#don't want to think about being alone for another fucking holiday

[natalienomad]

What an absolute dipshit ass take from @nothingbegetsnothing

My blood family wants me to come home for the holidays, yeah they aren't bigotted at all, they didn't nearly beat me to death when I came out to them. Or stalked me and my wife for most of our marriage. Yeah they totttttally love me and will be there for me when I need them. Yeah.

And if you think familial love starts and stops at blood you're a fuckin moron. What about adoptive families? What about the kindly old neighbor down the street that takes you in after seeing what your parents do to you? Are these people Not Good Enough for you? What about In laws? Mine love me, and have specifically stated I'm welcome even if my wife leaves me. Cause I'm a fucking Joy. Do Yours hate you? Probably, with that shit ass attitude.

I spent 20 God damned years Surviving my time with them. One was a narcissist that didn't give a shit whether I lived or died, Just whether I Embarrassed them or not. The other was a veteran with PTSD issues that would hit me or throw things at me and use his time at war as an excuse. My blood brother? A self admitted Nazi, I spent 20 years trying to convince the fucker that black people deserved to live. Yeah I should Totally go "home" to that. They want me back for the SOLE purpose of abusing me back into silence and obedience, and Nothing More.

It's Christmas for cucks sake, right? I spent time with my in laws. I spent time with the people that actually love me. Not the ones that birthed me. And if I'm truly alone at the end of all that? Homeless? Dead In a ditch? That's still better being FREE, than spending another Minute wasting my breath on people that truly don't care for anyone but Themselves.

You talk a lot of shit about cult recruitment tactics, you know who uses those the most? People who want to isolate you back to your family. The people you're trying to shove back there? Are actively seeking out Others to gain a wider life experience of love. That's the opposite of that isolationist cult tactic. But we're the problem, right? Maybe get off your high horse and suck your dad's dick a little more.

To the trans people who are forced to be back home with bigoted families these holidays: please know that you are loved. The real you, not what you do to survive through time with your family. One day you will be free o.e day you won't have to hide who you are, and one day you can cut these people out of your life if you want. Just hold on, I promise you that you'll get through this. I love you. Stay strong.

[rubenesque-as-fuck]

I just want it to be tomorrow after work so I can get unfathomably high on edibles and turn off my brain for at least a few days

[aemondsbabe]

Taunt

obviously, i feel very normal and chill about ewan's new performance in saltburn. anyways lmao this is my version of michael gavey from the vibes i got from him in the 5 seconds he's in the trailer! i have no idea if this is accurate to how he is truly portrayed in the movie! if the movie comes out and i'm totally wrong, then i don't care bc i got to have fun writing about a cheeky lil oxford student!!

summary: you're nearly failing statistics and the student your professor asks to tutor you seems to gain a sick satisfaction from seeing you squirm; he hates you...or so think.

pairing: michael gavey x reader

warnings: mature, 18+ (minors, do not enter!!!) no use of Y/N, afab reader, profanity, smut, piv smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dom/sub, brief daddy kink (literally one mention), dirty talk, dumbification, humiliation (only a bit), size kink if you squint, mild angst but happy ending, choking i guess (barely), public sex (they're alone but like it's still public lmao), brief discussions of math -- please let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 10.5k (dear lord)

a/n: baby's first fic omg! if you enjoy this one and want to see more from me, please feel free to send in requests! (GoT, HoTD, Stranger Things, Marvel, etc!)

PRAISE | Taunt Part 2

MAKING AMENDS | Bonus

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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“Right, so,” Professor Davies began, pulling a thick textbook off the shelf next to his desk, “Since we’ve only just returned from Easter holiday, I thought I’d go easy on you today.” 

A few quiet groans could be heard around the room, a couple students turning to look at one another with grimaces; in the few weeks you’ve been in Professor Davies’s class, he’s never once gone easy on you. With a small sigh, you shuffle through your spiral notebook until you come to a blank page. 

“D’you think you’ll go to the party this weekend?�� Louise whispers, leaning over closer to you as she twirls a pen around in her fingers, “I heard this one is supposed to be fucking insane.”

“Like any of Felix’s parties aren’t insane?” You whisper back, smirking as you doodle a small flower on the corner of a page of paper, “Of course I’ll be there,” you murmur, watching as Professor Davies writes an intricate formula on the chalkboard, “I could really use a break, anyway…I’ve been so stressed recently.”

“Christ…” A boy, in the row of desks in front of you scoffs, just barely shaking his head as he copies down the formula, his handwriting sharp and choppy. You feel blood rush to your cheeks as you narrow your eyes, staring intently at his sandy hair. You didn’t really know him, this being your only class with him, but you’d seen him around campus, regularly passing by him in the halls. Oxford may be a large university, but when you’re on campus everyday, you begin recognizing familiar faces. 

He didn’t run in the same crowds as you at all, and you got the distinct impression that he looked down on you and the rest of your friends, but you knew his name – Michael and that he was incredibly smart, his hand promptly shooting into the air anytime Professor Davies asked a question. In the few weeks you’d been in the same statistics class, you had yet to see him get a question wrong, watching as he grinned, cocky, everytime he was praised for correctly solving even the most intricate of formulas. 

You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more the opposite, always shying away and praying not to hear Professor Davies call your name in his deep, baritone voice every time his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a volunteer, or victim, more like. While Michael clearly enjoyed the class, practically glowing with an arrogant confidence as soon as he walked into the wood paneled lecture hall, you were simply here to check it off as a requirement of your major, hoping to survive the class with a C and nothing more. 

It was annoying, you wouldn’t deny that, the way that smug smirk seemed to be permanently etched onto his face, how that stupid taunting glimmer was an ever-present fixture of his blue eyes — blue eyes which, seemingly, always managed to find their way to you, one way or another. 

His attention was intimidating at first, his cold stare leaving you unsure of what exactly his intention was. Was he trying to challenge you? Trying to determine if he knew you from somewhere else? A small part of you, a naive part, hoped that his staring was meant to be affectionate; he was cute, you’d admit it! Always showing up to class in cozy knit sweaters, his wavy hair still ruffled and untidy as if he’d just gotten out of bed, gold rimmed glasses perched atop a strong nose.

You quickly tear your gaze away from the back of Michael’s head, biting your bottom lip as you begin copying down the problem on the chalkboard, pausing briefly when you see, from the corner of your eye, his head turn as he glances at you over his shoulder. You felt your cheeks flush despite yourself, that small, sanguine voice in the back of your head cheering. 

“Now, then,” Professor Davies booms, dropping the textbook down on his desk with a cacophonous thud before sweeping his eyes across the classroom, “A bit of review before we really dive in…” He continues, pacing around the front of the room as he explains the various parts and pieces of the equation on the board. 

“What do you think you’ll wear?” Louise asks, leaning over once more to whisper in your ear, you can smell her signature floral perfume on her hair, “I was thinking I’d do that new blue-ish dress I got, you know, the strappy one?”

“Might still be too cold for strappy,” you whisper back, half listening to the professor drone on as you continue doodling on your paper, pausing every few minutes to jot down a few haphazard notes, “I was just thinking I’d do a jumper, probably a skirt and tights–”

Suddenly, you hear Professor Davies call your name, your cheeks practically stinging as blood rushes to your face. Sitting up straighter, you finally find the courage to meet his stern gaze, “Since you seem all too eager to share your thoughts,” He continues slowly stalking towards you across wooden floorboards that softly creak beneath his feet, “Would you care to enlighten us with the solution to the quadratic equation on the board?” He comes to a stop, hands clasped behind his back as he patiently waits for you to answer, a small, knowing smile poised on his lips. 

“I– uhm, well,” you stutter, glancing back and forth between your barely there notes and the chalkboard, throat growing tighter as you feel everyone's eyes on you, “Don’t you need to solve for G first?”

“And how would you go about doing that?”

“Well, you would…” You trail off, desperately trying to remember the lessons you’d had before Easter holiday, absentmindedly picking at your cuticle as you pray to be anywhere but here or for a hole to open in the floor and swallow you whole, “I…I don’t recall, professor. I’m sorry.” You finally say, not being able to meet his gaze as you stare intently at your lap, desperately willing yourself not to cry, even as you feel your eyes stinging. 

“Perhaps, in the future, it would be of benefit to socialize with your friends outside of my classroom.” Professor Davies admonishes, giving a sharp glare to Louise as well, who manages an apologetic smile. “Yes, Professor.” You whisper, keeping your eyes downturned. 

Finally, you hear the floorboards softly creaking once more as Professor Davies makes his way back up to the podium at the front of the room and once again resumes his lecture. You can’t help but pause for a second when you hear a small snicker from the tall boy in front of you, sensing as he peers at you over his shoulder once again. 

“Would anyone else like to take a crack at the problem on the board?” Professor Davies asks, leaning against the old, worn podium at the front of the room. Like clockwork, Michael’s hand shoots into the air. Somehow, that makes you blush even harder.

Eventually, Professor Davies finishes his lecture and retrieves his dark leather briefcase from under the desk, pulling a thick stack of papers out and sitting them on the podium, leaning over it with a sigh, “I have your tests graded. Most of you did very well, you should be pleased with yourselves. Some of you, however,” He says pointedly, “Could benefit greatly from a closer study of the material.”

Slowly, he walks around the room passing back tests, throwing out a comment here and there as he did so. You already know you hadn't done well on that particular test and dread getting it back and confirming your suspicions, so you keep yourself busy, choosing to meticulously pack up your things instead. 

“Mr. Gavey,” he said a few feet away from you, papers rustling as he slid the test across the wooden surface of the long bench desks, “Once more, an outstanding job! Top of the class, keep it up.” 

“Thank you, Professor,” you glance up, watching as he takes the paper with a humble nod, that same, oh-so pleased smile gracing his angular face. He must sense you looking at him and quickly shifts his gaze in your direction, eyes glimmering with self-satisfaction behind his gold-rimmed glasses as his smile quickly turns into a smirk. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his with a small, bewildered huff. Why did he seem to get so much satisfaction from besting you, of all people? It’s not like you were exactly an academic threat. 

“Ms. Bickerstaff,” Professor Davies says, finally appearing next to the table you and Louise sat at, “Not bad, a bit more effort next time and you’re sure to be on track,” he remarks, sliding her paper across the desk. Louise thanks him with a small smile as she flips through her test, eyes scanning over his marks. 

Finally, Professor Davies stands before you once again, your paper the very last in his hands. You hear him mutter your last name before he slides the paper across the desk to you, and you can’t help but deflate as you see your grade; you knew it would be bad, but that? How on Earth were you going to recover your average? What if you had to retake the whole course? What if you failed out of Oxford entirely? Your parents had sacrificed so much to help you get here, spending years and untold amounts of money on private tutors and extracurricular materials, all to help you have an impressive application! Not to mention the money just for the course fees! Unlike most of your friends, you didn’t come from piles and piles of money and status – your family was alright, sure, but you were definitely several tax brackets below them. 

As your thoughts spiraled, you felt Louise elbow you in the side at the same time you heard Professor Davies address you again. Shaking your head to clear your scattered thoughts, you clear your throat and finally turn to look up at him, “Sorry, yes, Professor?” 

“As I was saying,” Professor Davies continues, tapping the papers in front of you, “I would like to discuss your performance with you today, after class. Please meet me at the front of the room before you go.”

“Yes, sir.” you mumble dejectedly, nodding as you quickly flip the test over, embarrassed at the thought of anyone else seeing your grade. 

“I’ll see you later, babes,” Louise says a few minutes later as everyone is clearing out of the room, “Good luck!” She whispers, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before making her way to the door.

“Thanks!” you smile weakly, swallowing the lump in your throat before picking up your things and heading to the front of the room. The afternoon sun is already getting lower in the sky, beams of light shining into the room, bathing rectangular swaths of the floor in bright, golden light and highlighting motes of dust as they scatter in the air. Only a few students are left in the classroom, some of them finishing up notes while others type out quick texts. As you walk by his desk, you notice Michael scribbling down notes in his planner. 

You shuffle your feet nervously as you stand in front of the sizable oak desk that your professor sits at, watching as he adds a sticky note to the top of another stack of papers, “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

“Ah, yes!” He says, looking up at you over his glasses. He quickly caps his pen and stands, walking around the desk to stand in front of you, “I know this class has been quite the challenge,” he begins, leaning against the desk, “But, I think I’ve found a solution for you.” 

“You have?” You ask, tilting your head in confusion.

“I think you could benefit greatly from a tutor, perhaps a peer who could explain the material to you in a different way,” he continues, “And I have just the student in mind.” Instantly, you feel a pit beginning to form in your stomach, biting your bottom lip as you watch Professor Davies motion for someone behind you to come up to the desk, “Mr. Gavey, if you could join us up here, please.”

You freeze when you feel him saunter up beside you, eyeing him out of the corner of your eye. He was so much taller than you, your head barely grazing his shoulder, as he came to a stop next to you, standing casually with his backpack slung over one shoulder. 

Professor Davies once again turns his attention to you, motioning to Michael as he speaks, “Mr. Gavey here is one of my most capable students,” you can’t help but notice him stand up straighter at the comment, growing somehow even taller, “I’ve taken the liberty of asking him if he would be so kind as to assist you with some of the course work and he agreed.” You freeze a little at that, stunned that he would be so quick to help you when he seems to relish any opportunity to make you squirm. “I’ve given it some thought,” the professor continues, fixing you with a stern gaze, “And I’m willing to let you make corrections to your test and resubmit it for half credit.”

“Oh, thank you so much, prof–”

“However,” he adds, crossing his arms over his chest, “This will be the only time I do so. From now on, I suggest you see Mr. Gavey here on a regular basis; the material is only going to get more challenging as we begin this next unit.”

“Of course, professor. Thank you again.” You respond quietly, shifting uneasily as you stand between the two men. 

“Right, well, now that’s sorted,” Professor Davies says, clapping his hands together once as he turns and makes his way back over to the desk chair, sitting down with a tired sigh, “I trust the two of you can come to an agreement upon when and where to meet. I’ll see you again Monday, have a pleasant weekend.” He says, waving his hand dismissively as he goes back to organizing his papers. 

The two of you murmur your goodbyes before making your way into the hall, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as he follows you out of the classroom. Eventually, you come across a small alcove in the hallway; finally turning to face him, you let your eyes sweep up his body, finally coming to meet his blue eyes, slightly hidden behind the glare of the hallway lights on his glasses. 

“So,” you clear your throat and shift on your feet awkwardly, “Uh, what time works for you? I really can’t do Saturdays–” you begin, only to be cut off.

“Shame,” Michael sighs dismissively, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, “Saturday is the only day that works for me.” 

The tone of his voice and the mirthful glint in his eyes makes you very much doubt that, your gaze narrowing, “Okay, well Saturday’s are the only day I have off,” you huff, only growing more annoyed as the stupid smirk on his face grows with satisfaction, no doubt pleased that he’s being a nuisance, “Besides, I super can’t tomorrow, anyway. I already promised my friends I’d come with them to this party tha–”

“Oh, I know about your little party,” Michael scoffs, “Trust me, love, the whole damn class heard about that stupid fucking party with the way you lot were running your mouths earlier,” he chuckles coldly, continuing in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, one hand coming up to mime twirling a lock of hair, “Oooooh, it’s so cold, can’t wear the fuckin’ strappy dress, gotta wear me jumper and little slutty skirt, la-dee-dah.” He finishes with a final huff of laughter. 

