#day fifteen: scarf

[pink-concorde]

☾𖤓 Happy Zutara Month! 𖤓☽

Day Fifteen: Scarf

So we were all excited about the scarf, huh? How about a call back to it later?

[moonstruckme]

A Christmas Special

summary: after Christmas Eve at Remus' flat, thick snowfall prevents you from going home. He's more than happy to host you

cw: mentions of alcohol, smut mdni, p in v, oral (fem receiving), praise, inexperienced reader, shy little idiots in love

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 11k words

Remus isn’t sure entirely how he’d gotten strongarmed into hosting Christmas Eve at his flat. James and Lily usually host, but James claimed that this year their house was in too much a state of “baby mayhem” to have any hope of being tidied enough for a gathering. He’s said it in such a lovesick voice Remus couldn’t push back for long, his friend’s happiness so potent it was like looking into the sun. Sirius had begged off quickly, saying that his “bachelor pad” was too small to have a group over. As usual, when Remus spoke last, the matter was settled before he’d gotten the chance to have much of a say. 

He’s made an effort to live up to the hosting legacy passed onto him by the Potters, but it’s a flimsy attempt at best. Thankfully, the snowfall outside is doing a fair amount of the work for him. Remus’ street is coated in fresh, gleaming powder, enough that the trees look weighted down with it and his neighbor had put her little dog in a knit sweater to go into the yard and do its business. It’s still coming down, the snowflakes visible in crisp contrast against the darkening sky as they drift lazily to the earth. 

Inside Remus’ home, the Christmas tree is nearly covered in tinsel to make up for his scant supply of ornaments, he’s run out of stockings to put up above the fireplace and has had to use one large sock (that one will have to be for Sirius), and he’s still stringing up popcorn when a knock sounds on the door. 

Remus is surprised (he’d told everyone to come at six, but that was only because he didn’t think anyone would actually show up until a couple hours after), but that dies away when he unbolts the door and opens it to find you on the other side. 

“Hi,” you say, teeth nearly chattering as Remus ushers you inside. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was worse than I expected.” 

“It’s hardly fifteen after six.” Remus takes your coat, tsking. “People do seem to become worse drivers around the holidays, don’t they?” 

“Well, I suppose not everyone on the road tonight might be used to driving in the snow,” you allow, ever forgiving. 

Remus smiles. “Merry Christmas, love.” 

Your face is already flushed from the chill outside, but he could swear it goes pinker as you unwrap your scarf, smiling back at him. “Merry Christmas.” You’re merry as can be, cheeks dimpling and eyes sparkling under the twinkling lights Remus is suddenly very glad he decided to purchase for the occasion. “Where is everyone?” 

“Well,” Remus says, heading back for the couch, “Sirius is hitching a ride with James and Lily, so if I had to guess I’d wager that James is just putting the finishing touches whatever food he’s decided to bring while Lily tries to rush him out the door. And then they’ll go to Sirius’ place and have to wait for him to finish wrapping the presents he undoubtedly just remembered today.” 

You sit beside him with a half-exasperated laugh. “I was thinking I’d be the last one here,” you admit, “but I’d forgotten how they can be when it comes to events.” 

Remus shrugs. “Easy to forget.” Lily is usually able to marshal James and Sirius most places on time these days, but the frenzy when they actually have things to prepare is inevitable; Remus has learnt to account for it. He reclaims his half-finished string of popcorn, clumsily stabbing the needle into another kernel and wincing when it goes through easier than expected, pricking his finger. 

“Oh no, did you hurt yourself?” you lean over, trying to see his hand. 

“No, just a scratch.” Remus has about a billion of them by now. He’s far from coordinated on a good day, but the unwise decision to have coffee earlier has resulted in shaky hands that make working with a needle somewhat hazardous. 

You watch him try again, and it’s really the distraction of your cute frown more than anything else that messes him up. His needle goes through the fluffy edge of the popcorn, stabbing him and giving the string hardly anything to hold onto in the process. The flake falls to his lap for his efforts. 

“Remus, your hand’s not a pincushion,” you say, and you weren’t yourself he’d almost think you were chiding him. You reach over, taking the needle and thread from him. “Here, let me do that.” 

“I didn’t mean for you to come here early so I could put you to work,” Remus protests, watching as you string up the next piece of popcorn with nimble fingers. Jealousy wars with admiration, but his esteem for you wins out. “You’ll never come back for New Year’s if this is what you have to look forward to.” 

You smile down at your hands. “Sure I will. You’ll still be there, won’t you? And I really don’t mind helping, it gives me something to do.” 

Remus smiles back even though you’re not looking. “Alright, well I guess that means I can start rolling out the gingerbread dough. Thanks, love.” He touches his hand lightly to the crown of your head as he stands, letting the urge to press a kiss there pass as quickly as it arises. He goes into the kitchen and a second later you decide to follow. Popcorn swishes against the floor behind you as you make your way over to the bar counter, sitting on a stool with the string trailing all the way back to the couch. 

“You’re making gingerbread cookies?” you ask, watching with eager eyes as he plops the dough onto the floured counter, rolling it flat. 

“Mhm. You like them?” 

“Never had one.” 

Remus feels his eyebrows inch upwards. “Seriously?” 

You look almost sheepish, as though this is a crime which you expect to be held against you. Honestly, you’re not far off; had James been here, you would have been questioned and scolded to hell and back, and then he would’ve made Remus give you some dough to try, salmonella be damned. 

“No,” you answer him. “We made ornaments of them in school, once, but we weren’t allowed to eat them. I always thought they were so cute, though, with the little people cutouts.” 

“They’re the best,” Remus agrees, pressing out the shapes and laying them on the baking sheet. “If you finish that quickly enough, I might even let you help me cut out a few.” 

“Yes!” you cheer, and he laughs as you start working quicker with the needle. 

“Don’t hurt yourself. The privilege of cookie cutting is not actually contingent on your labor.” 

“I know,” you say, but your hands don’t slow. Remus has barely finished filling his second baking sheet before you’re done, having made more progress in the last twenty minutes than he had over nearly an hour. 

Remus’ hip touches yours as he shows you how to give the cookie cutters a little shake in the dough, freeing the shape before lifting it and placing it on the sheet. It’s not a painfully difficult task, and still he’s impressed by how quickly you catch on. You’re a machine of efficiency. You seem to enjoy rolling out the dough almost as much as pressing out the shapes, falling into a quick, happy rhythm. Before long you’ve pushed Remus out of the way (Lily would be proud, he thinks), urging him to go and hang up the popcorn garland before everyone else arrives. 

You haven’t seen each other in over a month, both of you caught up in the hustle and bustle of the season, and you catch up as you work on your separate tasks. Remus talks to you about his job, the students who plague him and the ones he wishes he could take home after work each day, and how none of them had liked the film he’d put on the day before break. (“Mister Magoo’s is a classic!” you protest as Remus shakes his head. “They’re too young to get it,” he says. “Our classics are just old to them.”) You tell him about your new cat, and the sweater you’d crocheted her for the holiday which she despises above all else, and he promises to come over sometime soon to meet her. 

You’ve poured yourselves spiked eggnog and sampled a few ginger cookies (“They’re twice as good when they’re fresh,” Remus says. “Don’t let the others’ tardiness rob you of the experience.”) by the time the door bursts open again, Sirius of course not bothering to knock. 

“Hello!” he calls from somewhere behind a tower of presents. “Merry holiday to you, Moony!” 

You get up to help, and so Remus is compelled to do so as well, taking a couple sloppily-wrapped boxes from Sirius’ arms. 

“Merlin, it smells good in here,” James declares as he comes through the door, Lily carrying a beaming baby Harry on her hip behind him. James’ eyes fall on you. “Aw, you beat us here?”

Remus scoffs, setting down the gifts by the tree and leaving you to arrange them as you see fit. “Not a very difficult task, when you’re over an hour late,” he says. “You’re lucky Y/N’s good company, or I’d be more cross with you.” 

“Sorry,” Lily says as Sirius makes a dismissive sound, flopping onto the couch. “We had some trouble fitting everything in the car with Harry’s seat, and then Sirius—” she shoots him a glare, and he grins like she’s sweetly cooed his name “—wouldn’t leave without his hat, even though he’d lost it.” 

“One only gets to wear one’s elf hat every so often,” Sirius justifies, unperturbed. “I wasn’t going to miss the occasion even if it took me all night to find it.” 

“It nearly did,” Lily shoots back, but then James is at her side, having discarded his load of food and presents and now vying to hold Harry. 

“Come here, my handsome little guy.” 

“Used to call me that,” Sirius quips with his mouth full of gingerbread cookies, a heaping plate seeming to have found its way into his lap. 

Remus isn’t going to smile at that poor attempt at a joke, but once you laugh he can’t help it. 

“Only on special occasions,” James replies, taking Harry under the arms and hoisting him into the air. Harry laughs, and it’s probably the most contagious thing Remus has ever heard. Everyone smiles; James most of all, grinning ear to ear as he does it again. 

“He never lets me hold him,” Lily complains fondly. 

“Because I know how much you like seeing me with him,” James says breezily, making a face at Harry above him. “You’re mad with lust right now, Evans, don’t try to deny it.” 

“Sleaze,” Sirius says to him, the bell on his hat jingling when he tilts his head.

“I know you are, but what am I?” 

“I,” Remus says, “am hungry. And I’ll bet Y/N is too, since she’s very politely refrained from snacking much while we waited for you lot.” 

James' attention actually leaves his son for half a second to look at you and see if what Remus says is true, and you go instantly bashful. It doesn’t seem to matter how long you’re friends with them; having attention drawn to you will always bring some color to your cheeks. Lily comes to your rescue, ushering you into the kitchen like she needs somewhere to channel her mother hen urges while James is monopolizing Harry. 

“I hope you really are hungry,” she says, “because James has made enough bhaji to feed us all for a month.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Soon even James is stuffed and you’re all a bit tipsy on eggnog. Some of your natural anxiety fades as everything starts to feel slower and more fluid, your insides warm and soft as wax. 

“No, because it was so obvious,” Sirius says. He’s telling a story of a girl he’d seen at a coffee shop that he’s sure was enamored with him. James, naturally, agrees completely, but Lily and Remus aren’t so sure. “She did the—the thing. Y/N, back me up. When a girl makes eye contact with you and then looks off to the side, it means she’s not interested, but when she looks down, it’s because she’s nervous, right?”

You raise your eyebrows. “I think you made that up,” you tell him, tiny bits of laughter running in between your words. “Anyway, is her being nervous necessarily a good thing?” 

“She was nervous because she’s obsessed with me,” Sirius insists. 

“Or,” Remus says, “she was nervous because you were staring at her, and she thought you were going to follow her outside.” 

“And probably kill her,” Lily agrees. 

James’ eyebrows shoot up. “Merlin, you two are dark. Our Padfoot’s not putting out murderous vibes. He’s got too much boyish charm.” 

Sirius nods appreciatively, but Lily only shrugs, careful not to jostle Harry where he’s sleeping on her lap. “Girls have to think of those things.” 

“Gross,” James says, looking slightly troubled as he kisses the side of his wife’s head. “Well, I think she was in love with you, Pads.”

“Yeah,” Remus rolls his eyes, “he should show up at her house and find out. It’d be romantic.”

“And on that note,” James goes on, ignoring him, “shall we do presents?”

You all agree, and Sirius looks at James with an older brother’s entitlement. “Go ahead and distribute them, Prongsie.” 

James, well used to this, doesn’t even question it, scampering back and forth between the tree (which you can’t help but notice is somewhat lacking in the ornament department but quite sparkly) to deliver your presents at your feet. After a few rounds of this, you can’t stand it anymore and get up to help, laughing through the protests of your remaining three friends. (“He’s got it, love,” Remus says, and Sirius adds, “He’s got energy he needs to run off anyway.”) Between the two of you, the bottom of the Christmas tree is bare within a couple of minutes, small piles of presents next to each of your friends. You go to sit back by the pile meant for you, touched at the fact that you have a box from every person there. 

“S’not fair that James and Lily get to do couple’s presents now,” Sirius complains. “I’m going to start buying gifts for you like you’re one person, see how you like it.” 

The biggest pile is obviously for Harry, and you all start there, no small amount of eagerness in James’ expression as he tears open the first box. “The Velveteen Rabbit,” he reads aloud. “Wow, this is kinda hefty for a children’s book.” 

“Who’s it from?” Lily prompts, as if you don’t all already know. 

“Shit, I forgot to check.” 

“And that’s why we read the box,” Lily says slowly, and you get the sense this is a conversation that’s happened more than once, “before we start ripping, honey.” 

“It was me,” Remus volunteers, lips pulling into a half-smile. 

“Course it was,” James says, taking a break from sticking his tongue out at his wife to smile at Remus. “Thanks, Moony.” 

“You had the opportunity to get him Goodnight Moon,” Sirius tsks, “and you just let it pass you by.” 

Remus rolls his eyes, but then Lily says, “He already has that one,” and you watch as he tries and fails to suppress the shy smile that takes him. It shifts the scars on his cheek and lights his eyes with a warm tenderness. 

He looks especially pretty under the Christmas lights, you think. The warm glow suits him, bringing out the amber in his eyes and richening the various brown shades of his hair. It makes his skin look softer too, smooth even where you know he has stubble around his jawline. You want suddenly to reach out and touch it, and you’re glad you’re sitting too far from him to act on the urge. 

You’ve noticed Remus over the years, of course. It’d be impossible not to. You’ve always harbored a tiny crush on him, but you keep it shoved deep down in your gut where it can’t hurt anyone. You think the world of him, but you love your little group of friends more than anything else. You’re not unaware of the fact that Remus is a more crucial fixture in it than you are; if anything happened between you and it made things awkward for everyone, you’d be the one to go. 

“Aw, is this a hat?” Lily pulls something tawny brown from a box, and you realize they’ve gotten to your gift. “Oh my god, it has little antlers!”

You try not to smile too hard as she shows it to James and he coos, taking it from her hands. “No way, he’ll be like our little Prongsie! I’m going to put it on him.” 

“Don’t wake him,” Lily warns, but James waves her off.

“He can sleep through anything,” he says, settling the baby beanie on Harry’s head. Sure enough, he doesn’t stir. 

“Oh, that’s so darling.” Lily presses a hand to her chest. “Y/N, where’d you get this?”

You feel your face heat and hope the lighting is covering your blush. “I made it,” you admit. “I know we’re already well into winter, but I hope he can still use it a little.” 

“Um, he’s never taking it off. Like, ever.” James leans around Lily to press a smacking kiss to your cheek. You laugh, trying not to shrink in on yourself from all the attention. “Thanks, love.” 

Once all the cooing over Harry’s presents is done, the rest of the gift opening proceeds with decidedly less fanfare, though no shortage of gratitude. You get a bunch of purple eyeliners from Sirius (you’d complained to him a few weeks ago that they’d stopped selling your old one, and he’d been thoughtful enough to find you options to help decide upon new one), a cookbook from James and Lily (“Now you can stop eating all those frozen meals,” James tells you with a meaningful look), and a set of mittens from Remus (“They’re alpaca,” he explains. “Supposed to be extra warm, and your hands are always freezing.”). The rest of your gifts are received happily too, and then Remus’ living room is covered with the wrapping paper Lily had tried but eventually given up on getting everyone to put in piles as they went and you’re all starting to yawn. 

“Alright,” Lily says after a while, “it’s well past Harry’s bedtime, and ours, and I’m sure Remus would like his flat back.” 

“Booo.” Sirius lays back on the couch, letting his head loll over the edge of the armrest. “Domestic life has made you lame, Evans-Potter.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” James drawls, gathering Harry against his chest, “I saw you yawning, Pads. Let’s go.” 

You stand with the rest of them, going to find your shoes by the door. “Thanks for everything, Remus,” you say. “It was great.” 

“For a first time hosting,” James allows, jokingly prideful, “I suppose you did a pretty decent job. Big shoes to fill, and all that.” 

Remus smiles as he rolls his eyes, but it falters when his gaze settles on something behind you. “Are you all going to be alright getting home? It looks like it’s really picked up.” 

You follow his stare out the window. He’s not wrong. The unusually thick snowfall you’d arrived in has morphed into something that looks more like a blizzard, the wind whipping white across the black backdrop of sky outside Remus’ flat. 

James looks between the scene outside and his family once before seeming to make a decision. “Yeah, we’ll be alright,” he says, watching Lily as he talks. She nods her approval, and James’ voice becomes more solid. “We don’t have far to drive.”

Remus nods, still looking worried. His brows furrow as he turns to you. “What about you? Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” It’s the only answer in these situations, though you’re sure Remus would be alright with the alternative if you felt very strongly. “It doesn’t look too bad out there.” 

Remus casts another dubious glance out the window, and a particularly loud gust of wind whooshes past as if to spite you. “Are you sure? It looks pretty bad to me.” 

“Yeah,” James says, “don’t you live a bit far?”

“It’s not that far,” you fib, at the same time as Remus says, “She does.” 

You laugh awkwardly, pulling on your coat “It’s not. Anyway, I’ve driven in a lot worse than this.”

Lily gives you a small smile. “That’s hardly reassuring, babe.”

“You can stay here,” Remus offers, but you’re shaking your head before he’s even gotten the words out. 

“That’s sweet of you, but I can make it home.” You give him your most competent smile. “If I end up driving off the road and have to camp in my car, at least I’ll have fantastic mittens to keep the frostbite from my hands.” 

He gives you a deadpan look. “While I’m glad you’re excited to use my gift, I’d prefer to keep it from coming to that.”

“You can���t get in a crash and die on Christmas,” Sirius says. “It’d be, like, a super huge downer for us every year.” 

“I’ll be fine,” you insist. 

“Shortcake, I don’t care if we have to lock you in here,” James says, frowning in a way that doesn’t look particularly tough when he’s swaying back and forth to rock Harry on his chest. “There’s no way you can drive all the way to your place in this.” 

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, wrapping your scarf.

“Okay, you know I would never usually say this,” Lily says, gnawing on her lip as she watches the snow blow past outside, “but I think you should listen to the boys. It looks too scary out there to drive that far.” 

“It’s…” You look between them, your argument dying of futility on your tongue. James seems prepared to blockade you in Remus’ flat, and even Lily’s giving you a stern look. Your gaze lands on Remus, and the last of your resistance melts away.

“You really should stay here,” he says kindly. “Actually, I’d feel a lot better if you did. Okay?”

You sigh, slipping your scarf back over your head. “Okay.” 

“Phew!” Sirius says, pulling you into a one-armed hug. “Glad that’s settled. See you all soon, thanks for Christmas Moony!” 

“He’s so tired,” Lily says after Sirius is out the door. 

“Wiped,” James agrees, adjusting his grip on Harry so that he can wrap one arm around Remus’ neck. Remus leans down into the awkward hug, begrudgingly fond as he pats his friend on the back, then kisses Lily on the cheek when James moves to you. 

“Thanks for the gifts,” James says, grinning down at Harry’s knit antlers after he releases you. “He’s never taking this off.” 

“He means it.” Lily sends her husband a look as fond as it is weary as she hugs you. “I’ll probably have to bathe Harry when James is asleep so he doesn’t catch him without it.” 

Your face is feeling hot again. “I’m glad you like it,” you say with a little shrug, but your friends are used to your shyness and only smile and wave on their way out. 

And then the door shuts, and you and Remus are left alone in the quiet. 

“Are you tired?” he asks you, moving back into the living room. Lily had sneakily taken care of a good deal of the cleanup, but there’s still a few half-empty glasses of eggnog strewn about which Remus begins gathering. 

“Not really,” you answer honestly, beating him to the sink and forcing him to hand you the glasses to wash. “Are you?”

“No,” he agrees, and the look he shoots you has to be the gentlest form malice has ever taken as he takes up the dish towel and stations himself beside you. “Fancy a film?”

“Mmm, a Christmas film?”

“Obviously.” 

The dishes are finished quickly thanks to Lily’s interference, and Remus makes you some hot cocoa while you scroll through movies, calling out possibilities. The only conflict between you is your equal complaisance to whatever the other prefers, and you eventually settle on the first one you’d seen just to put an end to it. You take your cocoa gladly when Remus passes it to you, blowing gently while he settles a blanket over the both of you, your knees curled towards him and his one leg crossed over the other angling him towards you. 

The first few minutes of the film are spent in that contented quietude that the two of you so often fall into when you’re alone together, but then Remus asks you, “What is it?”

You look over at him. “Hm?”

“You’re frowning.”

“Oh.” You laugh. “I’m just thinking about snow.” 

His lips quirk. “It is kind of the bane of your existence tonight, isn’t it?”

“No.” You smile down at your hands, hoping it's not obvious how not unpleasant you find your circumstances at the moment. “That’s not it. I was thinking, I kind of hate how it always has to snow in these movies. It makes any Christmas where it doesn’t snow feel like it’s not up to par. Or not quintessential enough, or something.”

“Mmm, I see.” Remus looks back to the screen, considering. “Does that make this your quintessential Christmas, then? Are we living up to the movie standard?”

You watch him while he watches the TV, blue light cast over his handsome features. “I guess so,” you say.

The longer you sit there, the closer you get. You blame it on the late hour, your bodies relaxing towards each other on the couch. Remus’ arm brushes yours when he lifts his mug for a sip, and your knees dig into his thigh under the blanket. Soon you’ve drooped enough that you’re leaning nearly entirely against him. You don’t notice until Remus puts an arm around you to encourage your head to his shoulder. You tense but don’t sit up, and eventually his head comes to rest atop yours. 

“Are you crying?” he murmurs during one scene near the end. 

Your reply is equally soft, not wanting to jostle either Remus’ head or his shoulder with your speech movements. “I really like this part.” 

“You know how it ends. It’s going to be okay.” 

“I know.” You sniffle, bringing a hand up to wipe your face now that you’ve been caught. “I know it is. It’s just really profound.” 

“Sure it is.”

“It’s the spirit of Christmas, Remus. Goodwill to man.” 

“Okay.” He rubs your shoulder, and you pretend not to feel his shaking with quiet laughter. “Okay, I agree with you.” 

And awhile later: “You’re tired,” he accuses.

You hum a denial.

“Sweetheart” —your stomach flutters, and there’s a jolt somewhere behind your ribcage; you ignore it— “you’re practically falling asleep right here.”

“Are you tired?” 

He shifts slightly, stubble tickling your forehead. “No. But you are.” 

“I want to finish the movie.” 

He seems to debate this for a moment, then his shoulder relaxes beneath you. “Alright.” 

The credits start, and neither of you move. 

You let your head slump more heavily onto his shoulder. “Your place really does look lovely. Thanks for having me.”

“Of course, love.” You can feel his smile squish up against the top of your head. “Would you go so far as to say my hosting measures up to James’?”

You chuckle, gesturing to yourself. “I’d say you’ve gone above and beyond, for sure.” 

Remus laughs too. “Perfect. Tell him so, would you?”

You’re going to agree when a great yawn takes you. You keep it quiet, but there’s no avoiding the way your chin digs into Remus’ shoulder, your shoulders rising with the prolonged inhale. He moves away from you. 

“Ready for bed?” He smiles down at you as you run a knuckle under your eyes, collecting tears from your lashes. 

You shrug an admittance. “Sort of. But I don’t want to kick you out of your own living room if you’re not tired yet.”

“No, I’m pretty wiped too,” he says. “Anyway, I’m the one kicking you out. You’re staying in my room.” 

You had a feeling he would say something like that. You grab a throw pillow, getting situated with your head near the armrest. “No, I’m not.” 

His laugh is disbelieving. “Yeah, you are. Come on, you’re my guest. I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.” 

You tug the blanket off his lap, curling up with your pillow stubbornly. “I’m not going to steal your bed. You’ve already done so much. You’ve helped me try gingerbread cookies and given me nice mittens and hosted an amazing Christmas. Let me sleep on your couch, please.” 

“While I appreciate all that,” he says, “no.” 

“Remus.” You’re near pleading at this point. “Your back will hurt.”

“Your back will hurt.” 

“Not as badly as yours.” You give him a hard look. “I’m not taking your bed.” 

There’s a brief silence, terser than your usual ones but no more awkward for it. You stare each other down. 

“Right,” Remus says, reclaiming the remote from where he’d set it on the coffee table. “I suppose we’d better start another movie, then.”

“Remus, come on.” You sit up, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge. “You’ve just said you’re tired. Go to bed, please.”

The TV flickers back on. “I’m not leaving this couch.” 

“Well, neither am I,” you laugh, completely serious. 

He rolls his eyes, then snuggles up to you under the blanket. You take this as a sign that he’s not really very cross with you. “You’re much more argumentative than usual tonight, you know that?”

You huff, laying your head back on his shoulder. “I could say the same about you.” 

“True, but I know I’ll win out in the end.” 

“You can think that if you like.” 

“Want to watch this one next?”

“Sure.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Remus watches as your eyes drift closed, then twitch back open, over and over again. He thinks his bony shoulder is the only thing keeping you from falling over the precipice of sleep. If he were James Potter, he’d simply pick you up with ease and carry you to his bed, but Remus can’t say he’s entirely sorry for this extra time with you, even if neither of you are awake enough to make much conversation.

Silly as it sounds, he enjoys just sitting here with you nearly as much as talking. Your cheek squished into his shoulder, your legs curled up atop his, you’re warm and weighty against him. 

He should have known it would be a hopeless endeavor trying to get you to agree to take the bed. You’re a gentle thing by nature, but stubborn in your selflessness. Even if you had gone, Remus knows he wouldn’t have slept all night anyway, too preoccupied with thoughts of you all wrapped up in his sheets, your face pressed to his pillow, getting your shampoo-smell on the pillowcase. He doesn’t know if it smells like him (does he have a smell?), but he would have wondered all night if it does, if you were noticing. 

