJK

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x reader (nicknamed Candy)

Wordcount: 9.6k

Genre: smut, fluff, pwp, established relationship

Rating: 18+ Minors, do not interact

Synopsis: Being Jeon Jeongguk's girlfriend is a great honour, but it comes with great responsibilities. When the commercial celebrating your boyfriend (very secret boyfriend) starts playing on everyone's and their mother's phones, it's time you face what it means to be loved by the most wanted idol of them all.

Warnings: Jealousy and general possessiveness. Swearing. Powerplay, switch!reader, switch!jk. Masochist!jk (?). Marking (hickey, writing on body with a pen), hair pulling (male receiving), edging (male receiving), spanking (male and female receiving). Teasing. Mild degradation. Dry humping. A very mild boobjob. Breast worship. Unprotected foreplay, oral sex (female receiving; brief male receiving), unprotected sex (be smarter, kids), rough sex. Mentions of cockring.

One last thing: 1. this was edited at 3am, please bear with me. 2. Sidenote: I try to be as neutral as possible with the way I describe the girls' appearance, however I wanted to specify that in this fic, I mention Candy having long, straight hair (and huge badonkers, but that's kinda canon by now LOL). It's just a brief mention, absolutely nothing major and holds no relevance to the fic, you might not even notice it; but still, I wanted to make sure I thought about my curly haired goddesses, and short haired queens, (or a combo of both heart eyes) and that I apologise for making this fic just a pinch less immersive for you. (Is this the right moment to apologise to small boobs princesses too? ily sisters, itty bitty titty committee 5evah)

Here's my masterlist, lemme just disappear very quickly. Enjoy 💜✨

You knew Jeongguk had a gig with Calvin Klein. You've known it for months. You've seen him cut calories and hit the gym and dehydrate for a couple days before the shoot because he explained to you how muscle definition works, and crucial to showing a great slab of abs is being basically as dry as a breadstick, to the point of being cranky because you have drunk three glasses of water in the last forty-eight hours. 

Which all means, you knew his stomach would be quite surely showing.

And yet your world still stops once you're merrily sitting on your train back home and his half undressed form appears on the screen on your phone. 

At first you slam your phone shut, mostly because you're used to hiding your boyfriend away and that's the reaction you usually have when you open one of his flirty pics from your chat. 

Next, you realise you weren't on your private chat, and you weren't even looking at pictures in your phone gallery. 

You were absentmindedly scrolling. On Instagram. 

You unlock your phone again, and right there you're confronted with the very naked truth. 

Jeongguk. Is basically naked. On your phone. And it's for the entire world to see. 

Your brain slows down, as if the earth axis is tipping over a little in the opposite way. 

Something inside you snaps around the third time the video plays in front of your unseeing eyes. To anyone looking at you, you could be just an obsessed fan taking a close look at the fine piece of art, but your eyes are unfocused, your mind too deep in thought to register any stimulus from the external world. 

The vibration from the phone awakens you from your state of trance. 

“Candy, baby,” says the adorable lover boy calling you. “Have you seen it already?”

Your lips are sealed, and you can't quite bring yourself to speak, you don't know why. 

“I'm on my way back home.” You say, and the words feel like cracking a glow stick in your chest. 

“But did you see it?” His voice isn't as bright now. 

“I'm coming home.” You repeat. 

He's silent for a few seconds, and you can hear him sigh. “Okay.” 

“He's so insanely hot,” you overhear a girl sitting across from you comment. 

“I want to run my palms down the sides of his waist,” says her friend. 

You stare at them and you know you must look like a woman possessed right now, but you still allow yourself to incinerate them with a glare, as if your eyes could turn into flamethrowers. 

“Candy?” 

“I'll be home in ten.” And you close the call. 

On the way back home, you hear more people talk. More girls fawn. More women zoom in. 

On the escalator, you notice a woman fanning herself while staring at the screen. Another one even crosses herself as the ad from your boyfriend reruns on her phone screen. 

Every step on your way home is utter agony, and once you step over the threshold, you're not sure what you're going to do.

Jeongguk is in the kitchen in a sleeveless top, tattoos out, piercings glowing in the gentle light of the living room. And his hair is fluffy, which means he's probably just done blow drying it after taking a shower. 

The fact that the scent of his body lotion is still sharp gives you further indication of how recent that shower must be. 

“Hey,” he says, turning towards you with a bunny grin, which immediately dims once he sees your expression. “Oh. Bad day?” 

You bite your lip and stare at him a fair bit. Then, a bit more. 

“Candy, love.” 

You don't know what to do with him. Is he yours? Is he really yours? 

How come you come home to him making dinner, and being freshly showered, and being so domestic? How come you're living in his apartment, knowing his pass code, having an ID card for his apartment complex and his studio at HYBE? How come he gives you a copy of his schedule and talks about you over the phone on his weekly call to his grandmother and brings you to his parents' house? How come you go on trips together and you're the emergency contact to his fur babies and you make love two to four times a week? How come he's brought you to the town he grew up in and loved you down in the place where he lost his virginity because, "I wish it had been you since the very first time"? 

Who is this man? 

Is he Jungkook from Bangtan Sonyeondan? Or is he Jeon Jeongguk, your very own quiet, shy, reserved lover boy? 

“You're scaring me,” he whispers, putting down his wooden spoon and taking a few steps to stand in front of you. 

“Why me?” you ask, staring at his collarbones, too scared to look into his eyes. 

“What do you mean?” he asks back, sheepish. 

This time your eyes meet his. “Why me? Of all the women out there, why me?” You look down, taking in just how average you feel, every imperfection magnified in your eyes, now that you have so many people you're comparing yourself with, and competing with. 

“Candy—” He starts. 

“Everyone, everyone out there is literally foaming at the mouth at that commercial, and I'm here? I come home to you? I make love to you almost every night?” You pause and laugh bitterly at him. “I'm a fucking fraud.” 

He shakes his head and moves closer, grabbing your wrists. “A fraud, you say?” He tuts in disappointment, places your hands on his waist. “You're not a fraud, ____, you're my soulmate.” He leaves your hands once he feels them clutch at his narrow waist. 

Possessiveness hits you all of a sudden, and it is only mildly ebbed by his hands landing at the top of your ass. 

“I love you, and I make love to you because it's a fucking dream. You're a fucking dream, and I'm so upset that you don't see it.”

You're jealous. You're simply jealous. It's human and it's healthy to be moderately jealous. After all the comments you heard and read, it's fair to be jealous. 

“I reckon you saw the commercial.” 

“I saw the commercial and everyone's reaction to it,” you comment, slightly acidic. 

Jeongguk bends to place a kiss below your earlobe. “Are you angry?” 

No. Not just anger.

Your hands mimic his and crawl to his lower back, toying with the hemline of his underwear. “I'm not mad.” I'm disgustingly jealous and I don't like them having more of what's mine. They already have too much, they've always wanted too much and you always give it to them and I'm furious that it's not mine alone. 

Jeongguk wears a mischievous smile as he makes you take several small steps back, the back of your legs hitting the kitchen counter. “Do you like it?” 

You click your tongue and shake your head. “No.” 

The reply startles him, and he feels his mood dim. Did he—

“I'm not a jealous person, but this… God, this hits a new level,” you finally admit. “They already drool over you quite enough, and now they even have a video of you shirtless. How would I not be jealous!? Half the girls would have snapped your neck. If Yoongi ever did this, Kitten would have his balls dangling from her Mercedes keychain. I don't even know how Lace and Princess are handling their boyfriends naked on everyone's phone. If I were Tae I would seek political asylum in Greenland. Or maybe Tibet.” You take a large mouthful of oxygen before you launch yourself in another tirade. 

“Everyone's talking about grabbing your waist, licking your abs, tugging at your hair and shit and hi! I'm here! I'm the girlfriend! Sorry I exist! WHAT THE FUCK!?” 

Jeongguk laughs and lowers himself to your chest, kissing where your heartbeat echoes like a crazed war drum. 

“It's not fun!” you complain, significantly agitated. 

“Mh.” He hums as he moves aside the hem of your shirt, meeting the soft, smooth skin of your chest. “It was supposed to come out on your birthday, that's why's a bit more racy,” he explains more patiently. “But they decided to release it early.” He kisses a tender spot and your left knee tingles a little. “It was supposed to be a slightly too public boudoir shoot. But secretly it was just yours.” Jeongguk finds the cup of your bra and stares up at you as his fingers reach the hem and slide the fabric aside. “I was thinking of you when I made it.” 

And once his mouth wraps around your nipple, your right knee starts tingling too. 

“Must admit I had to push the limits a lot to finally make you jealous,” he purrs once he is done with the licking, sucking motion of his mouth around your tender flesh. “But I'm sorry I crossed the line.” 

What line? You think, your brain already hazy. No sharp line exists in the world you’re currently in. Just the loving, plush hills of Jeongguk's lips, the slippery slopes of his waistline, the sinuous curves of his hip bones leading you to his pelvis, and the soft curls of his luscious dark locks. No crossed borders, only gentle waves licking the shore, water and land embracing one the other. 

“Remind me who's the boss here, Candy,” he says, and you know he's playing you right now. “Remind me where I belong.” His mouth is at your ear as he whispers, “Show me who owns me.” 

The tingles are spreading as his fingers grab at your ass, his lips connecting with your jaw. “Talk to me, Candy.”

You’re not sure you can articulate words at this moment. Talking isn’t as easy as everyone makes it seem. 

His eyes connect with yours and he can tell you’re staring at his lips by the poetic detail of your lashes lowered over your cheekbone. 

It makes him chuckle, very gently, that he has all these details of you he adores, and that you have the audacity of asking him why he picked you, and why he keeps choosing you over and over. 

He loves you, his family loves you, his dogs love you. This is the way it’s supposed to be. 

His finger reaches underneath your chin, forcing your eyes to actually meet his. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he purrs, and as your lashes dart up, he shakes his head a little, loving the way you arch up a fraction, as if pulled towards him. “There she is, beautiful.”

You feel completely neutralised. Disarmed. All the storms brewing over you a minute ago are forgotten as soon as his sweet smile shines like sunlight above you. 

His hand combs your hair back, cupping your cheek and landing a kiss on your temple. “Are you feeling better?”

You nod. 

“What mood are we in?” You’ve asked him this question thousands of times since the two of you became serious, ever since he opened up about feeling too closed off to make a relationship work; and now, the fact that it was such a solid, valid ritual in your dynamics made it natural for him to ask too. “You need to talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I’m better. I…”

“Tell me what you want.”

You stare at him, at his shoulders, at his biceps, you trace his tattoo with your fingertip, and he looks closely at your finger, at it drawing swirls and circles on his skin. 

“Pick me up,” you say softly. 

And he does, immediately. His biceps flex and he grunts a little, not at the weight, but just because he knows the sound can make your toes curl, and he likes that a lot. His hands are wrapped around the back of your thighs, then they adjust to your bottom. 

“Next? Counter? Bed? Shower?”

You kiss him. Impatient, and needy, you kiss him. 

He opens up for you without hesitation, moaning at the sweet invasion of your tongue in his mouth. God, he loves it. It makes him melt, to feel your tongue slip against his, moving wet and sloppy, your lips plush and hot pressed up against him. He loves kissing you. Actually, he loves making out with you. He’s pretty sure he could come of that alone, and he tries to remind himself you have to give that a try. Another day. 

He places you onto the counter because he fears his knees might give out on him. And once he has you there it means his hands can roam all over you and grab your chest and toy with—

“No touching,” you snap at him, gripping his wrists and pulling his hands behind his back. 

His eyes go wide at the shift in pace, but he obeys. He also feels like he's awakening from a dream only to find out reality can be so much better. 

You dig your hands in his hair and he hisses a little as you tug gently, but still roughly. You think of all the people who wish they could do just so as you stare into his eyes, seeing just how turned on he gets as you manhandle him. 

You lean towards him and you notice him trying to kiss you, but you tug at his hair harder, holding him in place as the heat of your exhale fans over his parted lips and his chin. 

“You want me to own you?” you ask him, watching his muscles twitch as he fights the urge to grab you and put you in place. 

He nods. “Do me all the things no one else can.” He has a roguish smile as he adds, “Do me everything they won't ever, ever do to me.” And he is god of deception when he finally tips you over the edge. “Do me everything I want just from you, and you alone.” 

You watch him intently, then tug at his hair so that his head is angled upwards, throat vulnerable and exposed. 

He's staring at you with a mischievous glint in his expression, a walking temptation, and you can almost hear him say it, 'come on, do it'. And you do it. 

You bend forward and sink your teeth in his flesh, the tender skin caving in as your bite marks him softly before your cheeks move into a suctioning motion that you know will turn into a bruise. It just pleases you so. 

“Take a step back,” you order as soon as you're happy with the hickey. “Take off your shirt.” 

And he winks before he does. You watch the plain of his chest, the valley in between his pectorals leading you down to his navel. 

“I hope you're wearing your Calvin's,” you tease with a cocked eyebrow. 

He smirks. “Always in my Calvin's.” 

You snicker and shake your head. “Take off your pants.”

His forehead scrunches up in surprise, but he eventually obeys. 

He's standing in a pair of socks and his white boxer briefs. At least he didn't lie, they are Calvin Klein. 

“Do you want—” 

“The Calvin's stay on,” you sentence, then you descend from the counter. “Head over to the bedroom. I'll come over in a minute.” 

He stares at you, flabbergasted. 

“Oh, and I almost forgot: don't touch yourself. Settle down, hands on the headboard and wait pretty.” 

He blinks, unsure of where this is going to end or where it came from, but so blazingly grateful for it. 

“Okay.” 

You give him a quick once-over as you stand in front of each other. His abs are toned and defined, but now less alarmingly than the days before the shoot. His thighs are strong and you love how the material from the boxers wraps around them comfortably and smoothly. 

You dare stare at his crotch, at the way the fabric traces the curve of his length, so perfectly long and so perfectly thick.

You allow your fingertips to trace the curve of his spine, so lightly that it causes him to close his eyes, his head inched to the side as he shivers in pleasure. 

“Can I be rough with you?” you ask him, your hand reaching the small of his back and cupping the curve of his ass. 

He moves his hands on you the exact same way you did. “Maybe I like pain,” he suggests, and from the collection of tattoos and piercings, but mostly from the supercut of memories of him getting bitten, spanked and scratched by you, you’re reminded that you’re not dealing with the edited version of him he has promoted publicly. 

This is your boyfriend. Jeongguk. Your Jeongguk. 

You sink your nails into the flesh of his ass, and he hisses but smiles, pulling you closer, swaying his hips to tease your crotch with his. “Go get ready, babyboy,” you croon.

He hums invitingly and kisses your neck, trying to get you to move with him, but you’ve made up your mind already. 

“Go,” you repeat.

He pouts and grabs your hips. “Come on, what are you trying to do?” he asks, his brow furrowed, his eyes dark and wide and imploring for you to just follow him and spare him whatever cruel surprise you want to use against him.

You grab his wrists, making him unclasp his hands. “Go and you’ll find out.”

He hesitates and then he faces away, still reluctant, turning around a couple times on his way, checking if you’re following him — perhaps, maybe, hopefully…

Yet, you don’t move, not until he turns the corner to the bedroom. And then you make your way over, slow, unbothered. 

And you close the door on him. 

You head to the bathroom, wash up quickly, and equally quickly you cover yourself in his favourite lotion, taking special care of your neck and chest. Once properly buttered up and covered in nothing but pretty Calvin undies and his favourite Calvin jeans jacket, you’re ready to attack. But you stare at yourself in the mirror, and you feel like there’s still something you could do to give him a heart attack…

Oh, that, you think. And you get to work. 

Apparently he has behaved, as you find him lounging in bed, with his boxers still on, his hands laced behind the crown of his head, a fine slab of abs in full glow from the dark amber hue coming from his led lights. 

“Are we on a sunset gold kinda vibe— Holy shit.” He didn’t manage to sound as cool and aloof as he’d tried to be once his eyes landed on you. 

He wished he could take a picture of you and spread it across town, just so he could stare at it while waiting for a bus, or hanging out at Hongdae with his friends, and excitedly point at it while tipsy to holler “that’s my fucking girlfriend, that fine piece of ass fucking owns me”. 

He wished he could put you on an album cover and fill it with all the insane stuff you do to his heart and his mind and his body. How his heartbeat does a little hiccup thing when he sees you first thing in the morning, and how he’s spent every wish on fallen eyelashes over you, and making you happy, and building you a house and having fireworks for your wedding night, and having all his fans seeing just how incredibly fantastic you are to him, how you make him so happy and deliriously smitten and barely coherent when it comes to talking about you, and just… He just wants everyone to love you half as much as he does. 

And maybe for you to be only ever in love with him, so he doesn’t risk anyone thirsting for you enough to steal you from him. 

“What were you saying about golden lights?” you ask, climbing on the bed, your hand modestly holding the lapels of his jeans jacket together — it’s not time to destroy him yet. 

“I— I…” He tries to sit up, but you push him back where he belongs with a well-placed hand pressed to the middle of his chest. 

“Put on the red lights, love.” You grin devilishly, watching his doe eyes glimmer with wonder and disbelief. 

“Have I ever told you I am one lucky motherfucker?” he says, staring at your neck, at your face, at your hand, his palms already moving to your hips as you straddle him. 

“I just know it.” You sit on your throne — his lap —, stretch to the end table to grab the remote to switch the lights to red, and once the deal is settled, you let the jacket open. “I mean. I’m the luckiest because I have these, but considering you profit from them… You know…” You let your breasts show. 

“I know…” he says, entirely mesmerised. God, he is so easy, you think, watching his eyes scan your chest like a cat playing catch with a laser light. You mix your standard level of charm with a slow grind of your hips, so slow and gentle that it’s straight up teasing, torture at its blandest level.

“You make it so hard to think,” he speaks with a strangled voice, trying to make you move the way he wants, but you grab his hands with the excuse of lacing your fingers with his, only to drag them back by the sides of his head. 

“I didn’t know I could turn your brain into mush just like this,” you reply, feeling your folds moisten in an attempt to ease the sliding of your crotch against his length. Too bad both of you are still clad in your underwear and, according to your plans, would stay that way for quite a while, as long as possible. “You’re so whipped.”

“I am,” he purrs, and tries to get away with moving his hands back to your hips, but before he can dig his digits in the soft of your flesh, you tut. 

“You’d better not touch that ass, Jeon. Keep your hands to yourself if you want my hands on you,” you threaten. “Just to remind you who’s in charge, sweetheart.”

His eyes go wide and he moves his palms back behind his head as soon as you finish your remark. “Yes, miss.”

“Good boy,” you praise him, and you visibly notice him holding back from smiling at the praise. “Did you see my little mark?” you ask. “Call it a slog

an of sorts. A vision statement.” You shrug and push back the lapels, hoping for the lights not being too low for him to see. 

It has taken a while for your handy work to happen, mostly because it can be absurdly tricky writing in reverse, but thankfully you’re quite prone to graphic arts. 

Jeongguk rises a little, getting closer to where he can recognise dark scribbles on your chest. Unusual dark scribbles. 

“Is that… Tattooed?” he asks, and his eyes go wide as he meets your face. 

You cackle at him, leaning over and licking his lips, sucking his lower one, then travelling along his jaw, nibbling at his earlobe in a way that makes his hips jolt against you, buckling. “I can't have that tattooed, can I? Unless the world knows and it gets a little too permanent.” 

He frowns, not at the way he loses contact with your warm crotch, but because of the unwelcome realisation of what it means to not belong to you entirely. “I'm so sorry,” he sighs, trying to hold you, but stopping his hands before he can touch you. 

He goes back to his assigned position and begs you with his eyes. 

“Oh, no. Don't worry, it's okay.” To keep him distracted, you get back to a soft roll of your pelvis against his, and he seems to oppose, but it only lasts for maybe five seconds. 

His wound-up exhale convinces you to reward him further, lowering your chest so that it drags against his as you keep grinding on him. 

“Jeongguk, baby,” you murmur fondly. 

“So unfair… That I don’t get you like a girlfriend like anyone else…” He speaks, his focus spotty and frail. 

“What do you mean, love?” you egg him on.

“All the public stuff… All the PDA and the grand gestures. The stuff that makes it official, you know.” His eyes are glassy and fleeting as he speaks, and it really feels as if speaking were like making a necklace except he can’t quite line up the beads the right way and he can’t manage to get the string inside the hole and it takes a very long time for the words to finally turn into meaning and it’s all so frustrating. 

“I don’t care,” you reassure him, and this time you’re not unaffected either, the sentence stumbling out of you before you can even fully register the meaning you were trying to convey. “Can you read the tattoo, Guk?”

His eyelids lift through great effort, and in slow motion. You stop moving to help him focus on the writing, and he grunts at the interruption. He does not like that at all, and having you so close, so soft, so hot and wet for him is making his instinct vibrate with need to be inside you, move inside you, and then finally find his release in the welcoming darkness of your womb. 

“I—” He’s really trying so hard, god bless his heart, but he’s so unfocused and his vision is blurry and he needs to blink for a bunch of seconds before he manages to spell the message, and then compute it, and then smirk wildly before he bucks his hips up against you, letting you know that you’d better move on him. 

“What is it, Jeongguk? Mind sharing with the class?” you bait him with a cheshire grin. 

“Not sharing any of this,” he growls, and you can feel his arms jolt at the urgency to wrap around you, press you to his front and shove you underneath him, so that he can finally move as hard and as fast as he knows the both of you need. 

“Oh, don’t be a greedy little boy! Don’t you want to test how it feels to say it?” you tease him further, ready to push him to his breaking point. After all, that is what you’re always trying to do, get as far as it needs to make him go wild on you, barely coherent and entirely animalistic. 

“You want me to say it, don’t you?” he provokes you, feeling just how much the humiliation will further send you soaring over him. 

“I do,” you admit. 

He bites his lip and you look at him, you study the shape of his lips, the glint in his eyes, the dark shimmering of his lovely ebony locks, and the way his chest heaves with effort and arousal. “These tits own Jeon Jeongguk,” he speaks, his gaze piercing yours, holding you accountable for the undoing he knows will follow. 

“That’s right, isn’t it?” Your smile is sardonic, evilly pleased with his admission of submission, with him confirming, with conviction, that he is indeed entirely enslaved to his fascination for your chest, that he is so deeply enticed by it that just a silly part of you can guarantee you his unflinching devotion. 

“You know it’s right,” he grunts as your movements resume. And at this point, he knows this is going to take a while, and it will most surely turn out vicious. 

“Just checking in on you, making sure you haven’t found a better pair—”

“Don’t you dare talk to them like this. Not in front of me,” he hisses with a passion, and you chuckle at how chivalrously he defends your breasts from your own ill assumptions. 

“That’s so gallant of you,” you reply, your hands pulling his hair back, your tone fond and just vaguely lined with mocking. “Let them repay you for your kindness,” you suggest, as you start crawling down his body, your breasts landing heavily on his lap. 

“Really…?” he asks, first distracted and then extremely alert as he connects the dots. “With my boxers on?” He says with a frown. 

You shrug and smirk. “Maybe we’ll get rid of them later…” You sprinkle some kisses on his abdomen, your chest dragging against his sensitive parts. 

He frowns at the weight of them, so welcome, and yet deceiving as the fabric is hindering him from fully enjoying the act. “Please, off,” he huffs, tutting and fussing a little, but you decide to reward his patience with your nails tracing patterns against his chest, your fingertips drawing his areolae, your eyes hungry on his lost, bewildered state. 

“Not yet, love… Be patient with me,” you reassure him, tracing the rift in between the crests of his hips, one side, then the others, ricocheting between the bones on the two sides. “I’m going to make it so good to you,” you promise him, placing kisses all around the underrated perfection of his belly button — a huge ‘fuck you’ to the people salivating over him and never, ever knowing how such a minuscule inch of his body has you so irreversibly whipped. 

“Candy… Mh, love—” His voice has grown unbearably raspy and airy, so light it feels almost incorporeal, if it weren’t for the velvet smoothness of his skin underneath your lips, like marble that has finally received the breath of life, your boy an ineffable Galatea. 

“If you knew, Guk, if only—” kiss— “you knew—” kiss— “how sexy, and erotic, and exciting and poetic you look right now, baby. You look like art.” 

“Lemme touch you, I need you, I need—” he gasps and you’re almost expecting him to release a groan before he comes, way too early, much earlier than planned. But fortunately he doesn’t, he holds back stoically and cants his hips away. “For fuck’s sake,” he whispers, an arm covering his eyes. “I need a second if you need me to hold back.”

“Oh,” you reply in surprise, lifting yourself off him. “Are you alright?”

“Just give me some quiet for a second, Candy, don’t you dare even speak.” Jeongguk’s chest is rising and falling in wide movements, enticing and captivating.

Finally he removes his arm from his eyes, but he barely makes eye contact. 

“Guk?” You ask, worried. 

“Just— I’m trying to keep it cool here, love.” He wiggles his body a little, trying to get his boxers to fit a bit less tightly around him. “We should be smarter about this, you know?” His hands clench as he stops himself from reaching for you. “We should get a cockring for next time.”

You ogle him, then smile excitedly. “Really?” you chirp.

“Totally,” he concedes. He smiles even bigger at your smile. “Don’t tell me you bought one already.”

“Uhm… No,” you admit with a pout. 

“Dammit. It would have been weird, but I wouldn’t even have complained about it since it would pretty much save my ass right now.” He licks his lips, stares at you some more, and he groans and throws his head back at the renewed flare of arousal after he’d just managed to tone it down a notch. 

“I’m so sorry, bunny.”

“I’m alright,” he admits, his tone defeated. 

“Is this the right moment to suggest I ride your face?” you say, your grin now sardonic, almost drunk on him and the sight of his body shutting down for you, malfunctioning at the mere touch of you. 

He stares at you, wide eyed, nodding energetically, like a kid being asked if they want to visit Disneyland. “Guess it took a half naked commercial to get you to finally ask for it like you own it.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Careful or I can keep going with torturing you. I’m liking it anyway.”

“No no no, come over here,” he says with a stern and determined expression on his face, his hands reaching for the back of your thighs. “I’ve been waiting. Get comfy,” he encourages you, and after some manoeuvring you settle on top of him. 

He nods to himself, his nose nuzzling against the crotch of your panties, his mouth opening so he can feel your heat with his tongue, trying to get as close as possible.

Unsatisfied, his fingers reach to slip your panties to the side, but you slap at his hand. 

“Nope. You wanted the Calvin’s, and we’re keeping the Calvin’s,” you scold him. 

He frowns. “No, you were the one wanting them,” he argues. “Keep them on, you said.”

“Whatever.” You arch an eyebrow at him, but you also know he’s right and this decision has come to bite you in the ass. “Imagine how good it will feel once we take them off… And it feels a bit kinky to keep them on. Like… Like we’re having a quickie and everyone out there is waiting for model Jeongguk to come out anytime now, but once he does, well, he looks freshly fucked and everyone can’t stop talking about it— Oh, that!” you moan, your musings interrupted by Jeongguk trying to get bits of you in his mouth. 

You’re thankful for the brazilian cut panties giving him plenty of stuff to work with even with the underwear still on. 

“Stop me if it’s lewd but, dammit, I love the smell of you.” He drags his face side to side, basking in the damp, salty scent of your arousal. “I don’t even know what it is about it, but I like it so much.” 

“Keep doing whatever you’re doing,” you comment, your voice breathy. 

“Do you want me to keep talking?” he asks, and you just rub yourself against his chin, his mouth, and his words come out muffled. At some point you think you might have hurt his nose, so you ease the pressure a little, but he grabs handfuls of your butt and keeps you snug to his face, parts his lips wider as if he were really trying to eat you. 

He parts from his designed heaven only long enough to announce, “I’m pushing ‘em to the side, fuck it.” And you’re barely coherent, and he’s speaking with that intimate lisp of his, his accent heavy, like he can’t pay too much attention to words anyway. 

You don’t oppose. 

In seconds, his tongue is tipping inside you, slippery, and so hot, and you moan without even noticing it. Everything is soaked, his chest is covered in perspiration, and so are your thighs. 

You dare look down, and his eyes are closed as he is filling all his other senses with the sensation of you.

You bask in the sight of him, one forearm draped against the headboard of the bed, your other hand reaching down, to his fluffy hair currently tickling your inner thigh. You grab it, careful to be right between gentle and aggressive, in that way he finds so pleasant and sexy. 

He opens his eyes suddenly, and the moment he finds your eyes already connected with his face, he finds himself more eager to give you just what you need to plunge into oblivion. 

He gives you lush, slow licks, from your centre to your most sensitive spot, he takes his time, and moves into more sinuous motions, drawing curve after curve on his way up. He is unrushed, patient, and eloquent. He is luxuriant, explorative, curious. 

He loves what he’s doing, and he loves you and he’s showing it, top to bottom, and all the way up again. 

“Guk,” you breathe out, and it’s almost a hiccup.

“Yes, I know,” he murmurs against the bend of your inner thigh, right at the fold to your crotch. It’s so private, so sacred. It’s heartbreakingly yours and his and no one else’s. You’re in a shared space where nobody else can tell what you and him know. 

“Please,” you manage to say. 

He rearranges his arm so he can move two fingers along the seam between your legs, and then they’re inside, and he’s moving them right, rubbing them against the back wall of your entrance. 

As you tip your body forward, he moans with his mouth to your clitoris, happy with the new angle, and once you start grinding against him, climbing your way to your climax, he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t go faster, he doesn’t add pressure. He does not change one single thing, and you’re so grateful for the way he has come to understand you, your body, your tells. 

“Just right,” you encourage him. “You’re so damn perfect, love— Oh, there.”

That’s the last thing you can remember saying before he sets you off like fireworks. You don’t take much into consideration after that. All is fair, unless he’s holding you back. 

You grind, hump, moan, thrash just a little as you get too sensitive and fold in two, your forehead pressed to your wrist on the headboard 

as you shake your head ‘no’ but can’t bring yourself to stop from feeling everything he wants you to take. 

When you manage to recover, you whisper, “Okay, gimme a second.” And you try to unstraddle his face, but he holds you there, and simply avoids touching your sensitive parts, removing his fingers from inside you. 

“Are you alright, Candy?”

You nod and take some large breaths. 

He moves your panties back in place, then kisses your mound softly, affectionate, innocent even. 

“Can I do anything for you now, love?” He asks with a reverent, caring note in his voice. 

You shake your head, still recovering. “Can I lay on top of you?” 

“Sure thing,” he says, unlatching from you and leaving some room for you to realign with him, face to face, torso to torso, hip to hip, calf to calf. 

He’s still hard as marble, and the gentle grind of your pelvis against his causes him to groan softly. 

You press your lips to his to distract him. 

The jeans jacket you’re still wearing gives him something to ground himself, his focus aimed entirely at the feeling of the fabric underneath his fingers instead of the humid warmth of your crotch pressed against his. 

Just then, you bring your heels underneath your ass, rising to your knees as you swiftly remove your upper garment. 

The way his focus moves immediately to your breasts makes you cackle a little, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. 

“Candy, you’ll have to get that tattooed.”