“What is your deal with me?!” You finally snap, glaring at him, even as you feel your face redden, “You’ve been a dick all semester and I haven’t done anything to you! I’ve never even talked to you!” Glancing around the empty hallway, you cross your arms over your chest, praying no one’s in earshot to hear your hissed tirade.

“I might not know you but I know plenty about your little friends,” he sneers, shaking his head like a disappointed father; the sight makes your blood boil.

“What does that even mean?” You demand, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. What did your friends have to do with any of this? None of them ever spoke about Michael, none of them even knew him as far as you were aware. 

His face softens, if only for a moment, as he registers the genuine confusion on your face, smirk faltering as his eyes narrow. He leans in closer to you as he begins speaking again and you can’t help but get a brief smell of the cologne he wears, something warm and woodsy that makes you think of a bookshop and the smell of the forest after it rains, “Come on,” he starts, blue eyes flitting between both of yours as he looks at you intently, “Felix Catton? You and your little friend, the one from class, you go around with him, yeah?”

You nod, giving him another puzzled look, confused as to what the hell Felix has to do with any of his disdain, “Yeah,” you say slowly, drawing out the word, “But, what does he have to do with anything?”

Michael huffs once more, almost laughing to himself as he shakes his head, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “See, we went to school together, him and I – some of primary, all of secondary,” he shrugs, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he traps you in his gaze once again, “And I just don’t fucking like the guy. Can’t stand him, never could’ve.” 

You’re silent for a second, and now it’s your turn to flick your eyes back and forth, searching each of his for some sort of coherent answer and yet you come up empty. “But, what does that have to do with me?” You ask slowly, making sure to carefully enunciate each word.

“Don’t trust the people around him either,” he mutters, gazing down at his shoe, “Weirdos, the whole lot. There’s something…off about the guy. Can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something dark there, all around him. Like he’s putting on one big show. All his little gremlins do too, they all act the same.”

The two of you are silent for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say next. You chance a glance up at him, nearly gasping when you find him already gazing at you – an unreadable expression on his face. Yet a light blush still blooms on your cheeks as you quickly look away once again, your heart thudding so loudly you’re wondering if he can hear it – hell, you’re wondering why you’re reacting this way at all, why you’re so shy and skittish around him. 

“M’not like that,” you very nearly whisper, finally seeming to regain your voice. Only to lose it once again when he takes a half step toward you, suddenly crowding you further into the small alcove.

He makes a small noise, damn near cooing at you, tilting his head to the side when he notices you flinch as he raises an arm, gently raising your chin with one hand, angling your head up to meet his gaze, that signature smirk once again taking hold on his face as he looks at you curiously, “You’re not like that, are you?” He asks, his voice low and raspy. 

You quickly shake your head, blinking up at him, unsure of what exactly he wants from you. You feel your cheeks stinging for the umpteenth time today with how hard you’re blushing, a strange feeling taking root in your stomach the longer you stare at him, that small voice in your head positively cheering. 

But, as quickly as whatever spell he seems to have on you takes hold, it’s broken as he suddenly lets go of your chin and steps back, casually pursing his lips and nodding to himself, coming to some unknown decision in his head, “Meet me in Bodleian, tomorrow at five. There’s hardly anyone up on the third floor on the weekends, so we'll be able to focus.” He says simply, turning on his heel to leave without even giving you a second to answer.

“But I’m bus–”

“D’you want a good grade or do you want to go get drunk with your creepy gremlin friends?” He asks, peering over his shoulder as he saunters down the hallway, raising an eyebrow at you over the shiny gold rim of his glasses, “S’your call, love.” He finishes with a shrug, disappearing as he turns a corner and leaves you standing there alone, frowning and dumbstruck. 

“Bodleian at five it is,” you mutter to yourself, sighing as you turn and walk the opposite way, desperately trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the fog in your brain. 

Your shoes tap against the stone pavement as you walk up to the old library, backpack slung over one shoulder; reaching into a pocket of your backpack, you blindly grab for your phone as you pull open one of the heavy, old wooden doors and step into the atrium. Out of all of Oxford’s libraries, you had to admit that Bodleian was one of your favorites; it had such a soothing atmosphere – from the way the evening light trickled in through the old glass windows, to the intricate wooden decor, and the way the entire place smelled of the old, well-loved books that lined the countless rows of shelves. 

Stepping to the side of the entryway, you check the time, your hand shaking a bit as you unlock your phone – 4:53pm, a little early, still. Sighing, you crane your head, nervously looking for Michael. Not seeing him, you decide to bide your time examining one of the tall bookshelves near the entrance, eyes skimming over their titles as you fiddle with the strings of the hoodie you’d decided to wear. Smiling, you lean up on your tiptoes to grab a copy of The Two Towers, happy to see a familiar book. Just as your fingers graze over the embossed gold lettering on the spine of the book, a large pair of hands grab you by the shoulders.

“Boo!” Someone whispers, close enough that you feel the warmth of their breath on the side of your neck. 

You spin around with a small shriek, jerking your head to the side when a hand is suddenly clasped over your mouth.

“Shh! Hey, relax!” Finally managing to focus on the face in front of you, your breathing slows as your gaze meets a pair of round blue eyes. Michael’s face is only inches from yours, concern evident, even behind the mask of a smirk he wears. “It’s only me.” He says softly, smirk softening into a genuine smile that sends a frantic tingle down your spine, which you desperately try to ignore as you nod against his hand, gasping in a small breath as it lowers once again to rest on your shoulder. 

“Hi.” Blinking up at him, you breathe the word more so than say it as you settle back on your feet, cheeks flushing as you realize he has his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward ever so slightly, like he wanted to make sure your head didn’t hit the sharp edge of one of the shelves; the voice in your head purrs as the butterflies in your stomach summersalt. 

“Hi.” He answers and you feel the hand on your shoulder twitch, the ghost of a comforting squeeze or rub causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end as some strange, warm weight settles in the pit of your stomach. 

Suddenly, whatever spell the two of you seemed to be under broke and you quickly clambered away from one another. Michael cleared his throat, running a hand through his wheat colored hair as you tugged at the sleeves of your hoodie, trying to look anywhere but in his direction. “Should we–” He starts suddenly, nodding his head to a staircase at the other end of the room, “It’ll be quieter up there.”

“Sure!” You chirp, giving him a curt nod, “Lead the way, you seem to know the place better than I do.”

“Well,” he chuckles, keeping his voice low as he moves past you, “S’what happens when you don’t spend all your damn time at weirdo parties.” 

You roll your eyes behind him, huffing as you start following him up the staircase, one of your hands gliding across the smooth, polished wood of the bannister. 

“Sorry.” He says suddenly as you reach the third floor of the library, running a hand through his hair once again as he stands at the top of the staircase. 

“What?” You ask, coming to a stop on the last step and looking up at him, tilting your head to the side as you lean against the handrail. 

“For earlier,” he explains, gesturing for you to follow him as he starts making his way to the back corner of the large, open space, the one furthest from the stairs, “Scaring you, I mean. Didn’t mean to.”

You’re quiet for a moment, following him as the two of you walk past aisle after aisle of towering bookshelves. The area is definitely quieter than the main floor, nearly vacant aside from one or two lone students sitting at the long wooden study tables. It’s calm up here, evening light filtering in through large windows on either end of the long room, casting large shadows on the floor and vaulted ceilings.

Eventually, the two of you come to a stop at a table, the very last in its row, tucked away in a corner. “It’s alright,” you shrug, trying to keep your voice soft in the quiet space as you sit your backpack on the edge of the table, “I don’t know why I’m so jumpy today, maybe the tea from earlier.” You lie, hopefully smoothly, and quickly grab a pen and notebook as well, before sitting down.

Michael huffs to himself as he sits his things out on the table as well, like he’s laughing at a joke you can’t hear, “Maybe it’s all that tension.”

“Wh– tension?” You question, cringing at the urgency in your voice as you pray that he doesn’t pick up on it, shifting in your seat as he pulls out the chair next to you and plops down, completely relaxed as if he owns the place. 

“The stress? That you were meant to be working out at Catton’s?” He gives you an odd look, resting his head against his hand as he leans his elbow on the table, “Couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation yesterday.”

“Oh…” You breathe, a pink haze settling over your cheeks once more as you fidget with your pen, acutely aware of how easily he seems to be able to make you blush. 

The smirk on his face widens as he narrows his eyes, studying you in a way that makes your heart squeeze, your thighs clenching together as that heady weight from earlier makes itself known again in your stomach, “You can’t keep one thought in that head, can you, love?”

You blink, unsure of what to say, as two halves of your brain argue with one another. Why is he so mean? You wonder to yourself, eyes searching his, as you frown, And…God, why do I like it?

“Why don’t you like me?” You ask, finally breaking the silence with your small voice. 

He scoffs again, shaking his head as if the answer should be obvious to you, “You don’t take it seriously. You come to class and whisper and gossip with your damn friend or doodle in your little notebook, but you don’t fucking listen.” He sits back up, frowning, “I work hard every fucking day in there, for fuck’s sake, I only agreed to help you because I want to be Davies’s teaching assistant next year! Yet you and Catton and everyone like you can just pay their way in here, collecting a little diploma from Oxford just so their parents can brag about it with their stupid fucking rich friends.” He finally finishes, turning his head to stare out the window. 

“Told you, I’m not like that,” you whisper after a moment, voice wavering from the tightness in the back of your throat, “I’m here on scholarship, same as you.” 

His eyes flit back to you, his frown deepening, “How did you know ab–”

“Like I’m not going to ask around about the guy tutoring me?”

“Fair enough.” He concedes after a minute. 

Silence settles over the two of you again, like a stalemate, waiting to see who would crack first. Finally, you turn to him with a sigh, nodding to your test paper on the desk, “Can we just get this done? I don’t want to be here any more than you do.”

“Ah, of course,” he nods as he picks up your test, looking over the first incorrect problem, “Catton’s big important party. And you’re stuck here with a loser like me; must really be doing your head in, huh?” 

You want so badly to correct him, to tell him that no, actually, for once, you were kind of excited to not be at one of Felix’s parties. You wanted to tell him that you’d hoped things would be different, maybe if it was just the two of you he would drop the arrogant asshole bit, that you stupidly hoped it was just an act. 

Instead, you bite your lip, determined not to lash out and give him another reason to dislike you, “I don’t think you’re a loser, Michael,” you say, tiredly meeting his gaze, “Can we just focus on this now, please?” 

He’s quiet for a moment, frozen like you’d said something groundbreaking. Finally, he nods his head, almost imperceptibly like he’d come to a decision you weren’t privy to, “Sure,” he says gruffly, grabbing your test and reading over the first incorrect problem, “S’not like I’m the one failing.” He finishes, his voice tight and determined, like he knew it was something he’d regret saying even as the words left his mouth. 

See? You think silently, pointed words aimed at that stupid voice in your head, Told you so.

It’s barely an hour later and you already feel cross-eyed, groaning as Michael flips your test over to the next page and you see you’re only just now halfway done correcting the ones you’d gotten wrong. You hate to admit it to yourself, but his tutoring was helping — problems that you’d hardly been able to finish the first time seem far less daunting as he explains them to you. Even he seems less daunting as the hour goes on; shockingly, he doesn’t make anymore snide comments and you can tell that he genuinely enjoys talking about the subject, patiently helping you through each problem. 

“Can we take a break?” You grumble, laying your head down on top of your textbook. 

“What?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he checks his watch, “It’s hardly been an hour and you’re ready to give up?” 

“‘M not giving up,” you mumble, “I just think we could use a little break…” You say hopefully, looking at him with a small smile. When he doesn’t break, holding your gaze with a frown, you sigh, “Just, like, ten minutes, please?” 

You want to groan again when you see that formidable smirk make its home on his lips again, “Say please again.” He commands, his voice low. 

“Huh?” You balk, nearly dropping your phone as you retrieve it from your pocket. 

“Say please again,” he says slowly, his smirk only growing wider as he watches your cheeks redden, “Beg.” 

“W-why?” You question, face burning as you try your damndest to look unbothered by his request. 

He shrugs dismissively, “Makes you squirm,” he answers finally, leaning back in his chair, “I like that.”

“Why?” Your voice is so small you doubt he’d even know you spoke if his eyes weren’t fixed on you. 

He hums, a satisfied noise, like you’ve finally managed to meander into a trap he’d set ages ago, “S’fucking cute,” he huffs out a laugh when he sees your eyes widen, “Makes you blush and act all dumb.” 

You know you should be offended, but you can’t find it within yourself to care, “You think I’m cute?” 

He chuckles, sighing, “That’s what you choose to focus on?” 

“Do you?” 

“Fine, yes.” 

“Please, Michael,” you say suddenly, the words feeling practically punched from your throat, “Please, please can we have a break? Please, only ten minutes?” You beg, breathing hard as you quickly scan the room, shoulders relaxing when you don’t see anyone else sitting at the study tables. 

You see the way his eyes widen behind his glasses, like he can’t believe you actually did it, before they narrow once more, overtaken by a satisfied gleam, “Ten minutes.” He says simply, leaning back in his chair yet again, letting his head flop back, relaxed, and closes his eyes. 

You don’t move for a second, letting your eyes study the side of his face, looking over his sharp jawline and the curve of his nose. After a moment, you look away, deciding to pull out your phone. 

A few minutes go by as you answer a few texts from Louise, telling her that you miss her too and how you wish you were at the party — a lie, though you can’t find it within yourself to care. You busy yourself for a while longer, watching a few people's Instagram stories, the volume on your phone muted as you watch your friends dance under colorful strobe lights, blowing smoke at the camera and clinking drinks together. 

“I meant what I said.” You say finally, laying your phone on the table and picking at one of your cuticles. 

“Hm?” Michael questions, not bothering to open his eyes. 

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you answer, fidgeting, “I never have. I think you’re…intriguing.”

“Intriguing?” He asks, finally sitting up and looking at you with a questioning stare, “How so?” 

You swallow, tucking your hair behind your ear with a shrug, “You’re smart…you know you’re smart,” you start, voice small and shaky, “I like that.”

“You like that or you like me?” He’s looking at you like a cat playing with a helpless mouse, looking at you like he knows he’s already won a game you don’t even know the two of you are playing. 

“You.” It comes out as a breath. 

He doesn’t answer and eventually you look away from him, choosing to stare out the window at the streetlights outside, the sky dark. 

Finally, the silence becomes overbearing and you break first again, “Thank you,” you smile at him, keeping your voice low even though you know the rest of the floor is vacant, even though the noise of the floors below has drastically faded over the last hour, “For helping me, I mean. You probably have a dozen things you’d rather do on a Saturday.” 

He stays quiet for a few seconds, “I didn’t really have anything better to do,” he smirks, “No parties.” 

“None?” 

“Never,” he shakes his head, shrugging, “Don’t get invited.” 

“Oh,” you answer simply, “Well, still, either way, thank you.” You smile again, but it falters when he leans forward suddenly, crowding into your space with a sly grin, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck. 

“I know a way you could repay me, love,” he whispers lowly into your ear, your hair standing on end, “Only if you want to, of course.” He adds, his long fingers toying with a strand of your hair. 

Your eyes grow comically wide as you process what he just said, “H-how do you want me to repay you?” You whisper, your eyes finally meeting his. 