Your head nearly rolls off his shoulder, and a pitying sound escapes Remus when you jerk awake to set it right. He lets his head rest on yours so it doesn’t happen again. Your eyelids droop closed almost immediately, and Remus begins dragging his thumb over your shoulder blade, a nice, slow back-and-forth. You’re quiet for a long while. 

“Are you trying to put me to sleep?” you murmur, words all sloshed together. 

It’s a conscious effort not to let his thumb slow. “No,” he says. 

You hum. 

“Unless you mean it’s working.” 

Another long silence. “It’s not,” you reply, head growing heavier on his shoulder.  

He chuckles. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed, hm?” 

“You go to bed,” you mumble, and if he thought you were capable of it he’d say there was some bitterness lining your words. 

He sighs. “You’re too nice for your own good,” he tells you. 

“No,” you reply, softly, plainly, like it’s a fact, “that’s you.” 

He picks his head up off of yours to see your face. “Yeah?” 

“Mhm.” Your eyes are closed. You don’t know he’s looking. Your face is wholly relaxed, no hint of pretense about you. “You’re the best I know.” 

Something warm and wheedling works its way through Remus’ ribs to the soft gooey core of him. “Well,” he tells you honestly, “you’re the best I know.”

You seem unconcerned. “Another impasse for us.” 

He actually laughs at that, instantly guilty when it jostles you on his shoulder and your eyelids peel apart. He can’t regret it, though, when you look at him the way you do. You’re glowing in the light coming off the tree, soft and warm and lovely, and yet you’re looking at him like he’s the only place your eyes want to go. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

You come gradually more awake, eyebrows twitching towards each other just slightly. “Remus,” you murmur, and he finally does what he’s been wanting to since you’d shown up at his door hours ago. He kisses you. 

Your lips are pliable, parting for his almost instantly, like you’d been waiting. His hand coasts from your shoulder to cup the back of your head, keeping you close as your nose slides against his. You both all but fall back onto the bed you’d made yourself on the couch. He’s careful not to put too much of his weight on you, but when his tongue brushes across the inside of your lip and you inhale, he draws back. 

“I...” He pants into the space between you. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

You make a sound that’s half hum, half whine, and bump your chin up into his. 

Remus loses himself again with frightening quickness. It’s even better now that you seem more sure, your mouth asking, coaxing against his. You taste like gingerbread. An low, embarrassing sound pries free from the back of his throat when you wind your fingers into the hair at his nape, and he slips his free hand beneath your back, getting as close to you as he can. Your legs make room for him automatically, knees tipping open so he can slot between them.

“Do you—” you breathe when his attentions move downward, tilting your head to the side to offer access as he mouths at the skin just under your jaw. “Do you want this?” 

The word leaves him in a soft exhale, muffled against your skin. “Yes.”

You swallow. He feels the movement in your throat. “Are you sure?”

His eyelashes brush your jaw as his kisses slow, become more tender, more intentional. “Lovely girl,” he murmurs. “You’re silly, you know that?” His mouth meanders it’s way over to your pulse, getting stuck there and sucking at your skin lazily. “I mean, you’re smart.” The words are all mushed up against you. Noticeably amused. Remus quit the eggnog hours ago, yet he feels half drunk. “You’re really smart, honey, but you can be so oblivious sometimes.” 

You don’t respond, and as much as he loves the sound of your voice, he’s hoping your silence is in his favor right now. He wants you wrapped up in him, wants to engross you so completely you forget how to form your lips around speech. 

“Do you want to move to my room?” 

You take a breath. Fuck, even the sound of you breathing is nearly enough to undo him. He moves back to your mouth as if to intercept it, nipping at your lower lip. 

“Is this a ploy to get me off the couch?” 

“You’re relentless.”

Your lips curve against his, and he mirrors them without thinking. You stay quiet.

“Fine. I promise it’s not, okay?” 

Your laugh is fizzy like champagne, and it warms Remus’ chest like it too. “Okay,” you say in that lovely voice. “Okay, let’s go.” 

❆ ❆ ❆

You’d always thought Remus was all softness. He’s made up of soft looks, soft colors, and hair that you can now confirm is soft as dandelion fluff. But this night has defied your expectations in a thousand ways. And your Remus, soft, gentle, kindhearted Remus, is scraping at your throat with his teeth. 

You have to suck your lip between your teeth to keep from making a humiliatingly desperate sound when he passes his tongue over his work, another crescent moon that’s sure to be purple by morning. Your hands are beseeching in his dandelion fluff hair, keeping him close while his hands are busy lower, one gripping the fat of your hip while the other drags tantalizingly slow up and down your side. He’s kissing you like you have all the time in the world, sometimes rough but no more urgent for it, and you’re breathy and molten and useless beneath him. 

You’re brimming with adoration and something else too. Something that you think you could almost identify—you’ve felt it before, but never like this. 

“What do you want to do?” There’s a raspy quality to his voice that would send you to your knees if he hadn’t already taken them out from under you. He dots leisurely, open-mouthed kisses up the column of your throat, soothing over spots he’s already nipped and sucked into oblivion. Your head feels fuzzy. “Sweetheart?” 

Christ, is he trying to send you into cardiac arrest? Remus doesn’t stop kissing you even at your silence, finding your lip still held between your teeth and encouraging it free with his own. You try to remember what he’d ask you. What do you want to do? You have no idea. Where would you even start? You want him to keep talking to you in that raspy voice, that’s for sure. You want…you want to keep kissing him, to know what his hands would do if you let them beneath your clothes. You want to keep investigating that warm feeling in your gut. See where it takes you. 

Remus’ kisses slow, then stop. He pulls back to look at you. In the dim street light coming in through the window, you wonder what he sees. “You alright?” His voice is soft, gentle, saying it’s okay if you’re not without saying it. 

You take a breath. It shakes a little on the way out, but you don’t think he can tell. “Yeah, I’m good. Just nervous. But not in a bad way.” Nervous-happy. 

“Don’t be,” he implores, lips brushing your cheek. “It’s only me.”

Exactly, you think. It’s you. 

“What do you want to do?” You turn his own question back on him. 

His smile is tinged with bashfulness. “I mean, whatever you’re alright with.” There’s a tentative quietness to his voice. “Have you…”

If it were possible for you to get any warmer, embarrassment would do it. “No,” you say, shrinking away from him though there’s nowhere to go. Whatever the end to that question might be, the answer is no. 

“That’s okay,” he says quickly, dropping another kiss on the corner of your mouth like a cure-all remedy. “That’s okay, you just tell me if you want to stop, yeah? If you don’t like something, or you want to slow down—anything at all, you let me know.” He kisses you again, further up on your burning cheek. “Okay?” 

You swallow. “Okay.” 

“Don’t be nervous.” He says it like a promise, hand stroking your side again as if to soothe you. His lips find your shoulder, nosing the fabric of your sleeve. “Can I take this off, lovely?” 

You nod, words all stoppered up in your throat, then realize he can’t see you and do it yourself. He has to pause as it comes off, taking the opportunity to do away with his own sweater, tossing it on the floor beside the bed. You do the same, and your bra quickly follows. You’d always thought (largely influenced, admittedly, by trashy novels) that this was the part where the guy stops what he’s doing and openly oggles the shirtless woman in front of him, but Remus has seen tits before and wastes no time in getting his mouth back on yours, pressing you into the mattress. His skin is as heated as yours, the areas where you touch deliciously warm despite the cold still whipping past his bedroom window. You allow yourself one sweeping, appreciative pass over the muscles on Remus’ back before your hands go down to your bottoms, shimmying them down your legs. A long-fingered hand finds the exposed skin of your thigh and kneads reverently. You swallow Remus’ groan, and he kisses you more deeply, long, savoring passes of his tongue along the inside of your mouth until his lips move downward. 

One hand stays at your hip while the other strokes up and down your thigh, spit cooling in a path down your stomach. You try to relax as he passes your navel, but the anticipation is hard to shake. You’re nearly trembling when he kneels between your legs, kissing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. 

“Is this okay?” he murmurs. 

It’s all you can do to nod, gasping when his teeth drag over one of the stretch marks there. You clutch at the sheets above your head like a lifeline. 

“We can stop anytime you want.” 

You inhale raggedly. “No,” you manage. Your breathlessness is obvious in the quiet room. “I want—I want to keep going.” You pause. “Do you?”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, love, that sounds good to me.” 

Good, you’re about to say, but Remus’ next kiss lands on your slit, and your voice withers and dies in your throat. He uses a hand to push one of your legs open further while bringing the other over his shoulder, spreading you open. His breath fans hot over your cunt.

You’re writhing at the first broad stroke of his tongue, and he wraps his fingers around the outside of your thigh, keeping you still while placating you at the same time. 

Remus takes his time, lapping experimentally at your entrance before making his way upwards. You gasp as his tongue skims over your clit, burrowing your hand in his hair before hesitating. 

“Is this okay?” you ask. 

His hummed assent has you tightening your grasp. He brushes over your clit one more time, and when this gets a similar reaction from you, begins sucking on it gently. You’re panting, and Remus has to move his grip to your hip to hold you in place, squeezing indulgently at the fat there while he narrows in on what you like. Before long you’re trembling all over, grasping feebly at his hair as you squeeze your eyes shut against the odd sort of bliss that’s taking you under. 

“Remus,” you breathe, and it’s a miracle that he hears you but he does, raising his head with a lewd suctioning sound. 

He looks at you questioningly with eyes almost all pupil. 

“Come here,” you plead. 

He obeys, crawling back up you to peck at your bitten lips. “Doing alright?” he asks you.

“Yeah,” you promise, cupping his head in one hand and wrapping your leg over the back of his as if to prevent him from leaving. “Just wanted to kiss you.” 

You feel him smile against your lips. He slots his mouth over yours, and you dedicate yourself to his top lip. He tastes like sex, braver now as he explores your mouth. He drags your bottom lip between his teeth, and you make a high, breathy sound. His grip on you tightens. 

“Do you think—can we—”

He hesitates, kissing softly at the corner of your lips. “Are you sure?” 

“I want to. Do you?” 

Remus actually laughs, muffling the sound against your cheek. “Yeah, I fucking want to. I’ve wanted to forever.” 

You can’t think about that. Think about that and you’ll fall to pieces. 

He noses affectionately at the underside of your jaw, slipping down you once again to stand at the end of the bed. He steps out of his pants and grabs a condom from the drawer of his nightstand. “You’ll tell me if I do anything you don’t like, yeah?” 

“Mhm,” you promise, anticipation coiling up snugly with that other thing in your stomach. They don’t feel all that distinct from one another. 

“Alright,” he says, palm slipping under your thigh. “Can I lift this up, love?” 

You nod, and he grasps the soft underside of your knee, bringing your leg up to your stomach as he lines up. You gasp as he pushes in slowly, watching your face to make sure you’re doing okay. You’re already slick and worked open from his ministrations, and it’s still a bit shocking. His thumb strokes beside your knee as your walls adjust to the size of him. “How’s that feel?” 

“Good,” you say honestly. There’s a note of desperation to your voice. “I can—more, please.” 

He’s quick to accommodate you, pushing deeper as he folds himself over you to recapture your lips. Your breaths shallow. His free hand moves to your breast, kneading gently at the soft flesh. He gives it a firm squeeze at the same time as he moves inside you, and you nearly bite Remus’ lip off, a half-suppressed keening sound escaping you. 

“So good,” he mumbles. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Taking it so well.” He lifts his head, kissing your temple. “Think you can handle a bit more?” 

Your response is barely more than breath, but he catches the affirmation, pressing another firm kiss to your forehead before he bottoms out inside you. Your head lolls back, fuzzy with the strange pain and even stranger pleasure. Remus tightens his grip on your leg to keep it up, dotting kisses down the side of your face. 

“Good girl,” he says hoarsely. “Still doing okay, lovely?” 

“Yeah,” you say, somewhat dizzy. “Remus, it feels so good.” 

“Good,” he croons. “It should feel good, love. Ready for me to move?”

“Mhm.”

He pulls out slowly, dragging against your sensitive walls. He starts mouthing at your neck again before he pushes back inside you, filling you up all over again. A slew of expletives roll out of your mouth, unbidden and entirely unlike you, as Remus begins pumping your breast again, the rhythm matching that of his thrusts. He sucks the flesh of your neck between his teeth, and you bite down hard on your lower lip to repress what promises to be a high-pitched and deeply mortifying sound. 

Remus praises you amply, soft kisses and reverent touches and a raspy “Fuck, sweetheart, just like that.” Your head floats or swims or both, your body tensed all over and yet completely plaint beneath Remus’ hands. He moves back to your mouth, discovering your bottom lip held captive between your teeth. 

“Come on, don’t do that,” he chides, easing it free with gentle kisses. “Let me hear you, bet you sound so pretty.” 

The Welsh accent that’s grown faint after years of living away from home is emerging now, as is the crude vocabulary it's tied to in memory, a host of barely comprehensible profanities spewing from Remus’ lips when you clench on him again. His grip tightens on your tit, and a moan tears from the back of your throat. 

“That’s it,” he praises, head dipping to kiss the soft spot he’s found under your ear. “There you are, lovely girl.” 

The coil in your core grows impossibly tighter, your thighs quivering as you approach a peak you’ve never known before. Remus feels it, cooing softly even as he drives into you harder.

“You gonna cum, sweetheart?” You nod dazedly. “Good, good, just let it happen, I’ve got you.” 

“Come here,” you demand again, and he wastes no time in obliging you. He kisses your lips sore as you dig your nails into his shoulders, pulling his body flush against yours, the feeling inside you growing so great you don’t know where to put it, don’t know if you can contain it. You can’t remember ever feeling this close to someone, Remus’ touch the only thing keeping you from hurtling off some unknown precipice.

“Let go,” he urges, and you do. You trust him to catch you. 

It’s bliss like you’ve never known. You cry out, and Remus’ hand slides down from your breast to spread wide and flat against your ribs. Steadying. He kisses soothingly at your jaw as you gasp and pant your way back to him, grip slackening on his shoulders. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, though you really haven’t done much at all. 

“Are you—” You swallow, choking on the emotion that’s risen unbidden in your throat. “Are you close?” 

Remus smiles, coming back to your lips like he can’t help himself. He pecks you once, twice. “Sweetheart, I’m more than close. I’ve barely been holding myself together since you kissed me.” 

Well, he’d actually kissed you, but you’ll take the compliment anyway. 

“Do you think you’ll be alright if I move again?” he asks. “It’s okay if not.” 

“You can,” you say certainly, leaning up on your elbows to see him better. “Is there…anything I can do to help?”

The smile fades from his face, leaving something far more tender in its wake. “Just, keep looking at me like that?” He says it almost like he’s embarrassed, voice quiet with supplication. 

You want to tell him you’d never needed asking to look at him, but you don’t, keeping your eyes on his obediently as he pumps into you. He really must have been close, because he’s cursing again not long after, accent twisting his syllables with a gruff pleasure. Your walls contract at the movement, still sensitive, and that’s all it takes. Remus digs his fingers into your waist and makes sounds you’re sure you’ll dream about, panting, breathy moans you sit up to smother against your lips. He follows you back down onto the mattress, mouth slotted against your own. You hold him to you until his breaths even and his grip on you loosens. 

“Was that alright?” he asks, some of the rasp still lingering in his voice. 

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, dizzy with affection. “Yeah, it was good,” you promise him. Understatement of the year. “Really good, Rem.” 

“Good,” he echoes, lips brushing the skin under your eye. You don’t know how you know, but you can feel the amusement building in him just before he asks, “Tired yet?”

You guffaw. The force of it jostles him on top of you, and his lips curve against your cheek. “A little bit, yeah.” Actually, you hadn’t realized how exhausting sex would be. If it didn’t mean having to take your eyes off Remus, you’d have closed them and passed out by now. 

“Good,” he says again, hands sliding down your waist as he moves to stand again. You make a small sound as he shifts, and Remus shushes you, slipping out from inside you. You watch fascinatedly as he removes the condom, sticky with cum. He tosses it in the wastebasket under his desk and walks away from you.

“Hey,” you protest. “You’d better not be sneaking off to sleep on the couch.” 

His chuckle echoes in the bathroom, followed by the sound of a cabinet opening. “So mistrustful,” he says when he comes back in with a damp towel. “What’ve I done to arouse such suspicion?” 

Your fuzzy brain gets stuck on the word arouse in his teasing tone, and it takes you a second to answer. “Well, I’m here and a blink away from falling asleep, so you tell me.” 

“Fair enough.” He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, taking your thigh in his grasp to move it aside. “Alright if I clean you up, love?” 

You startle, coming up on your elbows to see where Remus is holding the towel between your legs. “I didn’t realize it’d be so messy,” you admit. “You don’t have to, though, I can do it myself.” 

“I don’t mind,” he says, thumb soothing over your knee. “S’my mess anyway.” He seems to have not quite agreed with himself to say that last part aloud, a blush spreading over his cheeks. 

“Sure,” you say, mostly to alleviate his embarrassment. You let your weight lean more heavily on your elbows, trying your best to look relaxed. “Sure, if you’re alright with it.” 

“Might be a bit sensitive,” he warns. You’d guessed as much, but it's worth it for all the praises he rains down upon you as he works, finishing with a kiss to the side of your knee. 

You miss him humiliatingly when he goes to the bathroom again to discard the towel. It’s all you can do not to reach for him when he comes back, but luckily Remus reads your mind anyway, slipping under the covers and tugging you to him until his lips rest against your forehead. 

“That was really great,” you tell him. 

“I thought so too.” 

“You’ll stay here, right?” 

A low laugh. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m staying here.” 

❆ ❆ ❆

Remus hasn’t known anyone to sleep in longer than Sirius, but you seem to be vying for his title. The sun has long since passed above his windows when Remus wakes, and still he has time to spend idle hours marveling at the closeness of you. His nose is cold above the covers, but everywhere your bodies are pressed together is warm, your palm flat against his chest and one of your legs wormed between his own. Your fingers twitch as you dream. 

It has to be early afternoon by the time he rises, slipping his hand carefully from beneath you and plodding into the kitchen. The blanket is still on the couch where you left it, throw pillow creased with your indentation. Your mugs are discarded on the coffee table with globs of once-hot cocoa stuck to the bottom. Bright light refracts off the snow outside and into his kitchen, making everything look shiny new. 

Remus starts the kettle first, letting that warm up while he rifles through the cabinets for his big mixing bowl and starts whisking together ingredients. A bird chirps outside as the kettle gurgles, and somehow the peace of Remus’ kitchen feels more complete knowing that you’re sleeping just down the hall. 

Until, apparently, you’re not. Your footsteps are so silent he startles when you appear, still blinking yourself awake as you cross your arms over the sweater you’ve thrown on with your bottoms from the night before. Remus’ sweater. And Remus had thought he’d come to terms with the idea of you here, in his apartment like the best Christmas gift of all time, but apparently not, because his heart stutters and stops at the sight of you. 

He’d thought you’d looked adorable in the soft glow of the Christmas lights the night before, and again tucked into his sheets this morning, but you’re almost ethereal now. Sunlight bathes the planes of your face and gleams off your hair, making you appear almost like you’re emanating the bright light rather than standing in it. You smile at him, seraphim. 

“Morning. Sorry I didn’t ask,” you say, fingering the hem of Remus’ sweater. “I was cold and you were gone, I hope you don’t mind.” 

Mind? Remus can’t even think. 

“Course not,” he manages, but just barely. It’s more an exhale than a statement. “Did you sleep alright?” 

“Really well,” you say. His sleeves cover your fingers as you rest your elbows on the counter, and your gaze has gone a bit shy again, but Remus can hardly blame you. You both seemed to have experienced unusual nerve the night before. He only hopes you aren’t regretting your part in it. And now that he’s had some time to think, he hopes even more that you’d truly wanted it in the first place. “Did you?” 

“Yeah, thanks.”

You lean a bit closer in a way that he doubts either of you are even slightly unaware of, peering into the mixing bowl. “What’re you making?” 

“I’m experimenting,” he says, though he wishes now he weren’t. He wanted to make you something good, but his confidence in his adaptation is waning now that you’re in the room. He should have gone with something basic, tried-and-true. “Or, I’m attempting. Gingerbread pancakes?” 

His voice crawls up into a question, as if he really has no idea what it is he’s trying to make (maybe that’s closer to the truth), but Remus’ regrets vanish instantly at the genuine elation that lights your expression. 

“Really?” 

A laugh startles out of him, giddy. “Yeah, does that sound alright?” 

“More than alright,” you declare with full seriousness, seating yourself at the bar counter. “That sounds amazing, Rem, thank you. Merlin, I owe you so big for all of this.” 

“I think you’ve more than made it up to me.” It slips out without permission, Remus too high on the flow of your conversation to filter the words through his brain before they reach his mouth. His loathsome, traitorous mouth. “I mean, I’m sorry—fuck, that sounds awful—I only meant that I’ve had a really good time with you here. I’m glad you stayed.” 

You flush horribly, and Remus doesn’t expect he’s faring much better. 

“Not that I’m only glad because of—or, I’m always glad to have you. As a friend, too.” 

There’s a tiny pinch in your features, gone before he can diagnose it. Somehow, you seem even more uncomfortable. “Right.” You give him a thin smile. It’s a hearty attempt, but you’re too genuine a soul to fake it. Remus hates himself for it. “As a friend.” 

They’re his own words, put hearing them from your mouth and with that piss-poor smile feels like having a fire poker jammed between his ribs. 

With his track record this morning, he really should be taking a vow of silence, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “Just friends, then?” Hesitance makes his voice sound quiet even in the silent kitchen. He looks down, stirring the batter to avoid watching the answer take form on your face. 

“I mean,” your tone is a match to his, “is that what you want?” 

A short, soft laugh escapes him. “I think I made what I want fairly clear last night.” 

There’s a short silence. “I thought I did too.” 

It’s a conscious effort to keep stirring. Had you? Remus had kissed you, he’d brought you to his room, he’d been the one to ask if you wanted to do more. And you’d been game for it all, sure, but he can’t help but wonder if you were just going along with it. If maybe you’d thought it was just a fuck, something he’d come up with to pass the time while you were both snowed in, no strings attached. Remus could understand that. He could disentangle the strings from last night if it’s what you want. But he’s liked you for years. He could love you oh so easily. He’s practically teetering on the edge of it already, though you’ve only been friends all this time. 

Remus spoons some batter into a waiting pan on the stove. He’s debating asking what exactly it is that you thought you’d made clear when you speak again. 

“I understand if it’s too much for you.” Your voice is shy. He looks up, and your shoulders are hunched as if you’re trying to hide yourself. You shrink further under his gaze. “We can stay just friends if it’s…if that’s what you want. I want whatever’s easier for you.” Your next words are so impossibly soft, Remus has to strain to hear them over the low sizzling of the pancake batter. “I really want you to stay in my life.” 

“What?” It’s a staccato, loud enough that it surprises you both, Remus stepping toward you while you nearly flinch back. “Sorry.” His hand goes up, reaching into the space between you as if he can soothe you from feet away. He lowers his volume. “Sorry, sweetheart, I just—I didn’t realize that was even on the table. I would never want to not be in your life.” 

“I just mean that I don’t want to make things weird for you, or for everyone else—”

“Hey.” He manages to cross the distance this time, his hand landing on your wrist atop the counter. Remus isn’t sure why he needs it there so desperately, but he suddenly feels much better. “There is nothing that could make any of us not want to be friends with you. I can speak for everyone in that regard. Okay?” 

You look at him consideringly for a moment. Remus holds your stare, letting you see his certainty. “Okay,” you echo, sounding unsure. He’ll deal with that later, he decides.

“Okay,” he says once more, and it’d almost be firm if it weren’t so gentled by the tenderness he can never seem to get rid of around you. Even so, what he says next doesn’t sound particularly tender. It’s not very kind to you, he knows, but Remus is selfish, and he feels (selfishly) like he’s done his part already. He tries to phrase it as nicely as he can. “Can you tell me what it is that you want, please?” 

You try to shrink again, and Remus’ grip tightens on your wrist instinctually as if to keep you from running off. He swipes his thumb over your skin apologetically. “Remus, come on.” You sound almost upset, but it’s hard to tell with your voice so quiet. “I know I’m not that good at—at covering myself up. I must have hearts in my eyes half the time I look at you.” 

Remus would give a month’s rent to know what you can see in his eyes right now. Even if he’d been hoping for an answer something like that, he hadn’t expected it. And for you to act like it’s been obvious…he does his best to think back. 

You’ve always been a shy thing. It had taken James months to get you to be remotely yourself around them, and though you’d seemed to warm to Remus first, you’d always retained some of your bashfulness when you were alone together. He’d chalked it up to the result of two people, quiet by nature, with no wildly extroverted James or Sirius or Lily to run interference. 

You’ve always been kind to him, but you’re kind to everyone. How is anyone supposed to suspect favoritism from a soul as indiscriminately sweet as yours? 

He recalls your voice last night, thin and reedy and fragile as the cattails that had bordered the river behind his house as a kid. Wary of getting swept along by the current, but willing to go if Remus would take you. Do you want this?

He’d called you oblivious for asking. How could you wonder, when he’d been the one to kiss you and has probably been looking like he wanted to for years? He’s certainly been thinking about it for as long. But perhaps your obliviousness is another congruity between the two of you. 

So much for opposites attract. 

“I think I’m an idiot,” he says, and mercifully, a smile far more real than the last sneaks onto your face. 

“You are not,” you reply, ever forgiving. 

“Don’t tell Sirius,” he warns, “but I really think I am.” His voice drops into a more earnest register. “I had no idea, love, I’m sorry. Maybe you’re a better actress than you thought. But if you don’t want to be friends, I don’t want to either.” Remus hesitates. “Or, I always want to be your friend, just—”

“Remus?” 

Finally. Someone needs to stop him. “Yeah?” 

