#don’t know if it actually did but it was great

[rcvcgers]

Rotten Apples, pt. 2

part one

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: you run into a familiar face at work.

word count: 4.9k words

warnings: extreme loathing, kinda funny, kinda sad, a good mix of everything! a hint of foreplay! not proofread!

author's note: thank you for all the love on part one! here's part two! should there be a part three? also, enjoy a pic of caleb i grabbed from the game today!

taglist <3 : @kebarney @pinkismyfavcolor @romils @erisnxxi @rik0shii @reni502 @spacehopper27 @llamabois @likesvader @pandoras-rabbit @princessfruit @lukassafespace @jexizia

Caleb couldn’t say how long he’s been standing outside your door for. Had it been an hour? Three? Maybe it’s only been thirty minutes…time truly flies by when he’s with his love.

It doesn’t matter, though. Caleb would stand guard outside your door if it meant that you were safe.

Safe and alone inside your apartment…no other specimen in there to protect you.

Caleb wouldn’t let them come in if they came. He’d use his evol to shove them towards the side stairwell. He’d shove them down and watch as their bodies crumbled together, bones breaking, finding their screams of pain and agony satisfying.

It would all be worth it because you’re safe. All because of his much needed protection.

You’re his.

His to protect. His to look after. His to care for. His to love.

He glances to the side and notices that Skyhaven’s clouds have slightly parted. A smile spreads across his face, the man sneaking towards the hallway window, looking out at the morning sky. The weather is still undoubtedly gloomy, but the slight sight of sun is sign enough for him that you two are meant to be.

Caleb prances down the hallway, stopping by your door one last time. He slowly inhales, his eyes feeling heavy, and flattens his palm against it.

He’ll be seeing you soon.

The Colonel exits your apartment building, his phone attached to the side of his face. His voice is cheery and if you were to hear it, you’d think that his face would be all smiles and joy. It isn’t, though, and is instead a stoic expression.

“Hey, buddy. Remember that favor you owe me? Well, it’s time to cash in. I need you to get me information on someone. Yeah, yeah, I’ll send her name over to you now. Great! Thanks!” He hangs up and settles into a spot across the street.

People pass in front of him, his back pressed against the outside wall of a convenience store. Caleb barely pays attention to other woman who pause to get another look at him. He doesn’t have time to entertain their fantasies. He’d prefer to cater to your wants and needs. You deserve it after all your years of being apart.

Caleb tilts his head up and finds your window. His sick smile returns to his face, waiting for you to appear.

Except, he doesn’t know that you don’t peer out the window in the morning. Instead, you stay in bed for as long as you can, face and body covered by your sheets and obnoxious amount of blankets. 

Your arm sticks out, slicing through the chilly morning air.

Shit. You think to yourself. Did the heater not kick in?

Your toes feel inexplicably cold despite being buried under a behemoth of blankets. Slowly sitting up in bed, your tired eyes look around your dark room before they float to the butterfly that hangs from your window. You love how the orange and blue hues grace the floor, softly turning the cold environment into something warm and welcoming.

It reminds you of home and most importantly, it reminds you of him.

You can’t help but laugh, slapping your forehead as you slip out of bed. Last night was a trip and a half!

Your date with George was so bad that you actually hallucinated Caleb being alive. Ha! It’s laughable, really, and you can’t even fathom who was there to witness your crazed haze. You definitely sounded like a crazy person, probably looking like the other blacked out people on the street who struggled to get home.

“Poor guy,” you say aloud, filling in your apartment’s silence, “I hope we never run into each other again.”

Oh, the irony.

You slowly get ready for your day. You take a quick shower, already running late, and stumble into your closet with your toothbrush hanging from your lips. You snatch a clean uniform jacket from the hangers, sliding it over your white blouse. You tuck your shirt into your black pencil skirt and make for sure there are no wrinkles in the fabric.

You hesitate, staring at yourself in the mirror. 

Who are you trying to impress, anyways? It’s not like you’re going to find your Prince Charming at work.

Finally ready for your day, feeling rejuvenated and having shaken off your hysterics from the previous night, you step out of your apartment. You chew on a last minute attempt at making toast. The bread is dry instead of being lathered with butter, a complete oversight on your part.

You don’t even have time to stop for a coffee for a boost of energy. How the hell are you going to get through the day?

The rain stopped but the clouds still hang low in the sky. You’re used to the gloomy days, you actually welcome them with open arms. Too much sun reminds you of home and all of the misfortune you went through and, well, Linkon has a Wanderer problem that you want to avoid. Skyhaven still has them but it’s significantly less. You have the Fleet to thank for that.

And you definitely don’t have to thank a certain hunter who always seems to be at the scene of the worst attacks. As long as she stays away, you can live in peace knowing that if a Wanderer were to show up, she wouldn’t be the one to save you.

Your job as a translator stresses you out. Your boss, Darryl, is a weird, perverted dick that abuses his power. Whenever you don’t accept his daily flirts or go to HR about his behavior, you’re rewarded with horrible assignments that take years off of your life because you’re surrounded by men who are exactly like Darryl. You swear that you’ve seen a gray hair or two sprout from your head.

Being a translator under Darryl is a soul sucking job. You’ve applied to different departments in the Deepspace Aviation Administration, but Darryl has decided that you’re only good enough for translating documents and transcripts.

Your dream is to be a live translator, one that sat in a hidden room during negotiations and meetings between presidents and generals. Hell, you’d be fine with translating between the generals’ secretaries! It’s a thrill that you’ll unfortunately never be able to experience.

A big fuck you to Darryl.

You step through the shiny and clean doors of the Deepspace Aviation Administration. The building is eerily tall, shooting further into the atmosphere. You’ve managed to stay within the clouds, though, barely able to move past the fifteenth floor. Your security clearance is less than desirable, but it hasn’t stopped you from inching your way to the top.

You hope to see the secret levels soon enough but sincerely doubt it.

You smile at Abel and Remy, who work the entrance of the building, manning the security clearance that you pass through every weekday. You place your bag down on the conveyor belt, scanning your I.D. card in the little pad before stepping through the metal detector.

“Good morning you two,” you greet them with a familiar smile.

“Morning!” Remy chimes with a smile. He hands you your bag and nudges Abel’s side. He barely looks up, waving, before sinking his head back into the computer. “He slept like shit. Don’t mind him.”

“It’s all good,” you shrug, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Just as you are about to step away, Abel’s head shoots up.

“Stay here. You were flagged.” Abel waves his hand in the air. Two nicely dressed soldiers approach you, guns slung on their sides. Your eyes widen, looking around for any kind of sign that this is a prank that Remy and Abel were pulling on you.

When the soldiers approach you and take your arm, a weight forms on your shoulders. 

It’s not a prank. It’s very fucking real.

Terror rips through your body. Your eyes widen as the masked soldiers stare down at you, their eyes dark and unwelcoming.

“Ma’am. Follow us,” one of the soldiers barks at you. You nod, ready to comply, but are unable to move your feet. You try to move your leg but it doesn’t budge. You awkwardly laugh to yourself, looking down at the unresponsive limb.

Move, dammit! You internally scream, cheeks heating up. 

Remy gives your back a gentle tap, nudging you forward. You stumble over your feet, pushing through the gap between the soldiers.

They track you from behind and occasionally bark a direction for you to take. They guide you towards the elevator that is reserved for higher ranking officials and officers. Your gulp, heart pounding in your chest. Your ears begin to ring, heating up as nausea overtakes your body. You close your eyes and grip the railing in the elevator, clinging to the cold metal for some kind of relief.

Where did it all go wrong?

Did you translate something wrong? Is it your fault that a world war is about to erupt? You knew you should have told Darryl to not give you assignments on the language you’re weakest at! He should have given it to Miranda!

Your foot rapidly taps against the elevator floor. Each ding from a new floor heightens your anxiety, body shivering at the thought of what could happen to you.

Ding.

Goodbye cruel world!

Ding.

It was nice knowing you all!

Ding.

Don’t forget about me! Use my death as an example on what not to do!

You have heard many stories of what happened to translators that interpreted a word incorrectly. They simply disappeared off the face of the earth and were never heard from again. Or they ended up teaching languages at a community college far away from Skyhaven and the Fleet.

You’d rather disappear off the face of the earth than succumb to that fate.

The elevator doors slide open. You look up from the floor, surprised to see a normal looking work environment. One of the soldiers place their hand on your back, pushing your forward. You move with his hand, not particularly enjoying his touch. You shoot him a glare, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’ll take her from here.”

You freeze. Goosebumps spread across your skin and chills run down your spine. You focus on the wall in front of you, a figure sliding in front of your vision. Your eyes are met with a black uniform, the typical red, white, and blue accents that the Fleet uniforms have.

Your eyes float up, taking in the figure before you. Purple eyes stare down at you, your haze focusing on the golden spot that lays on the bottom of his iris. The nausea you once felt disappears but is quickly replaced with an even worse feeling of complete and utter dread.

“Caleb?” His name rolls off your tongue like butter, melting the ice that surrounds your heart.

So last night was not a dream. Caleb was the one to save you from George, not some random stranger who was there at the time. It was your ex-childhood best friend.

A semblance of a smile flashes across his face before his gaze sharpens. He looks you up and down, hands behind his back. Your gaze drops, taking him in his entirety.

Fuck…he looks great in his uniform.

“Long time no see,” he quips, stoic expression remaining on his face. “Follow me.” Without missing a beat, he turns on his heel and begins to walk away. You look around, blinking as if it’ll snap you out of the dream you’re clearly inside of.

When you don’t follow, Caleb walks back. His fingers curl around your wrist, his touch shocking your body to life. You fumble over your words, random sounds fleeing from your lips, as Caleb guides you away from invasive eyes.

His hair is still short but is just shaggy enough to remain charming and add to his looks. Your squint your eyes, noticing a few light scars on the right side of his body. They creep up his neck from under his wrinkle-free uniform. Caleb opens a door and you step inside, swallowing whatever confusion you had left in your mouth, and turn to him.

“Caleb?” Your voice is breathy. Caleb’s eyes fix themselves on you, the man leaning against the closed door with his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re…what?”

“Take your time,” he chuckles. Your breath gets caught in your throat. His chuckle makes you want to jump for joy. “We are on a time crunch though, pipsqueak—”

“Don’t call me that,” you interrupt him, hissing as your instincts take over.

Any positive feeling you felt towards him in the past five minutes has vanished. You glare and cross your arms over your chest.

How dare Caleb call you that? That was always her nickname, alongside other ridiculous pet names that always made you gag whenever you looked back in your memories.

You made for certain that you’ll never be his pipsqueak.

You groan, rolling your eyes, and turn away from him. To him, it feels like you just drove a knife into his heart. He stares at the back of your head, his gaze falling for a brief moment, noticing the curve of your ass, before circling in front of you.

“I won’t call you that…noted,” he breathlessly chuckles. Once you tilt your chin up to show your glare, his chuckle gets caught in his throat. He covers it with a cough, suddenly feeling nervous around you.

Caleb has never felt this way with you before. In the past, everything was so easy! It was smooth sailing with you, low maintenance. He knew that you didn’t need the constant validation from him whereas she always needed it.

Maybe that’s been his foolish mistake all along. He should have paid more attention to you instead of her.

Is this what loathing feels like? Complete and utter contempt towards someone? Caleb hasn’t experienced this kind of negative feeling before, at least, not with her.

He had always felt so alive whenever she looked his way. Her beauty and innocence was so captivating. He adored playing the hero she needed.

Where was your hero? Who was there to call you pipsqueak or any other cheesy nickname? God, he’s been a fucking idiot.

“Is there…a nickname you’d like me to call you? For old time’s sake?” Caleb’s question earns him an angered scoff from you.

“You can call me by my name, thanks,” You look at him, eyes flickering down to his exposed neck.

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. His gloved hand reaches for the collar of his shirt, wanting to loosen his restrictive tie, but falls. When your eyes meet again, his shoulders tense before relaxing.

Is he…is he nervous?

“Tell me, Colonel,” you begin. Caleb’s head perks up and he looks at you, hanging onto every word that comes from your lips. “Why am I here?”

“I heard you’re the best translator we have,” Caleb’s compliment makes you raise your eyebrow, “I only want the best. I need you to translate something for me.”

“Sure, I can do that. Not like I have much of a choice, right?” Your half-joke earns a loud laugh from Caleb. You raise an eyebrow at him.

Really? You think to yourself. That’s what made you laugh?

“I forgot how funny you are,” Caleb comments. He pokes your nose and your face scrunches up, watching as he turns on his heel, opening up the door. You stare at his back and the memories of him from your childhood come pouring in.

You sit alone on a bench. You watch as Caleb stands in line with her at an ice cream stand. You watch them with close and steady eyes, your gaze transfixed on how she plays with his fingers. They laugh and lean into each other, undoubtedly whispering secrets that only they can know to one another.

It pained you, yes, to always be pushed to the sideline. You got used to it with time. You didn’t notice it the first year of knowing them. You were all careless and innocent children. Of course there was no malcontent with their actions!

However, the constant repetition of being left out only to be covered with half-asses apologies and sorries became very old really quick.

And it definitely felt like a stab in the back when you hear their mingled laughter through your open window. You’d catch your self sitting by the window, sighing to yourself as they played knight and princess in Josephine’s backyard.

Whenever you played with them, she always made you the monstrous dragon that held her captive. Caleb had to the the one to kill you. You had to watch from the ground, covered in dirt and dust, as he brought her into his arms, swinging her around.

Her thrilled shrieks and giggles were like poison to your soul.

You were only eight.

With thicker skin and a heart beginning to protect itself with a shield of ice, you braved the final days of your friendship with them. When it grew to be too much, you left.

It was the best decision you could have made, right?

It felt so easy to leave, even as they excluded you from the ice cream line. What’s funny is that they forgot to get you your sweet treat, meaning that you had to eventually stand in the line by yourself while they relaxed on the bench.

You were always left with sticky fingers while he cleaned hers, calling her by that stupid fucking nickname while he wiped away the melted ice cream from her fingertips. They were clean and pristine while yours were left with sticky residue and bits of napkin that lingered behind.

You were almost always determined to ditch them after moments like these. You laid in bed, holding your favorite plushie to your chest, when a small pebble hit your window. You walked over, pushing the glass open, as you poked your head outside.

Caleb stood on the ground below. He smiled up at you and held up a small plastic bag. You watched as he climbed up the side of your house with ease, using the vines to reach your window.

The anger slowly left your body the closer he got to you. He’d poke his head instead and you plucked the plastic bag from his mouth, revealing a small metal butterfly you had saw in town earlier that day.

“I got it just for you,” he said, resting his elbows on the windowsill. You watched him with wide eyes, your ice heart melting from his actions and words. “A token of my appreciation.”

Maybe sticking around for a little longer isn’t a bad idea, you thought to yourself.

You always loved butterflies after that day.

“You coming?” Caleb asks, head tilted to the side.

Looking around, you realize where you are and shake away the bittersweet memories from your childhood. You let out a ragged breath. Your lungs burn and your vision blurs.

His purple orbs memorized every detail of your face. When he noticed the small amount of tears in your eyes, he reached forward, wanting to catch them before they had the chance to fall. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You slap his hand away and push past him, entering the main room.

As you walk, you realize that what’s left between you two has expired.

The apple of his eye is not you. You were a Granny Smith while she was a Honeycrisp.

You were perpetually sour and she was always refreshing. Everyone always lavished in her presence while you faded into the background. You were left out in the sun while she was carried inside and taken care of.

It’s no wonder why you’re rotten to the core. 

Daggers of pain stabbed into his sides, slipping between his ribs, leaving him breathless. His perfect demeanor finally reveled a crack, head lunched over. He follows you into the hallway, planting himself at your side.

Clearly, there is something wrong with you. Not in a way like there is with him, you know, having failed his psych evaluation, but something that is deeply rooted in your core. He wants to rip your chest open and to pull your heart out. He wants the slowly pull away the thorns that pierce your heart and kiss the wounds. He desperately wants to mend your internal wounds and hold you until you fall asleep in his arms.

“Where’s the file?” You ask him, the tears now gone from your eyes. A slow and ragged breath leaves his mouth, unable to look away from your remarkable face. You snap your fingers in his face, irritation blossoming inside your chest.

“Oh, right,” Caleb recovers. He lays his hand on your lower back. Warmth seeps through the thin fabric of your blouse. Despite the anger you felt a minute ago, you can feel your body relax under his touch. You can tell that he notices it too when his cocky smile returns to his face. You tear your gaze away from his, heat tingling your ears from embarrassment.

He leans down to whisper something in your ear but you turn your head away, not wanting to hear anything else from him. Thankfully, he catches on and straightens his posture.

The office is foreign to you. Many hallways lead in different directions. People in uniforms turn left and right, catching you off guard as Caleb pulls you out just in time before you collide with them. They barely look up from the papers in their hands or leave their conversation to say sorry or apologize.

Caleb swiftly guides you through the floor. The two of you weave and bob through the organized chaos. People stop and salute Caleb as he passes by. He nods in their direction, his charming smiling disappearing as he puts his Colonel mask back on.

He opens a door and reveals an almost empty interrogation room. There’s no two way mirror nor are there the usual cameras in the corner. At least, that’s what you’ve seen on your favorite television show. You step inside, flinching when the door slams closed, the faint click of a lock making goosebumps form all over your skin.

“No need to be nervous, Caleb says, sitting down into one of the chairs at the metal table. He spreads his legs open, making himself comfortable. He looks up at you, gesturing to the chair in front of him. You hesitate, having to force your eyes to look away from his legs, and sit in the chair beside him.

The table only has a few items. Caleb takes off his hat, placing it near the edge. He plucks off his gloves, taking his time since you’re watching him, and set them on top of his hat. In the center sits a neat stack of papers with a few pens and pencils on top. Beside that is an audio recorder with an attached set of earbuds.

“You know how to be discreet, right?” Caleb asks. You sneak a glance at him, throwing a bit of side eye, before picking up the audio recorder.

Ha. Do you know to be discreet…how do you think I got through high school? I was discreet with my hatred of your beloved pipsqueak

“I’ll manage,” you cooly respond.

You already know the drill.

You put on the headphones, you write down whatever it is the people on the other side are talking about, and you hand your work over to Darryl.

Except…Darryl isn’t here. Caleb is.

And you aren’t at your usual workstation using your computer to type. You’re actually writing these words down. What kind of mission is this?

“Then you know that you’ll be working directly under me for the assignment,” Caleb leans closer to you. You pay no attention to it.

“Will I?” You play coy and look at him, batting your eyelashes at him.

Caleb has to picture Josephine naked to stop the tent from forming in his pants.

“Yes…” his word comes out as a whisper.

“May I know any background on it? You know, for translation sake.” You can feel him slowly draw you in.

Those purple eyes that you quickly get lost in. The way his fragrant cologne smells. The way his canine tooth flashes whenever he smiles.

And that fucking uniform. Fuck me. You think.

“It’s classified,” he breathes back, your faces mere inches from each other. Caleb is so thankful that there are no cameras inside. If this keeps going the way he wants, he’ll have you bent over with your panties in your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Shame,” you quickly quip back. You tear yourself away from Caleb, leaving him hanging in the tension you two created. You grab the earbuds and slide them inside your ears. The first piece of paper is placed in front of you and you opt for the pen, knowing you never make mistakes.

Caleb watches you with close eyes. Your hand moves at a furious pace, swiftly scribbling down the words from the audio file.

He sits up in his chair, resting his elbow on the table beside him, placing his chin on his raised palm. The Colonel’s eyes close and he slowly inhales. That sweet yet spicy scent of apples and cinnamon fill his nostrils. He slowly exhales, hoping that your perfume lingers on his uniform long after you leave.

His eyes open when he hears you switch to a new paper. You slide him the filled one, you fingers grazing against each other, before you continue to write like you have a gun to your head.

Caleb chuckles to himself. He leans to the right. With the slight movement, he’s able to get a better look at your face.

Your brows are pushed together, no more space between the two. The skin below your bottom lip is sucked in, slowly moving back and forth. Are you…eating yourself? Your eyes flit to him for a brief second. Your face relaxes before it immediately returns to its focused state.

You are so beautiful. Even when you focus on the assignment at hand, Caleb can see the dedication you have for the things you love.

He hopes that soon, he’ll be number one on the list of things you care about. Caleb can brag about it to his already minuscule group of friends, showing off the future photos and selfies you’ll take together. He’ll be able to say that you’re his and nobody else’s.

If someone like George were to come in the way of that, well, he’ll deal with them and lock you away so you don’t have to witness it.

“What are you looking at?” You question, not even looking up from the paper. You slide it to him, drawing your hand away before he can touch your delicate skin, to feel just how soft it is even if it was for a fraction of a second.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” His question surprises the both of you. It slipped from his thoughts before he could stop it from escaping. Caleb’s face remains stoic. On the inside, though, he’s screaming at himself for coming off as too strong.

Your pen scratches to the side, destroying the perfect lines you’ve made from transcribed words. The tip of the pen pierces the paper. Black ink pools around the sharp metal tip. Your fingertips turn white from how tight you grip the pen.

Caleb reaches over you, his muscular arm passing in front of your gaze, trapping you in your chair. He grabs the audio recorder, the device looking minuscule compared to how large his hands are. Veins are prominent in his hand, leading up his wrist before disappearing under the fabric of his uniform jacket.

Your gaze starts from the tips of his fingers, gently dragging past his exposed skin and up his dark material of his uniform, sliding up his shoulder, hovering on the bare skin of his neck. The audio recording in your ear pauses. Caleb retracts his arm, hooking his finger under your chin. He eases your eyes the rest of the way up to his.

Your breath hitches. Lips barely parted, your cheeks flush from his touch and how close he is to you. His lips are mere inches from yours.

All it takes is one…gentle…push…

“I asked if you were doing anything tonight,” the raspiness in his voice makes your lower stomach purr. Your eyes fall to his lips. You gnaw the inside of your cheek, slowly leaning closer to him.

“Are you asking me as Caleb? Or as my Colonel?” You whisper.

“Which one will you say yes to dinner with?”