He laughs softly, letting go of the strand of your hair to rest his hand lightly against the side of your face, his thumb skimming over your cheek as he watches a rosy hue settle across it, “I can think,” he starts, thumb moving lower to skate across your bottom lip, slightly tugging the skin with it, “Of one very fucking good way to put this mouth to use, love.” 

You part your lips slightly, letting the tip of his thumb into your mouth, just barely holding it between your teeth as you lightly run your tongue over it, heart skipping a beat at the way his lips just barely part in shock as you do. The voice in your head purrs again, roaring back to life, and you nod, smiling around his finger. 

“Yeah?” He questions, smirking as he watches your lips twitch around his thumb, “”Y’wanna?”

“Yes.” You reply around his thumb, your hands coming up to hold onto his forearm, the fabric of his rust colored sweater soft under your hands. 

“Beg.” He commands again, eyes twinkling. 

You take in a breath, eyes slipping shut as your thighs clench around nothing – missing the way Michael glances down at the movement, a knowing grin forming on his face, “Please, Michael.” You practically whine. 

“Ooh,” he coos, finally moving his thumb from your mouth, only to trail his hand down your neck, lightly resting it against your throat, “I think you can do better than that, pretty. Open your eyes and damn beg.” 

You follow his orders, a small whimper skirting past your lips at the new pet name as you open your eyes, “Please, Michael, please let me repay you, let me thank you, please.” The words tumble out, your eyes wide and pleading. 

“How’re you planning on doing that, empty headed little thing?” He taunts, the hand around your throat just barely tightening but it’s enough to make you let out a small, desperate whine. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, moving close enough to you that the front of his chest is plastered to your side, his heart beating against your shoulder, “Ask for what you want, beg properly.” His breath fans across the side of your face again, the feeling of his lips brushing over the side of your jaw making you jump. 

“Please, God, Michael,” you whine, squeezing your legs together so hard you’re surprised they haven’t fused together, “P-please let me suck your cock — to thank you, thank you for helping me.” You add quickly, breath shaky as you turn your head to look at him imploringly. 

He chuckles, but he looks pleased as he leans back momentarily, craning his neck to make sure there isn’t anyone around, “Alright, alright, love,” he soothes, coming back to face you, nodding his head to the empty space in front of his hair, below the table, “Not God, but I’ll give you what you want.” He teases.

Your breath catches in your throat as you look down at the floor beneath the desk, then back up at him before nodding, “Yes, sir.” You push yourself off your chair, sliding down beneath the desk. 

“Goddammit,” you hear him groan above you, running his palms over his thighs as he parts them, making room for you, “Keep that up, love, might even give you extra credit.” 

You rest your palms against the tops of his thighs as you move between his legs, getting comfortable on your knees, the old wooden floor cool against your skin, even through your black leggings. Finally, your eyes settle on the sizable bulge, covered by his dark jeans, and you can’t help the small whine that leaves your lips. Slowly, you move your hands up to the button of his pants, quickly popping it open and dragging the zipper down, smiling when Michael sighs above you as he pulls his sweater up out of the way, exposing the pale skin of his stomach. You let your eyes roam over him, warmth settling between your legs as you spot the dusting of light hair that starts beneath his belly button and leads downwards, disappearing under his plaid boxers.

You move closer to him, crowding in between his long legs, as you hook your fingers over the tops of his boxers, before finally looking up at him, “Can I…?” You ask, nodding to where his cock is straining against the fabric. 

“Don’t be shy now, princess,” he groans, running a hand through your hair as he stares down at you, “Get on with it.”

You keep your eyes on his as you pull his boxers down, just enough to free his cock, watching the way his chest heaves as he lets out another relieved sigh. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his as you look at his cock, gasping in a breath as you do. As far as dicks go, Michaels is impressive, beautiful even – long and thick with veins running up the underside, leading up to a flushed, leaking tip. 

You take him in your hand tentatively, squeezing him lightly around the base, your confidence growing when he grunts, breathing heavier. Finally, you lightly lick the tip, eyes sliding closed at the pleasant, salty taste of his pre-cum. You take the tip of him in your mouth, humming around him when his fingers tighten in your hair, lightly pushing on the back of your head, silently urging you to take more of him. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he roughly groans, managing to keep his voice low, “Knew that pretty fucking mouth was good for something.” He moves his hips, impatiently thrusting his cock an inch deeper into your mouth, breathily cursing under his breath. 

You start bobbing your head up and down over his length, taking more and more of him into your mouth, more of his pre-cum leaking onto your tongue as you feel his dick throb and twitch in your hand. After a moment, you take a deep breath through your nose and remove your hand, resting it on his thigh, as you take him all the way to the base, your nose nestled in the short patch of hair there as you breathe in his heady scent, your eyes glazing over as you savor the feeling of him at the back of your throat. 

“Jesus!” He grunts, louder than he meant to, keeping your head in place as he thrusts his hips up again, keeping you in place at the base of his cock, “Fuck, that’s it,” he praised lowly, your center throbbing, no doubt leaking onto the fabric of your leggings, “Look at me, wanna see your eyes while I fuck your throat.”

You whine, desperately blinking back tears as you look up at him, trying to keep your breathing even. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out, licking lower, down toward his balls, relishing the way his eyes roll back as you do, stomach muscles twitching as he continues thrusting his hips up into your mouth, soaking his boxers and jeans with your spit. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” he groans, looking down at you, his eyelids heavy, “God, yeah, cry on my cock love. Fuck, you look so pretty crying on my cock.” He mumbles, talking to himself more so than you. 

His words send a shiver down your spine, adding to the heat in your center, and you whimper when he finally moves his hand from the back of your head, allowing you to come up for air. You do, with a gasp, thin strings of spit connecting your reddened lips with the flushed head of his cock. You keep your eyes on his as you wrap your lips around him once more, running your tongue along the thick vein on the underside before sucking at the swollen tip, relishing the way it makes him clench his jaw and gasp through his teeth as you stroke the rest of him with your hand. 

Above you, he smirks again, gently running his hand through your hair but making no move to press your head down again. He cocks his head to the side, studying you, grinning at the far-off, foggy look in your eyes, “Not a thought in that pretty head, is there?” He asks, bringing his hand down and gently patting your cheek; the ghost of a slap making your thighs clench, making your head dizzy with need. 

You nod around him, moving your head up and down along his length. You feel yourself throbbing with need, pulsing with heat; almost automatically, your hand starts to wander, a small sigh escaping you as your hand presses against your center through your leggings. You feel a warmth settle across your cheeks again as you feel your own wetness, leaking through the fabric just as you’d suspected. You whimper as you press down again, your eyes falling shut as you let your hips grind against your fingers, the wet fabric creating a delicious friction against your clit. 

Which you get to feel for all of five seconds before Michael is suddenly yanking your head from his length, causing you to yelp as he tugs your hair. “Did I say you could touch your cunt?” 

“N-no,” you whine pathetically, eyes watering from the harsh hold he has on your hair, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t think—“ You try to explain, only for him to cut you off with another harsh tug, making you mewl. 

“That’s a pattern with you, isn’t it?” He asks, looking at you with a condescending smirk, studying you again, “You were being such a good girl earlier, what happened? Hm?” He questions, pushing his chair back enough to pull you out from under the table. 

You get to your feet, suddenly feeling shy in front of him once again despite having his cock in your mouth mere moments ago. “I…got distracted.” You answer finally. 

“I got distracted….who?” He asks, looking up at you expectantly over the rims of his glasses. 

“I got distracted, sir,” you quickly correct yourself, eyes frantically scanning the still vacant floor of the library, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s much better, love,” he drawls, placing his hands on your hips, “Now, what could’ve been so fucking distracting, huh?” He starts moving his hands, slowly, toward your center, still looking up at you, his eyes questioning. You nod your head, just barely but enough for him to understand, and any hesitancy from him quickly disappeared. “Could it be this, I wonder?” He questions sardonically, suddenly cupping your heat in his large hand, the warmth of it nearly making your knees buckle, even through the thin fabric of your leggings. He hums, the sound low in his chest, when he feels how much you’ve soaked the fabric, 

“Oh,” you whimper, grabbing at his shoulders to keep yourself balanced as his fingers continue to tease you, rubbing circles into your clit, “Oh my God, fuck.”

“Christ,” he breathes, staring up at you with dark eyes, “So fucking wet, love, holy hell. Did you get this way just from sucking my cock?”

“Yeah,” you whine, nodding your head desperately as you try to swallow all the small noises you want to make in your throat, your hips rutting against his hand, “Please, sir!”

“Oh, so now that dumb brain has no trouble remembering damn instructions, huh?” He taunts, a wicked grin on his face as his fingers rub your clit in smaller, harsher circles, making you see stars, “Need your wet little cunt played with to be able to do as you're told?”

You nod your head frantically, tears nearly spilling from your eyes at the zaps of pleasure radiating from you, your walls clenching around nothing. Just as you feel yourself about to tip over the edge, he stops, jerking his hand away from you with a knowing chuckle, “W-what?” You question, eyes blinking open, “I was so close!” You whine, nearly stamping your foot on the floor like a petulant child. 

“Told you,” Michael shrugs, pulling you to sit in his lap, your back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. His breath tickles the side of your neck and face when he speaks again, “You’re so fun to tease, love, can’t help myself.”

You wiggle in his grasp, making him groan as your ass grinds against his hard length, desperately trying to get your hands free to touch your pussy again, nearly out of your mind with need. “P-please, sir, please touch me!” You finally gasp out, knowing he won’t give in until you do.

“Now there’s a good girl,” he says, voice pleased and cocky as he plants kisses along the side of your neck, “Since you asked so nicely…” He says, letting go of one of your arms, letting you grasp the arm still wrapped around you with your hands, as his free hand skirts down your stomach to the top of your leggings, pausing long enough for you to nod again, before he finally touches you. 

You whimper, jerking in his lap at the feel of his warm fingers directly on your heat for the first time, spreading your wet folds with a satisfied hum. His long fingers move down to your entrance, gathering some of the wetness there, “You’re so fucking wet,” he marvels, dragging his fingers up to your aching clit, “Fucking dripping on my fingers.” He murmurs in your ear, nipping at the side of your neck and sending tingles down your spine as he starts rubbing tight, wet circles against your bud. 

You tilt your head back, resting it against his shoulder as your chest heaves. A moan leaves your mouth, louder than it should be, and Michaels free hand shoots up, wrapping around your mouth. “Gotta be quiet, love,” he whispers, not slowing down the movement of his fingers in the slightest, “Wouldn’t want someone to interrupt, hm? Make me stop again?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, whining desperately against his hand as he moves his fingers against you, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. Your whole body lurches atop his, making him suck a breath in through his teeth as you move against his cock, still hard and hot as it presses against your lower back, when he moves his hand lower, plunging two fingers into your tight heat with no warning. “Fuck!” You yelp, muffled against his hand; tears leak from the corners of your eyes as he moves his fingers, scissoring them into you relentlessly as his thumb circles your clit. 

“S’fucking tight,” he mumbles lowly, voice vibrating his chest against your back, “God, you’re tight.” He grunts between clenched teeth, repeatedly crooking his fingers inside you as he fucks his fingers in and out of your heat, letting out small, barely there groans every time your pussy squelches around his fingers as he punches muffled whines and whimpers from you. He crooks his fingers up suddenly in a way that makes you see stars as you writhe on his lap, your knees shooting up off the floor as you attempt to curl up on yourself, “That the spot?” He teases, relentlessly rubbing his fingers against it as his thumb quickens against your clit. He adds a third finger without warning, curling them up against that rough patch inside you as he bites down on your shoulder, muffling his own groan as he feels you clench down on his fingers. 

“You gonna come?” He mumbles, grinning like a cheshire cat when you frantically nod your head, tears leaking onto the hand still wrapped tightly around your mouth. “Open your eyes,” he commands, not stopping his movements, “Want you to watch what I’m doing to you when you fucking cum.”

At the promise of finally getting to come, your eyes shoot open as you pick your head up off his shoulder, looking down the length of your body to where his hand disappears under your leggings. You practically come undone at the sight, watching as his hand moves against you through the dark fabric, maintaining a careful rhythm. “Michael, please!” You whine against his hand, desperately trying to keep your eyes open. 

He chuckles lowly, clearly proud of how quickly he’s been able to reduce you into a begging mess, the sound reverberating off your back. “Fucking come,” he commands, doubling his efforts, “Soak my fucking hand, love.”

The coil in your stomach finally snaps and you sob, eyes snapping shut as your whole body clenches, shaking in his lap, as fireworks burst behind your eyelids. Your entire core clamps down so tight he has to fight to keep his fingers within you, muting the sounds of his groans against your neck and shoulder as he feels your cunt pulse against his fingers. He doesn’t let up, pressing incessantly against that spot within you as you come, until he finally gets what he wants – both of you groaning together, noises muffled, as a stream of fluid seems to erupt from your center, soaking his hand and the inside of your leggings, though you can’t think enough to care at the moment. 

“Goddammit,” he grunts, finally removing his hand from your leggings, running his fingers through your folds one last time just to make you squirm. Suddenly, he’s lifting you off his lap enough to turn you around, maneuvering you to face him. You’re practically boneless in his lap as he lifts you just enough to pull your leggings down over your ass, pressing his bare cock against your still throbbing center when he sets you back down, “Gonna let me fuck you, love? Hm? Want me to make you go dumb around my cock?” 

You nod your head weakly, not bothering to lift it from his shoulder as you straddle his lap. He doesn’t make you beg this time, too desperate to feel your wet heat around him, as he swiftly lifts you up again, just enough to align his length with your entrance. 

Both of you moan as he lets you sit back down, his hard length disappearing into your warmth. He holds the back of your head, pressing your mouth against his neck to muffle your cries; you can feel his jaw clench with the effort of keeping his own muted. He fills you deliciously, thick cock pressed against every part of you, as your clit presses against the small thatch of hair above his length. 

“Fuck,” he huffs, the word hissed between his teeth as he squeezes his eyes shut, savoring the way your pussy pulses around his length, the way you desperately mouth and lick at his neck, “God, knew you’d feel good.” 

Somehow, that remark works it’s way through the fog in your brain, “Hm?” you hum against his neck, your hands coming up to tangle in his golden hair, “You thought about me?” You whimper, words whiny and breathy as he rocks you against him, spearing you on his length again and again, head kissing your cervix just enough to knock the air from your lungs every time he lowers you back down. 

He sighs, as if just now realizing what he’d said, and nods, swallowing down a moan before he speaks, “‘Course I did,” he admits, grinding you down against him, his hips pressed against yours. “Looked so damn pretty in class,” he continues, “So cute all, fuck, all flushed and embarrassed every time you got asked a question.” 

His admission makes you clench around him, heat flooding through your system as you process what he’d said. Your clit grinds against his body again, just as the head of his cock brushes against that spot in your center, and it’s like your brain has been whited out, all you can do is mewl against his neck as he rocks you up and down along his cock. 

“Fuck, I feel this sweet cunt getting tight, love,” he says, breathing heavily as he gets closer to his own release, “Y’gonna come?” 

“Yes!” You whimper, voice high-pitched and broken as you nod frantically against the skin of his neck, now wet with your spit and tears as you rock yourself against him, moving your clit against the hair at the base of his cock. 