“Your pancake…”

He turns to find a thin spire of smoke rising from the pan. “Oh, fuck.” He grabs a spatula and quickly flips the pancake, but there’s no saving it. The bottom side is completely blackened. It’s inedible. “Sorry, I…I’m not sure I have enough batter for much more.” 

“It’s fine.” There’s laughter in your tone, and that’s more than enough to make up for it. “It was a really sweet thought, that’s what matters anyway.” 

Remus turns to find you’ve slipped out of your seat and are standing uncertainly on the threshold of the kitchen. His heart warms with incandescent, aching fondness. 

“Would you come here?” he asks. 

You comply with an eagerness he wonders he’s never noticed before, stepping forward to let him fold you into his arms. Your wrists cross over his mid back and the tip of his nose mushes into your hair as he touches his lips to the top of your head. He can’t believe he could have been holding you like this all along if only he hadn’t been so thick. He supposes he’ll have to make the most of it now. 

“Let’s do away with asking about want, does that sound alright?” He rubs lightly between your shoulder blades, wonders if you like the feel of his breath on your scalp. “How about you tell me if anything comes up that you don’t want, and I’ll do the same.”

“Yeah.” Remus knows he likes the feel of your voice on his skin, chin moving against his chest. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

“Good.” He smiles, pressing another kiss to your head. “Okay, should we venture out to find something for breakfast? Or lunch, I suppose it is by now.” 

You ease out of his arms. “I really should go home.” There’s an apology already embedded in your tone, but you add one anyway. “Sorry, but my cat’s been there all night by herself, so…”

“Right.” Remus ignores the dull throb behind his sternum, which is really a bit dramatic. He’ll see you soon, surely. “Yeah, that makes sense. Think you’ll be able to drive?” 

“I mean, I looked outside.” You shrug, backing towards where you’d hung your coat the night before. “The roads here are cleared, which I hope means they’ve gotten to most of them already.” 

“That’s good,” he says, though he feels the opposite. Your poor cat, he’s pitted completely against her now. She’s done nothing to deserve the resentment he’s directing at her, almost petulant in his malcontent. “Good, good.” 

You’re both silent as you put on your shoes, your scarf. It’s not unusual for the two of you, but it lacks its usual easy contentedness. Your eyes flit up as you pull on your new gloves, a silent thanks in them that you know Remus won’t let you voice aloud again. Despite the upset in his chest, he smiles. 

“I…listen, I have to go home,” you tell him, looking down as you wriggle your fingers more snugly into the gloves. “I have to feed my cat. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to…leave.” 

Remus can’t see how that changes anything, but he recognizes it for the olive branch it is. You’re both so uncertain, and you’re trying to alleviate his worries about what you leaving right now means. He can return the favor. 

“I don’t want you to leave either,” he says, “but I get it. She seems important to you, best to keep her well.” 

“Exactly.” You smile, relieved. “But I mean, if you’re not doing anything, you could come meet her? We could pick up breakfast on the way. Or I could make you something there.” 

Remus can’t believe his luck. And, once again, his stupidity in not getting there himself. Why is it that all of a sudden, everything that has to do with you seems so absurdly difficult? At least one of you is thinking clearly. 

“Yeah, that would be fantastic.” He’s grinning hugely, totally unlike him but liking it very much. “Let me grab my coat.” 

“Wait.” There’s a newly familiar breathless quality to your voice, and when Remus turns you’re already coming forward to meet him. Your palm slides against the stubble along his jaw as you stretch your neck, kissing him sweetly on the lips. “There,” you say, timidity shrouded beneath a good layer of happiness, “now we’re even.” 

Remus laughs, loud and startled. He wants to be generous with you, he really does, but he still thinks you’re far from even. “I’m not sure about that, sweetheart,” he says warmly, pressing a brief kiss to the corner of your eyebrow, “but we'll get there.” 

[alotofpockets]

Meeting again | Part 1 | Leah Williamson x Reader

Where you take your son to Leah's book signing and you reconnect with your high school friend/crush.

Happy birthday to our blonde pookie!

Meeting again universe | Woso masterlist | Words: 2.7k

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You were doing some work around the house when your ex called. “Hey Ryan, what’s up?” You say as you turn off the vacuum. “Hi y/n, I’m so sorry. I know that it’s my day, but I’m going to be stuck at work until late. Is there any way you can pick up Liam from school and take him to that book signing from Leah?” The two of you had gotten a divorce many years ago, when you had finally come to terms with your sexuality. Ryan had always been understanding, and now you were still friends, and co-parented your son Liam together. “Oh yeah, don’t worry, I can do that.” You could hear the relief in his voice. “Thank you so much, I owe you one. He has a half day, so he should be done at school in about an hour. I packed his Arsenal jersey and scarf, he wanted to wear them to the signing. Thank you again, I have to go. Send me pictures of the signing?”  Your kid would always be your number one priority, so you hung up the phone and got ready.

“Hey bud, your dad is stuck at work, so I’m going to take you to Waterstones later, is that okay?” The boy greeted you with a hug. “Yes, of course, you’ll get to see Leah again!” Back in high school you and Leah were very close, there was even some gossip about the two of you dating, but when you got wind of that you shut those rumours down quickly by starting a relationship with Ryan, a relationship that drove a wedge between your friendship with Leah. Your love for the women’s game continued to grow though, and you have supported Arsenal all your life, just like Leah. Liam fell in love with it too, and you often found yourself amongst the crowd of Arsenal WFC and Lionesses matches together. Liam was a smart kid, and after finding you looking at TikTok videos of Leah, he started asking questions. “Watch it, or we’re not going.” You said with a fake seriousness. Liam knew full well that it was an empty threat as you loved messing with him. 

You decided to make it a special day for your son, by taking him out for lunch before heading over to Waterstones. It was to no surprise to you that he wanted to go to his favourite restaurant. “Smile for your dad.” The boy looked up from his plate with a big grin on his face. Proudly wearing his Williamson jersey and his Arsenal scarf. 

The line at Waterstones was long, but you bought the book and joined the line together. You could tell he was excited just by the way his eyes lit up, and his smile was constantly present on his face. His excitement made you glad that you were able to join him on this occasion, but it didn’t trump your nerves of seeing Leah again. Of course, you had seen her play, but you were always just a person in the crowd, and now you were going to be face to face with the girl you’ve had a crush on since you were fifteen. 

Never in your life had you been so nervous to see someone from your past, but you set it aside for your son, this was his moment. Plus Leah would probably not even remember you, right? You were a nobody, and she was the England captain and the Arsenal co-captain. 

When it was your turn, Liam walked up to the signing table, while you stood back to take pictures. “Hi, what’s your name?” You heard the blonde ask your son. “I’m Liam, it’s very nice to meet you. My mom is a big fan of yours as well.” The sneaky little bastard, you thought as your eyes met Leah’s. Her eyes showed instant recognition. ‘Yours?’ she mouthed your way, and you answered with a nod. “It’s very nice to meet you too Liam, want to come over to this side for a picture?” Leah signed the book, and wrote something on one of the cards laying to the side as Liam made his way around the table. “I see you’re repping my jersey! You know what would go great with that?” He shook his head. “This new cap, would you like one?” Liam looked over to you with hopeful eyes, “Can I mom?” You smiled at the interaction between Leah and your son, “Yeah, of course.” He turned back to Leah, “Thank you so much!” The two posed for a picture. “Any time Liam. Here is your signed book, and could you please give this card to your mom?” He grinned big when he saw a written phone number on the back of the card. “Thank you Leah!”

“Mom! I got you her number, you have to call her!” You look at the card that Liam handed you ‘Would love to catch up, send me a text if you’re up for it :)’ along with her cell. You looked between the card and Leah, who shot you a smile before returning to the next person in line. “Please tell me you’re going to send her a text, please!” Liam was tired of always seeing you admire Leah from afar, and now that you had a real shot to reconnect with her, he wanted you to take it. Plus how cool would it be if his mom would go out with the Leah Williamson? You pocket the card, “Maybe later, you little snitch. I thought we had a deal.” You say playfully as you put your arm around his shoulder. Quite frankly it scared you a little to send her a text. “Let’s head home.”

When you got home you put Leah’s number in your phone and stared at the message screen forever, trying to decide what to text her. You really wanted to reconnect with her, but you also didn’t want to overcompensate, and ruin any chance you had. You settled on something simple, letting her make the next move.

You: Hi Leah, it’s y/n. It was good seeing you today, catching up sounds nice.

You hadn’t expected to get a message back from her so soon.

Leah: So glad we ran into each other. Talk about the details later?

The message notification was staring back at you, your heart was beating out of your chest simply from her message. You quickly put your phone away, without opening her message when Liam walks in. “Mom, you know that I want you to be happy right?” You nod, “Of course, I know that kiddo. What makes you say that?” He shrugs, “I just don’t want you to hold back because of me.” You shake your head, “You’re too smart. I love you, kiddo.” He hugs your side, “I love you too, mom.” 

The two of you were hanging out at home, when Ryan called again. “Hey, thank you for sending me those pictures. They really made my day, glad to see him so happy.” You notice the exhaustion behind his words, “Yeah of course, I don’t want you to miss out on stuff because of your job.” Liam was so important to the both of you, but your divorce had led to missing some things here and there, that you always tried to minimise together. “Speaking of work, I should be done around eight. You know I hate to ask, but-” You interrupted him, “You don’t have to ask, of course. Pick him up whenever you are done, okay?” You heard the relief in his voice, “Thank you. Can I talk to him for a moment?” You walk over to Liam and hand him the phone, “It’s your dad.” After handing him your phone, you give him some space to talk to his dad. 

You continued vacuuming since you weren’t done when you had to pick up Liam from school. So, you didn’t hear the interaction with Ryan, or when the call was over, and definitely not when you got another phone call. Liam looked at the contact and smirked to himself. When he realised you didn’t hear the phone call, he picked up himself. “Hi Leah, it’s Liam.” The girl had not expected your son to pick up, but she went with it anyway. “Hey Liam! How did you like the book signing?” He told her how much he enjoyed it before Leah continued with her questions. “I was looking for your mom, is she around?” If it were a video call, Leah would have seen the mischievous look in Liam’s eyes, but since it was a voice call he could hide behind the screen. “She is a little busy right now, but she said she wanted to invite you over for dinner tonight if you had time.” Leah knew she should’ve questioned it more, but she wanted to see you so badly, that she set up dinner plans with your son. 

Just ten minutes before Leah said she would be there Liam came walking up to you. “Hey mom, so I kind of invited Leah over for dinner tonight.” Never in your life had you turned around so quickly, “You did what?” You could not believe what your son had just told you. “She will be here in-” His sentence was interrupted by the doorbell. “Now.” He said with a big smile. You were frozen in place, Leah Williamson was at your door, and you were in sweats and a tank top, your hair a mess from the house work you had been doing for the past hour. “Are you going to let her in?” You turned to Liam, “You are going to be in so much trouble later.” Again, Liam knew there was no actual threat behind your words, because that’s not how you parented.

On your way to the door, you tried to quickly fix your hair. You open the door, “Oh hi Ryan, you’re here early.” He smiles back at you, “Yeah our last meeting got cancelled, sorry I didn’t let you know.” You shake your head, “No, no it’s okay. Liam, your dad is here!” The boy came running into his dad’s arms. “You’re here!” The bond between them was amazing, he truthly loved the both of you equally. “Have you had something to eat yet?” Liam shakes his head, “How does McDonald’s sound?” You grab Liam’s bag, and give him a quick kiss on his cheek, before waving the both of them off. 

As soon as you closed the door, you ran up the stairs to quickly get changed, and look more presentable. You had just finished doing your hair when your doorbell rang again. This time it was Leah standing on the other side of the door. “Hi Leah, come in.” She looked so beautiful in her simple white t-shirt and a pair of green cargo pants. “Hey y/n, thank you. No Liam?” She questioned when you walked her further into the house. “He wanted to be here but his dad came to pick him up a little bit ago. I’m sorry to say that McDonald’s has been picked over dinner with you.” You joke, hoping to make the moment a bit lighter. Hearing Leah’s laugh brought you back to those days where you would sit on the grass, and make fun of the boys on the football team. 

“So, Liam is a big fan of football then?” Leah started awkwardly. You loved talking about him, so you just started talking. “Yeah, I started taking him to matches when he was still a little baby. He loved it ever since, I can’t go to an Arsenal match without him nowadays. A gooner from the start, just like you.” Leah blushed slightly. “So, you’ve been coming to our matches all this time?” Now it was your turn to blush. “Maybe.” The both of you laugh. “Ryan surprisingly never got into football, so it’s been something I get to share with Liam.” The name you mentioned caught Leah’s attention. “Wait Ryan is Liam’s dad? You actually married high school Ryan?” You realised that bringing his name up was probably a mistake since he is what drove the two of you apart. “Oh yeah, high school Ryan indeed. Liam’s dad indeed, and I did marry him. We haven’t been married for like five years though.” 

Leah’s ears perk up at that. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” You shrug your shoulders, “It’s all good, it was time I finally figured out my sexuality. We’re still friends, and he's great with Liam. Anyways, how have you been?” The two of you start talking and catching up, and somehow even though more than a decade had passed and you had lived such different lives, it felt like you had never not known each other. 

You walk into the kitchen together, still talking, when the both of you start getting hungry. That is when you realise that you had to go to the grocery store today, and didn’t have much in the house. “So, confession time. I didn’t actually know you were coming over until Liam told me about ten minutes before you arrived.” Leah laughed, “I had a feeling the invite wasn’t extended by you, but I didn’t want the opportunity to go to waste.” You blush at her words. “I am very happy that you are here, don’t get me wrong. I was just not prepared. It was Ryan’s day with the kid, but he got stuck at work so I didn’t have a chance to go to the grocery store like I had originally planned. Let’s see, I have Potato Smileys, and literally nothing else. I am so sorry.” Leah did not care what you would eat one bit, she was just happy to be there with you. “Good thing I love Potato Smileys then!”

You shared a laugh at the situation and decided to make the best of it. While the Potato smileys were in the oven, you set the table with some condiments to go along with them. As you were waiting for the Smileys to cook, you and Leah fell back into conversation. You were reminiscing over old times, and shared stories from the past years since. It was easy talking to her, it really felt like no time had passed.

Once you were done with dinner, you moved to the living room where you each found a comfortable place on the couch to continue catching. Before you realised it, hours had passed by. Leah looked at her watch, and noticed the time first. “Oh it’s late, I hadn’t realised so much time had passed.” You glance at the clock yourself, “Wow, yeah it is. I’m really glad you came over tonight, catching up with you has been great.” Leah smiled in return, “Yes it was, I’ve missed this. I hope we can hang out again soon!” You walk her to the door, “For sure! Liam and I will be at the match Sunday, maybe we can do something after? If you don’t mind him tagging along of course.” Her smile grew big, “I would love that, and for Liam to tag along always!”

As you said goodbye, and Leah got into her car you couldn’t help but feel hopeful for what the future might hold. Just having Leah back into your life in whatever way possible made you extremely happy. Tonight had been so nice, and you really wanted to see Leah again soon, Sunday didn’t feel soon enough. So, you decided to send her a message. You felt less nervous sending this message than the one this afternoon, but still there were some nerves.

You: Would you maybe want to grab a coffee sometime this week? I’d love to meet up sooner than Sunday.

As you were getting ready to go to bed, your phone dinged with a new message.

Leah: I know a great spot! Are you free tomorrow?

You smiled at the text, Leah proposing tomorrow had to mean she wanted to see you again soon too, right? You quickly let her know you’re free, before sending her a goodnight message and calling it a night. Though, your mind kept you up for a while longer, not wanting to let go of today just yet.

Continue reading part 2!

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[kumkaniudaku]

Sorry 2024

Summary: This is Terry's sorry for 2024. He ain't gonna mess up no more this year.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: None

Previous: *Askew

Pastel blue light filtered through linen curtains and filled the quaint kitchen while Patrice maneuvered between the refrigerator and nearby counter. She spoke a mile a minute, running through a laundry list of important tasks and updates to keep Terry aware of the day’s needs. 

He halfway listened while he scarfed down piping hot oatmeal to satisfy post-workout hunger and used his index finger to scrub backward on game film from the previous week. His receiver core was shaky at best. They’d need to tighten up in the final game of the season if they planned to start their playoff run strong and remain in the hunt for a the ever elusive state championship.

“Honey, don’t forget I’m driving your truck to work because you’re getting my oil changed during your lunch. Where are the keys?” The sugar-sweet lilt in her voice reserved for Terry and Terry only went mostly unnoticed by her husband. 

“Yeah. That’s good, baby.”

Patrice paused packing her lunch and shifted her weight to one side with a hand on her hip. “You’re not even listening to me.” 

“I heard you,” he answered, finally looking up. 

“What did I say?” 

“That you’re taking the leftovers. That’s good with me. I’ll grab something on base.” 

“I said that fifteen minutes ago. Strike two.” 

Terry’s mouth hung open for a half second as he thought back through their one-sided conversation. Admittedly, his mind was split into a million different streams of thought. Work problems, coaching responsibilities, household bills, the incoming holiday season, and its host of arrangements all fought for his attention day in and day out, leaving little room for intentional quality time with his wife. 

For Patrice, the indifference toward her when she talked to him was frustrating and getting old. On too many occasions she’d forgiven him for staring off into space or flat-out ignoring her when she spoke. If silence is what he wanted, she was well on the way to granting his wish. 

Swallowing down a gulp of water, Terry rushed to respond. “Woah, woah! Two? What was the first?” 

“I asked you to turn the dryer on last night while I took a shower and guess who woke up to wet clothes this morning? C’mon. Guess!” 

“Oh, shit.” Terry’s face contorted as he winced at the memory finally returning. 

“Oh shit. Go away.” She mocked with an exaggerated deep voice before rolling her eyes and making a face. Mimicry, in his experience since the tender age of 15, was usually the prelude to a vicious attitude that had turned many into sworn enemies for life.

“My bad, Treece. I started wa-” 

“Watching tape and forgot. Sing me a different song, Terrence.” 

The disappointment etched in her beautiful features sent Terry’s stomach into the soles of his feet. Patrice’s full lips sagged into a heavy frown as she wrestled food containers into her lunchbox without looking in his direction. He could take her mumbling her anger or sending more than a few curse words his way. But the sadness in her silence was too much. 

After pressing pause on his screen, Terry took measured steps toward Patrice to avoid disturbing an angry lion. 

He touched her hip first to test the waters. When she didn’t reject him, he moved in to take up space behind her and pull her back against his body. He pressed a soft kiss behind her ear. “I won’t make excuses. Forgive me, sweetheart. It won’t happen again.” 

Resistance faded slowly but surely as he nuzzled his nose into her neck between kisses. Tense muscles melted under his touch, relishing the extra attention meant to settle a disagreement. Anger fought to remain the chief emotion. Everything in her wanted to continue forging a war path until she was satisfied with the destruction. But she’d always had a weakness for this man with a smooth baritone and big hands that he loved to rub up and down her body.

She kissed her teeth before turning to plant a kiss on his cheek as a silent truce. “Whatever. You’re lucky I like you more than most other people.” 

“What I gotta do to get that like to a love before you leave the house?” 

Patrice pulled Terry’s bottom lip into another kiss and smiled. “It’d be great if you confirmed you used your mama’s Costco card to get the study hall snacks like we talked about.” 

Terry froze. For days he’d had the nagging feeling that he was neglecting a task. Something important but vague among all of the other thoughts and responsibilities swirling in his head. He’d hoped for a reminder, but not like this, not on the heels of wriggling his way out of Patrice’s wrath only moments before. 

Ever perceptive, Patrice didn’t need him to speak to know that he’d, once again, missed a memo. Anger was back from its short hiatus and making her body hot to the touch in a way Terry had been spared from his entire life. 

She fought to wrestle free from his grasp, her body thrashing until he relented and let her go. Terry watched her stomp around the kitchen, snatching items from the counter and forcing them into her bag on her way to the front door. He remained hot on her heels with pleas to make things right on his lips until she stopped short at the coat closet.

“Strike three! You’re so fuckin’ selfish sometimes, Terry, I swear.” She grumbled as she swapped her car keys for his on their shared personal items hook. “I thought you would grow out of that by now but here you are, damn near 33 years old, and still doing the same shit.”  

The dig at his past transgressions stung more than Terry expected. He tried to maintain his composure though the wounded man inside wanted to get to the bottom of why she’d chosen to toss such an insult out so casually. 

He took a deep breath to quell the combative questions clawing through his throat while he watched her shrug on her coat with spite in her eyes. “Look, I messed up. We don’t need to start throwing jabs back and forth. How can I help?”

His attempt to reach out for her hand was thwarted once she snatched away to yank open the front door.

“Terrence, the time to help was early this week. Hell, last night even. I don’t have time for your sorry this morning. I gotta go figure this out by myself yet again.” 

Immense guilt attached itself to Terry, producing a heavy heart as he tried to make sense of Patrice’s most venomous blowup to date. Never had she been so crass toward him, not even when he deserved it most. She’d always been the pinnacle of grace and forgiveness. What scared him most was the suspicion that she was more unhappy with his disappearing act than she’d let on in all their honest talks about their path forward after heartbreak. Half of him wanted to chase her into the early morning chill, stop her from leaving, and convince her to call in so that they could sort through every issue, past and present, until they were back on the right side of newlywed bliss. Rational thought told him that some things were best solved through action.

Bitterness fueled the remainder of Patrice’s day. Jokes in the breakroom were no longer funny. Her class clowns were less charming by fourth period. A fierce bout of irritability resulted in a pop quiz for her senior AP English class for not participating in the group discussion to her liking. Every second of every minute carried a dark, heavy cloud that she couldn’t shake. 

She wanted to scream at Terry until her chest caved in from exhaustion. She wanted to throw things across the room, destroying every item in her path until the sting of compounded letdowns, actions he wasn’t even responsible for, was distilled back into the tiny box of rage she kept tucked away in her heart. She kept it hidden on purpose. If it ever got loose, there was no guarantee she could fix the damage it left behind. 

Once school bells had rang and children were carted off to their respective homes, Patrice sat behind her desk with a small committee of cheerleaders congregating in her classroom. She kept her focus on grading the mountain of quizzes she’d created for herself, silently ready to give everyone extra credit for the attempt. 

“Ms. Ellis,” Alana, her captain, started as she dusted Doritos remnants from her fingers. 

Mikayla cut in. “It’s Mrs. Richmond now. She got married! You see her ring.”

“And you ain’t invite us?” Alana gasped, pretending to be offended. “That’s cold Mrs. Richmond. I thought we were cool.” 

“We’re cool, Lana. I didn’t know I was getting married until it happened. No one was invited.” 

“Can I at least see that big ol’ diamond up close?” 

Young girls with fairytales and romance novels seared into their perception of love begged for a chance to see Patrice’s wedding band up close. With more energy, she would shoo them away and redirect them to the bulletin board they abandoned to snack and gossip amongst each other. But arguments before work were taxing and all she could bring herself to do was push away from her desk and join them in the center of their circle with her hand outstretched for their inspection.

Oooh, ahhs, and everything in between overlapped as each young lady took her turn running their fingers up against the clear stone and white gold band engraved with her new initials. 

“I want me a ring just like this!” Camille explained as she took a picture to send to her boyfriend. 

“Can we see your husband? Is he nice like you?” 

Patrice paused. “Uh…yeah. He’s a nice man. You all should be with nice boys, or girls, or whoever you like. Don’t allow anyone to be anything less than nice to you.” 

“Okay, but can we see him,” another girl reiterated. 

“It’s Coach Richmond, duh,” Mikayla exclaimed. “They got the same last name. And they was in this old yearbook together. I saw it in Ms. Shields's class when we were having a yearbook meetin’.” 

More oohs and ahhs, this time fawning over the new football coach on campus and the picture Mikayla had saved to her cellphone. Patrice listened to them gush over the thorn in her side as she eased into a desk to take the pressure off her aching feet. 

Camille looked between the photo and Patrice with a smile. “He was your boyfriend when y’all went here?” 

“For a little bit. Right before we graduated. But we broke up that summer.” 

“How come?”

“He wanted to go to the military and I wanted to go to college,” Patrice answered after a deep sigh. “So, he went his way and I went mine because I wasn’t changing my mind. Remember that. Do what you wanna do. You have a whole life ahead of you.” 

The girls all mumbled some version of their agreeance before another question pushed the tea session forward. 

“Then how did y’all get married. He came back?” 

Patrice smiled at the memory of Terry standing on her porch that fateful summer morning. “Yeah. He just…came back. We talked and never stopped talking after that until he became my husband.”

“Did he say sorry at least?” 

“He always says sorry. All the time. He’s nice like that.” 

A chorus of swooning ‘awws’ rang out in the classroom and escaped into the hallway. Terry was nice like that. It didn’t matter that Patrice wanted to hate him and call him every name but a child of God. He always apologized and he always meant it. 

A distant smile covered Patrice’s face as she twirled her wedding band around her finger. 

Camille took the opportunity to poke fun at her coach. “Aww, look at Mrs. Richmond, y’all. She smiling big! You gon’ let him come to the AP Christmas party?” 

“That ain’t fair! I’m not in AP English and I wanna see him.” 

“Oh my God, we all gon' see him at the games. Calm down.” 

“Alright, alright, alright.” Patrice couldn’t contain her laughter at their eagerness to meet a man two times their senior with no interest in them outside of their connection to her. “Maybe you’ll meet him one day. Today, I need y’all to hurry up and-” 

A knock at the door interrupted Patrice, bringing her attention to a tall, slender young man who instantly turned heads. He smiled bashfully at all the ogling until Patrice redirected his eyes with a wave of her hand.

“What’s up, Deanté? You leave something in here?” 

“Nah. Coach Rich told us to bring some stuff to you. Where you want us to put it?” 

“Umm, I guess you can put it back here by my bookshelves,” she directed, pointing to the back of the room. Confusion created fine lines on her forehead. “I’m sorry, what’s happening?” 