“Nah, too dangerous. They might tell on you.”

He frowns. “You’re right,” he still agrees. Too dangerous. You’re dangerous to him too, and there are not many chances of him keeping some form of dignity if he could at any time see a tattoo calling him out for his undying liaison with your chest. 

He catches your wrists, making you lose your balance so that your torso collapses onto his. And he keeps you there, wraps you up in his arms. 

“Still jealous, love?” he asks you. 

“More than ever,” you admit, and you look into his eyes, recognising the feeling pooling in them. 

“I'm only yours,” he swears, kissing the side of your head, whatever he can reach, and it's so tender, so innocent, so magical. “What can I do for you?” he whispers, flirting with you. 

You wrap your hands around his forearms and bring them up above his head. “No. I want to do things for you.”

You press your lips to his gingerly, then start to kiss down, tracking his throat and moving further downwards, to his chest, stopping where his heart thumps against the petals of your lips.

“Beats so hard for me,” you comment lightly. “Do I make your heart race, love?” 

“You do, Candy,” his reply is strained, as if it hurt to speak at that moment. 

“But I—” You let your nails tickle the flat of his waist, the elastic band around his hips— “I also make your dick hard, don't I?” 

He moans eloquently, then chuckles at your teasing. “You so do,” he admits, embarrassed but also excited, and so so thankful for having found you. 

You grab the waistband of his underwear with your teeth, letting it slap against his skin with a dry snap. “Grab a pen from your bedside, will you?”

You look up just in time to catch his eyes flickering open, his expression coming to life slowly. “What?” he asks, confused. 

“A pen, from your drawer,” you repeat. 

“Oh.” He had been too unfocused and he hadn’t realised you were talking to him, as if the words were just sound with no meaning; however, now he’s paid attention, so he stretches to the side, exposing the slender twist of his waist to your reverent mouth. You kiss him there, his body contracting as your lips attack his ticklish spot. 

“You’re a menace,” he complains, giving you the side eye, but also offering you a boyish, loving smirk. 

“And yet, you love me.”

“You’re lucky,” he says, right before you nip at his skin in reprimand. “Okay, I am the lucky one,” he concedes, returning to you with a pen in his hand. “You want this one?” he asks.

You nod and stretch for it, then peck the mole beside his navel and make your way down. 

His underwear by now is bitterly persona non grata, still you make yourself okay with it and simply move the elastic down, exposing his hipbone more fully. 

“What you gonna do?” he muses, propping himself up and staring at you bent over his pelvis. You look at him and prepare the pen, staring in his eyes as you suck at your bottom lip, torturing it a little as you think. 

“Are you gonna mark me? Sign me up?” he asks, a mocking grin on his face. 

You move the pen away and loll your tongue out, drawing a thick stripe following the shape of him in his boxers. 

He immediately drops his cocky act and arches up, sensitive, holding on barely. 

“You think you’re so smart, huh?” you scold him provokingly. “Remember where this is all coming from,” you remind him threateningly. 

He gasps as your mouth sucks his tip through the fabric, your nails tracing the indentations of his quads. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You’ve got me.”

You nod to yourself. “I do,” you say, patronising just in the slightest. And because you can you rise, remove yourself from the way, and pull at his hipbone, trying to flip him around. 

He’s alarmed, but he follows your lead. You straddle the back of his thighs, bend down, and move his underwear down, the elastic stuck under the fold of his ass, further emphasising it. It looks plump and delicious, and for a moment you’re caught admiring him. 

He’s twisting his neck to try and see what you’re doing, filled with wonder at the way your hair tumbles over, and he’s mesmerised by the shine of it, the softness of the tips, like a brush, whispering at his skin.

You pick the right spot, then settle down, folded over his glute. His skin is hot against your touch and when you finally bring the pen to his flesh, you hope it won’t fail, despite the perspiration and the soft surface. 

Shamelessly, you draw the words like an inscription on a stone. 

Poetic, and dirty. Just the way you like it. However, you don’t give him the benefit of knowledge. 

You lean back, watch your little handywork with a surging of pride and love and confidence. You smack it, just because you can, not hard, not soft either, just sweet enough that it doesn’t feel like a violation doing it without asking his permission first. 

His muscles squeeze, and his breath catches. 

Because I can, your brain keeps telling you, over and over, like a mantra. You’re allowed to. He’s yours and you’re the only one allowed to. 

“You’re getting confident with this,” he comments, and suddenly your eyes are meeting. 

He looks like something you would paint. Something you would dream of, and then wake up and sketch down in the middle of the night, caught by some sort of frenzy, some urgency mixed with an impending fear of forgetting, of losing it. Losing him. 

“I’m gonna draw you.”

He doesn’t connect the words for a bunch of seconds. Not until you’re standing up and running out of the room and he asks himself, why, why the fuck is she leaving?

“Candy?” he calls, unsure. 

He tries to see what in the world you’ve written on his ass, but you’re making your way back in the room, tablet in hand, and your steps are bouncy and your tits follow the movement so his attention is divided. 

“What— Where—?” He’s confused. 

And then you’re perched on the armchair at the corner of the room, and the light from your tablet reflects on your face, and you look spirited, caught by some urgency he can’t quite find a name for. 

“Candy, for the love of—”

“Just a bunch of minutes. A quick sketch, no more.”

He’s been patient. He’s been understanding. He’s let you tease him, and he’s let you touch him, lick him, suck him. He still has your taste all over his face and chin and he still feels the phantom touch of your breasts against his crotch and all he wants is to feel you on him, around him, against him. 

“Please,” he whines. 

“Just a minute.”

He swells. Frowns. Thrusts his hips against the mattress. 

“Almost—” you say, drawing a couple more lines.��

You’re in his arms next. “Put that down, Candy.” His face is right above yours and he’s carrying you bridal style. “Put it down,” he repeats. 

You're very still. He's looking at your quick sketch, at the way it was all a rough frame and some basic lines. “You're gonna post that? Share it as some fanart instead of a live portrait?” He throws you on the bed and you clutch your tablet harder, trying to save it from any damage. He's on top of you next, grabbing the device and moving it to his drawer before he returns upon you, blocking your wrists above your head. 

“Are you maybe going to draw it faceless, so you can sell it as a picture, to decorate somebody's house?” He bends to your ear and nips at the side of your neck. “Let my ass hang naked on someone else's wall?” 

You feel overwhelmed and surprised by his counterattack, not really knowing how to react. 

He drags his body against yours, stealing a whimper from your lips. “I think you enjoyed topping a little too much tonight.” He flips you onto your front next, and you find yourself only mildly embarrassed that he's made only one tenth of the effort it had taken you to flip him. 

He slaps your ass, and it is nowhere as playful or light as the spank you'd given him. It is his turn to grab the pen. 

“Let's see if you can walk the talk, Candy. If you like the taste of your own medicine,” he muses, and he bites your ass cheek, bending over to start writing, but accidentally finding himself unable to resist the urge to sink his teeth in your plush flesh. 

“Since I'm not a selfish asshole, I'm gonna tell you what I'm writing. Here we go, 'This ass likes spankings from Jeon Jeongguk'. What do you say? Is it true?” 

You're panting, wiggling in his hold, trying anything to see the possessed look on his face. “It's true,” you admit, breathless. 

He smirks and lands one more hit on your ass. “Damn right it is,” he says confidently. 

He tugs your underwear off harshly, almost angry. 

Soon he's naked, and so are you, and he's slipping inside you while you're still on your front, your hips arched all the way up, cupped by his hands. “Let's make this fuck more fun than your drawing, huh?” 

And when he starts, goodness, you want him to never, ever stop. 

He's ruthless, and he only asks if you're alright once, after three strokes. After that, all's fair, and he's ramming inside you in a way that makes you gasp and arch further, trying to get him even deeper, to an even better angle. 

You can't really look at him, since you'd risk a kink in your neck, but he doesn't care. He only cares about his handwriting on your ass, and his name on it. He only cares about the way you're gasping his name, and sometimes, when he slams in at the right moment, the impact causes too much of your breath to come out, so the whispered begging gets punctuated by moaned-out, hiccuped syllables. 

He smacks your ass a few more times, his hand tingling, but the spanks seem to make you happy, so he doesn't stop, and he doesn't complain either. 

“You're jealous of me, Candy,” he manages to speak, slowing down just enough so he has more of your attention. “Do you have any idea how jealous I am of you? How hard it is to feel like you want to own me half as much as I want to be yours?” He's on his knees behind you, and his thrusts grow more patient, more luscious. Richer and fuller. “Sometimes I'm scared you'll leave me, and someone else will get to have all the wonderful sex I get to have with you. Someone else will get to see your face first thing in the morning, and become a character in your cartoons, and talk about you with their granny, and bring you home for New Year's.” His face collapses close to your shoulder. “What will I do with myself, then?” 

You turn your face and you finally get to see him. “Flip me around,” you order him, but your voice is fond. “I want to look you in the eyes while you fuck me like no one else has ever.” 

His hair is fuzzy with his perspiration, and his face glistens with a light sheen of sweat. “Sure?” he asks, in confirmation. 

“I'm sure,” you comfort him. 

He's only happy once you're below him, and he's on top of you, inside you. 

You clench around him, and he frowns deeply, trying to control himself. Still, he gives a sharp jab with his hips, and it steals your breath. 

“Like that,” you praise him. “I want you to fuck me like that. Like no one else can.” 

His eyes stay wide open, stubbornly nailed to yours as he starts moving. It's hard and slow, and it makes you see stars. 

“Do you still feel like drawing?” he provokes you, “Or am I fucking you good enough?” 

You hiss and bite his arm, both to keep him humble, but also, again, because you can — and nobody else does. 

“Maybe I could get on top of you so you can watch my tits bounce, and maybe that will make you want to draw,” you bite back, and next thing you know you're both sat up, you're on his lap and he's bouncing you on his dick. 

“Definitely feeling inspired right now,” he concedes. “Maybe I should stop and paint them.” 

You push him down and he's finally with his back to the mattress, you on top. “Or maybe you could shut your mouth and get busy so I can cum.” 

The slap lands almost immediately on your ass. “Dirty mouth. And a fucking divine cunt,” he speaks through gritted teeth. 

He lets you lead for about thirty seconds, during which he stays occupied with your boobs, grabbing them, slapping them, pinching your nipples, and then he grabs your hips and stills them. 

“Touch yourself,” he orders your roughly before he starts fucking up from below you. 

It escalates quickly from there, and in less than a minute you're gone, collapsing forward, against him, and he's so thankful because he's coming too and your kegels are squeezing him just right, and he only manages to say “fucking yours” before he abandons all his inhibitions and loses himself inside you. 

You come back to reality only, and you find yourself tucked in his embrace, his body above yours. You don’t know when he flipped the two of you over, but you like his weight on top of you. 

“Hey,” you murmur, combing his hair away from his face. 

His expression is lazy and satisfied. 

Well done, you tell yourself, almost giving a pat to your own shoulder. He looks fantastically fucked, deliciously edible and perfectly yours. 

“Hey you,” he replies, with the most heavenly, blissful grin on his face. No, too tired to be a grin, more like a glowy smile. It’s not fully on, it looks like those battery-operated lights when they’re almost out of energy, a bit faded, or maybe pale. Faint, feeble, dim. Soft. Muted. If his bunny smiles were jewel tones, this was the most delicate pastel pink. A powder baby blue, almost robin egg blue. 

You want to wrap yourself in the hazy glow radiating from him, gentle as a sunny dawn in late May. 

“So glad you got those Calvin’s,” you joke, and there it is, bunny grin, ten million watts. Apparently that makes his battery die because his head collapses to your neck and he doesn’t seem willing or ready to lift himself back up. 

“So glad I made you jealous. But also sorry,” he says, truly apologetic. “I’m happy we did this. I’m happy I saw you like this.” 

His lips tickle the side of your neck, and you squirm a little, but you try not to move too much. You want to be comfortable for him to rest on. You want him to stay like that on top of you forever. “I’m still maddish. But I think I can deal with it.”

“There’s more pictures coming,” he says tentatively, and he makes the effort to pick up his head to give you a helpless look, trying to protect himself already by giving you the sweetest pair of puppy eyes he’s ever used on anyone. 

“Oh, I’m totally getting your ass branded,” you reply, saccharine. “I was thinking I could make those ribbons, like the ones the police use, except I put my name on it and I wrap it all around your chest, so they can’t drool all over your abs.”

He laughs, and the sound is boyish and playful, and lovely. You fall in love a tiny bit more. 

“Can I see the pictures in advance?”

He hums as he thinks about it for three seconds, except he already knows how he wants to play it. “Mh…” he says some more, keeping you on your toes. “No.” He looks up, testing you. “But let’s say I hope you get that cockring ready.”

You pull your head back, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re not naked in your Calvin’s, right?”

He grins, gives you a devilish wink. “Maybe.”

You grab his cheeks and squeeze his face and he laughs so hard you can’t be possibly mad at him for even a nanosecond. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“And your tits will be it for me,” he flirts back. 

You shake your head. “Brat.”

And he kisses you. Just that. 

Before he hits the shower the following morning, Jeongguk inspects the damage you’ve done on him. 

He’s quite happy with it. A very faint bruise on his neck. A red splotch on his abs, and another on his hip, but nothing that won’t fade within one or two days. He knows you know the drill by now. 

He turns around to inspect his back, and he’s okay with it, nothing that will get him in trouble in case he needs to be shirtless or generically undressed around staff members. He drops his underwear and it’s only once he’s making his way to the shower that he notices something strange on his asscheek. 

Oh, fuck. Suddenly reminded of your little handiwork with the pen the night before, he bends to the side, trying to get a better view at his ass. 

He finds himself wobbling side to side, like a silly puppy chasing his tail, and that is exactly the way you find him when you enter the bathroom. 

A laugh bubbles out of you and you smack his butt playfully. “Do you need help with that?” you ask, cheery. 

“No,” he bites back, but he has the most innocent, pouty look on his face, and he is having fun a little. “Maybe,” he concedes, his voice young. 

You wrap your arms around him and rise to your toes, propping your chin on his shoulder as you hug him from behind. “I wrote, ‘Candy’s babyboy’.”

His ears go red, just the tiniest bit. “Really?” His expression is so sweet. 

“Really,” you confirm, confident, serious, and loving. 

“You’re not making fun of me,” he asks, vulnerably. 

“I promise I’m really, really not, Guk.” You kiss his shoulder. “You’re my babyboy. And my sexy man. And just mine, generally speaking.”

He nods, a happy, fulfilled look on his face. “Right.” He’s once more confident. Entirely adult. 

“Love you,” you reassure him again, and then you kiss his shoulder, again. 

He grins. There he is, your boy. “Love you too.”

Hi it's Dita, the writer, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment to keep this poor gremlin fanfic writer motivated. Bye and I LOVE YOU!!!

[a-very-sparkly-nerd]

Itty-bitty ficlet based on the new clip, featuring Callum pining and Stella being annoyed.

Stella wasn't stupid.

Her adorableness was a distractor, but even though she was young and fluffy, fluff did not make up the space between her eyes.

She observed. She deduced. And she wanted to kill herself over how utterly oblivious and stupid people were.

Especially her people. She'd decided that Callum was her human now, too, in addition to Rayla. Her papa, even though he wasn't quite aware of it yet.

He was not, in fact, sitting here on an uncomfortable, freezing hunk of ice talking endlessly at her about the stupid shipwreck in front of them.

"So sad" hung in the dry, frozen air, Stella watching him carefully as his hand moved across the page of paper in front of him.

He was talking about his relationship with Rayla (even if he didn't realize it), which had made painstakingly slow progress since she'd returned to him. They both acted as if the other weren't completely obsessed with them, as if they were treading on a frozen lake and one misstep would sink them for good. Stella didn't have to be older or even wise to understand that relationships and boats weren't the same in that aspect.

Relationships could be salvaged. Rayla had repeated it to herself like a maniac as she picked her way across the continent, almost manifesting it. Stella had come to realize it, even if Callum and Rayla hadn't. She almost wished she didn't, either, simply because it was so aggravating.

Stella only wished Ezran were here. It was their right to take things at their own pace, but by the gods, she wanted to rip her own fur out. She'd have made the young, kind king relay the message consisting mostly of profanities, the gist of which would be "Get your shit together and make out, already."

That would be the entire message, actually.

She moved to sit on the human's hand, so big compared to Rayla's, when he set it down to look at the drawing sitting on his lap. A few rough outlines of the boat, but just as she'd known, a pretty bust drawing of Rayla, head tilted slightly and a smile splitting her face framed by her wispy bangs, heart-eyeing at some invisible thing not depicted. Likely Callum, at least she was sure he was hoping.

Stella muttered to herself as she reached for the pencil in his other hand. The mage smiled softly when he realized what she wanted, gently handing it to her.

Good. He'd racked up plenty of points in his favor, but his endless cooperation--at least with her and her elf--was always nice.

Stella made sure he was looking at her as she furiously pointed to Rayla.

"Okay. Rayla," Callum began, leaning forward in curiosity as he began interpreting her message.

Holding the pencil in her top two sets of arms, Stella drew a crude, lumpy heart and looked back to him.

"Heart? Love?"

She nodded.

"Rayla love- loves," Callum murmured to himself, and Stella pointed to him, jabbing a paw into his chest.

"Me?"

She nodded furiously.

Callum held her, allowing her to sit on his huge palm, and offered a scratch under the chin. "I know, Stella," he confessed. "I feel the same. It's just... scary."

Who cared? These two punched banthers for breakfast, and Callum was scared of talking to the girl who'd gone through hell and back to return to him? He was smart, but unbelievably stupid.

Stella shrugged, hoping it conveyed a million words of "who cares?" and "so what?" and "don't let it stop you." But, most importantly, "you can change things."

That had been what roped Rayla in, she'd confessed once in the darkness of a treetop, sitting back against the trunk and the sadness in her eyes reflecting off a sword she stared at. Breaking the cycle of violence and doing better, and now he was continuing it because giving up was just so impossibly, unfairly easy. He had to at least give it a shot again the way he'd convinced her to.

It worked, apparently.

Callum fisted his free hand in his lap, gazing back to the ship Rayla was still scoping out.

"I guess you're right," he said thoughtfully, eyes brightening the way Rayla's always did when she'd talked about Callum as if he'd still been hers before the high came crashing back down to reality. "Leave us alone tonight? Give us space?"

She grinned and nodded, only hoping she wouldn't have to plug her ears, too. It was about time.

[fetishfairytales2]

Besties 5 (Story)

This was originally written as a continuation of a story by [no longer active] called Besties.

————— Besties 5: Nursery Naughtiness

God, Brandon was being such a little bitch, dragging his sissy self into his former bedroom with tears in his eyes. Honestly, this just proves how clueless men are. He knows we're going to do whatever we wanted to him and he'd still try to resist. What a dumb ass. But my irritation melted away as Heather strutted out of the closet, looking hot as hell. She was wearing nothing but a smile and some red heels!

"So, what do ya think?" Heather asked, flashing a wicked smile. Damn, she was killing it! Heather was practically glowing. Her tits were on point, and her waist? Like, whoa, so tiny and smokin'. She did a little spin to show off her tight little ass and playfully stuck her tongue out. "Mhmm, check you out!" I playfully joked.

Even Brandon couldn't resist taking a peek Heather, and that's saying something considering his itty bitty caged clitty! His face was a mix of humiliation and pain, and I couldn't hold back my laughter at his torture. Heather and I exchanged a knowing smirk, loving her complete control over him. "Oh, it looks like daddy's in for an goid night," I taunted, playfully messing up Brandon's hair. "Does someone else like what they see too, Sissy?"

Oh my god, Connor is going to be drooling when he sees you, Heather!" I playfully nudged her and let out a squeal. She was staring at her suffering sissy and I could see the pure joy in Heather's eyes as she started to mess with him again. "Don't worry, babe," she said with a smirk, strutting towards him. She took his face in her hands and stared into his eyes. "I'm sure Ms. Lyndsey will keep you entertained while I'm gone..." She taunted with a slow, seductive grin, before finally releasing him.

"Aww, is the little sissy baby blushing? How pathetic!" I couldn't help but laugh at Brandi’s embarrassment. "And don't think I'm gonna show off my goodies to just anyone," Heather added, disappearing in her closet. She sashayed out a few seconds later, wearing a tiny black trench coat that barely covered her butt. "So don’t be jealous sweetie!” She giggled, blowing Brandon a kiss. “Only Connor whenever he wants and you when I let you"

While Heather pranced off to fix her makeup, she suddenly perked up. "OMG!" she squealed. "Cruciex!" Just like that, Brandon became stiff as a board and started walking towards us. "What's that one do?" I asked, watching the little sissy make his way across the room. "Oh, it's like, totally genius. It puts him into corner time! He has to stand in the nearest corner with his nose against the wall and keep his mouth shut, no matter what's happening.” All I could do was just stare in amazement at him, all tucked away in the corner like a good little sissy. “This is SO awesome!”

Sorry, I don't have time to give you all our little loser's sissy trigger words and show you around the house," Heather sighed with a disappointed look at her phone's clock. "But don't worry, Brandi will be excited to show you her playroom! If she isn't, we can make her excited about it'" she chuckled, "Oh, and I'll text you the whole list of words to use. And let me tell you, there are so many toys in his nursery. Daddy Connor helped build both the nursery and the playroom, by the way, for our lucky sissy!"

I couldn't help but laugh, while Heather slapped her forehead in that overdramatic way she does. "Duh!" she exclaimed. She started to unclasp the key to Brandi's chastity cage from her neck and handed it to me. "Here, you take this. I have more than enough dick to handle tonight!" Heather couldn't contain her laughter as she adjusted the key, making sure it was nestled between my boobs. "I love wearing it like this, it's a constant reminder to her of what she can see but not touch!"

"Come on," Heather gestured towards the door. "She won't get into any trouble, Brandi's practically a doll at this point!" We walked down the hallway to what I remembered as the guest bedroom door, but now it was painted a soft pink with white accents. I had to smile when I saw the foam letters on the door that spelled out "Sissy's Nursery." Heather just shrugged. "The only people who come over are either people I want to hook up with, people who are here to help me humiliate Princess Pampers, or both!" Always one for dramatic flair, Heather paused for suspense. "Ready?", she swung open the door. "Ta-da!"

My jaw dropped. "Oh my gosh, girl! This is insane!" The nursery walls were painted a soft pink with white accents, and a plush white rug covered the floor. In the corner sat a big toy chest, painted to match the rest of the room, with "Sissy's Toy Box" written on the front. Heather grinned and patted it. "Connor custom-made this for our little sissy 'daughter'," she said, winking at me. "It only took a blowjob from Brandi!" The toy box was packed with all sorts of sissy playthings, including butt plugs, vibrators, rope, and handcuffs! "Oh my gosh, Brandi is so lucky! I didn't get my first vibrator until I was 16! He must have, like, five different dildos!" I cackled, nodding towards the toy chest.

Heather shrugged with a smile, "She have a total of 10, and none of them are under 6 inches for my little slut." As she searched through the toy box, I couldn't help but stare at her backside peeking out from under her coat. Conner was definitely a lucky man. "She's even given each of them a name," she called out, still rummaging. "There's Pinkie, Mr. Biggs, and Mr. Peter, who you've already met..." Then, she popped back up with three massive dildos in her hands. Two were different skin tones and easily over 9 inches in size. "And these two," she stifled a giggle, "are Mr. John and Mr. Jason!"

With a flourish, she presented the third - a black dildo covered with plastic studs. "This is Mr. Charles," she announced, unable to contain her laughter. It was clear that she had just a little too much wine. I caught on quickly and joined in her laughter. "Wait a minute... aren't John and Jason your exes?" Heather confirmed my suspicions with a nod, barely able to keep it together now. "Yes, girl! Every time I get my bitch boy a new toy," she gestured towards the box of sex toys, "I make him name it after one of my past lovers! He has to look at their dick pics, rate their cocks, and tell me which of my ex-boyfriends he would want to fuck him! Then he had to moan their name every time he fucks himself with ‘their cock’!"

This was seriously the best day of my life. I couldn't stop laughing. Finally, this douche of a human was getting what was coming to him and my bestie had embraced her inner mean girl to dish out some much-needed punishment. "But who's Charles?" I inquired, nodding towards the black toy. "Ah, yes!" Heather giggled. "He's Brandi's hot boss. I've been threatening her that I'll sleep with him…again."

Heather flipped a switch on the dildo's base, causing it to vibrate and rotate. "See, that's why I chose this one. Studded and vibrating - messes with the sissy’s head and poor butthole!" I laughed as I watched the toy shake in Heather's hand. "I even make her practice deepthroating it while she moans Charles' name. Just for added fun, sometimes I'll send her off to work with it up her butt," she turned off the toy and proudly held it out for me to examine. "It's hilarious to think that the man whose name she was just moaning is bossing her around all day at the office!"

Heather put away the toys and strolled over to the center of the room where a massive crib sat. Brandon's crib was all pink and white, matching the rest of the room. But it was made out of sturdy wood and had a heavy metal gate on top that looked like it could be locked! "Connor made this one too," Heather said, pointing to the crib. "It's gotta lock to make sure we're not interrupted by a whiny sissy during our playtime!" She winked at me and demonstrated how to latch the metal lid over the top. "Connor insisted on it after Brandi barged into our room one night during 'adult time'. Let's just say he got a good spanking from an annoyed daddy and couldn't sit for a week. After that, Connor built this to keep her temper tantrums under control."

Wow, there was even a pink padlock to sissy in her crib! "Wow, boo, this is so wicked!" I lifted the hinged lid and took a peek. "Holy crap!" Inside were two pink and white pillows in the shape of cocks, stitched with the words 'Sissy Cuck' in sparkly gold! "Gift from my sister to constantly remind Brandi of her place" Heather explained. Next to them was a matching blanket, also embroidered; 'Sissy Cum Slut' in glittery letters. "Also a gift from my sis when I told her about Brandi's new lifestyle," Heather laughed as I picked it up. "Aaanddd...", Heather said with a grin, "just to mess with her a little more, Conner made the bed a tad too small. Brandi can never fully relax in her cute little bed."

I couldn't help but notice how tight and uncomfortable it was in there, and it would only get worse when it's completely shut. "Poor Princess must suffer so much when I lock her up in here with his dirty diapers, and Connor and I get too caught up to let him out. And it's usually for hours at a time! Oops, our bad!" 

I was totally obsessed with the crib and didn't even notice when I accidentally knocked the baby monitor off the nightstand. "Whoops, my bad..." I said, glancing down at the monitor. "Wait, isn't this supposed to be on the other end?" I asked, showing it to Heather. "Oh, you wait, girl," she laughed, taking the monitor from me to check to turn it on before handing it back. "Just give me a minute..."

Heather skipped out of the room and I could hear her voice coming through the baby monitor. "Anti-Cruciex... Princess, you gonna tell Mommy why there's a baby monitor in your room. It's not there for Mommy to hear from her sissy, right?" A long pause followed, probably while Brandon's face turned bright red with embarrassment. "N...no..." he stammered. "Then why's it there, silly Brandi? What exactly is Mommy monitoring?" Heather asked, pretending to be clueless. "M...mommy and daddy..." Brandon whined. "Mommy and Daddy, what, Princess?" Heather pressed, knowing the answer already. "What have you been hearing from your room about what Mommy and Daddy are doing? Use your big girl words," she commanded with a smile in her voice. 

Brandon barely managed to mumble the word "f...fucking." before Heather cut him off. "Good girl, Cruciex," she ordered. "Back in the corner, Princess Piss Panties. Chop chop." Oh this was fucking perfect. I couldn't think of anyone more deserving of this humiliation than Brandon. Moments later, Heather returned to the room, winking at me. "Do you get it now?" she asked, giggling. "You make him listen to you having sex?" I sputtered, still shocked. "That's brutal, girl!"

Heather and I kept exploring the nursery. I couldn't help but notice the huge changing table with straps on all four corners. "Brandi can be a bit squirmish when it's time for a diaper change," Heather mentioned, casually gliding her fingers along the pink leather straps. "And when Connor's feeling extra playful, he likes to turn the changing table towards the crib, strap Brandi down, and make him watch us hook up over the side of the crib!" There was a second diaper pail conveniently attached to the changing table, labeled "extra soiled diapers." Gross.

Heather seemed to know exactly what I was thinking and let out a wicked laugh, saying, "That'e a special kind of punishment for when Brandi is a naughty sissy!" My eyes widened as she explained - she really was all into this. "You know, there are other places besides sissy behinds that a dirty diaper can be taped onto, y'know? Sometimes Brandi needs to 'face' her new life in diapers!" Heather chuckled. “Do you just…” I started to ask, he really did piss her off big time, huh?

“No,” Heather shook her head. “It definitely gets better…or worse I guess if you ask Brandi. Sometimes, when she's been really naughty, I like to take things up a notch. Instead of just making her wear the dirty diaper, I like to feed her the mess." Heather smiled, clearly enjoying explaining herself, proud of how far she’s pushed her loser ex. "Sometimes in life, I guess Brandi just has to eat shit and like it, y’know?” I was doubled over laughing now. I wasn’t sure I would make it through tonight. This was incredible!

As we walked through the tour, something caught my eye that I hadn't noticed before. Oh boy, was I taken aback! I expected all the art to be cutesy, babyish, and sweet. But what I saw in the pictures was anything but. My jaw dropped as I realized that each one was a different kind of kinky. In the biggest frame, poor Brandon was spending what looked like some "quality time with Daddy," if you know what I mean. Heather stood in the background, of the photo, smiling evily as she kept Brandon in place, preventing him from moving. Brandon was completely naked, his hands tied behind his back and a gag in his mouth. Behind him was Connor, holding onto his hips. Brandon's body was tense, and his face showed a mix of terror and humiliation. I could only imagine what Connor was doing to him. "Oh, that one is the night Brandi's sissy cherry got popped," Heather shared following my gaze to the picture.

"I have a whole baby album of Brandi bursting with pictures," Heather continued explaining. "Especially ones featuring her and Daddy, but this one is definitely my top pick! Over there," she gestured to a larger photo above the crib, perfectly placed for everyone in the room to see. In the photo, Heather was on top of Connor, riding him cowgirl-style. Her boobs were out for Brandon to stare at helplessly from his crib. Her body was glistening with sweat and her face was full of pleasure. She had a very obvious smile as she stared into the camera. "That was the first time I fucked Connor," Heather recalled with a gleam in her eye. "The night that little Brandi lost her sweet and submissive girlfriend forever. I want that image to be the first thing she lays eyes on in the morning and the last thing she sees before bedtime!" I couldn't help but notice other photos scattered around the room as I looked around too.

Above the changing table, hung a very candid photograph in a pale pink frame, decorated with images of teddy bears and baby blocks. The glittery letters at the top spelled out "Daddy's Girl." This picture was definitely my favorite so far. In it, Connor had Brandon pinned down over his knee, delivering a stern spanking as Brandon's pink princess pull-ups bunched around his ankles. His bottom was covered in angry red handprints, and drool dripped down his chin. If Brandon's face wasn't buried balls-deep on Connor's dick, I'm sure we would see the face of a very sorry sissy baby. 