“Hmm…” you quietly hum. You reach out, fingers curling around his uniform’s tie. You give it a firm tug. A low groan emits from Caleb’s throat. You smirk. “Neither.”

Caleb matches your smirk. His hand snakes up your arm. His long, slender fingers wrap around the entirety of your hand. He overpowers your grip and the tie falls free from your hold. He brings your knuckles to his lips. He plants a firm kiss to them, his eyes locked onto yours.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

You push away from the table. Cheeks red, unable to breathe, you step away from him and to the interrogation room door. You tug on the cold door handle, the metal immediately warming due to you body heat. The lock clicks and you shove the heavy hunk of metal forward, escaping into the public eye of the office.

[cinnamqnx]

virtually yours ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

pairing. seishiro nagi x f!reader

summary. you’re not a usually a gamer girl, occasionally playing the sims or roblox, so imagine your surprise when a clip of you & your best friend goes viral for talking shit to who you imagined was a 12 year old kid, but actually a popular streamer with a territorial fan base and of all place, on dress to impress.

warnings. basically just crack & fluff, nagi is a lil toxic at the start, swearing

15 | virtually yours

☁︎. one week later

your heart was beating out your chest, your palms sweaty as you stood in the hallway, waiting for seishiro nagi. he had just finished his football game, and to no one’s surprise, winning the match.

you would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous to meet the rest of his friends, but you couldn’t help if you and nagi wouldn’t click like you had online.

“y/n?”, you whip around, seeing nagi, his hair messy and disheveled after clearly having a shower. and damn, was 10x more attractive in person.

“hi.”, you say breathlessly, not expecting him to literally come up behind you, “where are your friends?”,, you ask, nervously.

he gives you a small smile, “are you more excited to see them than me?”

you raise your brows, “what? no. sorry, i’m just-“, you breathe, “i’m just really nervous.”

“i’ve been nervous all day, too.”, he mutters, running his hand through the side of his hair, “i was worried i wasn’t gonna perform well.”

“are you kidding? you did so well, sei. i’ve never been so invested in football.”, you laugh.

“really?”, he smiles.

you nod, looking up at him. hearing everything you did about nagi, you assumed he might come across more nonchalant, maybe even a bit quiet. that was your main worry when it came to meeting him and thinking your relationship might be different in person.

but, looking up and seeing the pure adoration in his eyes and the nervous expression he had on his face, you knew you never had a thing to worry about.

“so yeah, i don’t really know why i was so worried.”, you say to nagi, sitting across from him on a bench table at the fair, biting into a greasy hotdog he had just bought you.

you didn’t get a reply, looking over to see him staring at you, his hand on his cheek, “what?”

“hm?”, he asks.

“you’re just staring at me, is my rambling boring you?” you smile.

“no, you just look really pretty right now.”, he states as a matter of fact.

“i look pretty stuffing my face with this hotdog?@, you laugh.

“mhmm, you do.”, he smiles.

“shut up.”, you roll your eyes, smiling.

“i was really worried too. i’ve not really ever spoken to a girl like this before.”

“like, at all?”, you ask, surprised. he was a good looking boy, and he’s had no experience?

he shakes his head, “never been interested in anyone, and it always seemed like a hassle when i saw it.”

“and what do you think now?”, you smile, tilting your head at him.

“i still think it’s a hassle.”, he pauses, “but in a good way.”

“a hassle in a good way, hm.”, you repeat, finishing off the rest of your hotdog.

“what do you wanna do next?”, he asks, looking at you intently.

“i wanna go on the rides, obviously.”

“but they make me feel nauseous.”, he whines.

“uh huh, and who asked who to a fun fair?”, you smile at his whiny expression.

he simply sighs, looking back at you. how could he deny you when you’re smiling at him like that?

“now, cmon.”, you stress, getting up and grabbing nagi’s hand, “i don’t wanna wait around in the lines.”, you say, looking up at him with an eager glint in your eye, pulling him with you.

nagi couldn’t help but smile to himself, a month ago he would have never thought he’d be spending valentines with a gorgeous girl who he met on roblox, talking shit to him.

and while it may have caused him a great amount of hassle, he couldn’t be more grateful for it.

navigation. virtually yours

author’s note. i can’t believe this series is finished 😭 i’ve had so much fun writing this and seeing ur comments even if i didn’t get chance to reply :) ur all so funny and have me in hysterics 😭 if you enjoyed this series im hoping you’ll enjoy more fics i have coming in the future!!

taglist: @nensi @yuiearyi @mi2ukiss @pookalicious-hq @shumeow-h @solaqes @jellychannie @kermitbbg69 @pctterheadd @mizuwki @simpingmyassoff @karasu4life @crispynutella @stwberri @lilwx @suksatoru @rwura @ibyobi @renchai @nuhahani @digitaltrippers @natsukicookies @meekydeeks @ursafehaven @tamimemo @yukari1k @chaoslibra @mochiii-sama @cookielovesbook-akie @ningninjas @wallflowerdowned @hannimissesherbackbone @dinnersyummy @appalost @mbyy00 @asteraslvrr @kaz-0e @kascar-chronicle @arwawawa2 @rwbie @haruhi269 @lovessen @kaiserlvr @azharyy @hwaassaa @mikaru0 @sobbangchan @thenightsflower @chuurinnie @appl3-0rchard (closed)

[pearlymel]

A Slow life

ft. sylus. Just comfort in general, they're married, your honor. mention of kids (they have one boy and twin girls mweheheheh) , tiny bit suggestive but fluff. 1.1k words.

It’s late now.

After a long and exhausting day, Sylus made it up for you by drawing a hot bath, full of bubbles and scents you liked (and a few herbs that would help soothe sore muscles according to Mephisto).

Sitting behind you in the tub, Sylus’ large frame pressed against your back. His chin is resting on the top of your shoulder, with his arms wrapped around you as he holds you against his chest.

And you're fairly relaxed. too relaxed until you remember your little troublemakers, “are the kids back?”

“Mm, they’re back,” he murmurs, nuzzling his face into your neck, “they’ll be asleep by now, it’s pretty late.”

He’s just quietly holding you, enjoying the feeling of your body in his arms, the warm water surrounding you both, and you grab a flower petal that had been floating around you.

“You alright?”

"Yeah, just making sure the twins looked after them, I should thank them somehow," you hum with a soft smile playing on your lips.

“I’m sure they’d appreciate that,” Sylus muses, his hand gently rubbing your side, “I’m happy to hear you say that, though,” he adds while burying his face into your hair.

A hand snaked back up to his hair, "You're a cute dad, you know?"

“Don’t know about that,” he huffs, but the sound is a little more embarrassed than usual, “you’re a great mom, though,” his lips slowly trails over the slope of your shoulder. “Our kids are lucky to have you.”

You finally turn your head around, twisting your slightly sore body so you would be able to face him, and you're careful not to splash the water or precious petals out of the tub.

Your hands finds his face, then your lips follow.

He makes a low noise of surprise, but it quickly morphs into a pleased hum as your lips meet his. He gives a gentle pull at your waist, guiding you to shift until you're straddling his lap.

His hands smooth over your body, large hands roaming down your waist to settle on your hips, holding you snugly in his lap.

"Hey," it's hard not to smile, especially when you know that Sylus is only like this for you.

Sylus chuckles, “hey back,” he murmurs, he still holds you steady, hands moving to your hips to keep you from wobbling, but he also moves a finger to lazily feel the strands of your hair between his fingertips.

"We were supposed to relax."

“You know how hard it is for me to relax while you’re in my lap?” he drawled.

You squint your eyes, "I can feel that, idiot."

“Oh, can you?” He grins, “mm, my apologies,” he sighs almost dramatically, “Guess I can’t help it, sweetie.”

Your pinch his cheeks playfully in return, "behave. we still might have to bake something for the twins."

Sylus’ lips turned down in an almost sulky look. The pinch actually makes him pout, something he would never admit to (that would take away from his big bad onychinus leader image.)

“I’ll behave.” he grumbles, “for now.”

"Be good. For now." you repeat.

Sylus raises an eyebrow, “I’m usually good,” his arms wraps around your waist again when he notices you leaning closer.

Your husband can be silly sometimes.

Your lips are on his skin, lazily whispering, "you bring me comfort."

He huffs a low laugh. but the way he’s holding you, he knows that you can hear the truth in his voice, even though he’s trying to sound sarcastic and witty. He knows that you could feel everytime he comforted you in a way.

He loves being your comfort. Being your safe place. Your anchor.

"But seriously I..." you rub your cheek against his shoulder, "you're everything."

“Mm,” he hums. likewise, he wanted to whisper.

You blink slowly, and Sylus can already see the telltale signs of your drowsiness, “you’re not allowed to fall asleep in the bath, honey.”

You lift your head up, "would you carry me out if I did?”

“Of course I would. ”

"Dry me? Clothe me comfortably?"

“Clothe you, tuck you into bed,” he hums, leaning back to grab the fluffy, soft towel he had prepared, and he brings it up to gently pat at your skin and hair.

“And get in bed with you,” he adds, his voice turning into a quiet murmur.

"Hold me tight?" you add on sleepily.

“Keep you safe, watch over you,” he carefully tries sitting you up, to carry you out so he could properly dry you.

You yawn, "and the kids..."

“I’d make sure they were okay, too. Then I’d crawl into bed with you, hold you while you slept.”

…

You wake up feeling surprisingly refreshed, and more importantly, well-rested. Sylus made sure you actually did sleep, and he held you through the night, just as he’d promised.

As your senses adjust, you’re first aware of the pleasant warmth seeping into your back. He’s pressed up against you, as close as possible, an arm slung lazily over your waist.

"Sy.." you were about to mumble, but you still listen to how deep in sleep he was, so you let him rest, even sacrificing his arm under your head. what a loving husband.

His breathing is steady and quiet behind you, and every so often—particularly if you start to move—he’ll tighten his hold on your waist, pulling you back snugly against him again.

"Sylus," you whisper, turning around slowly, carefully making sure not to bother him.

That is, until he feels the soft brush of your fingertips against his skin. It’s a barely-there touch, but it’s enough to stir him, he gives a low groan, lips giving a small frown as his half-lidded crimson eyes follow towards your hand.

You giggle quietly, he's so adorable when he frowns in his sleep like that.

“…What are you doing?” He asks with a slight morning rough voice.

"Watching you."

“You know that’s a little weird, right?” He pretends to be annoyed, but if he was fully awake, then you'd see those pink hued cheeks.

"Go back to sleep, honey." you peck his forehead before gently stroking his hair, as if trying to lull him back to sleep.

He’ll deny it, but he loves when you play with his hair.

This is his favorite way to wake up. To open his eyes and find you there, your hand running through his hair, fingers tracing his scalp.

He leans into your touch as he gives another low hum of contentment, the sound vibrating against your neck.

[covenofagatha]

Practice makes perfect (Part 2)

Tell me it's all wrong 'til it gets to me

Some inspo from this brainworm

Word count: 4k

Warnings: g!p reader, Agatha is even meaner, degradation kink, humiliation kink, titjob, oral, reader once again is a walking HR violation, slight praise kink, one spank, fingering, sex, think this is it?

“Everyone have a good night?” Rio asks the next morning during breakfast. 

You’re spooning vanilla yogurt into a bowl and trying not to think about how much it reminds you of your cum dripping out of Agatha’s pussy. “I had a great night,” you answer, feeling everyone’s eyes turn to you, especially Agatha, who’s standing right next to you. “Um, yeah, Agatha and I actually had sex.” 

Rio snorts, as do a few other people in the room. You’ve gotten so used to no one taking you seriously that you like to play around and see what you can get away with. Whether it’s a truth or a lie, they don’t care because you blur the lines so often.

If only they knew how true that was, though. 

“So classy,” Rio says and you can almost hear her roll her eyes before she leaves the buffet to go find a table.

“Oh, don’t worry!” you call after her. “Agatha really liked it. It was all her idea.” Rio doesn’t even look back. If you weren’t the boss’s daughter, you’re sure you would’ve been fired at least four dozen times from just this summer. 

Agatha remains unfazed as she snatches the yogurt spoon from your hand. “You fucking wish. Never in a million years,” she retorts calmly and you giggle. 

She spends the rest of the day seemingly trying to get you back for that stunt: she salaciously licks yogurt off the spoon. She wears a shirt that dips a little too low and shows off the edge of her red bra. She looks up at you through her perfect eyelashes when you ask her if you can sit next to her at the table and she laughs cruelly after she says no. 

Or she’s doing everything she usually does and you’re just reading into it because you’re obsessed with her.

But when you find her in the pool alone after breakfast, wearing a two piece black bikini, it’s hard to believe that she’s not at least teasing you a little. You stand on the edge absolutely agape, your cock making an obvious tent in your pants. She smirks and gets out and walks over to you.

Water droplets cascade down the smooth expanse of her pale stomach and your mouth runs dry. You can see her nipples through her wet top and heat flashes through your body. Your head starts to spin. 

You whisper her name before she flicks water on your shirt and reaches down to pat your cock roughly. Your hips jolt forward and a muffled groan leaves your mouth and she snickers. 

“I’m surprised that didn’t make you cum,” she says but her tone makes it clear that she's still holding out hope you’ll embarrass yourself again.

“Built up my stamina these past few nights,” you retort. 

She scoffs. “Yeah, you really showed me yesterday. How long did you last? Not even a second?” 

“Okay, maybe the first time, but can you blame me after how worked up I was? And I lasted longer the second time,” you protest and she mockingly pouts. 

“Aw, poor you,” she tuts and you hate how it goes right to your cock. Her gaze drops down again to watch you strain more against your pants and there’s a devilish glint in her eyes when she looks back up. “I was right, you know. I knew you wouldn’t be able to last, I knew you were too fucking incompetent. You’re more pathetic than a common whore.” 

You whimper and clutch onto her arm with tight fingers because it’s the only way you can resist touching herself. 

She regards you pawing at her with the utmost disgust. “You’re so fucking dirty,” she snarls and heat swirls around your head and your knees almost buckle. Your cock is pulsing, growing, swelling—she’s going to get exactly what she wants. She knows it too. 

“Fuck, Agatha, please—” Your whines are pitiful and desperate and you look at her with the best puppy-dog eyes you can muster. 

Her voice lowers even more. “God, look at you. What a fucking embarrassment.” 

Your stomach muscles tighten. 

“What would your dad think if he saw you like this?” 

You hump nothing and hiss at the feeling of the rough fabric against your erection and her smile is wicked.

“What would any of them think if they saw you drooling over a woman twice your age? If they saw you harder than a teenager just because I told you how pathetic you are? You’re nothing more than a bitch in heat, are you?”

Agatha cups your cheek with a gentleness that stands in stark contrast to her words and you buck your hips again. The sounds falling from your mouth are weak and pleading and you think she’s about to finish you off. 

“You know,” she muses, tone now sweet as honey, “I better go get changed before we have to do whatever your dad has on the schedule for today. But you…you look a little hot right now. I think you need to cool off.” 

Before you can ask what she means—or ask for her to touch you—she grabs your arms, whirls you around, and gently shoves you. 

It feels like you’re falling backwards in slow motion and you feel your jaw drop as you watch her smile. 

You hit the water and you instantly recoil, the cold doing wonders to sober you up. Your erection has practically disappeared by the time you break the surface, gasping for air. 

“What the fuck?” you splutter and she tosses her head back with a laugh. 

Agatha finally shrugs when she stops cackling and you wade to the stairs, teeth chattering. Your clothes are clinging to your shivering body but she just watches in amusement. 

“Wanda!” you shout and your personal assistant comes running out from the house. Her green eyes widen when she sees you in the pool. “Can you get me a towel?” 

Agatha rolls her eyes as Wanda nods quickly. “Of course. Anything else?” 

You shake your head and she speeds off. 

“You don’t need her to tie your shoes?” Agatha quips and you grumble at her to shut up. Your family is rich—of course you’re used to the teasing about having assistants. Even as an intern at the company, you’ve delegated far too much of your work to Wanda and she always does it with no complaints. You’re betting the six figure salary your father pays her keeps her content. 

Wanda comes back with a towel and you snatch it from her when you finally get out of the pool. Agatha walks away without giving you another glance and you can’t help but feel rejected. 

She barely even looks at you the rest of the morning and then your dad calls his executive staff into a meeting for the whole afternoon so you lay on your bed, bored out of your mind. It’s the last day of the vacation and of course he wants to spend it getting ready for the next quarter. 

It’s tempting to jack off or to use the flashlight that’s sitting in your nightstand drawer, and you do try, but neither your hand nor the toy even comes close to how Agatha’s cunt feels so you give up with a huff. 

That night, you go to her room in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. You’re not willing to take the chance that she’ll come to yours because you don’t actually know what’s going on between you. She is so fucking confusing. 

You flirt with her, she always shoots you down, and then she makes you fuck a fleshlight before she takes your virginity? The point of it was to prove that you wouldn’t last inside her, and she was technically correct. So does that mean this is all over?

Not if you have anything to say about it. And there was her stunt by the pool earlier, so clearly she’s not done yet either. 

Knocking rhythmically and quietly on her door, you keep your eyes peeled down the hallway just to make sure no one sees. You joking about having sex with general counsel might be fine because no one believes you, but it would be much harder to cover this up.

Agatha opens it a few moments later in a matching purple pajama set and lets out an exasperated sigh. Her glasses are pushed up on her forehead and you can see her laptop on her bed. 

You slip past her into the room without waiting for her approval and make a beeline for the scotch, pouring yourself two fingers of it. 

“Come back for more humiliation?” she taunts and you feel your stomach twist. “Think you’re a big girl because you managed to stick your cock into one person one time?” 

“You know,” you say, draining a glass without even wincing at the burn of the alcohol and turning around to point at her, “that was all your idea. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you want me just as much as I want you.” 

Agatha raises an eyebrow and her gaze drops to the tent in your boxers. “I don’t think that’s possible,” she retorts dryly. 

You put the glass down and start to advance as she stands her ground firmly. “You didn’t have to fuck me. You didn’t even have to come to my room the first night. But you did. And I know how affected you were last night, you were fucking enjoying yourself.” 

She laughs cynically and rolls her eyes. “Please, honey, I’ve had better sex with my vibrator.” Ignoring the way that causes more blood to rush south—because now you’re thinking about her moaning loudly while falling apart holding a toy against her clit—you smirk. 

“Then why did you fuck me?” 

Her face twitches and she jerks her head to the side. “Take your clothes off and get on the bed.” 

You’d ask again if there was anything on your mind other than your throbbing cock and her hot cunt so you tear off your shirt, shove off your boxers, and jump on top of the covers. Your cock is standing straight up, oozing precum onto your stomach and twitching against nothing. 

“God, you’re fucking pathetic,” Agatha hisses and you hump the air, a strangled whimper leaving your mouth. “All it takes is a few words and you’re leaking for me.” 

She unbuttons her blouse again and you don’t think you’ll ever get bored of the sight of her tits, perky and supple and rose-colored nipples that you need in your mouth. She slides down her shorts and your breathing quickens, feeling heat flush through your neck and upper chest. 

“Agatha, please,” you whine. Agatha scoffs and climbs on the bed next to you on her knees and slips a hand between her legs. You stare, open-mouthed, panting, as she works at her clit. “Wait…can I?” 

Her hips jolt and you think you can hear her groan through her clamped lips. “You want to—what? Fumble around incompetently? Think you can even find my clit?” 

You nod urgently while your cock pulses and another spurt of precum dribbles out. “I want to, please,” you gasp, “I want to taste you.” 

“Fine. Try not to cum immediately again,” she snaps without any of her usual bite and moves so she’s laying next to you, her legs spread open. 

Situating yourself, you feel the air get kicked out of you when you get your first good look at her pussy. 

Agatha is fucking soaked. Her cunt glistens, lips swollen and pink and almost fused together, and you can see her clit peeking out at the top. Your mouth is watering and your cock gets harder if possible. You can’t resist lowering your hips to the bed so you can get some pressure on it. 

“Holy fuck,” you breathe in awe. “You’re so wet.” 

“Are you actually going to do anything or just stare?” she says, tone laced with venom. “Maybe you should call your assistant, I know she does everything else for you cause you’re too incompetent.” 

You whimper and grind onto the bed, cock throbbing, shaking your head with wide eyes. You can do this.  

She purses her lips. “That’s too bad. She could probably actually get me to cum.” 

Heat tears through you and you surge forward with a vengeance, licking roughly up her cunt and she hisses before roughly grabbing your hair. 

“Slow down,” she barks and you mumble an apology before flattening your tongue and gently dragging it through her folds. “Better.” 

You say something that’s muffled by her pussy and you hump the bed faster because she squeaks when you rub your tongue against her clit. 

She swears under her breath and you can’t even focus anymore because of the dizziness in your head and the aching in your cock. The taste of her has overwhelmed your mouth and your nose and you’re sloppily devouring her while she tries and fails to stop her hips from rolling. 

“I can’t—fuck—Agatha, I’m gonna—” You can feel your stomach tightening, can feel your cock pulsing, and you know you’re about to cum from grinding on the bed and eating her out. 

Instead of mocking you, she growls and yanks you up by the hair until you’re practically straddling her stomach. Tendrils of precum pool on her skin and you swallow roughly. 

“Since you’re going to be fucking useless until you get off,” she sighs and grips your hips to pull you up even higher. Your cock drags against her, leaving a sticky trail in your wake and you have to put a hand out on the headboard to catch yourself when you realize what she’s doing. 

Your cock rests between her tits and she lifts her head up to spit on you and your hips jerk forward. The mess of her saliva and your precum is driving you absolutely crazy and you begin rutting against her. 

Her fingers dig into your ass and help you move and your cock fits perfectly in the crook between her boobs. You hold onto the headboard, panting while you look down at her, and there’s a heat in her eyes that you only see at work—when she gets exactly what she wants. 

“God, you’re pathetic,” she says without any of her usual malice. The pink from her cheeks has spread down her chin and to her upper chest that your cock is dragging against. “Can’t do anything for yourself so you need me, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” you choke out, your thrusts becoming shorter. The stickiness is making you throb and your grunts get louder.