Deanté shrugged in the way only teenaged boys too cool for school could before waving in the rest of his crew. Each of them came bearing the gift of snacks, carrying boxes of wholesale goodies to their intended place like worker ants serving their queen. Chips, cookies, pretzels, juices, and water stacked high along the wall instantly turned her quaint classroom into a stockroom until they’d delivered the final package. Bringing up the rear was Terry with flowers in one hand and a carryout bag from Patrice’s favorite bakery in the other. 

Pressed khaki slacks and a cotton polo fighting for dominance against his veiny bicep should’ve thanked him for making them look better than they ever could alone. Patrice wrestled her gaze away from his long legs to look away before she ended up flustered in front of impressionable children.

He lightly knocked against the door, his gaze soft and his smile welcoming. “May I come in?” 

Like the audience track from a 90s sitcom, young girls squeal in his presence, making him chuckle. Patrice rushed to control the madness. 

“See, this is why I have to keep my eye on y’all. Head to the gym and warm up. I’ll meet y’all down there.” They groaned their displeasure in a last-ditch attempt to buy more time with Terry. She re-emphasized her instructions. “Go on. For every second I have to keep looking at y’all after I’m done talking, that’s a lap. One, two, three…”

Quick feet and the threat of additional exercise cleared the room quickly, leaving Terry at the doorframe waiting for permission to enter. Patrice stood and straightened her turtleneck before inviting him inside. 

“Come in. Close the door behind you.”

Terry did as he was told in silence, hoping to appease the Queen in her castle. Patrice tried to remain stoic as she approached her portable lectern to thumb through the day’s notes and lesson plans. He deposited the flowers onto a nearby shelf then slid into a desk at the front of the class and waited for her to at least acknowledge him beyond a fleeting glance. 

Finally, she looked up and pointed at the white bag resting in front of him. “Is that for me?” 

“Yeah,” Terry smiled. “I haven’t seen you grab one in a while so I hope you still like the cinnamon roll. If not, I got the lemon loaf too. Your other favorite.” 

After all those years separating their adulthood from an entire semester of sneaking away during lunch for a warm, doughy signature roll, Patrice couldn’t believe Terry still remembered such a trivial detail. 

She bit her bottom lip to hide a smile as two short steps took her to the desk beside him. Metal creaked against the floor while they turned to face each other in seats too small for Terry who had come a long way from his high school physique. 

Terry watched Patrice quietly remove her treat from the bag and cut it in half with a plastic knife. She carefully placed one side on a clean napkin and passed it across the small gap separating them. 

She lifted her portion into the air and smiled a friendly smile. “Cheers?” 

“Cheers.” 

Their respective hunks of roll kissed the other briefly before they took big bites to satisfy early afternoon cravings. Terry chuckled as Patrice hummed her satisfaction with her eyes closed and shoulders lifted near her ears. 

A little piece of Heaven. He was happy to provide anything other than the strife he contributed hours earlier. 

“Thank you,” Patrice whispered once the delight of her first bite had passed and her eyes were open again. “It’s still my favorite. You were right.” 

He didn’t respond past a small nod and a small half smile as he watched her enjoy another bite. His thumbs nervously twiddled around themselves while he wrote and erased apologetic statements in his mind in a search for what to say next. 

“Treece, I can’t say enough how sorry I am.” 

“We don’t need to do this. I overreacted and threw things in your face.” She started, trying to stop the uncomfortable discussion before it could start. 

Terry remained steadfast. “No, you didn’t. You called me out and it was the right thing to do. I have been selfish and you’ve caught the brunt of that for a long time now. It’s not fair.” 

“I just…fuck.” Tears that Patrice had managed to keep at bay during work forced their way past her waterline before she could stop them. She dabbed at them with a napkin and took a deep breath. “I’ve had to be really independent for a long time. Relationships didn’t stop me from doing things on my own because they convinced me that asking for help made me weak. Then you came along and immediately took on more than I could’ve ever asked.”

“That’s what I’m here for, baby.” 

“Yeah, but when you stop all of a sudden or pick and choose when you wanna help, it makes me afraid that one day, you’re gonna stop altogether like everyone else. And I really, really can’t take you being like everyone else.” 

Another layer of Patrice had been shed to leave behind an emotionally raw, vulnerable woman searching for an anchor in her life. The tears were gone, but they left evidence of deep-seated hurt on her face. 

Terry reached across his desk for her hand which she offered without protest though she refused to look him in the eyes. He kissed her knuckles softly, paying special attention to her ring finger before lacing their fingers. 

Sad eyes looked across at her. “You’re my main priority. If you want me to drop all this extra shit, I’ll do it in a heartbeat. Say the word and it’s gone.”

“I don’t want that. Be honest with me. Listen to me. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Okay,” he spoke into the inside of her wrist. “Give me a chance to be better.” 

“You already are.” 

Where misunderstanding has once festered, a flower of progress bloomed. They’d traversed uncharted territory as a unit to find common ground that would lay the foundation for years to come. 

Patrice made the first move toward reconciliation, standing from her desk to meet Terry at his side. Her hands cupped the sides of his face, tilting his head up to hers as she stood over him. 

“I love you. Always. I might still be a little miffed, but I’ll get over it. Promise.” She landed a flurry of kisses on his forehead and he accepted while he wrapped his arms around her waist. 

“I understand. I’ll earn your trust again.” 

Fuzzy feelings and chaste affection in what they believed was a safe space were cut short when a small yelp and thud sent a group of girls crashing to the tile floor, pushing her door ajar.

Patrice giggled along with Terry as she turned to get a look at the spectacle. “That’s what you get for being nosey. Now get to the gym for real this time.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Richmond,” they all chanted as they scrambled to stand and scatter. 

Terry listened for them to exit hearing range before turning back to Patrice and leaning up to kiss her lips. 

“I’ll be done with practice at 6:30 sharp and come straight home. Don’t worry about dinner or anything else. Let me handle it.”

“No problem.”

Final kisses and another promise to be home on time sent Terry and Patrice in opposite directions with optimism pumping through their veins. Tomorrow would bring its own storms and issues to work out. But, those were tomorrow’s problems. 

Today, they’d lick their wounds and settle next to each other on the couch with love in their hearts and the taste of each other on their lips to make every hard time worth the end result.

-----

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[mxltifxnd0m]

all maroon ∗∗ s. winchester

summary: your day was long but at least sam's here to make you feel better

pairings: established sam winchester x reader, stanford sam winchester x gn afab! reader

word count: 2.7K

warnings: none really, no use of 'y/n', mentions of periods, no mention of gender besides reader having a menstrual cycle, fluff, kissing, making out, kinda edited

a/n: this was purely a self indulgent fic from the shit show of a day i had yesterday and i wish it had turned out to be like this instead of what actually happened, title is a lyric from flume by bon iver

anyways enjoy! please like, comment, and reblog!! your feedback fuels me loll!

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

From the moment you woke up, you knew today was going to be a rough one. First, you had gotten your period as soon as you woke up to your alarm, and it leaked through your underwear, and your sheets were stained with your blood. You cursed under your breath and swiftly tore off your sheets and threw them in the washer before you quickly grabbed new underwear and the outfit that you had picked out the night before and took a quick shower. 

After you were showered and changed, you maybe had fifteen to twenty minutes to make your breakfast and pack lunch and dinner before you had to leave your apartment to find adequate parking and before your class started.

You lived about fifteen minutes away from Stanford since you couldn’t afford housing after your first year there and found an affordable apartment for yourself. Your mom and dad helped pay half of your rent while you worked on campus to help pay for the rest of the rent. You were at Stanford on a scholarship that covered tuition. You had financial aid to cover the rest, like books, school supplies, and groceries, and you put the rest of that money into your savings account. 

You left your apartment on time, but as soon as you hit the freeway, there was traffic that seemed to stretch on for miles. Apparently, there was construction being done in one of the lanes, and you spent thirty minutes in traffic before you made it to the parking lot with only minutes to spare before your class started. You lucked out on finding a parking spot quickly, and you all but sprinted to your class. It didn’t help that today was your busiest day, having two classes before your shift at the library and then one last class that went until nine o’clock at night. 

You were grateful that you had some gaps in between your classes, so you had time to eat lunch and do homework. But today, it seemed like God hated you because you didn’t have enough time to eat lunch since you had to type up a paper that you forgot you had assigned for the class you had tomorrow. You barely finished the paper before you were off to your next class. Once your second class was over, you made your way to the library for your shift, and you scarfed down your lunch, which was just a plain sandwich you had made that morning before you left. 

It felt like you couldn’t catch a break. It didn’t help that today was also the day that your boyfriend was busy with class, so you wouldn’t be able to see him until you were done with your shift. Even then, you would see him for a few minutes before you were whisked away to warm up your dinner and him to his dorm, where he’d study for the rest of the night. 

You were lucky that your shift today was slow, and you didn’t have much to do besides sit at the front desk and help students who needed assistance. Time flew by faster than you could even imagine as you were working on some homework from another class when someone rang the little bell at the front desk, making you look up from your laptop. 

Sam was looking as cute as ever, grinning at you as he gripped one of the straps on his shoulder. “Hey, I was wondering if you could help me look for something?” He said, a playful glint in his eyes. 

Sam’s smile was infectious, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Yeah, what were you looking for exactly?” You smirked, deciding to play along with him. 

Sam leaned down and rested his elbows on the tall check-in desk, getting to your eye level on the tall chair you were sitting on. “Yeah, I need help finding a way out of your eyes.” A cheeky smile grew on his face as he spoke. 

You pursed your lips before snorting loudly. You slapped your hand over your mouth as you laughed, trying to keep down the noise in the quiet atmosphere of the library. You saw a slight red hue begin to grow on Sam’s cheeks as he snickered alongside you. 

“You’re such a dork, you know that?” You told him after you calmed down.

“Yeah, well I’m your dork.” 

You nodded. “That you are.” You leaned over the desk and pinched his cheek like a grandmother would her grandchild. “A really adorable one at that.” You cooed out before laughing lightly when he swatted your hand away and rubbed his reddened cheek. 

“I told you to stop doing that,” Sam grumbled out, acting like he was irked by it, but you could see a hint of a smile on his lips. 

“Awe, but it’s so cute seeing you all flustered.” You pouted before planting a quick kiss on the cheek you just pinched. “All better now?” 

Sam ducked his head down as a bashful smile grew on his face. You grinned at his shyness; you found it so endearing even after the two of you had been dating for a couple of months. 

“So, you’re here early.” You say as you sit back in your chair. 

Sam looked back at you and swiped the hairs that were falling into his eyes. “Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you before your shift ended.” 

“Well,” You glanced down at the watch Sam was wearing. “My shift is officially over now. But what’s up?” You asked him as you started to clean up the front desk of some of the homework you were working on. 

“I just wanted to know if you’re going back to your parents for the weekend?” 

You shook your head as you zipped up your backpack. “No, I’m swamped with homework and studying, so I told them that I’d visit next weekend.” Even if you were craving a home-cooked meal from your mom and wanted to see your parents, you needed to finish the work that your professors had assigned. 

You slung your backpack over your shoulders and rounded the desk to stand in front of Sam. You took a glance at the clock hanging on the nearby wall and winced. 

“I hate to cut this short, but I have to go and warm up my food if I want to eat before my last class.” You internally groaned at the thought of being stuck in a two-and-a-half-hour lecture. 

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but you had pushed up on your toes and pecked Sam’s lips before leaving him, clocking out, and leaving the library. What you didn’t see as you left was Sam shaking his head and smiling to himself as he went further into the library to study for a bit before heading back to his dorm. 

After speeding into the dining hall to warm up the leftovers you had from last night in the microwaves, you sat down at a table to eat but also worked on your homework. You were periodically looking at the time on your laptop to make sure you had enough time to eat and make it to your class fifteen minutes before it started. Once you had finished your dinner and most of the homework you were working on, you made your way to your next class. 

It was a short walk from the dining hall to the classroom where the lecture was being held. You went into the room, and it was empty. You felt your eyebrows furrow. There are usually some people in here already. You thought to yourself as you decided to leave the classroom.

A flash of white caught your eye as the door to the classroom closed, and there was a notice that today’s class was canceled. You let out a sigh of relief, but you could feel irritation brewing in your chest as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath.  

The urge to let out a frustrated scream was at an all-time high, but you managed to turn away from the sheet of paper that seemed to mock you and left the building. The cool September air hit your heated cheeks as you walked through the quad, trying to tamp down the irrational emotions that were bubbling up to the surface. 

As much as you liked that class was canceled, you were mentally prepared to be in the room for a good two hours. Getting that heads up fifteen minutes before class was supposed to start was just the cherry on top of your already long day. You had a feeling that if you checked your student email, your professor would have emailed the entire class to say that it was canceled. If you were going to be honest, you just wanted to be put out of your misery. 

You were so out of it as you walked through the quad, and your feet led you to Sam’s dorm building. You were able to slip in with no problem, as someone had held the door open for you as they left and made your way to Sam’s room.

You tiredly knocked on the door. It swung open, and you didn’t even bother greeting your boyfriend as you brushed past him and into his room. You slung off your backpack, landing haphazardly on the ground with a quiet thud. You kicked your shoes off before launching your tired body face-first onto his bed. 

You felt the bed dip as Sam sat on it and placed his hand on your head. “Uhh, not that I’m not happy that you’re here, but I thought you had class right now.” 

You groaned loudly into his pillow, the noise muffled by the fabric, and you sat up on his bed, his hand falling from your head as you moved. You adjusted yourself so you were sitting in the middle of his bed with your knees pulled to your chest as you looked at your slightly confused boyfriend. 

“It got canceled.” You grumbled out as you picked at the hole in your jeans. 

“Hence why you’re here?” Sam moved his hand from the bed and wrapped it around your ankle, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the exposed skin. 

You nodded, and Sam hummed in response. “Long day?” He asked as he looked you over, seeing how exhausted you were. 

“You don’t even know half of it.” You huffed out before falling sideways on his bed, your head hitting his pillow. 

Sam frowned. He didn’t like seeing you upset. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I think if I talk about my day, I’ll need you to shoot me point blank.” 

Sam’s eyebrows raised high as he looked at you surprised. “Uh, I’m not going to do that. But talking about it might make you feel better.” 

You shook your head as you reached for his wrist and tugged him towards you. “I don’t wanna. Just want to cuddle right now.” 

Sam huffed a laugh through his nose as a small smile grew on his face. He let you tug him closer and climbed on the bed. Sam settled on the bed next to you as you kicked your feet out from their curled position and shuffled closer to him. Your legs intertwined with his as he wrapped an arm around your waist. 

“Lift your head for me.” Sam murmured to you. 

You did as he said, and he wrapped his other around your head, cushioning it as you laid on his bicep and his hand rested on your back. Once you both were settled, you let out a contented sigh as you stared at Sam’s hazel eyes. Your face was so close to his that you felt his breath fan over your face. 

“Did I interrupt your studying?” You asked him with a quiet voice, realizing that you very much could have distracted him because of your moody attitude. 

He shook his head. “No, I had just finished when you came in.” Sam gave you a half smile before tipping his chin up to kiss your forehead. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about your day?” He muttered against your skin. 

“No, I’d much rather hear about yours.” 

Sam pulled back slightly and raised an eyebrow at you. “You sure?” 

You nodded. You felt marginally better from when you came in as you were in Sam’s arms. 

Sam’s expression was one of ‘okay then’ before he jumped into talking about his day, and you listened to your boyfriend with a slight smile on your face. You snuggled deep into his embrace and eventually moved your head to rest in the crook of his neck. 

“Are you still listening?” Sam asked as he felt you smile against his neck. 

“Mhm. Just keep talking.” 

Sam let out a small chuckle at your antics and continued to talk about what he had seen while walking to his last class of the day. You breathed in Sam’s comforting scent; the notes of citrus, mint, mahogany, and something that was just distinctly Sam filled your senses, and you could feel the tenseness leave your body. 

Sam was still talking, but you weren’t exactly listening, and you couldn’t resist kissing the small freckle on his neck. He suddenly stopped talking as you planted soft kisses on the warm skin of his neck. Sam let out a soft noise as you nipped at his pulse point, moved his hand that was on your back to your neck, and pulled away from you slightly. 

“What are you doing?” You could see the corners of Sam’s lips twitching as he asked you the question. 

“Kissing your neck.” You stated it as if it was obvious because it was. 

“What happened to listening to my day?”

“Can’t I multitask?” 

Sam laughed at the serious face you made as you said it, and you couldn’t help but break your serious facade and laugh along with him. Your foul mood was finally melting away. 

Sam rested his forehead against yours as he calmed down, staring deep into your eyes. “I love you.” He said softly. 

You couldn’t help the tender smile stretching across your lips. “I love you too.” 

Sam grinned before kissing you. Your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned into the warm feeling of Sam’s soft lips against yours. The hand that was on your neck had moved to cup your cheek, and his arm tightened around your waist as he deepened the kiss. The world faded around you as you got lost in Sam as he moved his lips against yours. Sam managed to push you on your back as he was slotted in between your legs. Your hands found themselves in his hair as the soft kiss turned into a passionate makeout. 

Sam consumed your senses as his tongue swiped your bottom lip, and you let him in with a little fight as his tongue played and swirled with yours. A slight noise that was akin to a whine left your lips as his lips left yours. Sam didn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours, but you realized that you were out of breath, and the two of you were panting against each other’s lips.

A blissful smile was on Sam’s face as he hovered over you. His lips were slightly swollen and slick with spit from the two of you kissing, and you couldn’t help but kiss him softly. Sam smiled against you before melting into your kiss. The kiss didn’t last long as you pulled away, Sam chasing your lips for a moment, making you let out a little giggle. Sam’s eyes were alight with joy as he heard your laugh. 

Sam couldn’t hold back and planted soft kisses on your forehead, nose, and cheeks before giving you a sweet but chaste kiss on your lips and pulling away from you. You all but sunk into the affection that Sam was showering you in, but then you started to pout when he moved from on top of you to next to you and pulled you into his side. 

He kissed your temple before the two of you settled in comfortable silence, content with just being by each other’s sides. You had no clue how long you guys stayed like that until you dozed off in Sam’s arms. The last thing you remembered before you fell asleep was Sam's lips on your cheek and wrapping his arms tighter around you. 

[silv3rswirls]

soft moments with seventeen

Note: Happy Valentine's day everyone <3

♡Seungcheol♡

When you’re running late for work in the morning, darting around the apartment frantically trying to get yourself together. Seungcheol watches, holding your lunch and waiting by the door so you don’t forget it. You finally get to the door, stuffing your shoes on in a hurry, your coat hanging off one shoulder and your bag’s strap twisted and bunched up. He stops you, very calmly telling you to take a moment and breath before leaving. You do, and he takes your bag from you. He straightens up your coat, buttons it up for you, and loops your scarf around your neck. It’s freezing out, part of the reason you’re late as you couldn’t drag yourself out of bed. Carefully he puts your bag back on and pauses to sweep your hair wispies from your face. Seungcheol presses a quick kiss on your forehead, and the two of you share a smile before you leave.

♡Jeonghan♡

It's early, way too early for you to even consider dragging yourself out of bed, but Jeonghan was wide awake and in the process of getting ready to leave for an early schedule. You’re still cuddled in bed, having wrapped all the blankets tight around your body now that Jeonghan is gone. You can hear him walking around, the water in the bathroom running, his alarm going off for a third time and him rushing to silence it for you. You were dead tired, hardly able to open your eyes but for some reason, you could never fall asleep until Jeonghan left. The bed dips beside you, and his arms trap you in place despite knowing you are too sleepy to try and playfully getaway. You hear him softly saying his goodbyes, turning your head and pinching your cheeks until you open your eyes and smile. He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, and leaves a few rushed ones against your face before leaving.

♡Joshua♡

You’re pressed against him in the back of the car. Your head resting on his shoulder and your bottom lip trembling as you try to hold your tears in until you get home. But you still had fifteen minutes and traffic was getting worse; your throat was burning and your eyes overflowing with warm tears. You feel Joshua press his fingers into your hair, brushing through it, down to rub your back and press you closer. He was silently encouraging you to cry after the long, hard day you had gone through. You didn’t want to, but couldn’t help it as you sniffled and let the tears fall. He stays quiet, not wanting to draw the driver's attention anymore to you. He doesn’t need to say anything though, you feel comforted as he rubs your back and drags his thumb over your cheek to wipe the tears away.

♡Jun♡

You were so tired, so worn out from working that day. Your boyfriend had greeted you with your favorite takeout when you got home and afterward had drawn a bath for you. You were enjoying the hot water, your tense muscles trying to relax as you recounted all the things that went wrong at work to Jun, who listened quietly. He hums in response, his fingers working in your shampoo as he washed your hair for you. He had offered, quick to attend to your hair the moment you let him. His hands scratch and massage your scalp, dropping down to massage your shoulders now and again. You lean into his touch, smiling and thanking him for being extra sweet. He grins and tells you he’d do it every night if you wanted.

♡Hoshi♡

If there’s one thing Soonyoung does on a daily basis; it's cling to you. He can’t help it, he just wants to be close to you, touching you in some way. He isn’t even aware of it most times. Grabbing your hand absentmindedly while shopping, resting against you while in the car or at home relaxing. Wrapping his arms around your waist and following you around the kitchen. He comes home one evening, tired and a bit blue over how busy he had been this week. He hardly got to see you. You were lounging on the sofa, tapping and scrolling away on your phone when he came in, he kicked his shoes off and came trudging in. He greets you tiredly, immediately crawling onto the sofa, laying on top of you, and resting his head on your chest. Neither of you says much, he closes his eyes and listens to you breathe, and ask about his day. His arms lock around you and his nestles closer, neither of you will be getting up anytime soon.

♡Wonwoo♡

Wonwoo huffs and turns the tv off, finally dragging himself out of his gaming session for the night. He looks around, the room almost eerily quiet now that he logged off. He looks around, spotting you on the sofa behind him, hair wet and wrapped in a blanket as you absentmindedly brushed it, your mind wandering. He moves to sit next to you, tilting his head and reaching to brush the hair from your face. It draws you out of your daydream, leaving a smile on your face as he runs his fingers through your wet locks. “Let me” he gently takes the brush, adjusting his sitting position to be more comfortable as he focuses on the cluster of tangles in your hair. He apologizes quietly every time he pulls too hard, but you don’t mind. You lean into him, enjoying the feeling as he tenderly brushes your hair; leaving you with a kiss on top of your head when he’s finished.

♡Woozi♡

It had been a rough few weeks for the both of you. He’d been busier than usual at the studio; if that was even possible. While you both understood the demands of his job, it seemed lately it was taking a heavier toll on you. But today, by some delightful little miracle, you had gotten to take the day off at the last minute and Jihoon had just finished the biggest chunk of his work. You come by the studio, lunch made just for him in hand as you enter. You squeeze him in a hug and share the food. You laugh, sitting with him on the sofa and picking at your lunch; more interested in listening and watching Jihoon than eating. He has a little something for you, something he had caught you eyeing at the mall about a month ago but wouldn’t buy for yourself. He had saved a note of it in his phone and thought now would be a good time to surprise you with it. He's all smiles watching you open it, the food forgotten as you once again dive back into lighthearted conversation.

♡Dokyeom♡

You both have a day off, and Seokmin plans to make the most of it. He spends extra time in bed that morning, trapping you in his arms and taking his time waking up and cuddling you. You make breakfast together, he sits next to you and feeds you little bites of his food as you eat. He can’t help it, he wants to be by your side all day. Do everything together, even the mundane chores and running errands. At the end of the night, he’s a bit sad at the thought of having to go back to work tomorrow. He’s in bed with you, sulking but still wasting no time in pulling you in for some affection. Your voices mesh together as you giggle and promise you’ll still have plenty of time for each other despite your schedules. He nods, still pouty and really hamming it for more affection from you, you oblige of course, until his lulling to sleep under your touch.

♡Mingyu♡

Mingyu’s arms are locked around your waist, his head pressed into the crook of your neck. You're stuck sitting on the edge of the bed, he’s hugging you and about to fall asleep against your shoulder again. He doesn’t want you to leave, he’s begging you to call off work and just stay in bed with him all day. You try to wiggle free, but he hangs on tight and pulls you back onto the bed with him. You topple over, a mess of limbs as he rolls over with you and traps you once again. You have to leave soon, but he’s so convincing with how he nuzzles into your neck and murmurs for you to stay with him. 

♡Minghao♡

You weren’t even sure how Minghao and you had gotten here. He was holding your hand, massaging lotion into your skin gently. The hair dryer he had been using was left forgotten on the counter. He’s focused on you, rubbing up your arm before moving to the other hand. You bite back little laughs, his fingers tickling your palm as he gets back to massaging. He’s about to keep pampering you, but you stop him to finish drying his hair. He plots how he’s going to get back to focusing on you as you comb through his hair and dry it, carefully brushing and parting it the way he wants as he closes his eyes and takes in the sensations. When you finish he lets his head drop against your chest, leaning into you as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and press kisses against his cheek. 

♡Seungkwan♡

It's early, and your bedroom is a bit chilly as you whine for Seungkwan to get up and turn the heat up. He’s been awake longer already, relaxing in bed as you toss and turn, snuggling into him and snoozing the morning away. He complains and tells you to do it yourself a few times before giving in and turning it up for you. He comes back with another blanket, tucking you back in and letting you sleep in as he starts to get ready for the day. It's his day off, neither of you has anything to do. Normally he’d be pushing you out of bed by now, but your night had been long and emotional. You’d been up late crying, letting emotions spill over after bottling them up for so long. After he was done, Seungkawn came back to sit beside you. He watches you sleep, brushes your hair away, and makes sure you're nice and warm.