Heather exclaimed, pointing at the photo. "That's Connor's favorite method of spanking Brandi! He'll keep going until she can make him cum down her throat! It's hilarious when Connor makes her count each spank while his dick is buried deep in poor Brandi's mouth." She even mimicked the gagged blowjob, making sounds like "Unnn... Toww... Phreeeww..." She giggled, as if she had a mouthful herself! 

[aviel-gillinski]

CRYPTID BITS - EP. 73 - FRESNO NIGHTCRAWLERS

"Goooooood evening, Bitties - it’s one of those nights where I’m deeply contemplative on the nature of many things. I’m sure we all get that way. When you sit alone and it’s raining, and something about the sound is so deeply nostalgic even though you hear it all the time. And then, you somehow get into existential questions about self, about love, about loss. 

And it’ll all stemmed from grabbing some ice for your glass of water or something, right? Because, well, your second cousin used to make jokes about how you only put 2 ice cubes in your drink. Like why only 2? Is that enough to get it cold? And you’d only see that second cousin every summer, because your families would go to that old lodge by the lake. You’d swim all day and then dry out on the rocks, and you’d both go steal a few otter pops from the secret cooler your uncle kept in the garage."

... more of Aviel's podcast under the read more ....

"So you start thinking about that lodge, and your uncle. Passed from pancreatic cancer, years ago. You start wondering if your second cousin’s okay- haven’t heard from her in a long time. She sold the lodge, though, after her father died. And last time you had a call with her, she was complaining about her son wanting an iPhone.

Rain’s still falling. You start thinking about invention. Utilitarian things like spoons and forks. iPhones.

Things that we don’t need but we like. Beanbag chairs. Pringles. 

What else is invention though? Through imagination, we can conduct so many ideas… inventions of the mind, whether they come to fruition or not."

"Is Bigfoot a real, hairy apeman? Or is he the invention of some creatives with too much time on their hands and a gorilla suit? Was Nessie a sea serpent, or dark metal pieces, some concoction to confuse humans for years, and elude them to this day? 

This all stems from my feelings on a truly unique cryptid, and our subject today. The Fresno Nightcrawlers.

Any cryptid enthusiast knows them - the white, ghostly pants. Armless creatures with long legs, walking almost as if they’re on strings. Marionettes to something celestial, perhaps. 

Some say sightings are few… but with multiple angled video recordings to look at, it’s hard to deny there’s something otherworldly at play. But does nostalgia color our views on this being? Let's start with the basics."

"A man named Jose was the first to see them in Fresno California - they were in his front yard, and even more peculiar was that he went to look only because his dog had started barking at something out in the night.

I don’t know about you - but there’s something far scarier about a creature that dogs don’t like. Having a dog on edge? There must’ve been something, or someone, out front of this poor man’s yard. But he caught it on CCTV footage… his brother even reported finding tiny footprints out front. However, even more odd… that CCTV footage was mysteriously deleted. All that remains of the original recording is a video of the security monitor. So we know they have tiny feet, long legs, no arms. We know that some force is at play to delete footage of them. So what are they? Where are they from, what’s their plan?

What’s even more odd… they have been seen recently. The most recent documented sighting is in 2020."

"They’ve been filmed at night in Yosemite- two of them, one large, one small. Walking, slow, across the screen. Now, I have to be honest - the footage of that specific instance? The jury’s still out for me. Dear Bitties, I’m sure you’ve seen it, but they almost look a bit too perfect. Too crisp, comparatively to the background. As if someone had laid it all out. 

I’ve seen the Nightcrawlers likened to those little tissue ghosts people often make as children - something I can say I used to do with my son and daughter on many October evenings. And I can’t help but agree, even to the point where some of the footage can appear slightly… tissue-esque. 

However. Fear not, Bitties. Because In all the footage, they are so incredibly consistent that it’s hard to disagree that something unexplainable is there. 

Many think these are aliens- and with hieroglyphics from Egypt sometimes showing humanoid figures with their arms completely at their sides, paler than the average being they would depict… well, you do the math.

Tell you what, let’s ruminate on it. Time to take a quick brain-break to hear some ads and then we’ll be deep-diving into a nightcrawler’s connection to aliens, ghosts… and maybe even deer? Hm. Makes you think. Now, a word from our sponsors…."

[poupeesdecirque]

Travel Blog Anime Festival Kassel! - Part 1

27.-28. October 2023

The last convention for me this year, read further for my impression of this event which was held in Kassel for the first time, me being super chaotic, enjoying things and attending the cosplay competition.

And yes I was totally going as past!Allen the times I was "not" in costume as my glasses are round too and I had to put on the shirt/waistcoat anyways. I just HC him as an explorer when he goes to places, its my kind of having silly little fandom moments. But now to the travel blog.

Friday, Travel & Coming 'home'

Travel day. I started a bit chaotic from home and later than planned but rain was forecasted the whole day and a serious hiking day was not really possible. I noticed I forgot my phone charger as I was already out and my first mission was to buy a replacement. As I arrived in Kassel I had to take a reroute as there was so much traffic but I know the city and its corners it was fine to me. All the familar places and ... I just felt home. For 19 years my favorite convention was held in Kassel until it moved to Wiesbaden this year and I was completely devastated how they handled it and left Kassel crying last year and I am just so SO happy to be able to return.

I quickly checked into the Hotel and went to the convention hall and just the feeling of seeing it again made me so content, even with the rain, the cold weather, the phone charger etc. AND the fact the Con contacted me that my script for the Contest has to be changed as there was some equipment different.

I went through the park and was just thriving. Then into the city checking a few places, actually got a charger after asking the sales manager of a itty bitty corner store if they have some - i was super proud I did that, past-me would have given up and just searched for a big electronic store to drive to to avoid talking to people.

As I walked back to the hall I came across a very fancy bakery/café I had discovered last year and they sold halloween themed confectonary again and ... this time I actually bought some. I dared to go in there and bought two petit fours and even as the seller asked me something twice I was just casually replying I am .. so proud. You know I suffer from severe social anxiety and a situation like this would have been enough to break me for a whole weekend, on top with the charger thing. But I was managing well. It was quite late then as I got back to the hall but still decided to ask if I could get my ticket for the next two days already to avoid waiting. Another step further for me, usually I would have chickened out. Everyone there was very darling I am looking forward on how they organize the actual convention days.

Back in the hotel I had (very late) dinner, but I was just mentally in such a good place that it didn't mess with my head.

Saturday - 28. October - Contest day

Slept okay for the fact I usually sleep bed when not home, super excited for the day. But took it slow, went through my script a few times (finally after not doing so for the last days) to recall it.

Then headed out to Kassel to fetch a few things, I like to give myself small tasks to have something to do when I am alone. Like just getting some snacks.

After returning to my car I started painting... my make up. I actually avoid doing a lot of make up for Allen as my eyes hate it and I don't think he is a make up type but as it was for the contest I wanted to upgrade everything a little bit.

It was starting to rain again and ... someone please remind me more often that the first Uniform has a HOOD I can use. I ... will come back to that later.

After a bit of waiting time due bag control I finally was able to enter the hall. It felt again like home but also different. When you came in you had several vendors, Manga, Merch, some artists inbetween. Even a tattoo artist?! And like at the Polaris you had several vendors of dried fruit... ehm.. okay? Like I am always for more healthy options aside the vendors selling tons of asian candies and ramen.

What I really liked about the structure they had for the hall is that they actually used the hallways better than the other con, less "lost" space. Yes they have a smaller audience but it seemed so much smarter to me to use the hallways for artists instead of putting them into super small rooms with no space to move in.

For the vendors and all there was .. lots of Genshin Impact again and Demon Slayer I think? I am a bit spoiled by the last cons especially the bookfair and the polaris in regards of a great diversity of artists, this was alright I guess. Not much for me to buy.

What was interesting is that the city had rented the hall to another convention but for ... doctors. Weird, but worked. As I got recognized as Allen later on I was able to talk with the two and one told me a few interesting things about the Con that moved to Wiesbaden and some facts that the Anime Festival will be bigger next year. I got encouraged to voice my opinion more often by them, as all they heard was only positive about the other Con (they didn't attend as well... reasons).

Then .. the contest. I was quite nervous, got in my snacks and some lunch before I went to prejudging. Was able to chat with the other attendees during the wait and was quite a lil hyper bunny as it was my turn. I have to say the judges were super darling about everything. They were all cosplayers, some super expierenced and one even a super huge name here. I got complimented for my make up (which I adjusted a bit more after lunch) to try to get my lashes white and all. That I made pockets, that the uniform has a lining, that the pattern was selfmade and the functional buttons. etc.

We were supposed to meet up 30 mins later, I waited with No. 6 (I was No 4) and got a bubble tea because my anxious mind needed something to do and I was super thirsty. I downed it so fast they went "WAIT HOW". Haha. I am used to drink a lot.

After it we were brought to the backstage and it seemed to take forever until it was my turn. No 3 before my was in a wheelchair and the crew did a great job to help her getting up the stage and stairs. And with the applause I was sure they would get the 1st rank. They did a performance as Sheego from Kim Possible.

My turn was. I walked, babbled my text, actually looked at the audience and noticed it was indeed THE MOST BIGGEST STAGE they have and the whole room was full of people, I had to improvise a bit as I was not able to stuff everything into Tim but I managed well.

I was super proud and watched the rest of the contest in the audience (they had seats reserved for us). Overall it was 10 performances. The majority was voice clips/moving to them, or just music and doing a dance/pose.

Mine was actually a small sketch that was Allen looking out for Timcampy, finding and scolding him for flying away. All during the search for Cross. Then I asked the audience if they had seen the master and showed my drawing of him. Then I scolded Tim for not getting my stuff back in as I was handling too many things at once. Haha.

The ranking later on was well, place 3 was a huge ass Spamalot/Monty Python and the Holy Grail Group and I was sure they will be ranked. 2nd was the Sheego, whom I had seen on 1. And 1 was a Kiki (Kiki's delivery service), I found hers rather boring to be honest as it was just an english voice clip that didn't fit the outfit or any acting at all, but well, Ghibli and cutesty bonus I guess. I would have seen others ranked.

Later on I went to pick up where I got ranked but ... in fact the voting system was hacked/there were annormalities and therefore there was no ranking other than the main 3.

I talked with some other of the contestants about the results and all were quite baffled. The two started last even said the results were not into their favor anyways as the moderators procrastinated 5 minutes to get them on stage and the majority indeed already had voted.

One last thing here: I am amazed by the positive words I got, that the performance was good and that you couldn't tell that it was my first time joining a contest, that I should do it more often. This really means a lot to me.

The rest of the day was me strolling through the halls & park again, sometimes in the park too. But the weather was not that good, it was raining a lot. I was torn about getting a maple themed bowl but as I got to really buying it it was sold out, so I got the chestnut kitkats I had eyes all the time.

I noticed I was super done for the day, there were several concerts left but I was just feeling the day and the snacks weren't holding me longer. But it was pouring... and the food vendors were outside.

After another 30 minutes I remembered I HAVE A HOOD and quickly went to the car to scrub the make up off my face and get some cotton pads from the store along with something to go with my instant noodles + tofu I had brought along. I wanted to eat in peace and not cramped outside in the rain.

The day ended for me in the hotel, tired, exhausted but quite well. What annoyed me though was that there was an event with a live band in the hotel. Good bye sleep.

Ending the day with food in the hotel, my little haul from stores and the fact the make up refused to get off. I would have some "fun" the coming days with that.

[reikunrei]

hi what if i wrote an itty bitty creelarke porn because i can. stuck on the idea of henry burning out light bulbs when scott gets him going just right

---

“Fuck, Scott.”

Scott curls his fingers, deep and menacing - and just a tad cheeky - up into his lover.  His other hand rests firmly against Henry’s hip, mere inches from where he’s aching for it - dripping for it, actually.  Scott can feel the angry heat of Henry’s cock ghosting against his knuckles, but he won’t touch him yet.  He can’t.  That was their plan.

“Too much?” Scott asks as he eases up on his prostate.  He gets the desired reaction: a high, keening whine hissing out from between Henry’s teeth.

“Don’t you dare.”

Scott chuckles, so warm that it makes Henry embarrassed when his dick twitches at the sound.

“Alright, alright.  Don’t get snappy,” he says lightly, so casual that you wouldn’t think he’s had Henry strung out for the last half hour on nothing but two of his fingers up his ass.  “I’m impressed you’ve held out this long.”

It’s probably meant as a genuine compliment, but Henry still grumbles at him for it and the implication that Scott thought he’d be jizzing his brains out in two minutes, tops.

If Henry’s being honest with himself, he’s a little impressed, too.  But he’s too hazy right now to be anything other than a little peeved and deliriously turned on.  Scott rolls his hand against his ass, his fingers pressing so close but not quite at the spot that makes his whole body feel like it’s full of dancing stars.  He chases Scott’s fingertips, twitching his hips to get them where he wants them, but Scott’s other hand merely gives his hip a gentle press back into the mattress.  The bedside lamp flickers as Henry lets out a grumbling whine that’s awful close to begging.

“That’s it,” Scott praises, and Henry sighs around a full-body shiver.  “You’re doing good, Hen.  So good...”

The lamp flutters again, Henry’s breath hitching in his chest as Scott crooks his fingers and presses right into his prostate.  He’s not teasing anymore, either.  He rubs his fingertips in little circles and doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, and doesn’t give any warning when he pauses just long enough to pull back and ease a third finger inside of him.

The added stretch, though slight, is enough to have Henry gasping for air.  The lamp, once twinkling like a bulb loose in its socket, instead flashes harshly three times.

“Sco-ott,” he moans, warbled and completely embarrassing, but fuck it, he doesn’t care when Scott thrusts all three digits inside of him and paints a figure-eight across insides.  His eyes cross as he squeezes them shut, fooled into thinking that it’ll make the pleasure less overwhelming.

“That’s it, Hen...” Scott soothes, and it’s only when he bends over to press a tender kiss to his upper lip that Henry realizes he’s bleeding.  He tastes it, warm and metallic, when he opens his mouth for Scott’s tongue to join his.  He briefly thinks about the blood getting in Scott’s mustache, how it’ll be a pain to get out, but then all thoughts are abruptly wiped from his mind as Scott’s fingers press, sharp and unforgiving, right against his prostate.

“That- Scott-!”

Those stars are back, lighting up bright and overwhelming just beneath his skin.  They spark and dance around the room, flashing above his eyelids that are squeezed shut tight - though perhaps that’s the lamp going haywire next to his head.  Scott stops kissing him and nudges his cheek with his nose, asking for him to open his eyes, and who is he to deny the wishes of his lover?

Henry slowly, carefully, peeks one eye open.  As silly as it sounds, he’s worried that the moment he lays his eyes on Scott, he’ll come totally undone.  He wants to come so bad, but he also wants to revel in this moment, here and now, with Scott.  There’s been many before, and more are still to come, but he wants to commit each and every one to memory.

Scott does, in fact, have blood all over his mustache and upper lip.  A thin swipe even trails down onto his chin, and Henry thinks it actually looks quite sexy.  His dick drips thick gobs of precome onto his stomach.  The light flashes beside them, casting them both in soft, shuttering shadows.  Henry’s whole head feels full of cotton.  He’s gonna sleep well after this.

“You look beautiful,” Scott murmurs, and he smiles that goofy, lopsided smile of his, and it goes right to Henry’s heart and all the way down to his dick.

“Fuck,” he gasps, and then Scott’s mouth latches onto his throat and his fingers press relentlessly into his sweet spot.  The light bulb buzzes loudly as it blooms bright, and crackles as the filament snaps alongside the intense coiling heat in Henry’s belly.

His orgasm crests and crashes over him as Scott’s voice murmurs sweet nothings against the base of his jaw, praising him for doing so good, for lasting as long as he did, for humoring his hypothesis about how much it would take for Henry to burn out a light bulb from his pleasure alone.

Henry snorts, breaking into a cheek-splitting smile.  This is a scientist he’ll never tire from experimenting with.

[isleofancients]

swaps? so, like Pax and Template, but bigger. their tail slows a bit, not from unhappiness, more distraction, taking this all in. "I think I remember Aiden telling me about that, but it was the same time he was telling about... er, everything." they consider the wiggly one, admitting, "it was a lot of things, and I think I might've missed a lot of details. but... I think he said that Green is kind of like Q, and also really nice. and that you and the others are errors from both multiverses."

though come to think of it, the only place with that many errors in this multiverse was- oh. their tail stops midswing, as they suddenly remember the white place, filled with the hungry black goop that reached out and tried to devour everything. how Nouveau had fed it the errors he was 'done' with, across millions of years. they'd thought Flare had destroyed- but, where else-

"that was you, wasn't it?" the words offered, slow and quiet as they take this in. "or, part of you? in that place. you didn't talk then though." maybe the errors from the other multiverse made that possible? they just know that even glimpsed through the fourth wall, it had been bad. the sludge, even from a distance, utterly terrifying...

but, Cyan didn't seem terrifying.

"if that was you," softly, the bitty asker's wag returning to wag, if still slowly, "I'm glad you're doing better now. and you seem really nice. so it's nice to meet you."

"Wasn't us at first." Cyan shrugs. "But it needed cleaning up. They were suffering and we needed to eat, so..."

It hesitantly plops its head on Rasse's lap, within touching distance as it gives you big puppy please pet me look how cute I am (ignore how we just admitted to eating a bunch of people) eyes.

"We could talk and stuff then, but we didn't. Were still hiding, didn't think it worth trying to make friends with anybody. Didn't think anyone would want to be."

[ronearoundblindly]

The First Eighty-Three Hours (5)

CEO!Steve Rogers x CEO!reader

Redo (see previous or series)

Summary: The perfectly frustrating Cap to the end of your day. Steve isn't being who you expect, but he's definitely who you want.

Warnings for smut (MINORS DNI), talking, so much talking, and hilarious use of a John Walker insert. Honorable mention to Sarah Rogers. WC ~3.5k

In a perfect world, you wouldn’t be concerned with the state of your apartment, but you ponder how clean the carpet is as you and Steve shuffle newly bare feet across the threshold of your bedroom. You wouldn’t think about if you tossed yesterday’s clothes all the way into the hamper. You wouldn’t think of the few work papers at the corner of your unmade bed as you rustle up a condom from your bedside drawer. You wouldn’t think of the bit of dust you can see in the temporary lamplight. You wouldn’t think of whether your bra and panties are of a sensual enough quality to feel good against Steve’s fingers and skin. You wouldn’t think about the smorgasbord of dinner on your breath or if your shave has lasted long enough to still be smooth.

In a perfect world, you’d be lost in a rush of passion, a flurry of limbs, but that’s difficult to do with all that shit on your mind.

It’s also impossible to do when he won’t fucking move.

“Seriously? You’re balls deep in me, and you want to negotiate.”

Steve’s body remains still atop yours, slotted between your legs, thick between your folds, almost throbbing within your walls. “I said I wanted to talk,” he says casually, fingering over the tender skin behind your ear.

“In the middle of sex?!”

He stutters as if wounded. “Since when is me entering you the middle of sex?”

“That’s not funny.”

You have zero intention of letting him win, even as Steve bends his leg up flush against the back of your thigh, supportive and caging.

“I’m not laughing.” He hikes the other leg into position like he’s settling in for a long haul, and the minute shift makes you keen. Of course, this is only fuel to his slow-burning fire.

“You are in the process of getting what you want, so I get at least a—” Steve tenses his thighs, bouncing you ever-so-slightly forward “—taste of what I want.”

Damn it. Damn him, you are hating to love this right now. Almost no movement at all has you trembling against sheets you’re sort of sure you cleaned last week, but you can’t even give him the satisfaction of a moan.

He waits in your silence, running his nose up your petulantly raised neck before sighing, “fine, I can just leave—“

“If you dare,” you threaten, grabbing at his thick, retreating arms weakly.

And he doesn’t, to his credit. He doesn’t leave you. He sits back on his heels, your ass propped up on his thigh, cock still mostly buried in your heat but not as deep as before. That’s the punishment

“I hate you,” you whisper on instinct.

“I bet,” Steve chuckles, causing itty-bitty shifts that torture you further.

It takes you a long time to come up with the words but Steve remains patient, hands roaming your body in a gentle caress.

You finally rush your response in hopes of not whining needy in the middle. “I live to work and something that should have been good turned to shit.”

He curves down to kiss across your chest, giving a shallow thrust of encouragement.

“I earned this,” you moan. You’re only half-sure you meant your new title. “I want to be so…good at it, but they just—“ you swallow on a dry throat though you’re salivating when he takes a nipple into those plush lips.

“Then let me help, Preci—“

“YOU CAN NOT—“ you explode without warning.

He stops moving, releasing any touch of you above the waist.

“I’m sorry but you can’t, Steve. You can’t. If you help, then that proves I couldn’t do it on my own and don’t deserve to be there.”

“But you do,” he says sincerely, propped up on his elbows, close but not confining.

“Yes. Yes, I do.” The conviction in your own voice astounds you. This is the first time you’ve truly meant it; the first time believe there’s no other way your life could have gone.

And you’re pissed.

It’s overwhelming and unfair and nearly impossible to explain, and for the love of all that is holy, will he just fuck you already?

You cover your face with your hands and growl. This time, the rumble of frustration inside you is what jolts electricity through your core.

“It’s…this is just something I have to deal with the slow way. Nothing will fix it.”

“Nothing,” he repeats questioningly. Steve clearly does not enjoy that ambiguity. There’s always a solution for him, but that’s the key: there is always a solution for men like him.

“I can’t undo people’s opinion of me. I can’t stop their assumptions. Gossip doesn’t care about facts. I have to slowly, agonizingly rewrite it. I have to prove myself, and then I’ll have to prove myself again. They don’t have to care, but I’m going to have to do it anyway.”

It’s his turn to be quiet. Steve takes a moment to lean down until his forehead touches yours.

“Okay,” he mumbles.

“Okay?”

“I won’t do anything unless you want me to, but I’m right beside you.”

“Thank you.” You cup his face with one hand, scratching at the edge of his beard.

One big hand of his slides to brace your ribcage. He rolls his hips back before pumping into you.

You’re drenched and you didn’t even know it. The glide of his sheathed length is indescribable, a smooth raking over your every nerve.

His lips find your ear. “And we can slowly—“ he kisses that sweet spot on your neck “—agonizingly—“ he lets your arms slot over his, broad shoulders tensing with his new pace “—work together.”

The overwhelming escalation of pleasure shoots a taut band down your whole body, forcing you to stretch out like a cat, hands flat against the headboard, muffling soft pleas. You have no clue what you’re pleading for, but you have no control anymore.

Steve tucks an arm into the rigid arch of your back and grabs your ass, hoisting you closer, giving you leverage to roll in tandem with him.

“This help? You want this, precious?”

You climb so high so fast that you feel light-headed, suffocated by the raging intensity of his affection.

He seems…very excited, too, as he pants into the thin sliver of air between you.

“Every morning. Every night. Whenever you want. Whatever you want. Whatever you need.” His deep, husky voice is doing as much for you as the friction of his body, especially when he groans, “fuck. Anything for you.”

It’s just not possible for him to feel this good and be this good and be this bad all at once. There’s no way he’s real, you’re convinced. Where the hell did he come from? He’s not even human, is he?

“Who cares,” Steve babbles against your slick skin. Apparently, you said some of that aloud. “M‘here with you. ‘Coming for you.”

Your orgasm detonates. That forced stretch locks your muscles in place for a seizure of ecstasy. A cry cuts off halfway, turning inward to fuse with your superheated core.

He grunts three words with his last thrusts, and you shake, swimming too deep in your own pleasure to hear. His weight pins you to the sweaty sheets and the Earth.

“I love you,” Steve repeats, no more than a whisper.

Your whole body shivers, walls clenching around him again.

You want it. You want to argue that he’s full of shit, that he can’t possibly because it’s day four. You think you should fight it. You should tell him he’s wrong, but you want it. You want his love.

But he didn’t just say it for you. He’s said something true. Steve’s an honest man and has never lied to you. You also know that he never says anything just because it’s what people want to hear.

You aren’t prepared to receive that gift or give it back. You’re not ready. You’re frozen, waiting until your shock thaws.

You stare at the ceiling fan and think of the Ikea furniture and how it looks in the sad glow of the bathroom light as Steve cleans up. You think of all the corners you did not deep clean in there. You think of how many products you left on the countertop and if the soap dispenser is still nearly empty. Shame crawls over your cooling skin while you cover up with a blanket that you can’t remember washing recently.

You can’t…you can’t think of anything else.

“Did I push too hard?”

You shake your head as he gets back into bed. “Hey, I’m sorry if I—“

“No,” you say meekly. “Don’t.”

Steve stretches out beside you, not reaching for the blanket. He only moves to smooth your hair out of your face.

“You deserve so much better than today. You’ve earned this. I just want to help, so what can I do?”

You take his hand in yours, a serious heft in your tone. “Please, don’t try to help again.”

“Again? When did I…?”

“You tried and failed two and a half years ago at the Donatelli fundraiser.”

Steve thinks back, confused.

Of course, he wouldn’t have noticed then and he wouldn’t think of it now. “I brought a date. You told him I was ‘your responsibility' and to leave.”

“That guy? No, but he made you look miserable the whole night. He barely spoke to you.”

“So you said…?

Steve adjusts himself a little self-consciously on the bed. “What? I’m concerned about all my employee’s happiness, and you were miserable. He wasn’t right for you.”

“But that’s not what you said, is it?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Between my entire self belonging to you versus you giving a shit about your workforce’s quality of life?” You prop yourself up sideways on one elbow. “Yes. Big damn difference.”

“The guy neglected you the whole dinner,” he continues to defend.

“Steve, I paid him to neglect me. John Walker is an escort. He was there to get people off my back about never having a plus one. I gave him money to not bother me while I was still expected to work that night. Normal dates don’t like that.”

“Nobody cares if you—“

“You bet your ass they care,” you burst. “They cared tonight how expensive my clothes were. They cared that my word had the backing of a man on the phone today. They definitely cared that I was perpetually alone at events. Doesn’t matter if I was fine with it.” You throw up a hand before falling back down to the pillow. “I even thought Walker was doing well enough to be a repeat date because—my god—the grief I would be spared!” Shifting your voice in mock horror, you imitate, “‘Again?’ ‘Don’t work so hard. You’ll seem unavailable.’ ‘Don’t act so superior. No one wants that.’ ‘Always uneven numbers at the table.’

“But how could I possibly ask him to come back when you had to go full white knight? And all while having some name from the Stark Rolodex beside you. See, when you do it, it’s fine. When I—“

You’re finally too angry to continue. Your chest heaves in frustration, and your throat tightens, eyes prickling.

After a thick pause, Steve tries, “my mother raised me to—“

“Your mother is not an excuse for you to be a hypocrite or bury your head in the sand,” you snap. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

You are, essentially, as not sorry as you have ever been, crossing your arms across your bare chest and huffing loudly.

It’s his turn to prop himself up to look at you. “This is why I wanted to talk. For the record.”

You sigh. “Noted.” After another beat, your voice is quiet again. “Nothing is going to make them stop. This is my reality, and in the nicest way possible, you cannot help. You didn’t mean to, but your ‘help’ partly, accidentally, inadvertently made it this way. I’m not blaming you. It’s not your fault just like it’s not my fault. That’s the perception though. Doesn’t go away when you deny it, and I’m not gonna sit here and lie to make you feel better about it. I’m too tired for that.”

Ok, fine, you vaguely regret going on a tirade immediately after sex, but bottling it up wasn’t helping, and sugarcoating it is a waste of time.

Steve, to his credit, takes it in stride, shuffling closer and running a finger up and down your shoulder. It tickles.

“You are amazing though.”

Definitely not human.

“Thank you,” you allow. “I am also…truly exhausted.”

“Catch-22, precious. If I let you work less—“

“—then the whole company assumes you favor me—“

“—which I do, but not like that. Except. Yes, like that but this isn’t the reason that I’d…“ Steve scratches the back of his head, waiting for you to save him from the hole he’s digging to China, and you do take pity on him. He’s too cute to say no to.

“Welcome to womanhood, Mr. Rogers, the place where you cannot win, no matter how long you fight or what army you have on your side.”

Unpredictably, he huffs and spins to find his phone from his discarded pants over the side of the bed. You have to clutch at your blanket while the springs bounce you in return.

Of course, this conversation would inspire something about work. It’s not long before he settles back into position silently, the slow consistent rattle of your overhead fan churning away.

“I still mean it,” Steve whispers.

Fuck. Do you have to talk about that now?

Carefully, you choose your own words. “I know. That’s…it’s really hard to accept.”

Steve waits for you to roll over and meet his eyes in the dark. When he takes your hand again, he adds, “then I’m doing a bad job.”

“You’re working against a lifetime of shit.” Your voice is no louder than your breath, but he simply kisses the back of your hand.

“I hate that I’ve added to it.”

This sincere bastard. The more he talks, the more you realize why you’ve been working so damn hard for so long: it’s not just for a paycheck, it’s not just for your reputation, it’s not even for the company. It’s Steve. You’ve been working to get Steve Rogers whatever he wants because you knew he was different. He’s worth it.

He’s worth it, but he is just a human. He can’t fix everything. He can’t change the past. He’s not predictable in this dynamic, and you have to ask.

“No redos, Steve. So what do you do next?”

He takes a big breath that puffs out his chest and pulls you close, blanket and all. With the determination of a man who’s already spent twenty years on a singular focus, he concludes, “keep working, obviously. Listen. Learn.” He drops his voice at the end. “Love you till you feel it.”

There you both are on that lonely, desert island together, no one in the world but you two, and he’s warm like the sun and the sand on the beach.

“Could take a long time,” you admit.

“Think I wasted a few years already.”

“Not a waste. Never a waste. You were being you, and I—“ You lean further, far enough to shield your face from sight, close enough to touch your nose to the hollow of his clavicle. It takes a few seconds to get the words out.

“I love you, too.”

While you wrangle the runaway surge of emotion from your confession, Steve’s finger tugs at your chin until his lips can find yours.

Soft.

Soft, endless devotion.

How one kiss can be so thorough in its effect on your body, you’ll never know because his words continue the sweet assault.

“I mean all of it though. Whatever I can do, whatever you want, I’ll do it. Whatever you say.”

You preen at the offer, rubbing your cheek against the bristle of his beard. “That’s a lot of power, Captain. What if I don’t use it wisely?”

“I trust you.” So simple yet so much more intense than its predecessor. “So…”

“So,” you repeat, biting your bottom lip in thought, a brash swell of mischief replacing some of the moment’s aching tenderness, “you can start by getting out of my spot. I sleep on that side. And we’re gonna go brush our teeth because—“

“No dragon breath,” Steve diligently remembers.

“Exactly. Good boy.” You give his cheek a playful pat and find your pajamas.

The dance of ritual in the bathroom is surprisingly smooth, peppered with teasing and longing glances. This is the most comfortable you’ve ever been in unknown territory, and you suddenly look forward to Steve getting cozy in your life, in every aspect.