“Hold it,” he commands softly, more breathing than speaking. He chuckles when he hears you whine, loving the way you mewl for him like a soft little kitten, and the hand still holding your head against him strokes your hair, soothing you. “Want us to come together,” he huffs, cursing under his breath as he feels you grow somehow tighter around him, “Fuck, I’m close just hold on.” The hand on your hip tightens, grinding you tightly against him, groaning as he feels your center milking his cock, your walls clenching around him desperately. 

“F-fuck, Michael,” you whine, breath hot against the column of his throat as you feel yourself tipping over, “Please! Please I can’t hold it, please!” You beg beautifully, weeping against his skin, trying so hard to keep it down to a whisper so you don’t draw attention, not this close to your release. 

“Where, fuck,” he curses, pulling your head up to look in your eyes, the blue in his nearly swallowed by blackness, “Tell me where.” He pants, his voice urgent.

“Inside me!” You breathe, cunt clenching around him as you feel him twitch inside you.

He groans, forehead resting against your shoulder for a second as he tries to maintain control, both of his hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave bruises, “Are you s–”

“Yes!” You nod, resting your forehead against his when he picks his head back up, “‘M on the pill.” You reassure him as you keep nodding. The two of you move together for a few more seconds, wildly grinding together, before the coil in your stomach is finally wound too tight, “Michael, oh, fuck!”

“Fuck,” he gasps, seeming to get somehow thicker inside you, “Come for daddy, fuck, be good and come.” He commands, his own voice low and frenzied.

Hearing him call himself that does you in, and you shatter around him, walls gripping him tightly. You open your mouth, unable to control a loud moan, which he quickly hushes by pressing his lips against yours, licking into your mouth as he thrusts up into your center harshly a few times, each rise of his hips accompanied by a grunt into your waiting mouth as you mewl at the heat of his cum filling you up, extending your own release. 

The two of you stay quiet for a moment, breathing heavily as you sweetly kiss, tiredly pressing your lips together. Finally, you pull away from him giggling shyly when you meet his eyes, blushing as you feel his length slowly softening inside you. “Getting shy on me now?” He teases, smiling at you as he gently plays with your hair. 

You smile back at him for a second before suddenly coming to your senses and remembering where you are, “Shit,” you whisper, hopping up off his lap, “I cannot believe we just did that!” You quickly scan the floor with wide eyes, shoulders visibly relaxing when you still don’t see anyone.

“Wasn’t in my plan,” Michael starts, tucking his member back into his boxers and zipping up his jeans, “But I’m certainly not complaining.” He finishes, smirking at you before standing. He leans down, helping you pull up your leggings. He doesn’t miss the way you grimace when the damp, now unpleasantly cool, fabric presses against you. “Sorry,” he apologizes, gesturing to them, “I should’ve…controlled myself better with that one.” He finishes, awkwardly scratching at his chin. 

You laugh quietly, trying to play it off although you’re dreading the half hour train ride back to your flat. That feeling doubles when you look down, eyes widening as you see the dark patch around your crotch, hardly visible on the dark fabric but enough that it makes you nervous, “Getting home is gonna be fun.” You joke, turning to begin gathering your things. 

You’ve gotten your textbook put back into your backpack when you feel a tap on your shoulder; turning your head, you look wide-eyed when you see him sheepishly smiling at you, holding his red sweater out as he stands in a band t-shirt, “Here,” he says softly, waving the sweater at you, “You need it more than I do and it’s my fucking fault anyway.”

You blush, taking the sweater from him with a small thank you, tying it around your waist as he busies himself with picking up his things, before putting the rest of yours into your backpack as well, “Oh, you didn’t have to do that!” You tell him as you finish situating his sweater around you, satisfied that the stain is covered.

He huffs out a laugh, “You sucked my cock on the floor of a library,” he jokes, eyes sparkling with mischief yet again, “S’the least I could do.” 

You laugh, playfully shoving at his shoulder as you put your backpack on. The floor is truly, blessedly, empty as the two of you leave and walk downstairs, not seeing anyone on the second floor either and only a few stragglers on the main floor at this hour on a Saturday evening. He pushes open one of the heavy wooden doors at the entrance, holding it open for you as you duck under his arm. The door thuds closed behind you as you both stand outside the library, the air cold now that the sun’s gone down. 

“I really like them, that band,” you say, nodding to his shirt, “Their last album’s really good.”

“Oh!” He says, eyebrows raising in surprise, “You know them?” He asks, smiling when you nod again, “Their new album is probably my favorite too, actually.” The two of you stand in a comfortable silence for a second later before he notices you shiver as a breeze blows through the stoney courtyard. “D’you live close to campus?”

“Half hour on the train,” you shrug, pulling your phone out to check the time, “I should probably go soon if I’m gonna catch the next one…”

“You could come to mine?” He asks, his voice hopeful, “It’s only a walk from here, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes?”

Your eyes widen, having not expected his invitation, but you nod nonetheless, “If you’re sure,” he nods, “Then, yeah! That would be great.” You smile, walking beside him as you start heading in the direction of his flat. 

“Would you maybe want to get lunch sometime?” He asks, glancing down at you.

“I would love that,” you smile, your hand brushing against his as you continue down the sidewalk, “I think I might need more tutoring, too…”

His hand catches yours, your fingers intertwining as he smirks, “Will you suck my cock every time?” He teases, grinning as you laugh, the sound echoing off the buildings and filtering into the night air. 

Told you so. The voice in the back of your mind echos as you lean your head on Michael’s shoulder.

tagged lovelies: @schniiipsel @arcielee @darlingofvalyria @aemshaircare @imaegontatgaryenwife0 @valeskafics @beautbuck @watercolorskyy @marysucks-blog @fan-goddess @drakonflames @helloworldiamnotarobot

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[luvyeni]

( drabble ) sexcation ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 송은석 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ going on a vacation with eunseok ヾ

boyfriend!eunseok・ fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ lots of sex, unprotected sex, sex in multiple places wc ・ ‎0.6k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. just thinking of fucking eunseok 24/7 on a holiday, whether it be at a cabin or a beach house idc gimme him neowww

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 i love this i don't know why , i hope you do as well.

when eunseok told you to pack a bag; that you were going on an impromptu vacation to a cabin , you already knew what he was on — living apart from each other , both being busy a lot and unable to see each other; this a vacation purely to have sex.

now you didn't mind this at all; but you totally underestimated how horny your man was; and how much stamina he really had.

it started as soon you got into his car; his hands resting in between your thighs , his fingers raking up and down, finally making his way into your shorts, where he proceeded to make you cum on his fingers twice before pulling them out , bringing them to his mouth , continuing on with the drive , you could see the outline of his cock in his shorts , desperate to put it in your mouth , but he doesn't let you.

when you made it to your cabin; which was very secluded, he barely gave you enough time to put your bags down before he was pushing you down to your knees , pulling his long hard cock out , finally giving you what you want , fucking your mouth; cumming all over the messy face — pushing you on the bed , fucking you into the mattress.

if you thought that was the end; at least for a while , you're mistaken. after he made you cum; filling you with his cum — you decide to get in the shower , to clean the scent and remnience of sex off of you. but even then you weren't safe , he came inside the shower, pushing you against the shower , nipples pebbling against the cold shower as he fucked into , yanking your hair back , both of you moaning as loud as you want to , giving you a few more orgasms before cumming inside you.

he did give you breaks; he wasn't a a psycho, watching tv and cuddling; just happy to be in each other's presence alone — which resulted in him sticking his hands inside your shorts , pulling another orgasm out of you.

even when you were cooking he couldn't keep his hands off of you , rutting his hard cock against your ass , groaning in your ear about how he needed you, and it would be the last time for a while; you knew he was lying , but that didn't stop him from pulling your shorts down , bending you over the counter , fucking into you; cumming inside you just as the food was finishing inside you.

after eating a good and hearty dinner; both of you needing to soak your aching bodies; stripping yourself of your clothes , climbing into a hot bubble bath; it's cute and innocent— at first; after about 10 minutes of cute and soft touching , you end up bouncing on his cock, water spilling to the floor as he fucking up into your sensitive cunt , your tits covered in his marks as he sucks on them , telling you that he'll keep adding more , where people could see them.

as the night comes to a end , he becomes softer, laying you down on your back , smiling down at you as he dragged his cock slowly into your sensitive cunt , holding your hands tightly as you moaned his name; him whispering into your ear how much he loves you, and how well your taki his cock, and that you've been such a good girl letting him use your pussy for his pleasure , cumming inside you while softly placing kisses on your face as you drifted off the sleep for the night.

and that's just the first night there , and the boy for sure wasn't done with you , you both definitely went back unable to tell anybody about what you did , but the could tell from the marks on all on both your necks.

you both definitely were thinking about your next trip away from everyone.

©LUVYENI

[purple-babygirl]

welcome baaaack! i missed you so much

i've been here since forever and i remember a very long time ago that you promised us insecure chubby bucky. i never forget and i'm still waiting for him (when you get time for sure). i would love to read that whenever you right it! otherwise i'm really happy you're back again.

much love purple<3

Pairing: Insecure!Chubby!Chef!Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Word Count: 4,180

Summary: Bucky runs into his ex, who manages to mess with his head, bringing his insecurities to the surface again. His girl takes it upon herself to show him how perfect he is.

Warnings: 18+ content, bullying (sort of), fat shaming, negative self body image, insecurities, intrusive thoughts, mentions of cheating, a little crying, a little angst, smut, unprotected vaginal sex, cum, multiple orgasms

A/N: Nonnie, omg, you have been here a long time! I love and appreciate you so so much and I can't believe you stuck around for so long wow:"💜💜 Thank you so much for existing and for being here you're the reason I don't wanna leave again💜💜💜 Here's one insecure chubby bucky for you, I hope you like this one and that I did a good job💜 Thank you again ilyyy, please enjoyxx💜💜(y'all i think i forgot how to write smut what is wrong with me)

~

perfect to me

“I’m so sorry, baby, I have to run,” she told him after checking her phone, pecking his lips and taking quick steps down the aisle of the large store.

Bucky smiled, taking another fruit plate and placing it in their cart. His girl was such a hard worker and he couldn’t be prouder.

It was going to be Christmas soon and his girl was still working hard so Bucky was going to make her the best holiday food she’s ever tasted.

He was focused on picking the freshest cranberries when he heard a scoff, a very familiar one.

“Hey, Ryan,” Bucky sighed, not really wanting to ruin his good mood, as he turned around to meet a face he knew too well.

“What does she owe you?” said Ryan, tilting his head with a smirk.

“What?!”

“There’s no way this chick is seeing you. I figured she must owe you and is just paying her debt!” He smirked further, not even trying to hide his gloating when he saw that his words still had an effect on Bucky.

“My relationship with her is none of your business.” Bucky’s voice was suddenly low as his eyes stared down at the contents of the cart.

“But my relationship with you is.” Ryan put a finger under Bucky’s chin but the latter took a step away.

“We don’t have a relationship. You cheated on me, remember? I was too fat for you.” Bucky’s shaky voice moved nothing inside Ryan. If anything Ryan wanted more.

“And now you’re too fat for her.”

“Shut up. She is nothing like you.”

“Really? Do you even know where she goes when she leaves you? Where she is right now, for example?” Ryan smirked.

“She got called into work and had to run to the office.” Bucky knew he owed him nothing and if he was in his right mind he wouldn’t have went through a conversation with Ryan at all, but he wasn’t.

“How are you still so naïve?” He laughed heartily as if Bucky’s misery was actually amusing to him.

“Leave me alone.” Bucky tried to push the shopping cart and walk away, but Ryan stepped before him.

“I didn’t know your publisher lived in an office.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She leaves you to go fuck your publisher. You know him, black guy, sexily built, very handsome.”

The words left Bucky feeling lightheaded as the world seemed to twirl around him. Could history be repeating itself? No, not this time. His girl was not like that.

“I saw her coming to his building with him.”

“How’d you even-”

“I wait tables in the restaurant across the street from his apartment. I didn’t know she was with you but damn are you lucky you met me today!” Ryan laughed insensitively.

“It’s probably someone else.”

“I think I know what your publisher looks like.”

“You’re lying,” Bucky chocked out, trying to get out of Ryan’s way.

“You don’t sound so sure about that.” Ryan tilted his head again with a smug smirk, poking Bucky’s tummy, “you know why? Because deep down you know she’s too sexy for you. Because you look at her and then at yourself and you can’t figure out why she’d want you. Because you know that sooner or later she’s gonna get tired of your fat ass and—”

“My life now is none of your business, Ryan. You left. You chose to go, so stay gone.” Bucky’s weak voice interrupted, shutting Ryan right up before he sped out of the store, leaving the groceries behind.

“You’ll come back to me when you see for yourself!” He shouted after Bucky, but he didn’t stop nor turn back.

The questions he had raised in Bucky’s head, Bucky had no answers for them himself. Why was this sweet girl with him? What did she see in him? Anyone who met them thought the same thing: they didn’t belong together. So what did she see differently? What was Bucky bringing to their relationship? Could he even satisfy her? Could he keep her fulfilled?

He thought the days where Ryan messed with his head were long gone but he was obviously mistaken. Ryan could still easily hurt him. He could still make him feel as large as an elephant yet smaller than an insect. The dagger he’d planted was in so deep that Bucky couldn’t feel anything but the pain the stab brought.

~

His ex’s words plagued his mind. They took over and drowned out his girl’s voice, pushing it to the background.

All of a sudden, Bucky was very aware of his size, of the way the couch made the slightest sounds under his weight, and the way his girl could fit her whole self on one of his thighs if she wanted to.

“Bucky bear?” A hand on his cheek pulled him out of his thoughts.

Suddenly, he hated the words she nicknamed him with. Bear? Is that how big she thought he was?

“Hmm?”

“I was asking if you wanna go shopping for last minute gifts with me tomorrow,” she repeated, smiling sweetly, her fingers brushing a few hairs back and behind Bucky’s ear as she yawned.

Bucky’s new cookbook became a best seller after one week of release and the publication house was throwing the amazing chef a party.

She couldn’t be prouder and she wanted to support Bucky all the way. She loved Christmas and now it was going to be even better with this event added to their memories.

She was going to go all out for her man and he didn’t even know it. It was going to be a huge surprise and she couldn’t wait to make it happen.

“Yeah, why not,” Bucky replied, faking a smile back.

“What were you busy thinking about?” Her thumb traced his stubbly cheek as she frowned worriedly.

For a wonderfully successful cook, Bucky didn’t look so happy.

“You,” he answered with the truth though his eyes didn’t sparkle like they usually would at the thought of her.

“What about me?” Her smile returned as she stared lovingly at Bucky’s face.

“Why are you with me?” Bucky couldn’t hide the sorrow in his voice if he tried.

“What?” She sat up straight in his lap as her face fell.

“Please don’t make me repeat the question.”

“Buck, where’s this coming from?” Her hands cupped both his cheeks.

“I just don’t get it.” He shook his head, swallowing as his hands removed hers from his face.

“Don’t get what?!” She placed her hands on Bucky’s chest instead, refusing to let him push her away.

“Why you’re here!”

“I’m here because I love you, what’s hard to get, baby?”

“Do you really love me?”

This was serious. She’s never seen her boyfriend look so broken.

“James, what’s going on?”