♡Vernon♡

He’s dead asleep despite it being midday. The curtains are open, the sun beaming in as you get home. You smile at the sight, he’s dead asleep, unaware of the world around him as he only shifts slightly when you hop onto the bed next to him. You decided to join him, pressed into his side and throwing an arm over his stomach. Later that evening, as he wakes up he finds you twisted uncomfortably in the covers, shifting with him as he sits up and tries to fix the blankets for you. He’s quiet, focused on you as he settles back down to go back to bed, opening his arms and letting you cuddle up to him this time. Neither of you had spoken a word to each other the rest of the night, simply content to lazy around and waste the night away cuddling and sleeping.

♡Dino♡

His nose scrunches when you drop the terrible news on him; at least, hearing that you haven’t eaten all day is among some of the worst news he could hear. He’s scolding you, pulling you towards the kitchen, and making you sit at the counter and wait for him to prepare something for you. He sits with you, not eating as he’s already had dinner with the boys before leaving the company. He’s taking the chopsticks from you every chance he gets, feeding you himself until he’s satisfied. All evening he’s coming back with snacks for you to share, always checking on you to make sure you’re feeling okay, want something else or some water. 

[cinewhore]

The Only Exception

Pairing: Michael Berzatto x fem!reader

read extended cut here [x]

Word Count: 2.6k 

Warnings: mentions of drinking, toxic family dynamics, smut 18+ (groping, male receiving oral, penetration, unprotected sex, facial cumshot). fluff and some angst! 

A/N: girlies, the whore jumped out! Takes place during episode 6 season 2. Credit to the gif creator! I hope y’all enjoy it. 

Nothing ever goes smoothly with the Berzatto’s.

Why you thought this holiday dinner was going to be any different was beyond any rational comprehension.

Trying not to be a complete klutz and ruin the side dish you’ve been working on the entire day, you delicately balance it in your left hand while adjusting your scarf tighter around your neck with your right. Putting a pep in your step, you round the corner from where you parked, spotting the stoop instantly.

It was a rare sighting to see all three of the Berzatto siblings together. With Carmy being away at culinary school, Mikey doing his own thing with the restaurant and Natalie living her life, one person always missed the other. It warmed your heart to see just how much they cared about each other, even if they didn’t show it in a normal or healthy way.

“Is that who I think it is?” Mikey’s voice booms over the light traffic passing by, handing Carmy the cigarette he was puffing on.

You crack a smile, despite it feeling like your lips were stuck together due to the cold weather. “Sorry, I’m a bit late. Fuckin’ cat had my keys.”

“How many times did I tell you to get rid of the cat?” Mikey leans down to kiss you but you turn your head, forcing him to peck you on the cheek instead.

“C’mon, baby.” he drawls, throwing you a bashful smile.

You huff out a sigh, lowering your voice. “You know I hate the smoking.”

Mikey nods, face fading into something serious before vanishing. “I know you do. You didn’t bring fish, did you?”

Side-stepping the tall Berzatto, you get pulled into a hug by Natalie, followed by Carmen.

“Hello, gorgeous! It’s so good to see you!” Natalie kisses you on both cheeks before making the move to grab the dish out of your hands. You pull back, shooting her a look.

“Nat, please. I got it.”

“Are you sure?” you watch as her bottom lip quivers a bit. You steal a glance at Carmy, who just shakes his head.

“Fuck. How bad is it?” you gaze at the disheveled trio, awaiting an answer.

Finally, Mikey breaks the silence.

“It’s at a five. Six, at best.”

You lick your lips, rocking back and forth on your heels. “That’s not too bad, right?”

“Right.” Carmy agrees, with Natalie humming in agreement.

“Just don’t fucking ask if she’s doing ok.” Mikey glimpses at his sister, placing hand on your lower back to guide you into the house.

You take a deep breath and exhale through your nose, plastering a smile on your face before entering the shit show.

You’d only been there an hour and you were called the wrong name three times, objectified, cursed at and now Fak was trying to get you to put up five hundred dollars for baseball cards.

Listening with great intent, nodding at all the right times and twirling the wine glass in your hands desperately wanting to get another refill had your social energy spent.

“We could make you a lot of money, cousin.” Fak goes on, nudging his brother for support.

“Yeah-yeah! Think about what you could do with fifteen hundred bucks! Cold hard cash!” the lookalike chimes in.

“Wow, no, yeah this-this sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime.” you murmur. Don’t take it the wrong way, you loved Fak. His personality was infectious, you’ve never seen him get overly angry despite the other guys giving him shit constantly and he genuinely goes out of his way to help everyone. Back when you first started dating Mikey and moved apartments in the city, Fak volunteered to make sure your place was in tiptoe shape and refused payment.

Just then Steve, Michelle’s husband, passes by and you seize your opportunity.

“Steve! How are you?” you beckon him over, scooting over on the tiny couch so he could sit beside you.

“Ah, yes. Mikey’s girl who we aren’t sure how he managed to snag. Good to see you again.”

You brush off his comment with a tired smile, gesturing to Fak and his brother. “So, these guys have a proposition for you, right?”

You nod enthusiastically with them, giving Fak a secret wink.

“Oh, yes! Yes! Do you like baseball cards, Steve?”

“On that note,” you stand up and maneuver yourself out the nook. “I’m gonna go get a refill. Leave you gentlemen to handle business.”

Mocking a military salute, you dash towards the kitchen bypassing other members of the family.

Donna flurries around the kitchen, shouting instructions to no one in particular. You didn’t greet her as soon as you came in, knowing how she gets around this time of the year. To be honest, you were sure that she didn’t exactly like you.

“Donna, my goodness! You look wonderful.” you lay the complement on sweetly, smiling brightly. If you don’t wilt in her presence, she wouldn’t be able to smell the fear on you.

Donna swivels her head to look at you, cigarette dangling from her lipstick smeared lips. Eyes lined in thick mascara, her disapproving expression ripples through you. You smile wider.

“I brought over a little casserole. I figured it would compliment the fish nicely.”

Shifting to face you fully, Donna crosses her arms. “Casserole? What casserole?”

You point to the tin foiled dish. “That one. Mikey brought in, did he not tell you?”

She scoffs. “Yeah, just like he told me about him breaking things off with what’s her name.”

“Anna.” you mutter, swallowing the lump that quietly made its way up your throat.

“Yeah, Anna.” Donna turns back to the task at hand, haphazardly swinging a knife about. “I liked her better.”

Forgoing your much desired glass of wine, you stalk out of the kitchen. On the outside looking in, the Berzatto’s appeared to be your average family. The warm glow of the lights shining out into the frost covered sidewalks invited you in all those years ago and once inside, you then realized why people were so hesitant to accept invites or why Mikey refused to bring up his past.

You didn’t have this growing up. Your family life was much quieter, mom and dad both kept to themselves. Distant cousins never visited for the holidays and you were an only child so there weren’t any siblings to fall back on.

It was boring.

Drove you crazy.

So when the Berzatto’s welcomed you in with open arms (well, some of them) you threw yourselves to the wolves willingly. It helped you grow a thick skin, talk over people and man handle the biggest guys in the room. For that, you were thankful.

A hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, dragging you away from everyone and up the stairs. Mikey is headstrong in his quest to get you alone, not caring to see if you were keeping up the pace. You both stagger inside his room, the door shut soundly behind you, followed by the lock turning.

Mikey doesn’t give you a second to react, mouth leaving open tongued kisses along your jaw and collarbone, hands working at tugging up your skirt.

“Mikey, baby, baby, wait-” you plead, backing up to create space between the two of you.

He flops onto the bed, hands on his knees, fingers raking through his hair again and again.

You’re careful as you sit next to him, scratching your own fingers along the center of his back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” is all he utters.

“Bullshit. Talk to me.”

He doesn’t have to say anything else, you get it. The party continues below you both, profanities and insults flying like it's nobody's business. It was too much. For Mikey, Camry, anyone. The more time you spent with his family, the more you realized why Carmen never came back to visit. Why Michelle skipped out of town and up to New York. Anything to keep the family an arms distance away. 

Why Mikey feels trapped.

“I know.” you whisper against his shoulder, mouth pressing in tiny kisses. You lift his head up with both of your hands, cradling his face gingerly. The tiredness exudes for nearly every crevice, eye bags worn and solidified. You use your thumb to smooth out his forehead, laughing softly when he wrinkles it more.

“You’ll always have me, Berzatto.”

“I don’t deserve you. Never did.”

You tut. “That’s not true. You’ve always had me. From the moment you sold me that greasy, sloppy sandwich down at The Beef. I was a goner.”

Mikey chuckles, leaning into your hands more. “I got you something.”

Your eyes go wide, brows forming a skeptical look. “Is that so?”

Mikey flickers his eyes down to his pants and you scoff.

“Wow, Michael. Are you gifting me your penis? Again? I must’ve been too nice this year.” you gently slap his face in mock anger.

“Haha,” he deadpans. “Try my pockets, detective wiseass.”

You let go of his face and rummage through his pants pocket, producing a ball of torn tissue paper, kept together by a single piece of tape. Confused but curious, you unwrap the gift, facing dropping as your eyes find his.

The tissue tumbles to the ground, revealing a necklace. At the bottom of it dangled a charm of…cheese?

“I remember the first day you came into the shop. Like a goddamn bat outta hell. Never seen anything like it. You ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and asked for, um, what was it?”

“Havarti-”

That’s right! Fuckin’ havarti cheese! What the hell even is that?”

“How do you own a sandwich shop and not provide a variety of cheeses, I don’t understand it.”

Mikey gawks at you. “Babe, we’re called The Beef. Not the cheese. But you wanna know what I did?”

You encourage him to finish, as if you didn’t know the rest of the story.

“I told you to wait and-and I was gonna go check in the back. I booked it out of the back door, all the way down to Malik’s corner store and bought the most expensive cheese he had. I rush back to the shop and guess what?”

“You made the sandwich.”

Mikey’s face cracks into the biggest grin you’d ever seen, eyes crinkled at the corners. “I made the goddamn sandwich. Brought it out to you myself. Told you that we didn’t serve grilled cheese but for you, I’d make an exception.”

Your eyes well over in tears and you blink rapidly to keep them from falling. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has done for me, ya know.”

“You’re telling me all I had to do was buy you some cheese to get in your pants? Hot damn.”

You playfully shove Mikey back against the bed, crawling over to straddle him. “Well, it worked after a while, didn’t it?”

Mikey thrusts upwards, growing erection sliding against your damp underwear.

“It sure did.”

He grabs the back of your neck, surging up to slot his mouth against yours. You aren’t delicate in the way you claw at him, nails digging into his tanned flesh. Pushing up your skirt, Mikey palms your ass, stroking it before landing a hard smack against it. You moan into his neck, biting down.

“Perkiest ass I’ve ever seen, baby, shit.” Mikey groans, voice an octave deeper.

“And it’s yours. All yours.”

Mikey secures the back of your head as he flips the two of you over, pushing you down on your stomach. You do the rest of the work for him, sticking your ass up, and curving your back into an arch.

Mikey readily pulls down the zipper of his pants, hands readjusting his briefs until he is able to free himself. Spitting obscenely in his palm, Mikey shoves your panties to the side and rubs his saliva across your slickness. You buck back into him, whimpering when he graces you with a lone finger to loosen you up. You whine and wiggle your ass some more, ready to receive all that he was going to give you.

“Gonna give my baby what she wants, don’t you worry.” Mikey purrs, aligning himself to enter you. He slides in easily, the strained sigh as he fully situates him inside you never ceasing to make you wetter.

You pull yourself up so that you were resting on your hands, peeking over your shoulder to catch a gaze at Mikey as you begin to fuck him. He was enthralled at the sight of his cock pumping in and out of you, the way you were able to handle him without saying a single word.

He would love to take his time and thoroughly explore your cunt but time is of the essence. Wrapping his right hand around your neck once again, he yanks you up into a deeper arch, left hand on your hip in a deathgrip. He meets your thrusts with his own, dropping his left leg down on the floor to gain some balance.

Between the familial bickering creeping up the stairs, all that could be heard was the squelching of your pussy and the labored breathing of Mikey, muffled praises spurring you on further.

He slaps your ass again and you tighten around him, eyes rolling to the top of your head as you attempt to hold onto his arms for dear life.

“Mikey, oh fucking god, baby you’re gonna make me come so hard. Please, please, please!”

He answers you by sticking his fingers in your mouth and you automatically clamp down on them, sucking and gagging until spit dribbles down the side of your mouth.

Mikey picks up speed and the coil inside you breaks as you reach your peak, legs stiffening as you rear back against Mikey. He continues to fuck you, albeit at a slower tempo, humming as you spasm against him.

“That’s my girl, my favorite fucking girl. Where do you want mine, huh? Tell me where you want it.”

He removes his fingers and lets them trail down to tease and pick at your hardened nipples that now poke through your shirt.

“I wanna taste. Want it in my mouth.”

“Fuck.” Mikey lets you go and you catch yourself before you fall completely face first into the bed.

“Get on your knees, now.”

You do as you're told, scurrying to position yourself on your knees in front of Mikey. Mouth open and head tilted back, you let a hand caress your breast as the other slithers up his thigh.

Mikey is affectionate as he goes to grab the back of your head, other hand tirelessly stroking his cock. A vein pops out of forehead as he grunts, a few milky droplets coating your face, before steady ropes accompany it. A few of them land in your mouth and you swallow it all eagerly.

Mikey tries to calm his breathing, watching you with hooded eyes as you lick at the tip of his cock, cleaning up the remnants of yourself off of him. You take him down all the way to the shaft for shits and giggles, pulling off of him with a low pop.

“Goddamn devil.”

You wink, swiping at the mess you could feel dripping on your face. Mikey helps to clean you up, both fixing each other’s clothes to appear less wrinkled. Seemingly ok with your appearance, you start to head downstairs but Mikey stops you.

He steps behind you, lifting up the necklace he got you. He fastens it, walking to your front to admire it.

You grab his hand and bring it to your mouth for a kiss.

“It’s you and me, Berzatto.”

“You and me.”

Exhaling heavily, you open the door to reenter the Berzatto family chaos, a new found confidence lighting your path.

[kyracooneyx23]

can you please do an r x kcc where r and kyra are like best friends but then r does her acl and then they don't see each other for ages and in the time they don't spend together kyra starts to realise that she feels somethinf for r and then when r comes back to camp kyra starts acting differently and then r finds out or something along the lines of that sorry if thats too confusing

Missed You More - Kyra Cooney-Cross

kyra cooney-cross x matildas!reader

summary: Your back in camp after a long ACL recovery but your best friend kyra's acting strange. warnings: injury, kind of angst ig? not really anything else except terrible writing, its just a lot of yapping

'Chelsea winger Y/N L/N has just collapsed and is holding her knee, she looks to be in a lot of pain. A stretcher is being brought on to the pitch for her now showing that this isn't a minor injury. Could she have done her ACL? If so that would not be good for her hopes of playing in the upcoming world cup on home soil for the Australian.'

Scans confirm the worse for Matildas and Chelsea star, Y/N L/N, as it has been revealed the young forward has ruptured her anterior cruciate ligament in recent game against Leicester City. Her hopes to play in the world cup next year very slight as she begins her long road to recovery.

The image of her best friend falling to the ground still haunts Kyra even now 5 months later as she sat on the bus heading to their camp in England after their disappointing loss to Scotland two days ago ending their 7 match winning streak. It was the final camp before they headed home to Australia to prep for the upcoming world cup on home soil. The words of the commentator still replay in her head constantly reminding her of the heartache she felt for her best friend. In every news article she read their was always something about how the matildas star forward, chances of making the squad for the world cup were getting slimmer as time passed, it had consumed all her social media. Her constantly reminding her of the moment you had called her after your scans tears streaming down your face as you broke the news to your best friend about the results.

Of anyone in the world, Kyra knew better than anyone just how much it meant to you to be representing your country in a world cup on home soil, you had left home and travelled halfway across the globe to play for Chelsea at only 16, giving up most of your teenage years to be the best player you could. It broke her heart to just imagine how you would be feeling during this time.

In the thousands of facetimes they'd had together you had always tried to stay positive, always laughing at something and sharing stories about your time in England. But Kyra could see through the facade, nothing would get past her, you'd been best friends since you were fifteen when you both played for Melbourne Victory together. She knew how hard it was for you, you didn't have any family with you and Kyra hadn't been able to visit you as her season with Hammarby had been to busy to have enough time of to sneak in a trip to London.

Since you had been out injured, Kyra's mood had been very down. All her matildas teammates had noticed almost immediately when she had not pulled a single prank throughout the entire cup of nations tournament. The public noticed soon after when photos of the teams celebrations were posted and Kyra was hardly smiling in any of the pictures, preferring to keep to herself in the locker rooms after wins.

Kyra is pulled out of her trance when she feels her phone vibrating from the seat next to her she grabs it and sees an incoming call from you, she answered being greeted by your grinning face.

'Hello Ky.' You called happily at her whilst you walked back from Cobham, after your first full training session back with the team. You had a coffee in your hand and had a scarf wrapped around your shoulders, dressed in a large Chelsea puffer jacket with your hair pulled up into a messy bun strands blowing around your face from the strong wind. 'Sorry, I'm a mess I have a photoshoot in just over an hour so I'm in a rush.' You tell her, but Kyra didn't think you looked a mess she thought you looked beautiful, but she thought you were always stunning she never told anyone about how she felt, she thought it would be weird to go around saying how good you looked.

Kyra hadn't told anyone, but in the time the two of you had been apart Kyra had begun to feel differently towards you but she tried to hide it not wanting it to be awkward. She couldn't stop thinking about you her thoughts often wondering back to your cute smile or your laugh which you hated but she loved. Recently she'd been prioritizing your facetime calls over important stuff she was meant to be doing and whenever you did something Kyra felt like a millions butterflies were flying around in her stomach.

At first Kyra was scared of these feelings but she'd accepted them just thinking it was because she missed you a lot and when you came back from injury everything would go back to normal. It couldn't just be her that thought you were the prettiest person alive, surely anyone in their right mind could see that right?

'Kyra Lilee Cooney-Cross? Are you still there? Helloooo earth to Kyra...' you loudly spoke into the phone, pulling Kyra out of her trance and she blushed after realising she had been staring at you all this time.

'Sorry 'bout that.' Kyra says embarrassed. 'How are you? Did the scans go alright?'

'I'm good, the scans went well. My physio said that my rehab is going really well and I'm actually ahead of the schedule and...' A huge grin spreads out on your face, 'I could even be back for the game against Leicester on the 11th which means I'm allowed to play in the world cup. But that's only if Tony choses me.'

'Are you kidding Y/N/N? That's amazing, I'm so proud of you, and of course Tony's going to choose you for the world cup if your back in time, he'd be stupid not to.' Kyra matches your energy a grin spreading over her face. 'We better start planning more pranks on the girls for when you come back. I think Steph should be our first target.' You laugh, and Kyra can't help but feel that familiar giddy sensation in her stomach as your laughter fills her ears.

You plan pranks you can pull together before you notice the time. 'I got to go now Kyra. But I just want to thank you so much for your support, I seriously couldn't have been where I am today without everything you've done for me.' Kyra grins, rolling her eyes.

'Don't be silly, I did nothing, you did all the hard work. I just did whatever any best friend would do.' She tells you brushing it off as if the hours she spent on the phone with you even if it was just you talking to her while you were doing your rehab were nothing.

'Well thanks regardless. I owe you big time' You tell her, knowing that she spent so much of her time helping you. 'But I really got to go now. I love you bye.' You tell her blowing a kiss she tells you goodbye as you hang up the phone leaving Kyra on her own again.

time skip to after the england game

'Yes Cha Cha.' Kyra says leaping on her best friends back followed by Mini who was had Harper on her back. She wrapped her close friend in a tight hug placing a joking kiss on her cheek swinging her around to celebrate the girls first ever goal for the Matildas. The trio and Harper stay a while celebrating the win against England.

Despite the adrenaline pumping through Kyra's body, she still felt like something was missing. You and Kyra had always talked about how one day the two of you would play in Wembley together and all the things you'd do once you won and it made Kyra sad that you weren't here to celebrate the win. 'You alright kiddo?' Mini asks Kyra placing a soft hand on her back watching as Mackenzie Arnold and Charli Grant chased harper around on the grass.

'I dunno, it's complicated.' Kyra says not wanting to talk about it right now, knowing it sounded stupid.

'Is it about y/n?' Katrina asked the younger girl and Kyra looks at her in shock of how she knew so quickly about what it was about.

'How'd you know?' Kyra asked slightly embarrassed.

'I'm basically your mum Kyra. I know you better than you'd think.' She says teasingly 'Plus ever since y/n's been out, you've been acting differently, everyones noticed. And we're all worried about you Kyra. I know you miss your best friend but everyone's going to get injured from time to time, you can't let that affect your game.'

'It's more than me missing her. I can't stop thinking about her, she's actually taking over my mind. And I've been getting all these weird feelings, like whenever she calls me I get butterflies in my stomach, and she's so pretty, and sometimes I'd rather be on a call with her than do anything else. I don't know why I'm feeling this way mini, it's scaring me. I don't want to ruin our friendship because I have these weird and stupid feelings.' Kyra huffs tears threatening to spill.

'Kyra, have you ever maybe considered you might like y/n?' Katrina asks the younger Aussie.

'Of course I like her Kat, she's my best friend are you stupid?' Kyra says to her mother like figure confused at her logic.

'I mean, have you ever considered you might like her more than just a friend.'

'But she's my friend, I can't like her like that. I'll ruin everything.' she speaks fast worried about if what Mini is saying could be true.

'It's not the end of the world to have a crush Kyra.' Mini says soothingly, patting Kyra on the back. 'Everyone has a crush on someone, and you don't even have to tell her how you feel if it worries you too much, but from what I've noticed I'm pretty sure she likes you too.' Mini whispers the last part before noticing harper faceplanting on the floor, running off to check on her daughter. Leaving Kyra to take in everything Katrina said. It made sense now, everything she was feeling.

time skip to pre world cup

The Matildas had started arriving to prepare for the upcoming world cup. Much to much of the publics surprise you had made a record return being welcomed back into the squad for the world cup, grateful that Tony still chose you even though you weren't even close to the form you were in before your injury. You were arriving to camp a few hours later than everyone else with Sam, meaning that when you arrived late that evening everyone was always eating dinner, you hopped out of the car, feeling gross from the long flight and jetlag kicking in.

'wait her y/n/n. I'm gonna get everyone excited for their favourite player to be back.' You only half comprehended what Sam told you but waited outside until you heard Sam shouting your name. You slowly walked into the room dragging your suitcase behind you, your mood brightening when you walked into the room filled with all your teammates clapping.

'Hey guys.' Is all you say unable to say much more from tiredness and shock that you were back so much sooner than you expected. People laugh before starting to make their way towards you. Steph's the first person to pull you into a hug, whispering how proud she is of you into your ear, everyone else shortly follows saying similar stuff to Steph. Macca is one of the last people to embrace you.

'I would like to say I'm the most excited for you to be back but I'm afraid Kyra probably wins that competition.' You laugh at her before comprehending the fact that you hadn't gotten a hug yet from your best friend. 'Where is Kyra anyways?' You ask Mackenzie, she smiled at you and it was almost like a scene from a movie the way she stepped aside to reveal a tired looking Kyra standing behind her.

No words are spoken between the two of you until her arms are wrapped around you. 'I've missed you so much.' You tell her

'Missed you more.' She responds making you laugh slightly.

'Are you ready to do the plan for steph.' You ask her a cheeky grin spreading on the two of your faces as you pull away to face each other.

'never been readier.' You both laugh before alanna pulls you away from each other.

'You've only been back together for less than a minute and your already planning something.' she says sternly ruffling your hair and you both give her an innocent smile, something you always used to do when people suspected you of something. 'well go eat something, then go to sleep. you look awful y/n.' You roll your eyes scoffing.

'Wow Lani, you're kinder than I remembered.' You laugh as she shoves you away.

'Just eat kid.' In the small time you speak with Alanna you don't notice Kyra head back to the table and go back to eating without another word.

'You ok Kyra?' Mini whispers to the midfielder.

'Yeah Ky, I thought you would want to be spending every second with y/n/n, you've been waiting for her to get back for like ever. She's all you ever talk about.' Charli basically interrogates her friend who looks visibly uncomfortable causing Mini to kick the number 22, sending her a stern glare that gets her to shut up. Kyra didn't expect it to feel so awkward to be back with her best friend, but she couldn't stop thinking about her and Mini's conversation after the England game. She didn't want to ruin their friendship because of her silly emotions so for now she planned to keep quieter around y/n and try distance herself.

i will be doing a part 2 soon

[hotchscoffeecup]

how do we carry on?

pairing: hotch x bau!reader

rating: m

word count: 4.8k

genre: angst, hurt no comfort

summary: emily was your confidant, your best friend. when she dies at the hands of ian doyle, you find comfort in your boyfriend, aaron. when you find out that she’s alive and that hotch had known all along, your world falls out from under you. can you and hotch come back from the decision he made for the good of the team?

*if this gains enough traction i might follow up with a pt.2 to give it a happy ending*

The criss-crossed lines of the tile floor blur together as you stare blankly between your feet. The tops of your thighs have gone numb from digging your elbows into them, using your cradled hands as a pillow for your forehead. You couldn’t go home, not until you knew.

Rossi had offered to go on a walk and get a coffee, but shitty lukewarm hospital coffee was the last thing you needed. You hadn’t meant to write him off, you just couldn’t justify doing anything to distract from the fact that she was on that operating table, that Emily’s life was literally hanging in the balance.