Agatha spanks you and you shudder, your cock pumping out a spurt of precum, and then she lets go of your ass to push her breasts together so her soft, supple tits are wrapped around your hard cock and you sharply inhale. 

But then she leans down and flicks her tongue out against the tip of your cock and you can’t hold it back anymore. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck—I can’t—fuck,” you babble before your cock explodes, drenching the bottom of her face and the top of her chest in white. She lets out a gasp at the feeling of your seed on her skin and the sight of her covered in you makes one last strand of cum squirt out. 

You slouch back while your cock twitches and Agatha drags two fingers through the mess on her clavicle before stuffing them in your mouth. She looks delighted when you make a surprised sound before grabbing your hair and pulling you down and making you clean up your cum. 

“Good girl,” she purrs when you’re all done and then nudges you back down between her legs. The praise makes your stomach grow warm—apparently you like that just as much as the degradation. “Think you can focus now?” 

Nodding eagerly, you look at her pussy and your mouth falls open. She’s dripping onto the bed, folds spread open, and you can see her throbbing. 

This time, there’s no hesitation in putting your mouth on her and you moan lasciviously at her taste. Your eyes dart up to watch her face as you dip your tongue inside her and curl it and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. 

But then you lick back up and suck on her clit and she can’t help the audible groan that escapes her. The sound makes your cock pulse and you can already feel yourself starting to grow hard again. 

“Keep doing that,” she orders and you double your efforts, lashing your tongue against her clit and then sucking and her head falls back. “Two fingers inside me, now.” 

Her walls instantly bear down around you and you whimper, the vibrations making her hips roll. She is so warm and so hot and you never want to leave her cunt. 

“Fuck me harder, god, you’re useless,” she hisses but it quickly turns into another moan when you thrust in deeply and curl them until you find the spot that makes her clench. Your slurping noises, along with her sounds of pleasure, are going straight to your cock and you start to grind against the bed gently for some stimulation. 

“You like this,” you say into her cunt and she violently shakes her head while beginning to ride your face and fingers. Her walls are gripping you, trying to drag you in as deep as you can go, and you can feel every ridge and groove when you fuck her. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want me.” 

She yanks on your hair and you moan. “Stop fucking talking,” she seethes and you chuckle, the vibrations reverbrating against her pussy and making her whimper. You think she might actually be getting somewhere. “Good thing I brought my vibrator because I’m going to be needing it after you—fuck—”

You suck on her clit roughly and her voice breaks off. She’s grinding harder on you, drenching your face and fingers, and she’s fucking panting. So are you, right against her pussy and your stomach flexes to keep your steady rhythm of humping the bed going strong. Your jaw and wrist are burning but from the way she’s clenching furiously around your fingers, she’s getting close. 

And you know that if you stop right now, Agatha would never let it go. 

So you keep doing exactly what you’re doing and her hips start to falter and her breathing gets heavier. 

“God, you’re such a slut, whoring yourself out to a woman twice your age,” she groans. “You’re so pathetic, fuck—”

Her hands scramble and tug on your hair and you’re about to make a snarky comment on how she’s just so desperate for your cum when she grabs onto your hard and leaking cock and angles it at her entrance. 

You barely have time to breathe before her legs hook around your waist. “Don’t you dare cum,” she warns and you huff out a laugh before pushing into her wet cunt. 

Agatha’s walls grip your cock and you freeze, your head dropping down to rest on her tits and you pant open-mouthed against her skin before sucking on her nipple. Her hips arch up to get you deeper inside and you let out a lewd moan. She feels so good and you can feel her throb around you. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whine, your cock twitching. It’s such a different angle from her being on top of you and you love it. You start to move slowly, just to hold off your impending orgasm. 

You can see everything—the way her tits bounce with each thrust, the way her hair is sprawled out underneath her, the slight sheen of sweat on her chest, the bulge your cock makes in her stomach. 

“Agatha, Agatha, fuck, please, I’m gonna—fuck, please, I can’t,” you cry, your cock pulsing rapidly inside her. She clenches around you with each thrust and she bites her bottom lip roughly to control her sounds. 

“Wait, just wait, don’t cum yet,” she groans, strangled and needy, and you know you’re about to cum but you’re desperate to make her cum before you do. 

So you reach between your bodies and find her clit and furiously start to rub at it and she moans. “Tell me,” you order, “tell me that I’m making you feel good.” 

She laughs breathlessly. “You think because you’re on top, you’re in charge? Honey, you can’t do anything without me. You’re so pathetic that you only get this hard for me, right? Tell me that.” Her words are getting tighter and you duck back down to swirl your tongue around her nipple. 

“Just you, Agatha,” you murmur and she shivers from your hot breath. Tension is building in your cock and your stomach and your back and you thrust harder because you need her to cum. “I only want you, fuck, it’s always been you.” 

And then she keens, eyes rolling back in her head, and her cunt spasms around you. You feel a gush of wetness and you groan weakly before pumping her full of thick, hot cum. She gasps when she feels your seed paint her walls white and you collapse on top of her while your cock spurts out a few more loads into her. 

“You finally did one thing right,” she quips after a few moments and you laugh before nipping at the curvature of her breasts. 

“That’s the best performance review I’ve ever gotten,” you say, and once you’re fully soft, you pull out of her and sit up on your knees to spread her folds open. 

Your cum oozes out and your cock twitches at the sight and she gasps and squirms. She reaches down and swipes through the mess leaking out of her and then shoves her fingers into your mouth. 

The taste of both of you makes you whimper and she swallows roughly. You move back down of your own accord and slowly drag your tongue through her folds, getting your mixture all over your mouth. You steadily clean your cum out of her while holding eye contact and her struggle to remain composed would make you hard again if you hadn’t already cum twice in the span of about fifteen minutes. 

You make sure to lick her clit a few times and she writhes underneath you, stifling her sighs. Her cunt is a mess by the time you’re done, swollen and pink and still wet and she tugs you away because the stimulation has finally gotten to be too much. 

Flopping onto the bed next to her, you lick your lips and wonder what it would be like to kiss Agatha. You turn to look at her to find her eyes already on you. 

“What happens tomorrow?” you whisper and her gaze flickers down to your mouth. “When we go back.” 

Agatha sighs and gets out of bed, finding her pajamas on the floor and putting them back on. “We never speak of this again. And that means no more little jokes.”

It stings but you smirk to deflect. “Afraid someone will think the great Agatha Harkness deigned to fuck the boss’s daughter? That’s like, reverse sleeping up the corporate ladder. They’d probably applaud your charity. Or—you know what? I bet they’d be jealous. Everyone wants a piece of me, you know. Too bad general counsel already tamed this tiger.” You bite at her playfully and she snorts before fixing you with a serious stare. 

“This never happened,” she says solemnly and you nod. But before you can ask if you should leave, she lays back down next to you and her hand brushes against yours. You stiffen, but don’t pull away and her touch lingers.  

You lay so still, trying to breathe as quietly as you possibly can, so maybe she’ll let you stay. 

Her hand doesn’t move from yours the entire night. 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs

[maniculum]

This resonates with me as my extended family has a similar fixation on preserving family names — though they’re not as creative with it, I have to say. There’s no Roy-Emmet-Jack rotation or first-syllable approach, just “well whose name hasn’t been passed on to the next generation? great, that’s the baby’s name now.” And nobody’s as bad off as poor Breathnach Thomas.

I have a couple cousins with unusual or old-fashioned names that get funny looks — I’ve had multiple exchanges along the lines of “your cousin WHO? did you mean [more common name that kinda rhymes with what I said]?” “no i did not.” A bunch of us go by our middle names for one reason or another. Two of my cousins-once-removed have entirely normal, common first names that I genuinely don’t remember because they’ve been referred to by their middle names since infancy despite those middle names sounding like last names. I have one cousin whose first & middle names are both common but also firmly gendered in different directions: I won’t dox them, but it’s along the lines of “Frederick Jane Lastname” because there was a traditionally-female name that needed to be given to someone and the only available baby was AMAB. My sibling ended up joining the “go by the middle name that sounds like a last name” crew a while back, but that was for gender reasons.

I’ve got one of the more inconvenient-for-paperwork names, actually, which I’ll explain under a cut because I ended up going on a bit.

See, my grandfather was named after his maternal grandfather. And his mother had changed her name when she got married, but wanted to give her son his grandfather’s full name, so he ended up with two middle names. Firstname Middlename Maidenname Lastname. Nobody really liked the sound of “Firstname”, though, so he always went by Maidenname Lastname. Then he named his son the same thing, who named his son the same thing, so I’m Firstname Middlename Maidenname Lastname III. All of us agree that Firstname isn’t a good one, so we all go by variants of Maidenname Lastname. (Which means we’re all also on Team “Middle Name That Sounds Like A Last Name Used As A First Name”.)

The maiden name in question — I’ve almost certainly mentioned on the podcast what “Mac” is short for, but rather than dox myself in a text post, let’s say it’s “McKenzie”. Convenient in that it contains two syllables that are at least semi-normal names. So my grandfather always shortened it to “Mac”, and then to differentiate, rather than use one of the other surplus names, my father went by [not actually] “Ken”. My father once told me that he pitched the idea of using the last syllable for me (not actually “Zie”, but something else that in no way passes as a standard name) but was vetoed, so I’ve always been another Mac.

You would be surprised how many forms, both physical and electronic, are against the idea of two middle names. I’ve seen my second middle name squished into my first middle name to make a single word, or hyphenated with my last name, or just deleted — which is unfortunate because it’s the one I actually use. (I fully agree with my father & grandfather that “McKenzie Lastname” is the best-sounding use of our nomenclature inventory.) So I’m constantly explaining to various bureaucrats that yes, this thing that says “Mac” is referring to me, I know your system says my name is Firstname, but I go by my middle name (a practice that is in itself apparently less common than i always thought growing up) — it’s short for McKenzie — yes, I know that your system doesn’t say my middle name is McKenzie, it wasn’t designed to handle four-part names and just deleted that one — yes i’ll hold.

When I was younger, I wanted to change my name to get away from the problem — my idea was to just chop off both the first name and the last name, then I’d have the entirely normal-sounding Middlename McKenzie — but never got around to it, mostly because I was also worried that a name change could just multiply my paperwork complications. Once I’d committed to an academic career, though, I kind of came around on it, because if I just use the first two names as initials, “X. X. McKenzie Lastname” turns out to look pretty good as an author name on papers & such.

The latest paperwork issue has been how this interacts with my current employer’s “preferred name” form. It doesn’t let you enter a full preferred name (like “X. X. McKenzie Lastname”) and say “okay use that one”, and it doesn’t have a “just use my middle name for everything” option. So it turns out that the only way HR could get the system to call me “McKenzie Lastname” was to tell the computer my name was actually McKenzie Middlename McKenzie Lastname. I’ve decided to live with it.

Random question, could you give some ideas on Irish names your family may have in the 1950-60s? I got a character with an Irish grandpa with 9 brothers and sisters (3 brothers and 6 sisters) and I only got the oldest sister name (soairse) and his name (Caine). I guess I could just name the rest some form of jack and Margret since those seem to be popular, but I wanted to see if there were some “interesting” names you found in your family tree that maybe one of the siblings got named after some ancestor?

Firstly for the sake of clarity: I'm American, not Irish. All of my ancestors for the last 4-5 generations have lived here, and while I like learning about the language/music/culture, I am absolutely not an expert. I HIGHLY recommend getting a sensitivity reader, I'm sure someone in the comments can wave at you if they're willing to take on the job.

Second, Triple-check the spelling, pronunciation, meaning and provenance of any names you do choose, and ABSOLUTELY DO NOT TRUST ANY BABY NAME WEBSITES, they're basically all AI slop at best. The best written-down lists and meanings are actually on Wikipedia.

Third: If you want to learn more Irish names, you can look up the names of like, any Irish musician or artist. I think spotify still has Genre Playlists, if you look up "Irish Folk" you'll get a shitload of names of Real Irish people- and hey, if Hirohiko Akari can name all his characters after 80's pop bands, you can make a subtle ref to modern musicians. Also you'll get a bunch of fun music! --- So while I was writing this, I somewhat departed from the intent of this response, and am putting the last point under a cut because the post got long. And weird.

So there is a thing in Irish-american families, and I think it's true in the British isles still where there are "Family Names", where the same set of first names is recycled over and over and over across generations. My dad's family has exactly three male names that they rotate through over the generations: Roy, Emmet and Jack*. In that order, where the son takes the father's first name as his middle name. My great-grandfather was Roy Jack Surname, my grandfather was Emmet Roy Surname, and my dad is Jack Emmet. My sister and I were AFAB, so the names skipped us and my male cousin in my generation is now Roy Jack. In the event that there are more than three living men with the same surname in the family, that's when they start reaching for the Given Names Of In-Laws We Like and might introduce a new name into the lineup.

*Names changed for privacy above and hereafter, but you get the idea.

So if any of your characters are descendants of that grandpa? They may share a first or middle name with one of his siblings. in fact, they may share the SAME first and middle name with a living relative, and be called "Junior" or "Young Firstname" to distinguish them from the relative they were named after.

My mom's family is from England and has a similar tradition: any new girl born into that family gets a name that is based on the name of one of her living female relatives, usually by sharing the same first letter or syllable. Elanor after Eloise, Vivian after Virginia, and also Jenny after Virgnia via 'Ginny' and every variation of Margret ever, which there are way more of than you'd think.

I cannot recommend doing what they did with Male names though: Name literally every boy Bob* for like five generations, and distinguish individuals by middle name (Bob-Howard and Bob-Benjamin) surname (Bob-Jones and Bob-Bailey) or Honorific (Captain Bob, Dr. Bob, Bob Jr.) when yelling out the kitchen window.

Most families have to good sense to not have the same name repeated in a generation, even if it has a shitload of nicknames. A mother and daughter might both be Margrets (with different nicknames), but two sisters or cousins wouldn't be.

If you've got in-laws you like, but their surname didn't carry over to their kids, you can also just use their surname as a first name! "Regan" is a first and last name, as are Riley and Bailey. This works out in some cases but not in others:

I have a pretty rare surname- last time I checked, there's only 14 people with it worldwide. It's similar to two other VERY COMMON Irish Surnames, but spelled different and from a different region. It's also Very Definitely A Surname- nobody would see my surname alone and think its a firstname.

Since I don't want to bandy it about, we'll pretend that it's "Breathnach", which has a similar vibe.

My Iowa family is Enormous and all descended from my Great-Aunt Lilyanne, Emmet-Roy's sister. Being a good catholic girl, Lillyanne took her husband's surname when she married, and most of her descendants still have that surname, and none have Breathnach.

After the last of my grandfathers grandchildren were born my Iowa family was sad- all but one of Emmet-Roy's grandchildren was female, and my male cousin has his father's surname. Assuming that we would all marry and take our spouses names, the Iowa family despaired that that the Breathnach name would die out!

So one of my second cousins decided that she would Carry On The Family Name, by giving it to the son she was carrying as a Firstname.

Yeah.

Being "Breathnach Surname" is bad enough, but this was compounded by the fact that the Iowa family's surname is Thomas.

YEAH.

My poor cousin Beathnach Thomas, who always has to re-do his paperwork because NOBODY ever puts the names in the correct boxes, who had his first name printed on every jersey he ever had because the uniform place went "that can't be right!", who cant buy his own beer because he's had so many drivers licenses confiscated because liquor store owners and bartenders think his ID is a fake, who has to not only spell his name to everyone he meets, but explain it too.

Then I made it worse.

I ran into cousin Beathnach in Bozeman, Montana quite by accident a few years ago, and while catching up, I mentioned that I was married.

"You know, it's a real hassle, but I'm kind of glad I've got the name I do. I'd heard you sister changed her name, and now with you married- I'd be sad to think we were running out of Breathnachs, you know?" he laughed.

I had to explain.

I married the most wonderful man in the world, who has an extremely common first and last name. Which was kind of a problem, because he shares it with some truly rotten people that always come up during background checks and he has have to explain he's not THAT asshole. It also sounds like and is only a letter or two off a lot of other very common names so his mail is constantly sent awry.

My husband will shortly abandon his too-common-for-comfort surname and become the newest Breathnach, taking the total to 15 (the paperwork takes a while).

...So the name lives on through us anyway, and poor cousin Breathnach Thomas went through all that for no reason. He got very quiet, got up from the table and walked outside to the veranda of the restaurant we were in to stare into the picturesque scenery for a while.

"Well, it's not like people change their first names..." he sighed, when he returned to the table.

"...You know how my sister changed her name? She only changed her first name. She's still a Breathnach." I explained quietly.

I've never seen a man look so haunted.

"I know lots of people who've changed their first names, actually. Mostly for transgender reasons, but a bunch because they just didn't like the one they were given." I added, because if he's going to get his world turned over, it's best to flip it all at once.

His brow furrowed at the ponderous speed of a continental collision, approaching the idea with caution. "...I'll have to think about it."

It's been about a year, but since then, I'll get a text from him every few weeks, auditioning a new given name. I do my best to be fair- I give him the meanings of those names, how they're likely to be misconstrued (some are tolerable annoyances, some pose a safety risk), and if he'd be sharing that name with anybody notable or troublesome. The first few were clearly based on Breathnach, but he began to branch out, and the trend of names has indicated that the idea of Naming Himself is causing my cousin to examine himself, and come to some Realizations (TM).

I realize I have gotten completely off-topic from your actual ask, but I urge you to really get into the nuance of nomencalture, because a name can tell a fascinating story.

[sinmartini]

"feels so right but it's just so wrong." // red!clark kent

notes: MDNI 18+ summary: clark kent is usually such a nice guy. what's gotten into him? wc: 1714 warnings: red!clark, face fucking with fingers, implications of oral (m receiving), clark being arrogant, pet names, fem!reader, not proofread.

“You are being so annoying,” Red!Clark told you, rolling his eyes as he tucked himself further into the couch settled in the loft. He had been acting so strange all day, completely unlike the best friend you knew and loved. There was a slight attitude in his tone, irritation radiating off of him, and pelting you with nearly everything that had come out of his mouth. It was almost like you were a human punching bag today; if an unkind thought passed through his head, he was more than willing to say it to you.

“What?” You snapped at him, finally nearing the breaking point. Your eyes pointed up at him, shifting your head in his lap to get a better look at you. It wasn’t uncommon to lay your head on his lap, the rest of your body taking up the other end of the couch. Actually, Clark typically liked it when you two did this together. Even though you were just best friends, there was an intrinsic need for you two to be in touch all the time. Hand holding, platonic cuddling, hugs that lasted a minute too long. Today, though… Today he looked frustrated by the way you were clinging to him, the physical touch he had once loved from you be damned. 

Not only had you just experienced something completely terrible, with Clark swooping in to save you at the last minute yet again, but he was being such a jerk.

“I just never realized how needy and clingy you are. What you did back there was dangerous too. Don’t you have any inkling for self preservation?” Clark’s words were one thing, but his actions were indicative of another as he gently stroked his fingers through your hair. 

Was he wrong? Not really. You were needy and clingy when it came to him, but that’s how it’s always been with the two of you. Hell, he was just as clingy most of the time. That’s what came along with knowing his secret; being one of the only people who actually knew the real Clark Kent. 

“Clark, you know I’d do anything for a story. The Daily Planet isn’t going to promote me if I only write boring headlines. I thought that’s why we work so well together? I can bust a crime ring and you’re always there to swoop in.” You were trying to reason with him now, get to the bottom of what was really going on inside of his head. Ever since this morning, it was like Clark had been stripped from all his inhibitions, most of the qualities that made Clark… Well, Clark, had somehow disappeared.

“Good writers can make a story out of anything,” Clark noted, his fingers still stroking through your hair. “They don’t have to put themselves in constant danger and despair to write a think piece.”

“You don’t think I’m a good writer?” You asked him, trying to lift your head from his thigh, needing to create some space between you and your best friend before he could say something that might kill your spirits all together.

“You could be better,” Clark shrugged, his shoulders lifting and collapsing in one cohesive motion as disinterest flickered across his face. You could tell he was done with the conversation now, dishing out that he didn’t think you were that great at what you do, then ready to move on like you weren’t going to have more questions for him.

It wasn’t often that you cried in front of Clark. On the off chance that you did cry in front of him, it was for good reason, and Clark had never made you cry. Until now. The tears that threatened the corner of your waterline were mortifying, and the more you tried to blink them away, the quicker they began formulating. 

Once more, you tried to move yourself off of his lap, but Clark held you in place. Finally, he looked down at you, his facial expression shifting from disinterest to amusement when he saw the tears spilling down your cheeks. There was no way you could have missed the way his lips curled up, just enough to show he enjoyed the sight of you messy on his lap. And there was absolutely no way to miss the way his eyes shimmered with delight, darkening at the sight of your bottom lip quivering.

“You’re crying? C’mon, it wasn’t that mean,” Clark scoffed as his hand found its way from your hair to your chin, holding your face between his thumb and his forefinger. Vulnerability flooded through you as Clark examined every aspect of your face with such intensity, you wanted to shrink under his gaze.

As you opened your mouth, trying to find the words to let Clark know he had been hurting your feelings all day, it wasn’t just this offhand comment that was contributing to your tears, a small sob released from your chest. The words didn’t come out, only heavier breathing and more tears.

“So fussy,” Clark said, his voice sultry and thick as he gently stroked his pointer finger from your chin to your mouth, placing it between your lips and forcing you to open up. You didn’t know why you were being so compliant with it, but Clark pushed his forefinger and middle finger into your mouth, pressing harshly on the middle of  your tongue and you couldn’t help the moan that stirred. “Let me pacify you.”

Your moans were vibrating off of his fingers as he worked them in and out of your mouth, his gaze fixated on you in a way you had never seen before. It wasn’t just lust that filled it eyes; it was carnal desire, like in this moment he needed you as much as you needed him. At least, that is likely what he wanted you to think.

There was something intrinsically hot about the situation as a whole— you laying there, crying on his lap as he hushed you with his fingers in a way that could be written in an erotica book. Nothing about it felt right, but it didn’t feel wrong either, and you could tell Clark felt the same way by the tent growing underneath his jeans, the length of him pressing against the seat of his pants.