“Answer the question, plum,” Bucky requested, the back of his fingers stroking over her cheek, knowing this was probably the last time he would get to touch her soft skin.

“Of course I love you!”

“Then why do you leave me to go meet Sam and then lie to me about it?!” Bucky unintentionally raised his voice.

“W—what?”

There were so many emotions overwhelming her and none of them was pleasant.

She was shocked, hurt and dejected. Bucky has never raised his voice at her before.

 “What were you doing together last night? And the night before and the night before that?!”

“Bucky, you’ve got it all wrong.” She shook her head, heartbroken that Bucky would think of her like that.

“Please leave.” He slid her off his lap and stood up, turning his back to her.

“Bucky.” Tears pricked her eyes.

“Leave, plum.”

“Bucky, me and Sam were—”

“If you won’t leave then I will.” Bucky sped to the door, grabbing his jacket from where it was hanged.

The last thing he wanted was to cry in front of her too. He’s already shown his weakness once; never again.

“Bucky!”

He ignored her calls, ready to run out of the door and let his legs take him far away where he’d have to hear no lies and could no longer get hurt.

“James Bucky Barnes, don’t you dare walk out on me!” She blocked the door, preventing Bucky from exiting the apartment.

Her eyes glistened with yet to be shed tears as her heart pounded in her chest. The mere idea of losing Bucky for any reason terrified her more than anything else.

She loved the man with her heart and soul and would go to the ends of the Earth for his sake. Why couldn’t he see that?

“I didn’t wanna ruin the surprise but… your book is a best seller. Me and Sam were planning you a party to celebrate. We figured if we met at the restaurant it’d ruin the surprise so I saw him at his place after work.”

Bucky stared at her dumbly.

“You can call Sam if you don’t believe me.”

“Oh.” Bucky felt like someone’s just dumped a bucket of cold water over his head; felt like an absolute idiot, “oh, plum.”

“I’m sorry I kept it a secret, but I’m not sorry I wanted to do something nice for the man I love.” A tear rolled down her cheek and her lower lip trembled, “and I’m really sad with you for stalking me and doubting me like that. I didn’t expect that from you, Bucky… and I’m hurt.”

“Sweet plum-”

“You can leave now if you still want to.” She took quick steps to the bedroom, leaving Bucky at the door.

It wasn’t often that she and Bucky fought and it was never something that couldn’t be solved within an hour. He could never bear to see her upset, let alone let her go to bed mad at him.

“Plum,” Bucky softly knocked on her door, swallowing the lump stuck in his throat, “can I please come in?”

But this was big.

Bucky has doubted her love for him. He has insulted her loyalty and ruined everything because of his insecurities and the poisonous words of a man who never cared for him.

She opened the door for him in a heartbeat, her face soaked in tears.

“No, no, sweet plum.” Bucky took her in his arms, praying to the deities she wouldn’t repel from his touch.

“You pushed me out of your lap.” She sobbed, her chest heaving and her forehead pressed to his shoulder.

His accusations hurt but the fact that he pushed her away somehow hurt her more.

Bucky couldn’t help but let his tears fall as well.

How could he be so thoughtless? She was the one good thing in his life and he almost let her go. No amount of restaurants he could open could make him feel as happy as a smile from her would.

He could write a library and collect every prize ever known to humankind, and she would still be the best thing Bucky has ever won over.

“I’m stupid, baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His hold tightened, engulfing her smaller frame in a desperate hug, “please don’t cry because of an idiot like me. I’m sorry, sweet plum. Forgive me, baby.”

“Why’d you do it?” Her sad eyes looked at him in question, full of confusion yet void of bitterness.

“I- sweet plum-” Bucky didn’t know how to answer her question because now that he looked back, he could see how stupid it all was.

Why did he follow her for 3 consecutive nights while she went to meet Sam instead of just trusting her? Why did he choose to believe and trust in Ryan’s words and not her love for him? Why was it easier for him to imagine her with someone like Sam but impossible to think of her with someone like himself?

“It’s because I’m a big idiot,” Bucky replied.

“Bucky.”

“Please forgive me, plum.” Bucky pecked her temple.

“Tell me what happened.”  She demanded softly, wiping Bucky’s own tears away and kissing his chin.

“Nothing happened, sweet plum. I got inside my own head again. I’m sorry, baby.” Bucky lied with a sad smile, too ashamed to admit Ryan’s words almost had him ruining the best relationship he’s ever been in.

She nodded understandingly, her hand cupping Bucky’s face as she rested his forehead on hers.

Bucky would tell her when he was ready. She didn’t want to stay mad at him. She knew he had issues with self confidence and she wasn’t about to make him feel even worse. He would come to her when he was comfortable. Bucky would tell her on his own.

“Please stay.” She whispered, her teary eyes heavy with sleep, yet afraid to go to bed and have Bucky leave after.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweet plum.” Bucky kissed her forehead, taking her by the hand to their bed.

~

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Her soothing voice whispered, filling the dark room.

Bucky was laying wide awake, Ryan’s words playing in his ears over and over again. What he did to his girl and how he made her cry. All the messed up shit he did just hours ago gnawed at him and took the sleep away from his eyes.

“I ran into Ryan,” Bucky finally replied, unable to sleep while he’s hiding something from her, “he filled my head with thoughts about you leaving me for Sam, and I let him.” He admitted to the ceiling, hesitant to meet her eyes.

“I would never leave you,” she promised him without reluctance, cupping his face and making him look at her.

She wanted him to see all the love her eyes held for him with no shame.

“Please don’t. I will lose the weight, I will—”

“Wait, what? He told you I’d leave you because of your weight?” Both hands were back on Bucky’s cheeks, thumbs wiping under his eyes.

Bucky nodded.

“And you believed him?”

“It’s why he left me.” He shrugged.

“Bucky,” she sighed.

“I know I know. It’s what’s on the inside that counts—”

“Don’t talk as if you’re not physically breathtaking!”

“Baby—”

“No! You have no idea how handsome you are, do you?!”

“Plum, you don’t have to say such stuff.” Bucky shook his head sheepishly and regretted it when he saw sadness cover her delicate features.

She quickly shook it off, scratching her forehead before taking Bucky’s hand, helping him sit up in their bed.

“Sweet plum, what are you doing?” Bucky asked when she started moving the covers down his torso.

“Gonna love on my man. Would you let me, Bucky? Can I love on you?” she asked, her voice soft and sweet.

Bucky nodded, hypnotized by the adoration shining in her eyes and she started to undress him.

Her eyes never left his as she took piece by piece of clothing off, revealing his beautiful figure to her, her smile only faltering when she bit down at the sight of her man in all his naked glory.

Bucky’s body was lit up under the soft moonlight coming from the window, helping her appreciate every curve and inch.

This gorgeous human being was his and he was hers.

“You’re so fucking sexy you take my breath away,” she moaned, slipping out of her own sweater, “and I don’t just mean the way you make me cum so many times until I have to fight for oxygen.” She brushed her lips on his.

Bucky was speechless. He could only stare and try not to lose his own oxygen.

“Keep your eyes open for me, Buck.” She pecked his lips once and he opened his eyes at once, not even realizing he’d closed them in the first place.

She smiled at how fast he followed the instruction, leaning back on the headboard and licking his lips.

Bucky’s groan when her bra hit the ground made her giggle. She slipped out of her panties, leaving herself bare before Bucky’s eyes.

“Come here, plum,” Bucky’s arms reached for her but she shook her head.

“This is about you, Bucky Bear.”

She climbed on the bed between Bucky’s legs, her hands wandering along his shins, thumbs caressing up his inner thighs. She bowed forward, peppering kisses on Bucky’s soft flesh.

“I love your thighs,” her lips moved higher and higher, the tiny kisses and nibbles driving Bucky crazy as he tried not to touch himself, “love how thick they are. So strong. So perfect. I would ride them all day if you’d let me.”

Bucky whimpered when she accompanied the honest words with a bite, leaving her mark on his pale flesh.

“And that ass,” she moaned, her hands sliding underneath Bucky, pulling his legs up and cupping his ass cheeks.

Bucky’s shy gasp made her smirk. He was so precious she could eat him. Maybe she should some day…

She let Bucky’s legs settle back on the bed and kept kissing up and up, skipping his twitching cock on purpose and placing wet kisses on his tummy instead. Her eyes locked with his and Bucky bit his pink lip.

He looked so beautiful, blushing, disheveled and turned on like that. His pupils were dilated, his cheeks rosy and his breath uneven; she was falling in love with this chef all over again.

“I love your tummy so so much,” her tongue dipped in Bucky’s bellybutton and the flush spread from his cheeks and on to his neck and chest.

Another moan slipped from his lips as her warm tongue lapped at his skin. She was full on licking him now.

Her words were romantic but the way she was loving him was driving him insane.

“I love to feel it against me when we hug,” she kissed his right side, “I love when you let me rest my head on it and I get to hear you breathe and feel your heartbeat,” she kissed his belly, “I love how it warms my back when you spoon me. And I love feeling it pushing against my ass when you take me from behind.” She pressed a final kiss to his left side.

“My favourite has got to be your cock though.” She gave his leaking dick a single pump and his hips were already bucking off the bed, “I’m a sucker for this cock, baby. Literally.”

Bucky was too busy whining when her mouth wrapped around the crown of his cock to call her out on her bad joke.

His whole body was on fire with need for her. He needed her to do something, anything.

“Plum, please. Let me get you ready. I need you. I need to be inside you.”

Bucky didn’t want to cum in her mouth, not this time. He needed to be buried deep inside her and he wasn’t sure how long he would be able to last.

“I’m ready,” she said, situating herself on top of his cock, rubbing the tip on her wet folds, letting out filthy mewls at the feel of him against the lips of her pussy, “always ready for you, baby.”

Before Bucky could argue that he should at least make sure she was prepared to take him just in case, she was pushing the tip of him in, stretching herself out on his cock with her head thrown back and her mouth open in a silent scream.

“Fuck, plum, so tight,” Bucky groaned, feeling her pussy grip every inch as soon as it disappeared inside her.

When she has completely impaled herself on Bucky’s cock, she stilled, taking a minute to get used to the stretch.

No burn has ever felt as good as the burn she got when Bucky’s dick split her in half. Getting opened on this cock was her favorite thing in the world.

She dragged her lips along his stubbly jaw as she waited, kissing all over his face, savoring the moment as sweetly as possible as if the head of Bucky’s cock wasn’t almost touching up her cervix.

Her open palms glided from around Bucky’s neck to his shoulders and down his arms until she reached his palms.

“and those hands, I think you already know how much I love your hands.” She chuckled as she continued and Bucky nodded, squirming below her.

“I love when you hold my hand; makes me feel safe; chosen,” she rolled her hips, making Bucky groan wantonly.

“I love how fast you can make me cum on the fingers of your left hand.” She whined when Bucky’s hands dug in her sides as she moved on him, surely leaving bruises behind.

“Fuck, plum-” Bucky was so close so fast and he wished he could last longer but the movement of her body on top of his, the words leaving her mouth and her walls snug around his cock were too much.

“I love you. Every inch, every part. I love all of you, Bucky.”

Bucky groaned in reply, chest heaving as he watched her take him.

“I love every part of you. I crave your touch like my lungs crave air.”

Bucky involuntarily thrust up, making her eyes roll.

“Oh Buck!” she wailed, Bucky hitting her favorite spots so good.

He couldn’t stop his hips from meeting hers every time she came down to take his cock over and over again, eyes glued to where he was disappearing inside of her.

“Nothing could ever match the feeling of being filled up of you, Bucky.”

“I love you, plum ahhh fuck,” Bucky moaned, overwhelmed by emotions and ready to burst any second.

“I love you too, Bucky bear. You’re my everything; my one and only.” She kissed him hard, thighs shaking around his body as she came on his cock.

Bucky couldn’t help but let go himself, cumming harder than he has ever before, filling her up with so much cum until he felt it leak out of her despite having her plugged on his softening cock.

She moaned at the warmth of his cum, shuddering when it seeped out of her.

“Fuck, plum,” Bucky sighed on her shoulder, breath still shaky.

She giggled shyly, burying her face in Bucky’s neck.

“Where did that come from?” Bucky asked, cupping her cheek so he could look at her.

She was glowing, smiling at him so innocently as if his cock wasn’t still buried deep up her leaking, pulsing pussy.

“From here.” She pointed to the spot between her breasts.

“Right here?” Bucky leaned forward to press a kiss on her hot skin, making her laugh as she nodded.

“I love you,” he whispered on her lips.

“I love you, Bucky. I love every tiny detail about you inside out. Nothing will ever change that.” She promised, seeing his eyes soften once again, insecurity dissipating.

“Thank you, plum.” Bucky hugged her close, kissing her shoulder and the back of her neck.

“Thank you for letting me show you how much I love you.”

“So you love my cock huh?” Bucky teased.

“Buckyyyy,” she whined, trying to get away as her face heated up.

“No, say it.” Bucky bit his lip, looking at her with a smirk.

“You know I do. Stop.”

“No, plum. I don’t know anything.” Bucky shook his head trying to act serious, “say it again.”

“Iloveyourcock,” she mumbled, trying to take herself off his cock.

“What was that, plum?” Bucky thrust upward into her and even with a soft cock he could make her make the sweetest sound.

“Hngh, I love your cock, Bucky,” she moaned, throwing her head back.

“Hmm, how much?” Bucky swirled his hips, feeling himself get hard again.

“S-so much,” she admitted as his cock stretched her sensitive pussy.

Bucky held her close, turning them the other way around and gave a deep push when he was on top, his cum making the filthiest squelching sounds as she screamed an “oh god”.

“So much you’d let me take you again?”

“Yes, yes,” she nodded frantically, not wanting the man to stop his thrusts.

And he wasn’t going to.

Bucky’s tummy pinned her down as he pressed his lips to hers, eating up her squeals as he pounded her into the bed, showing her how much he loved her.

~

“So you really don’t care about my weight?” Bucky asked, supporting his body up on his elbows as he stared at her glossy eyes.

She could barely remember her name as she tried to come down from the other two orgasms Bucky has just given her, his body still on top of hers, but that wasn’t a question she needed to think about the answer to.

“I only want you okay and healthy, Bucky. If you’re comfortable, I’m comfortable. If you’re happy, I’m happy. Otherwise, you’re perfect to me,” she told him with a shrug, pushing his wet hair behind his ears, “every little thing about you is perfect.”

“I love you so much, plum.”

“I love you more.” She smiled, heart fluttering at the look he was giving her.

“Not possible.” Bucky kissed her lips, “not possible, plum.”

~

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[toomuchracket]

tiny bikini (office nerd matty x reader smut/fluff)

day 23 of summer75. matty really loves his girlfriend's tits. enjoy <3

the first thing matty hears when he wakes up is the sea, crashing softly outside the apartment. the first thing matty feels when he wakes up is warmth, balmy heat sending the odd bead of sweat rolling across his body, even though he's lying on top of the bedsheets. the first thing matty sees when he wakes up is you, hair splayed out across the pillow like a mermaid, soft body curled into his and pretty face beaming up at him.

the first thing matty does when he wakes up is smile. how could he not, alone on holiday with you and the sea and the sand and the sunshine?

“hi,” you whisper, blinking (adorably) sleepily and melting his heart. “i think we slept in.”