The rest of the team was no better off than you are right now. Penelope’s knitting needles clack relentlessly, the scarf inside of her purse growing as her hands keep busy so her mind doesn’t focus on how hard she’s trying not to cry. The last time you’d poked your head up, Derek hadn’t moved from the waiting room windowsill where he’d been standing still as a statue staring out at the cityscape. If Spencer didn’t stop shaking his leg, you feared he would wear a hole straight through the tile. JJ exits the waiting room as often as she returns, her liaising days quickly coming back, making her their only link to the operating room. Hotch’s behavior is no different. His cell rings every ten to fifteen minutes, no doubt the Bureau wanting to know how the hell this could happen. It’s the only sign that time is actually passing and you’re forced to accept that you’re not stuck in some fucked up purgatory-esque hellscape where time stands still, torturing you as your dear friend’s life teeters between worlds.

What you wanted, what you needed was for him to hold you; to place a kiss against your temple and tell you that everything would be alright. It had to be alright.

He couldn’t show favor to you though, not now. The team didn’t know about your relationship with him, though you believe a few have their suspicions. You’re all too observant for your own good. Not much goes unnoticed by anyone. So when JJ walks back into the waiting room, everyone shifts toward her to try and get a glimpse into her facial expression and body language for any sign of an update regarding Emily’s condition.

Instantly, you know something is wrong. JJ’s eyes flit from one person to the next, not lingering very long on anyone. Spencer is the first to stand and you follow suit. You close in, forming a small half circle. Behind JJ, Hotch stands in the doorway, brow straight as he folds his arms across his chest.

“JJ?” Her name is an anxious plea on Penelope’s lips.

JJ’s eyes drop to the floor as she presses her lips together. She takes a deep breath and lifts her eyes, yours the ones they land on as she speaks. “She never made it off the table.”

A choked sob echoes from Garcia as she falls into Derek’s arms, his features fixed as he stares ahead though his knuckles flush white as he holds tightly onto Penelope. Rossi pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as he mutters something to himself; a prayer, maybe. Spencer envelopes JJ in a desperate embrace, as if clinging to her will somehow make her words any less true. Afterall, how can they be? Emily can’t go down, not like this; not after all she’s survived.

Someone says your name. Your brow dips, but you don’t respond. You need to see Emily. Your feet move of their own accord, guiding you through the waiting room. Someone grabs your arm and you tug away from their grasp, set on pushing onward and finding the OR.

Someone repeats your name, and you can’t help but latch on to the deep tenor that belongs to Hotch. You halt in your tracks and close your eyes, tears leaking over your eyelids and down your cheeks.

“I need to talk to Emily,” you say, your voice small.

The way Hotch says your name is laced with pity and you hate the way it sounds on his tongue. He pulls gently on your arm in an attempt to reel you into him, but you resist. You bite your lip to still its trembling. Yanking your arm free, you press on into the hallway and stumble toward the double doors that read in bold letters: Authorized Personnel Only. Fuck that. You’ve got a badge, that’s authority enough. Before you can push through, firm hands twist around your arms.

You push back, but their grip tightens. “Stop,” Hotch urges authoritatively. You turn into him and pound your fist against his chest, a sob cracking free from your mouth. “She’s not gone,” you cry. “She’s not gone. She’s not—” Your legs tremble with the wave of grief that crashes over you and you can’t hold your weight as it does so. Falling to your knees, Hotch reacts. His arms fold around your waist, catching you as you collapse into the wide plane of his chest. Your ribs ache as your lungs inflate with each rapid, sobbing breath. Your vision turns fuzzy at the edges as you try and fail to slow your breathing. It feels like you’re dying as the waves of grief assail you over and over again, battering you, body and mind, in an unrelenting tumultuous current of sorrow and pain as the wicked reality sets in. Emily is dead. You barely feel Hotch’s hand in your hair cradling you against him. As he murmurs apologies and sympathies in your ear, you don’t see the weighted look he exchanges with JJ.

•

The funeral comes and goes. The day is too beautiful for Emily not to be there to see it. You sit on the porch at Hotch’s house, breathing in and out as you watch the daffodils dance in the afternoon breeze. You smooth the fabric of your dress down over your knees, the satin wrinkled from the way you clenched it during the service.

Your phone buzzes in your purse. The number of messages and phone calls you’d ignored continues to rise, but you can’t bring yourself to express any gratitude for their condolences. You can’t bring yourself to feel anything except the crushing weight of grief.

You picture Emily sitting beside you on the wooden porch swing. Last Summer, you’d sat here with her as the team gathered for a Fourth of July Barbecue. Jack had made invitations and delivered them to the team at the office. He’d been so excited and so were you. It was around then that you and Hotch had begun to toe the line between colleagues and something more; a morning coffee dropped off at your desk here, an extra visit to his office there. You’d sat here with Emily watching as Rossi backseat barbecued Hotch on the grill. She’d caught you smiling at him alongside the fondness in your gaze. She’d clocked you from a mile away.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad.” Her laugh had tinkled from lips, ringing like a morning bell.

“What are you talking about?” you’d asked, trying and failing to school your features into a mask of indifference.

“I’ll tell ya, it’s a big swing, but if you hit it, that’s a home run for sure.”

You’d nearly choked on your lemonade, coughing and gasping; drawing the attention of the others.

“Wrong pipe!” Emily had called while pointing at you and clapping a hand against your back. “She’s good!” In a low voice she’d added, “Though I’m sure with him, it’d be just the right pipe.”

You’d elbowed her in the ribs and bust out laughing together. For the longest time after that, she’d been the only person that you’d confided in about your burgeoning feelings and relationship with Aaron. Through that, she’d quickly become your closest friend on the team.

A couple of kids shout at one another, laughing, as they ride past the house on their bicycles; shattering the memory. You dip into your purse and withdraw your phone, pressing a button and powering it down. The screen door creaks on its hinges and Hotch steps down onto the porch, the planks shifting beneath his weight. He sits beside you and offers you a mug. The scent of coffee reaches your nose and you accept it, thanking him quietly. Aaron had taken his suit jacket off and loosened his tie. He stretches an arm around your shoulder and draws closer to you. He kisses the side of your face and stares out at the yard.

“It was a beautiful service,” he offers.

“Aaron, don’t.” You close your eyes and take a breath. You hold the coffee with both hands, rubbing your thumbs up and down the warm ceramic. “Please don’t make small talk with me about this like it’s all so fucking normal.”

He sighs and apologizes. “I just wish I could make all of your hurt go away.”

A shudder runs through you and you nestle in closer to him, taking a sip of your coffee as you do so. “I don’t think it’ll ever go away.”

•

Her brown eyes stare back at you, though the photo paper could never capture the light that flared within them when she was alive. Of all the faces you could have seen up on this wall, you’d never anticipated hers being one of them.

Every day you stop by her portrait on the wall of fallen heroes. People talk about her less and less around the office. The team doesn’t stop, though your conversations are stilted and often end in awkward silences; no one really knowing how to carry on once the conversation slows to a natural end. You speak often with Spencer about the ways in which you’ve been grieving, the sleepless nights and early mornings. Derek is reserved. He’s angry above anything else. He feels betrayed by Emily and a part of you understands that. She’d not told any of you after all. You’d be remiss if you’d not also spent some of your time grieving in anger. Of all the times you’d stayed late after work, gotten together to hang out on weekends, or gone out for drinks, she had never indicated anything was wrong. You had told her everything, confided every one of your fears and hopes into her and you’d thought that the street had been going both ways. God, you’d never been so wrong.

“Conference room in fifteen,” Aaron says as he walks past you, hand grazing your back as he does so.

You smile tightly and nod, glancing once more at Emily’s photo before making your way to your desk in the bullpen, ignoring the fact hers still sits empty and unoccupied beside yours. How has it been three months already?

•

“Emily!”

Your eyes dart around the room frantically searching as your heart thunders in your ears. You feel the organ pounding against your ribcage, threatening to break free of it. It only takes a second for you to realize it had been a dream.

Aaron rolls over and sits up, threading an arm around your back and rubbing your hip with his fingers. “Another nightmare?” he asks, words tinged with sleepiness.

You nod, yawning as you rub your eyes. The dreams are further apart, but at least every other week her face haunts your subconscious. You can’t help but wonder if it’s some sort of self-punishment as life goes on and the days get easier.

In reality, you don’t know if it’s easier or if you’ve just forced yourself to become numb to it all, compartmentalizing the pain of losing your best friend because if you didn’t you don’t think you’d be able to leave the house and do what you do day after day.

“Are the appointments with the therapist helping?” he asks.

Another question you don’t know the answer to. On some level, yes. Talking to someone who knows nothing about you or her or anyone else on the team is good. You don’t have to walk on eggshells, worried you're going to dig open a wound the others are equally fighting to heal by talking about her or how much you miss her or wish she was here. On another level, you don’t open up fully to the doctor. There are some layers of this injury you don’t want to see heal and scar over. If you do that, it’s like you’re telling Emily that you’re over her death, as if it’s something as easy as that, something you just get over. No, some things need to stay fresh, to serve as a reminder that Ian Doyle is still out there. The man who took your best friend away from you and your BAU family is breathing and she’s not. You clench your fists, the sheets balling up in your hands as your resentment burns deep inside you. Yes, that’s it, the idea of him walking around thinking he’s gotten away with this is enough to stoke the flames simmering deep inside you.

You take a deep breath, mentally imagining the flames subsiding, and they do. They dial down, but they don’t disappear. You glance down at Aaron, who snores softly beside you. His fingers still curl around your hip and a faint smile graces your lips. He tries, you know he does, but this is exhausting for everyone. He bears the brunt of it at the office. He fought to be the one to meet with the team and conduct the grief interviews, not wanting a stranger to come in and sift through your friends’ and colleagues’ pain over what happened. God knows how much bureaucratic red tape he had gotten tangled in right after the fact, the higher ups demanding how such a blunder could occur right under their noses. Aaron had put out the fires though, as he always did. Reaching around his back, you withdraw his hand from your hip and tuck it by his side, not before pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

You glance at the clock before lying back down. 4:15AM blinks back at you on the digital clock face. In forty five minutes the alarm will go off and it’ll be another day at the office. Settling down into the pillows, you press your back into Aaron’s body, yours molding against the planes of his as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

His arms slinks around your waist and pulls you in as if you can get any closer than you already are. He tucks his chin over your shoulder and his lips brush against your jawline.

“I love you,” he whispers and you relax into the safety of his embrace.

“I love you, too, Aaron.”

•

Nights are hard when Aaron is gone. Pakistan is nine hours ahead and all Hotch has to communicate with anyone is a satellite phone, the number for which you don’t have access to. Whenever Hotch calls, the caller ID flashes the word ‘Unknown’ across your screen. There have been several times you’ve missed him due to being asleep or at work. Each call missed feels like being sucker punched. Every time you talk, a part of you worries it’ll be the last time. You didn’t use to have this fear, not until Emily. Despite staring death in the face on a week by week basis, most of the time playing Russian Roulette with the Grim Reaper himself in each unsub you cross paths with, somehow you never thought he’d actually take someone you love from you; that he’d take down one of the team. You never thought there’d be a last conversation with Emily, and now she’s dead.

Dead. The word is a heavy stone, sinking from the cusps of your mind to the pit of your stomach. It sits there, a persistent ache idling deep inside of you. It never relents and it never allows you to forget.

There are nights you dream that Aaron is dead too, that somewhere far away and beyond your control, he’s dying on the ground, bleeding out, and no one knows. You don’t even know what he’s working on and he can’t say; despite your relationship there are still levels in which Hotch’s clearance supersedes your own and the need-to-know red tape keeps you out. Afraid to close your eyes and dream of his unseeing, you stare at the blades of the ceiling fan whirling lazily overhead of the bed you usually share with him.

“I miss you,” you whisper to no one; and you don’t know who you’re talking to anymore.

•

“He’s back?” your heart flutters in your chest, equal parts excited and anxious at the prospect of Aaron’s sudden return. You push off your desk and swivel in your chair to stand, rushing down the hall and leaving Reid behind as you make your way hastily to the conference room.

The door is cracked and a gleeful sound eeks past your lips as his tall frame comes into view. You slip in before anyone else arrives and throw your arms around you. Inhaling deeply, his familiar teakwood scent envelopes you just as his arms do. You move to pull away, but his arms tighten around you.

“A second more,” he whispers, and there’s an edge to his voice.

You write it off to jet lag and sink into his embrace, though you notice how slight he feels against you. Finally, you pull back and cup his face in your hands. The scruff of his beard is prickly and you laugh as you take in his rugged appearance. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with this much facial hair.” You swipe your thumbs over the hair on his lip and he tilts his head, kissing the inside of your hand. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply before lifting them to meet yours. It's then you realize how tired he looks. The bags under his eyes are puffy and purple, almost as if they’re bruised. His forehead is creased, brow furrowed; definitely not how you pictured him upon reuniting.

“Aaron is everything ok—”

“I need you to know I would never hurt you,” he says quickly, interrupting you.

You purse your lips, brow pinching at the sudden admission. As your lips part to speak he directs a pointed look at you, the depths of his brown eyes wavering. “I love you,” his voice cracks, “so much.” He swallows, his throat bobbing as he does so. “Please remember that.”

There’s a hollow feeling in your gut, a chasm opening wide where every anxious and painful thought that you’ve tried to keep buried since he’s been gone begins to claw their way out as a thousand different outcomes play out in front of you. “Aaron, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer your question as the rest of the team trickles into the room, sitting at the round table or standing as suspense fills the space. It’s tangible. Everyone’s posture is rigid and tense in anticipation of whatever it is he has to say.

“Seven months ago I made a decision that impacted everyone on this team,” he begins, eyes firm.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably beside you. Rossi leans forward, fingers steepled under his chin.

“As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood,” Hotch continues and your ears prick at the sound of her name. Why would he bring her up? No less, her condition the day you all lost her. You all know this.

“…the doctor’s were able to stabilize her.”

Your lips part but no sound comes out as you raise your eyes to meet his. They meet yours for the briefest of seconds before flitting on to the others.The next words to leave his mouth sound far away, interrupted by the blood now pounding in your eardrums. “She stayed there until she was well enough to travel…given identities…”

There’s a lump in your throat and you feel as though you may choke on it. Air doesn’t seem to be able to bypass it and you have to remind yourself that you can breathe even though it feels like all the oxygen has vacated your lungs.

Penelope is the first to speak. “She’s alive?”

Spencer’s brow quirks as he tries to rationalize what’s being said to him. “We buried her.”

You did. You helped carry the casket. You felt the weight of her dead body and watched it sink into the earth. If that wasn’t her, what the fuck or who the fuck did you actually put in the ground?”

“As I said I take full responsibility for this decision,” Hotch continues, eyes downcast. “If anyone has any issues they should be directed towards me.”

The blood pounding in your ears is deafening. When Hotch looks up, you search his eyes and can’t help wondering if you know him at all. All of the nights you literally made yourself sick from crying and he held your hair back as you dry heaved over the toilet and your body spasmed from the grief of losing your best friend, he’d known that she was alive. For a moment, you think you may be sick right there at the round table at the thought of it all. Derek is speaking, his voice tight with anger but you don’t hear him. Heads turn and the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as a haunting feeling creeps up the back of your spine.

Turning around in your chair, everyone else stands but not you. If you do, you know your knees will buckle and fall out from under you. Spencer and Penelope are on their feet, moving briskly to greet the ghost of Emily.

Except she’s not a ghost. Her skin is not the cold blue-gray pallor of death, but pink and bright, the blood beneath her flesh very much pumping through a heart that’s beating. Her dark brown hair is sleek and shining, her bangs grown out and styled; her part now to the right. You watch her arms fold around Spencer and the way he squeezes her in turn. Penelope follows suit, tears streaming down her cheeks as she smiles widely. Derek stares on, features fixed in a cross between anger and shock. Emily approaches him with apprehension. An apology leaves her lips as she draws him in for a hug and his arms tentatively wrap around her. When she turns to you, your muscles tense. Those deep brown irises flicker back and forth across your face, searching for a reaction. You don’t give her one. Instead, you push past her, avoiding any and all physical contact with her, and dip out of the conference room.

You hear Garcia call your name and Derek shouts about having a case. You don’t care. You bypass your desk, not even bothering to get your purse. Your keys are hanging on a carabiner on your belt loop. Ignoring the elevator, you shove your way through the entrance to the stairs and move down them so quickly you’re surprised you don’t lose your footing and tumble down them. Down and around you go, your footsteps echoing as your heart slams against your ribcage. You slap your badge against the keypad that lets you exit the building, ignoring the greeting from the security guard at the front. As you push through the front doors of the office building, you barely make it to the bushes before you fall to your knees and retch.

•

A car door slams followed by the double beep which locks them. You close your eyes and inhale deeply as you prepare to face him, hands clenching around the sweater you were packing. A tear slips free from your eye as you breathe out and look toward the ceiling, as if the answers to why all of this had to happen are written up there. This is not how your reunion is supposed to be. You’d pictured his homecoming for weeks; thought about the outfit you’d wear to dinner and the lingerie you’d bought to wear just for him when you both got home, opened a bottle of wine, and made up for all of the time lost while he was away. That is how tonight is supposed to go.

Now you’re leaving, and you don’t know if you’ll be coming back.

The lock on the front door jiggles before the gears click into place. It squeaks on its hinges as it swings open. Five beeps follow and you can picture his fingers pressing against each button on the alarm system. His keys clatter as he drops them on the table. As his footsteps edge closer to your bedroom, you count each one. The sound that usually means safety and security, now sends a shiver of anxiety throughout your body.

He appears in the doorway, eyes rife with exhaustion and the bags beneath them puffy and swollen. His cheeks are flushed and his nose is pink, as if he’d been crying. Maybe he had been, god knows you had. His eyes flit between you and the bag you’re packing. His lips part and a small sound of desperation slips past them.

“Baby, please—”

You hold up a hand, curling your fingers into a fist. Your lip curls as you speak. “Don’t,” you breathe. You swallow the lump that quickly forms in your throat as you drop your hand, zipping the bag shut.

The inner corners of his brow draw upward and you can hardly stand to look into his pleading gaze.

“You have to understand—”

“Understand, what? Aaron?” You ask sharply, struggling to hold back the thick hot tears pricking the backs of your eyes.

He places a hand on his hip, fingers tucking back the fold of his unbuttoned shirt as his thumb hooks into his belt; a gesture you’re all too familiar with as he does the same thing with all of his suits. His other hand rises to pinch the bridge of his nose. He pauses, inhaling as he tries to find the words. After a moment, he scrubs a hand over his face and turns his gaze to yours.

“I wanted to tell you so badly,” he says. When he looks at you there are tears in his eyes. “I hated myself, watching the agony this decision put you and the team through. I wanted to tell you and take away your hurt, but I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been fair to the team. Just because you’re my girlfriend, I can’t—” He turns his hand and slams his hand against the doorframe causing you to flinch. “Dammit!”

Your voice is soft, but sure when you speak. “You can’t bend the rules.”

It’s what you’ve always worried about, both of you. You always knew the job could come first, especially with him being the Unit Chief. You always understood that that meant no preferential treatment and that is something you never would’ve asked him to do. You just never anticipated it happening like this, a complete and total life altering mind fuck.

Aaron drops his hand and it slaps against his thigh in defeat as it falls to his side. “What was I supposed to do?”

You cross your arms over your chest, fingers curling over your biceps to try and still your shaking hair. You hang your head and a curtain of hair falls across your face, “I don’t know, Aaron.”

He kicks off the doorway, moving towards you with his hands outstretched. It happens without thinking, the way you flinch away. Pain flashes in his eyes and you feel as though you’ve been punched in the stomach the way it’s suddenly hard to breathe.

His hip is close to yours, his body angled away from you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your shoulder as he looks down. “Don’t do this,” he whispers.

Your lip quivers, chin wobbling in response to the tears you’re trying so desperately to hold back. “I have vacation I’d been saving.” You pick up your bag and throw it over your shoulder, not daring to look up at him because you know if you do you’ll shatter into a thousand shards of glass at his feet.

As you move toward the door, you pause. For a split second, you entertain the thought of dropping your bag, running across the room he’d chased you around so many times before, and throwing yourself around him. You consider all the things you want to say and scream and cry about; all of your anger, sadness, betrayal, grief, and love. You crave him so terribly in that moment because his have always been the arms you’ve run to when things become too much to bear.

Instead, your chin dips toward your shoulder as you speak, but you don’t raise your eyes to meet his. If you do, you don’t think you’ll be able to leave. “My gun and badge are in the safe.”

As you make your way down the hallway, you have to bite your knuckles to stifle a sob just as you hear one leave his lips from the bedroom.

You don’t turn back.

[ericsprincess]

if you take a bite (then i bite back)

nc-17, Hyunjae/reader, office au, dry-humping, mild force-feeding, humiliation

~~~

Disgusting. 

You pull a face and let the fork drop off your hand into the plate holding your half-eaten lunch with a clink. Despite your best efforts, the work has been piling on your desk for the entire day, folder after folder of new files to get through and you have barely made a dent, and now that you have finally found some time to have a quick lunch, just some measly fifteen minutes to inhale whichever pre-packaged meal you blindly grabbed from the convenient store next to the office building, he is ruining it for you. 

You frown at the table over, where Lee Jaehyun, your coworker and general pain in the ass, is currently also enjoying his lunch. If by enjoying you mean shamelessly stuffing his face with an entire bucket of fried chicken, alternating every few bites with the burger he's holding in one of his hands. There is a melting cup of ice cream in front of him, waiting for its turn. If you look closely, it's shaking in fear. The entire scene is obnoxious and embarrassing, but Jaehyun is eating like it's his last meal on earth, and does not seem to particularly care about what others might be thinking, while he's scarfing down a drumstick after drumstick, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie thrown over his shoulder so it doesn't get accidentally dipped into his french fry sauce. 

This has been a common sight in your office's breakroom these past few weeks. It didn't start suddenly, but it was still quick enough to alarm some of the more observing coworkers, to such an extent that Jacob from HR tentatively approached Jaehyun to carefully and very, very politely ask whether everything is okay? It's just, we have noticed some changes in your behavior, explained Jacob. You've been eating really concerning amounts of food lately, so your coworkers have been really worried about your health and well-being. Jacob almost shaked, clearly afraid he might end up having to submit his own report on himself for asking too personal questions. 

Thankfully, Jaehyun was understanding. He's just a stress eater. There is a big project going on right now and he's really overworked and nervous, so this has always been his usual way of coping. He will be back again to normal once this deadline is past, Jaehyun shrugged, backhandedly wiping the sweat off his hairline as he was chewing on a slice of extra large spicy pepperoni pizza with cheese stuffed crust. 

Now, after some time has passed, no one pays much attention anymore, passers-by go about their own day, completely ignoring the daily lunch break food orgy. If anything, your coworkers know about the project the team Jaehyun is in has been working on and they are not surprised he's been feeling stressed. So everyone understands this little bit of eccentricity.

And no one understands it better than you, especially since Jaehyun's project is also exactly the project you've been working on too. You're both part of the team. But unlike Jaehyun, you can barely eat from stress - half of the time you forget due to the mountain of paperwork you have to work through every day, the second half your stomach is clenching so hard from nerves you don't feel like eating at all. 

Which makes having to look at Jaehyun powering his way through the greasiest selection of local delivery food every single day feel like he's rubbing it in your face. You never liked him in the first place, this annoying Lee Jaehyun who had been walking around the office like he owns it since the day he was hired, with his perfectly pressed gray suits, dark chestnut hair always softly falling in place, never with any roots showing, and a nose that was definitely picked from a catalog. 

And this asshole is not even getting fat - rather the opposite, he's never looked better. He's gotten a lot bigger, but it's all gone into his muscle. You overheard Juyeon and Eric from legal talking about how Jaehyun ditched Juyeon and their thrice-a-week badminton sessions in order to hit the gym every day right after work for some crazy intense lifting and cardio program he's been doing in order to keep the weight off and energy up. 

And now your eyes are reaping the fruits of Jaehyun's impromptu bulk - his clothes have gotten a lot tighter on him and every time he raises his arm to take a bite of his burger, his muscles strain against the fabric. Not to speak about the poor buttons of his shirt, barely holding on together when his currently very voluminous chest expands with each (quite laborious) breath he takes as he chews. 

There is a drop of ketchup that's been slowly sliding off his burger and you're watching it as if you were hypnotized. It finally lets go and lands right on Jaehyun's left boob. He silently curses under his breath, while he puts the burger down on the tray and grabs a paper napkin, unsuccessfully trying to wipe the worst of it, and making his breast jiggle under the frantic motion. 

You keep staring.

Disgusting, indeed.

~~~

It's been a few more days of nothing except work, each day staying in the office longer and longer. Every evening you crawl home half dead, and go straight to bed to get at least some energy for another 12 hours of shifting through the papers that's waiting for you tomorrow. At least today it's friday, you suppress a yawn and throw the final folder on the "finished" pile while rubbing your eyes. Two glorious days of doing nothing, except sleeping, eating and catching up with the trashiest reality tv you know. You plan to order pizza and you also saw a cute little cake in the bakery this morning - an overdecorated little thing in the shape of a cat that is probably more marzipan than an actual cake, but you couldn't resist getting yourself a little treat after this horrible, horrible week. You put it into the break room fridge with a big glaring "PRIVATE" sticker on it and you're looking forward to eating it while chilling in bed. 

You turn off your computer, pack your things and head off to the break room to get your cake before leaving. It's empty, it's too late and almost everyone has left already, only Juyeon is there rinsing his lunchbox, apparently also about to leave. 

You nod at each other and you open the fridge to take out your cake when you freeze. 

You slowly pull out the transparent plastic case and you can't believe your own eyes. There is a huge chunk missing, right where the cat's left ear would have been. You can't even tell if it has been bitten off or hastily sliced off with a fork, but it has left a giant messy gash in the cat's cute head.

You swallow empty, barely suppressing your tears. This is too much. 

"Oh, I saw Jaehyun eating that..It's yours?" Juyeon turns, shaking off the water off his lunch box. 

That makes you see red. It's like this has been the last drop, work-wise, Jaehyun-wise, everything-wise and you are going to unleash hell. 