He places the new toothbrush you fished out of your goody bag from the dentist a month ago—his toothbrush now—right beside yours in the holder and smiles wide.

“Feeling better, precious?”

You shrug. It’s the most honest answer you can give. The rollercoaster of the day has only added to the theme park of the weekend, and you are tired but with a tinge of something else. The mischief is growing.

You brush your fingers down his bare abs. “Maybe…feeling powerful.”

Steve clears his throat. “Oh?”

Your eyes raise to meet his just as your hand flicks the light switch.

Steve says nothing of consequence as you both get dressed for work. He has fresh clothes at the office, so he doesn’t put on any more than his slacks and shirt, tossing his suit jacket and coat over his arm before holding the door open for you.

When you get to the curb, however, there are two cars, and he walks you to the one that is not the company’s.

The window rolls down.

“Hello, dear,” Sarah Rogers trills sweetly. “We are going on an adventure.”

You say a quick hello in return and step out of the way, thinking Steve has simply forgotten to mention plans with his mother.

He shakes his head and opens that door for you, too.

Even though it’s written all over your face, you still blurt out, “I don’t understand.”

“We,” Sarah emphasizes, “us ladies have an important meeting to get to. Hop in.”

You slide into the passenger’s seat staring all the while at Steve. He gives nothing away in his soft smile, looking to make sure you’re settled inside before shutting the door and leaning into the open window.

His smile widens. “I got to thinkin’ last night—“

“—a dangerous business, son,” Sarah chides.

You desperately try not to laugh. You’ve known this woman is sharp since the first phone call you fielded from her in the early days at AmCap, but to watch this closely is another beast.

“Indeed,” Steve clicks his tongue, but you see a faint hue high on his cheeks. He looks back at you with that same smile.

That’s when it occurs to you: it's not Steve's smile. It’s your smile. That soft, charming, gooey-around-the-edges, ready-to-comply smile is reserved for you.

“What we talked about, ‘figured if I can’t help, maybe Ma can.”

“Oh, that’s not—“ you turn to Sarah “—please, you don’t have to—“

“Nonsense!” She hits the button to roll the window up, forcing Steve out and back up onto the curb.

“Alright, I’ll see you at the—“ He waves at the end, knowing you can’t hear, and pets down his beard, amused as he walks to the usual black SUV.

“You’ll see, dear. I’m a collector. You’re doing me a favor really. I don’t have a CEO yet.”

As Sarah pulls out into traffic, you sneak a glance back as Steve ducks into his ride. “A collector of what?”

“Women. Powerful women, to be exact, and you and I are going to dine with a few. Best I could do on short notice, but we’ll have Hope Van Dyne, member of the Board of Directors for Pym Tech. You’ve worked with them, I think?”

“No, ma’am. Their contract was before my tenure, so I never met anyone from there.”

Mama Rogers deftly navigates the city streets. “Ah well, this is perfect then. Natasha seemed downright eager when I mentioned you’d be coming—“

“Romanoff?!” Your voice cracks accidentally. It was only a few days ago, but her first impression of you was not your finest moment seeing as you were a bit drunk and cranky.

“Yes, and if her sister decides to grace us with her presence—“ Sarah rolls her eyes “—you’ll be in for a real treat.”

You swallow thickly and wait for elaboration.

“Personal stylist to the stars. Yelena Bolova,” she explains with a flourish. “Don’t tell me Stevie plays off like he’s had no help with his wardrobe…”

Your grimace must give your answer away, and Sarah raises a delicate, judging, blond eyebrow before moving on.

“Shame my colleague Claire from the hospital couldn’t join. Another time. Ah—she’s here! Just pulled in, you see? That’s Jen, dear. Jen Walters. Brilliant legal mind. Very down to earth.”

“Wow, so who’s not here?”

“Of my regulars—I love hosting the girls whenever I can—Doctors Maya Hansen and Jane Foster and soon-to-be Doctor Darcy Lewis are at various foreign locations for their research. Not together though. Wildly different fields. Also Securities Director for…a very large capital operation that shall not be named, Maria Hill.”

“Has Pepper Potts never joined you? You’ve known the Stark’s as long as Steve has, right?”

“Oh yes.” Sarah parks the car but doesn’t begin to get out for the valet. She turns to you with a guilty expression. “Truth be told, Ms. Potts called me first. I didn’t wait for Stevie to text me before ringing the girls because I’d already put this off for too long. You see, I’ve always admired your work ethic, but it felt an imposition to spend time with your boss’s mother when you were clearly dedicated and very busy. I was so proud of you for whipping some sense of…well, life, I suppose, back into that boy—man,” she corrects with a hand on your arm momentarily. “All that can wait though. Come, dear. Let’s lift you up after yesterday. You deserve better.”

Like mother, like son. You can see it in her smile. The Rogerses epitomize strong gentility.

“One warning though. If you ever call us ‘Ladies Who Lunch,’ you are out. No questions asked. No exceptions. I cannot stand that trivializing shit.”

You fight to wrangle your grin into an acceptable smirk, but it seems the whole family is full of surprises.

Right before you enter the restaurant, you set your phone to silent and see a text from Steve.

It’s just a red heart emoji, but your own heart swells with pride and a flutter of realization. You love that man, you trust him, and most importantly, you trust that things will be okay.

This concludes the main story of Steve and Precious. They will return in two planned one-shots (and probably more, let's be honest), but for now, I hope you were satisfied by this tale! Thank you for reading, and I'd love to hear your thoughts. 🤗😘

@bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @rach2602 @patzammit @royalwritersoftheuniverses

[Eight-Thirty PM]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[yinyanchan]

Now I'm curious what your headcanons are for the horror boys!

Man I had so much writing planned for october for our Horror boys. I’m giving just a broad description for my headcannons plus what they are for certain stories as certain stories of mine are far more tame than others. If there is something more specific you wish to know about let me know but other than that. Here’s just a broad scope of things. I will be keeping the bitty Au’s out of it as they are pretty much their own thing. The tame factor is how they are with handling people other than their brothers. Including housemates and reader.

Horrortale:

Axe: similar to already known headcanons. Hates Undyne. However I believe him to be far more patient and understanding of certain situations. He doesn't really miss who he used to be. A goody goody of an “unbiased” judge... that's probably what caused Frisk to never come back and save them. More sarcastic because he sees the humor in it now unlike before. Dark comedy is a win for him. Patience is a virtue as going headstrong into something could get you killed. There are differences in the stories I have him in.

Housemates: Tame factor is high. He’s been on the surface and out of his AU for a lot longer than the others. Doesn't mind being confined to the attic because... he understands Sans, himself, fear. He gets to see the sun and the stars and is relatively well fed and rested. He doesn't appreciate any jabs at himself or his brother Nook. He also doesn't like that Sans can't bear to look at Nook. It was a future that hopefully can be avoided if it's known. He will not go back to that universe over his own dust. Also has a dark alliance with his brother and Berry should anything happen to reader once they get to finally have their time to shine. (I soo want to doodle Axe and Nook at a stake out. Teach some rival of affection or Bully of readers a slow cooked lesson of regret. Enter Berry and they feel as though they've been thwarted only for him to bring equipment and a game plan to cover it up... then Orange shows up and disbands them thanks to a concerned clue from Russ. Fools, what thwarts the dark alliance only makes them much more thorough the next time.) Heats? Yeah his cycle still happens only his magic reserves being so damaged from the famine and physical trauma, it’s typically used as adrenaline to either help with a situation or hunting. Now that he has his reserves starting to trickle to life and a definite love interest... there is potential for his heat cycle to return to normal. He is only nervous about his past when it comes to someone he cares for to find out... he doesn’t want to be seen as a criminal but as a survivor.

Dire Wolf: Tame Factor it’s about a medium. He’s a bit more standoffish with his counterpart because the very real threat of going back to his AU hell is a thing. Everyone from the horror AUs are being treated as criminals and to himself... it might have been a crime but it was a matter of life or death. The fact remains that he chose to save himself and his brother across multiple horror AUs and their counterparts either don’t realize that these were very real choices that they themselves have made or they are in total denial. Despite that... he does have a good head on his shoulders and is a very caring individual. He’s just more passionate about his concerns than what he used to be. Heat cycles are a thing... the horror universe just didn’t give an opportunity plus famine and physical trauma left their magic devastated. So it’s an adrenaline factor. Same goes for him about his past as it is in housemates. He wants to be seen as a survivor and not criminal.

Ghost Town: Tame factor none. Slightly different Horror AU as all Horror skeletons are actually related and are the sole survivors of the great famine below the mountain. He’s a survivor that’s going to keep on surviving (Queue chorus of Destiney’s Childs I’m a Survivor.) Oh and don’t mind the malicious intent. It’s always been there since the famine came so no one is fully responsible for it. Only good thing those miners did was release him and his brethren. Cold cruel and always smiling. Good thing reader has a way to gauge emotions because this sadist is good at hiding them. Of course with him being part of a feral pack, it’s not like he could explain himself or even want to anyways. Besides he’s not going to deny his family food especially when it comes to them so willingly.

I Was Going For A Walk One Day: Tame factor is about a low medium. Lamia version of multi universe existing as one and is in itself its own AU as Sans and Papyrus are all of their names as it’s their specie type or by their body type specifically. They all refer to themselves as Sans and Papyrus (Causing major confusion to the human populace) and it’s done with certain intent so they know who they are talking about but not so much for humans. In this one he doesn’t go by Axe he goes by the misnomer Fluffy. It’s a joke and he finds it hilarious. Very sweet going skeleton but had it not been for his brother imploring to ask the reader about the barrage of lamia scents that covered them as they fell below... they would have been considered food. Very big Lamia but is dwarfed by his brother that is an anaconda lamia. Kind of an all or nothing mentality like most lamias. Feared because he’s not only huge but he’s a venomous rattlesnake. The only things venomous lamias fear are bigger rival constrictors with a taste for lamias and other more potent venomous lamias. He’s very proud to have a biggest constrictor lamia around as his little brother. 

Nook: He is definitely a sweet bean as Papyrus because he is Papyrus. However he is a Papyrus without a filter. If you seriously asked him how he did things in his AU he wouldn’t have a qualm telling you step by step in graphic detail. He’s a survivor and isn’t ashamed. Just a tad afraid that anyone he wishes to be friends or perhaps datemates with might shun him before they know or understand why he had to do it. He still has lingering anxieties over his friendship making but he’s a real go getter with his brother helping to soothe him. However do not be completely fooled by his sweetness. He is not innocent and Naïve. Nor was he prior to the famine. It just shows a little more than it used to. His tendencies can be compared to that as being Yandere when he finds someone that truly resonates with him.

Housemates: Tame Factor is high... to an extent. He’s everything mention up above and a little more. Does has Yandere tendencies but that is because he is Papyrus... who has been showing a bit of his true colors as of late. Romantic love is something foreign to the sweet beans so of course when they get a taste of it and for it... it’s something they crave and covet at that. He hasn’t much changed other than the fact he does have a tendency to be more worried for those he cares about. He’s a bit more dependent on Axe than before the famine. More so for sanity sake. So if it came to his Yandere tendencies being curbed for the sake of his brother he’s more willing. He’s still very much sane and rational but tends to ramble sometimes and a touch forgetful. Even though he’s in this dark alliance with his brother and oddly the mother hen Berry... he knows if they fail... His self from this world will handle it and probably better as Papyrus’ memory is very vivid and clear.

Dire Wolf: Tame Factor is high. Very friendly, astute, and reasonable. This AU doesn’t contain the Yandere factor. Very much a voice of reason and is seen as such by the household... well after certain differences are acknowledged and amended within the household. 

Ghost Town: Tame Factor Low. There is a hierarchy to the madness and thankfully Nook is a voice of reason. The remembrance of the times below the mountain both the good and the bad makes him the lesser of evil in their pack. Not to say he isn’t respected. He earned his secondary place in rank. He also is the ones that keeps tabs on the others behaviors including Axe. Even though Axe seems to ignore his reasoning at times... he knows his brother is listening and is either choosing to do things his way or implement them at another time. However... there have been times his reasoning has led to less than savory means... from a humans standpoint that is.

I Was Going For A Walk One Day: Tame factor medium. Super friendly but survival and full tummies come first. Until reader hits the scene and he’s devoted to someone else’s wellbeing besides his and his brothers.

HorrorFell:

Fang: Horrorfell Sans. You would be surprised to know that his typical temper is a lot less volatile than what it used to be before the famine. However you cross that line then he blacks out... lives being spared is a very slim outcome. He’s Big, Tall, and as wide as he is tall. Can fit full grown person of upwards to 300lbs in rib cage with no real problems... unless he has feelings for them then he be all sweaty and trying not to let magic gather in a certain area. Has a similar open wound in his skull like Axe. His shark like teeth slightly overlap and are far more pointed... including his gold fang. He’s got old scars and new scars all over his body but they are minor in comparison. Especially the marks he has on his bones where is magic forced him to get bigger or die in the ravenous wasteland he called home. Because of this his bones are far more sensitive to the touch. His one good eyelight is like Axe’s but looks like molten lava as it fluctuates in warm colors. Total pervert, that really hasn’t changed since before the famine either... much to his brother’s dismay. Undyne caused major misfortune in their universe and he and his brother’s pain is a very sore spot for him... he hates reliving that moment whenever it’s explained.

Dire Wolf: Tame Factor Medium. All of the horror skeletons are basically a voice of reason. He doesn’t deny his past or his beef with Red for ignoring the fact that he’s living proof of the decisions that were made by him as Red until his universe warped him into Fang. Seems frightful and can be but has the disposition of a teddy bear with the right company. Loves to joke and is just as perverted as he used to be before the famine. sticks up for his other horror counterparts in heartbeat and quick to toss in a joke, whether it be wholesome, dirty, or dark is basically a guess. Just tread carefully about the topic of his universe. His Undyne did them really dirty... his brother actually more than him and it’s something he will never forgive.

Ghost Town: Tame factor 0. Fang is all about what he can get his claws on or in. Ruthless and relentless (Although he takes a leisurely pace when pursuing. Enjoys the thrill of the hunt.) Still a pervert... please don’t ask if he plays with his food... you should know with how he acts... he does. Gleefully so. No sympathy in these bones for any idiots willing to come close to this monumental death trap.

Demon: Horrorfell Papyrus: Silent, steadfast warrior that has seen things. More importantly had the unfortunate circumstance in being apart of said things. A devoted guardsman in his timeline earned him a punishment like no other when Fang didn’t comply with Undyne. Using him to get back at Fang... she severely beat him causing his bones to malleiform into sharp representations of what they used to be. His fanged teeth became jutting spikes from a twisted maw. his vertebrae became jagged points. He became very tall but along with that length the ability to stealthily crawl on all fours with no discomfort. The worst of it is that he does not have a sternum. Undyne ripped it from him while fracturing all of his ribs. Fang was able to heal him partially but thanks to their unstable magic his ribs had nothing to attach to as they reformed from his spine. The fractures became joints and each rib can move independently. He literally can use his own ribs like a bear trap or use them to help him crawl into low tight spaces. Has to work on his trust issues after his supposed superior and comrade betrayed him. Only person he trusts with his life is his brother.

Dire Wolf: Tame factor high medium. Has made an effort to keep his ribs out of discussion as it truly is a frightening image... that got him his nickname as Sans didn’t know what was coming at him... only it had arms, legs, and what he thought was ribs until the opened trying to engulf and crush him. He will reveal things on his own terms. Very reasonable and he and Fang offers solace to Edge and Red by offering to tell them about their universe and what they learned. Demon is sensible despite his wicked appearance and even though he is wary of most situations he does look for the best possible solution that will not only benefit him but others. Very kind despite everything that has happened to him.

Ghost Town: Tame factor 0. Has a very high sense of accomplishment when finding his own food. As this isn’t a true to a Horrorfell AU but a multi au combined into one... he still has the same body type but is proud of how frightening he looks. Definitely finds a thrill in hunting. Likes to perpetuate an almost understanding before completely disregarding it for the fear factor alone. Adept in finding all the lovely spaces to crawl in to scare anyone to death.

Horrorswap:

Blight: Horrorswap Sans. Blind as a bat. In a sense where he struggles to see because of his gaping head wound that branches into a spiderweb crack at the back of his skull. Yet he can see almost like a bat can. Instead of sonar he pushes his magic out to see objects and people. In fact it is so precise that he almost doesn’t miss his sight. almost. He can’t make out actual full details like facial features and colors. Just who, what, and where and how far. Because of his lack of detail it doesn’t feel or even look like he’s looking directly at you. He conjures vibrant blue rings as eyelights but they do not focus on anyone in particular just direction. He used to be short but it looks like he’s been stretched thin with how long his once stout form used to be. Long arms with clothes that hang off him... as he can’t really tell a difference so why bother with appearance? A very broad smiler as he was when he was Blue. Has a very cheery disposition despite everything and instills more into his brother that he is the big brother. His decision is final.

Dire Wolf: Tame factor medium. Is nothing but a reliable friend and brother. Of course a voice of reason but scoffs because he is typically overlooked because the majority non horror aus treat Blue like a child and therefore Blight is often treated as such as well. Very sweet and reliable just as he was before the famine. A smile to bring hope to not just his brother but to the others that have gone through such a trying time.

Ghost Town: Tame factor 0. Very curious but still very deadly. Is basically defense as his magic can see who, where, and how far no matter if they are in actual sight or not. Projecting his magic to see puts the cameras set in the area to shame on finding people. However when he uses his magic to see he can feel everyone’s intent and can even identify who is who because of this intent. A little put out that he’s not a part of the initial hunts. He delights getting to clean up.

Will Anyone Care?: Tame factor Low. He might be soulmates with the reader but he’s not sorry for doing what he felt he had to do. He’s not risking his and his brother’s life leaving the mountain. If the scared humans that had fallen into the desolate pit of the underground were any indication... the surface would prove to be a frightening place for him and his brother. He is sweet to his soulmate but he’s adamant that no matter what... they aren’t leaving the mountain. 

Blemish: Horrorswap Papyrus. His bones have intensely yellowed thanks to the way his bones have become malnourished. Lanky and thin his magic is so chaotic that he has to put a lot of concentration into doing a shortcut. He used to be the one constantly being overprotective of his older brother... he’s been humbled that not only is his brother fully capable of taking care of himself... it’s because of his own mistakes that caused Blight to get hurt. Hoping it was going to help but Blight saved him costing him his vision. Even after all that he’s completely reliant on his brother’s new found abilities to help with finding food. He tends to stay home while Blight does the hunting for them. It hurts him to not be what he considers a provider but he’s useful in his own ways. Especially cooking as blight can’t exactly see details with his magic unless he uses a whole lot of magic that they can’t afford to use. Blemish is resigned himself to take care of butchering and cooking. Making sure that every little bit is used and doesn’t go to waste.

Dire Wolf: Tame factor medium. Becomes his own best friend... or well Stretch’s friend. It takes a few eye opening events and his own humbleness at discovering just how powerful and strong their brother truly is. Truly laid back but a keen soul to help where it is needed. Typically would side with Axe due to the unreasonable treatment the horror universes were going through.

Ghost Town: Tame factor Low. Has good senses and very reliable when it comes to urgency. Genuinely worried about reader in a sense as he didn’t believe Blight would be able to see them for who they are. Is a bit more understanding and doesn’t typically like to partake of the hunt as it’s expended energy. Not to say Reader is totally safe with him. No one is really safe while there are hungry skeletons about but he’s at least one that doesn’t kill first and ask questions later.

Will Anyone Care?: Tame factor low. If it weren’t the fact that reader is his brothers soulmate would have carved them up a long time ago. Still considered it even after the fact. Doesn’t mean he’s an asshole. He’s still slightly protective of his big brother in this one. Even though Blight has established he is the older brother and will correct him on his behavior. Blemish tends to forget. Safety is key factor as to why he can be an asshole but he does have a lot of humor in him still.

HorrorSwapFell:

Dire: HorrorSwapFell Sans. Gaping head wound like Axe but he’s missing a chunk of cheek bone as well. Making the socket even bigger. Has a pointed crimson star for an eye light that narrows into a crosshair when focused or angry. His rows of shark like teeth have grown into gnarled pointed ends. Has nicks and cuts all over him as he almost didn’t survive his timeline. He was captain of the royal guard and thought his efforts were for the good of his people... only to be betrayed by people he had begun to consider friends as well as comrades. He lost his fluid ability of speech and has a long drawn speech impediment that he is woefully ashamed of. Because of that his brother became the talker as he was the silent stalker. Refusing to speak to others making monsters believe he became mute and others that he is mute. His spine is slightly hunched making it hard for him to walk tall with pride as he used to. He is incredibly humble from what he used to be. Embarrassed that he actually used to be bit of a brat and know it all braggart. How he used to look down on others while he put himself on a pedestal. Having such impossibly high standards that he forced others to accept. Now he is humble, timid, shy and almost selfless. Yet he misses it... or at least his very affluent way of speech.

Dire Wolf: Tame factor medium in regards to the household but High in regards to reader. Dire is everything mentioned above. Everything he does he does at 100% still though. He is also far more forgiving than most and very tender hearted when it comes to his brother and his “other brothers.” whether they are from a similar AU or not. He will not leave them wanting for anything despite how he was being treated in the beginning. Even though he does get frustrated with Black... he knows it is because Black is in denial of his own misfortune should he have been forced down this route. Also Black staring at his disfigured self probably didn’t help make accepting it any easier so there were many fights. 

Ghost Town: Tame factor low. Same physical issues as mentioned. Is great at solving things with Nook to formulate complicated puzzles and traps. Does have a slight fear at being caught eventually but when you’re hungry... you’re hungry. Will typically side with Nook as Nook does like to look at difference in perspectives at times. Yet is quick to alert Axe to anything that poses a problem or threat

Wolf: Giant and lanky. slightly yellowed bones. Missing part of his lower jaw that his gold fang ended up growing over it making his jawline slightly askew. He is also missing a rib that he uses a carved antler to cover up. He’s slightly embarrassed about it being gone. Has to be his brothers voice now that his brother is too ashamed to speak. It was awkward for him to switch roles but they were so adept at their non verbal communication back then it was easy for the script to be flipped. His sole concern is his brother’s stability. He almost lost his brother for good and he knows that Dire is having issues coping with what he is now and it bothers him greatly. 

Dire Wolf: Tame factor Low in regards to the household but high in regards to reader. Wolf has a lot of repressed anger towards himself and not just him himself but for Mutt. The him before everything went to hell. He also has a lot of confused anger for Black which is his brother just from the universe where people didn’t kill one another for food or starved to death. Denial is something very wicked and powerful. 

Ghost Town: Tame factor 0. If Fang likes playing with his food... Wolf is definitely the cat to his victims mouse. Loving anyway to spook someone into a direction of certain doom. He prefers Axe’s take on anything as he gets free reign to kill and eat however he wants. However he respects Dire and if Dire happens to side with Nook on something that is against what Axe has planned... Wolf won’t be happy about it but side with them.

Twisted Fate: (Unreleased/still in writing phase) A take on how Horrorswapfell monsters escape their prison when mount ebbott literally erupts from being a once dormant volcano to a raging inferno thanks to hotland being out of control. Survival as monsters roam the ash and lava buried land to hunt for food. Monsters are feral at this point and attack without hesitation. Reader is stuck trying to find a way to civilization after the eruption. Dire and Wolf see promise in reader after they end up sparing Dire during a struggle. Little did reader know the debt and feelings they have instilled in the brothers.

[too-gay-for-marvel]

just this once pt.4

a/n: shes LORGE

Word Count: 5,031

Warnings: smut implications, canon typical violence, mentions of blood, non-graphic assassination

Pairing: Natasha x Reader

(pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6.1 pt.6.2 pt.6.3 pt.7 pt.8)

“You gonna cum for me, Talia?”

“Need another mission?” Nick asked, shaking Natasha out of a memory. Her eyes darted around for a split second and noted that the meeting was over.

She had missed the last half of the briefing.

“No,” Natasha shook her head, immediately getting up and attempting to rush out past Nick.

“Well that’s a shame,” Nick continued, moving to the doorway and completely blocking Natasha’s retreat. “I needed a legendary assassin to accompany a local fish.”

“Not a fish,” Natasha replied, far too quick for her to stop herself.

“Funny, that’s the exact same thing she said,” Nick said with a smile before crossing his arms over his chest.

Natasha knew she had lost; she hadn’t really had any hope that she would win anyway. If Nick wanted her to do something, she was going to end up doing it, and that was that. She motioned her head for him to walk with her, and his smile grew. Asshole.

“I need you to take out a target,” Nick said as if there had never been any lull in the conversation.

“Who?” Natasha asked. They reached the elevator and she pressed the button to go up to the gym. Nick pressed the button for his office.

“Jake Porter.” He handed a manila folder to Natasha. It was heavy.

“Says he’s SHIELD?” Natasha asked as she quickly flipped through page after page.

“He is,” Nick nodded, looking down at Natasha. “He’s also the snitch from your last mission.”

Natasha nodded, trying to ignore some vital parts of that mission. She had managed to avoid you for a few months again, but she should have known better than to think it would have lasted forever. It seemed almost as if the world was conspiring against her.

“If it’s a hit, why is Y/N going?” Natasha asked, slamming the manila folder closed as aggressively as possible. It ended up just folding back over at an embarrassingly slow pace.

“He’s hiding in an underwater safe house.”

Of course he is.

“When do we leave?” Natasha asked as the elevator doors opened to Nick’s floor.

“In two hours,” Nick said as he walked forward, not even caring enough to look back.

Natasha sighed once the elevator doors slid shut again. A knot formed in her throat and stuck, forcing her to focus on each individual breath. Something was trying to claw it’s way out of her chest; she could only keep it at bay for so long. There would be hell to pay if it ever came forward.

“Is that not cannibalism?”

“No, it’s lunch.”

The voices pushed past the elevator doors before they were fully open, and Natasha couldn’t help the small smile that graced her lips. Both you and Yelena were sitting at the bar, trays of sushi and cups of tea in front of you. Your mouth was full and you weren’t even looking at Yelena, yet she continued to raise her brow at you in disbelief.

“You’re a fish, that’s fish. It’s cannibalism,” Yelena continued, but you shook your head and picked up another piece.

“Not a fish,” Natasha replied for you. The corner of your mouth tilted up and there was a slight shift in your gills, but Yelena just rolled her eyes.

“You two are disgusting,” Yelena mumbled to herself. “Shouldn’t you be planning a honeymoon or something?”

The room went cold. Your head tilted down until you were hunched over your sushi, picking the pieces apart with your chopsticks. There was a tenseness to your jaw that had to have been painful, but it didn’t ease up. Yelena shifted in her seat and looked down at the ground.

“It’s on hold,” Natasha shrugged, desperately wanting to get off the topic.

“Oh right,” Yelena nodded, already back to her usual demeanour. “You’ve got cold feet.”

“I don’t- I don’t have cold feet,” Natasha took a slight step back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Life is just busy.”

“Busy as in you don’t want to-”

“Did you down here for a reason?” You asked, throwing Natasha and Yelena off of their argument. You were still meticulously picking the sushi apart, rice grain by rice grain.

“We’ve got a mission,” Natasha said curtly. “We leave in two hours.”

“Okay,” you said as you stood up from the bar, towering over Natasha for only a moment before walking off. “See you then.”

“Why do they always leave me to clean up their mess,” Yelena groaned, and Natasha turned to see the mess of your sushi.

Instead of answering, Natasha just gave Yelena a wink and walked away. She has a mission to get ready for.

———

“Can you please turn the fucking heater on?” You shouted from the back for what had to have been the 12th time in the past 10 minutes. The pilot ignored you.

“If you’re cold, put on a jacket,” Natasha repeated. Your sigh could have been heard all the way back in New York.

But when she glanced up, she felt a knot form in her throat. Your thermal suit was clearly not doing anything for you as you pulled what looked to be a third jacket over your shaking shoulders. Blood was showing under your cheeks, and your gills were pulled in tight.

“There’s a space heater in the safe house,” Natasha said softly. You finally looked up and met her eyes.

As soon as your eyes narrowed in on her, she felt time stop. A heat started in her cheeks and spread to her neck and chest. It was as if you were looking into her, so deep that you could find the parts of her she didn’t even know about. Something about that look, something that dug into her core and left her feeling empty as soon as you looked away.

“I’ll freeze to death before then,” you mumbled before tearing your gaze away; you tore a hole through Natasha’s heart in the process.

For the rest of the flight, the only noise was the sound of your chattering teeth. It echoed through the quinjet and Natasha felt the beginning pangs of a migraine popping up in her head. If you didn’t stop soon, she was going to be driven into a homicidal rage.

“Hovering in five,” the pilot finally yelled out, and Natasha stood up quickly with the hopes that the faster she moved, the faster she could get away from the incessant staccato clacking of your teeth.

You stood up after a moment, standing far enough away from Natasha that she couldn’t feel your warmth. But you were still close enough for her to notice the shakiness spreading down your limbs. The way your harpoon jingled on your belt as your body was wracked with the occasional spasm. And yet you put on a brave face and braced for the mission.

“My mask has an hour of oxygen,” Natasha said, already pulling said mask onto her face. “Think we can finish by then?”

“Sh-shouldn’t t-take that long,” you stuttered, teeth shivering between words. “Short d-dive.”

“Opening the cargo door,” the pilot yelled, and just as he said, the cargo door opened and you both stared out into the dark, icy water.

“Age before beauty,” Natasha teased as she gestured out at the water.

“Very f-funny,” you chattered again, but followed her direction and stepped off the cargo door and into the freezing water below.

Natasha was quick to follow suit, wanting to get the dreadful part over as quickly as possible. The very instant her feet touched the water, a painful shock travelled across her skin, sinking deep into her bones. Her fingers reacted slowly when she tried to clench her fist.

“Let’s go,” you said through your comms, and Natasha managed to see you just in time before you disappeared into the inky darkness.

It was like Natasha was swimming through jello. No matter how much she willed her limbs to move, her body to keep going, it seemed she slowed down with each stroke. The water around her started to close in, each breath drawing the pressure closer. Her lungs were on fire and her heart was pounding too hard and the darkness was closing in and she needed out.

There was the whisper of a touch on her arm before she felt herself being yanked upward, finally soaring through the water like she had wanted. In a heartbeat the water released her, the pressure disappearing far faster than it had appeared. She yanked her mask off and inhaled deeply, ignoring the way her lungs screamed at her to stop.

“Trying to get yourself killed?” You asked, and Natasha finally took notice of your hand wrapped around her bicep.

“It was too dark,” Natasha replied, her tongue feeling heavy and slow.

“You didn’t answer the comms,” you continued, “I thought you had gotten lost.”

There was venom to your words. Natasha looked up and managed to calm her shaking enough to see the fire in your eyes, the clenching of your jaw, the freshly picked spots on your bottom lip. Your hand was gripped tight enough that if Natasha had any circulation left in her arm, it would’ve been cut off.

And she didn’t care.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Natasha said, finally yanking her arm out of your grasp. “You stay here for the getaway.”