Your mouth salivated at the thought of it, creating more lubricant to slide his fingers in and out of your mouth. His eyes traveled to where you were looking, curious as to what had stopped your tears in their tracks and distracted you. A chuckle, deep from his chest sounded, as he realized how desperate you were for it. Part of him had to know, this whole time, that you wanted him in a way that was less than platonic, right?

“Feels so right but it’s just so wrong,” Clark said, reading your mind as he pushed his fingers in deeper. The tip of his finger hit your gag reflex, causing your head to lurch, but he pushed you back down in his lap. The disinterest that flooded his features less than five minutes ago had completely evaporated, now replaced with sheer and utter amusement.

You were so wet, it was uncomfortable. Your core was dripping with desire, soaking into the cotton of your panties and clinging to you just enough to overwhelm you. With furrowed brows, you tried to talk around Clark’s fingers, and that prior expression of annoyance had returned once more.

“You’re not supposed to be talking, bunny, that’s the point of this. I want you to shut up.” Clark moved his fingers against your tongue once more, pressing and pushing on the insides of your cheeks, carefully grazing the gag reflex every so often in a teasing gesture. He couldn’t help but taunt you, just a bit.

You made a muffled noise, a whine mixed with a moan. Even with his fingers in your mouth, you were still being fussy.

“What?” Clark asked, his tone full of mockery as he offered a sympathetic expression that you knew to be just another one of his taunts. If you weren’t so turned on, you would be trying to figure out what the hell was going on with him, but right now you were too blinded by desire to care— even if that meant Clark was going to mock you the entire time. “You want my cock in your mouth instead? Can’t promise I’ll be nice.”

Your eyes widened and you frantically nodded around his fingers. He didn’t need to see more before he was unbuttoning his pants as you gently lifted your head to allow him to kick them off.

But as soon as Clark’s pants were off, his expression had shifted completely. The mocking expression was now laced with confusion, the evidence of what you were about to get into pressed against the hem of his boxers. 

It was hard for him to look you in the eyes, and you weren’t sure why the sudden shift in demeanor until he asked you, “can you empty out the pockets of my jeans?”

You moved off the couch, picking up his jeans and shuffling through the pockets, feeling silly with the dried tears on your face and Clark’s seeming lack of interest in you now. In the very bottom of his right pocket, there was one ruby earring. You placed it in your palm, showing it to him and that’s when it hit you both.

“Red kryptonite,” Clark said definitively and you thought you could melt right there. His behavior had a reason behind it, yours was driven by pure desire. “I thought it was a ruby earring. I found it at the Talon and was going to turn it into their lost and found.”

“Oh god,” you said, dropping the earring on the floor of the loft. Your feet were moving down the stairs, bolting for the exit before your brain could catch up with you.

Clark stood at the top of the stairs, his half hard dick still swinging in his boxers, “Wait! Let’s talk about this. Please.”

Slowly, with one hand on the door, you turned around to look at him, avoiding looking below the waist. Maybe you two could work things out. In more ways than one.

[elleandstufff]

Being Thanos's Sugar Baby/Trophy Wife... ⁀➴♡

Headcanons about being Thanos’s sugar baby/trophy wife! Hope you all had a great Valentine’s Day! <3

Sugar Daddy!Thanos x fem!sugar baby/trophy wife reader

Warnings: Sugar baby to trophy wife to lovers (is this a trope?), sugar baby/sugar daddy dynamic, no squid game au, jealousy and a lil possessiveness, a little angst but a lot of fluff, idiots in love, addiction, smut, breeding kink, dom!Thanos, eventual domesticity, having babies, he’s just so baby daddy coded, okay? 2k words

About halfway through I completely lose the plot and these become shameless domesticity headcanons because I literally cannot help myself. 

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

♡ Okay, let’s pretend he is actually a huge rapper and never got into the crypto scams, so he has a lot of money! 

♡ You’re a bartender at one of the clubs he frequents. He flirts with you quite often, but you think it’s just him messing around!

♡ Little did you know, he’s had his eye on you for quite some time. He always keeps an eye on you while you’re bartending, making sure that no guys get too handsy with you. If someone does, he takes them outside and gives them a black eye. They’ll never bother you again, that’s for sure. 

♡ One night while you’re closing up, he sees you counting your pitiful tips for the night with a big sigh. He knows there’s no way you can survive comfortably on them :( 

♡ He finally decides to approach you with the proposal he's had on his mind for a while. 

♡ At first you think he’s joking. He wants you to be his sugar baby? You didn’t even know people actually did stuff like that! 

♡ When you realize he’s serious, you’re unsure. You have been struggling financially for a while and he’s super hot, but what would people think… 

♡ He doesn’t need an answer right away. He tells you to think about, and he’s ecstatic when a few weeks later you accept his offer <3

♡ He has you quit your job right away and move into his massive apartment. It’s really weird for you to be living in such a large house, but he’s happy to not have to be alone in his mansion anymore. 

♡ He makes it clear right away that he wants you to call him Su-bong. You’re not just anyone, you’re his girl.

♡ You introduce him to your friends and family early on, but you don’t tell them of the arrangement between you two, obviously. They’re all surprised to see you with someone high profile so suddenly, but they really like him! They can tell you’re being taken care of. 

♡ Going public is scarier, especially because he has some diehard fans, but the response is positive! Everyone thinks you’re really cute together. 

♡ You start sharing a bed with him right away, but he doesn’t pressure you into having sex until you’re ready. 

♡ But when you are ready… this man can’t keep it in his pants. 

♡ Sex in literally every position imaginable. He has a sex positions book on his coffee table (the only book he’ll ever read), and every night the two of you try out a new one. Once you run out, you make new ones up, of course! 

♡ This man does not wear condoms and cannot/will not pull out, so you have to make sure you’re on some heavy duty birth control. Realistically he wants you pregnant as soon as possible, but he knows the two of you aren’t ready yet. 

♡ It’s very important to him that you finish too. Part of being a sugar daddy is taking care of his baby, and that includes sexually! 

♡ You’re always so willing to get on your knees for him and empty his balls, especially if he’s had a long day. He takes such good care of you, so you’re always happy to thank him.

♡ He always affectionately calls you his cocksleeve and then bursts out laughing (which, of course, causes you to laugh too).

♡ He buys you all kinds of sexy lingerie, but anything purple is his favorite! He prefers that you wear either lingerie around the house or his t-shirts. He loves when you wear his clothes because they’re so big on you, and he finds it adorable <3 

♡ He is super protective (borderline possessive) when you two are out in public. He does not like it when dudes talk to you. He makes it very obvious who you belong to by constantly having his hands on you. 

♡ He also gets you a silver Thanos necklace, and you never take it off.

♡ Very early on (let’s be real–probably too early), he buys you a big diamond ring and asks you to be his trophy wife. You’re secretly truly in love with him outside of your arrangement, so you say yes. You’re so sad that you’re only together because of your arrangement :( But what you don’t know is that he’s been in love with you since day one <3

♡ After being married for a little while, you finally reach the boiling point for your feelings. With teary eyes you tell him you can’t do this anymore, and he feels truly sick. Once you explain yourself, that you can’t keep going because you love him and you can’t fake it, he’s relieved. He tells you he’s loved you all along. Why else do you think he asked you to agree to your little arrangement? <3

♡ The two of you confessing to each other encourages him to get clean for good. He used drugs for so long to numb himself, then to distract himself because he thought you didn’t feel the same way. He wants to prove to you that he can be a better version of himself. It’s not easy, but you’re there to support him in his journey. 

♡ Once you’re both ready, you gladly agree to give him a couple kids! 

♡ He takes getting you pregnant very seriously. He tracks your ovulation and fucks you over and over again during your fertile window. Folds you into the best position for the job (breeding press obvi) and puts a pillow under your hips for good measure. 

♡ He’s super happy when you take a test and it’s positive, but he already knew it was going to be <3

♡ He’s very protective over you while pregnant (even more so than before, if that’s even possible). 

♡ He doesn’t let you do anything while you’re pregnant. He just wants you to focus on carrying his baby! So he hires a maid to clean the house and even a chef to cook for you!

♡ He makes sure to come to every single one of your ultrasound appointments, even if it interferes with interviews or performances he already had scheduled. They’ll just have to get over it. He carries one of the ultrasound pictures around in his wallet too. He just can't get enough of looking at the masterpiece the two of you created.

♡ He doesn’t have you do many public appearances while pregnant, but he loves it when you do. You’re so pretty while pregnant, and it gives him just another reason to show you off (and show who you belong to). 

♡ This might sound weird, but he loves making love to you while you’re pregnant. There’s something special to him about being so gentle and bonding with you while you carry his baby. 

♡ When you go into labor he’s actually terrified—shaking, hyperventilating, the whole nine yards. But once he realizes how scared/stressed/in pain you are he steps up for you. 

♡ Once your baby is here, he tells you over and over again how good you did! He also thanks you repeatedly for giving him a family. 

♡ He hides it from you, but once you fall asleep he definitely cries as he looks at the sweet baby girl the two of you made. 

♡ You’re the best and prettiest mom around, and he adores watching you take care of your daughter. 

♡ He loves it so much, in fact, that before you know it you’re pregnant again. Oopsies!

♡ He’s much more lenient with your second pregnancy, only because he has to be. You already have another baby to take care of, so it’s not like you can sit around all day like he wishes you could. He still hires people to help out with the house so you can focus on your babies–the one you already have and the one in your tummy. 

♡ He loves coming home to see you with your fifteen-month-old propped on your hip and your tummy already swollen again. He would take your daughter from you and hand over your favorite take out that he brought home. 

♡ The two of you are thrilled when your little family is complete with another baby girl of course! 

♡ He’s honestly not the best when it comes to diaper changes or other baby care activities, but he does try to help you out as best as he can. 

♡ But… he is the best at having fun with your kiddos! No one can make your babies laugh like he can!

♡ When your girls are really little, they definitely think that your name is Honey or Sweetheart because that’s exclusively what your husband calls you. 

♡ He would alter his career to focus more on recording and producing, so that he can spend more time with his girls. 

♡ When you’re sad because your girls get a little bit older and are gone more with playdates and preschool, he would give you another baby because he’s just so sweet! And totally has nothing to do with the fact that he wanted to get you pregnant again. 

♡ After your third baby girl he knows it’s time to stop. He doesn’t want to push your body too far <3 

♡ He is definitely the type of dad to just walk in on Christmas morning with a puppy that he did not discuss with you beforehand. But you can’t be mad because your daughters are so happy and you’ve always wanted to have a puppy too!

♡ He would also do it more than once, so that you end up with two dogs, a cat, and something random like a rabbit or lizard. But you like having a lively house <3

♡ On Mother’s Day, you would spend the whole day with him, and your girls, and his mom too because she’s also a mom :) He would call in a fancy catering order so neither you nor his mom have to lift a finger. At the end of the night, he would send the girls to go stay the night at Grandma’s house so he can make you happy all night long ;) 

♡ Speaking of sex… he’s clearly the dominant one. He always wants to be on top and in control because it’s his job to make you feel good! 

♡ But… on special occasions like his birthday or your anniversary or Father’s Day he would have you ride him. He would think it was so cute watching you try your hardest to please both of you. He would watch for a while with his arms crossed behind his head as you frustratedly struggle to get yourself off–after all, you’re not used to this.  Eventually he decides you’ve had enough, and he’ll flip you over and take you to pound town. 

♡ He always finds new adventures or places for you all to go. Cool restaurants, theme parks, beach houses, you name it and he's going to take his family there.

♡ He'll take you on day trips or weekend trips sometimes, so that the two of you can have some alone time without being away from your babies for too long.

♡ Overall, he is a great husband and father in his own ways. Is he good at doing the dishes? No. Is he good at knowing what to do when one of your kids is sick? Also no. But he makes up for it in other ways by always providing for all of you, being fun, and trying his best. 

♡ You’re so happy to have your little family <3 Who would have thought all of this would come from saying yes to being a rapper’s sugar baby? 

｡ ₊ Masterlist ₊ ｡

[evermoreness]

the bet | sirius black

pairing: sirius black x reader

summary: james bets sirius can't make you fall in love with him and now sirius is all over you.

masterlist

It started, like most ridiculous things in Sirius Black’s life, because of James Potter.

The Gryffindor common room was loud that evening, filled with students playing Wizard’s Chess, finishing last-minute essays, or just causing trouble. Sirius lounged on the couch, legs stretched over the armrest, twirling his wand between his fingers as he half-listened to James and Peter argue about Quidditch formations.

And then you laughed.

Not at him—though that wouldn’t have been surprising—but across the room, sitting with Marlene and Lily, head thrown back, eyes sparkling with mischief. Sirius had heard you laugh plenty of times, but for some reason, this one caught his attention. Maybe it was because of how easily you laughed, how effortlessly you filled the space around you with warmth and energy.

James, ever perceptive (and ever annoying), caught the way Sirius was looking at you and smirked.

“Mate,” he said, nudging Sirius’s boot off the couch. “You’re staring.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and sat up properly. “Please. I don’t stare—people hope I’ll stare.”

Peter snorted. “Yeah, alright.”

James leaned back in his chair, a knowing glint in his eyes. “You know,” he mused, “I don’t think Y/n ever actually fallen for your charms.”

Sirius scoffed, placing a hand on his chest like he’d just been gravely insulted. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, she flirts with you,” James continued, as if this wasn’t a direct attack on Sirius’s entire identity, “but she flirts with everyone. She’s probably the only girl at Hogwarts who hasn’t fallen for your act.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes, turning his attention back to you. You were a flirt—always had been. And you were good at it too, quick-witted and confident, never the type to get flustered. He’d flirted with you plenty of times, and you always matched him, grin for grin, quip for quip. But James was right—you never blushed, never got nervous, never gave him that look most girls did when he turned on the charm.

It was… interesting.

And Sirius Black loved a challenge.

“You’re saying,” Sirius said slowly, “that if I actually tried, she wouldn’t fall for me?”

James grinned. “I’m saying you can’t do it.”

Remus, who had been reading by the fire (and wisely staying out of this nonsense), sighed. “Here we go.”

Peter perked up. “Ooh, is this a bet?”

Sirius smirked. “It is now.”

James sat up straighter, eyes gleaming. “Alright then, Black. Let’s make it official. I bet you—” he paused for effect, “—ten Galleons that you can’t make her fall for you.”

Sirius raised a brow. “Ten? That’s all?”

James laughed. “Alright, big shot, fifteen.”

“Twenty.”

“You want to lose money that badly?”

Sirius leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, expression downright smug. “Oh, I never lose.”

Remus groaned. “This is a terrible idea.”

James ignored him. “Alright, fine. Twenty Galleons says she will never fall for you.”

Sirius held out a hand. James shook it. The deal was made.

Peter clapped his hands together. “Ooooh, this is gonna be fun.”

Remus muttered, “This is going to end in disaster.”

Sirius leaned back, stretching lazily, confidence radiating off him. “Just you lot wait. By the end of the month, she will be smitten.”

“Sure, mate,” James said, shaking his head. “Sure.”

Across the room, you turned slightly, catching Sirius’s gaze. Your eyes met his, and instead of looking away, you held his stare, tilting your head slightly as if daring him to make a move.

And just to be infuriating, you gave him a wink.

Sirius grinned.

This was going to be fun.

The game begins

Sirius Black was a man on a mission.

The very next morning, he strolled into the Great Hall like he owned the place—not an uncommon occurrence. But today, his target wasn’t just looking devastatingly handsome or stealing toast off James’s plate. No, today was about you.

You were sitting with Marlene and Lily, sipping your coffee and looking far too amused for someone who had barely started the day. The moment Sirius approached, Marlene smirked knowingly.

“Uh-oh,” she muttered. “Brace yourself.”

You looked up just as Sirius slid into the seat beside you, his signature smirk firmly in place. “Morning, love,” he drawled, reaching out and plucking a piece of bacon from your plate.

You raised an eyebrow but let him take it. “Flirting before I’ve had my coffee? Bold move, Black.”

Sirius grinned. “I figured I should start early. Give you the whole day to think about how devastatingly charming I am.”

You took a slow sip of coffee, holding eye contact. Then, deadpan: “Who are you again?”

Marlene cackled.

Lily snorted into her pumpkin juice.

But Sirius? He only grinned wider. “Ah, playing hard to get, are we? Don’t worry, love. I love a challenge.”

You tilted your head, smirking. “Do you, now?”

Sirius leaned in ever so slightly. “Mmm. And something tells me you do too.”

You pretended to consider this. “That’s true. But here’s the thing—I’m very good at it.”

Sirius chuckled. Oh, this is going to be interesting.

Since then, it was suspicious how often Sirius Black seemed to run into you that week.

He was always around, flirting, teasing, and honestly just trying to get your attention somehow. It was becoming a very odd habit to be around him that much.

It's been a few days now, and it seemed Sirius wasn't going to back down on whatever the plan he had in his head.

Try harder.

The Hogwarts library was your sanctuary. A place of peace, quiet, and most importantly, a place without distractions. Better saying, a place without Sirius Black.

At least, that was the idea.

Because of course, when you were finally alone, enjoying the rare bliss of uninterrupted reading, a shadow loomed over your book, and with it, his voice.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

You sighed without looking up. “This is a library, Sirius. People come here to study.”

Sirius Black had a very particular way of invading one’s personal space. Instead of just standing in front of your table like a normal person, he leaned forward, resting his elbows against the wood, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him.

“Yes, well,” he mused, “I figured you might be lonely.”

You finally lifted your gaze, unimpressed. “Oh, how thoughtful. And totally not an excuse to bother me.”

Sirius let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like you had physically harmed him. “You wound me.”

You smirked. “Not yet, but if you keep talking, I might.”

His grin widened. “Feisty. I like it.”

“You like everything.”

“No, just you.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

Sirius noticed.

He noticed everything.

And like the menace he was, he took that as an invitation.

With a lazy confidence that only he could pull off, he slid into the chair across from you, propping his chin on one hand. “So, what are we reading today?”

We. As if he was included in this activity.

You sighed, snapping your book shut with an audible thud. “Sirius, don’t you have somewhere else to be? Like, I don’t know, bothering James? Tormenting Snape? Staring at yourself in a mirror?”

“Multitasking, love.” He winked. “Besides, I like this game much better.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What game?”

“The one where I try to get you to fall for me.” He smirked. “And you pretend you’re not already madly in love.”

You let out a short laugh. “Oh, that’s what this is?”

Sirius tapped his fingers against the table. “Mmm, seems that way, doesn’t it?”

You leaned forward slightly, resting your arms on the wood between you. “I hate to break it to you, Black, but if this is your grand seduction plan, I’d give it a solid four out of ten.”

Sirius clutched his heart again, even more dramatically than before. “Four?! That’s a crime.”

“Would’ve been a three, but I added an extra point for effort.”

He narrowed his eyes, studying you. “You’re toying with me.”

You smirked. “What gave it away?”

Sirius huffed, but the grin never left his lips. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he examined you. His eyes flickered between yours, as if searching for a weak spot.

Then, he smiled.

That slow, dangerous, oh no kind of smile.

“Alright, then,” he mused, tilting his head. “I’ll just have to try harder.”

You arched an eyebrow. “That sounds suspiciously like a challenge.”

“Maybe it is.”

Your fingers tapped against your book thoughtfully. “So what happens if you lose?”

Sirius grinned. “I never lose.”

You leaned in slightly, dropping your voice to a whisper. “Sounds like someone’s overconfident.”

Sirius mirrored your movement, his voice dropping to match yours. “Sounds like someone’s tempted.”

You held his gaze for a long, tense moment, a silent battle of wills.

Determined not to let him win this round, you leaned in too, mirroring his movement, until your faces were barely inches apart.

“You know what, Sirius?” you whispered.

His smirk widened. “What, love?”

You reached forward, grabbed your book—and snapped it shut in his face.

Sirius jerked back, startled, blinking rapidly.

“Merlin’s bloody beard, woman!” Sirius exclaimed, rubbing his forehead. “That was uncalled for!”

You leaned back in your chair, casually flipping your book open again. “No, invading my personal space was uncalled for.”

Sirius groaned dramatically, slumping in his chair. “You are absolutely infuriating.”

“You love it,” you said sweetly.

Sirius huffed, but there was no mistaking the way his lips curled up. “One day, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and full of promise. “One day, you’re going to beg me to kiss you.”

You scoffed, flipping a page. “Highly unlikely.”

Sirius just smirked, standing up and giving you a mock salute. “We’ll see.”

And with that, he turned and sauntered out of the library, leaving you staring after him, suddenly very aware of the warmth lingering on your face.

The retaliation.

It's been weeks now.

Weeks.

And Sirius was still all over you.

At this point, it was clear that Sirius Black had declared war.

Your response to that? Oh, he had no idea who he was messing with.

Because if Sirius Black wanted to play this game, you were going to make damn sure he suffered for it.

So, the next time you saw him in the corridor—leaning lazily against the wall, that insufferable grin already in place—you stopped, tilted your head, and gave him a slow, deliberate once-over.

Sirius blinked, caught slightly off guard. But only for a second.

Then, he smirked, straightening up. “See something you like, sweetheart?”

You let the silence drag out, letting his own arrogance build up. Then, just as his smirk widened—

You hummed, tapping your chin. “Hmm. Almost.”

Then, with a slow, infuriatingly confident wink, you turned on your heel and walked away.

Sirius stood frozen in place.

For a solid ten seconds.

You could feel his confusion radiating behind you, the absolute whiplash of thinking he had the upper hand, only to be completely blindsided.

James, who had just walked up behind Sirius, witnessed the entire thing. He clapped Sirius on the back with a grin. “Mate.”

Sirius didn’t even turn.

James smirked. “I think you just got Sirius’d.”

Sirius finally blinked, coming back to himself. He turned to James, looking betrayed. “That—that’s not a thing.”

James snorted. “It definitely is now.”

Sirius turned back toward the hallway you had disappeared down, running a hand through his hair, still processing.

You almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

But then you heard his voice, muttering to himself as you rounded the corner—

“Bloody hell.”

And that?

That was exactly the reaction you wanted.

The shift.