Without saying a word, you take your sad cake and leave a confused Juyeon in the break room, marching straight to Jaehyun's office. It's late, but the light is still on as expected. Without knocking, you throw the door open, walking up straight to Jaehyun, who's sitting behind his desk, still hunched over papers scattered around, immersed deeply in his work. 

He raises his head, startled and surprised and you throw the cake on the desk in front of him, and pull his chair away from the table so he can face you. 

"Any last words, before I stuff this cake into your ugly annoying face??" you yell, letting go of any politeness or professionalism. Just pure justified anger. 

"I-...Y/N…I-" he stutters, taken aback by the sudden outburst, raising his hands in defense, but you are already opening the plastic case and grabbing a fistfull of the cake while climbing on Jaehyun's lap. 

You don't waste any time before grabbing his jaw with your other hand and starting to smash the cake into his face, some getting in his mouth, some falling off as it's being smeared all over. 

"You fucking idiot! You stupid pig!" you keep yelling at him. "I was looking forward to this the entire day and I. Am. Just. So. Sick. Of. You." Each word emphasized with a wet slap over his cheeks, Jaehyun's eyes begin to water. He can only focus on breathing, to not choke accidentally on the cake you keep stuffing in his face, force feeding him like a goose. 

"Will you ever have enough?" you push another bunch of cake into his mouth, while he weakly whines. "You can have all of it, fuck, I don't even care if you choke, you're such a nuisance!"

You can't stop going off on him for a second, you're so angry, letting go of weeks of frustration and stress on him, and it feels so good that you almost don't notice - he's not resisting. He's not defending himself. Jaehyun is big and strong, he could push you off himself with one hand easily, but both of his hands are holding on to the armrests of his chair. He's letting you do it. 

You test the waters and shift your weight. Jesus. He's hard. 

"No reply? You have nothing to say?" you ask him meanly while stuffing your fingers along the cake into his mouth. He gags, but endures it while you press your fingers on his tongue. His tears are now flowing freely, his ears are red and face is dirty. You stuff the last bit of the cake into his mouth. and with that you subtly start moving on his lap, rubbing your pussy against his hard cock and his eyes bulge out. He can't talk but he lets out a whiny pathetic sound, while trying to swallow the cake without choking on it. 

"What? Did you think I wouldn't notice?" you grin at him. "You're so pathetic, getting off on this, such a pervert." you keep taunting him.

"What does it for you? Is it the yelling? The humiliation? Or do you just love cake that much? Or has it been that long since anyone has touched you?" you laugh. He's starting to moan, having finally swallowed all of the cake and you don't actually want him to answer. His answer doesn't matter anyways, so you put a hand over his dirty mouth to shut him up when he takes a breath to speak. 

"Actually I don't care. And you know what? Since you're enjoying yourself so undeservedly, I should be able to enjoy myself too," you say meanly, and pull at his shirt with your free hand until the buttons pop off, revealing his big chest, sweaty from the stress and exertion. 

You grab one boob to knead it roughly. "Do you like it?" you ask. "Are you working out so much so that everyone would notice your huge tits?"

You don't expect any answer, nor do you care, but he closes his eyes and nods anyway, all red and embarrassed, admitting to it reluctantly. What a sad weirdo.

You keep moving on his lap pulling and grabbing on his tits, even letting his face go so you can do it with both of your hands as you're moving on his lap, rubbing your clit over his clothed cock. Grabbing his big breasts, you enjoy how they feel in your hands and how you can squish them and press them together. You pull on his nipples until he squirms and cries out but never stops you, despite it being visibly painful, and you are definitely not holding back, but fuck, he's into it too and you're doing your best to get both off you off when he suddenly lets go of the armrests and grabs you by your hips. He pulls you closer and humps against you rough and hard as he cums, whining pathetically with his shirt busted open and face smeared in frosting and tears. 

Feeling his cock pulse in his pants as it gets even harder, shooting cum in his underwear, so he will be, to his shame, dirty and used all over is such a mean, but erotic thought, that you can feel your climax approaching very fast.

Not quite willing to let him see your face as you cum, you bury the face into his neck, inhaling the sickly sweet scent of the vanilla frosting mixed with Jaehyun's expensive cologne. Your movements slowly come to stop. 

You slowly come to your senses and not knowing exactly what to do now, awkwardly slide off Jaehyun's lap. He doesn't seem to care about moving beyond staring at you. There is a big dark stain on his formerly perfect gray pants. 

"Don't do this again, or else," you point a finger at him in feeble warning. It's awkward, your steam all fizzled out with your orgasm and he just keeps staring, his fucked out brain not being back on yet. There is cake everywhere and your fingers are sticky, just like the inside of your panties. What have you just done?