You nodded and jumped back into the moon pool, already nothing more than a memory. Natasha wasn’t sure if she liked that or not. She shook her head and took off down the corridor, already on the hunt for her target.

It was easy. Far too easy. He was in his room, door unlocked, music far too loud for him to hear anyone come in. A single shot to the back of the head, and the mission was over. Now all she really needed to do was head back to the moon pool and then you could both get to the safe house and warm up.

Except for the small, itty bitty insignificant fact that the base was set to self destruct once Porter’s vitals stopped.

As soon as the sirens started to echo through the base, Natasha was sprinting down the halls. She didn’t know how much time was left, didn’t care, she just needed the both of you to get as far away as possible before you were stuck in the rubble. Natasha turned the last corner and saw you standing on the edge of the moon pool.

“A little faster, please?” You yelled, grabbing Natasha’s arm and pulling her into the water, giving her barely enough time to pull her oxygen mask back on.

You didn’t let go of her arm as you started cutting through the water. She could feel the blood pulling back from her limbs and pooling back in her core, and she felt like dead weight. Your momentum slowed as you pulled her up and wrapped your arm around her waist.

But then the muffled sirens stopped, and you both turned around just in time to see a flash. Natasha’s body wouldn’t react, just felt like lead as you pulled her closer, curling up around her until she was completely covered in you. The distorted explosion reached Natasha’s ears just as she felt the shock wave propel you both further away.

The spinning seemed to last forever, and Natasha felt like even her brain was spinning along with the rest of her body. She didn’t know when it stopped, couldn’t tell when you were still. It was impossible to tell what was up, down, where the surface was, how deep she was, how close she was to death.

Until you pulled away slightly and looked at her.

Natasha went to take a breath and immediately felt freezing water shoot down her throat. She cut the breath off as quickly as possible, but it was too late. The water was deep in her lungs, freezing each individual cell from the inside out. She didn’t have an oxygen mask anymore.

There was a split second where your eyes met hers, and they almost seemed to turn black before she felt your free hand close her nose. She was about to push you away when she felt your lips on hers, cold and chapped. You pulled her closer and teased her lips open, and she didn’t fight it. If she was about to die, then at least she would die happy.

And then you exhaled, and her lungs inflated and felt just a little lighter, and the darkness inched away.

You pulled your mouth away and started swimming again, presumably heading up though Natasha couldn’t tell anymore. Every few seconds you would exhale more oxygen into her lungs, keeping her alive as you dragged both of your freezing bodies back to safety.

As soon as you broke the surface, Natasha gasped and filled her lungs with fresh air before coughing the water back out. She was freezing, her limbs felt like lead, and her body was aching from the inside out. And yet you continued to pull her along, swimming to shore until you could pull her up with you.

The rocks on the shore poked into her suit, leaving bruises that would grow very quickly once she got back to the safe house. You laid on the shore too, back down, small pebbles sticking to your gills. From the way they twitched, it was clearly uncomfortable, if not painful.

You both stayed there, laying in the freezing tide, rocks and pebbles sticking into your skin to the point where you would both be recovering for weeks. Natasha’s eyes wanted to close; sleep seemed to wonderful and it would have been so easy. You could both just sleep and not hurt anymore.

But death was not in the cards, and Natasha wasn’t going to let a little cold win.

She rolled onto her stomach slowly, as fast as her body would allow, before pushing herself up to her knees and then her feet. It was painful; her body felt heavy and little pinpricks were on every inch of her skin. But she wasn’t going to think about it. Instead, she grabbed your arm and yanked you up, ignoring the gasps and hisses that you let out.

“Two miles left,” Natasha mumbled; her lips felt frozen shut.

The walk was slow; neither of you had the energy nor the warmth to make decent time. You both stumbled, tripping over your own feet, or the rocks, or the uneven terrain. But eventually you made it, right as the sun was at its highest point in the sky and Natasha almost felt the ghost of warmth in her cheeks.

“Sit down,” Natasha demanded as she threw the door open. She didn’t bother looking back before moving to grab the space heater and put it directly in front of the couch.

Your eyes were dead; they didn’t shine the way they were supposed to. Your hands kept a death grip on the blankets pulled tight over your shoulders. The shakiness in your body had disappeared, now completely still. It felt like a hole was punched through Natasha’s chest, grabbing her heart and ripping it out.

She sat on the sofa opposite you and just watched you. Hoping that you would move, that you would blink, that you would start shivering again. She didn’t know how long it normally took you to warm back up, didn’t know how long it would take for you to get back to normal. But she did know the word you had used for this condition before; you were torpid.

It felt like hours later, but Natasha’s eyes shot back to your face once she heard a wheezy gasp come from you. Your eyes looked glassy, but you blinked once, slowly, before a shiver wracked your body. Just one. But that was enough for Natasha to feel the vice grip around her throat release.

The ringing of the safe house phone made you both jump.

“Romanoff,” Natasha answered, her eyes travelling back to you.

“You’re safe?” Maria asked through the phone.

“Y/N’s torpid, but we’re secure,” Natasha said curtly. Her pulse was starting to increase.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Maria asked again.

No. No, Natasha wasn’t sure.

“I’m good,” Natasha replied anyway, “just ready to get out of here.”

“About that…”

“Don’t say it,” Natasha mumbled. She leaned against the wall and let her head fall back.

“A storm is rolling in and we won’t get to you in time,” Maria continued anyway. “You’re stuck there for a few days.”

Natasha looked over to you again, noting the rise and fall of your shoulders as you slowly, painfully pulled another blanket over your body, this time covering your head. The flush hadn’t come back to your cheeks yet, but you were moving. She could work with that.

“Will we keep power?” Natasha asked, although she already knew the answer.

“Questionable,” Maria answered anyway, “but the generator is in the back room.”

“How much can she manage?”

“She can handle one room. Use her wisely.”

One room. Not enjoyable, but manageable.

“Keep the phone plugged in?” Natasha asked.

“Preferably,” Maria answered, the sound of a smile coming through the phone. “I’d like to talk to you every now and then.”

“Then it’ll be ready,” Natasha replied with her own small smile. She missed Maria. She missed her a lot.

“I’ll try to call after the storm hits, test out the line,” Maria continued.

“I’ll be waiting for your call, then,” Natasha continued.

“You two are disgusting,” you called from the sofa, and Natasha was brought back to the current situation.

Right.

“Go check on the fish,” Maria sighed, “and keep yourselves warm.”

“Yes ma’am,” Natasha teased.

She stood up and hung up the phone before turning to check on you. You were shivering steadily, and your eyes were looking around. There was the faintest blush to your cheeks and forehead and your lips were looking slightly less chapped.

“W-what’s the w-word, bird?” You asked, looking up to meet her eyes.

“We’re stuck for a few days,” Natasha sighed as she sat on the sofa opposite you. Unlike you, she could heat up quickly. Now the cold was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

“So basically,” you started, “they’re leaving me to die.”

“No one is leaving you to die,” Natasha huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Yes they are.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Natasha shook her head. “You have every blanket in the house wrapped around you, how are you not warming up?”

“Because I can’t warm up like that and you know it,” you groaned before falling back against the mountain of blankets.

“I’m not putting up with this right now,” Natasha said, all concern from earlier gone. “Give me a blanket, I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Take the one off the top,” you pouted, “it’s not helping much anyway.”

Natasha walked over and grabbed the blanket you had mentioned, pretending not to notice the ice and pebbles still currently sticking to your gills. You looked absolutely miserable, and she felt a pang in her chest at the sight of your shivering frame.

But she couldn’t bring herself to say anything, instead just turning around and heading off to the one bedroom. She was going to get some sleep if it was the last thing she did.

Or so she thought.

Natasha woke up to darkness and a cold starting to seep through the blanket and her thermals. She planted her feet on the freezing floor and took a deep breath, not really prepared for the fact that the power was out, and she was going to need to watch you at all times to make sure you genuinely didn’t die.

She grabbed her blanket and the two pillows off the bed and made her way to the living room. There was a flickering glow on the walls, and she walked in to see you sitting in front of the space heater and a fire. The generator was more quiet than she had expected, but it still released a constant thrum throughout the safe house.

“When did-” Natasha cut herself off, her eyes having locked onto the bloody gauze and minuscule shrapnel pieces littering the floor.

“About three hours ago,” you replied, either ignoring her hesitation or not caring. “You were out for about seven.”

“Did Maria call?” Natasha asked, trying to walk around you without seeming obvious.

“Yeah,” you nodded. Natasha could see your eyes focused on your abdomen, shaky hands moving deftly. “Said the storm would last for about two day from the time she called.” You looked up with a raised brow. “And that she loves you.”

Natasha finally got a good look at what you had been doing while she was asleep. A jagged piece of metal was sticking out of the left side of your abdomen. There were numerous blood spots on the remainder of your suit, and some bloody tweezers and towels were on the floor in front of you.

“What happened?” Natasha asked, eyes still zeroed in on your side.

“From the blast,” you shrugged before looking back down to continue picking shrapnel out of your skin.

The blast? Natasha hadn’t gotten any kind of injury from the situation, aside from a headache and maybe some oxygen deprivation, but she didn’t recall anything hitting her. Why had it hit-

Oh.

Oh of course.

She was torn. She wanted to help, was desperate to fix you up so you wouldn’t hurt or bleed. But it would have been crossing a line; you never wanted anyone’s help. On top of that, anyone’s hands on your skin made you uncomfortable.

But you were doing such a bad job.

“Give it to me,” Natasha said. She held her hand out as she sat down beside you, already using her other hand to start taking the blankets off of your shoulders.

You huffed and started grumbling to yourself, but handed the tweezers over anyway. She finally made it down to your skin and found the true culprit of the metal sticking out of your side; an entry wound on your back, near your left shoulder.

“You pushed it forward so you could reach it, didn’t you?” Natasha asked as she got to work on the piece, picking smaller pieces out as she found them.

“Does it matter?” You asked. Natasha didn’t answer, instead just pushing the piece out of your skin and ignoring the hiss of pain you sent her way.

“Hand me the first aid kit,” Natasha demanded. You grumbled again but did as you were told.

It was quick work patching you back up; your low blood pressure was very beneficial in the moment, and she wasn’t worried about you bleeding out before you could get back to the tower. You wouldn’t be comfortable, but at least you would be safe.

Once she was sure you weren’t going to ooze through the gauze, Natasha gathered the bloody articles and got up to throw them away. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see you pulling the blankets back over your shoulders, wincing every now and then when you twisted the wrong way.

When Natasha got back and sat down on the sofa, she just watched you. Watched your slowed breathing, the occasional shiver, the inaudible groan when you shifted. You looked miserable, but at least you were breathing and talking.

“I’m bored.”

Maybe she didn’t like that you were talking.

“Then you’re going to have a rough few days,” Natasha answered.

“But I’m bored,” you whined. “Help me not be bored.”

“You’re an adult, find something to do,” Natasha shot back. She got up and walked over to the bookshelf, leafing through things that she knew she wasn’t going to read, but was hoping it would give you the idea to find something.

“If I get too bored then I’ll die,” you sighed. “Do you want me to die?”

Natasha turned her head slowly and raised her brow at you.

“How dare you,” you whispered.

She turned her head back to the bookshelf so you wouldn’t see the smile desperately trying to show on her face. Your sounds of indignation continued to reach her ears, so she hurriedly picked the next book her fingers touched and walked back to the couch.

You both sat in silence for a while, and Natasha actually managed to get some reading done. She had no idea what the story was actually about, but that didn’t matter. All that really mattered was that she was killing time, and if she killed enough time then it would be time for her to go back home and forget any of this had ever happened.

“Nat, I’m bored,” you said again after more silence.

“I already told you to find something to do,” Natasha replied without looking up from her book. “I’m not going to find something for you.”

“Fine,” you grumbled as you pushed yourself up from the floor. “I’ll do it myself.”

Natasha sighed but let you go. She didn’t look up, but she was still hyper aware of where you were in the safe house. Aware of each step you took, of each cabinet you opened. Just knowing where you were gave her a sense of comfort.

“Wanna play a game?” You shouted from the other side of the safe house.

It was going to be a long few days.

———

“Connect four,” Natasha said as she slid her red chip into place. Again.

“Connect four my ass, you fucking cheater,” you said as you tried to find out just where Natasha had cheated.

“How do you cheat at connect four?” Natasha asked, a smile threatening to show through her facade.

“I don’t know, but you did,” you said, pointing your finger at her. In turn, Natasha just chuckled and took another sip of her vodka.

Two empty bottles were on the kitchen counter.

“I demand a rematch,” you said again, giving her a deathly stare.

“You’ve been saying that for the past 37 matches,” Natasha said simply.

“Fine, then we’ll play another game,” you said quickly. “We’ve got… Clue, Monopoly, Parcheesi.”

“We’ve played all of those, Y/N,” Natasha pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter, we’ll play them again and again until I win and you stop cheat-”

The sound of the generator shutting down made the both of you fall silent. Almost instantly, Natasha noticed the cold soak into your bones and your body start shaking. Your teeth clattered and you instinctively pulled the blankets tighter.

“That’s not good,” Natasha whispered. Her voice seemed to echo in the now-silent house.

“It’s cold, Talia,” you shivered. You sounded like a scared little kid.

It broke Natasha’s heart.

She didn’t know if it was the butterflies or the alcohol, but she ignored the feeling in her stomach and moved over until she was sitting directly next to you. Her hand lifted the blankets up so she could get under them, and then found her arms wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you against her.

Your body was tense against her, but it relaxed quickly once you were settled. There was a peace about you that Natasha hadn’t felt in months, since before that mission so long ago. And your body relaxed against hers gave Natasha more peace than she could ever hope to get with anyone else.

“You’re ridiculously warm,” you mumbled from under the blankets.

“It’s a gift,” Natasha teased. You chuckled, but then sat up and switched the positions, pulling Natasha into your lap.

“You’re warmer this way,” you mumbled as you laid your head against her neck. Your breath tickled her skin.

Sitting in your lap was a dangerous place to be.

“We can’t do this,” Natasha said softly.

“We’re still on a mission,” you said, your lips moving against her skin. “It doesn’t count if it’s on a mission.”

“You know that’s not true,” Natasha said. You lifted your head and looked at her.

She could see the flush in your cheeks, going down your neck and tinting your gills. There was a darkness to your eyes, reminiscent of the inky water you two had escaped from. And just like that water, they pulled Natasha in. Pulled her in and held her captive as they engulfed her completely until there was nothing else but her and the water.

“It can be,” you whispered, moving in slowly.

“Don’t kiss me,” Natasha said so softly, her voice more like the ghost of a whisper.

“Say it like you mean it,” you said, now only a fraction of an inch away.

“I can’t,” Natasha whispered around the knot in her throat.

She could feel your breath on her lips, could feel the way your fingers were digging into her thigh and hip. The fire left a warm glow on your face, illuminating the scars, the shaved hair that was starting to grow back in, the sparkle of the inviting water in your eyes.

And Natasha wanted to dive in.

Until the rumble of a quinjet landing nearby shocked her out of her trance. She pushed herself off of your lap, rushing to the door as quickly as possible and throwing it open to see Maria standing on the cargo door.

“Need a lift?” Maria asked over the roar of the quinjet.

“And a medic,” you said, suddenly appearing behind Natasha. You had ditched the blankets and were standing tall, although Natasha could see the slight shake in your hands.

“Lucky for you, we’ve got both,” Maria said with a smile, ushering for the both of you to hop in.

Natasha got in first and looked back to help you in, but you ignored her outstretched hand and crawled in on your own, face scrunched in pain as your wounds pulled. You didn’t look at her when you passed, instead heading straight to the medic and letting him get a look at your injuries.

You ignored Natasha the entire trip home.

Natasha swore everyone on the jet could hear her heart explode the same way the underwater base had.

[ibis-gt]

Can we see the story of the gulliver's hanahaki first kiss?? Kiss, and then shrink so hard you're hanging off those lips you just kissed!

ough ok you got me Thinkin. just shy of 1500 words under the cut.

It was day two of their relationship, and Luther was already tired of taking it slow.

That was something they’d established on day one. Once Cam had finally puzzled out why Luther kept shrinking around him - his insanely embarrassing crush on Cam, of course - he’d laughed out loud, which only hurt a little, and then asked Luther out, which more than made up for it. The date hadn’t been anything spectacular by others’ standards, just a night in with popcorn and a movie, but it had been absolutely magical for Luther to finally be with the man of his dreams and not have to try to hide how deeply attracted to Cam he was. But having his feelings reciprocated hadn’t stopped his strange affliction, and when Cam leaned in for a good night kiss, all he got was air. Luther, now of a height with Cam’s ankles, had once again wished he’d just shrink away into nothing to spare himself the embarrassment.

So, the agreement. They’d take everything slow until Luther got used to it and wouldn’t end up tiny just because his boyfriend smiled at him. Cam was patient and willing to wait. Luther, however, had been bottling up his feelings since they’d first met, and was just about at the end of his rope. He wanted romance, he wanted passion, he wanted to be swept off his feet, and anyway being the size of a Polly Pocket made that last bit easier.

The two of them were sitting on Cam’s couch together watching some mindless soap drama at the end of a long day at work. They sat on opposite sides of the couch, since just a touch from Cam could make Luther lose a few inches. Luther took a deep breath to steady his nerves. It was time to make his move. He began to scoot closer to Cam, closing the gap between them. If Cam noticed, he didn’t react. Slowly but surely, Luther inched over until he was nearly touching Cam. He paused, did a breathing exercise to help slow his racing heart, and then leaned over until his side was flush with Cam’s, his head leaning on Cam’s shoulder. He held that pose for a moment, willing himself with all his might to stay full size. A moment passed… another… and he seemed to be all there. He let out a happy sign and relaxed into the touch, all the tension flooding out of him. His face was heating up, sure, and his heart was still going a mile a minute, but he seemed to be in control enough that he wasn’t panicking and activating the shrinking. So far, so good.

Cam seemed to notice Luther’s lack of shrinkage as well, and shifted so that his arm was draped over Luther’s shoulders. Uh oh. Okay, okay, Luther could handle this, no problem. This was just some nice romantic intimacy, nothing too heavy, they were just fine. Then Cam laughed at some inane moment on the show, and his laughter shook his body and Luther with it. The sheer proximity hit Luther all at once, and he felt himself begin to shrink. Cam’s arm grew heavier on his shoulders as he fought for control. No, no no, no no no, you’re fine, you can handle this, he thought desperately. You’re just leaning on your boyfriend. Get a grip.

But then came the nail in his coffin. Cam, noticing Luther begin to shrink, tried to do the supportive thing. He rubbed Luther’s back with his hand and looked down at him with that beautiful face, eyebrows drawn up adorably in an expression of concern, and asked in a soft voice, “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

That was it. Luther’s heart jumped into his throat and the bottom fell out of his stomach and in a moment he was a mere eight inches tall, thankfully saved from nudity by the newly-designed jumpsuit that would shrink and grow with him. He slid down into the indent Cam made in the couch cushion and buried his face in his hands.

“Oh, shoot, I’m sorry,” Cam said, far above him. “I didn’t mean to - shoot.” He picked up the remote and clicked the TV off, then reached down and laid his hand next to Luther. “You wanna come up here?”

Luther climbed into the offered palm and held on as Cam carefully lifted him up to eye height. “Sorry,” Luther sighed. “I guess I rushed it a little too much. I just… I want to be able to be with you like… like a normal person. I don’t care if I shrink, really! I’m just tired of holding back.”

Cam’s worried expression smoothed into a fond smile. He stroked Luther’s back with one finger. “I’m fine with whatever you’re comfortable with,” Cam said. “If you want to do normal couple things, we can do normal couple things. I just thought you might want to avoid this as much as possible.”

“Well, I do, I don’t want to be a burden to you all the time, but…” Luther trailed off, looking down and away. He started in surprise as Cam put a fingertip to his chin and tilted it up so that he could look Luther in the eyes.

“You’re not a burden to me. You never are.” Cam hesitated, then continued on. “Honestly… and maybe I shouldn’t say it, because I’m sure it’s not fun for you, but I like you when you’re all tiny… I like you at any size, but you’re especially cute like this, you know? Fitting in the palm of my hand and all… it’s nice.”

Luther gaped, seeing a flush of red start to creep across Cam’s cheeks. He was so certain that his change in size could only ever be an annoyance, a pain, something to be dealt with, he hadn’t even considered that someone might find it nice.

“Really?” Luther whispered. For a moment, he was scared Cam would say no, that it had all been a joke, and throw him out of the apartment. It was ridiculous, absurd, Cam would never do that, but just for a moment that fear gripped him like a vice.

“Really,” Cam assured him, and the fear dissolved like cotton candy in water.

“Oh,” Luther said, and it was all he could say for a moment, so he said it again. “Oh.” Then a desire welled up in him, and he said, “Kiss me?”

Cam gave a short, incredulous laugh. “Um, I want to, but… how?”

“Just…” Luther leant forward on Cam’s hand, shifting so that he sat on his knees with his hands on the edge of Cam’s palm. His eyes focused on Cam’s lips. “Just kiss me. My face, I guess. Whole thing’s fine.”

“Okay… here goes. Tell me if it’s too much?” Luther nodded, so Cam brought him closer hesitantly. Luther reached out and put his hands on either side of Cam’s mouth, and Cam gently pressed his lips against Luther’s face.

It was immediately overwhelming, but Luther didn’t care. He didn’t have room to care. He was surrounded by lovely soft warmth, like pressing his face into a pillow. He kissed Cam’s bottom lip as hard as he could, desperate to give back any sensation possible. He knew Cam could feel it, because Cam laughed fondly through his nose, a warm exhalation of breath that tousled Luther’s hair and sent shivers down his spine.

Luther felt himself begin to shrink again.

In his whole life, the smallest he’d ever been was just a hair under three inches tall. The shrinking sensation was so strong that even before he was halfway through, he knew he was about to smash that record. He felt his hands trail down Cam’s cheeks and his bottom lip and grabbed on tight. His legs came up off of Cam’s palm as he dwindled down til he was just dangling off of Cam’s lip, feet kicking in a blind panic, digging his nails into Cam’s lip to keep from falling. His stomach dropped as Cam’s mouth opened, jaw lowering infinitesimally, but enough at Luther’s size to nearly jar him loose from his perch. He buried his face in Cam’s lip, not wanting to see inside that terrifying cavern in front of him.

“Woah,” Cam breathed, and the force of the word hit him like a gale. Luther squeaked in panic. He lost his hold and tumbled backwards, thankfully falling into Cam’s waiting hand. Cam stared in shock down at his itty bitty boyfriend, only an inch tall. Luther stared back up in sheer incomprehension. Cam was so large to him now that he filled Luther’s vision completely.

“Oh, jeez,” Cam murmured, trying to keep his voice quiet, but it still thundered around Luther like the voice of a god. “Maybe we went a little too fast there.”

[likeshipsonthesea]

I don’t know if you take requests for nurseydex fics... but if you do the song “omg did she call him baby” by Beth McCarthy screams a heartbroken Nursey when Dex has a girlfriend

i like really can’t do genuine heartbreak but i CAN do angst that ends happy, so here’s my best shot :)

Nursey’s got a red Solo cup in one hand and a plastic champagne flute in the other and it’s sometime after three but before five and he is definitely not thinking about her or him or them together when he looks up between one sip and another to see the telltale blue hair reflecting the murky spotlights of the basement.

Nursey squints. He could be making things up--his brain is nice like that-- but he doesn’t think he’s imagining things. She’s got very distinctive hair, Dex’s--girlfriend. It’d been rather disappointing, actually, the blue hair. The whole thing had been easier to deal with when he’d been picturing some light-haired brunette going for an economics degree who smiled like a mom at soccer practice. Someone who Nursey could reasonably dislike on grounds of, like, predictability.

But no, Dex had to bring home a blue-haired physics major with a nose ring and good taste in music and the ability to out-argue Shitty while polishing off Bitty’s pie, i.e. perfect. Even Lardo couldn’t pretend like she wasn’t awesome for Nursey’s sake. Even Nursey can’t pretend like Amanda isn’t awesome for his own sake. She’s just so--so--

Nursey squints.

So-- making out with some random girl in a blouse at a frat party.

What the fuck.

Nursey is about two margaritas and three years too deep to be dealing with the emotional ramifications of catching the girlfriend of his best friend (who he’s also kind of sort of possibly maybe totally in love with) macking on some consultant for Goldman Sachs or some shit in the basement of arguably one of the worst frats at Samwell. This one doesn’t even have good music, Nursey’s only here to get drunk without the possibility of Dex calling Nursey Patrol and helping Nursey up the stairs and saying nothing about the poetry Nursey spills or the way his hands linger.

(Fuck does Nursey hate Nursey Patrol, fuck does he hate how much he loves it.)

Nursey downs the rest of the champagne flute--which was probably mostly orange juice at this point anyway-- and hands the red Solo cup to a freshman gearing himself up to talk to a cute boy a few feet away and then Nursey gets the fuck out of dodge. He manages to get a better look at the corporate recruiter Amanda is cheating on Dex with (and really, if you’re going to cheat on Dex, you’re really going to pick a chick in a blouse that probably has opinions on the stock market???) and if he hadn’t been sure before, the distinctive tattoo on Amanda’s shoulder proves that it’s really her.

(“Tattoos? Tattoos? I have tattoos.” “I know you do, Nurse.” “They’re really nice tattoos.” “I know they are, Nurse.”)

Emerging from the basement and then the frat house itself is instantly sobering. The chill from winter hasn’t quite left the air at night and Nursey wraps his arms around himself and doesn’t think about how Dex chirped him about not wearing a coat before he’d left. The frat isn’t far away from the Haus, thank god, but it is slightly farther when he turns left instead of right and then has to a backtrack a bit, but he still gets back in under ten minutes and he can still feel his hands, so overall, a win.

Attempting to get into the Haus quietly is a lost cause, given its one thousand year old floor and the fact that a ladybug could fart in the kitchen and wake up the guys in the attic. Still, Nursey gives it the good college try, which is why he’s creeping ridiculously through the living room when the light turns on suddenly and he screams, much to the amusement of Dex, standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Fuck, dude, what the fuck.”

Dex just smirks in that horribly attractive way of his. “How was the Psi-U basement?”

Nursey thinks of blue hair, washed out in the lights, Amanda’s hand on that girl’s cheek, the way Dex smiles when he’s around her. “Fine,” Nursey says, swaying.

The amusement falters and Nursey wishes he could figure out a way to keep the smile on Dex’s face the way Amanda does. Dex takes a step closer. “Are you alright?”

Nursey shakes his head violently and takes a step back, a step farther away. This is the part where he says yes, yes of course Dexy-darling, I’m right as rain, what about you? This is the part where Dex rolls his eyes and loops his arm around Nursey’s waist, his warm side pressed into Nursey’s. The part where they go upstairs, where Nursey writes his best poetry that he’s too embarrassed to write down when he’s sober, where Dex tells him to sleep well and lingers outside the doorway long enough for Nursey’s breathing to slow and then the floor creaks and Nursey knows he’s gone and wishes he’d held on just a little bit longer--

“Nursey, what’s wrong?”

Nursey shakes his head again. He means to say nothing, he means to say, I’m going to bed, he means to-- “Amanda, she--”

The concern turns to alarm. Why can’t Nursey ever make it better? “Is she alright? Did you see her? Is she okay?”

Nursey shakes his head again. He can’t seem to stop doing that. “She’s fine, she--she--” He swallows, and it’s sticky, cloying, citrusy and sweet on the back of his tongue. “She--there was this girl, she-- Amanda, she--”

Dex won’t stop frowning, concern knitting his eyebrows together with three short wrinkles, and Nursey has wanted to smooth them out with his fingertips every time he sees them since sophomore year, and he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be telling Dex this while he’s drunk, shouldn’t be telling Dex this at all, but he’s Nursey’s friend first and Nursey has to believe he’d tell Dex regardless of the love thing, he must--

“She was kissing some girl. In the Psi-U basement.”

The wrinkles smooth out. The amusement returns. Nursey--he can’t make sense of it over the ringing in his ears. Why is Dex smiling? Did--did Nursey do that?

“Did she look like a lawyer?” he asks, and at Nursey’s confusion clarifies, “The girl Amanda was kissing. Did she look like a lawyer?” Nursey nods dumbly. Dex’s smile only grows. Nursey is so, so confused and also more in love than he’s ever been. “Finally. I just won fifty bucks.”

What the fuck. “What the fuck.”

Dex laughs--laughs. “The girl’s name is Tammy. She graduated last year and moved to Boston. Amanda’s been in love with her forever, and I bet her that she’d get with Tammy before I--” Flush appears high on Dex’s cheeks, the soft pink one that means embarrassment and Nursey imagines would taste like cherry pie against his lips.

Nursey is--still quite a bit drunk. He needs--clarification. “You--you bet your girlfriend that she would get with her friend at a frat party?”

Dex’s nose scrunches up in Nursey’s favorite way--the same way it does when he’s trying to write humanities essays, the reason Nursey always says yes when Dex asks for help. “Girlfriend? Did you think Amanda was my girlfriend?”

Nursey remembers the start, hearing about Amanda every other day, then every day, then it was, sorry I can’t come, I’m meeting Amanda at-- and then one day at Annie’s, a girl with blue hair and a sharp grin yelled Babe! from across the room and planted a kiss on Dex’s cheek, her hand lingering on his shoulder, sipping from his coffee cup, getting him to smile like that--

“Well, yeah.” Nursey’s head is spinning and, for the first time tonight, not from the gin. “Is she--is she not?”

“Oh God, no, she’s so fucking gay, dude.” Laughter twinkles in Dex’s eyes. Nursey is drunker than he’s been since freshmen year of high school when Shitty snuck in some of his dad’s hard liquor and the janitors found them on the roof singing Disney songs at the moon. Dex’s girlfriend is gay. Dex’s girlfriend isn’t his girlfriend. Dex is--is smiling at him like he smiles at his girlfriend who isn’t his girlfriend.

“Oh,” Nursey says, dazed, “chill.”

“Oh wow,” Dex grins, leaning into the doorframe, “I can’t believe you thought--and you thought telling me my girlfriend was cheating on me at 3am while shit-drunk was a good idea?”

Nursey says, “Hey, honesty is important, and I’m not--” He stops. He remembers something. He squints. “Wait. If you bet 50 bucks on Amanda getting with Tammy, who did Amanda bet you would get with?”

The cherry pie blush is back. Nursey takes an absent-minded step forward. The room feels so much lighter now that Dex’s girlfriend isn’t cheating on him. The distance between them feels so much sillier now that Dex doesn’t have a girlfriend.

“Ah, well.” Dex rubs at the back of his neck, all country bumpkin sheepish to ask his sweetheart to the dance, and--and--

“I’m the sweetheart,” Nursey realizes with the kind of crystal clarity only afforded by the most copious amounts of alcohol.

Dex’s eyebrows furrow, those sweet little wrinkles appearing between them, and Nursey takes two long strides forward and presses his thumb into them. Dex goes cross-eyed trying to watch, but moves his eyes to meet Nursey’s after a moment.