“we did?” matty cranes his neck to look at the alarm clock. half 12 in the afternoon. “fuck me, we really did,” he buries his face into your hair, inhaling the scent of your coconut shampoo and smiling when you giggle. “reckon we needed it, though, after how mental things have been at work.”

“yeah, we've been busy,” you stretch, and matty does his best not to be obvious about the fact he's staring at your boobs. “speaking of - agenda for today?”

“hmm,” he trills his lips, mind racing through a rolodex of potential holiday activities. a gentle breeze brings the sea air into the bedroom with it, and suddenly the answer is clear. “we could go to the beach? only if you want to, that is, we can do something else if not, i actually don't mi-”

“baby,” you gently place your index finger on his lips to shut him up, and a sense of total peace washes over him. “that sounds lovely.”

he kisses your finger, a feeling of pure love bubbling inside him when you laugh and snuggle even further into him. there's complete tranquillity for a moment, nothing but the two of you entwined and the summer day, your lips pressed into his chest and his hand gently skimming the soft skin of your back, stopping when it reaches the base of your spine; after maybe three skims, though, the tranquillity is marred slightly by your voice. “for god's sake, matthew, just put your hand on my arse. i know you want to.”

matty feels his cheeks redden, a smidge of embarrassment at being clocked so quickly flushing through him too. but it dissipates as fast as it comes on when he sees the smile on your face, a smile he matches. “sorry, darling. s'pose it's the art critic in me,” he quips, obliging your request (with unabashed glee). “first thing they tell us is that we shouldn't touch masterpieces, after all.”

he grins - no, cheeses - while you hide your face in his neck with a groan. “oh, babe, that was awful,” you shuffle so you can rest your arms on his hard chest, looking up at him with sparkly eyes and the shy smile you only seem to give him. fuck, you are beautiful, so beautiful that it actually gives matty a little bit of a heartache; worth it, though, to get to look at you. “but i kinda loved it. and you. i love you. a lot.”

“i love you,” matty kisses your nose, heart healing completely at the way you scrunch it cutely in response. “my sweet girl.”

you hum contentedly, pressing your forehead against his. “time to get up?”

“yeah, let's do it.”

admittedly, it does take you both a minute to get out of bed - a series of kisses take priority first, the head-melting breath-taking type of kisses matty dreamed about having with you since quite literally clapping eyes on you at work - but you're up and getting ready within the hour, sipping lattes and eating grapes while you potter around the apartment. another forty-five minutes after that, matty finds himself stood at the end of the bed, waiting for you to leave the bathroom and preoccupying himself with putting extra cartons of sangria in the beach bag. “darling, you almost done?”

“yeah,” your voice gets closer. “not sure if this is the right bikini, though.”

“come on, sweetheart, you know you look good in any…” his voice trails off as he looks at you stepping out into the bedroom. “...thing.”

good is an understatement, actually. the understatement. of the fucking… ever. matty's seen you in swimsuits before, practically fucked the life out of you in your gold leia birthday moment, but this is next level - the shimmery, claret fabric looks gorgeous against your glowing skin, the high cut of the bottoms makes those fucking legs of yours look a million miles long, and the double-strand ties on your thick hips actually make his mouth water, make him want to sink his teeth into you and mark you up.

and that's before he even thinks about your tits.

when he does finally manage to tear his eyes from your lower body, matty momentarily forgets how to breathe. the two triangles of fabric on your chest are doing very little to cover you up, exposing an amount of soft underboob that would have absolutely sent him into cardiac arrest had he seen you like this six months ago. as familiar as he is with your tits, though, matty wonders - as best as he can through the lack of oxygen in his brain - if that's actually hindering his ability to function properly; the sight of the fading heart-shaped hickeys he left on your inner boob last week is sending him even more insane, a reminder that this fucking goddess in a swimsuit before him is actually his to know and hold and love.

the room spins for a nanosecond. when it rights itself, matty feels the mattress below his back, sees your pretty face contorted in worry - when his brain retunes itself a bit more, he can hear you frantically talk. “matty, baby, are you alright? did you faint? oh my god, we need to get you some food. hold on, let me-”

“angel, m'okay,” matty strokes your face, smiling when you visibly relax. “just got a bit lightheaded, is all.”

“why, though, sweetheart?” you shuffle a little, and matty has a momentary flash of mortifying realisation that he's fully got a boner and you're sat square on his lap. in a bikini. fucking hell. “you thirsty?”

technically, yes. “nah.”

your brow furrows. “then why did you swoon like that?

matty giggles at your word choice. “well… same reason anyone swoons, i reckon.”

“what… oh,” your eyes light up, so much that it makes the mortification of the situation worth it. “you got woozy because you… find me so attractive?”

“um,” christ. his cheeks are burning. “yeah.”

your smile widens, and you nod knowingly. “it was my tits, wasn't it?”

he's not quite sure whether to be even more mortified, or touched that you know him so well. regardless, he thinks, he can at least be honest. “it was your tits.”

“d'you wanna fuck them, then?”

for the second time in just over as many minutes, the instinct to breathe completely abandons matty's body - the nonchalance of your question knocks the fucking wind out of him. it also, he notes in some stupid horny autopilot part of his brain, makes his dick practically jump in his shorts, and after a moment or two he becomes vaguely aware of the fact he's nodding in agreement.

he might be too horny to function, but he's not stupid.

you lean forward to kiss him, tracing your tongue around his lips and smiling into him when he whimpers. “let me lie down, babe, yeah?” you murmur. “actually - be a good boy and undo my top for me, first, please.”

the praise shocks matty into movement, and he dutifully unties the halter neck and back string of the bikini top. when the fabric falls off your body, he's barely chucked it out of the way before he's mouthing at your chest, kissing, sucking, biting, licking up the sweetness that seems to radiate from your skin, spurred on by the soft moans tumbling from your lips; by the time he pulls back, guided by your hand in his curls, your chest is glistening wet, and - it has to be said - ripe for fucking.

“god, i love your mouth,” you beam, climbing off your boyfriend with a kiss and lying down. matty takes the hint and moves to get rid of his shorts, getting even more turned on (impossibly so) at the way you bite your lip at the sight of his dick. “fuck, babe, get up here.”

he obliges, cracked whine leaving his lips when you sit forward and lick up the length of him; when you take him into your mouth, the whine becomes a groan, the feeling of your lips and tongue and throat on him almost too much to bear. “shit.”

matty whines again when you laugh around him, the vibrations going right to his brain and chipping away at his sanity. luckily, he thinks at least, you pull off quickly, settling yourself back against the pillows again and pushing your tits together so seductively his knees quake. “well, matthew, what are you waiting for?”

there's no need to ask twice. compelled by something indescribable other than primal, matty takes a tit in each hand to guide himself, and slowly fucks the tight little space between them. “oh- oh my god.”

you beam. “feel good?”

“s'fucking amazing,” a bit more used to the feeling (what would teenage him think if he knew that?!), he speeds up his thrusts, gasping when he finds the perfect tempo to turn his brain to mush. “fuck, darling, thank you.”

“sweet boy,” you coo, hand coming to hold his on your tit; you whimper when he squeezes it, and the sound goes straight to his dick. yeah, he's not lasting long at all. “look so beautiful above me, fucking me like this.”

“you're beautiful.”

“gonna look even better when you cum on my face,” you smirk, tongue flicking out to catch the head of your boyfriend's cock when it nears your lips. the feeling has matty's hips jerking, has him moaning staccato; when you take the head into your mouth properly and suck on it like a lollipop, his thighs start to shake, and he moans so loudly that you hear birds in the trees outside take off en masse. of course, you love it. “you're gonna do that for me soon, aren't you, darling? paint me all pretty, finish your masterpiece?”

he doesn't even have time to warn you that he's going to cum before it happens - as soon as the words leave your lips, matty's finishing all over them, hips stuttering to an eventual stop as he cries your name and cums harder than he thinks he ever has before. you moan his name in reply as he does, sticking your tongue out to catch as much as possible and doing him in even more in the process.

fuck. what a holiday this is turning out to be. and it's only day one.

the thought, along with everything else that just happened, has matty bringing his hands to his face, lightly pushing his palms over his eyes to try and focus a little bit. which, in hindsight, is a really detrimental move - he opens his eyes to see you, smiling and beautiful and covered with his cum, and he can feel his cock twitch. thankfully, you don't seem to notice, too busy gazing up at him so adoringly he's actually feeling self-conscious. “did you enjoy fucking me like that, baby?”

“yeah,” matty breathes. “dreamed about seeing you like this, you know, darling.”

you laugh, and everything is right in the world. “what, my face all messy because of you?”

“exactly,” he smiles. “there's a partner dream to it, and all.”

“there is?” you shuffle onto your elbows, curious. “what happens in that?”

matty hums, moving to settle himself on his stomach on the bed, pretty head inches from your visibly-wet core. “i make you do the same to me.”

[m-jelly]

Hi, Jelly ❤️❤️❤️

What about the reader and Levi and the sweet comfort of home? Levi is walking home from work and, hearing a squeak, finds a small stray black kitten. He can't leave the hungry little one behind. He takes it home with him to the reader, hoping that she will like this adorable little ball of fur. The reader happily agrees and adores the new fur family member and comes up with a name for him 😊

Biscuit

Levi x fem reader

Sheriff Levi, small town AU, fluff, romance, being a couple, black kitten

Levi brings a kitten home after a shift at work.

It'd been a long shift for Levi. It was the holiday season, snow was thick and the holiday cheer was in the air. People were getting silly with the drinking, and many tourists were pushing things too far. He'd done a night shift and a full day one right after. He was cranky and desperately needed to be wrapped up in your arms.

He trudged through the snow and made his way from the station to home. The whole time he'd been working his long shift he'd been calling you and texting you often. He loved seeing you on video calls and in pictures, you were adorable beyond words.

Levi was planning on proposing to you on his birthday. The two of you celebrated his birthday instead of Christmas but agreed that when you had kids, you would change things up a little. For now, though, you had many fun birthdays with Levi.

He heard a little noise and stopped in his path. He strained his ears and moved closer to see a blanket over a box. He crouched down and dragged the blanket off to see a little black kitten inside. "Tch, fucking monsters leaving you alone little fella." He scooped up the cat and cradled it in his gloved hands. "Let's help." He opened his aviator coat a little with the fluffy lining and placed the kitten at the top of his scarf and just below his chin. "There. Now let's get you home."

The journey home was a lot nicer than Levi was expecting. He couldn't help but smile at the little black kitten meowing at him now and then. He petted its head a little and walked right up to the front door of his sweet townhome with you. He cleaned his boots off, unlocked the door and purred when he was hit with the divine scent that was you and your perfect cooking.

He hummed in delight. "Smells so good in here."

You ran out of the kitchen with an apron on. "Levi!" You squealed in delight. "Welcome home! I baked a big meat pie for us and I even made dessert."

He chuckled. "Thank you. I missed you."

You walked closer. "I missed you too."

He lifted the kitten out of his scarf. "Could you hold this little one?"

You gasped at seeing the black kitten. "Oh, you are so cute!" You took the kitten and cuddled it. "Hello." You kissed its head as Levi took his winter things off. "Where did you find him?"

"Some arsehole abandoned him. I found him in a box with a blanket over him."

You whined a bit. "Poor baby." You carried him to the kitchen. "Let me get you something to drink and eat. I should have some fish spare..." You grabbed a little bowl and filled it with water. You knelt down and placed the kitten next to the water. "Here you go. I'll get you your fish."

Levi walked closer and watched the kitten happily drink. "I'm glad he drank right away."

"Me too. We should take him to Mike so he can check him over."

Levi nodded. "He's the best vet."

You walked over to another spot and placed the fish. "Sorry, cats don't like eating and drinking in the same spot. Hopefully he's okay." You smiled when the kitten stumbled over to you. "Aww, he's so cute."

Levi smiled as the cat started eating the fish. "He seems like he's doing perfect. So, do you want to keep him?"

Your eyes lit up. "Really!? We can keep him!? I'd love to!"

He chuckled. "Good, I was hoping you'd want to. We need to name him though."

You patted your cheeks as you thought. "Mm..." You stood up and walked over to Levi. "I have a name, but you'll probably think it's silly."

He pulled you against him and kissed you. "I won't. I love how cute and sweet your mind is."

You smiled sweetly. "Okay, how about Biscuit?"

He massaged his fingers in your hair. "Biscuit is perfect." He looked down at the kitten as it let out a tiny burp. "He's cute."

"He's a sweet little bean. We'll make a bed of blankets for him."

"Perfect." He hugged you tightly. "We'll go to the shop when the snow is not too bad and get him all the things he needs."

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @levistealeaf @pelicanpizza @hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird @searriously @anti-cupid @abiatackerman

[alwaysshallow]

gorgerous, part 8

Simon Riley x f!reader

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READ ON AO3

You're a vet with a pretty simple life. One day though, things change, when a big guy with a skull mask enters your clinic with a small, ginger kitten in his hands. (4,5k)

A/N: ....guess who's back??

Christmas is usually celebrated with someone you love. Someone you respect, someone that will cherish the moments with you because there’s not only a lot of things to prepare in a sense of duty, the feeling that you have to do this. There's a lot of things that you can genuinely enjoy.

Gifts. You love to think of something special for every person that is close to you, just for the pure satisfaction of seeing a smile on their face and a "How did you know?" question that makes you giddy every time you hear it. 

What’s more, everyone gets something personalized, something that is from you, carefully picked amongst the hundreds of choices. You'd hate to give a present that looks like it had been picked at the last minute at a gas station; so, you spend a lot of the time buying and wrapping your gifts to some corny playlist that you made when you were eighteen, and you play it every year. Just for the vibe. 

Meal, where you think of everyone. Their favorites, dislikes, something sweet for later, when the meal will be just too boring and the craving for chocolate would hit. 

It’s good to note that most of the dishes aren't cooked by you (you don’t have time and skills to do so much), it's catering, but, it's the thought that matters, you think.

And it's like that… normally. 

This year, you feel like all the holiday spirit is dead. Your mom and dad already planned the vacation—without you, which upsets you, but you don’t allow yourself to show that—and your friends go to their families. You’re gonna be alone in the most wonderful time of the year, so for some reason, you start to understand the Grinch. 

You received an invitation from your friends, but you politely declined it. Feeling it would be either awkward, or you'd feel alienated in a family that you don't really know well. Besides, pity isn’t really your thing, so you prefer to watch Bridget Jones with cookies and milk, instead of being a burden.

Or, you preferred to watch Bridget Jones, before someone showed up in your life and made a little mess.

Before Simon came into view.

Maybe it's his aura, or maybe it's your high expectations and mindless dreaming, but you think it would be right to ask him. Even if he has plans—you think that a man like him doesn’t have plans—it's something that you want to do.

Just out of pure curiosity. Because based on the dinner you had with him, evening that you spent together, you think he'd be a good company. In your mind, you already see the banter between you and him. You already see how he argues with you that you shouldn't really put on a Grinch movie, or any Christmas movie because it’s tacky to think of a Hallmark movie and a meal together. You see how he rolls his eyes, when you hit “play” despite his protests.

How he tries to seem uninterested, but he’s more invested into the movie than you are, commenting out loud stupid choices of the heroes, sighing audibly, as you laugh in the background. How he absolutely devours cookies that you made, so you need to bake another batch of them because he's eating so much—rightfully so, for such a monstrous man in the military. He probably relies on his weight to stay in form. 