The Gryffindor common room was warm with the crackling fire, but the corridors leading to it were anything but. The stone walls seemed to absorb every bit of warmth, leaving you slightly chilled as you walked back from the Prefect’s meeting. It had run longer than expected—something about Filch catching a group of first-years trying to hex Mrs. Norris (which, honestly, you would have given them extra House points for).

As you turned the last corner, you spotted him.

Sirius Black, leaning against the wall right outside the common room entrance, looking for all the world like he was posing for a magazine cover. His arms were crossed over his chest, one foot propped against the stone, his black hair perfectly tousled in that effortlessly charming way that drove half the school mad.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously waiting for me?”

Sirius smirked. “What makes you think I wasn’t just casually standing here, looking incredibly handsome?”

You sighed, exasperated but amused. “Because you’re Sirius Black. And Sirius Black doesn’t do casual.”

Sirius pushed off the wall, stepping in front of you, blocking your way into the common room. “Guilty as charged,” he admitted. “Though, in my defense, you do make it very hard to resist waiting around just to see you.”

You tilted your head, smirking. “That was almost sweet.”

He grinned. “Almost?”

“Yes, almost. But then I remembered you say this kind of thing to everyone.”

Sirius gasped dramatically. “Now that’s just slander. I’d never be this dedicated to anyone else.”

“Oh, dedicated now, are we?” you teased.

He stepped closer, closing some of the space between you, his smirk never fading. “You have noticed, haven’t you?”

Your smirk mirrored his, refusing to back down. “Oh, I’ve noticed.” You leaned in just a fraction. “I just don’t think it’s working.”

Sirius let out a soft laugh, but there was something in his expression—something unreadable, something a little too amused, a little too confident. “Oh, love,” he murmured, voice lower now, teasing but laced with something else. “You say that like you’re not enjoying every second of it.”

Your breath caught—just for a moment.

Not because he was right (which he wasn’t, obviously), but because of how close he suddenly was. The playful flirting had been going on for weeks now, but this? This was new.

You weren’t about to let him win, though.

With slow deliberation, you reached up and threaded your fingers through his hair, twirling a loose strand between your fingers. “Lovely hair,” you mused, watching his expression closely. “Shame if someone—oh, I don’t know—hexed it green.”

Sirius stilled.

It was brief, barely a second, but you felt it—the way his breath hitched just slightly, the way his smirk faltered for half a heartbeat before he recovered.

Then, he exhaled a soft laugh. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You grinned. “Try me.”

Sirius blinked, clearly caught off guard.

Then, he laughed. A real, genuine laugh, not his usual smug chuckle. “Merlin, you really are something else.”

You grinned. “Took you this long to realize?”

Sirius shook his head, still grinning. “I should be winning this, you know.”

You smirked. “Oh, you think you’re winning?”

He chuckled. “I know I am.”

“Sure, Black. Keep telling yourself that.”

His grey eyes flickered with something unreadable before he suddenly leaned in, just enough to make your heart stutter—not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

His voice dropped to a murmur. “You love this.”

For the first time since this ridiculous game had started, you felt your heart stutter—just for a second. He was so close, his voice quieter than usual, like this moment wasn’t just another round of flirting.

You kept your cool, refusing to step back. “Of course I do,” you whispered. “I love watching you try so hard.”

His smirk widened. “Oh, darling. I’m not even trying yet.”

That was it. That was the moment you felt it.

The shift.

You weren’t sure who moved first. Maybe it was him, leaning in just enough to blur the lines of your usual banter. Maybe it was you, tilting your head slightly, eyes locked with his, breath caught somewhere between another teasing remark and something… else.

Whatever it was, the air between you shifted.

Sirius had been relentless these past few weeks, flirting with you at every opportunity, always pushing, always testing. But you had been just as ruthless—flirting back, laughing at his attempts, making sure he never got the reaction he was aiming for. It was a game, a fun one, a ridiculous one.

But now?

Now, you weren’t entirely sure what it was anymore.

You still had your fingers in his hair, twirling a strand between them as if you weren’t hyper-aware of the way he was looking at you. Sirius wasn’t just smirking now—his usual cocky, easy-going expression had melted into something slower, something almost… amused. Like he was watching you figure something out in real time.

His voice was soft, but there was no missing the amusement in it. “You’re staring, love.”

You scoffed, shaking off whatever that moment was. “So are you.”

“Course I am.” He grinned, tilting his head. “You are stunning.”

You rolled your eyes, letting go of his hair and taking a small step back—just enough to clear your head. “You’re insufferable.”

Sirius grinned. “And yet, here you are, still standing in front of me. Fascinating.”

You huffed a laugh. “I’m only here because you’re blocking the entrance.”

“Oh?” He glanced behind him, at the portrait hole, then back at you. “Say please, and I might move.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’d rather hex you.”

Sirius gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Violence? So soon in our courtship?”

You groaned, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Move, Black.”

He grinned but didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned slightly closer again, grey eyes twinkling with mischief. “Admit it.”

You crossed your arms. “Admit what?”

“That I make your heart race.”

You blinked. Oh, he was getting bold now.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “Hmmm… I do get a strange reaction around you.”

Sirius smirked. “Do you now?”

You nodded solemnly. “Yes. It’s called secondhand embarrassment.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “Merlin, you love giving me a hard time, don’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

He studied you for a second, like he was debating his next move, and then—because he was Sirius Black—he smirked again and leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice to something almost dangerous.

“Don’t worry, love,” he murmured, “I like it rough.”

For the first time, you felt your brain short-circuit.

It was barely noticeable—the fraction of a second it took you to process what he had just said—but Sirius caught it. His smirk widened ever so slightly, his eyes flickering with triumph.

Oh, hell no.

You refused to give him the satisfaction.

So you did the only logical thing: you reached out, grabbed his tie (because of course Sirius Black wore his tie loose and messy), and yanked.

Sirius stumbled forward, his hands flying up instinctively to catch himself on either side of you, palms pressing against the wall just behind your shoulders. He was close now—closer than before, his face mere inches from yours.

His smirk faltered.

Your grip on his tie tightened. “Careful, Black,” you whispered, voice dripping with amusement. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Sirius exhaled a laugh, but it wasn’t as confident as before. His gaze flickered to your lips—just briefly, just enough for you to notice.

And then, just as quickly, he pulled back, his usual grin snapping back into place. “Well,” he said, voice a little too casual, “this has been fun.”

You let go of his tie, smoothing it down like you hadn’t just pulled him into your trap. “Oh, so much fun.”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, clearing his throat. “Well then. I suppose I should let you get inside before you freeze to death out here.”

You hummed. “How thoughtful of you.”

He stepped aside, finally moving out of the way, and gestured dramatically to the portrait hole. “After you, my dear.”

You walked past him, but just before stepping inside, you turned back slightly, smirking. “Try harder next time, Black.”

Sirius chuckled, watching as you disappeared into the common room.

And for the first time since this whole thing started, he realized—he was the one who needed to be careful.

Because this?

This wasn’t a game anymore.

The realization.

If someone had told Sirius Black a month ago that he’d be spending every single day trying to fluster a girl and failing miserably, he would’ve laughed in their face.

If they had told him that, in the process, he’d start genuinely enjoying her company instead of just playing around? That he’d actually start looking forward to seeing her, not just for the game but because… he liked being around her?

He would’ve called them a liar.

But here he was.

You had barely stepped into the classroom when you noticed something was off.

Your usual seat, the one you had claimed since the start of the year, was occupied.

And not by just anyone.

Sirius Black sat in your chair, lounging as if he owned the place, a smug smirk firmly in place.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re in my spot.”

Sirius stretched lazily, arms behind his head. “Oh? Didn’t see your name on it.”

You huffed, placing a hand on your hip. “Move.”

His grin widened. “Make me.”

Oh, he wanted this.

He was practically begging for you to retaliate, thinking he had the upper hand, that he controlled this game.

Well.

He was about to learn exactly why you were a worthy opponent.

You gave him an innocent smile, stepping forward slowly. He watched you, intrigued, likely expecting you to shove him out of the chair or hit him with a sarcastic remark.

Instead, you simply… sat down.

Right in his lap.

His brain, for the first time in his entire existence, short-circuited.

Sirius froze.

James, sitting across from the both of you, choked violently on his own spit.

Peter dropped his quill.

Remus barely glanced up from his book, but there was a very distinct twitch of his lips.

“Comfortable, love?” Sirius finally managed, voice noticeably strained.

You made a show of shifting slightly, settling into place, “Quite.”

Sirius swallowed. Hard.

James rolled his eyes. “You two are actually unbearable.”

You smirked. “What’s wrong, Potter? Can’t handle a little friendly seating arrangement?”

James deadpanned. “That is not a ‘friendly’ anything.”

Sirius, still struggling to recover, cleared his throat. His hands had instinctively settled on your waist when you sat down, and it seemed he just now realized it because they suddenly twitched, as if unsure whether to move away or pull you closer.

You weren’t giving him a single second to recover.

Tilting your head slightly, you turned your head back at him, bringing your lips dangerously close to his ear. “What’s the matter, Black?” you purred. “Speechless?”

Sirius inhaled sharply, gripping your waist just slightly in retaliation. “You wish,” he muttered back, his breath warm against your skin.

James slammed his hands on the desk. “I swear, if you two start shagging right now, I’m dropping out.”

Peter just covered his eyes. “I can’t watch this.”

Remus, without looking up, turned a page in his book. “Oh, please. They’ve been shagging with their eyes for months.”

Sirius barked out a laugh, but you could feel how tense he was under you. You weren’t supposed to be this bold. You were supposed to roll your eyes and huff at him, not actually play along.

You smiled sweetly. “You alright, darling? You seem a bit… tense.”

Sirius swallowed again, eyes locked onto yours, something sharp and dark flickering in them. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m more than alright.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” James groaned, dramatically slumping onto the desk.

Peter still had his hands over his eyes, mumbling something about his innocence being shattered.

Remus just turned another page, unimpressed. “If you lot are done providing the rest of us with free entertainment, I’d like to get through at least one class today without wanting to fling myself into the Black Lake.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, trying to act as if this wasn’t affecting him in the slightest. “I hope you realize you’ve just started something you can’t finish, love.”

You hummed, your face still turned to his, almost touching. “Oh, I always finish what I start, Black.”

Sirius, determined not to be outdone, tightened his grip on your waist ever so slightly, shifting just enough to remind you of where exactly you were sitting. His lips curled into a devilish grin as he leaned in slightly.

Peter peeked through his fingers at you and Sirius, then promptly covered his eyes again. “Nope. Still too much.”

“Careful, love,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk. “You might actually start liking it here.”

And that was when Professor Slughorn walked in.

“Ah, good morning, my dear students!” Slughorn’s voice boomed through the classroom, cheerful and oblivious.

You and Sirius froze.

James’ eyes widened. “Oh, this is better than detention—”

Before he could even finish that sentence, you had launched yourself out of Sirius’s lap so quickly it was like you’d Apparated.

Sirius, whose hands had still been on your waist, was left gripping air, looking momentarily lost before hastily readjusting his posture, trying to appear as if nothing had happened.

You were already in the seat beside him, perfectly composed, as if you hadn’t just been sprawled across his lap like a queen on her throne.

Slughorn, still cheerfully setting down his books, was thankfully none the wiser.

“This isn’t over” Sirius mumbled.

You smirked, pretending to focus on your textbook. “I’d be disappointed if it was.”

Something more?

Sirius Black did not get nervous. He did not overthink. He did not, under any circumstances, lose control of his own game.

And yet—

Ever since that moment in the charms classroom, ever since the way she had looked at him, the way she brought him closer by his tie, her face barely brushed against his—

He was a mess.

He kept telling himself it was nothing. A fluke. Just a moment of bad timing. He had spent weeks flirting with you, teasing you, pushing your buttons, waiting for that one moment where you would crack—where you would get flustered, where you would lose.

But now?

Now he wasn’t even sure what the prize was anymore.

It started at breakfast.

He had taken his usual seat beside James, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn. “Morning, peasants,” he greeted, swiping a piece of toast off James’ plate.

“Morning, git,” James shot back, snatching the toast back.

Sirius ignored him, gaze already drifting down the table—searching, waiting—

And there you were.

You were laughing at something Lily had said, your head thrown back slightly, eyes crinkled with amusement. The way you smiled—the way you always did that little thing where you bit your lip slightly when you were trying to suppress a laugh—

Sirius inhaled sharply and immediately looked away.

James, who had never in his life missed an opportunity to be annoying, noticed.

James narrowed his eyes. “What was that?”

Sirius took a bite of his toast. “What was what?”

“That.” James wiggled his eyebrows. “You looked at her like—like—”

“Like he wants to marry her,” Peter supplied unhelpfully.

Sirius choked on his toast.

James gasped. “Oh my god.”

Remus, who had been listening from across the table, sighed. “Please don’t start.”

James pointed his fork at Sirius. “You like her.”

Sirius, still recovering from his near-death experience, wiped his mouth and glared. “I do not.”

James grinned. “You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You so do.”

“I—” Sirius turned back toward you, ready to prove a point, ready to do something to remind himself that this was just a game—

And, of course, you were already watching him.

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching with amusement. Busted.

Sirius swallowed hard. “Shut up, Potter.”

James cackled.

The day went on as always. Classes, quidditch practice, pranks.

At night, the castle was quiet, the corridors nearly empty as Sirius found himself walking beside you after curfew.

It had been an accident, really—one of those oh, you’re here too? kind of moments. You would both been sneaking back to the dorms after separate misadventures and had somehow fallen into step beside each other.

You weren’t even teasing anymore. Not really. Just talking.

And Merlin help him, Sirius liked it.

He liked the way your voice softened when you talked about things you loved. He liked the way you sighed dramatically every time he said something mildly ridiculous. He liked the way you walked—confident, effortless, like she owned every damn corridor of this castle.

And he liked—

Oh.

Oh shit.

“Sirius?”

He blinked. “Hmm?”

You studied him for a moment, eyes glinting with curiosity. “You okay? You looked like you were having an existential crisis just now.”

He scoffed. “Please, I don’t do existential crises.”

You smirked. “You sure? Because you definitely looked like you were having a moment.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I was just… thinking.”

You gasped dramatically. “Thinking? You?”

He huffed a laugh. “You’re hilarious.”

“I know.”

There was a pause—a comfortable, easy silence.

And then you nudged him lightly with your shoulder. “You never answered.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Answered what?”

“What you were thinking about.”

His stomach flipped.

He could lie. He should lie.

But instead, he just—

He looked at you.

And damn it all, he knew.

He had known for a while.

Sirius cleared his throat, stalling. “Oh, you know. Just deep, profound thoughts about life and the mysteries of the universe.”

You shot him a knowing look. “Uh-huh. And by that, you mean?”

He smirked, hands tucking into his pockets. “Why the bloody hell Filch still uses oil lamps when we have lumos.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed, shaking your head. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant, Black. Truly, your intellect knows no bounds.”

“Glad you noticed,” he quipped, nudging you back lightly.

And then it happened again—that lull. That moment of easy silence that should have been awkward but wasn’t. It was almost… nice.

Because you were watching him—really watching him—with those knowing eyes of yours. And maybe he was imagining it, but your usual teasing smirk wasn’t there. Instead, there was something softer, something curious, like you were actually interested in his answer.

Sirius hated it.

Because it meant something had changed.

He wasn’t supposed to enjoy your company like this. He wasn’t supposed to find it fun to just walk and talk with you without trying to one-up each other. He wasn’t supposed to feel his chest tighten slightly when you laughed at something genuine he said, rather than some over-the-top flirtation.

Merlin’s bloody beard, he was in trouble.

And he definitely wasn’t supposed to notice the way the moonlight caught in your hair, or how your eyes sparkled when you were amused, or how—

“You’re doing it again,” you observed, voice teasing but gentle.

Sirius blinked, forcing himself back to reality. “Doing what?”

“Thinking too hard,” you said, nudging him again. “That’s twice in one night. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, maybe a little too quickly.

Before Sirius could even attempt to come up with something—something witty, something that would push this moment back into the realm of teasing where it was safe—the sharp sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor.

They both froze.

Filch.

Sirius grabbed her wrist without thinking, tugging you into the nearest alcove. You barely had time to press yourselves against the stone wall before Filch’s lamp light flickered against the opposite wall, his grumbling voice growing louder.

Sirius could feel your breath against his neck, warm and too close. You were right there, pressed against him, your body tucked between his and the cold castle wall, and Merlin’s bloody beard, this was not helping his already spiraling thoughts.

You shifted slightly, just enough to glance at him, your lips dangerously close to his jaw. “Well, this is cozy,” you whispered.

Sirius huffed a quiet laugh, though his heart was hammering. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You smirked, your voice low, teasing. “Maybe.”

Filch’s footsteps paused just outside the alcove.

Sirius didn’t breathe.

Neither did you.

For a moment, it was just the sound of Filch’s muttering, the flicker of the lamp light, the distant creak of the castle settling.

Then, mercifully, the footsteps started moving again, fading into the distance.

You exhaled slowly. “That was close.”

Sirius turned his head slightly, the movement bringing his lips just a fraction closer to yours. “Too close,” he murmured.

You were looking at him now, your eyes catching the faint glow of the lantern light. There was something different in them—something Sirius couldn’t quite place, but felt deep in his chest.

You weren't smirking anymore.

And neither was he.

The air between you shifted.

Your gaze flickered to his lips—so fast he might have imagined it, but Merlin, he hoped he didn’t.

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, just for a second. He could lean in. He could close the space. He could—

Footsteps again.

You jumped apart.

This time, it was Peeves, floating lazily through the corridor, humming some dreadful little tune to himself.

Sirius exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, trying to gather himself. When he turned back to you, you were watching him with an unreadable expression.

Then, because you were you, you smirked.

“Almost had a moment there, Black.”

Sirius, still feeling the ghost of her warmth against him, forced a grin. “You wish.”

But his heart was still pounding.

Not a game anymore.

It had been building.

For weeks, maybe even months. The teasing, the flirting, the lingering glances, the casual touches that weren’t so casual anymore. Every moment had been leading up to this—an inevitable collision of something they both had tried (and failed) to ignore.

And, as it turned out, there was only so much tension two people could handle before something snapped.

You were alone in the Gryffindor common room—again. It had become your place, their quiet retreat when everyone else had gone to bed. Sirius lounged on the couch, legs stretched out, hands behind his head, exuding obnoxious levels of confidence.

You sat beside him, one knee tucked under you, arms crossed, watching him with amusement.

Sirius smirked. “You stare at me an awful lot, love. Starting to think you actually fancy me.”

You scoffed. “Please. I stare at you the same way someone stares at a particularly dumb puppy.”

Sirius gasped, hand flying to his chest. “You wound me.”

You smirked. “You deserve it.”

“Oh, come on,” he drawled, shifting so he was closer to you. “Admit it. You think I’m irresistible.”

You rolled your eyes. “You wish.”

“I know,” he shot back, winking.

And that—that damn wink—was the final straw.

Because Sirius Black was—

Infuriating.

Cocky.

Too smug for his own good.

And yet, for some stupid, ridiculous, absolutely insane reason—

You wanted him.

And you wanted him to shut up.

So, without thinking, without hesitating, without any of your usual control—

You grabbed the collar of his stupid perfectly rumpled shirt—

And kissed him.

Sirius made a muffled sound of surprise—because, to be fair, he had not expected that.

But then—

Oh.

Oh, he liked this.

Your hands were tangled in his shirt, holding him in place like you were daring him to move away (as if he ever would ). His mind short-circuited, all thoughts completely gone except for you.

And Merlin, you kissed like you meant it.

Like you had been holding back just as much as he had.

Like you knew this had been coming all along.

Sirius reacted instinctively—one hand moving to the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, savoring the way you melted into him—

And, bloody hell, he was gone.

He stared at you, breathing heavily, lips tingling, brain struggling to catch up.

When you finally pulled back (too soon, far too soon), Sirius was dazed.

You smirked. “Finally shut you up.”

Sirius blinked.

And then—

He grinned.

“Oh, love,” he murmured, voice lower than before, hands still on her waist, “if that’s how you plan to shut me up, I’m never stopping.”

You laughed—breathless, amused, maybe even a little shaken—but you didn’t move away.

Sirius tilted his head. “You liked that.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So did you.”

Sirius smirked. “Obviously.”

A pause.

A shift.

The air between you still charged, still crackling with something you could no longer ignore.

And then—

“Are we going to talk about this?” you asked, voice softer now.

Sirius exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Honestly?” He met your gaze, something real in his expression. “I have no idea what to say.”

You hummed. “Good. Me neither.”

Another pause.

Another glance at your lips.

And then—

Sirius smirked. “Wanna do it again?”

You rolled your eyes—but then you grabbed his tie and pulled him in for another kiss.

And this time, neither of you were pretending.

You both didn’t stop at just one kiss.

Or two.

Or three.

It was impossible to stop when every touch, every kiss, every breath made you want more.

Sirius wasn’t sure how much time had passed—minutes? Hours? A lifetime?—before you finally broke apart, still tangled up in each other on the Gryffindor common room couch.

You were curled into his side, head resting against his shoulder, your fingers lazily tracing patterns over the fabric of his shirt. Sirius had one arm slung around your waist, holding you way too close for someone who was definitely not in love.

(Except he absolutely was).

The fire crackled in the silence, casting flickering shadows around the room.

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

And that was the problem.

Because now—now, you both actually had to deal with this.

Sirius was screwed.

Absolutely, entirely, undeniably screwed.

Because less than twelve hours after the greatest (and most terrifying) kiss of his life, the Marauders found out.

And they did not take it well.

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

Sirius winced as James’ very loud, very dramatic voice echoed through the dormitory.

Peter, wide-eyed, turned to Remus. “I knew something was up!”

Remus smirked knowingly. “Oh, we all knew.”

James, meanwhile, was pacing the room like a madman. “Okay, okay, hold on—” He spun on Sirius. “You kissed her?”

Sirius sighed. “Yes.”

James pointed aggressively. “And you liked it?”

Sirius scowled. “Obviously.”

Peter gasped. “Oh, no.”

Remus snorted. “Oh, yes.”

James took a deep breath, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Pads…” He grinned. “You like her.”