Nursey grins, likely a bit sloppy from the gin, but he can’t find it in himself to care at the moment. “I’m the sweetheart,” he repeats, beaming.

Dex tries to repress the smile at his lips. “You’re not a sweetheart.”

“Yes I am,” Nursey sings, listing forwards. “You like me.”

“You’re an asshole.” Dex’s smile grows. Nursey watches its progress and sways.

“They’re not mutually exclusive,” he says, tracking the pink lips as they spread, revealing teeth and--and tongue and--

“I hate that you can still say mutually exclusive when you’re this drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm. See, I’ll prove it.”

“How do you plan on--”

If Dex’s mouth weren’t so preoccupied, he might say that the taste on Nursey’s tongue is a good indication that he is in fact fairly tipsy, but as it is--well. He’s got other things to do.

(Amanda asserts that they tied since it happened on the same night and only pays $25. Tammy throws in five more and a condom and they call it even. Nursey kisses away Dex’s protest and pockets the condom, much to Amanda’s amusement. Turns out, she’s even cooler when she isn’t dating the love of Nursey’s life.)

[wroteasongabouther]

can’t stand to see you lonely: part 1

a/n: oh my god guys it’s finally here!😬 i really hope i didn’t hype myself up too much and that you guys actually like it. overall i just wanted to put out a story that revolved around christmas and this is what i came up with! so without me babbling too much, i hope you enjoy part 1 of my new story and as always any feedback/reblogs are very much appreciated.

and of course, thank you to the lovely jess @arrogantstyles and jill @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading this part for me and giving this rusty old writer the help i needed lol

word count: 17k

warnings: mentions of alcohol, some sexual tension, and an over consumption of starbucks holiday drinks.

fic page // let’s chat // cstsyl playlist 

“What floor?” Harry asks, eyes stuck on the many buttons in the elevator instead of seeing who had entered the small space with him. He can tell it’s a woman, and they smelt lovely.

“Six please,” her soft voice replies.

Harry looks over his shoulder in what he hopes is a smooth motion to get a quick peek at who was behind that sweet voice. Her eyes were squinting slightly as she smiles at him. She must be my new neighbour, he thinks as he hits the number six button and it lights up before the elevator begins to move. He steps back, standing in the opposite corner of the young woman. Harry assumes that she is maybe a few years younger than him, but one thing he knew for sure was that she was very pretty. He may even say she was stunning. She's all bundled up with a long coat and a thick scarf as he guesses she had just gone out for some shopping, judging by the few large white paper bags hanging off her arm.

“Did you just recently move in?” He questions, catching her eyes switching from gazing at the wall to his own instead.

She smiles again and nods, “yeah.”

“I thought I heard someone move in beside me,” he exclaims. He was certain that someone had moved in beside him. It caused him a bit of a headache hearing all the moving around. And then on top of that, his new neighbour had decided to get right to hammering in on the wall they shared. Little did he know, there was a determined and beautiful girl on the other side.  

“Oh you’re my neighbour then?” She says, bringing Harry back from his memory of a few days ago.

“Harry,” he introduces himself, reaching a hand out into the space between them. She switches her Starbucks holiday cup into her other hand in order to shake his. Her hand is warm from holding the drink and it causes Harry's stomach to erupt with little bitty butterflies.

“Y/N,” she says in the same gentle voice as before. He wanted to hear her talk more. There was something about the soft tone of her voice, like he could listen to her speak into the late hours and early mornings and never once get tired of it. He blinks a few times and drops her hand at his intimate thought.

Harry didn't believe in love at first sight per say, but he was known to develop an infatuation of sorts very quickly. A crush as some would call it. Well, to be precise, Mitch teases him the most of his little crushes. There was that one time that Harry fumbled over his words over and over again when they had gone for dinner and had a rather attractive waitress, having asked for her number at the end of the night too. Mitch mocked him for days about it, asking if she had ever texted him back - she didn’t. And Harry didn’t even want to think about the time he spilled an entire blended margarita on his white vans when a certain handsome lifeguard had winked at him during their trip in LA last summer. Mitch still doesn’t let that incident go either.

The elevator doors open, and Harry gives her a smile and motions with a hand for her to walk out before he does. His mom must’ve raised him well, Y/N thinks at her new neighbours mannerisms. First holding the elevator for her, then offering to press the elevator button, and now letting her exit first. Suppose it was just minor things, but growing up in this lovely city that is New York meant she was used to the rudeness of people and sadly the simplest of gestures can make her heart beat just a bit faster in her chest.

“If you uh,” Harry pauses as Y/N stops at her front door but looks back at him as he speaks. Harry slows his steps to keep eye contact with her. “If you ever need anything, don’t feel shy to knock on my door.”

Y/N smiles again, nodding at his offer while she twists her key in the lock and opens her front door. Harry's walking backwards now, just a few steps to that same door he’s saying she can knock on. His eye contact is intense, but addicting, like every word she had to say to him mattered. His eyes are green, just green, nothing crazy and yet she found them very endearing. Would it be cliche of her to say she swore she saw them sparkle?

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you,” she says and before she can say anything else, she steps into her new apartment and shuts the door behind her.

Y/N finds herself standing there for a moment, remembering every word Harry had spoken to her as she slips out of her shoes. She then remembers his facial features while undoing her coat and hanging it up along with her scarf. The bit of facial hair he was sporting, how it seemed like it may have taken a while to grow so he kept it minimal. Or that little mole by his mouth, she even took note of that in their short time together. He had a cute nose too, she thinks. Harry takes up every inch of space in her mind for over an hour before she’s brought out of whatever dream state fog she was in. She lets out a deep breath and shakes her head a little before going about wrapping the presents she had bought earlier in the day while sipping her Christmas Starbucks drink, falling back in love with the holidays all over again.

“No, no, no, no,” Y/N groans as she twists and turns the knobs for her shower, and yet, nothing happens. Only a few drops fall to the tiled floor causing her to let out another string of curses. “This can not be happening,” she says.

But it was. Y/N’s hair was a mess, beyond greasy and a bit matted from her sleep last night. Not to mention she smelt like sweat from bringing up the box that held her new fake christmas tree this morning. She had been tempted to walk down the hall and knock on Harry's door, but she didn’t want to be annoying and fall into the stereotypes of the helpless young female living on her own for the first time. So instead she grabbed a cable knit sweater, tugged on her old dirty ugg boots, and went down in the elevator to meet with the Amazon delivery person. Little did she know that the box was way too tall for the elevator. So, she ended up bringing it up herself. All six flights of stairs, Y/N pulled and dragged that box up to her floor which caused her to break quite the sweat. Thankfully, it wasn’t so heavy, but she couldn’t help but think that she went through all of this just so she could get her new fake christmas tree up. Freaking fake! Not even a real one because apparently that wasn't allowed at her apartment building. Oh, how she was going to miss the smell of a fresh christmas tree. And oh, how she wanted to get rid of this disgusting smell of sweat she embodied now.

“Why me?” She winces, looking up at the ceiling and letting the glass door for her shower close as she gave up on the water magically appearing.

Is this the most appropriate time to not be shy and knock on Harry's door? Suddenly, her Apple watch vibrates, and she brings her arm up to see the reminder she had set before to tell her of the tight schedule she’s on for the day. With only 45 minutes left to get ready, she needed to get moving quickly. Y/N curses herself for wasting the past fifteen minutes on her phone, reading over her newest Instagram comments and aimlessly scrolling through her feed. So she tugs both sides of her purple robe that she had changed into anticipating a shower in her own home. Y/N pulls it tighter and ties the belt around her waist into a bow, and before she can give it a second thought, she’s out the door of her own apartment and starting down the hallway.

Harry didn’t know when he thought Y/N would eventually knock on his door. A part of Harry was hoping that she would have knocked sooner than a week later. But nonetheless, when there was a frantic knock on his door, he didn’t miss how his heart skips in his chest as he imagined Y/N standing on the other side. Peering through the peephole in his door he saw her standing there - in a bathrobe? Harry's brows pull together in confusion as he unlocks the door and heaves the door open.

“Is your water working?” She asks, her voice sounding as panicked as her knocking had been. But before Harry can answer she starts talking a million miles an minute. “Cause mine’s not, like not a single drop and I need to shower. So badly. And I know it’s probably super weird and rude of me to just bang on your door and ask to use your shower. Honestly, I can’t even believe I am but I am in such a hurry and I have the busiest day ahead of me with work and going to the-”

“Y/N,” Harry cuts her off abruptly. Y/N rolls her lips into her mouth and blinks up at him. “You need to use my shower? Is that what you’re getting at?”

Harry is a bit thrown off, not once did he think she’d come knocking for this reason. He glances down the hall awkwardly. He hopes that that noisy neighbour of theirs across the hall wasn’t peeping into their conversation, or seeing Y/N in this bathrobe. Mr Matthers can be a bit of a creep, Harry thinks. At the thought he hears a creak come from behind the door that’s across the hall.

She nods, “I know it’s like super strange to ask but mine is not working and I don’t have time to figure it out.” When Harry looks back at her, he notices she’s staring down at the ground between them, her eyes blinking rapidly as if she’s realizing what she’s gotten herself into. Harry didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable.

“S’alright, really, come in,” Harry says while opening the door to his apartment wider.

Y/N gives him a smile of appreciation before stepping into his home. The layout of Harry’s apartment is really just the opposite of hers, but the interior design he’s gone with is a lot better.

He’s gone for the classic monochrome look with blacks, white and greys. But with pops of colour where it matters, like a blanket over the back of his large L-shaped couch that looked handmade. She wonders if a family member made it, quite liking the light blues and pinks blended together. He’s got the same hardwood flooring like her own apartment and the plain off white paint on the walls - but with a few very unique paintings hung up on them. There’s two tall shelves, full of vinyls and novels and some picture frames too, that are on either side of his large flat screen tv which he took the time to hook up on the wall. It’s got a TV show paused on the screen, in her quick glance she can’t tell what show he was watching before she knocked but it looked like a cooking show. The corners of her lips twitch up into a smile at the thought of Harry being into cooking or baking maybe. He’s got a matching chair to his couch in the living room too that looks like she could fall asleep in it within a second. Overall it simply seems more grown up than her apartment - more put together and clean, that’s for sure.

To give her some credit, she has just moved in while she’s sure Harry’s been here for a while. Harry steps away from the door after locking it again, taking a few steps in order to be in her line of sight. With an arm thrown up, finger pointing down the hall, he gives Y/N another smile. He can’t help it, she looks rather adorable in that purple bathrobe. Was that all she was wearing? He thought to himself. He clears his throat as his mind goes on to imagine what’s under that plush purple material she’s wearing.

“Bathroom’s the first on the left,” he states, “did you bring your own soap or anything?”

“Honestly, no, I just kind of ran out of my place in quite a hurry and didn’t think twice as I got the sudden nerve to come over here.”

“Well, lucky for you I care about hair care, so there’s some good shampoos and even a nice hair oil to put into your hair afterwards when it’s damp. It’s in a small clear bottle with a white and gold label, by my toothbrush,” Harry explains. Y/N nods and starts towards the bathroom. With each step further into Harry’s home, she realizes what exactly she’s done. She can’t believe it really - just asking a complete stranger to let her shower in their home. She could be a murderer for all Harry knew, and he just opened his home up so freely. She steps into the bathroom, switching on the lights and the fan, she shuts the door and sighs. Lifting her arm up her Apple watch lights up to show the time. She had twenty minutes tops to shower, that’s all.

The bathroom is clean, very clean actually. Y/N lets her gaze wander around the space for a moment. There’s matching hand towels and all his skin and hair care are placed neatly on the small counter space too. She assumes he’s a bit of a neat freak. Turning to the shower, she opens the glass door gently and instantly reaches for the silver knobs. As she turns them water falls from the showerhead above her.

“Thank God,” she whispers while looking up at the water.

Y/N adjusts it to her preferred temperature and then she works on untying the knot of her robe. Words can’t describe how grateful she is that it held together in front of Harry. Him seeing her in the robe and with her hair in the state it’s in is embarrassing enough. Honestly, she can’t believe she even knocked on his door in it, and without any clothes to change into afterwards too. Stupid, she thinks while opening the glass door once more and stepping into the shower.

As Harry had said, there’s many bottles littering the built in shelves of the shower. Her fingers lazily turn the bottles so the labels face her. They’re all scented lavender of some sorts, helping with curly hair and volume. Well that explains why his hair looks so lovely, Y/N thinks as she opens a bottle of shampoo and squeezes it till a good amount falls into her other hand. As she hums ‘Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’ she lathers up her hair and massages her scalp. Rinsing it out after and then doing the same with the conditioner. While she lets the conditioner sit in her hair she scans the few other bottles on the shelves for a body wash. She didn’t want to come out of the shower smelling like a pre-teen boy, but she also did not want to smell like sweat. Goats milk and lavender infused, Y/N reads the label of what looks to do a locally owned product. She can’t help but smile as she reaches for it and pours some into her hands before rubbing it over her skin. There’s something so sweet knowing that Harry supports local businesses. He really doesn’t seem like the guys that Y/N is used to.

Three sharp knocks on the door startle Y/N, bringing her out of her day dreams. She quickly brings her arms up to her chest, trying to save herself some modesty if Harry did walk in. Because of course she didn’t think to lock the door. God, what if Harry is a murderer? Y/N thinks. She doesn’t know him, he could very well walk in here with a large kitchen knife and stab her multiple times in the chest while the water begins to run red and she dies right here all because she thought his dimpled smile and green eyes were enduring. Didn’t she learn anything from the whole Ted Bundy thing? Hello, hot guy doesn’t immediately mean nice!

“Y/N?” Harry calls out from the other side of the door, raising his voice just slightly so she could hear it over the running water. She shakes her head from her ridiculous thought - no more Criminal Minds at night for her, she takes the quick mental note.

“Yes?” She responds.

“I just realized I didn’t give you a towel,” he says, his voice sounding strained as he closes his eyes and tries to not imagine his neighbour naked in his shower. Harry’s fist tightens around the towel as his mind ignores him and thinks of how the water is dripping down her skin.

“Oh, yeah,” she breathes out. Looking around the bathroom beyond the foggy glass. There weren't any towels that she could see. Maybe they were under the sink.

“So I uh, I grabbed one for you. I can just open the door really fast and drop it in, I wouldn’t look in I swear, I’d face the hallway and just reach through,” he clarifies, “wait, you locked the door didn’t you?”

“Actually, I didn’t,” Y/N says, “so yeah just drop it in, please and thank you,”

Harry nods, regardless of the fact Y/N can’t see him. He takes a deep breath before turning the doorknob and opening the door just a crack. The towel doesn’t quite fit through, so he opens it a bit more. His eyes are on the towel as he makes sure it gets into the bathroom. He notices the steam pillowing in the small space and just before he looks the other way, he sees Y/N’s purple bathrobe on the floor. Only her purple bathrobe. Harry swallows and drops the towel to the floor and quickly shuts the door again. Y/N jumps at the sudden slam of the door, her heart having been beating out of her chest as she stood under the warm stream of water and listened to Harry deliver the towel.

He spins around and walks away from the bathroom in a brisk walk, making it to his kitchen in record time. He takes a few breaths and blinks at the view from his kitchen window above the sink. It’s beginning to snow. Something tells him this will excite Y/N - just a feeling he has. He hardly knows the girl and he’s been conjuring up versions of her in his head these past seven days. He’d heard her play music through the walls Tuesday night, he recognized the artist after a few moments. Van Morrison, one of his favourites. What were the odds? He had thought. But then he quickly shut that thought down because many people liked Van Morrison, and just because his very cute neighbour liked the same music he did, that didn’t mean she was meant for him.

Then on Thursday in the middle of the day he had seen her running across the street from his apartment. One thing he loved about his apartment facing the front of the building is how he got to see people coming and going. That day it looked as though she was carrying a take out bag from his favourite restaurant. Again, what were the odds that she liked the same place? But again, he had another hard conversation with himself saying that it was a rather popular place in this area and lots of people liked to go there. Y/N was still a stranger to him. A naked and attractive stranger who was in his bathroom right now.

Harry breathes in deeply and leans both hands at either side of his sink as he watches the large snowflakes fall over New York City. He still couldn’t believe he lived here sometimes. Having grown up in a rather small town in Northern England, where the most exciting thing was the bakery he used to work in as a young teen or maybe the fun graffiti on some of the walls downtown, living in NYC always seemed a bit unrealistic to think of. But this was always a dream of his. To be in one of the biggest cities in the United States and doing what he loved the most.

“It’s snowing?” Y/N’s voice full of irritation catches Harry off guard. He turns around to see her standing in the threshold between his kitchen and living room. That purple robe, which would be making an appearance in his dreams he’s sure of, is back on her now clean body while the towel he had given her is wrapped around her hair atop of her head.

“You don’t like the snow?” Harry questions, both of his brows raised high at how off he was about his instinct of her loving the snow.

“No, I mean, yes I do,” she shakes her head slightly, “I just don't like driving it in. New York drivers already freaking suck and the moment snow starts falling it’s like they forget how to drive altogether.” Y/N explains, crossing her arms at her chest.

“It’s the same in London, nearly got into a few accidents in my early years of driving thanks to it,” Harry reveals. Y/N smiles at the knowledge about himself he had let slip, regardless of how irrelevant it is.

“Anyways,” she sighs, “thank you for letting me barge in here and use your shower.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Harry assures her.

“No seriously, you saved me a lot of trouble.”

Harry’s chest swells at her words, mirroring her smile as he stuffs his hands into the front pocket of his trousers and leans back against the edge of the counter. Y/N takes this time to look over Harry’s outfit. He’s got on a cream collared ribbed t-shirt, a beaded necklace adorning his neck, a pair of brown pants that flare out and nearly hid his white sock covered feet. He doesn't dress like the men Y/N sees day to day. It's different, kind of old school, but she likes it. Suits him, she thinks, despite the fact that she barely knows him.

“You’ve got to drive somewhere?” Harry questions, unsure if he’s prying.

“Yeah, JFK unfortunately,” she frowns.

“That’s going to be a nightmare,” Harry says.

“Thanks for the reminder, yeah,” Y/N teases him while fighting back the smile pulling at her mouth.

“Sorry, I just meant that it’s sort of a long drive and airport terminals are a pain, that's all.”

“I’m just bugging you. It most definitely is going to be a nightmare,” Y/N agrees with a chuckle, “and I’m going to be late if I don’t hurry.” She adds while jabbing a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of her own apartment. Harry nods and notices how her robe’s a bit looser than before as she drops her arms and it falls a few inches down her shoulder - exposing more of her soft looking skin. Harry has to look away and walk towards his front door with Y/N before his imagination gets the best of him.

Harry unlocks the door and holds it open for Y/N to walk out of his home. He liked having her in his space. Harry internally curses himself for yet another intimate thought about his neighbour fogs up his mind. Just as she steps over the threshold of his apartment, Y/N spins on her heels quickly and reaches up with both hands to grab the twisted up towel around her hair. Harry nearly comes undone right then and there. The sight of her wet hair falling down effortlessly around her freshly washed face causes Harry’s mouth to feel dry suddenly. But as she makes the move to reach up, pulling it off of her head, and then holding out the towel in front of her, all of this causes her robe to fall even more off of her shoulders. Now both of her shoulders were fully exposed for him to see. Which Y/N notices right away and blushes, rushing to try and readjust herself, then only holding the towel with one hand while she bares her other arm over her chest to keep the robe from falling open completely.

“Nearly stole your towel,” Y/N breathes out.

She’s distracted by how her robe is slipping apart and how Harry’s eyes are falling with it. Harry clears his throat and takes the towel from her, giving her a chance to fix her robe, and he leans against his door for support as his head spins from the scene he has played out in his head. Her robe falling apart, seeing the swell of her breasts, how her nipples must look. He imagines they’re hard from the chill in the hallway, pebbling into little buds. Then he’s imagining how he’d pull her back into his apartment, kissing and touching all over her skin till she’s left breathless and begging for more.

“Thanks,” Harry says and drops his arm to hold the towel down at his side.

“I owe you one,” Y/N states, “for letting me use the shower,” she adds. She’s not sure what else he would think she’s talking about, but she just felt the need to clarify. And she really needed to get back to her own apartment and finish getting ready. “See you around, Harry,” she says with a smile before walking away and hurrying into her home.

Harry thinks of how he should've wished her a safe flight, or even said goodbye. But instead he heard her door shut and followed suit by closing his own. Harry walks into his living room - discarding the towel on the back of his large arm chair, before moving his acoustic guitar from where it was laying on his couch and taking a seat. He then reaches for his cell phone that was left on the coffee table. Opening his contact, he finds the building's maintenance number and calls them.

“Hey Phil, how are you doing?... Good, I’m good yeah, uh, I’m just calling because the water in 602 isn’t working...Yeah Y/N, she actually had to leave in a bit of a rush, so I just wanted to make sure someone got in there as soon as possible to check it out,” Harry explains the situation to the building’s head maintenance man. “I’m not entirely sure when she’ll be back home, maybe you could give her a quick call and double check... Just being a friendly neighbour, Phil… Thanks Phil, have a good day and say hi to Georgia and the kids for me… Bye.”

Harry hangs up the phone and sets it back down onto the table, looking at the open notebook beside it. He hadn’t written anything all morning. Just had a few good cords stuck in his head. Harry picks up the guitar once more and plays the cords.

“Tangled wet hair, soft silk skin, looking so good it should be a sin,” Harry sings softly. It’s not his best and it’s not even that good, if he’s honest with himself. But it seems that Y/N sparked some inspiration inside of him. He grabs his pen, and starts scribbling down the words that now flow through his mind. Finishing with writing ‘Plush Purple Robe’ in capital letters before dropping the pen and going back to strumming the guitar.

He wrote nearly an entire song, thanks to how Y/N looked in that damn bathrobe standing in his apartment, and he just knew this would result in some teasing words from his friends when he brought it into their studio session next week.

Y/N was tired and her third Starbucks of the day wasn’t helping her out at all. She brings a hand up to cover yet another yawn that escapes her. Her eyes feel heavy, drooping as she blinks slowly a few times at her screen. She feels as though she might doze off if it wasn’t for the loud bang of the mail cart smacking against the elevator doors signalling it’s arrival for the day. It jolts her upright once again and she takes another big gulp of coffee, and sends a prayer up above, before she begins clicking away again at her laptop trying to finalize her schedule for the upcoming month of December.

Fittings, photoshoots, buyers meetings, and more fittings, there was rarely any free time in the first two weeks of the month. But thankfully her boss isn’t a complete Grinch and gave her minimal work during the last two weeks. Plus Y/N really did love her job. She lived for the magic world of fashion. The way her bustling office just meant that the designer’s creations were coming to life as A list celebrities and New York's elite fell in love with the pieces she’s gone through lengths to get for them.

She also loved Christmas just as much, if not more, as her job. Even thinking about everything she was looking forward to this holiday season made her feel all giddy inside now. Growing up in the city meant she knew the thrill of skating in Central Park and seeing the Rockefeller Christmas tree being lit up. Her smile was as bright as the lights. She loved going to the annual Christmas markets that were held; walking around with hot chocolate in her hands as she browsed the many homemade soaps and ornaments, and even clothing too. Y/N even enjoyed shopping at the Macy’s down the street and gasping at their holiday displays, and found herself buying a few too many decorations for her home while there. Over the past few days - with any free time she had off work - she had gone into full blown decorating mode in her apartment. It was like Santa’s village and it filled her with so much joy as she set everything into its rightful place in her new home, smiling from ear to ear at the twinkling lights and tinsel lining the perimeter of every room.

“Earth to Y/N,” her co-worker, Sammy, sings while leaning back in his desk chair to try and make eye contact with her.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, zoning back into reality and turning her own chair away from her desk that was up against the large floor to ceiling windows.

“Daydreaming about that hot new neighbour of yours?” Sammy teases her with a smug look on his face. Y/N rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest.

“No, I was not,” she says, “I’m regretting telling you about him already,” she adds. Sammy returns the eye roll.

“There’s no shame in having some eye candy as a neighbour you know,”

“Yeah there is when-“

“Y/N!” Her name suddenly being yelled across the room cuts her sentence off and makes Sammy and herself look over to where it came from. They both see their boss, Amanda, standing in the doorway of her office with both hands up in the air and a look of annoyance across her face. Y/N’s watch vibrates just on time to remind her of her meeting with Amanda. She’s always at least five minutes early; suppose daydreaming about the holidays - not her hot new neighbour - had put her behind schedule a bit.

“Better not keep her waiting,” Sammy says as he rolls his chair back over to his own desk while Y/N closes her laptop, taking it and a notebook with her quickly before slipping her feet back into her black heels. She always took them off when she sat at her desk to give her poor feet a break. As she broke into a speed walk across the office space, nearly avoiding the mail cart, she internally went over what today's meeting entailed.

“Sorry Amanda,” Y/N apologizes as she steps into the office, closing the glass door behind her quietly.

“It’s alright, you’re rarely even a few minutes behind that schedule of yours, so I was more surprised than anything,” Amanda states as she smooths her dress out and takes a seat at her desk. Y/N takes a seat in the chair across her desk, setting her laptop on her lap and then the notebook on top of it while she keeps her favourite pen in hand. It had a cheesy Christmas sweater snowflake pattern on it, which Y/N had bought a whole set for her and Sammy at Target last week.

“I wanted to quickly talk about your time with Miss Woods a couple days ago,” Amanda says, referring to one of the clients from North Carolina that had visited recently. “She said you showed her great hospitality and were a true New Yorker in her eyes, her words exactly.” Amanda gives Y/N a proud smile. “So, great job. She ended up purchasing those Gucci purses we had bought in hopes she’d like them even though she didn't ask for them. All thanks to you putting her in such a good mood, really.”

“Well she was a blast to be around, age really didn't slow her down,” Y/N and Amanda share a laugh. “She turned up my radio every time we got in my car, ordered doubles at dinner and brunch, and even talked about boy issues with me. It was a great time,” Y/N explains while adjusting herself in her seat and crossing a leg over the other casually.

“I think it’s your energy. Your love for this city can be infectious sometimes Y/N,” Amanda says. Y/N’s lips pull up into a smile at her words, they made her feel warm inside.

“Thank you,” she says softly with a nod.

“Now, onto what’s happening over this next week, let’s see how our schedules look,” Amanda starts as she opens her large planner than was always either on her desk or brought home in her large Louis Vuitton purse.

“I got an email from the lovely Mrs. Archibald this morning,” Y/N states. Amanda shakes her head as her face twists up at the mention of one of their bigger clients who happens to be married to the richest man in New York City. It’s just too bad she’s a real bitch sometimes because her attitude could make doing their job a bit harder at times. But Amanda and Y/N loved a challenge, and Mrs Archibald was just that. “She has a last minute dinner party tomorrow and she needs the newest item from Gucci that we can find immediately,” Y/N explains.

“Shit, our new stuff from Gucci doesn’t come in till next Monday,” Amanda curses, eyes roaming around her desk as if the answer to her problem would pop up somewhere.

“I know, which is why I went ahead and called Greg at the store on Fifth and Fiftieth, he said they just got a handful of exclusive holiday pieces early and would gladly have one of us pick a couple items up for Mrs Archibald,” Y/N says. Amanda’s sour look fades instantly and is replaced with a wide smile.

“What would I do without you, honestly!” Amanda exclaims. “Head over to Gucci after lunch today, and then we’ll get Mrs Archibald in first thing tomorrow.”

“Will do,” Y/N says while jotting down her after lunch plans onto a blank page in her notebook.

“How’s your influencer work going for you?” Amanda asks, her eyes on her planner in front of her instead.

“It’s been good, getting closer to five hundred thousand every day. I think the holidays will push me over the mark soon enough,” Y/N states.

“Great, make sure you’re getting close up shots of the dresses Greg shows you. Tease the people of what an exclusive holiday gown looks like,” Amanda suggests. Y/N smiles and jots down the note.

Having an audience was never the goal for Y/N. In fact, she thought of suspending her Instagram account all together once she got the promotion at work. She was worried that it would cause a conflict of interest, but Amanda and the rest of the team saw it as a plus. Having so many people follow Y/N’s life, being interested in what she’s interested in, wanting to get their hands on what she had, all lead to good publicity for the company. It even got them a few A list celebrities because of her account as they saw the company’s name in her bio, which led to contacting the company about setting some fittings up.

And with that set up, they settle into the rest of their itinerary for the week, making note of who needed to be involved with what, and who would be coming into their offices. Jennifer freaking Aniston was scheduled for a fitting this Friday and Y/N was praying she made it back from picking up an order of Louis Vuitton scarfs in time to see her in her custom grown that their team's seamstresses had been working tirelessly on with Prada’s team.

By the end of her and Amanda’s meeting, it was time for lunch. Sammy was waiting by her desk with his black Gucci backpack in hand that Y/N was sure held a Kardashian sized salad. Y/N was glad she meal-prepped teriyaki chicken and rice, so she didn’t have to eat yet another salad seeing as Sammy had gotten her into the over sized salad eating last month; she’s had enough of it.

“I’ve gotta head over to Gucci on Fifth Ave after,” Y/N states with a smile as her and Sammy walk into the conference room that they used for lunch sometimes, shielding themselves away from work a bit - even if the walls were glass and they could still see everyone working around them.

“Lucky bitch,” Sammy grumbles, “Greg always hooks you up with some free pieces when you go there, I swear.”

“Hey it’s only been a few items, nothing crazy,” Y/N defends herself before taking a bite of her lunch.

“Oh I’m sorry, two rings and a pair of tights are nothing crazy? Every other influencer would kill someone for those tights. Firstly, they’re so cute. And secondly, those rings cost my monthly rent.”

“I’m not complaining about any work perks. Maybe you could come with and get to know Greg a bit and get your own ring or two?”

Sammy chews his mouth full of salad, “no thanks, it’s so freaking cold out there. I’ll stay inside where it’s warm,” he says.

“Then don’t complain when I get another pair of tights and you don’t,” Y/N scowls playfully.

“I’d look so much better in those tights, you can’t even deny it,” Sammy says and pokes his fork at Y/N. She raises her hands up in surrender.

“Oh I wouldn’t dare to deny it, ever,” she smiles. They eat a few bites in silence. Y/N starts to feel a bit more energized by the protein she’s eating, thankfully. She now had a long journey to the Gucci store and back as well as a ton of emails to filter through too - which she’s sure will follow her home till the late hours of the night.

“What are you planning to wear for the Christmas office party?” Sammy chimes in, his eyes still on his phone.

“I don’t even know,” Y/N sighs and brings up her Pinterest app on her phone. “I found this outfit and am dying over it every day but I really should just find something in my closet and restyle it, I'm getting more broke by the day.”

“Blame your excessive christmas shopping habits,” Sammy deadpans while glancing at her phone screen.

“I’m aware of why I'm broke, thank you,” she deadpans back, narrowing her eyes at him. “Maybe Greg will have it in his heart to lend me a special piece for the party,” Y/N taunts Sammy with a smile on her face.

“Shut up,” he groans. Y/N laughs and is just about to shut her phone screen off when a phone call comes through from her apartment building maintenance.