It's hard not to drool, when you imagine it. His body under all of the clothing, his muscles, body fat. How he looks, how comedically bigger he is, compared to you. Fuck, you’d give a lot to see him without all of those clothes. Compression shirt leaves too much to your imagination to be satisfied with that only.

It’s even harder to maintain a calm face, when he asks you about something from the bathroom, and you jump in place, like you were just caught on something illegal or watching porn. You can’t even recall what he was saying, so with a frown you ask him to repeat the question.

If he’s not dense, he should know by now that you like him. Very much. Maybe too much, considering how far your imagination goes, and it only took… a few months, to fall into this mindset with a man that is rather known for being quiet. A man that did a horrible first impression in that weird mask, yet you’re still interested.

Your polar opposite. 

While you love to talk, he rather avoids it. You love crowds (moderately), he does not. He probably prefers to sit alone in the cafe, reading away from the crowd, while you almost every time find someone to talk to, either if it’s a client or a barista that is glad someone doesn’t complain about the coffee. You talk, he’s more of a listener. 

Fire and water; ice, even. Something that is on the opposite sides, something that shouldn’t work in the first place, but for some reason, it works perfectly well—for you, at least. You’re more addicted with the passing hours of your weird friendship with Simon, more curious to know him. Trying to adjust to the slow pace that he set in.

The slow dance around the topic is the thing you know Simon likes the most. It’s maybe the only thing that you’re sure he loves to do. Taking his time to observe, pounce and eventually attack, if he feels up to it.

It’d be easier that he’d ask you to spend Christmas with him, but you can’t have it all easy, no?

You bite your cheek and observe how he plays with Sparkles. The cat is invested in catching his fingers with her paws, gnawing on them, when he tries to take them away from her to take a sip of his tea. With a view like that, it’s easy to melt into a puddle and forget about everything that bothers you. It’s also very easy to have a prospect of you three spending holidays in your apartment. Wouldn’t be far from what you have now—big “bad” military man spending time with a tiny kitten, while you try to think of a proper breakfast. 

It would be the best reward to have him around, when it’s your favorite time of the year. 

But, it’s up to him, if he agrees.

And, for many reasons, unbeknownst to you, you want him to agree.

“You have somethin’ in mind,” he breaks the silence. Deep brown eyes are already scanning you from the bottom to the top of your head, curiously. Challenging himself if he’s capable of knowing what bothers you, before you’ll say it to him.

You’re not gonna make it easy for him, that’s for sure.

“I don’t,” you huff, like it’s supposed to convince him. “It’s just… I don’t know what to make for breakfast. That’s really it.” 

Simon’s quick to accuse you. “Don’t lie.”

“I don’t lie?” You raise your eyebrow, like he just didn’t tell you the truth; he scoffs at your high-pitched tone, taking a few steps towards you.

“You bite your cheek, and stomp like a bunny. What is it if not lyin’?” He mimics you, raising an eyebrow too. If it would be anyone else, you’d be slightly offended.

Rather than that, you’re amused a bit. “Like a bunny?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. From Bambi, or whatever that was.”

It takes everything in you to not laugh right this second. “You watched Bambi?”

“With Soap,” he murmurs, almost in shame because of the confession. “Doesn’t matter, what do you have in your little head?”

One confession leads to another, you think. It seems inevitable to say this right now, as finding a lie would be the worst option ever in front of a human lie detector. 

Besides, there’s no point in lying when you want him on Christmas. 

“I thought that, you know, you could spend Christmas with me. Sparkles would be included, too,” you say, out of breath when you’re done. 

In theory, this, telling him what you have in mind, should help you to get rid of that feeling in your chest. Feeling that makes you go back to being a kid, when you felt there’s nothing you can do about certain situations. When you could just wait for the mercy of the other person.

And that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. You’re waiting till Simon says something; a few minutes ago, you felt like it’s just a formality. 

Right now, you feel that the ache got worse just by seconds. His blank stare doesn’t help you with anything, it just makes you wonder what is in his mind right now. Is he just so shocked that he doesn’t know what to say? Or is he trying to find the words to politely decline the invitation?

“So, you want to celebrate with me,” he speaks up. You don’t know if there’s been five minutes, ten minutes, or an hour since you’ve asked him, but nonetheless, it makes you mad how he asks another question, instead of answering yours.

Although, you don’t show it; you just chuckle, nervously. “Is that really weird?”

“Kind of? Masochist type of way, if I’m being honest,” he hums, tilting his head. You have this specific feeling behind your head that he’s not taking you seriously, but you try to push it away. You don’t need it, not now.

“Well, masochist or not,” you swallow the saliva, thinking it would give you courage to continue the conversation, “I really mean it. I’d love to have you here.”

He sighs, shaking his head, and you know you’re screwed. “We’re not quite here, bird. Nothin’ personal, but that’s probably the dumbest idea out here.”

“Dumbest… idea?” You raise your eyebrow, laughing at first, but then you look at him in disbelief. “Like, spending time together on Christmas is dumb?”

It looks like he doesn’t even want to hear what you are saying. Riley puts Sparkles to the transporter, getting ready to go, while you still want the answer. “So? That’s… it?”

“I don’t want to spend Christmas with you.” He shrugs, looking at you. “Simple as that, I don’t know what is so hard to understand.”

And then, he leaves. 

Not only without breakfast, but without a word that would help you understand why he reacted like that. 

As you can imagine, the following days are kind of rough. 

Simon isn't a texter or a caller, doesn't have a reason for it anyway, so you're anxious all the time at work. You make more hours than you should just to stay in work and keep your mind occupied with something other than him because it still feels like he was at your place minutes ago, not days. 

It doesn’t help. The unnerving wave of shame is overwhelming, so you can’t even enjoy your work the way you normally would. Because normally, work helps you with your inner peace, feeling like a hot shower after a long day. Relaxing your muscles, bringing your mind elsewhere.

Right now, work is just pouring more problems to the already full cup.

Maybe it’s a mistake, but you don’t really share it with anyone; what happened with the British guy. Too ashamed that you even thought it would be a great idea to invite Simon, you bottle the feelings instead of letting them out on a random girls night, when you’d be too drunk to remember what you’ve said. You don’t mention it to your best friend, in case she’d spill it to Soap, you don’t mention it to your parents, in a fear of being judged. Or, Simon being judged in that case, they don’t know him. 

You feel like you don’t know him either, but he has to have a reason to not to come, right? It’s not like he decided that just out of spite, right?

Not only you feel bad, but the whole thing feels pathetic. Everything reminds you of him. A damn jar of peanut butter in your apartment (that you hide deep, as you don’t want to even look at that), cat toys at your workplace, LEGO, just because he said that it seems like the stupidest, yet the most interesting “puzzle thing” ever. If this isn’t enough, you catch yourself thinking of him at the gym, when you feel too fatigued to continue the training. Wondering if he’d push you to do the last set, what’d he say. Him, helping you with the exercises, seems like something inevitable. Something that could happen.

You need a cold shower after that.

These days, people tend to get on your nerves too. Your calm clients become someone that you don’t want to see, not even mentioning talking to them for more than it’s necessary. Happy couple in the shop irritates you enough to skip the aisle that they are in because if you don’t get to be happy, you don’t want to see other people happy like that. Not when you thought you’re gonna spend the holiday with someone special to you.

God. If one of your best friends would behave that way, you’d convince them they deserve better because no boy should make you feel like crap. 

Now… yeah. 

Now you should be the best friend to yourself, but it’s not going well for you. It’s way easier to try to lose yourself at work, watch rom-coms and eat ice cream, rather than face the truth.

You eventually come to the conclusion that spending Christmas would be a scratch on his emo reputation, so it’s better for you to ignore him completely from this point. If he hates this day so much, he could tell you in a different way than humiliating not only you, but your feelings.

It’s the night before Christmas when you see him, as you come back from the shop with your groceries.

He looks... fine, as always. Unbothered, as always.

Walking like the whole world belongs to him, loudly and clearly intimidating everyone who would even think of crossing his path. It's something that you, right now, envy him for. How heartless he seems, which definitely helps him not only with the job he’s doing, but for the moment like this one. 

Where people, normally, feel ashamed. 

The big guy facade fades just for a single moment—and you hopelessly think it's the moment he sees you, the last droplets of human decency speaking to him. He stops, looking at you from head to your toes and back. Estimating if you’re worth a while.

And when he decides that you’re in his circle of interest, he walks up even closer to you. Not a single emotion on his scarred face, and if you wouldn't know him, you'd be scared that he wants something malicious.

Maybe he does.

"Hi." 

His voice feels like he’s under the water. Deep, unreachable, but for some reason, it reaches you. Simon’s presence floods your lungs, making it hard to breathe, or to do anything at this point. You have to take a shallow breath before you’ll do anything.

You can't quite reach out to yourself to bring anything other than "Fuck you", so you don't speak after the "Hi." A nod in acknowledgement of his existence is all you give him; because if you would try to speak, you'd be either aggressive or hysterical.

And it's the last thing you want to give him: emotions. Because he seems to love that you're the emotional one here; he can read people like a book, and you're tired of being one. Tired of being on his shelf, so he can grab you whatever he wants, and you have no control over it. It simply doesn't feel right to you, doesn't seem fair at any chance.

His tone snaps you back to reality. "Dove."

You sigh. "I have a meal to prepare. Can't really talk right now, Riley.”

"Ouch." He theatrically puts a hand on his heart, tilting his head to the side. You can't really say if he's surprised by your sudden change in behavior towards him, or amused. Maybe both, knowing him. 

So, you do what you do best: you just start walking to your place, completely ignoring his presence. Pretend like you don’t care about this stupid Christmas, like you forgot what he said to you on that disastrous morning.

He grabs your arm, forcefully. You’re not even sure when that happens, when he jerks you towards him and you can see how he purses his lips in a thin line, looking at you with something resembling remorse, at best. Or something quite close to it, it’s hard to name it.

"'m not gonna let go."

"And I'll start screaming. You know I will. Like, actually, who would believe you that you just wanted to talk to me? You’re big, mean and generally speaking many people would—"

"If the invitation is still on the table, I'd take it, if we're bein' honest."

Like a fish, you open your mouth and close it a couple of times, dumbfounded. You can’t really tell if he means what he said, or if he actually said what you’ve heard; because there’s a possibility you just misheard something. You raise your eyebrow. "What?"

"Your hearing abilities amaze me."

"You told me a few days ago—"

"Changed my mind." He shrugs. So casually, like he didn’t actually make you freaking out about him, thinking you’re imagining things between you two because he rejected your invitation. 

You repeat his words mindlessly, barely believing in them. “What changed, then? The big “I don’t spend Christmas” guy thought he’s gonna do it this year? Or something changed between us and it’s not that casual anymore? Or it’s not the dumbest idea?”

He grits his teeth. It’s not rocket science to see that he’d rather you just take his apology, but you’re not like that. At least, not after feeling so humiliated for a couple of days, thinking that you’re the stupidest woman on the entire planet. For what it’s worth, you need to make him regret his decision a little.

You want him to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stands right in front of you, the royal brown staring into your soul. It’s not like you will budge, and Simon seems to know it, when he rolls his eyes. 

Fire and water. Maybe something that is not meant to be, and you started to slowly accept it after those days without contact. Sometimes people have different views on life, relationships and that’s okay. It’s not like you can change how he feels about you, but right now—

—right now, he closes his arms around you. Before you know it, he places his chin on the top of your head. Trying to isolate you from everything but him.

You try several times to leave his embrace, to punch him hard enough, but he doesn’t let go, and by that alone, you understand that somehow, you needed it. You just shoved it under the rug because it was easier.

Needed him, in general. Needed the reassurance that he probably doesn’t hate you so much. Your anger seems at lower levels right now, tamed, understanding towards him. It’s a stark contrast between you now, and a few days ago, when you wanted his head to be chopped off.

“I thought you passed on the party,” comes out quieter than expected. Like you’re actually afraid to say that, and he seems to know it when he tightens his arms around you for a moment. 

“‘s not a party though, is it? Only us three,” he murmurs, shrugging. You could think he doesn’t care coming from the tone, but the look in his eyes, the small glint in them, says otherwise. 

You scoff, pretending to be offended. Truth is, you’re far from offended right now. “Two is already a party.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Not a really reliable source, dove. But s’alright,” he says, tilting his head. He looks down at you and then kisses the top of your head. Not even bothered that a few minutes ago you wanted to punch him. “Let’s go already, hm? Probably you’d want to make some shit or else.”

“Or else,” you say. You have a lot to do, that’s true, but right now your focus is elsewhere—and that’s on his heart. You can hear how hard it is beating, the only indicator (besides the eyes) that he really wants to be here with you.

And If you doubted he has heart, now you really can see that, indeed, he has. Beating for no one else but you.

“You… can’t do that,” you say, without even looking at him. Your eyes are focused on the lantern nearby, the yellow light brightening the surroundings. “You can’t just say shit like that and expect I’ll be okay.”

“Listen—”

“—No. No, you should listen. I don’t want you to feel that you can say anything to me, to just come back without the consequences. Just promise me. It’s not hard, it’s not complicated, you know? Communication is actually easy, if you just try hard enough.”

For a few seconds, he’s quiet. Just like he was quiet on that accurst day, when everything got fucked up. You’re quick to open your mouth, but then, he answers, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You lost your hearing or somethin’?” He tilts his head a little to the right. If Sparkles wouldn’t be in a transporter in his hand, you’d smack the shit out of him. “Maybe you do need a doctor’s visit.”

“I said so much and you—”

“There’s nothin’ for me to say. I know, and I acknowledged it,” he says, abruptly, his gaze hardening. “I fucked up. Not denying that, but right now, I want to make it right. That clear?”

That is clear, and as he’s seemingly a man of his words, you go to your apartment without any other word about the past. 

You learn that he’s more of an observer than a doer. He waits for your sign, for whatever that gives him a clear message about what he should and shouldn’t do. The effect of the military gets to him even in mundane tasks like hanging the lights or tossing around a few decorations there and there. Simon doesn’t speak until he finishes, and then he just stares at you, until you’re gonna give him the next instructions. 

You can’t help but laugh, when you do. He seems so lost when you do that, irritated at first, but he probably gets the message.

"I don't... do, this," he says, when he's busy rolling the dough with his rough hands. For a man like him, he's very tender with how he does it. Caring that you've told him how to do it, not using all of his power.

“Do what?” You look at him, tilting your head to the side. You know exactly what he means, but for what he put you through, he deserves to have a little struggle, to be more vocal about what he feels. He seems to know it, assuming that he pushes the dough to the surface a little harder.

“This stuff,” he explains. His way of explanation is a little different than yours, but you’ll take what he gives you.

“Baking?” 

“That too,” he mutters. “It’s weird to do this.”

“But, are you having fun?”

He nods, and you take it as a final answer. As you smile under your nose, you move on to the next step. You think you’re going to make everything on time, with help like him.

“My parents died on Christmas day.” 

Or not.

You drop your eggs a second later; it’s the first, genuine reaction at his sudden words. His quick reflex is the only thing that saves them from going to waste. “Christ, dove, just watch it.”

“Simon, I—”

“—Well, everyone died. Tommy, his wife, kids.” He shrugs, continuing the monologue. You don’t know if it’s a coping mechanism, trying to make it seem like it’s the most normal thing in the whole world, but in some way, it is concerning. “That… well. I just don’t do anythin’ on this day. Or before, really. I pretend it’s nothing special, so I don’t summon whatever that shit was years ago.”