"Anyways… bye." you shift awkwardly, turn on your heel and leave his office hastily. Stopping at your desk, you take your things and run home, pretending nothing happened and you definitely didn't like it. 

~~~

Later that night, you're stubbornly sticking to the plan despite the myriad of thoughts running through your head - sitting in your bed, stuffing yourself with a slice of pizza, watching tv.

Your phone beeps with a notification. You have half a mind to ignore it but curiosity takes the better of you. You wipe your greasy fingers into the blanket and unlock it. There is a new message from an unknown number.

From: 7xx-8xx-2xxx

I'd like to make it up to you. Dinner tomorrow at 8? It's Jaehyun btw.  

You yell into the pillow. 

[august-anon]

A Friendly Spar

For Tickletober Day 18: Tickle Fight

Late again!!! Because I also did not have a chance to edit it until last night!! Apologies, and curse real life obligations!

BUT I am caught up now and hopefully can get the rest of the fics i have for the month edited and posted on time lol

-------------------

Fandom: BNHA

Ship(s): EraserMic

Characters (lee/ler): Switch!Hizashi/Switch!Shouta

Word Count: 967 words

Summary: After so long, sparring has become a sort of love language.

[ao3 link]

-------------------

After fifteen years of friendship, and over a decade of romance, any relationship would develop its fair share of little quirks. One of their special little quirks was their love languages.

Oh, sure, they had the typical ones. Hizashi thrived on physical touch and words of affirmation (not Shouta’s strong suit at all, but he tried, and Hizashi loved him for that), and Shouta’s was undeniably acts of service. But the one love language they had perfectly in common?

Sparring.

It probably had something to do with growing up in the hero sphere, and training until they dropped during their formative high school years. Shouta especially had a tendency to work himself to exhaustion, always needing to be the best of the best. Somewhere along the way, between the two of them and Oboro (not to mention Nemuri and Tensei, at times), sparring became more enjoyable, and even fun at times.

It was something they carried with them well into adulthood, and working at UA certainly came with its perks to support that – like constant free access to any of the near-dozen gyms on campus, granted that there were no students using it at the time.

And sparring didn’t have to be serious, Hizashi thought as he dodged another swipe from Shouta’s devious fingers. In fact, their spars rarely managed to be serious anymore – they both got enough of that, between training the next generation of heroes and their own regular hero work. This particular spar had devolved almost immediately, both of them needing to let off a little steam after a long week of teaching and cases that went nowhere.

“You can’t run forever,” Shouta grunted, rebalancing himself on his toes after his failed strike.

“And you can’t chase me forever,” Hizashi said, spinning away. 

He’d demanded Shouta remove his capture scarf for the spar – it gave him an unfair advantage that Hizashi was not willing to concede to that evening. He wasn’t that desperate for a laugh, at least not yet. No, right now he wanted even odds and a fair chance to win. He was dying to see that healthy, laughter-induced flush on Shouta’s cheeks as well, and nothing was going to keep him from his prize.

“I’ve chased more difficult opponents for longer. I think my stamina is up to par. Is yours?”

Hizashi gave him a salacious grin. “I didn’t hear you complaining last night, mister.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“You love it.”

“I love you – have you considered the idea that there may be a difference?”

“Mmm, nope!”

Hizashi dodged another strike, this time redirecting it in order to bring himself closer to Shouta. He slipped one hand up Shouta’s loose muscle shirt, searching out any tickle spots he could find on the sweat-slicked skin. He used the other to pull Shouta close and hold him there, well aware he was leaving himself open for attack. It was no fun if Shouta didn’t fight back, after all.

“Dammit, Zashi!”

“What, does that tickle? Just a little? You can go ahead and laugh, I won’t tell anyone. Your scary reputation can stay intact.”

“Fuck you!”

“Been there, done that. Weren’t you listening?”

Though his squirming and escape attempts didn’t stop, Shouta buried his face into Hizashi’s neck, leaning his weight against Hizashi and huffing strangled breaths against his skin. Hizashi shivered, then squeaked. He grabbed Shouta’s hip to ground himself, only to finally make Shouta crack and huff a laugh into his neck.

“What, does that tickle?” Shouta chuckled against his throat, scruff and hot breath wreaking havoc on his nerves. “Just a little?”

“Wait, Shouta, please!” Hizashi’s giggles were high pitched and frantic, almost too thick to speak through.

Shouta’s own laughter, on the other hand, was deep and rich and only made his voice even more unfairly attractive. “You’re the one who grabbed me.”

That was true. Hizashi planted both hands against Shouta’s middle, preparing to shove him away, only for Shouta to grab his wrists in a vice grip. Before Hizashi could blink, he was spun around so his back was pressed to Shouta’s chest, arms crossed over his own chest as Shouta continued to grip his wrists and hold him close. Shouta’s face quickly found its way back to Hizashi’s neck, nuzzling and nibbling and huffing horribly ticklish breaths all over. Hizashi squealed, barely holding back his Quirk. They did not need the windows repairs taken out of their paychecks. Again.

“Perhaps,” Shouta whispered right up against the shell of his ear, “it would do you well to remember who your opponent is, and how frequently he kicks your ass.”

Hizashi shrieked and giggled and tried to kick back at Shouta’s shins. “Just you wait until I get your neck!”

“Oh no. I’m so scared.”

Gritting his teeth against his smile, Hizashi threw his weight backwards, catching Shouta off guard in a rare moment, and landed them both on the floor. This was serious now, and Hizashi didn’t intend to lose. He went for the kill immediately, straddling Shouta and shooting one hand back toward his thigh and the other toward his ear. On the other side of Shouta’s neck, Hizashi buried his face and did his best to nuzzle his mustache into the skin.

Shouta howled, trying to buck Hizashi off to no avail. Instead, he brought his hands up to vibrate into Hizashi’s ribs. Hizashi faltered for only a moment, fighting the urge to curl up into a ball and roll off Shouta for his own protection. Instead he steeled himself and forced himself to hold still, cackling into Shouta’s neck.

“Give up!” Shouta choked out through his laughter.

“You first!” Hizashi wheezed.

It was a good thing they had this gym booked for the next hour, because Hizashi doubted either of them would concede any time soon.

[talesofesther]

warmth in winter

Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You meet with Tara on a cold day. She keeps you warm.

A/N: A very random drabble to distract my mind from the bigger projects a little. <3

Masterlist

New York was covered in a white blanket. Temperatures were frigid outside, the horizon with a soft white fog that didn't allow you to see much far.

It was one of those mornings where getting out of bed feels like a punishment and no matter how many layers of clothing you put on, it still feels like you were standing outside only in your pajamas as your bare feet disappear between the snow.

To put it simpler; it was cold, and it was snowing. And you had to go to class.

Truthfully though, it wasn't your chance at a better future that made you brave the unkind weather. It was the fact that, in that same university, you would see her.

Love does weird things to people; it makes taking a fifteen-minute walk holding your jacket close to your body as snowflakes kiss your cheeks feel like no trouble at all. Because inside, you're as warm as ever. That's how Tara made you feel; warm. Even in the coldest weather.

As you walked the stone path on campus, blowing hot breath into your gloved hands, your eyes roamed around in search of her. And you found her sitting on a bench, the one that stood under a huge tree — otherwise adorning vivid green leaves, now was all naked branches and fresh snow — she was sitting there, cross-legged and wearing a fluffy coat with an even fluffier scarf around her neck as her hair fell in waves over it.

You were smiling before you knew it.

Tara perked up as soon as she laid eyes on you, her cheeks and nose a deep red from the cold made the dimples on her smile stand out all the more, eyes twinkling at the sight of you. She got up and opened her arms for you in a silent invitation.

Your feet might be freezing, but your heart melted. You enveloped her in a hug that was arguably cozier than your bed; squeezing her into you and burying your nose in the fabric of her scarf.

Tara sneaked her hands under your jacket — she'd always been like this, wanting, needing to be as physically close as possible as if she had to remind herself daily that you were actually real. You could feel the coldness of her fingers through your shirt, it raised goosebumps all over your skin and made you squirm in her hold.

"Coldest hands ever," you mumbled against her.

Tara chuckled and you were able to feel the heavenly sound all over your body, feel the shape of her smile.

"I don't have gloves," she told you, pulling away just enough to look you in the eyes.

It was something out of your favorite fairy tale; her dark messy hair contrasting with the white background, her pink cheeks, and her eyes crinkling on the sides because you made her smile.

Sometimes it was painful. It hurt just how much you loved her, but it was that kind of pain one can't have enough of. Especially when you could see that same love right in those gentle eyes of hers.

You reached for her hands until you could hold them in your own, the fabric of your gloves closing around her palms. You leaned down to place a kiss on her knuckles, feeling the cold skin there on your lips.

Tara took the opportunity then to cup your cheeks and pull you closer. She pecked your lips with her own, leaving traces of strawberry chapstick on the corner of your mouth. "Let's go inside before we catch a cold," she spoke before stealing another kiss.

You hummed, taking off your gloves, "give me your hands."

"It's okay, you don't have to," Tara shook her head softly, but extended her hands to you anyway.

Taking hold of her hands, you gently put your gloves on her, "I want to, I'm warm enough."

Tara's cheeks became rosier, if that was even possible; she had an endearing grin on her lips, her nose scrunching adorably because of it. She sheepishly looked down, flexing her fingers to feel the new fabric around them.

She took your hand in hers with a strong grip as you started walking towards the university. Her heart overflowing with a familiar warmth.

Needless to say, you didn't get your gloves back. Even if it was a bit harder to write with them, Tara didn't take them off during class, or when you went to grab a bite to eat in the cafeteria. And you were gifted with the adorable sight of Tara holding a coffee cup with both hands so it wouldn't slip her grasp as she tentatively took a sip of the hot beverage.

It was certainly worthy of a picture, so you took one, and every time you turned on your phone you felt that same burst of happiness. Love does weird things to people, but mainly, it teaches them to see the beauty in small moments that would otherwise go unappreciated.

You were snapped back to reality when a coffee cup was placed in front of you on the table.

Tara was smiling when she pulled her chair closer to yours to huddle for warmth, "got your favorite," she told you, her shoulder bumping yours.

Yes, that's what love was all about; her pink cheeks and dark eyes shining under the dim yellow lights of the cafeteria, your gloves on her hands when she intertwined her fingers with yours.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Tara’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us @alexkolax

[buckets-and-trees]

Unholy Errand

Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x female!Reader, God the Bounty Hunter x female!Reader, Ransom Drysdale Word Count: 4k Summary: You're caught in the crosshairs when a hit goes out for your boss.

Content/Warnings: explicit smut: non-consent and dubious consent, cuckolding, bondage, knife play, dacryphilia, oral (m and f receiving), cumplay, spitting, facial/marking, groping, spanking, clothed males naked female, coarse language; mild but irreverent use of religious terminology/themes (we’ve got a bounty hunter who refers to himself as God – we’re not committing hard to the bit, but we are using the bit); use of pet names + no y/n; kidnapping

Notes: I was happily working on some other lovely things last weekend, and then Sunday afternoon, totally unprovoked, a rogue muse crept up and whispered, "Lloyd and God..." and my brain broke, and I told @navybrat817 and she immediately enabled/encouraged the sprouting of this fic (and helped identify exactly who these two would be after). I thought this might be fifteen hundred words... and then it hit 2k, and then 3k, and they still weren't done with poor Reader, so...

Additional Notes: First time writing Lloyd, God, or Ransom in any capacity. This is also straight up the filthiest thing I've gone all in on. Is it the filthiest thing that exists on the internet? Of course not, but my filthiest and READ THE TAGS. This is NOT your standard Aspen fic. But was this a bit of a riot to write? Yep. It had a chokehold on me all week, and I stayed up far too late to finish it off tonight because... if I didn't, life would've prevented me finishing for a couple more days, and I've been too eager to push this out.

The clearing of his throat is what pulls your attention. You look up from your desk, taking in long legs in impossibly tight white slacks showing too much ankle, and a torso clad in a black turtleneck and blazer. A thick mustache lives above his smirk. He was too silent entering the offices, and he knows it, seems to revel in unsettling you. “Lloyd Hansen, the six o’clock appointment.”

“Yes, if you’ll follow me right this way,” you proffer politely, and move smoothly out of your chair, leading him to the door of your boss’s office. You give a short knock and open the door, announcing, “Lloyd Hansen, sir,” as you briefly step inside, holding the door open for the man.

He’s still smirking as he passes by, and then you sweep back out, but not before hearing Lloyd whistle and say, “Fancy shit you got yourself in this office, Ran,” as you close the door on them.

You sigh as you sit back down at your desk. Lloyd is your boss’s last meeting of the night, and he had seemed more than perturbed when he said to go ahead and accept the last-minute request Lloyd had made for the appointment. While this is the meeting of the day, Mr. Drysdale had made it clear he was staying late, which means you are also staying late, so you pull out the file of menus you keep in your desk and begin mulling over where to order dinner from tonight.

There’s a succession of loud thuds on the other side of the wall, and you only hesitate for a second before rushing into the office.

You stop dead, a small cry escaping your lips as you watch Lloyd wrestling Ransom to the ground.

“You may be sorry you disturbed us, sweetie, but since you’re here, be a good girl and close and lock that door so we don’t get interrupted by anyone else.”

You hesitate, staring in horror at the display before you: books knocked off the shelves, everything that’s usually so immaculately placed askew on the desk, a lamp overturned, Ransom Drysdale on the floor of his office with Lloyd Hansen’s knee pressed into his back and both arms pulled taught behind him while Lloyd binds his wrists together with the Hermes ascot scarf ripped from Ransom’s own neck.

Lloyd clucks his tongue. “Lock the door or I start cutting his fingers off. Barnes and Rogers only said they want your boss alive; they didn’t say how much of him still needs to be intact.”

“Do it,” Ransom grunts, turning his head away from you, clearly embarrassed at his predicament.

You turn and slowly close the door. You know there are still people working at Blood Like Wine tonight, and while it’s not likely that any of them will be passing through this wing after normal business hours, it’s probably safer that they stay out than accidentally stumble into whatever this dangerous mess is evolving into. You wished you had suppressed your own urge to investigate.

When you turn back around, Lloyd is unbuckling his belt as he continues to kneel against Ransoms back. He pulls it out, uses it to gag Ransom, giving it an additional tug after already pulling it tightly, and fastens it off.

“There, that’s just about perfect.”

“What are-?” You venture to ask, but he abruptly cuts you off.

“No one asked you to talk, sweetie, now come away from that door.”

You only take two reluctant steps towards them when there’s a scraping of wood that draws everyone’s attention to the opposite side of the room.

A piece of the floor is slowly being lifted from below, pushed out of the way, and then another man pops up from out of the floor. He hefts himself out of the hole in the floor and then drops a duffel bag on the floor, the heavy sound of muffled metal hinting at the equipment he’s brought with him.

“Oh, good, you’ve already done some of my work for me,” the tall, dark-haired man appraises the situation he’s just stepped into.

“Who the fuck are you, and where’d you come from?”

“Clearly you watched me ascend from a trapdoor in the floor.” He stalks over to stand in front of the large mahogany desk and sits back on the edge. “You didn’t think Harlan Thrombey - noted mystery author - wouldn’t have a publishing house full of trapdoors and secret passageways?”

“Didn’t need to, walked right in the front door. Still waiting to find out who you are.”

“God the Bounty Hunter.”

“Ooh,” Lloyd cocks his head, and another one of his smirks returns, “I can’t say I hate the audacity. Very bold. But there are a lot of gods and only one Lloyd Hansen.

“Now we’re clearly both here because of the hit put out for this prick, but since there are two of them and two of us, why don’t you make yourself useful, God, and tie up this little Margaret while I get Ransom nice and comfortable here.”

“With pleasure,” God says, and beckons you over to him.

The way he fixes you with his gaze is so intense you can’t to resist his silent command. He stands when you’re just a foot or two away, puts a ringer under your chin to tilt your head up, and looks down into your face. You don’t dare look away, nor do you want to, for some reason.

After another moment, he lets your chin drop, and God begins to circle you, looking you up and down. You hold very still. “You don’t need to be tied up, do you? You like to behave, to be praised.”

Lloyd lets out a loud, longsuffering sigh. “Fine, it can be more fun when they’re tied up, but I’m not picky as long as I get what I want.” Then his tone changes, directing his next words at you. “Understand, sweetie?”

You nod.

“Good.” With that, Lloyd pushes his knee roughly into Ransom’s back, drawing a painful groan from the bound man, before standing and hauling Ransom up with him. He shoves Ransom down to sit on the couch that faces the desk in the small entertaining area of Ransom’s office. “Now Relax, let me pour myself a drink. No reason we can’t enjoy ourselves for a few minutes, for old time’s sake.”

While Lloyd pours some bourbon, God steps right up behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. He moves your hair off your shoulder, and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You be very good, and I’ll make you my angel.” You can’t help but shiver - it’s the heat of his breath at your neck and the promised threat - and you know he notices your reaction, because there’s a soft, dark chuckle before he presses a hot kiss to the base of your neck. His hand comes around to your front, toying with the edge of your open collar, and then he lightly draws his index finger along your clavicle and then up the other side of your neck. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you gasp when his other hand quickly pushes a small piece of metal right below your ear.

“And what’s that?” Lloyd asks, not missing the tagging.

“A little incentive for obedience,” God answers. “Fifty-thousand volts when fully unleashed.”

There’s a non-electrically generated jolt in your stomach, but it’s not pure fear, it’s tinged with a little adrenaline as well.

“Huh. To each his own. Now down to business, Ran.”

God steps back and then leans on the edge of the desk again. He pulls you to stand between his legs, your back up against his chest, and his hands settle on your shoulders. Standing against him like this has your hips aligned with his, and you have no doubt it’s setting the stage for his intentions, even if it seems harmless enough now. It mimics a familiarity between partners that is both soothing and unsettling.

Across the room, Lloyd takes a seat on the other side of the couch from Ransom, drink in one hand, and draping his arm casually along the back of the couch. “It was quite a convenient circumstance that even had me nearby to make this social call Ransom. Couldn’t be happier that I’d get to drop in on you for something like this. Ransom and I both went to Yale, you know,” he tosses this part across the room to you and God. “Even ended up in the same fraternity. But he was a senior, I was a freshman. Didn’t spare me the time of day except for the hazing, right?”

His focus shifts back to Ransom, who only gives Lloyd a cold stare, unmoving, clearly not wanting to give Lloyd the satisfaction of any emotional reactions.

God’s hands shift from your shoulders and begin to stroke up and down your arms.

“Why am I boring us all with the backstory though? Old college buddies is pretty typical. You know what’s not typical? Barnes and Rogers putting a bounty out for someone. They’ve got their own guys, and you’re not hard to find.”

The hands move from your arms to your waist, moving up and down your ribs, and still Lloyd keeps talking.

“So, either you’re too important and they wanted the closest person available to pick you up and make a rush delivery to their door, or you’re not important enough for them to want to dispatch any of their own men to deal with you. Outsourcing because you’re still an inconvenience to them, and they can’t let you go unpunished.

Strong hands on your hips.

“Maybe you can prove to be useful tonight, sweetie. How long have you worked for Ranny here?”

You don’t know if you should be surprised that he’s turned his attention to you for questioning, but you do your best to keep your mind focused as you answer him. “I’ve worked for Mr. Drysdale for – oh –” God starts rubbing circles over your hipbones, applying more pressure and pushing you back against a very prominent erection “– a little over seven months.”

“Mr. Drysdale, eh?” Lloyd’s perennial smirk grows, and he tilts his head, tsking again. “You don’t have to pretend like you’re not assisting him after hours, I told you we were in the same frat, so I know what this bastard gets up to.”

Your mouth drops open a little, and Lloyd looks from you to Ransom, whose cold stare has turned into an unmistakable glare.

“Oho! So, she does only assist you professionally?” Lloyd laughs, seemingly out of genuine amusement. “You really are useless, Ranny.”

God is still relentless in touching you, exploring over and even under the clothing, one of his hands sliding down your leg to slip under your skirt to skim up your thigh, and the other stroking just under your breasts, calculated touches to evoke responses but not yet to take or give any more satisfaction.

Both strangers are demanding your attention, and you’re almost evenly divided between Lloyd’s words and God’s actions.

“She probably would’ve slept with you the first two weeks on the job, but now she’s gotta know you’re an insufferable prick.”

Would you have? You don’t think either statement is true. You were never drawn in by Ransom, and since working for him, you’ve only been focused on doing your job well, getting a good paycheck, and going home. Ransom wasn’t particularly demanding compared to other executives, and so you had only wanted him to continue to respect and rely on your assistance so he’d find you indispensable and raise your salary regularly.

God finally speaks again. “We should let the man see what he’ll never have.”

Lloyd sits back in the chair. “I’m not opposed.”

Your face burned. There was no question what he meant, and you did not want Ransom to see you on display, but Lloyd is intimidating and God is intoxicating, so you can do no more than comply as God unzips your skirt and pushes it to the floor.

Next he turns you around and works on the buttons of your shirt, in no hurry, putting your ass on display for Lloyd and Ransom while torturing you with more of the heated, intense eye contact that makes you nearly forget to breathe.

You’re only warned that Lloyd’s behind you when God looks over your shoulder, and you turn your head, but before you can fully face him, his hand has come down against your ass with enough force that you fall against God’s chest. He spanks you again, harder, and you whimper in God’s arms, your head falling against his shoulder with the sting and shock and humiliation.

Then, in another quick turn of events, Lloyd grasps the waistband of your panties with one hand, and you briefly feel the chill of metal against your skin as he slips a knife under the fabric and then slashes them away with two strokes and throws the fabric on the desk.

“Move, God, I want her up on the desk.”

God stands again, and he pulls your shirt off your shoulders as he moves away.

Lloyd could unclasp your bra, but of course Lloyd uses the knife to slice through the band.

“Drop it,” he instructs.

With a deep, steadying breath, you do as he says.

“Turn and sit up on the desk for us.”

You’ve taken hundreds of orders from this office, completing tasks you enjoyed and hated, this can be just another of those.

“Open those thighs for us all to see, sweetie.”

You close your eyes. You know what they will see, and the shame burns in your stomach.

Lloyd taps the flat part of his knife just above your knee. “Now.”

You bite your lip and look at the ground as you spread your legs. Lloyd presses the edge of the knife to the flesh of your inner thigh, forcing you to spread even wider if you don’t want him to cut into you.

Lloyd brings his knife to your chin to tilt your face up to look at him as he traces your wet folds with two fingers. The smirk is gone, replaced by a wicked grin. “Nice and slick for us.”

“God’s handiwork,” the other man is quick to note.

“Sure. A nice little sacrificial offering. Now, Ransom, since you’ve never had a taste, seems a shame not to give you a sample,” Lloyd says.

Ransom shifts and begins to stand, but Lloyd turns abruptly and points at him with the knife. “Stay there, you dumb fuck.”

Ransom sits back again.

“And don’t you dare look away.” He looks to God. “Shoot him if he does.”

God pulls a gun from behind his back that he must have had tucked into his waistband. You watch as he moves to the other side of the room and stands behind Ransom. He plants his gun at the base of Ransom’s skull, then locks eyes with you again. It’s clear he doesn’t want take his eyes off you if he’s going to have to ensure Ransom doesn’t either. Something in your chest stirs under his rapt attention.

Lloyd demands your attention again as he grips your hips and pulls you to the edge of the mahogany desk. He slaps your pussy, drawing a sharp cry from you, then drops down to delve between your thighs. He gives your clit a vicious nip, and you bit back another yelp. His tongue plunders into your cunt, licking and sucking, and your hands are moving to grasp his skull to anchor yourself, but he’s already pulling away. As he stands, he yanks you off the desk, and strides across the room, dragging you with him.

He spits directly in Ransom’s face – a combination of Lloyd’s saliva and your slick that he’s not able to do anything but let drip down his face. Your mouth is agape, truly shocked. Ransom’s entire body radiates rage and embarrassment.

“That’s all you’ll be getting from her, Drysdale.”

Then Lloyd’s shoves you to your knees, putting you on display in profile to the other men. He undoes the zipper of his pants, releasing his cock, no underwear to fuss about.

“Open up,” he demands, and you comply, unwilling to provoke this demon who clearly doesn’t play by any rules.

He slips the angry red tip of his cock into your mouth. “Be good,” he warns. You give a small nod, closing your mouth around him. With one hand, he grips your head and begins to thrust in and out of your mouth. You and gag, and your eyes close as you try to focus very hard on breathing through your nose. He’s hitting the back of your throat with each brutal thrust, and the tears spill quickly down your face.

“Eyes on me,” he grunts, and you force them open and look up at him, knowing what he wants to see. He groans in approval. “You are a pretty little trinket, prettier when you cry.”

Then he abruptly pulls you off his dick and grips you by the chin and turns your head for Ransom and God. “Fucking look at her, swollen lips, gasping for breath, desperate.”

Just as quickly he slots his dick back in your mouth, this time gripping your head with both hands and he fucks your face with abandon. Fast. Hard. Your whimpers turn into sobs, and your hands come up to brace and grasp desperately at his thighs. “You can still take it,” Lloyd growls, undeterred, and you’re powerless to stop him. The tears are not just running but flooding down your cheeks. It’s too much now, and you can’t get enough air, and vision is going black. Finally he throws you off and away from him, and turns to aim his cock at Ransom, shooting his load over his face and shoulders, letting out a hiss that turns into a hum.

You’re hunched over and you wretch – blessedly only once – bracing your hands on the floor, and you gulp and heave, lungs fraught for the necessary oxygen.

Lloyd is talking again. The voice registers, but not the words.

And there are warm hands on you again. One rubbing small circles at the base of your spine, the other pushing your hair out of your face and coaxing you to look up at him.

With enough soothing, God has you breathing evenly again, and you’re still crying a little, but he helps you up onto the couch and sits next to you, very close, and he tucks a hand under your chin and lifts your face up, then he licks your left cheek, then the right, lapping up the tears. You hiccup, not sure how to react. Then he merely strokes your cheek, and the fingers trail down your neck, down your chest, down, down…

“Boring,” Lloyd announces.

You look up at him for a moment, but then God’s questing fingers reach the point he really wants to concentrate his might on, plunging into your wet cunt, and your eyes flutter closed.

“I’m eager to be done here,” Lloyd continues while God continues pumping his digits in and out of you. “We don’t need any more dumbasses showing up for this fool.”

“Agreed,” God says, casually as if he’s not beginning to pull you apart softly but surely. “You take him. I’ll keep her. There’s room for her in the trunk next to the cargo.”

“Fine, I wasn’t fussed about the goods anyway, I only took this job for the satisfaction of humiliating Drysdale, and that’s already exceeded my expectations. I’m sure Barnes and Rogers will give you enough for the recovered inventory even without him, and I’ll do you a solid and not mention the little side piece you’ll be keeping for yourself.”

God moves you off the couch, coaxing you to lean over the coffee table and kneels behind you. “Good.”

You moan as God slowly pushes his hard length inside your cunt.

There’s a thud next to you, and you turn to see a pile of Ransom hit the floor a few feet away.

“I assume you’ve got a way to move this man through down in that passage?” Lloyd asks, dragging the unconscious figure across the floor by his feet.

“Mhmm,” he responds, more intent on the movement of his hips against yours, slowly pistonning in and out of your tight heat.

“Good. This was fun enough, but let’s not do this again.”

God pulls your head up roughly to look at Lloyd just as he’s about to drop into the floor. “Say goodbye to Lloyd, Angel.”

You’re barely able to make the, “Bye,” tumble out of your lips, you’re so full of this man behind you, and his sudden roughness taking you by surprise.

Lloyd chuckles, then disappears.

God lets you drop back down, leaning on your elbows.

“I thought he’d never stop talking,” God murmurs.

It’s bitter, but a laugh actually falls from your lips, but you still can’t form words.

“There’s other things I’d rather do with you around than talk.”

He adjusts his angle from behind you. It allows him to plunge more of his cock into your slick channel, and you groan, but then after only a few thrusts, he pauses, balls deep inside you.

“You took what he gave you, but I think you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

You’re breathless. You can’t speak. You don’t want to speak?

He places his right hand, palm flat, at the base of your spine and presses it slowly up your back, his middle finger trailing up the ridge of your vertebrae, and you can feel the metal of his ring draw a line along your skin.

“You were very good.”

He rocks his hips against you, and you whimper.

“I said I would make you mine if you were good.”

Another rocking. He moves his hand from the nape of your neck around to grip it fully, and he pulls you back up against his chest, and you’re gasping for air for a moment, both hands coming up to clutch at his arm.

He lowers his voice and delivers his next words right into your ear. “You want to be mine, don’t you?”

Your pussy clenches around him, and he presses a kiss against your throat, and you feel the smile of his lips against your skin.

His other hand moves down across your hip, to your vee, and his deft fingers stroke your throbbing clit. He doesn’t move his cock, but he does move those fingers expertly, drawing tight little circles that wind you up to the top until you’re flung off the edge and into pure pleasure.

Coming down from your first orgasm, you sink against him. As your breathing returns to normal, the hand on your neck remains like an anchor, but his other hand moves up to tilt your chin to the side and up to meet his lips. The kiss claims you, and you part your lips for him, just as you’ve parted your legs for him – willingly.

“That was one, but I want a trinity to secure your devotion here tonight. I’m going to fuck you dumb, dress you, and then you’re going to walk out of here like a sweet little angel and get in my car. Then I’ll let you choose. You can sit up front and keep my cock warm or you can crawl in the back of the trunk. Your choice.”

How are we?

I'm ruined.

Restore my health with your lovely reblogs, commentary, comments...

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

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[fl3shm4id3n]

𝓦𝓱𝓸 𝓲𝓼 𝓱𝓮?

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ɴᴇᴛᴇʏᴀᴍ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ! ꜰᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜱᴏɴɢ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴇᴋᴇɴᴅ- ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ʜᴏᴜʀ

Tw: Ronal being a mama bear?, Tonowari being a loving father, mentions of puberty, Due to the experiments done on the reader she doesn’t bleed, teenage love, some grammar mistakes, Flashback

Author’s note: I’ve been listening to both Lana Del Rey and The Weekend while writing these, idk why but when it comes to reading or writing about Neteyam x reader those artists just come up. Also Sorry if I have the ages between the  Metkayina siblings, I’m not sure who is older but I see Tsireya being the oldest and Ao’nung the youngest, I hope you like part three. Also I don’t know shit about science so I made some stuff up since its a sci-fi universe.

P.s. I am glad that you guys are liking this small series, don’t be shy to leave some feed back or a comment suggesting what you’d like to see on the next part, I’m also excited to see what you guys request in the future.

Masterlist

Just like that night, you had that same dream again but it was a bit different. Besides the stars swimming in the water, this time you saw a figure, of someone? But it wasn’t of a Metkayina but of a different Na’vi. Though you couldn’t see their face, you saw small little dots that seem to be lit in the dark. What did this dream mean? Did it mean something? Was Eywa sending you a message of some kind? You weren’t fully sure.

Now you were beginning to hit puberty, your sister had now turned thirteen, you twelve and your brother eleven. You began to have new feelings along with a lot of changes. You were ready on becoming a woman, though when you turned fifteen you’d be announce of age but that was in another three years. 

What had caught your attention most were the couples you’d see around the village. Some young, some old, even children had their childhood sweethearts. Now you wanted to know if you’ll ever have a chance at love, even though you were different from the rest, you still wanted that experience. 

That day when your parents had gone back to the Marui from their daily tasked you had asked. “Mother? Father? May I ask something?” you walked closer to them as they had both sat down on the floor. Ronal smiled at you and picked you up, placing you on her lap. “What is it little one?” she asked as Tonowari had his full attention on you. “Will I ever find a mate?” you asked. Both Ronal and Tonowari looked at one another, not sure on what to say but your father spoke. “Yes, one day you will find someone, but I will be honest with you my child” he said as you paid close attention while Ronal was stroking your hair. “Things may be a bit different between you and your chosen mate, since you don’t have a queue you may not be able to mate with them before Eywa, but I know for sure that you will be happy with your chosen mate and he will be happy with you.” Tonowari said with a smile as you nodded understanding.

“Father?” you asked looking up at the gentle giant “yes?” he said as you then asked your other question. “Where do babies come from?” This made Tonowari freeze and made Ronal laugh at your question. “You’ll learn of that later” she said as your mother leaned down and kissed your little forehead.

The next morning you got up as early as possible, your parents and siblings still asleep, you quickly got dressed into a pale pearl top with shells and a hip scarf that had pearls hanging from them. You kept your hair the same but added a few silver colored hair cuffs. Once you were ready you left the Marui with a small basket in hand. 

That morning you went to the fruit trees to find some fruits to give to Neteyam’s family. You managed to claim high to get that fruit was just right to take, you were a good climber since you liked claiming on trees to get some fruit. You spent must of the morning getting enough fruit for the family. Others from the village also came to collect some fruit for their families. When they’d ask if you could get them a specific fruit, you would. You liked helping others, it made you happy seeing that you made others happy. After you were done, you gave your farewells to them and left with the basket with fruit in hand. 

You walked towards the Sully’s mauri, on your way you had said your good mornings to those who had now woken up. When you finally got to the marui, you saw that they all had been awake except for Tuk who was still asleep. “Good morning, I hope I’m not interrupting.” You said catching the attention of the woken family members, specially Neyetam who stood up as fast as he could and walked towards you. “No, you aren’t, good morning to you too” he said bitting his lip. It was cute seeing him all shy. “Well, I brought you this fruit I picked out this morning.” You said as you handed him the basket. Locking eyes with him, you felt your stomach flatter from by his eyes looking into yours.

The moment was interrupted by Jake who came behind his son with a smile on his face. “Thank you very much Y/n” he said politely at you. You bowed lightly at the adult “your very welcome, I hope I see you all at lessons in a bit” you said smiling and giving Neteyam a bigger smile before leaving. Neteyam stared at you leaving. He was caught out of his trance by his siblings who began to laugh. Neteyam glared at them and walked over to the small table on the floor, placing the basket down.

You had arrive home seeing that your family was waiting for you to eat breakfast. “Good morning” you said walking to were you normally sat which was between Ronal and Tsireya, your mother smiled at you “where were you this morning?” she asked out of curiosity which you responded “I went to go give fruit for the Sully’s” you said as she then hummed but looked at you a bit longer, she noticed something about you but then Ao’nung groaned “can we please eat now? I am starving!” he whined like the baby of the family that he is. “Alright, alright, go ahead.” You all sat and ate your food, your mother would look at you now and then, she had a feeling about you but she couldn’t figure it out on the top of her head. 

After breakfast, everyone went off to do their task. You father went to go teach Jake how to fly on a Skimswim, your mother went to the healers, you along with your sister and brother went to go find the Sullys. As you walked words the meeting place which as at the beach, Rotxo had tagged along. He had been tagging along a lot, he says to help the Sullys with their lessons but you knew full we why he would come. He came to see Kiri, you saw how he looked at her during the lessons, how he’d get his Ilu close to hers as they rode on them. It was adorable seeing how shy he’d get when the girl would look at him.

The lesson that day was back on the Ilus, even though you didn’t have one like rest, you still stayed. You watched how the Sullys were still trying to get a hold of them. You also noticed how Tsireya and Lo’ak had beginning to get close, when she was near him, he’d get nervous around your sister. Meanwhile, Neteyam had his eyes on you most of the lesson, instead of listening to what Ao’nung was saying he had his attention on you. When you’d lock eyes for a second, he’d turn away making you lightly giggle. Tsireya noticed this and she decided to give you a little push.

“We should go for ride” your sister suggested, all agreed and got on their ilus, though Tuk go on Kiri’s ilu since she was still to young to ride her own. Before you went on Ao’nung’s ilus Tsireya stopped you “y/n, you should go with Neteyam, he may need some help” she suggested with a smile. You couldn’t say no to her so you so you nodded.

“Hey Neteyam, I’ll be riding with you if you don’t mind” you said as the boy smiled with glee “of course, here let me help you” he held his hand out and helped you hop onto the ilu. You sat in front of him, you liked feelings his front touching your back. Once everyone was on their ilu, they took off underwater. The ilus were fast which caused adrenaline to go through your body. You loved feeling the ocean water running through your body, it made you feel as if you were born to be underwater.

Neteyam was also smiling, seeing that you were having a great time, it was just like those two nights ago when you’d swim late at night together. It made his heart warm up, he would love seeing that smile for the rest of his life. 

You all went up to take breath from being under water for being to long, everyone was laughing and talking. “Did you have fun?” Neteyam asked looking down at you, in which you nodded “very much, it was fun going that fast” you said containing your giggle. “I’m glad you’re having fun” he whispered in your ear which made your face feel hot. This made your heart beat go a bit fast. For the rest of the day, the teens were swimming around, and getting a hold of their lessons. Until everyone had to go home, you stayed behind as Tsireya and Ao’nung headed back to the marui. 

“Are you getting the hang of things?” you asked Neteyam who was walking beside you. “Yeah, at first it was hard but eventually I’ll be a pro” he said. You giggled at his words. They had a different way of speaking their English which was a bit funny but it suited him a lot. “Hey, would you like to go on a ride on my Banshee?” He asked which made you gasp in excitement. “Really? I would love to” you said now shaking with happiness by the request. He chuckled seeing your face, it reminded him of a child. 

Again he had walked you home, the walk was silent but it felt good, as if you both were having a conversation in your mind. When you arrived home, you bid him a goodbye and went inside. Ronal was sitting on the floor, exhausted from today’s work. Tsireya and Ao’nung were making dinner. 

“Hello mother, how are you feeling?” you asked as you sat down next to her. Seeing that she was relaxed, her hand resting on the baby bump, your sibling was growing bigger everyday, you couldn’t wait to meet them. “I am alright, this baby is draining out my energy” she said as you smiled and leaned your head down onto her stomach softly, wanting to feel the baby moving inside. “I feel a feeling it’ll be a strong boy” you said as your mother stroked your hair. This was a daily ritual, you’d come sit with your mother and talk about your day or just talk whatever. You loved feelings hands running through your hair, she’s been doing this since you were smaller than you already are. 

During dinner, your father was having a deep conversation with your mother about things. You on the other hand were thinking of Neteyam, about his suggestion in riding his banshee. You already knew the feeling of water around you, now you’ll have a chance to feel the air. When dinner was over, you went to sleep with your siblings.

That night your mother couldn’t stop thinking about you, on how you had beginning to change a bit. “Ma Ronal? What’s wrong?” Her mate asked her as he looked over at his wife who was laying on her side, facing him. “Nothing Ma Tonowari, its just that, I’ve been noticing how our Y/n has been changing a bit, she’s distracted and I noticed that glance in her eyes.” She said as Tonowari smiled at his wife “she’s at that age, she’s thinking of boys” he said making Ronal sigh worriedly. “Why did that day have to come so soon?” she asked him as Tonowari pulled her closer to him, their foreheads touching. “I know Ma Ronal, but y/n has to grow up, she can’t be a baby forever, but just know that she will always be our baby no matter what age she is” he said leaning over and kissing his wife on her cheek. 

Ronal smiled at her mate “I know but, who ever has captured her attention, should be worthy of calling our daughter their mate. I just want what is best for our children, specially y/n since she is different” she said worriedly. Tonowari only smiled and hugged his wife. He understood her, he also wanted was best for his children. He knew deep down that his daughter will find the right person.

Taglist: @byunpum, @moony-artemis, @aonungs-tsahik​, @rennyramen​, @somewereinthegalaxi​

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Fifteenth Day of Gift-Giving

Fifteen Fluffy Moments

each quietly doing household chores, meeting each other every now and then in a room, giving each other a smile or kiss while passing by

going on a walk together, walking their usual route, hand in hand, talking about work, friends and whatever they have on their mind

reading together on the couch, one lays their head on the other's lap, getting their soft hair played with

winning at game night, the tension during the game and the laughter when they realize one won by a small margin

napping together, either in bed or on the couch, just deciding that now is the perfect moment for a nap, enjoying each other's closeness

sharing their clothes, one wearing the other's sweater, the other one only going out with the other's scarf wrapped around their neck, smelling so lovely

reading the newspaper for the person who's making breakfast, telling them about the latest news, until they decide it's too sad for an early morning and switch to the quiz page

working on their hobbies next to each other, each doing their own thing, showing off what they've done from time to time, praising each other on what they've accomplished

fighting over the blanket, pressing their cold feet against the other's calf, cursing and play-fighting until they settle back down, holding each other close

doing each other's hair the way they like it the most, not letting the other one sneak a peek at the mirror

sitting in the car and singing a song together, both trying to outshine the other

bringing each other flowers without having a special occasion, just picking up a small bouquet from a vendor on the streets and bringing them home

cooking together, bumping into each other while going from the fridge to the stove, each knowing their parts, letting the other taste the food before deciding that it's perfect

showering together, washing each other's hair and trying to keep close to get some of the warm water

kissing each other goodbye, in the morning before work, when one goes on a short trip, when one goes out for the night with some friends

24 Days of Gift-Giving

[iwaoiness]

Every 20th of July since he was fifteen, the first candles Oikawa blows out are embedded in fluffy milk bread. Throughout Kitagawa Daiichi and all of Aoba Johsai, Iwaizumi always managed to prepare this little surprise for him, whether during recess, after or before training, in his room, or in Tooru's room. He would approach Oikawa holding a small cardboard tray of milk bread, shielding the candles with his hand to keep the flames from going out prematurely. He would sing happy birthday to him (sometimes accompanied by the off-key voices of Mattsun and Makki, sometimes alone) and remind him to make a wish. And every year, through snot and tears, Oikawa would scoff at how corny this was (and, of course, Hajime wouldn't waste a second kicking him in the ass).

But he would quickly close his eyes, think of a wish, and blow out the candles with blushing cheeks.

Later, when the distance between them was no longer just the Takahashi house but the vast Pacific Ocean, Hajime continued the tradition, even across the screen, honoring his wish. Every 20th of July, before his morning run, he would prepare the milk bread dough and, by the time he returned, he would bake it just in time for their video call. When Oikawa least expected it, Hajime would place the milk bread rolls in front of the camera with the candles lit.

On his 30th birthday, however, with a few hours left in the day, Oikawa still hasn't made his wish. He has been fidgeting all day since Hajime told him that he won't know if he will be able to connect to the video call because one of the best players on the UCI volleyball team has been seriously injured during training.

Tooru knows he shouldn't be upset about it. He understands that there’s nothing much that can be done, that Hajime is a professional who takes his job seriously, and it’s perfectly normal for him to be focused on his players. But he can't shake the frustration that it all happened on his birthday.

He hates that they’ve only exchanged a few messages. He hates that he hasn’t heard Hajime’s voice for almost an entire day. He hates the distance. He hates that he's spent eleven damn birthdays without Hajime. He hates the damn opposite hitter who can’t train without getting injured.

Oikawa taps his mobile screen twice with his thumb, snorting in irritation when he checks the time. To make matters worse, Santiago had suggested dinner at his favorite restaurant to distract him, but the idiot is already ten fucking minutes late and isn't answering his calls.

“Shit!,” he curses in Japanese, begrudgingly sitting back down on the icy wooden bench where they were supposed to meet. He crosses his arms and scowls in frustration.

And, of course, it’s freezing. Because Argentina is on the other side of the hemisphere, and despite having been here for over a decade, it’s still unusual to celebrate his birthday in a scarf and jacket.

He’s about to get up again, planning to head to the restaurant alone and stuff himself with food—charging it, of course, to Santiago’s account—when he hears footsteps approaching.

“About time, pedazo de pelotud—!” The words die on his tongue as he looks up and doesn’t see Santiago.

His eyes widen in shock, his mouth falls open, and his heart seems to stop.

Hajime is here. In person. Just two steps away, not an ocean apart. As handsome as he was two months ago, dressed in a denim jacket and a thick black sweatshirt with the hood up, just as he always does when he's cold. He wears the dark sweatpants he typically dons for travel.

“Yo” Hajime greets, his smile warm and genuine.

“What…?” Oikawa’s voice emerges faint and quivering. He slowly rises, gripping the bench for support as the tingling in his legs threatens to make him topple over.

That’s when he notices what Iwaizumi is holding in his hand: a small cardboard tray with two milk bread rolls, each one adorned with a candle—one shaped like the number 3 and the other like the number 0. Hajime’s free hand shields the flickering flames from the breeze, preventing them from being switched off, just as he has always done for Tooru.

Tooru’s lips quiver and his eyes well up as he looks up again, meeting Hajime’s gaze. Always so intense, so beautiful, so full of tenderness when look at him.

“I’m two years late, but I finally managed to fulfill your wish.”

Oikawa chuckles softly, sniffling as he wipes away tears from his cheek with the back of his hand.

“So, can I still hope that my wish about Ushiwaka and Tobio-chan will come true?”

“As if” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes in amusement, moving a little closer. “Here, tontito, blow them out before they go out. And make a wish.”

Tooru nods, lowering his gaze to the candles as Hajime withdraws his hand.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, ignoring the moisture on his lashes. He wishes for gold at this year's Olympic Games. He wishes for his parents, Takeru and his sister to come and visit him again soon. He wishes to celebrate the new year with Mattsun, Makki and Iwa-chan. Wishes for his grandmothers to stay healthy. Wishes for January to come so he can go to Suga-chan and Daichi's wedding. Wishes to play beach volleyball with Shoyo once more. Wishes that all his teammates continue to do well (even MadDog-chan). Wishes to win the VNL. He wants to keep playing for CA Boca until he retires.

But more than anything else, what he wishes for right now is—

"I wish Iwa-chan would let go of the tray so I can hug him and never let go again," he whispers before lifting his eyelids and blowing out the candles.

In less than three seconds, Iwaizumi places the tray on the bench and pulls Oikawa from his waist into a firm, strong, and tender embrace that feels like home. Tooru wraps his long arms around Hajime's broad shoulders, burying his face in his neck. He is overwhelmed by the familiar touch of Hajime's hands on his waist and back, the fresh scent of his favorite cologne, the comforting weight of his body against his own, and the gentle tickle of Hajime's spiky hair on his neck.

"Happy birthday, mi vida. I love you so, so much," he murmurs softly, his voice low and husky. Tooru lets out a sob, tightening his embrace as if trying to lock Hajime away in his soul.

"I love you much, much more," Tooru snuggles up into Hajime's neck. "And I hope that milk bread is homemade, or I won't forgive you for lying to me" Adds, smiling tenderly as the laughter of the love of his life reverberates through his chest as well.

His 31st wish will be the one that has been secretly accompanying the rest of his wishes.

Because there hasn't been a single year that Oikawa Tooru hasn't wished for Iwaizumi Hajime to stay in his life forever.

...

AGAAAIN HAPPY BDAY TO THE BEST MAN IN THIS WORLD, THE LOVE OF MY LIFE, THE HEART OF MY HEART, THE SUN OF MY GALAXY, MY PRETTY BOY, MY HUSBAND i love him sm u can even imagine

u can find a little bit more extensive version and find me on my ao3 🍉