“Hello?” She answers. “Hi Phil… Oh that’s awesome news thank you so much for getting it fixed so soon… Yes, I’m glad Harry called in about it right away too…” Y/N notices how her friend's eyebrows fly up at the mention of Harry’s name. “Lovely, thanks again Phil… Have a great day… Bye,” she hangs up the phone and sets it on the table in front of her.

“What did Harry do now?” Sammy questions without a second to spare. Y/N rolls her eyes, but can’t stop herself as she smiles.

“He called in about the water in my apartment like right after I made a mad dash out of his place to go pick up Mrs Woods in time. I hadn't even thought of calling about it and then I got a call on my way to the airport from the head maintenance guy saying Harry told him about it and asked for verbal permission to enter my apartment while I was out,” Y/N explains to him. She was still shocked by Harry’s kindness. Not only did he offer his shower to her, but he then got hers check out that same day. She probably wouldn't have called about it till the next day, if she was lucky to have any free time to stop by her house between entertaining Mrs Woods.

“What a neighbourly thing to do,” Sammy says smugly.

“Shut up, he’s just a nice guy.”

“Mhmm,” Sammy hums while stabbing his salad again for another bite.

The two of them continue to enjoy their lunch break and catch up on what’s been going on in the office. Their fellow associate Kate was trying to sleep with the mail cart boy. He seems freshly twenty one, if that. Just seven years younger than Kate, but she’s a well known cougar - it’s been a thing for, like, two years now. And Julianne was sick again, for the third time in two months. That was the extent of the office drama, sadly. Y/N packs up her bag with her left over lunch, notebook, and laptop before heading back to her desk with Sammy to get her coat and bundle up to brace the cold weather.

At least it wasn’t snowing.

The snow is coming down like a blizzard, making it hard for Harry to see in front of him. It was a colder day, his weather app had called for cloudy skies and a chance of some light flurries - but that all changed  in a split second and had Harry racing home from the coffee shop a few blocks away. He’s just praying his notebook full of new song ideas, based off his people watching this afternoon that’s now in his tote bag, doesn't get wet in the short trip he has to walk. Just as he’s about to turn left down the last block till his building, he sees a young woman struggling to walk along the sidewalk in her heels just in front of him. She’s carrying a large beige garment bag, having it folded over her arm as she tries to maneuver around the busy sidewalk and everyone is rushing to get out of the storm. Harry’s just behind her now, that’s when he recognizes the jacket and scarf.

“Y/N?” Harry says, trying to not startle her. But of course, as Y/N turns around to look behind her at whoever had just called out her name on the busy streets of New York, she slips.

“Oh my god!” She squeals, trying to keep the garment bag up so it doesn’t damage the dresses inside, but that means she doesn’t have any hands to throw out to catch herself. Harry sees her begin to fall and reaches out without hesitation. “The bag,” she says, trying to get Harry’s attention to saving the garment bag rather than her. But of course he manages to wrap his arms under hers and hold her upright, standing straight to get her back on her feet once more.

“Shit, I’m sorry, shouldn’t have scared you like that,” Harry says.

Y/N squints at him through the thick snowflakes, he’s standing so close though that she doesn’t have troubles staring into his enchanting eyes. She smiles, adjusting the dresses and her bag before motioning to their apartment building only a couple blocks away. “Let’s get out of this snow storm,” she suggests.

“Right,” Harry agrees and lets her start the walk - that way he can stick close behind in case those death heels of hers cause her to slip again.

Y/N regrets her decision of wearing heels so much right now. She’s sure her cheeks are still red from embarrassment of nearly falling on her ass in front of so many people. Harry’s seen in her purple bathrobe, which is already  embarrassing, but falling in heels in this snow storm would’ve only added to her list of making a fool of herself in front of him.

When she arrived at Gucci it was  just cloudy, but then after nearly two hours inside the store - mostly chatting with Greg and his associates, she walked outside into the blizzard. Her office was too far of a walk, she knew getting a cab or an Uber during the storm would just be a nightmare  and she didn’t want to wait around. There was no way she was going to risk taking the subway while carrying the garment bag that said Gucci right on it and have some lowlife steal thousands of dollars of designer clothes from her. So, she went with the most obvious option of getting these pieces out of the snow storm and headed  to her apartment building that was only a few blocks away, thankfully.

“Thanks for saving me back there,” Y/N says with a sigh as Harry uses his key to let them into the building. They both brush the snow off themselves as they walk across the lobby and to the elevator. “I would've been dead if this fell into a puddle or something,” she states while lifting the garment bag.

“Does that say Gucci?” Harry asks, eyebrows raised as he looks at the label on the bag.

“Yeah, I just had to pick up a few things for work,” Y/N explains vaguely. Harry has followed Gucci on Instagram for years, he loves their pieces and finds what they make to be so wonderful. He wishes he had the money to spend on a shopping trip there and yet here is his neighbour - who he may or may not be crushing on - with a large garment bag with Gucci items inside. “I can’t even imagine what Mrs Archibald would've done if I messed these up, god she'd have a fit,” Y/N says with a chuckle, looking at the floors lighting up as the elevator moved.

“Your boss?” Harry questions.

“No, a client, super rich and super bitchy,” Y/N answers, emphasizing both times she says super to really get her point across. She moves the garment bag from one arm to the other, leaning back against the elevator wall.

“Client? What kind of work do you do?” Harry tries to ask casually, not trying to seem creepy or invading in any way.

Y/N smiles, “I’m a part of the, oh so lovely, fashion industry.”

“You don’t like it?” Harry questions, eyebrows furrowed together.

“No, I do,” she corrects him.

The elevator opens then, Harry motions for Y/N to exit first as he had before. She smiles and walks down the hall to her apartment. Just as she fishes her keys from her coat pocket she turns back and looks at Harry when he walks past her. “I owe you, again, for saving my ass, literally from falling,” she says. Harry stops walking and looks at her, she smiles and tilts her head to the side. “And for calling the maintenance guy for the issues with my water,” she adds. Seems Phil spilled the beans, Harry thinks.

“I um, I wasn’t sure how long your trip was, and I just thought it’d be the nice thing to do by making sure they could get it fixed as soon as they could,” Harry explains.

“I actually didn’t go on a trip, I just had to pick someone up from the airport. But regardless it was very nice to know you thought of it for me. So thank you, I owe you, Harry,” she says again, giving him yet another one of her dreamy smiles. Harry’s heart did a little pitter patter in his chest as he looked over her face, taking in how her wispy hairs were wet from the snow that had melted on her head and how her eyes seemed to sparkle under the dim lighting of the hallway. But her lips, he’s been imagining those lips for two days now. Along with that purple bathrobe being on his floor again - his bedroom instead of the bathroom though.

“How about dinner?” Harry blurts out. Y/N had turned back to her door, having it unlocked and open as he had fallen into one of his daydreams about her. She pauses mid step and looks back at where he had stood still, her eyebrows are furrowed together as she thinks he misheard him. Oh shit, abort! Abort! Backtrack and say nevermind before she flat out rejects you, Harry thinks while he waits for her response.

“I, uh, I,” Y/N stops her stuttering and closing her eyes for a moment. She lets out a sigh and opens her eyes again to meet his nervous stare. “I have to hang this up, and change these shoes first,” she says.

“Of course,” Harry nods.

Y/N ponders over it for a moment before coming to the realization that the weather outside was truly frightful and they shouldn’t go out anywhere. “Honestly we shouldn’t go back out there. What if I just ordered something in and you came over? You like pizza?”

“Love it,” Harry smiles. Y/N nods and opens her door further, stepping in to survey the state of her apartment. It’s not messy, thank God. She had time this morning to put away her clean laundry that had taken up her couch over the past few days. There’s a couple hoodies draped over the back of the couch though, a half full glass of water on the coffee table and her kitchen has a pile of dirty dishes beside the sink that she hadn’t gotten to putting in the dishwasher yet. She quickly bends down to put away the few pairs of shoes that were kicked off in whatever direction they went, and turns on the two light switches by the door to light up her living room and hallway.

“Well, come on in,” she says as she turns back to Harry. He smiles as she lets out a deep breath and opens her front door for him.

He should’ve guessed that it would look like Santa had thrown up in her apartment. It was traditional, which Harry loved opposed to the new all white or all gold themes some people went with, but there was a lot of it. A red and green checkered throw blanket over the back of her grey couch, a decent sized tree filled with lights and tinsel and ornaments that all matched, a family of snowmen in one corner of her living room, and many little vintage looking nicknacks along her tv stand, and few shelves around the space. Not to mention the priceless looking tiny christmas village that was set up on top of the desk by her front door, fake snow laid on top to really pull it all together. So much Christmas, and he was only looking in one room. He imagined this festive feeling went throughout her entire home.

“It kind of seems like a lot whenever someone new sees all of my Christmas crap,” Y/N says, breaking Harry’s stare away from her living room and back to her now. She had hung up the Gucci bag on the closet door to her left, and had slipped out of her shoes and was now undoing the buttons of her coat. Her eyes are on the decorations around them though, looking unsure as she takes it all in.

“It’s lovely, honestly, not crap at all,” Harry assures her. Y/N turns back to look at him and mirrors his smile.

“I just have a big soft spot for the holidays, I can’t help myself from buying four Christmas themed throw pillows if they make me feel all warm inside,” she explains, motioning to the couch that did in fact have four pillows on it.

“If it makes you happy, you don’t have to have any reason for buying ‘em.”

“I suppose so,” Y/N hums, finally taking off her coat and hanging it up.

Harry quickly takes his off too as she reaches for it, to hang it beside hers. He gives her a small thanks and then takes his shoes off, setting them beside hers . Y/N has walked into the threshold to the left that led to her kitchen. He notices the tinsel hanging from the beam and smiles before taking a quick peek into her kitchen. As he guessed, it’s all decked out in Christmas stuff too. Towels and nicknacks that seem to replace everyday things like salt and pepper shakers and her soap dispenser that was spaced like a snowman.

“I’ll order a pizza right away. Hopefully this weather won’t slow them down. Have you ever eaten at Sal’s down the street?” Y/N questions.

“Tons,” Harry says. He leans against the threshold to the kitchen and watches as Y/N sets her purse on her small kitchen table and fishes through it for her cell phone. She’s got this crease between her brows as she can’t seem to find it, but it instantly goes away and is replaced with a smile as the iPhone is in her hands.

“Do you like anything on your pizza?” She asks, eyes on her phone screen and she brings up the menu. She typically just gets a cheese, sometimes spices it up with a vegetarian pizza cause she likes the green peppers and red onions.

“I’m actually a vegetarian,” Harry states. “Well, I eat fish on occasion so I guess I’m a pescetarian.”

“Oh cool,” Y/N says, looking up to see Harry’s watching her from the space between her kitchen and living room. The way he’s leaning against the small space of wall, arms crossed at his chest and head tilted to the side - he looks good. He’s dressed in a pair of beige trousers, straight and baggy as his last ones were too, and has a white tank top tucked into the waistband while he layered with a fun patterned button up shirt. She can’t quite make out what is printed on the shirt, but the little squares seem to each have a picture in them.

“Where did you get that shirt?” Y/N can’t stop herself from asking, the fashion lover in her wanting to know.

Harry glances down at the short sleeved shirt on his body, then shrugs, “I think I thrifted it back home in England a few years back,” he says.

“I like it,” she says, then brings up one shoulder in a shrug to make it seem more casual. It’s not weird to compliment your neighbours clothing, Y/N thinks as she glances back down at her phone. “I’m going to order a cheese and they have a great vegetarian pizza too that I like,” she tells Harry while punching in her order on her delivery app.

“Yeah, I’ve had it before, it’s pretty great,” Harry agrees. Y/N can’t help as her body reacts to how low and slow Harry’s voice is. How she gets small chills throughout her body, as if threatening to pebble goosebumps along her arms, and how her mind feels foggy almost as she listens to him speak. She rolls her lips into her mouth and stuffs her phone into the pocket of her fitted black pants. He could tell her the most pointless story and she would let him, just to hear his voice and that accent that went with it. Moving to her fridge, she finds the bottle of red she had opened last night. It’s such a normal thing for her to have a glass or two after work that she doesn’t even think of her guest. He might not even like wine.

“Do you drink?” Y/N asks, looking over her shoulder to see Harry still in the same spot but his hands now in the front pocket of his trousers.

“What are we drinking?” He asks with a smile.

Y/N smiles back, as she always does, and reaches for the wine she had her eye on. “I opened this bottle of wine last night, it’s red. Would you be interested in a glass?” She asks, holding the bottle up for Harry to see.

“I’d love a glass, thanks.”

“Perfect,” Y/N nods and sets the bottle down on the counter beside her fridge. “You can get comfortable on the couch, I’ll bring our drinks in a moment.”

“Sounds good,” Harry nods. With one final glance up her body as she reaches high in her cupboard for two wine glasses for them, he shakes his head and turns around. He has to stop checking her out, he has no idea if she’s into him or not. She’s simply being a nice neighbour, and here he was, fancying her so much he’s checking her out like some horny teenager.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, walking around the back of the couch to take a seat on the corner furthest from where the Christmas tree lit up Y/N’s living room. He really did like all of her joy that she’s put into decorating her home. There’s no doubting her love for the holiday, not a single space feels like it was forgotten as she must have spent all day setting it up. He especially liked the framed photo on the side table to his right, where there was also a rather plain lamp and a Santa spaced coaster too. Inside the frame was a small child who he knew immediately was Y/N. There was no mistaking that smile of hers even at such a young age. She’s sitting on a man’s lap, a man dressed as Santa, but it’s truly the most realistic mall Santa he’s even seen. Harry thinks back to his home in that moment, imagining the many photos of him and his older sister with many variations of mall Santas that must be littering his mum’s house by now. Truthfully, many of them didn’t leave the shelves during the year.

“Here you go,” Y/N says as she holds out a wine glass nearly half full of red wine to Harry. He takes it from her, his fingers brushing hers for a moment and sending those childish tingles through his body.

“Thanks,” he nods and brings the glass to his lips to have a taste. If he wouldn’t be so infatuated by Y/N, he would have told her that he typically didn’t drink red wine. He typically doesn’t drink at all, except for the occasional night out with his mates. But he saw that look on her face that said ‘I need a glass or two’ and he couldn’t say no, knowing it’d make her feel awkward and  end up not having a glass herself.

Y/N lets out a long sigh as she takes a seat on the other side of the couch, relaxing alongside Harry as if they aren’t complete strangers. He liked that she felt comfortable around him. She did in fact enter his apartment the other day in a bathrobe and use his shower after all. After she takes another long sip of wine, she sets it down on a matching Santa coaster that sits on the coffee table - Harry notices now that she had brought the bottle of wine with her too.

“Long day?” He questions. Y/N nods, tucking her legs under her as she gets comfortable on the couch beside him. She clears her throat softly before answering him.

“Uh, yeah, work’s just been a lot lately and I’m actually looking forward to some time off,” Y/N says, running a hand through her hair, and then leans her arm on the back of the couch. Harry watches her movements, bringing his glass of wine to his lips to have a small sip, which he notices she watches him do. He likes her eyes on his lips, he thinks before turning his body slightly and setting his wine on the side table. When he turns back and looks her way he notices the slightly tint of pink flushing over her cheeks. Harry fights the tug at his lips to smile at how she seemed to catch on that he caught her staring at his lips.

“That’s always the worst, feeling as if you’re counting down till the days off,” Harry exclaims.

“I typically don’t, to be honest. I love my job,” Y/N states. “It’s my career so I better,” she adds with a chuckle.

“So you’ve already found your career at such a young age then, that’s awesome. Have you always known you wanted to be involved in the fashion industry?” Harry asks, his eyebrows pulled together as he does find himself very curious of how she herself a career so young.

“First off, twenty four is really starting to not feel young anymore so let's not label me as a youngster or anything alright-“

“Um, twenty four is young but okay,” Harry cuts her off with a playful look on his face. Y/N rolls her eyes and chooses to ignore his teasing. He’s always hung out around people older than him and typically dated women older too. But Y/N doesn't seem young. From what he’s seen from her, she doesn’t fit the mold of any twenty four year olds he’s known before - most being rather rude and partying their youth away while it’s obvious that Y/N worked hard during those years. Y/N looks as though she's got the whole world figured out already, and he admires that a lot.

“And secondly, yeah, I guess I sort of did know, not at first, of course, but it was always an interest of mine,” Y/N states, bringing Harry back to their conversation.

“What did you want to be when you were a youngster then?” He questions, using her choice of words back at her which makes Y/N chuckle. She shakes her head and looks up at the ceiling for a moment as she falls back into memories of her childhood. She remembers being emotionally attached to a pair of plastic pink princess slippers and how she slept in her matching tiara for nearly a year before her mom put a stop to her fantasy.

“I wanted to be a princess-“

“Me too,” Harry says.

“Stop interrupting me,” Y/N laughs and reaches across the couch to smack his arm. Harry's head feels light, his cheeks hurt from grinning at Y/N so much. He hasn’t felt like this in quite a while. Being able to have a light conversion with a pretty girl. How she makes him smile and laugh so easily too, it’s a really nice feeling.  “But you’d make a much prettier princess for sure-“

“Not at all,'' Harry disagrees, managing to cut her off yet again. She glares at him but can’t help the smile that's still on her face.

“Anyways, I wanted to be a princess and then I wanted to be one of Santa’s elves-”

Harry chuckles, “of course,” he says as he’s not so surprised to hear her say so - seeing as it looked like Santa’s village inside her apartment.

Y/N chooses to ignore his short interruption this time and continues on. “But then as I got older and got ahold of the internet, I wanted to be a model cause I thought it was the most glamorous thing, but I wasn't as beautiful or skinny as Candice Swanepoel so that was out of the question-“

“This is the last time I'll interrupt you I promise,” Harry says, Y/N presses her lips tight together and gives Harry another look as if to say yeah right. “But I cannot let you sit here and say you aren't pretty or skinny enough to be a model, Y/N, because you are one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen and your weight is nothing to ever question,” Harry pauses as he looks down at the sofa between them, realizing that he had said all that out loud. He was slightly embarrassed as he’s not sure how she’d take her neighbour saying all that to her.

My heart needs to calm down like now, Y/N thinks as she wets her lips and fidgets with her own hands as she watches Harry. “Y/N, don’t ever think less of yourself,” he adds in a gentle voice that sends chills down her spine.

Y/N doesn't respond right away, because honestly she's speechless. No one has ever said something so kind and so genuine to her. Sure, she’s gotten compliments from people, but the way Harry immediately stopped her from talking poorly of herself had made her stomach stir and her heart race. They had only just met, only had a few interactions - they were all good, great even - but Harry wasn’t like most people she’s met before and she’s beginning to realize that. She looks up to see Harry's watching her, his green eyes staring back at hers. Something switches in the air between them as Harry feels like he should lean in. Should he lean in? Would she want that? Does she want him?

“Thanks,” she smiles, bringing Harry back to their conversation. She clears her throat and sits up straight again, flipping her hair over her shoulders and snuggling into the couch some more. “If I ever feel down about myself again, I’ll be sure to knock on your door and demand you shower me in compliments,” Y/N teases.

“I’d be honoured to,” Harry says. There's another beat of silence, but it's not quiet inside his head. All he’s thinking about is how he should've made a move. She felt it too, right? Harry stops himself before he can go too far inside his head again while thinking about Y/N. “I won’t cut in again. Continue from the dreams of being a model - which you’d be a great model, by the way, don't count that one out just yet.”

Y/N smiles again, not even sure if she’s stopped smiling honestly. “Right, well, modeling led me into the world of fashion. Not that I hadn't known about Vogue or any of the high fashion houses since I did grow up in New York; fashion week had always been a highlight for me. But I actually started to look into the other sides of it. Designing wasn't an option, I just didn't feel original enough. So I did some personal assistant stuff during my high school years at fashion week, working behind the scenes at shows.”

Y/N pauses to lean forward and grabs her glass of wine again, needing liquid to coax her throat before she continued. Harry noticed that she was talking so passionately, probably not even realizing how much she was using her hands while speaking or how her eyes lit up at the world she painted for him. “And then I got a scholarship into FIT, the Fashion Institute of Technology. I was lucky enough to get an internship at my current workplace but quickly got offered a position on my graduation day, and now I'm one of our senior associates.”

“And what does your job really entitled to exactly?”

“We do a lot of things, but we’re really a personal shopper and stylist company. Working with many of New York's elite, even some of the east coast’s elite really, as well as celebrities too, which is always fun to see the dress you styled at the Met Gala or the Grammys. I just do a lot of running around, it feels like,” Y/N explains, “like how I had to rush to the Gucci store on Fifth Ave in order to get some pieces for Mrs. Achibald for tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds like a real tough job,” Harry taunts. Y/N returns his smug look and narrows her eyes at him playfully.

“Right, well what do you do then? You always seem to be home, I’m starting to think you don’t even have a job. Maybe you’ve just got a sugar daddy, hmm?” Y/N jokes. Harry lets out a loud laugh, throwing his head back. Y/N laughs with him before taking a sip of her wine that she had almost forgotten about.

“Definitely not a sugar baby, although that would be the dream, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, totally,” Y/N nods in agreement. They both chuckle again. Harry reaches for his wine to take a sip before answering her question for real this time. Blame the wine, he thinks, for any longing looks or laughing too much at her jokes just blame the red wine in his glass.

“I’m actually in the music industry, kind of,” Harry states.

“How are you kind of in the music industry?” Y/N questions curiously, her brows pulled together as she takes another sip of wine.

“I am a studio rat, as people in the industry would call it,” Harry says, Y/N’s face scrunches up at his words utterly confused at the term. “I pretty much live in music studios most of the year. Most of my time is taken up by writing. So I guess I’m a songwriter, but I also make demos for my songs with a few people I’ve grown close with in my studio, so I end up doing some instruments for artists' studio versions of songs. I do a bit of producing too, but I mostly leave that to my buddy, Tom.”

“Wow, that sounds like a really cool job. And here I was jabbering on about my job when you’re a songwriter? That’s so cool,” Y/N repeats, another sip of wine going down her throat as she stares at Harry. His cheeks are starting to turn red, eyes avoiding hers as he fidgets with his rings. “Have you written any songs I’d know?” She asks, trying to get more information out of him.

“Maybe,” Harry shrugs.

“You’re not going to tell me?” Y/N asks, brows pulled together.

“Nope,” Harry shakes his head.

“Shouldn’t you be proud of your work?”

“Of course I am,” Harry says, bringing a crooked finger up to his nose before rubbing it twice. “I just know that my music might not be everyone's favourite.”

Since the beginning of his freelance songwriting career, Harry's always been nervous to show people what he’s poured his heart and soul into, especially to people he’s friends with, or people he likes. What if they hated it? He couldn’t bear listening to the fake “it's great” with an even faker smile. Although he knows people do like his songs, those people were mainly artists that bought his songs and their fans, of course, along with his fellow colleagues. He just doesn't want Y/N to hate his work.

“Well, I'm sure it's brilliant,” Y/N says. “And maybe one day you’ll show me.” She adds with a smile, not wanting to force the subject, over the rim of her wine glass before taking another sip and finishing off the red liquid in one small gulp. She frowns at the empty glass and sets it down on the Santa coaster on the coffee table. “Do you write all the time then?” Y/N asks, bringing her gaze back to Harry’s.

“Pretty much, although I’m in the studio less in December due to it being so close to the holidays. I’ve actually got my last session with my mates just in a few days.”

“Counting down the days till you have some time off?” She asks, referring to what he had said earlier to her.

“Not particularly,” Harry says.

Y/N is about to ask why, but then her phone bings from her pocket. It’s then that she realizes she hadn’t thought of looking at her phone once since sitting down with Harry. She had been so engrossed with their conversation, and feeling a light buzz that she managed to forget about the pizza she ordered. The notification on her screen read that her pizza had arrived at the building, and the delivery person would be here any second. Then her phone starts ringing.

“Hello,” Y/N answers the phone in a sweet voice. Harry has to stop himself from staring, instead finding himself grabbing the red wine that he wasn’t too fond of, and has a few sips as he listens to Y/N talk to, what he assumes, is the pizza delivery. She buzzes them up with one tap on her phone before the call ends. “Our dinner is finally here,” she tells Harry, even though he had gathered as much, but he still smiles in response. She stands from the couch and adjusts her pants by pulling them up slightly. They fit her so bloody well, Harry thinks. “And we are both nearly done with a glass of wine each before we’ve even eaten,” Y/N chuckles as she walks past Harry and to the kitchen to her purse.

While Y/N pays for their food, Harry takes it upon himself to top off her glass of wine. He was content with his last few sips between bites. Y/N sets the two pizza boxes on the coffee table before rushing into the kitchen to grab two plates and some napkins for them. They work together in a comfortable silence to get things set up; both boxes open and Y/N settles back onto the couch before they dig into the large New York slices.

Y/N brings a piece straight from the box to her mouth, once she bites into the greasy food she moans around her mouthful of cheesy pizza. Harry is just about to take his first bite as well but stops just short at the sounds that come from Y/N. He dares to glance her way, throat bobbing as he takes her in. Both eyes closed, her head hanging back and lips turned up into a smile as she chews her food. He watches her swallow, utterly mesmerized by her soft skin moving just slightly. Dear god, Styles, get it together, he thinks as he imagines her swallowing something else.

Y/N opens her eyes at the sound of Harry clearing his throat, turning her gaze to him and seeing him lift his piece of pizza to her in a ‘cheers’ manner. “Thanks again for the meal,” Harry says. There his voice does it again, sounding all low and throaty as it makes chills go down her spine.

“No problem,” Y/N nods. She tries to focus back on eating her food, willing the thoughts in her head to go away. But she can’t stop them from entering her dreams later that night after Harry and her had said their goodbye - Harry noticed her yawn a few times and began to clean up their plates and empty wine glasses while he continued to tell Y/N about his time in school before he was writing songs full time on his way to the kitchen. Y/N watched him from her spot on the couch, smiling at how he didn’t think twice on cleaning up after them. She was pretty sure that’s how her dream started too, but then it led to Harry’s voice whispering in her ear, asking if she’s been naughty or nice this year while they laid in bed. Y/N blames the large glass of wine. One hundred percent she blames the wine.

There wasn’t a more perfect day in the year, Y/N was sure of it, as she sat on a bench in Central Park. It was t-minus three weeks before Christmas Day and she had just gotten off work. The sun was slowly setting in the horizon as she stared at the sparkling snow that covered the ground and trees around her.

“Y/N?”

She turns her gaze away from the skating rink in the distance to see who had called out her name. A smile tugs at her lips as she sees Harry a few feet away. He’s dressed in a long dark coat that reaches to his knees, one which was exposed from a rip in his loose fitting jeans. With his outfit he wore a pair of chelsea boots upon his feet that trudged through the snow. Y/N noticed that he was bundled up with a grey scarf around his neck and a matching beanie upon his head too. She liked how his hair flipped up at the ends, sticking out of the beanie.

It has been almost a week since their pizza night together, and thankfully, those wine induced dreams had stopped after that one night, which to be fair were rather innocent compared to some other dreams she had thanks to too much tequila - regardless, it’s making it much less awkward to face him now.  

“Hey,” she greets him as she meets his eyes once more. Harry stops by the bench, motioning at the open space to her left.

“Mind if I sit with you?” He asks. Y/N shakes her head and moves to her right just a bit to make more room for him. “Was going for a stroll, thought I was imagining you sitting here by yourself to be honest.” Harry states.

“New York City can seem rather small some days,” Y/N says with a smile.

“Some days, yeah,” Harry nods. “What brings you out to this lonesome bench in Central Park?” Harry asks, looking out at the scenery before them.

“This,” Y/N answers with a hand out to the park.

“It's rather pretty.”

“Very, and calming. And after my day at the office today, I desperately needed to just sit here by myself and disconnect from the world for a moment.”

“Oh,'' Harry says, bringing Y/N’s gaze away from the couple holding hands across the pond and to him instead. “I'm- I'm sorry if I barged in. I just thought it’d be weird if I didn’t say hi.”

“Oh no, it’s totally okay,” Y/N assures him. “I’ve been out here for a good while now.” As if her body realizes at the same time, she shivers beside Harry.

“Did you want to head home?”

“Not particularly,” Y/N hums. Her eyes falling back to the sights before her. The sky is becoming a soft hue of pinks and oranges before their eyes. It warms her heart despite her entire body is cold.

“How about a cup of hot cocoa?” Harry suggests as he sees the cart serving hot drinks just to their right. An older couple and, what seems to be, their grandchildren are being served steaming cups and candy canes too. That seems like something Y/N would like, Harry thinks as he stands from the bench. He's about to offer his hand but thinks twice about it, sticking both his hands into his coat pockets before he can make a fool of himself. “My treat,” Harry adds with a smile.

“I would love that,” Y/N beams while standing from the bench and falling into step with him.

Harry orders for the two of them as they step up to the small cart. Y/N discreetly takes out her phone and opens her Instagram app, swiping to the right to open her camera before she’s bombarded with notifications. She holds down on her screen to begin filming her pointed Versace boots that she had been gifted from work this winter; they had become a staple as the weather grew colder and the snow kept coming down since they had the thickest heel of all the shoes in her closet. Holding the phone up, she catches half of Harry’s body as she films the hot chocolate cart. His back is to the camera, his large coat and beanie covering any angle she did get of him so she’s not afraid to post the story after adding a quick filter to it and typing ‘pro tip: always get a hot chocolate when you’re feeling chilly in central park’ tagging her location as well before hitting post to her story and feeding her nearly five hundred thousand followers with some content for the first time all day.

“Thank you,” Y/N says softly as Harry hands her a to-go cup without a lid since there’s an abundance of whipped cream on top. Her smile turns into a grin as he also reveals he bought her a candy cane. She gasps and is quick to unwrap it and stick it into her mouth.

“Woah, you’re like a toddler itching for a sugar rush, huh?” Harry teases as they begin walking along the path and away from the cart.

“Candy canes are my weakness,” Y/N states as she pushes it to the left side of her mouth in order to talk more clearly.

“Good to know,” Harry smiles over the rim of his cup before opening his mouth and licking off some of the whipped cream. Y/N has to look away as she’s brought back to her dream.

Shaking her head slightly, she brings her phone back up to her face and it unlocks for her. Since it’s still open on the Instagram camera, she holds out her heaping cup of whipped cream and attempts to take a picture as they walk. The first two turn out blurry, then she stops walking, in hopes it’ll turn out nice before Harry can notice she stopped. Only it doesn’t of course, so she ends up furrowing her brows and sucks harder on the candy cane in her mouth before trying three more times to take the perfect snap.

Suddenly, Harry’s hand is in her shot, a blur over her whipped cream. She gasps and looks up to see his forefinger in his mouth, obviously licking off the bit of whipped cream he managed to steal. She’s surprised he did it, and she can tell he is a bit too, but then she huffs out a short chuckle while her mouth is still agape, which makes Harry grin. He doesn’t think twice as he reaches out to swipes his finger over the sweet cream again.

“Stop stealing my whipped cream!” Y/N glares at Harry as he licks his finger clean once more.