Sirius froze.

And that—that tiny moment of hesitation—was all they needed.

James screamed.

Peter looked shocked.

Remus looked entirely too smug.

Sirius groaned. “For Merlin’s sake, I don’t—”

James tackled him onto the bed. “YOU’RE IN LOVE.”

Sirius nearly threw his pillow at him. “I am not in love.”

Remus, sitting across from them, raised an eyebrow. “You do realize you’ve spent every waking moment with her lately, right?”

Peter nodded. “And you don’t even flirt with other girls anymore.”

James smirked. “And you look at her like she hung the bloody moon.”

Sirius scowled. “I do not.”

James leaned back, arms behind his head. “You know what? I think we should all start placing new bets.”

“Oh, do tell,” Remus said dryly.

James grinned. “I bet he admits he loves her by the end of the month.”

Sirius choked. “I don’t—”

“Oh, come on, Pads,” James interrupted. “It’s so obvious.”

Peter nodded. “You’re, like, way too soft around her now.”

Sirius scowled. “I am not—”

“You literally tucked her hair behind her ear yesterday,” Remus said flatly.

Sirius froze.

James and Peter howled with laughter.

“HE KNOWS!” James cackled. “HE KNOWS HE’S SCREWED!”

Sirius groaned, running a hand down his face. “I hate all of you.”

James smirked. “No, you hate yourself for falling so hard.”

The truth.

Sirius had never been nervous before.

Not really.

Not in a way that mattered.

But now? Now, as he stood in the dimly lit common room, watching you sit cross-legged on the couch, waiting for him to say something, his heart was pounding.

Because this was it. This was the moment he decided to stop being a bloody coward and actually talk to you.

No more hiding. No more pretending.

Just… the truth.

Sirius exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "So, um… I need to tell you something."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "That sentence is never a good sign."

Sirius smirked. "Depends on your definition of ‘good,’ love."

You rolled your eyes. "Alright, Black. Out with it."

Sirius hesitated. He could still back out, still pretend nothing had changed between you—

But he didn’t want to.

He took a breath. “The whole flirting thing… the game we were playing.” He met your gaze. “It started because of a bet.”

You didn’t even blink. “I know.”

Sirius frowned. “Wait—what?”

You smirked. “I know about your little bet with James.”

Sirius groaned, rubbing his temples. “Of course you do.”

You eyes sparkled with mischief. “Did you really think James Potter could keep his mouth shut about something that entertaining?”

“Merlin,” Sirius muttered. “I should have.”

You laughed, then tilted your head. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Sirius hesitated again—but only for a second. “Because it’s not a game to me anymore.” He met your gaze, something real in his expression. “I like you. And I didn’t want this to be built on a stupid bet.”

You didn't speak immediately. Just studied him, like she were assessing him.

Sirius forced himself to keep his usual bravado at bay, to let you see him instead of the version of himself he usually put on for the world.

And then—

You smiled.

A real, genuine smile.

“Well,” you said lightly, “that’s interesting.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

You bit your lip, amusement dancing in your expression. “Because, Black… I had a bet too.”

Sirius blinked. “What?”

You grinned. “James bet me that I couldn’t make you fall for me.”

Sirius froze.

His brain short-circuited.

And then—

“I’m going to kill him.”

You cackled, clapping your hands. “Oh, this is perfect.”

Sirius groaned, sinking onto the couch beside you. “James bloody Potter.” He looked at you, half-amused, half-furious. “You knew?”

You nodded, smug. “Of course.”

Sirius threw his hands in the air. “James set us up.”

You shrugged. “And it worked.”

Sirius opened his mouth—then paused.

Because—

Oh, Merlin.

It did work.

He turned to look at you. “You actually like me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

Sirius scoffed. “Because you were supposed to be the one hopelessly falling for me.”

You smirked. “Guess James was right, then.”

Sirius groaned. “I hate him.”

You nudged him playfully. “No, you don’t.”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. I love him. But I also hate him.”

You laughed, then reached out, twining your fingers through his. “For what it’s worth,” you said softly, “I was never playing a game with you. Not really.”

Sirius’ heart stuttered.

Because this—this was real.

And it was terrifying.

And he loved it.

He turned your hand over in his, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Yeah?”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

Sirius swallowed, something tight in his throat. “So what do we do now?”

You grinned. “Well, first—” you leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “—you kiss me again.”

Sirius smirked. “Oh, darling, I thought you’d never ask.”

And this time, when he kissed you, there was no bet, no game—

Just the both of you.

The aftermath.

It quickly became common knowledge that Sirius and his girlfriend (which still sounded insane to him) were the most ridiculous couple to ever exist.

Because while other couples held hands and whispered sweet nothings, Sirius and you—

Well.

You teased each other, you flirted relentlessly, annoyed each other and at the same time also had your soft moments.

James Potter deeply regretted his life choices.

Because here’s the thing—when he first made the bets, it was supposed to be hilarious. Watching Sirius try (and fail) to seduce someone who actually gave him a challenge? Comedy gold.

Watching you break Sirius Black’s unshakable confidence? Even better.

And then, somehow, those two idiots actually fell for each other.

Now, every single day, James had to deal with this.

James sat at the Gryffindor table, glaring across the Great Hall.

At you both.

Sirius had an arm slung lazily around your waist, smirking as you stole food from his plate like it belonged to you.

You weren't even subtle about it. You would just reach over, pluck a piece of toast from his hand, and take a bite without breaking eye contact.

Sirius, instead of protesting like a normal person, grinned and leaned in. “Careful, darling,” he murmured, voice low. “If you keep stealing from me, I might have to take something from you.”

You smirked. “Oh? And what exactly would you take, Black?”

Sirius’ smirk widened. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

You just shook your head and smiled, he reached out to take a sip of tea from your cup. It was strange how comfortable you were around each other.

You yawned, resting your head in his shoulder, the moment quickly shifting from teasing to softness. This was the kind of thing that always happened between you, you could just go from full on annoying each other to the cutest moment ever.

"Tired, baby?" Sirius whispered, his fingers caressing your hip softly. His voice soft.

You had a small smile in your lips. "It's all your fault and that horrible Muggle game"

"You were the one that kept asking for a rematch" Sirius grinned, letting a soft kiss in your hair.

James slammed his fork onto the table. “I hate this.”

You and Sirius came out of your love bubble, looking at James while trying to hold back the laughter. James was definitely regretting his life decisions.

Remus, barely looking up from his plate, hummed. “No, you don’t.”

James gestured wildly. “They’re so annoying.”

Peter snorted. “They’re exactly the same as before. Just… more obnoxious.”

Sirius turned to James, absolutely radiating smugness. “Something wrong, Prongs?”

James scowled. “Yeah. You two.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Why, James, I thought you wanted us to be together.”

“I take it back.”

Sirius chuckled, pressing a ridiculously over-the-top kiss to the top of you head just to piss James off more. “Too late.”

James groaned, flopping onto the table dramatically. “This is hell.”

Remus patted his back. “You did bring this upon yourself.”

James let out a miserable sigh. “Worst idea ever.”

[moonstruckme]

Hi! So I have the issue where I’m not able to turn my brain off I guess and I’m having to constantly be aware of everything happening around me and managing everyone because if I don’t do it no one will. It’s so tiring to never have a minute to not be a very aware of every little thing. That being said, could I request a Remus or poly!marauders where reader is able to not be in constant manage mode? I know that’s really weird and if it’s too much just ignore this. Thank you for everything you do on here ❤️

Not weird! Very relatable actually haha. Thank you for requesting angel <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 823 words

“I like my system,” James says as you kneel in front of his suitcase, folding shirts. “My pants go on that side, then shirts in one corner and the rest in the other.” 

“I don’t think it counts as a system if you’re just piling stuff in, Jamie.” 

“How do you figure?” 

“Well, doesn’t it bother you that they’re all wrinkled?” You frown, taking out a balled-up pair of trousers. It bothers you, and they’re not even your clothes. 

“Not really, no. It’s a holiday, lovie, who am I trying to impress?” 

“Um, me?” Sirius shoots a look across the bedroom. He’s busy stuffing things into his own suitcase on the other side of the bed. 

“Oh, always,” James says gamely. “But you love me whether my shirts are wrinkled or not, don’t you?” 

Sirius makes a wishy-washy noise that sees James tossing a pair of socks at his head. He dodges and they bounce to the floor. 

“Did you remember your glasses cleaner?” you ask James, feeling about the pockets of his suitcase. 

“All under control, angel. It’s in my backpack.” 

“Perfect.” You finish neatly folding the last of his things and stand to kiss him. “Thanks.” 

“Thank you. Though you didn’t have to fold my underwear, I could have managed that myself.” 

“It was no problem.” You round the bed to where Sirius is packing, peering down at his suitcase. 

He looks up with a raised brow. “Can I help you?” 

“Are you packing your conditioner?” 

Sirius’ other brow comes up to join the first. “Yes, I am. Do you have a problem with my hair smelling lovely?” 

“No.” You smile, rolling your eyes when he pinches the back of your thigh playfully. “Just remember that it has to be under a hundred milliliters if you’re not checking your bag.” 

“I’ve got it, doll. You worry about your milliliters, and I’ll worry about mine, m’kay?” 

You hum. “And, um…” 

“What?” Sirius’ tone is dry, but it’s all fondness in the tilt of his mouth as he looks up at you. “You gonna fold my underwear, too?” 

“No, just, have you eaten? I don’t know if we’ll have time to eat at the airport.” 

“I think Remus wants you, sweetness.” 

“Hm?” 

Sirius points with his chin, and you turn to find Remus watching you from the doorway to the bedroom. He looks a particular brand of appealing in his travel clothes. The trackies James got him for Christmas probably shouldn’t go so well with his overlarge jumper, but Remus being Remus, of course it works. He beckons you toward him. 

“Oh, okay.” You glance back at Sirius one more time as you go. “Don’t forget to take your lighter out of your bag, security will take it away.” 

“Love you too!” 

“Hi,” you say to Remus, who wordlessly folds you into a hug as soon as you leave the bedroom. “Everything okay?” 

He hums. “Everything’s great, yeah. Are you excited to go?” 

You’re bemused but pleased by his hand running up and down your spine, his freshly shaven jaw pressed to your temple. “I am, yeah.” 

“Mm. Relaxed?” 

“I’m…yeah, sure.” 

Remus chuckles softly. “You seem a bit strung up, lovely. Are you all packed?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good. Me too. Anything else you need to do before we go? Have you eaten?” 

“I ate, yeah.” You glance back towards the bedroom, the movement almost involuntary. “I think I just need to make sure—” 

“You’re all ready then?” 

It’s not like Remus to cut you off, but when you turn back around his expression is all fond patience. 

“I think so,” you say. “At least, my stuff is all done.” 

“Perfect.” He kisses your head, then takes your hand, leading you away from your boyfriends. “Let’s relax for a bit while they finish up, then, yeah?”

You let Remus guide you to the couch. At first sitting, then curling up against his side, your head resting over the steady beat of his heart. His hand runs up and down your arm, and slowly the tension seeps out of you. 

“Sorry,” you say after a while. “Was I being annoying?” 

“No,” Remus reassures you. “Of course not. You’re only helping. You just don’t have to, you know?” 

You cringe at yourself. At the clarity of hindsight. “Nobody asked for my help.” 

“We’re adults,” he agrees. “We don’t need to be managed—or we shouldn’t. If Sirius packs too much conditioner, he can sort it out himself.” 

“Right. Sorry.” 

Remus tuts, kissing the top of your head. “Please don’t be sorry. We all just want you to be able to relax. Give yourself a break, yeah?” 

“Yeah, okay.” You snuggle closer to him, letting the last of the tension sap from your body. “That doesn’t sound so awful.” 

“I’m glad.” The smile is audible in Remus’ voice. He rubs your arm again, encouraging you to relax further. 

“But what if James doesn’t know—” 

“Dove. He’ll figure it out.” 

[notlongtolove]

to be an accountant of the heart

because it’s utterly, bone-deep terrifying. to look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and feel the weight of a possibility that you might love them more than they love you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst-ish, fight and makeup

content: established relationship fight and makeup woof woof rookie bau reader feels insecure about how much she loves spencer, worries she's too clingy, spencer reid best bf ever

word count: 5k

note: this was haunting me in my drafts for the longest time... please be nice my heart can't take it (psa guys don't ever tell ur partners that they love you more than you love them bc 5 years down the road they'll cope by writing deranged spencer reid fics like this)

a line: You’ve always been this way—more flame than moth, more lightning than thunder. It’s one of the things he loves most about you.

and then it is hundreds of hours later, and you are still hunched over your flowcharts and abacus, trying to decide if you have gotten enough. This is the loneliest job in the world: to be an accountant of the heart. - tony hoagland

The English language draws a neat line between many and much. It divides the countable from the uncountable.

The word many is meant for things you can count. How many cups of coffee have you had? How many days will you be gone for? 

The word much belongs to what cannot be counted, what cannot be numbered. How much longer do we have in bed? How much did you miss me? How much do you love me? 

How much?

It’s an innately impossible question. Love, after all, is supposed to be infinite, unbound, unquantifiable. Any attempt to measure it—to reduce something so sacred to a number, a unit—is to taint it. And why would you want to do that? Why would anyone? There shouldn't be any need to measure something so inherently immeasurable. 

Deep down, you know there's no actual way to count love. You suppose this instinct to measure has always been there, to wonder if the love you received can be tallied like time. It’s buried deep, old as the child you once were. 

Still, the question begs itself. How much? How much more? How much less? If comparison is the thief of joy it’s only because it leaves you with the revelations nobody asked for, the truths nobody ever wants to see. 

Put love on a scale, wait and see—Will it balance or won’t it? 

“Glaring at the clock isn’t going to make time pass any faster,” Elle teases from two desks away, her eyes locked on the report she’s skimming.

You don’t bother hiding your sigh as you glance up from where your chin rests heavily in your palm, elbow propped against the desk. The pencil in your other hand twirls idly, betraying your impatience. “He said they landed an hour ago,” you grumble. Only the faintest trace of a pout slips through.

“Working hard or hardly working, ladies?” 

Your head perks up at that. Trust Derek Morgan to know how to make an entrance, arriving right on cue, grin wide and swagger intact. 

JJ, seated beside you and noticeably more amused by your restlessness than concerned, spins her chair around as she asks, “How was the convention boys?”

“It was great—more than great actually,” Spencer says, appearing from behind Morgan. He’s lugging a bag that seems twice as heavy as when you’d helped him pack it five days ago. “All the speakers were incredible. I got to talk with Lonnie Athens himself. He gave me a signed copy of his latest book.” His grin widens tenfold. “It’s not even out in stores yet.”

You’re halfway out of your seat, ready to pounce on Spencer the moment he sets his bag down. But instead, he offers a halfhug and a light squeeze to your shoulder. It’s understated, but it’s Spencer. Public displays of affection aren’t his thing, and you know better than to expect more. Still, five days without him makes you ache for just a little more.

“It was alright,” Morgan interjects with a casual shrug as he takes a seat at the edge of your table, narrowly missing your nth mug of coffee. “Great sandwiches though.”

“Yeah, you sure seemed interested in the sandwiches,” Spencer says dryly, the kind of tone that suggests sandwiches were not the main attraction.

Morgan smirks, unbothered. “New York, man,” he says with a grin. “New York.”

You turn your attention back to Spencer. “How’d you sleep?” you ask, your question aimed entirely at him.

“Surprisingly well, actually,” Spencer replies, “Despite the snoring.”

Morgan’s response is immediate—a light thwack to the back of Spencer’s head. “How’d he sleep? More like, how’d I sleep. Lover girl over here had him on the phone half the night.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” you shoot back, narrowing your eyes at him. But then your gaze drifts to Spencer, searching for confirmation. “Was I?”

Spencer hesitates, his lips pressing into a faintly sheepish line. “I did wake up late for one of the panels,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh, you think you had it bad? I’ve never seen someone go through so much coffee in a week,” JJ says, nodding in your direction, “She wiped out the entire stock.”

“Almost bashed her over the head with a cup of coffee myself when I had to settle for the instant stuff,” Elle chimes in. A collective shudder goes through the group. “No offence, Reid,” she adds.

“None taken,” Spencer replies smoothly, just in time to earn another smack on his arm, this time from you.

You’ve endured more than your fair share of teasing—it comes with the territory when you’re part of a team like this. You, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, three years his junior. Him, more comfortable rambling about the number of kernels on an average cob of corn than talking to any girl, let alone one with a smile like yours that could make his knees buckle. What had been an odd match to some, made perfect sense to others—Though Spencer would argue that Garcia just liked seeing him with any girl who could make him laugh the way you could, especially within three days of meeting him. It’s a feat nobody else has yet to achieve in the year you’ve been on the team. 

“Missed you,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.

Spencer flushes as his lips part, maybe to respond, but Elle cuts in before he gets the chance. “Save it for later, lover girl. Some of us want to hear about those sandwiches.” 

“Oh, they really were better than last year’s,” Spencer begins, now distracted, completely oblivious to Elle’s sarcasm, “Probably because the annual reports showed an increased budget for the global initiatives.”

JJ raises an eyebrow in amused disbelief. “You read the FBI’s annual budget breakdown?”

Spencer looks genuinely surprised by the question. “You don’t?”

Chuckles echo throughout the group and though you smile faintly, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You just can’t help it as the tally marks start to stack up in your mind. One for the way his attention is just a little too distant, his excitement seemingly aimed at everyone but you. Another for every time you wait for his gaze and it doesn’t come. He’s too absorbed in recounting a discussion about deterministic causality he’d had with a keynote speaker. 

Compared to Spencer, who was often so reserved, it was easy to feel like your emotions were too big, too eager. Dragging him, wide-eyed and stammering, up the stairs to Hotch’s office six months ago had been nothing short of a test of strength and sheer determination. You’d been the one to silence him with a gentle kiss to his knuckles, promising him that everything would be okay. You were a live wire compared to him, everyone knew that. Lover girl, they teased, though never cruelly. In the field and out of it—Clingy to a fault, always wearing your heart on your sleeve. 

Lover girl through and through, you wait patiently for Spencer to look your way. 

He doesn’t. 

“Yours or mine?” Spencer asks as you stand side by side on the curb, bags in tow. 

“Think I’ll go to mine,” you reply curtly. You don’t trust yourself to say anything else right now.

“That’s fine. I’ve got an extra day’s worth of clothes with me.”

“You can go home,” you say, cutting him off. It comes off sharper than you intended. Then, softer, as if trying to backtrack, you add, “If you want.”

He looks at you, baffled. “Why would I do that?” 

It’s not a rhetorical question, he genuinely doesn’t understand. Weekends apart have never really been your thing. 

“Because—” You cut yourself off mid-sentence. What could you even say? Because you seem so perfectly fine after 120 hours apart. Because the tally marks said so. Because the scale said so. Instead, you huff an exhale and settle for, “No reason. You look tired. Thought you’d want to go home or something.”

“Again sweetheart. Why would I do that?” he repeats, incredulous. 

You fight off a resigned sigh, though you’re sure he catches it, and pull out your phone. “I’m calling a cab,” you mumble, thumbing at the screen. “Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, I’ll come with you,” he says, still calm but clearly confused.

“Fine.”

The ride home is quiet, save for the driver’s rambling complaints about freeway traffic at this hour. Normally, you’d be the one to humour any conversations with strangers, chiming in with polite nods and oh, reallys while Spencer watched, bemused by your ability to make small talk with anyone. But today, you’re just not in the mood, leaving poor Spencer to fend for himself.  

Which to his credit, he does—By turning the conversation into a tangent about how traffic patterns correlate with certain hours and commuter behaviour, and delving into a detailed explanation of the queueing theory. He does this till eventually, even the driver goes silent, though whether it’s out of confusion or exhaustion, you’re not quite sure. 

You can feel Spencer’s eyes on you in the silence, flicking toward you every now and then. The concern in his attention does nothing to soothe you. If anything, it only fans the flames of your irritation. When the car finally rolls to a stop outside your building, you hand the driver a $20 bill, wave off the change, and stride toward your door without another word. You’re out before Spencer can even pull his door open.

Inside, you drop your things on the couch resignedly and kick off your shoes without so much as a care. They land in a scattered heap that you don’t bother to fix. Spencer lingers behind you, ever patient.

“What do you want for dinner?” His voice is soft, tentative, as he bends down to pick up your discarded shoes, lining them neatly by the door. “We could order something. Chinese, maybe?”

Spencer knows you well—knows how your mood sours when you’re running on fumes. Particularly on days like this, when your only sustenance has been a cup of crappy coffee and a few stale crackers he’d coaxed you into eating earlier just before you left, bribing you with a quick kiss on the cheek—After checking that nobody else was in the break room, of course. 

Sullen as you are, you can recognise the offer for what it is. It’s sweet. A thoughtful acknowledgement of how well he knows you, how much he cares. He’s offering you a lifeline, a quiet invitation to let the storm pass without forcing you to name it, something you’re evidently trying not to do. 

But tonight, it feels almost patronising. It’s a spotlight on the hurt you can’t quite temper, like he’s trying to fix something you’re not yet ready to admit needs fixing.

“I can run down to the—”

“I’m not hungry.” 

You walk straight into your bedroom without another word, leaving him standing there in the doorway. You hear him exhale quietly, not quite a sigh but close. Probably one of resignation. Another tally mark falls on the scale. 

“Sweetheart,” he starts. You know he’s testing the waters, trying to find an opening. But you don’t look at him, don’t give him anything to work with. “Can we talk?” he asks, his fingers brushing yours as he takes a seat at the edge of your bed.

“Talk about what?” You’ve always been good at feigning ignorance, but the way you pull your hand away from his is anything but subtle. Spencer sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes briefly. He’s clearly exhausted. This is exhausting. You’re clearly exhausting. You can’t help but wonder why you always do this. 

“Was it Elle? Morgan?” he ventures cautiously. “The teasing?”

“They always tease me,” you say with a shrug, your voice dismissive. “I don’t care.”

It’s a half-truth, and you both know it.