“It’s gonna melt anyways, you're taking so bloody long to drink any of it.”

“I'm busy enjoying my candy cane, jeez,” Y/N rolls her eyes and takes the candy out of her mouth, having forgotten about the picture, her phone screen turns blank. Harry shrugs and reaches forward again to steal more. Y/N is faster this time, and moves her cup away from him while bringing her candy cane up and pointing towards him. “Do it again and I'll stab you,” She warns. Harry throws his free hand up in surrender, but both of his cheeks have those deep dimples showing. I’m beginning to really like those dimples, Y/N thinks.

“You get rather hostile over your holiday treats, hm?” Harry questions, raising a brow before slowly retreating his hand to hold his own hot chocolate with his other. He brings the cup to his mouth with both hands and takes a sip.

“Yes, in fact, I do,” Y/N mutters, looking down at her own cup and notices that the whipped cream is nearly gone now. Suppose Harry was right, she missed her chance to enjoy the extra sweetness.

She takes a few sips as they continue to walk together through Central Park. The sky is beautiful as the sunset is in its full glory with dreamy pinks and purples littering the skies. Y/N debates taking a photo but decides against it as she slips her phone into her pocket. Just as she’s about to return the candy cane back to her mouth, she glances over at Harry and notices just as he brings down his own hot chocolate from his mouth that he’s made a bit of a mess.

She chuckles before saying, “you’ve got a little,” Y/N points to her upper lip, “uh, a whipped cream moustache.” She giggles as Harry pokes the tip of his tongue out and swipes it over his top lip. Y/N chuckles some more and offers him her napkin.

“Thanks,” Harry says before wiping it across his mouth, looking back to her to ask, “did I get it all?”

Y/N finds herself staring at Harry for a few moments longer than it would take to give a simple answer if his face was clean or not. She’s never felt so comfortable around someone before, not even her childhood friends or Sammy honestly. There’s this ease around Harry the few times they’ve been around one another, and it makes her heart swell up in her chest. She rolls her lips into her mouth and inhales deeply through her nose, breaking her gaze away from his face and to the ground. In order to not seem weird or awkward, she looks back up and finds his eyes on her while she nods her head.

“Yeah, you’re good,” she tells him. They start their walk through Central Park once more, heading towards home at a slow pace. Y/N has her candy cane back in her mouth, alternating between it and her hot chocolate before it got too cold. She could live off them both one hundred percent; two of the best things ever invented.

“So, tell me about your day,” Harry says, bringing Y/N out of her own thoughts and meeting his gaze again.

“It was a pretty good day, I guess,” she sighs, “we just have a lot of clients that like to do last minute shopping during the holidays and have some pretty crazy demands, but we want to deliver for them so we bend over backwards to do so.”

“I’m sure that can cause you to be rather exhausted then, yeah?”

“Very,” Y/N nods, “but I’m sure your day was much more interesting than mine, so tell me what kind of songs you wrote today?” Y/N asks with a smile.

Harry chuckles and lets Y/N lead the way to their left on the path home, he wasn’t the most confident with getting around sometimes since he usually stuck to the few places in the city that he was familiar with. While he has learned that Y/N is a New York City Native, he trusts her way direction over his, that’s for sure. He thinks back on what he had done today, including a quick run on the treadmill in the gym in their building that ended sooner than he thought as he got a burst of lyrical inspiration out of nowhere.

“I was in my apartment for most of the morning and a bit of the afternoon, then got in a bit of a rut after writing a new song about love, of course. Then I decided I needed to get out of the house and hope for some inspiration from people watching, which I have done a lot since living here,” Harry explains. Y/N takes a big gulp of her nearly cold drink, leaning to her left to get to the garbage they are passing in order to throw out the empty cup. Harry takes the chance to throw his empty cup out too.

“Do you always write about love?” Y/N asks, not thinking twice if it may be a bit too personal of a question. Harry is taken back at first by how that’s all she got from what he had said, but he only clears his throat and shoves his hands into his pockets now that they are free.

“Mostly, yeah,” he nods, “most relatable thing in life, I suppose.”

“Sometimes, I guess it can be,” Y/N agrees and goes back to sucking on her candy cane. She wonders how many times he’s been in love? How many times has she really been in love? Y/N sighs internally and focuses on her steps, avoiding a puddle by having to step closer to Harry. She sniffles from the cold at the same time and is hit with Harry’s scent - lavender, as it always seems to be how he smells. She still thinks it’s lovely.

The two of them make more casual conversation on their fifteen minute walk home through the busy streets. Harry tells her about an elderly couple he had seen just before seeing her, maybe in their 80s, and looking more in love than he’s ever seen before. He wrote a few things about how they looked before going on his way. Y/N tells him about how her grandparents used to go on walks through the park when she was younger, which then brings them into the topic of grandparents in general. Harry tells her about how his grandpa refuses to retire and how his grandma ends up bugging his mom because of how lonely she is. Y/N is smiling the whole time, loving how he must feel comfortable around her too as he’s able to talk about his family like this. Y/N also yawns many times in their short walk. She’s tempted to invite Harry into her apartment for some wine and pizza again but decides against it and simply gives him a smile and soft goodbye at her door, deciding to get into her night routine earlier than normal due to how she can’t stop yawning.

After hanging up her coat, double checking her door was locked, and slipping out of her boots, Y/N pulled her phone out of her pocket to check out what text she missed while on her walk home. She liked how she wanted to feel so present around Harry, having no want to look at her phone but instead being more interested in his little stories about his grandparents. Her face ID unlocks as she looks at the screen. It’s still on the photo she last tried to take for her Instagram. Harry’s hand was a bit of a blur as he stole her whipped cream off the top of her hot chocolate. There was no way to not know it was Harry’s hand, though, his rings being so unique and noticeable in the photo as well - her favourite being his initials wrapped around his fingers in gold. Some would think it’s maybe a bit narcissistic, but Y/N thought it looked good and really there’s no harm in being a narcissist sometimes right?

Y/N saves the photo but doesn’t post it, deciding to simply keep it for herself instead of letting her many followers see into a small yet sweet moment between her and her newest friend. She could call him that right? They were friends? Y/N did hope that Harry thought of her as a new friend too because she was enjoying this time with him a lot, maybe even a little too much.

It had been another day spent at the cafe down the street for Harry. Marking only one last day off till his final studio time this year, he was itching to get to work in a couple days and see his mates too. Over the almost two weeks, he’s written more than he had expected himself to and he knew he could thank a certain new neighbour, or I guess, a new friend, Harry thinks to himself as he turns towards his apartment building. There was no denying the feeling he got around Y/N. He wanted to become more than friends, eventually, no rush of course - but he couldn’t ignore the feeling he got around her; the butterflies and heart racing nearly every moment together. And he couldn’t forget the constant smiling, which he was doing right now just thinking about her.

Harry walks up to the main doors of his apartment building and notices a man beside the main doors. Harry furrows his brows at him. He didn’t look like some strange man trying to find warmth during the beginning of the evening here in the city that had fallen to freezing temperatures as the first week of December came to an end. In fact, he had a brand new iPhone in his hand and rather expensive looking clothes keeping him warm.

“Hey, did you need inside?” Harry asks the man standing by the intercom system. The man looks up at Harry, eyes narrowing at him. He seems Harry’s age, maybe even a few years older judging by the lines around his eyes. He’s got dark eyebrows which makes Harry think he must have dark hair under the beanie he wore under the hood of his thick winter coat. Harry waits for an answer, staring back into the stranger’s brown eyes.

“Yeah, girlfriends not answering and I know she’s inside,” his voice is low and gruff, he then lifts a Starbucks hot cup up - Harry recognizes the holiday pattern anywhere now since Y/N seems to always have one on her even in quick passing in or out of the building. “Even got me to pick her up this stupid drink on my way too, her fault if it’s cold now I guess.”

“Guess so,” Harry mumbles, kind of put off by the man’s attitude. He decides to give him the benefit of the doubt and holds the door open for it. The man walks in without so much of a thank you. You’re welcome, Harry sarcastically thinks to himself.

They walk together to the elevator in an awkward silence. Once the doors open Harry steps up to the buttons and hits the sixth one, not bothering to ask the man what floor he needs as he steps away. The stranger gives the lit up button a brief look before he’s staring down at his phone. As the elevator moves Harry’s mind wanders off to how he’d assert himself into Y/N’s evening today. Maybe he could make her dinner, then ask if she’d like to walk over to Central Park after because he knows how much she enjoys it there, and when they decide to take a break from walking and find a bench he’d finally get the nerve to make a move - maybe reach for her hand during the walk even. One thing was for sure, he liked Y/N and he needed to buck up and do something about it.

He’s still deep in thought about Y/N when the elevator doors open. The man he let into the building steps out first without even glance at Harry. Typical New Yorker, he thinks. Harry finds himself looking at where Y/N’s apartment door is over the man's shoulder as they walk down the hall, he’s debating just walking right up and asking her to hang out right away. But then the man stops in front of the door that reads 602 - Y/N’s door.

Y/N hears the knock on her front door and blinks rapidly at her laptop screen, unfocusing from her long email that she was to send to her boss, Amanda, within the hour with an update on how the first week of December had gone. She glances at the time and sees it’s nearly four in the afternoon. Took him long enough, she thinks while rolling her eyes and standing from the couch. Just as she’s a few steps away there’s another knock on the door. She sighs and unlocks it, quickly throwing the door open to reveal Mark standing on the other side.

“You are home,” he says, that attitude she knows so well is thick in his voice already. Y/N opens her mouth, about to sass him back, but then she notices a certain tall figure with a mess of brown hair walking behind Mark.

“Harry,” Y/N breathes out, hoping he didn’t even hear it honestly. But he slows his steps and gives her a tight lipped smile once facing her. It’s one she was not familiar with and makes her stomach feel as though it was full of rocks.

“Hey,” he says with a small three finger wave.

“You know this guy?” Mark, her boyfriend, questions. Bringing her eyes from Harry’s green ones and to his brown ones instead. “He was nice enough to let me into this place since you were too busy,” he states.

Y/N tucks her lips into her mouth and looks away from Mark and back to Harry. She knows he’s questioning everything by the look in his eyes. She tried. Well, maybe not hard enough, but she wanted to tell him about Mark, even just casually and quickly. Y/N didn’t intend to give Harry any sort of mixed signals during their times together, she really was just being polite and ended up enjoying being around him so much that she thought there was no harm in making a new friend. But she’d be an idiot to try and deny she felt something more than friendship with Harry.

“Yeah, uh,” she clears her throat and waves a hand between the two young men, “Mark, this is Harry my uh, my neighbour. Harry this is Mark, my boyfriend.”

Well shit, that’s not ideal, Harry thinks as he looks into Y/N’s eyes and prays he heard her wrong. But he knows he didn’t. So, he just takes a deep breath and forces a smile to stay on his face while holding a hand out to Mark, even though it hurt him to be polite to the guy that was dating the girl he’s been crushing on for nearly two weeks now.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Harry says as Mark grasps his hand and shakes it lazily. Shit handshake, he thinks. “I would love to stay and chat but I’ve got some work to get to,” he says quickly after taking his hand out of Mark’s and backing away from the situation towards his own apartment.

Y/N opens her mouth, but the words don’t come out. She just watches as Harry turns on his heels and his posture hunches as he gets to his door and tries to unlock it quickly. Mark is suddenly pushing past Y/N, saying something but she’s too focused remembering the look on Harry’s face just moments ago. She steps back into her apartment and doesn’t look over to where Harry is shutting his own door before closing her own gently.

Really fucked this up didn’t you, Y/N? She thinks as she turns the lock on her door and listens to Mark complain about his day while flinging his belongings around her living room. What is she going to do? What is she going to say? If Harry ever talks to her again, that is. She sighs and closes her eyes before making her way towards where her boyfriend was lounging on her couch, giving him a small smile as he opened his arms for her to sit with him.

“I did miss you these past few weeks while I was away,” Mark says, planting a quick kiss to her hair as she leans into his body - praying he doesn’t question why her heart is beating so fast. She’s sure he wouldn’t enjoy knowing it’s because of her growing feelings for her new neighbour, and seeing the realization in Harry’s face at the fact she wasn’t single kind of hurt to see.

“Missed you too,” she mumbles, lying. Y/N hadn’t thought about her boyfriend all that much these past, almost, three weeks that he was away for a business trip.

“Do much without me?” Mark asks.

Y/N shakes her head, “no, not much at all,” her soft voice replies while she begins to zone out on the wall that was between her and Harry’s apartments, noticing how it made her feel more separated from him now more than ever. 

>> part two <<

thanks for reading, please reblog/leave some feedback if you enjoyed it! until next week 😘

*like this post if you’d like to be added to the cstsyl taglist!*

[rebeccccccaaa]

𝚈𝚎𝚜, 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗

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𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍: (ANON) Since I love your Imagines, I thought I could request something to you :) Maybe some Steve smut where you''ve been dating for a while and Steve just came home after a two month Long Mission and you both have missed each other like crazy. So as soon as he enters your shared Apartment wearing his uniform, you get totally turned on by this sight and he knows how this affects you. So you’re soon all over each other and spend the night in love making and later cuddling? 😊

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: SMUT 18+ minors dni, captain kink yessss, and some daddy kink, itty bitty amount of flufffff (actually kinda a lot)

𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛’𝚜 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜: hot

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“Alright, good mission you guys. Fill out your paperwork as usual and go rest, you deserve it,” Steve voice echoed to the people below. He walked out Nat trailing behind him. 

“Alright I’m gonna head home, I’m sure Y/n misses me a bunch. This was a long mission,” Steve smiled. 

“You’re not gonna change?” she raised her brow.

“No,” Steve replied.

“You always do ,” she said.

“So?”

“Ok, nasty,” she walked away.

“I heard that!” he shouted, making her giggle running away.

Steve got on his bike and rode through the streets of New York, every now and then hearing a hoot from someone, fans of America's golden boy. He parked his bike and walked to the elevator to reunite with you in your apartment after two months. 

He missed you so much it was eating him alive. He called you every chance he got but it wasn’t enough; he wanted to hear your voice in person. He looked at the photos you sent him, naughty and nice, but it wasn’t enough; he wanted to touch you and hold you. 

He got on the floor of the apartment and nearly sprinted down the hall. He opened the door and found you humming in the kitchen making yourself food. He stayed quiet and closed the door ever so quietly. He placed his shield down silently and walked to the counter with a soft smile on his face.

“Steve!” you shouted when you turned around.

You set the dish down and ran around the counter nearly taking him down with the brute force of a hug. You littered kisses all over his face making him laugh hysterically. 

“Oh my goodness, I’m so happy you’re home!” you squeaked.

“I missed you baby,” he said muffled in your neck.

“I made food but I don’t know if it’ll be enough-” you stopped.

“What?” he asked. 

“You didn’t change,” you whispered.

“No, I wanted to get home as soon as possible. Is there a problem?” he smirked. Of course there was a problem. Every time you see Steve in the suit you can’t help the wetness that pools in your panties. Your breathing quickened and your mouth watered at simply the sight of him. And he fucking knew. Else he would’ve changed, the bastard. 

“No it’s not. I just wasn’t expecting yo to be in your suit,” you mumbled. 

“Expecting what?” Steve teased, pretending he couldn’t hear you.

“Tell me, baby. Were you a good girl for your captain while I was away?” his finger lifted your chin.

“Yes, captain,” you whispered; your hands came up and moved swiftly across his broad chest. 

“Did you miss your captain?”

“Yes, captain,” you bit your lip and pressed your thighs together in arousal. 

“How much?” he smirked.

“So much,” you whimpered, “I thought about you everyday.”

“Did you touch yourself when I was gone?”

You hesitated, dropping your arms. Steve didn’t like it when you touched yourself. He always said you don’t need those stupid toys by which you agreed very much so. He always pleasured you when you wanted and needed. And especially when he would leave for missions and he came back, the sex was always satisfying. 

But this time he was gone for so long you could take it anymore.

“Answer me,” he said sternly.

“I’m sorry, Captain. You were gone for so long,” you cried.

“Tsk tsk,” he shook his head, “You know the rules, baby girl.”

You sniffled and when Steve gave you that look you scurried to your shared room. You sat anxiously on the bed simply wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of panties. Your body shook as you heard the quiet thumps as Steve came up the stairs. He came inside the room in all his glorified uniform, radiating confidence and dominance. 

You ached for him.

“Baby girl, I was so excited to come home but you broke one of my rules,” he undid his fingerless gloves. 

“So what do you think is gonna happen?” 

“You’re gonna punish me,” you whispered, making him nod.

“Lay back for me, legs spread so I can that gorgeous pussy,” he commanded.

You laid back resting on your elbows and you spread on legs wide. The wet spot clearly visible on your panties made Steve's dick grow hard. You waited further instruction, biting your lip in anticipation. You could see Steve's eyes grow black with lust and hunger and that made your stomach flutter and flip. 

“Touch yourself,” he said, sitting on a single couch chair across from the bed. 

Without a second thought you snaked your hand down your front, slipping your fingers past your panties and slowly circled your clit. Your breathing quickened and you moved your fingers quicker. Steve was right there and you wished he would just touch you. You were getting closer to your release until Steve’s authoritative voice pulled you from your climax.

“Enough,” Steve said. 

“But- but, I didn’t-”

“You didn’t come?” he mocked.

“No, captain,” you whined.

“Well, that’s too bad; bad girls don’t get to cum. Touch yourself again,” he commanded. 

You circled your fingers again quickly chasing your orgasm. 

“Slower,” his voice was deep.

You slowed down to a tortuously slow speed and your whimpers were trembled and shaky trying your best to not cum. Steve unzipped the bottom part of his suit and pulled out his cock. He pumped it in his fist throwing his head back in pleasure. 

“Please Captain. Let me cum, please,” you cried.

“Nu-uh not yet,” he continued chasing his own high.

You whined and whimpered, slowing down to not cum. You missed Steve so much so you listened to everything he asked you to do in hopes that being a good girl will let him reward you sooner. Your finger grew tired and you soon came to a halt; still desperate to cum.

“Did I say you could stop?” Steve’s voice startled you. 

“Dip your fingers inside baby girl,” he told you. 

You moved your panties to the side and slowly dipped your cold fingers past your folds. You moaned loudly as you trusted them in and out slowly. Steve stared hungrily at you breathing hard, moving his hand up and down his shaft quickly. 

Your own moans grew louder and louder with each passing second and tears brimmed your eyes silently begging Steve to let you cum. Steve was so enamored with how  beautiful you looked squirming and whining in front of him. He couldn’t hold back anymore and released all over his hand. 

“Steve, can I come now? Please?” you begged, your finger stilling inside you.

“Of course you can, just not yet,” he smirked evilly, making you whine and grunt.

Steve walked to you and pulled your panties down your legs; the wetness sticking to your inner thighs. He kneel to the floor instantly and you moaned simply at the sight of him settling between your legs. He kissed your legs staring lustfully into your eyes. 

“You want me to make you cum? Have you had enough?” he mocked.

“Yes, Captain! Please, I need your mouth, fuck!” you squirmed. 

“Now don’t get greedy, baby,” he smirked before pressing his tongue against your core. 

He licked your swollen clit and your body shuddered, and he squeezed your thighs before running his hands to place his hand over your breasts. Steve pinched your nipples slightly and you gasped before moaning softly. He knew how sensitive your breasts got during sex and he always made sure to give just as much attention as they needed. 

“Captain, your mouth feels so good. I’m gonna cum!” you squeaked. Steve instantly pulled away from you and gasped in shock as to why he pulled away. 

“Please, no more teasing. Please, let me come. I’ve been a good girl, Captain, please,” you begged. 

Steve chuckled darkly before sucking on your swollen bud once again. Steve hands slid down to hold your hips still as he brought you to edge again with his tongue. You moans got higher and he knew you were going to come soon so he pulled away again, peppering kisses along the inside of your thigh as you cried. 

He did this for what felt like an eternity. His moans harmonizing with yours before pulling away at the last second right before your climax. Your hand tugged on his hair and your heels dug into the thick material of his suit in a fit when he would do so only to pull a deeper gruttal moan from him. 

After he edged nearly 8 times he grew needy too and could resist any longer. His own cock became painful with neglect. He stood up from the floor and your body trembled desperate to release but couldn’t. You whispered pleas and whines as Steve crawled above you. 

“You gonna break daddy’s rules when he’s away again?” he whispered against your lips.

“No, never again. Please daddy,” you whined. 

“Awe baby, no more crying. Daddy’s gonna take care of you now,” he pushed his cock through your soaking wet folds and you breathed out shakily. You grabbed onto his uniform clad shoulders, your hands small compared to his broad shoulders. 

“So fucking tight, baby,” Steve hiked your leg over hip; hitting a new angle, a deeper angle. You looked up at Steve with nothing but love and adoration in your eyes. His eyes met yours and he gave a smirk before you pulled him down crashing your lips against his. 

He moaned beautifully in the kiss, his hands coming up to your jaw. He pushed his tongue past your lips kissing you messily just how you liked it. Your hands circled to his hair and brushed through your fingers lightly scratching his scalp. 

“Fuck, you have no idea how badly daddy miss his best girl,” he moaned. 

“I thought about you every fucking night,” he kissed you. 

“Oh, fuck. I love you, Stevie,” you cupped his face. 

“I love you too, baby girl. Gah, I can feel ya clenching around my cock; you gonna cum for me? Let it all go?” 

“Yes! Please, let me cum!”

“Alright, since you’ve been such a good girl for your captain. Go ahead, baby,” he permissed. 

You cried out, arching your back into Steve’s chest. Tears fell down your temples into your hair and Steve buried face into your neck pounding his hips to yours chasing his release. Your arms wrapped around him and hastily pulled him against. Steve groaned loudly in your ear as he came in you.

He pulled his dick out seeing him cum mixed with yours leaking from between your thighs. He noted your tired state; hair splatter across the pillows, the sweat that lined your forehead and between your breasts, the way your chest heaved up and down, you were so angelic. 

“Baby, are you alright?” he smiled at you.

“Hm-mh,” you grinned. 

“Guess what? I bought a new book,” you eyes lit up at his words. 

“How about I run you a bath and I can start readin’ it to you. How does that sound?” he brushed your hair from face. 

“Yes, please,” you kissed his nose. 

Steve ran the bath and you hopped in the hot water instantly soothing your body. Steve had now undressed from his uniform wearing simply a pair of sweatpants; no shirt. He read the words on the page and you just listened and watched him with devotion. 

“Stevie, I missed you,” you smiled.

“I missed you too baby girl,” he leaned down to kiss you chastely before returning to read the book he bought for you. 

====================

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: (For all my work)

@mathletemadison​

@buckybarnes101​

@l-sofiamia-l 

[delimeful]

(dont) take this the wrong way (6)

warnings: misunderstandings, trauma responses, illness

-

Patton and Roman went in circles for a moment on who should carry Logan, eventually settling on Patton, since Roman was the quicker between the two of them and they were alarmingly unsure of what the small mer was planning— or how negatively that plan would affect the little guy.

Roman couldn’t help but be a little jealous anyways at the sight of the human pressing his tiny face against the palm of Patton’s hand, still mostly unconscious despite the jostling. It was unfairly adorable, and he never got to hang out with humans that weren’t terrified or fled at the sight of him.

Logan had started off scared too, sure, but after they’d cleared that little misunderstanding up, the human had shooed him away with an itty bitty stern look.

He’d listened, of course, he certainly owed these two that much, but internally he was gleeful at how bold Logan was when hanging out with them. Maybe he’d even come back and they’d learn more of his language and he could needle the nerd into telling him more about surface life—!

But of course, that required that he get better first.

It seemed obvious now, with the feverflush to his skin and the subtle tremor even as he slept, but the signs were so tiny on him, they might not have noticed for ages yet. He was inordinately grateful that the little mer had brought it to their attention, even if it also meant learning just how lowly the little guy thought of them.

When they returned from the air room, the tiny mer hadn’t twitched from his spot, though he looked as though he wanted to vibrate right out of his skin.

Agonizingly, he only seemed to get more stressed at the sight of Patton’s cupped hands, gaze darting between them for a moment before he flitted forwards and pressed an earfin to the makeshift airseal, staying in place only long enough to catch the sound of Logan’s little raspy breaths.

Roman opened his mouth, arms sliding up to gesture, and the tiny mer shot all the way back across the room like quicksilver. He had a moment to realize that with that speed, they’d never have ‘caught’ him in the first place if he hadn’t been trapped by that net, and then he felt immensely guilty for clearly spooking the little guy.

“How about you lead the way?” he asked, trying to distract their flighty little friend before he started tearing hair out. “The exit is one cave down, we’ll follow to wherever you think is the best place.”

He was shaking his head before Roman even finished. “No, I’ll follow, you— whoever stole him, you have to take him back to that beach. You remember... right?”

Roman turned to glance at Patton, who nodded firmly. “I’ll get us started then, kiddo.”

He cradled his cupped hands to his chest and swam deeper, easily twisting through the exit tunnel into the open ocean. Roman nodded at the little mer and followed, hoping that the little guy wouldn’t just vanish.

Only a moment later, he flitted out after them, and Roman caught the desperate longing that crossed his expression for a moment at the sight of wide open terrain. It vanished after a single glance at Patton’s cargo, replaced by a grim scowl.

If it weren’t for the human, Roman had the feeling that the mer would have turned and vanished, too quick and small for them to ever see again.

Instead, he hovered carefully out of lunging reach as they traveled, watching their every move with narrowed eyes. Every unconscious twitch of Patton’s hands seemed to make him flinch in response, as though he was expecting something horrible would happen to the human at any moment.

Normally, Roman would have been quite offended about this implied slight against Patton’s character, since his friend was just about the gentlest guy he knew. With circumstances what they were, however, he remained silent. He knew that this wasn’t really a reflection on Patton, but rather someone else entirely, a phantom presence that was still haunting the small mer.

Roman let out a breath of relief when they finally resurfaced, a human beach visible nearby. Patton unfolded his hands as soon as they were above water, and they both peered nervously down at the human.

“He doesn’t look like he’s gotten any worse,” Patton murmured, angling his hands so their small tagalong could see as well. “This is fairly close to the beach I found him at!”

“It seems the early hour has served us well,” Roman added, making sure not to gesture as he usually would. “There doesn’t appear to be anyone else around. Should we set him on the beach?”

The tiny mer jolted when he realized that they were both looking to him, flitting back and forth in nervous motions. “Uh, yeah— Yes. But be careful. And make sure you put him high enough that the tide can’t drag him back.” He continued in an undertone, “With his luck, it’ll be ages before another human appears.”

“I’ll do it!” Patton announced, already pushing forwards to shallower waters. “Roman’s likely to beach himself if he goes too far inland, and that’s shore to make things difficult!”

Roman groaned, flicking his fingertips at the siren. “That was one time! One-time incidents don’t qualify for pun-based bullying!”

Patton’s muffled laughter got quieter as he shifted to lay vertically, scooting forwards until his chest was scraping the sand and his arm could extend to set Logan gently against the beach incline. Logan’s head lolled to the side, but he seemed unlikely to go anywhere, and was in plain sight of anyone passing by.

Roman glanced down at the tiny mer, who was staring over the waves at the human, finally looking a little less stiff and stressed.

Patton wiggled back until he could tread water upright again, sharing a little cheer with Roman at a successful quest. Their guest’s tension returned immediately, that little shadowed gaze snapping back onto them.

Roman and Patton exchanged a glance, uncertain of how to proceed, but before anyone could speak, they heard a small, hacking cough.

Logan was awake, just a little too late for him or Patton to say goodbye. He probably wouldn’t have understood, but it would have been nice anyhow. Roman watched as he rolled to something resembling upright, his limbs trembling weakly. He was looking back and forth, not just noticing the new decor, but searching.

Roman glanced down to the small mer, who had set his shoulders and continued looking firmly away from the beach. He sunk a little lower in the water, trying to make eye contact. “Would you like to go and say goodbye before he leaves? Or, tell him what’s going on, perhaps?”

He shook his head once, sharply, and Roman felt a little pang of sympathy at the way his ear fins kept angling back at every noise the human made.

Logan was calling out now, the same word repeated at increasing levels of urgency. “Virgil?”

The mer still refused to glance back. “I’m not breaking the deal. You upheld your half, and you’re going to keep upholding it, and I’ll uphold mine. I’m not going anywhere.”

He’d drifted closer to Roman as he spoke, but it didn’t feel like any sort of progress. He’d tucked all those extra flares and frills away, smoothing himself down as though he was calm— or resigned.

Roman glanced up at the beach, where Logan still called. As he listened, that little voice cracked midword, desperation slowly turning to despair. He moved to cup his hand underneath the little mer, his heartstrings pulling at the way he let out a slow, shaky breath and closed his eyes, even as Roman lifted him up from the ocean entirely.

Patton opened his mouth as if to speak, but Roman met his eyes and shook his head, promising with his gaze alone that he knew what he was doing. His friend glanced down at the little guy worriedly, but held his tongue.

With one strong push, Roman slid up to the beach’s edge, grimacing slightly as the water became shallower and shallower. His arms were longer than Patton’s, though, and so he had little trouble reaching over and depositing his handful of seawater & tiny mermaid directly next to Logan.

“Virgil!” the human said, relieved, and he reached out to latch onto the mer, confirming Roman’s name suspicions.

‘Virgil’ had yelped like a baby seal upon being upended onto the beach, and he was now blinking between Roman and Logan with an air of extreme bewilderment.

“Virgil,” Logan said again, now in a very different tone. He wore a tiny, furious expression as he launched into what sounded like a somewhat-feverish lecture. He also reached over and pulled the mer into a hug, confirming Roman’s ‘he had no idea Virgil was going to pull this’ suspicions.

Roman was so right about so many things today. Everyone should listen to him all the time!

He wriggled back a little, intending to give them some privacy to talk, and made absolutely no progress. Uh oh. He glanced down at the others.

“I am just a little bit, slightly, somewhat, completely beached again,” he told them, his face growing hot. “I hope you two appreciate that I did this even though Patton is absolutely never going to let me live this down.”

“Need me to reel you back in, kiddo?” Patton called, right on cue. Roman sighed, planting his face in the crook of his elbow for a moment.

“Just a moment,” he called, and then met Virgil’s wide eyes from over Logan’s shoulder. “It seems like there’s still much for you both to discuss, my undersized acquaintances. We shouldn’t stay so close to land for long, but I imagine you’ll feel better if you keep him company until someone comes for him, right?”

Logan’s brief spark of energy seemed to be flagging, but every time Virgil attempted to disengage from the hug, he clung on tighter. After a brief moment of hesitation, Virgil conceded to the clinginess and simply nodded at Roman, still half-braced for something awful.

Roman gave him his most reassuring smile. “Then that’s what you’ll do. You know where to find me or Patton, if you need us!”

“Really?” Virgil asked, hands fisting in the back of Logan’s shirt. “You’ll let me-- you’ll leave us alone? Just like that?”

Roman nodded, lips twisted in sympathy. “Just like that.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, fins flattened against the sides of his head-- and then he took a deep breath, loosened his grip just slightly, and nodded back.