Spencer nods slowly as he tries to piece this together. He knows you’re not usually one to let things fester. You’re never angry for long, and even when you are, you laugh it off, always quick to join in on the joke. He knows better than to profile you—it's an unspoken rule within the team and, more importantly, within your relationship. But Spencer’s anything if not desperate to understand.

He watches you slip into the bathroom with a sigh, shoulders dipping. The light flickers on, but you don’t meet your own gaze in the mirror. You’re not angry. That would be easier. There’s something quieter in your eyes. Defeat, maybe. 

“I missed you,” he offers, stepping into the doorway. His tone is softer now, pleading.

“Did you?” It’s almost sarcastic, but not quite. Irritable but undercut by something raw, as though you don’t really believe he did.

Spencer swallows. “You don’t think I missed you?”

“A little hard to tell between the fawning over Lonnie Athens,” you say, wiping mascara from under your lashes. “Or was it the in-depth analysis of sandwich platters?”

It’s a snap, all sharp edges and fire, and for a second, he forgets the minefield he’s meant to be tiptoeing through. Has to bite back a smile. You’ve always been this way—more flame than moth, more lightning than thunder. It’s one of the things he loves most about you.

“Is that what this is about?” The words slip out before he can stop them, and the second they do, he knows. Rookie mistake. Your spine straightens, your jaw sets, and he wants to take it back, rewind, try again.

“This,” you echo, turning to face him. “What exactly do you mean by this?”

Spencer reminds himself that fire is never snuffed out with ice. You douse a flame gently, carefully. So, he steps forward, quieter now, fingers grazing yours before he takes your hand in his, guiding you toward the bed. He doesn’t pull, doesn’t rush, just leads you toward the bed with the same patience he knows you need when you’re fragile and burning.

Regardless, you try to resist, to hold yourself upright. You’re fighting the urge to sink into it—His touch, the bed, all of it. 

“Sweetheart,” Spencer murmurs, taking a seat beside you. “I know you’re not angry. You’re sad. And I’d really like to know why. Tell me, please?”

Deep inside, you know you’re just clinging on to the last embers of your frustration. But it’s hard—impossible, really, when you’re a fire with no kindle left to burn, and Spencer is all soft whispers and gentle hands, featherlight and soothing. 

You hesitate, twisting the fabric of the duvet between your fingers. “I just—I—You were being mean.”

Spencer lets out a slow, quiet breath. Relief, almost. Not because he agrees—He knows himself well enough to be sure that ‘mean’ isn’t the right word. But he knows you well enough to understand what it means when you say it.

Mean is what you say when you’ve been hurt and don’t know how else to put it. 

So he follows your lead. Doesn’t fight it.

“M’sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles stroking your hand with his thumb. His touch is warm as it is gentle. 

Because it’s not about whether he was mean or not. Spencer knows that. Knows you. Knows that kindness has never been a given for you, knows that you wouldn’t recognise patience if it came knocking. And he knows you well enough to know that you think in some twisted way, that you’ve brought this hurt upon yourself, that you deserve it. 

What matters is that you were hurt. And that’s the one thing he never, ever wants to do.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Can you tell me how I did?”

“You just kept going on and on about the stupid conference. You didn’t even hug me or—And then you—” 

You don’t continue. You can’t. You feel ridiculous. Stupid, even. Mopey and small over something that shouldn’t matter this much. Over the realisation that he doesn’t need you. And why should he? It’s not Spencer’s fault. Not at all. 

His indifference is what it is and what it was. Indifference. It sits like a weight on your bones—Cold, sharp-edged, piercing. He can go 5 days without you. You can’t. The tally marks accumulate, unbidden.

“And then I…?” Spencer prompts gently, prying your fingers from the duvet and replacing the tension with his thumb, tracing slow, soothing circles into your palm instead.

“You ignored me, and I just—” Your voice wavers, frustration bubbling over. "I just felt so—so ignored!"

Wonderful vocabulary. Of course, your words would fail you now.

“And the teasing—I know, I know, I can be impossible sometimes, but I just—I just really missed you! And I get it okay? I’m clingy and you’re not and god forbid anybody else is but it’s because I love you!” You inhale sharply, your hands slipping from his to curl into fists in your lap. “And you didn’t react at all, you didn’t even care! You made me feel like—I thought that you—” 

You cut yourself off before the flurry of tears take over and drown you out. 

Spencer waits a beat, choosing his next words carefully. 

“You thought… that I don’t love you?” His voice isn’t laced with sarcasm, nor does it carry incredulity. It’s a genuine question, as though he’s retracing the moments between you, trying to understand how you could possibly come to such a conclusion.

“No, it’s not that—” you’re quick to say, desperate to correct him. You know Spencer loves you. Of course, you know that. How could you not? It’s Spencer. He loves you like it’s his life mission to show you just how much he loves you. “I know you love—I know that. I just—” 

You bury your face in your hands, fingers pressing into the hollows beneath your eyes—A feeble attempt at hiding.

Because it’s utterly, bone-deep terrifying. To look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and feel the weight of a possibility that you might love them more than they love you.

To want to shout: Love me. Please love me, and please feel it with every fibre of your being as I do with mine. The kind of love that makes you want to scream from rooftops, to etch it into the sky, to burn the world down just to prove its enormity. 

Because then the question comes: Which would be worse?

To shout into the vast, open air and hear nothing in response? No echo of the same intensity. Or to stand amidst the smouldering ashes only to look into their eyes and find they don’t recognise you anymore? To see confusion or pity where love used to live.

You blink your watery eyes open, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Instead, you settle on the knobs of your knees, tracing their shape with your gaze. 

Anything but Spencer. Not right now. 

You take a sharp breath, steadying yourself before continuing.

“Sometimes, I feel like you don’t need me as much as I need you and that scares me. And I know it’s stupid, even I feel stupid thinking about it. I don’t even want to be codependent or whatever but I—I just can’t help but think that sometimes—” 

Your breath shudders out of you, long and uneven, “I love you more than you love me.”

To say Spencer feels his heart break would be an understatement. It’s not a clean break, not a single, shattering moment—it’s a slow, relentless unraveling. It’s a gut punch, pain and duress packed tight, failure laced in every syllable. His heart shatters, splintering into pieces so sharp they lodge in his throat, in his lungs, in every part of him that has ever loved you. 

Silently, he’s always known the teasing would hit a breaking point. You’ve worn that insecurity for as long as he’s known you—too young, too green, too desperate to prove yourself. He just didn’t think it would carve its way between you the two of you like this. He’s watched you lean into it, let the jokes land, let them chip away at you. Newbie. Rookie. Lover girl. As if laughing along might soften the edges of it all. 

You flop onto your back on the bed, boneless, the confession stealing the last of your fight. There’s a splotch of blue paint on the ceiling from last month, when you both tried to repaint the room and got distracted halfway through. It doesn’t make you smile, not even  a little.

“That’s not true.” The mattress dips under Spencer’s weight as he settles beside you, thumb tracing your hairline. His arm moves, coaxing you to toward him, gentle in the way only he knows how to be with you.

“You’re not impossible, sweetheart, you never are. And I know they tease,” he murmurs, fingers of his other hand grazing over your knuckles, “but I also know for a fact that you don’t fall apart without me when I’m gone. That would be co-dependency. And I know that’s not you. You passed your requalifications with flying colors while I was away,” he says. “Garcia sent me the records. You know you even beat Morgan’s old score?” 

You sniffle, startled. That had been your surprise. You’d wanted to tell him yourself. 

“She told you?” 

He shakes his head. “I asked. I always ask for updates on you when I can’t be there.”

A small “Oh,” is all you can get out. 

With every other guy you dated, you’d attempted to play it cool, dialling down your enthusiasm, biting back your texts, and pretending to care less than you did. But every relationship seemed to end the same way: you were “a lot” and they weren’t equipped to handle it. It never quite stuck though, and thank god for that. 

Because then you met Spencer.

Sweet, steady Spencer, who didn’t just tolerate your spark but cherished it. Spencer, who had let you cling to his hand during every takeoff and landing on the jet the first week on the job. He never flinched, never teased—Even when everyone else casted him sympathetic looks, the kind that silently acknowledged how your grip was probably cutting off his circulation. Spencer who has kept every scrawled doodle and note you’ve ever given for him, even the ones scribbled haphazardly on napkins or receipts. He knows carbon prints fade within months so he stores them in a shoebox tucked away in his cupboard—Just so they can last that much longer. 

Spencer didn’t just accept the parts of you others found overwhelming. He singlehandedly brought them back to life. Every bit of your spark that had been dimmed or snuffed out by someone else had found new light in his presence.

Spencer’s fingers tighten around yours, a quiet kind of reassurance that draws you back to the present. 

“Being clingy is not the same as being codependent. I know you know that. There’s a clear psychological difference in brain chemistry.” His lips twitch, the smallest hint of a smile slipping through. “You’re clingy, yes. But I love that about you. I love coming home with you. I love coming home to you. I love how hard you love me, how proudly you love me. I know I haven’t been the best at reciprocating that around the team, and I’m sorry. I hate that I made you feel like I didn’t love you, or miss you.”

He shifts closer, eyes searching yours, open and earnest. “Because I did miss you. So much. I nearly blew a month’s paycheck in the gift shop. Spent half of it stocking up on those jelly crackers you told me about.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe himself. “Morgan said I was whipped when I paid thirty bucks for a pair of souvenir socks.”

With a raise of your eyebrow you ask tearily, “and exactly how many pairs did you buy?” 

“Got you three pairs.” A sheepish little laugh escapes him as he ducks his head. 

And just like that, you’re smiling too. Albeit a small one, but that’s progress nonetheless. “And I don’t think you quite understand how much I love you when you say you love me more.” He leans in, his voice dropping, teasing. “I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m very competitive.”

“Oh, so I’ve heard Doctor Reid,” you quip, eyes rolling. Spencer’s lips curve, just slightly. You don’t even notice the way you press closer to him, but Spencer does. He takes the opportunity to go on.

“In a way, you’re right. I don’t need you,” Spencer says. Whiplash doesn’t even begin to describe the way your head snaps toward him. Flame and lighting, no doubt. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly, his expression already twisting in regret. “I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.”

“I don’t see what other way you could possibly phrase something like that,” you snap pettily, already pushing yourself up to stand. 

“Hey, hey.” His hand reaches out, not quite grabbing yours but close enough to make you pause. “Lie back down, honey. Please.” 

Against your better judgment, you relent, sinking back into the bed. “What I meant to say was, I don’t need you,” he repeats, slower this time, deliberate.

You scoff, a bitter laugh slipping through your lips as you swipe harshly at your damp lashes. “I get it, Spencer. Clearly you don’t.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” he says, his voice unwavering. “Biologically speaking, I wouldn’t cease to exist without you. My heart would continue to beat, my lungs would continue to expand and contract, my brain would maintain its synaptic functions. I would survive.” He pauses then, eyes searching yours, “And can I tell you something?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t pull away either. He takes that as permission to go on. “You don’t need me either.” 

Your lips part, the beginnings of a protest forming, but he cuts you off gently.

“I know you said you do, but your autonomic nervous system would still regulate your breathing, your neurons would still fire, your body would persist.” He swallows, voice dipping lower. “But that’s not the point, is it? Love isn’t about biological necessity. It’s not about survival. It’s about choice.” 

The word "choice" feels almost ironic when it comes from Spencer Reid. You knew that the moment you met him. It was never really a choice, not for you. It was him, or nothing. Desperately, you'd like to think it was the same for him, too.

Your answer comes in the form of his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. He’s patient, always, even when you aren’t. Kind in a way that sinks deep—Like you deserve it. You’re all sharp edges, brittle and worn, and he’s five days off a lumpy hotel mattress, yet the only thing he cares about is brushing away the tears from your skin. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t love you because I need you. I don’t think that would be love at all. That’s survival. I love you because I choose you to,” he continues. “Because you are the strongest person I know. Because you are kind, even when the world hasn’t been kind to you. Because you give so much of yourself without hesitation, without ever expecting anything in return.” 

Spencer smiles, shaking his head. “Because you’re the only person I know who will spend thirty minutes on a call recounting every little thing everyone did in the office that you think I’d like to hear about—before you even think to tell me about your own day.”

“It was funny! Since when has Hotch ever tripped on the stairs?”

It’s unfair really, how easily his laugh breathes life back into you. Your heart stumbles over itself as his hand brushes tenderly along your jaw. 

“I’ve spent every day in awe of you since the moment I met you. And I fall in love with you more and more with each one. Even on the days I’m not with you. Even on the days I’m miles away. Even then.” Spencer presses his lips against the back of your hand as he adds, “Especially then.” 

“Really?”

You can’t help it, the quiet little thing in you that wants to hear it again. 

Your tears have dried, but their traces still shimmer faintly on your skin. Spencer presses a kiss to your forehead, his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He’d say it again. A hundred times. He’d make that speech a thousand times over, if you needed him to. If it meant you’d never doubt it again.

“Really, my love.”

And just like that, a million tally marks fall at your feet.

A million for the way he presses another kiss to your lips, unrushed. A million more for the way his nose bumps against yours, lingering, breathing you in. Another million for the spark that creeps back into your eyes. 

It’s infinite, unbound, unquantifiable—The way he loves you, the sheer depth of it. You feel foolish for ever having questioned it. You thank your lucky stars—all of them—for Spencer Reid. For the way he’s looking at you like you strung the constellations together yourself. For the way he chooses you, again and again, even when you don’t choose him, when you shut down, when you go quiet. 

Because love to Spencer isn’t desperation, isn’t need—it’s choice. The deliberate, unwavering act of reaching out, of staying, and of saying over and over: I choose you. 

Not because he has to, but because he wants to. To be the one to put you back together again when you’re all embers and ash, to cradle you back onto earth when stare past him into the ceiling, to remind you that there’s still warmth in you left to hold.

To breathe the spark back into your eyes—It’s a choice he made the very moment he met you. It’s a spark Spencer swears he’d spend his whole life keeping alight.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: daylight by taylor swift intrapersonal by turnover

[morganaawriterr]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Valentine's Day with Ni-ki;

Pairing; fem!reader X best friend!Ni-ki Synopsis; Just when you're about to leave the house to have a date with Heeseung, your best friend Ni-ki shows up at your door with a sweet confession to make; Genre; best friends to lovers; fluff; Words; 1k Warning; None is just cute asf lol; MASTERLIST;

A/N: I wanted to post something for valentine's day so bad but I don't really like this :( I hope you guys do! As usual likes and reblogs are appreciated, thank you so much <3 Happy Valentine to all the girlies and boys in a relationship, to us, singles... well... lets be delulu for a little.

“Ni-ki? What are you doing here?” you question, confused, as soon as you open your heavy front door. Your curious eyes scan your best friend’s face as you gently hold the door open.

“Don’t go…” Ki responds, his beautiful brown eyes locked on yours.

Today is Valentine’s Day, and you have a date with a nice guy named Heeseung, who happens to be one of Ni-ki’s friends. You haven’t talked to Heeseung much, but he showed interest in you, and you decided to give him a chance. He seemed hesitant at first, but then firmly assured you that he wanted to go out with you today, so you got all dolled up just for him.

“What are you talking about, Ki?” you ask, starting to feel irritated by his strange timing. Ni-ki stands tall in front of you, his hands hidden behind his back. You raise an eyebrow and try to peek behind him, but he catches you just in time and steps back to avoid it.

“I’m talking about your date with Heeseung,” Riki repeats, his hands starting to sweat. “Don’t go on that stupid date with him.”

The truth is, he’s been in love with you ever since he met you. Ni-ki realized he wanted you long ago, way before you met Heeseung, but only now, with Heeseung making a move on you, did he find the courage to confess. His heart ached at the thought of you kissing Heeseung after getting all pretty for him.

Riki tries to read your expression, his eyes scanning your perplexed face, then trailing down your figure. You’re wearing an adorable pink floral sundress that isn’t too tight but still hugs your body in all the right places. Your long chocolate-brown hair is carefully straightened, and you’re wearing his favorite perfume.

Feeling his intense gaze, you speak up. “Why would I do that, hm?”

Ni-ki knows you’re starting to get irritated—the stern look in your eyes gives it away easily.

“Because…” Ni-ki starts, but it feels like someone is squeezing his throat, making it hard to breathe. “Because I’m finally here,” he whispers, his eyes locked on yours, hoping you’ll understand what his half-words can’t fully express.

You feel your cheeks heat up, unable to hide your reaction to his words. You’ve liked Riki for as long as you can remember but never really understood your feelings until you started growing up. His cool persona and great fashion sense made him incredibly attractive. But after getting to know him even better, you fell harder. He was more than just cool and well-dressed. He was kind, well-mannered, and made you laugh until your cheeks hurt. And turns out that was the way to your heart.

You never told him how you felt because you never thought he would like you back. After all, he was popular and had many girls chasing after him. That’s why you agreed to go out with Heeseung. Maybe he could distract you from the one-sided love you had for your best friend.

“What are you talking about, Riki…” you whisper, your heart racing at the thought that he might actually like you back. Your eyes shift from his to the floor, too nervous to face him.

“Fuck, Y/N, I like you, okay? I always have. I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you,” Ni-ki finally confesses, his ears turning red and his hands trembling slightly as he reveals what he is holding behind his back.

You can’t hide the immense smile that grows on your lips at his words, and when you see the beautiful bouquet of red roses in his hands, you can’t hold back anymore. Happy tears fill your eyes as you reach forward, wrapping your arms around Ni-ki’s neck, your head tucked against him. Your best friend immediately pulls you close, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his heart finally calming down as he feels your familiar embrace.

“Does this mean you like me back?” he jokes when you pull away to look up at him, your big puppy eyes staring into his. Ni-ki’s hand cups your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your skin.

You smile brightly at him. “Of course I do, dumbass,” you giggle, completely lost in the new softness in Riki’s eyes. “Wait, but Heeseung doesn’t deserve this… I can’t just cancel on him,” you say, biting your lip as guilt creeps in.

“Don’t worry, just tell him you changed your mind. He knew this would happen…” Ni-ki explains with a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Heeseung knew Ni-ki liked you, but Ni-ki denied it. Your best friend had assured Heeseung that you were single and that he didn’t like you, so Heeseung asked you out. Despite suspecting Riki’s feelings, Heeseung was genuinely interested in you and was surprised when you accepted his offer.

“Will you be my Valentine?” Ni-ki asks, love practically dripping from his eyes, his smile so genuine and cheerful that it makes your heart skip a beat.

“Yes, Ni-ki.”

As the words leave your mouth, Riki steps closer to you, his addictive scent surrounding you. His cold fingers gently lift your chin as he leans in. Your hands reach for his black hair, fingers playing with the strands at the nape of his neck.

His lips feel hesitant at first when they meet yours. Knowing him well, you can tell he’s probably nervous about taking this big step, so you kiss him back confidently, trying to reassure him that you’re more than okay with this. Tilting your head slightly, you silently ask for permission to deepen the kiss, and he lets you take the lead. As your lips mold together perfectly, he relaxes, smiling softly against your mouth, overwhelmed by joy. Your tongues move slowly, savoring each other like you’ve always wished to.

Out of breath, you pull away, a warm blush painting your cheeks. When Riki opens his eyes, he finds you already staring at him, looking prettier than ever with your lips swollen and red from his kiss. Smiling, he gently takes your hand and leads you to his car, ready to drive you to your favorite restaurant and spend a perfect evening with you—just like you deserve.

Little did he know, this was already more than enough. All you really wanted on this Valentine’s Day was his warm lips on yours, finally claiming you as his.

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[somuchforahobby]

what didn't stay in vegas

Summary: Ever since your arrival at the BAU Derek had been constantly flirting with you, but not his usual Garcia-sweet talk, he was all in. You had gotten used to it and actually rehearsed your comebacks. But there was someone who wasn’t so fond of it. Tags: Secret relationship / Derek is a flirttt / Hotch is jealous Warnings: once again I did not dare to write s m u t Words: 1.5K GIFS belong to: @hqtchner Read on AO3

“Hey, babygirl, how about we head for some drinks to relax after this?” He asked you as the team walked out of the precinct. 

“Oh, that’d be great! Spence can give us some tricks to survive in his hometown” You actually were interested in the offer.

“I meant in my room, sweetheart.”  He winked at you.

“Nice try, Morgan.” You laughed on his face. “We’re in sin city and I ain’t no saint.” You turned to see your secret boyfriend for a second before anybody could notice. His eyes darkened and a small smile appeared on his face.

“Sin with me, darling. I swear it’ll be worth it.” His hand landed on your waist but you removed it with your elbow.

“Those who brag are never good.” You answered over your shoulder.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“My God, get a damn room.” Emily broke the tension, tired of the exchange, and the rest of the team went quiet.

~

“It’s starting to get annoying” Aaron said against your lips once you were alone in his hotel room. “I will suspend him” he punctuated every word with a kiss.

“Don’t be so resentful, he doesn’t know I’m yours” 

“He doesn’t know what?” He pretended not to listen so you’d repeat. You laughed.

“That I’m yours” You gave him a peck on the lips.

“Besides, you can’t blame a man for trying” You kissed him again and your hands quickly worked his tie to undo the knot. A soft moan left his mouth.

“No, I can’t” he pushed you against the wall to attack your neck, while unbuttoning your shirt.

“Just because you got there earlier” 

He stopped his way to your chest to stand back and looked you in the eyes.

“Is that the only reason why?” His hand was on your jaw, holding your face upwards to maintain eye contact. He was analyzing you.

“Of course not” you bit your lower lip aware of the effect it had on him but with his thumb set it free by pulling your chin.

His eyes dangled through your face, not certain of what he was looking for.

“Oh, come on, honey, just fuck my brain’s out.” Your hands were working on his buckle but he grabbed both your wrists, lifting them above your head, holding them with one hand while the other returned to cup your cheek.

“Mmm” his furrowed brows accusing you of a crime you didn’t commit. “I don’t think you’ve earned it”

“I was real’ good today!” He smiled at your attempt. “I did not tease you in front of the team and I almost didn’t look at you.” Your innocent eyes were driving him mad.

“But you flirted with other men.”

“No, I rejected the flirtations from other men.”

“Mmm” he kept you in the same position, examining your micro expressions.

After a few seconds in silence he kissed you devotedly and softly. “I’m not really in the mood for a role-play today, honey.” He let go of your wrists and wrapped his arms around you, “I really need you.” He’d barely separate your mouths to talk. You just followed his lead to the bed, mimicking the same tenderness he was applying on your body.

~

“Is everything okay?” You asked after you finally came down from your high, head resting on his chest.

“Yeah, it’s just—“ he yawned, “not in the mood to tie you and spank you after all we saw today” he kissed your head sweetly. “Rest, you need it.” He tickled your ribs before turning your body sideways to spoon you.

As it was usual, you fell asleep in his arms.

~

His lips tracing your spine woke you up.

“What time is it?” You asked, still half asleep.

“5:45” He answered and kept kissing your bare back.

“Time for my walk of shame” you turned to see him and placed a peck on his lips. You adored the sight of him in the morning, without stress, without furrowed brows, all half lidded eyes, disheveled hair and warm skin.

“What if I steal this for today?” You asked, trying on his discarded shirt from last night.

“Why would you?” He asked, amused, still lying on the bed.

“So I can brag about the amazing man I spent the night with.” You teased him.

“It has my initials embroidered in the cuffs, I don’t think it’s a good idea” 

“I can fold them”

“No.” It was an order. “I wore it the whole day, it’s dirty.” You smelled the arms.

“It smells like you.”

“So, sweat” He laughed.

“Lotion,” you started walking round the bed “soap”, another step, “manly”, another step and he laughed, “smells like amazingly hot man” you straddled his lap and his hands quickly found your legs.

“I don’t approve”

“You’re not my boss in here.” You leaned down for another passionate kiss.

~

“Why have you chosen to punish me today?” Derek asked you the minute you crossed the precinct door.

“What you mean?” You asked, puzzled.

“You are hiding your body, babygirl, that’s just mean.” His face was filled with fake pain.

You ended up styling the shirt with straight jeans and converse, folding the cuffs to your elbow. It almost looked like a normal oversized shirt.

You took a glimpse of Aaron and he was reading some files in front of him, completely ignoring the conversation.

“That’s a man’s shirt” Spencer pointed out and the edges of your boyfriend’s mouth curled up.

“Is it?” Emily grabbed your shoulder and looked in your eyes. You only nodded. “You dirty girl.” She clapped and smiled.

“I also take trophies from my victims.” You gave the team a proud grin. Derek sighed in frustration.

When you looked up again, Aaron still had a proud smile on his lips.

~

You ended up wrapping the case that day and flying back at night.

“Now that we’re free, let’s talk about your victim.” Emily asked, she was in the seat in front of you.

“Well, he is great in bed.” You started off strong and saw Aaron blush on the other side of the plane as he read the newspaper. “A true gentleman, can’t wait to see him again.”

“Too bad you left him in Vegas” Derek interrupted your conversation.

“Yeah, maybe he could’ve given you some tips on how to treat women.” You answered, amused.

“And, where did you meet him?” JJ continued the interrogation after Morgan walked away.

“Uh” You struggled finding an answer and saw Aaron smiling even harder. “In the hotel.”

“What? Where? How?” Emily was yelling at this point. “You always get laid with random guys on the way and I never understand how you even meet them.”

“I’mma tell Hotch you’re not focused on the cases but on crossing all the states off your list!” JJ threatened.

“We eyed each other during dinner in the hotel, after you guys left to the Casino we got to talking, one thing led to another and that’s that.” You were a great storyteller and even better liar.

“Damn, you. Maybe I’m getting old and rusty.” Emily was analyzing you.

“I happen to know that it is not a problem” you teased. 

“How old?”

“I didn’t ask, my guess is around 45” 

“Single?”

“Mmm” you certainly had not thought about the civil status of your fake fuck buddy. “Yeah, he wasn’t wearing a ring.” 

“Nobody wears a ring in Vegas.”

“Baby, you out there fucking married man instead of staying home, ts ts ts” Derek scolded you.

“Fuck, it’s freezing here.” You wanted to shift the conversation & started unfolding your cuffs to cover yourself but you remembered the embroidery and decided to stand up and get a sweater from your bag. When you passed through Derek, he caught your wrists screaming.

“It has his name embroidered!” You freed yourself before he could read it.

“Leave me alone, Derek.” You were getting upset and Aaron raised his eyes from what he was reading to check on you.

“Morgan” he alerted, bossely.

You were opening the luggage compartment trying to reach for your bag, Derek chased you trying to read your cuffs.

“Derek, leave me alone” You were squirming under him while reaching for your bag.

“Babygirl” him laughing was the only thing avoiding him to restrain you. “Let me read it!”

“Get over it!” He grabbed your wrist and brought it close to his eyes.

“Morgan!” Your boyfriend’s voice made him drop your wrist and take a step back. Aaron was already standing next to you two with his usual frown. “Leave my girl the fuck alone.” He put an arm around your waist while the other got your bag and handed it to you. All while maintaining eye contact with Derek.

Derek showed his palms in surrender and walked away, the rest of the team all had their mouths open in shock.

Once you were alone enough you turned to see Aaron, surely surprised as well.

“I had enough of hiding” he said before leaning down to kiss you.

“Well that didn’t stay in Vegas” you heard Emily’s voice chuckling in the back.

[pretentious-blonde]

valentine's

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve shows his love with steady hands when you get overwhelmed on your date

warnings: absolutely none, steve is a sap as per

a/n: something short n sweet for valentines while i work on pt 5 of new neighbour <3

masterlist

Steve could sense the moment your mood shifted, being well acquainted with your tells when your temper turned sour. And by the way you kept huffing, this was indeed one of those occasions. 

One minute, you were swirling a soft pink paint around the rim of your mug, lips quirked in concentration; the next, your shoulders hunched and a frown creased your forehead. 

It was Valentine’s Day, and he’d brought you to the local Paint & Pottery place with only the sweetest of intentions—an afternoon of lighthearted fun, hopefully followed by a few pastries at the new café down the street. 

Yet, the air between you felt heavy, and Steve didn’t like it one bit.

He set down his own mug—adorned with a simple checkered design that he’d nearly finished—and leaned forward, elbows on the table. The gentle pop music playing in the background did nothing to soothe his nerves once he caught the look on your face.

“You okay?” he asked softly, careful not to startle you. He reached out, lightly resting his hand on top of yours. “You’re, uh… kinda quiet.”

Your eyes flicked up, guilt flashing across your features. “Sorry,” you mumbled. “I just… I can’t get this stupid flower pattern right. The brush is too big. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He could feel a pang in his chest at the frustration in your voice. 

You’d been so excited about recreating that delicate floral motif you saw in a shop weeks ago, all pouty when you placed it back on the shelf after looking at the price tag.

He wished he could’ve bought it for you, really, he did—but money wasn’t something he had in abundance. Knowing he couldn’t fix it with a simple swipe of his card stung more than he wanted to admit.

All he really wanted was to make you smile, so he racked his brain for solutions and discovered this might be the better option—you got a memory out of it, and he got to spend time with you, which should’ve been enough.

But of course—knowing you— you’d wanted it to be perfect. You looked close to tears as your vision was not translating, and that tugged at his heartstrings.

“Hey,” he murmured, sliding his chair closer so your knees bumped. “C’mon. Don’t be so hard on yourself. It looks—”

“Terrible?” you interjected with a shaky laugh. “I should’ve done polka dots or something simple, like you.”

“It looks great, angel,” he insisted. His brown eyes flickered with genuine admiration as he studied your work. “Seriously, I’d pay for it.”

A sad smile ghosted over your lips, but it didn’t fully reach your eyes. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” he said, voice soft. “Hey, look at me.” You did, reluctantly. He offered you an understanding smile. “Hand it over.”

You paused, fingers curling around the handle protectively. 

“Steve, it’s fine—”

“Just gimme a second.”

You hesitated, but the kindness in his gaze made it impossible to refuse. Once you relinquished the mug and your brush, he took a moment to study the design, turning the ceramic slowly in his hands. His brows pulled together in concentration, and you found yourself mesmerised by his focus.

“Trust me, alright?” He said, dipping the brush into the paint and testing a few strokes on a scrap piece of tissue. 

He gave a small nod, then started to outline one of the messy petals, breathing it into a graceful shape with careful flicks of his wrist.

“Wait…” you leaned forward, “you’re actually good at this?”

He shot you a shy grin, eyes flicking up from the mug. “Yeah? You think so?” When you nodded—very emphatically—he shrugged, cheeks faintly pink. “Well, thanks, sweetheart.”

You cocked your head. “How’d I never know about this?”

“I guess I’m just used to this stuff.” He shrugged “I kinda liked art class back in high school.”

“Really?” You felt a flutter in your chest at the thought of Steve being secretly artsy. So different from the jock persona everyone assumed he had back then.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, gaze flicking up to meet yours before darting back to the mug. He was clearly shy about it, but there was something gentle in his tone. “It was different, you know? No numbers. No tests. It just felt… calming, I guess. Something I couldn't really mess up.”

“Steve,” you said as your heart softened, watching the tension in his shoulders relax as he carefully perfected each petal. “You should do more of this. You’re really good.”

He paused, brush hovering above the ceramic, and lifted his head. There was a trace of blush across his cheeks again. 

“Yeah? I don’t know… maybe I could.” He offered a tiny shrug, but the vulnerable smile that followed pulled at your chest all over again. “I’d probably rock one of those art aprons.”

You snorted softly, a genuine laugh bubbling up. Leaning in closer, you dared to rest your hand on his forearm, careful not to obstruct his ministrations.

“I’d put money on that,” you teased. “But really. If it makes you feel good, you should totally get back into it.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, gratitude shining. He cleared his throat, turning his attention back to your mug. A few final details later, he set the brush down and held the mug up for your inspection, pride dancing in his eyes.

“There,” he announced, a bit bashful. “All fixed.”

You gingerly took the mug, carefully studying the newly finessed petals. The tension in your stomach lifted entirely, no longer vexed by the finicky design. 

“It’s perfect.”

His grin stretched wide, and he looked boyish in his delight. 

“I, uh… You’re welcome,” he managed, scratching the back of his neck. “Glad you like it.”

The pair of you made your way to the front counter, setting both mugs down for firing. As the employee came over, he slipped an arm around your waist. 

You could still feel lingering traces of tension in your body, but it was quickly being replaced by his warmth. He leaned in close, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“Next time,” he whispered, “maybe we try something super sappy, like…” He paused, searching for just the right words. “...Matching friendship bracelets. I heard they’re all the rage. Obviously we’d make ‘em look cooler than Dustin and his girls, but you know.”

You laughed out loud, the last of your frustration melting away entirely. Leaning up, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“Deal,” you said, giving his hand a squeeze. “But only if you promise to put tiny flowers on mine, too.”

His eyes sparkled. “Sweetheart,” he said, dropping a quick kiss to the top of your head, “for you, I’ll put in the whole garden.”

[drdemonprince]

I read what you wrote about Autistic women being gradually moved into relationships with men and my first reaction was that’s a bit offensive implying that Autistic women are that weak. Then I thought about it and realized this is Exactly what happened to me! This man was my manager at work, he was married but had affair after affair that were all well known to everyone. And yet he was generally well liked especially by the women employees. He decided to target me. I thought he was a creep and he was also a shit manager. I didn’t see the appeal whereas all the other women fawned all over him. He wore me down over the course of a year. It was a challenge to him. We became friends but everyone just assumed it was more, especially him. My friend/coworker was like oh he’s sweet you should give him a chance. My mother who also worked there went on and on about how I should give him a chance as well, knowing full well his history. But I had been single for ages and she literally just wanted me in a relationship because that was the expected thing. I told him repeatedly I wasn’t interested and that he should move on. He ignored all the boundaries I tried to place and just kept on being insistent. One night after a work function I was really drunk and he drove me home. He kissed me and I was like I don’t really like this or want it but whatever. I was becoming increasingly aware of the fact that I had been single too long and that I felt I needed a relationship to be validated. So eventually I just gave in. By this point everyone had already assumed we were in a relationship and had started inviting us to things as a couple. So we got together, got married, had a baby. Everyone was like Cool now she’s finally got a conventional normal life and that’s great. And guess what happened? He cheated on me, obviously. With a friend of mine when our son was just little. We finally separated and I’m in the process of trying to untangle my life and finances to get back to some semblance of what I had. But yeah, I did not see that coming at the start, was hell bent against it and now I’m like. What the actual fuck just happened…?!

oh my god Anon I am so fucking sorry that this happened to you. It is such a common fucking story too. I'm not going to tell you how to describe or understand your own experiences, but there was an immense amount of coercion and social pressure and restricted choice working on you here. and I've spoken about this before, but when women capitulate to men it isn't because they're weak. It is because they are accurately recognizing the power structures all around them that are limiting their choices, and they're recognizing the structural power that men have over them and how few strategies of resistance would actually work. none of this shit is your fault. It does happen to be especially likely for disabled women to be taken advantage of in these ways to an even more extreme degree.

[blushweddinggowns]

Eddie got a few hours of sleep in before the loud creak of their shitty door ruined it. He squinted into the dark, groaning quietly when he saw the time. It was late. Late enough to be early. Almost 4:30 am.

He stretched, patient enough to not try to go back to sleep yet. He was hoping Steve would come in here soon, something that happened more often than not when he worked late. He only avoided him when he was too tired to shower, a habit that Eddie was trying to subtly talk him out of. 

But instead of the lone sound of Steve’s footsteps coming down the hall, he heard his voice, “No, no. He’s asleep.”

Eddie paused his stretching, curious.

“I think it’ll be fine if I keep quiet,” Steve said followed by the creak of their couch, “I’m in the living room anyway.”

Eddie sighed, too understanding to be annoyed. It wasn’t Steve’s fault he thought he could get away with it. Eddie had been sleeping better since whatever this was started between them. Good enough for the shower to not even be enough to wake him anymore.

Who would have thought that regularly scheduled orgasms could be the cure for insomnia? It just so happened that the effect was lessened when Steve wasn't in the bed with him. 

“Shut up!” Steve laughed, loud and clear despite the walls between them.

Eddie got out of bed, deciding to fake a bathroom trip so Steve knew that he had an audience. Even if he was slightly tempted to listen in, his natural inclination to be a nosey bitch poking its head out. 

“He’s adorable,” Steve sighed, his voice dropping. Barely audible through his door, “I’m obsessed.”

Eddie’s hand paused on the doorknob. He could hear Steve getting comfortable on the couch, the leather creaking under him. He saw him in his mind's eye, laid back, his legs hanging over one of the arms. 

“It’s perfect,” Steve said happily, “His mouth is insane, dude. It’s so pretty.”

It was time to give up the act of proprietary. Eddie pressed his ear against the door, officially eavesdropping. 

“Obviously, I did,” Steve laughed, “It was the first thing we did and it looked obscene. I don’t even think he gets how hot he is?”

Eddie’s eyes widened. He couldn’t- was he actually saying what it sounded like?

“Oh yeah,” Steve said easily, “That too. But I don't think he's lying about it. He's too shy. He just has a perfect dick and is a perfect sweetheart. All at the same time. Of course, it's good! Amazing actually.”

His face was burning, a mix of flattered and incredibly embarrassed. Steve had warned him that he told Robin everything but God. He went pretty damn far with it. He hadn't expected him to be so graphic. 

“He’s my boyfriend,” Steve said suddenly, his tone shifting, “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Wouldn't I know more than you?”

Eddie’s heart skipped a beat.

“He’s not seeing anyone else,” Steve huffed, “Yes, I know it for a fact! You don't even know him.”

Eddie wasn’t. Couldn’t even dream of it. He let himself sink to the floor, grinning ear to ear. The stretch of it almost uncomfortable. He probably looked as creepy as he was acting. Sitting in the dark, smiling like a mental patient with his face pressed against the thin wood of the door. He couldn’t even care, not when it felt like he just won the lottery. 

“I’m telling you it’s not a ploy! Attractive people can be virgins,” Steve groaned, “Why are you being so judgmental? Wha-I am not shitting where I eat, you ass! Why are you being such a pill about this?”

Steve didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Nothing outside of a few huffs and some mumbling under his breath. Eddie could only guess that he was on the receiving end of a long lecture. 

“Yeah, he’s going to be around for you to meet!” Steve eventually hissed, “I’m telling you, this is different. Oh yeah? Like your judgement’s so great? Fuck off.”

Eddie could feel the tension from behind the door. Then more wired quiet, Steve’s sounds of indignation softening by the second. 

“No. I think I’m…” Steve trailed off quietly. Tapering off into a sigh, “I don’t think either of us are playing around anymore.”

Eddie was suddenly starting to feel guilty for what he was doing. But not enough to stop. 

Steve’s voice got quieter, just above an audible whisper. Rightfully paranoid of being overheard. Eddie was straining to hear, “Yeah. I do. I know it’s soon but… I want him to know. I think I’m going to tell him.”

Eddie was praying those blank spaces were filled with what he thought. But part of him couldn’t believe that his life was this. It couldn’t be possible. He couldn’t be lucky enough to have the love of his life just drop into his lap. With mutual feelings?

But then again, what else could it possibly mean?

The smile was back in Steve’s voice, playfully huffing, “Yes. I will always love you more, you freak. You should be sorry. Plus, if you don’t trust my word then I’ll prove it to you. Oh no! Too late to back out now.”

Eddie could hear the couch squeak under Steve’s weight as he got to his feet, “You’ll see what I mean.”

an excerpt from this fic

[cowboylikemac]

LOVE NOTES | J.P

“ love’s a game, wanna play? ”

james potter x reader

including : fluff

word count : 1k+

Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts had always been an over-the-top affair. Professor Flitwick charmed pink and red paper hearts to float lazily through the corridors, Madam Pince enforced an even stricter no public displays of affection in the library rule (which never stopped couples from sneaking into the Restricted Section), and Peeves delighted in dropping flower petals—or sometimes actual ink—onto unsuspecting students’ heads.

It was ridiculous. Excessive. Completely overdone.

And yet, it had never mattered much to you—until now.

Because for the first time in your life, you had a secret admirer.

The first note had appeared in your Potions textbook, folded so neatly it was clear whoever had left it had taken great care. The parchment was slightly crinkled, as if it had been held too tightly before finally being placed inside.

“A smile like yours could rival the sun—lucky for us, you don’t burn as bright, or I’d be blinded every time you walked by.”

At first, you assumed it was some sort of prank. Maybe Sirius Black was up to his usual nonsense, or perhaps some lovesick Hufflepuff had gotten the courage to anonymously express their feelings. Either way, you dismissed it as a fluke.

Until the second note arrived.

This one was slipped into your robe pocket between Transfiguration and Charms, folded once with the same careful handwriting:

“If kindness had a sound, I think it would be your laugh.”

The third note came the following morning, waiting for you at breakfast beside your goblet of pumpkin juice:

“I swear the library is quieter when you aren’t there. Even the books miss you.”

By the fourth note, which had been tucked into your favorite quill case, you were officially flustered.

Who in Merlin’s name was doing this?

Who was noticing these small things about you?

And, more importantly… why did it make your heart pound so much?

The answer, of course, came in the form of one James Potter—who, much to your amusement, was not handling the situation well.

“What do you mean someone is leaving you notes?” James demanded, sitting across from you in the Gryffindor common room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His hazel eyes, usually filled with mischief, were narrowed in something suspiciously close to jealousy.

You raised an eyebrow, casually twirling the most recent note between your fingers. “I mean exactly that, James. Someone’s been leaving me love notes.”

James’s scowl deepened. “But who?”

You resisted the urge to laugh. “If I knew that, they wouldn’t be a secret admirer, would they?”

Sirius, who had been lounging beside James, smirked in amusement, clearly enjoying his best mate’s unraveling. “Merlin, Prongs, you sound jealous.”

James scoffed, waving a hand in frustration. “I’m not jealous—I’m concerned, love.” He gestured wildly. “What if it’s some creep? Some bloke with terrible intentions?”

You shot him a look. “James. Someone who writes poetry about my laugh doesn’t exactly scream dangerous.”

James ran a hand through his messy hair, looking properly exasperated. “I just don’t like the idea of you getting all these notes from some anonymous git who can’t even sign his name.”

Sirius snorted. “Big words coming from the bloke who’s been carrying his love letter around for two weeks without delivering it.”

James immediately stiffened.

You blinked.

“What?” you asked slowly, turning to James.

James spluttered, his face immediately turning scarlet. “I—I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

Sirius threw his head back, absolutely delighted at the turn of events. “Oh, come off it, Prongs! You’re the worst secret admirer in history.”

You stared at James, your heart hammering in your chest. “Wait.” You sat up straighter, gripping the note between your fingers. “You wrote these?”

James didn’t respond right away. Instead, he let out a quiet groan, dropping his head into his hands. When he finally spoke, his voice was muffled. “Maybe?”

Sirius was howling with laughter now. “Oh, this is bloody fantastic! You’ve been ‘jealous’ of yourself this whole time!”

James groaned again, refusing to lift his head. “I hate everything.”

You, meanwhile, were trying very hard not to laugh.

“James,” you said, reaching out to gently pry his hands away from his face. He peeked up at you through his fingers, looking so embarrassed that it was almost endearing.

You squeezed his hand. “You’re an idiot.”

James exhaled sharply, finally meeting your gaze. “I know.”

“But,” you continued, a small smile tugging at your lips, “you’re a very sweet idiot.”

James perked up ever so slightly. “Sweet enough for a Valentine’s date, pretty girl?”

You hummed, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. Maybe.”

James straightened. “Maybe?”

You grinned, enjoying the way his face lit up. “I might be more convinced if you write me one more love note.”

James groaned dramatically, though there was no hiding the dopey, lovesick smile spreading across his face.

And when Valentine’s Day finally arrived, a final note appeared on your bedside table, written on slightly crumpled parchment in familiar, loopy handwriting:

“I may have been late to the game, but if you’ll let me, I’d love to be the only one writing you love notes from now on.”

And something told you that he would be.

happy valentines day from yours truly, mac <3

masterlist!

tags: @lydiascabinsix @lydiasfalling @laufeysvalentine