To say that you’re shocked would be an understatement. You have to fight your tears right now, to completely not fall apart right in front of him. “How young were you?”

“Twenty two, I think.”

You put your hand on his—trying to console him, give him some support, even if he doesn’t look like he needs one. “I can’t tell you—”

“—No shit like this.” He looks up, crossing his gaze with yours. Despite his words, you see something in them. Something that quietly says thank you. “I’m a magnet for bad things, and for what it’s worth,” he looks at you, “I didn’t want to get you involved, if something would happen. Everyone around me dies, if I let them get too close.”

“You do know that it’s bullshit, right?” You look up at him; the choice of words isn’t exactly the best, but he seems to know that you mean, when his eyes cross with yours. “I’m so close, and I’m not going anywhere, Simon.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that. See?” You put one of his hands on your waist, the second on your face. He doesn’t move them.

Simon’s eyes darken, second by second. They’re not a dark chocolate anymore, they resemble more of a dark ocean at midnight. It’s hard to find anything light in them. “I see, but you don’t seem to understand what I mean.”

You raise your eyebrow. “Then, explain it to me.”

“It’s a one way ticket. No backin’ out after this—”

“—I don’t want to back out, so.” You mimic his careless shrugging from earlier. It’s hard to ignore how he rolls his eyes at your act. “What?”

“You’re a brat. Should listen to the elders when they talk, not interrupt them.” He mutters, taking your chin so you could look at him better. “Maybe I could teach you some manners.”

You gulp. “Maybe you could.”

Maybe this interaction is something that needed to be said or done. Maybe Simon needed to reject you at first, and then come to you, so he would tell you part of his story, no filter. Maybe. 

You do not care about that, not right now.

“Stay… still,” he sighs right to your ear, his big hand going under your t-shirt. 

If you’d tell yourself that Simon Riley is going to be one of the most important people for you, the past you probably wouldn’t believe any of that. The first impression wasn’t the best, you were interested in him only because of the mystical aura surrounding him.

Yet, when one of his hands is under your t-shirt, the other on your throat, you couldn’t ask for a better place to be.

[hl-obsessed]

✨ FIC REC ✨ | 10-30k

•°•°•°•°•°•

Snowed In by @germericangirl

(E, 15k) Harry wants to fly back home to London after visiting his family for the holidays but a snow storm causes his flight to get cancelled. What happens if the hotel only has one room left for him and the beautiful blue eyed stranger?

✨ Running Home To You by sincewewereeighteen

(E, 18k) Harry can’t help but look at his iTunes library. What he did not expect was to see his name there: Harry Styles, and a half-played album. He has to ask.

“What’s that you were listening to?”

“Oh, it’s this guy, uh- Harry Styles?”

“Hm. Is he any good? I’ve heard a lot about him.”

“He’s proper famous, isn’t he?” Louis smirks. “He’s good, believe it or not. Many people don’t give credit to teenage girls, but I don’t regret listening to him.”

“D’you have a favorite?”

“You’ve probably heard Sign of the Times, because everyone’s heard this song…” Louis checks his screen. “Don’t know. This is the best one musically speaking. But there’s something about this one,” he points at his screen, “From the Dining Table. It’s just so sad. Makes one wonder what this guy went through.”

“That tough?”

“Sad.” Louis replies. “Anyways. Don’t be prejudiced and give the pop star a listen. He’s really talented.”

OR: the one in which Harry and Louis take the same plane, and even though they're both sort of nomads, they end up finding a home in each other.

give you my fever by @thelovejandles

(E, 10k) x-factor era. harry's never had an orgasm before, louis gives him his first

If Tomorrow Never Comes (We Had Last Night) by @fallinglikethis @all-these-larrythings

(M, 15k) Louis accepts the call without bothering to look at the caller ID. Only Zayn would be a big enough asshole to call him at two in the morning. This fucking better be important.

“This fucking better be important,” Louis greets.

On the other end of the line comes a soft giggle. “Li, you don’t usually curse. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I like it.”

 Yeah, that’s not Zayn. Louis sighs, his anger melting into resignation when he realizes that it’s some poor bastard probably drunk dialing his ex or something. “Sorry, mate. Think you’ve got the wrong number."

Based on this Tumblr prompt: "Accidentally called your number while drunk asking for a ride and you actually came au"

sweet, where you lay by @infinitelymint

(E, 27k) Louis Tomlinson is a twenty-eight year old succesful actor living in New York. Harry Styles is a twenty year old up and coming model and coincidentally also the one who turns Louis’ world completely upside down.

or, Louis is Zachary Quinto and Harry is Miles McMillan. Falling in love was always in the cards for them.

stop the world ('cause i wanna get off with you) by @thedevilinmybrain

(E, 12k) Five times Louis and Harry get walked in on at the worst time, and one time Louis makes sure they don't.

✨ i'm a captain on a jealous sea by @thedevilinmybrain

(E, 15k) It’s not that Louis doesn’t like Nick. He is, if he’s being honest, kind of indifferent. Louis gets that Nick is just doing his job most of the time, being loud and prying, not having boundaries. But it’s just a little too much for Louis’ taste. Louis, who has learned over the years, when to be loud and when to know that coy is the game. But, it doesn’t matter really. He’s not required to like everyone, doesn’t have to make nice with them outside of having a camera shoved in his face. He can let Nick be Nick and it shouldn’t affect Louis at all.

Except.

What Louis actually has a problem with is the way Nick Grimshaw looks at Harry.

✨ some things fade (some never do) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(T, 25k) Matching tattoos. He’d never thought he’d be the type for tattoos to begin with, let alone matching or magical ones, but once Harry had put the idea in his mind it had never quite managed to disappear. And it had made sense. With their relationship a long distance one, this was simply another way of feeling close to one another. Of knowing where the other was, how they felt. It had made so much sense.

Back then.

*

Three years after their break up, Harry calls.

In a sky full of stars, be my Northern lights by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(T, 13k) It's one of those nights there's nothing on the telly that Louis absently scrolls through Tinder. After swiping left on a bunch of profiles he comes face to face with a picture that stops him in his tracks. The picture is..almost sweet. It’s a boy with brown curly hair, wearing a very low cut yellow blouse, paired with a black jacket. He’s got a smile on his face and his tongue sticking out, but it’s not in any way lewd or suggestive. He just looks like he’s having a good time, and something about the innocence of it has him swiping right rather than left.

He’s barely checked the other pictures on the boy's profile before Tinder confirms that he’s got a match. The shots are so different from the pictures Louis is used to on Tinder - half naked boys who are smoldering at the camera - that he can’t help but smile.

It quickly turns into a frown when he opens up the message he’s just received.

Harry: Hello!

Harry: Thank you for swiping right

Harry: I have a proposition for you

Treat You Like A Gentleman by @justanothershadeofblue

(E, 12k) 5 times that Harry Styles was unsatisfied by his dates, and one time Louis Tomlinson helped him find what he had been missing.

Sweet as Honey by TeamLouis

(E, 21k) Louis has always been shit at cooking. When he discovers Sweet as Honey on Instagram, owned by chef Harry Styles, he intends to mock him by recreating his recipes with his awful skills, posting photos on his own Instagram account, Nailed It. It's all fun until Harry asks to meet him.

✨💎 To Have Touched the Sun by @ireallysawanangel

(E, 12k) Louis has been taking suppressants ever since he first presented as an omega, and because of that, he has his heats dwindled down to just once a year. When he suddenly goes into heat in the middle of a supermarket only two months after just having one, he immediately knows something is wrong. It takes the act of a very kind stranger in that supermarket to change Louis' life forever.

Losing Focus Every Time You Speak by @causticsunshine

(E, 19k) “Harry,” he starts, his tone cautious, “what’s this I’m seeing?”

A roll of Harry’s shoulder and the thing catches the light again. “Hm? I dunno what you’re talking about, Lou,” he replies, voice suddenly strained.

Oh. So that’s how it’s going to be.

“This,” Louis reiterates as clearly as he can—by abruptly spreading Harry’s cheeks as much as he can through the confines of his knickers, in turn causing Harry to grunt and Louis to reveal a, fuck, a small bubblegum-pink gem in the shape of a heart, rimmed by a sliver of silver, “you remember now?”

“Oh.” All faux innocence. Louis removes his hands as Harry slowly pulls himself back up, a little red-faced and with a chunky throw in hand. “That? It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Louis repeats, trying for gentle surprise.

Louis returns from an impromptu work trip and enjoys some long-awaited alone time with his favorite person. Lace knickers and a princess plug might have a role to play in things.

✨💎 Eyes on the Horizon by @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(E, 12k) Freshly dumped, recently fired, and about to turn 40, Harry's friends insist on taking him skydiving to cheer him up. His younger and extremely fit instructor Louis makes him even more nervous than the idea of jumping out of a plane, but both may be exactly what he needs to turn his life around.

Waste the Night by @wicked-archer

(E, 12k) Harry is excited to finally see his favourite band in concert and his favourite person, the guitarist of the band, Louis Tomlinson. Little does he know what the night has in store for him.

✨ Prelude to Forever by @always-aqua

(M, 13k) @StylinHarry: So I kinda fell for a boy yesterday at #ChiPride. Kissed & fireworks went off. Literally. He’s a drama teacher. Goes by “Louis” but I prefer Sunshine. Very pretty. The prettiest. Got separated & I’m a fucking idiot who forgot to get his number. Anyone know him? #helpfindsunshine

Or, Louis and Harry meet at Pride in Chicago and spend the day falling for each other before getting accidentally separated.

Be Mine? by @softfonds

(E, 11k) Getting dumped the week before Valentine's Day wasn't in Harry's plans, and neither was being dragged to a concert to forget about it. But a sign Zayn brings manages to turn his night around in more ways than he hoped for.

Blinded by the Colors by @fallinglikethis

(M, 20k) After a heated fight with Harry, a maudlin, inebriated Louis Tomlinson questions his presence in his boyfriend's life. In fact, maybe all of One Direction would be better off if Louis had never been put in the band to begin with.

He never expected to wake up in a world where that's exactly what happened.

Or an It's A Wonderful Life Au where Louis Tomlinson realizes just how important he really is.

✨ Keep Me Closer by @zanniscaramouche

(T, 18k) Louis expects Harry to react poorly, maybe even file a formal complaint and that’s gonna suck ass but Louis won’t say shit cause he knows he deserves it, so he prepares an apology before Harry’s even turned around.

What he doesn’t expect is Harry to fucking drop.

Moonlight Minx by @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 15k) The one where an unexpected storm strands Harry on an island, Louis gets an unexpected house guest for the night, and love might just be the most unexpected thing of all.

Love On Air by @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 19k) The one where Louis doesn't have a type, no matter what Niall says, but if he did, it'd probably be the guy currently trapped in his radio studio and grinning back at him from across the desk.

✨ Every heart but mine by @rainblou

(E, 17k) In the years leading up to his presentation, Harry hoped that his soulmark would appear, that his soulmate would present first and Harry would have irrevocable proof that his other half was out there, waiting for him.

Years later, he's given up on waiting and with a heat coming up, his eyes are set on Louis Tomlinson to help him through it.

redamancy by @yu-taeil

(G, 10k) dystopian au.

Harry lives in a world where, at the age of 18, everyone gets paired up with a life mate, a perfectly compatible partner. When Harry gets Liam Payne as his soul mate, he thinks nothing of it. It must be true love, right?

But then he meets Louis Tomlinson, a 19 year old who is already partnered up. Harry starts to fall for Louis, and it is not unrequited, but it is against the law.

Harry had always known he’d end up breaking some rules, he just hadn’t quite imagined the magnitude of them.

Sooner or Later by orphan_account

(T, 12k) Louis suspected he might have a little crush. It was harmless enough. It wasn't as if he were any sort of threat to his sister's relationship with Harry, was it?

✨💎 I Just Wanna Give You Love by @lululawrence

(NR, 18k) Graham Norton appeared on the screen introducing his guests and out of nowhere, everything in Louis’ world was turned upside down.

Louis gasped as he intently took in the man on the screen, smiling and waving from his seat beside Sir Ian McKellen.

“Oh my God,” Louis said before it all sank in as to what it meant. “Holy fucking shit!”

“Louis William, you watch your mouth,” Jay said. “What has got into you?”

Feeling like a madman, his palms to his cheeks, Louis couldn’t help the tears of surprise, relief, and fear as he turned to his mum. “What colour are his eyes? What do you call that colour?”

“Louis, are you telling me that the man on the screen, Harry Styles, is your soulmate?”

Or the one where the world is in black and white until you meet your soulmate, but Harry is world famous and Louis is...well...not.

Where Life Changed Us by ExiledQueenCatalog

(E, 22k) Omega Harry has a rare genetic disorder where he has no sense of smell. This has lots of odd effects such as him not being able to smell his own scent but most brutally, not being able to scent the way his inner omega desires. It also leaves him as a sort of odd-ball to the community, leaving him becoming touch starved as no one wants the omega who can’t scent. Until finally, he meets the right alpha.

Hint: I want to be yours by @greenblueish

(M, 11k) or, the one where Harry unconsciously starts acting like Louis' alpha after they spend his rut together and Louis finds ways to make sure Harry's affection doesn't end.

'cause I want you (for the worse and for the better) by @absoloutenonsense

(NR, 26k) When Louis gets invited along to Anne's wedding, Harry is prepared to let people think whatever they want about their relationship. That's what Louis said -- let people think whatever they want. That changes when Louis sees his ex, who turns out to be Anne's future husband's son. Now, Louis wants to prove that he's an omega that an alpha could want, and Harry wants to get through this weekend without letting his best friend figure out he's in love with him.

We Don't Need No Piece of Paper (From the City Clerk) by @2tiedships2

(M, 26k) Harry sat on his bed and stared at the pile of luggage by the door. This was really happening. He was being shipped off to America to get married.

In a matter of months, he would be bonded to an alpha his father had chosen for him. Someone that Harry knew nothing about. Not even his name.

Party Lines by @absoloutenonsense

(E, 25k) Louis works for a phone-sex operating company, collecting credit card information and transferring calls to different operators. On a particularly busy night, everyone is booked up, and one caller has been patiently waiting for more than a few minutes. In a split second decision –one he’s probably going to regret– Louis picks up the call himself.

*

Or Louis accidentally becomes a phone sex operator.

Losing That Reactive Spark by @crazyupsetter

(E, 11k) Prompt 73: ABO fic where Louis is cursed. He can’t touch anyone without a spark of electricity going through his body, causing him to blackout. He meets Harry, the only one the curse doesn’t work on for some reason.

(Gimme a Solution and) Watch Me Run With It by @lululawrence

(NR, 21k) This second, this minute, this hour, this day... hell, this week the trend was for Harry to feel overwhelmed. He was having a hard time not drowning in all of the responsibilities he had heaped upon himself and it had exhausted him. Beyond that, really. He had gotten to the point where he didn't even remember why he used to be so focused on getting back on stage every night.

Fine. Maybe this trend had been going on for even longer than a week. It might have even been months.

Harry is getting dangerously close to his breaking point, and that is when things start to change, starting with a favorite childhood sweet a member of the touring crew leaves for him in his dressing room.

Catching a Partner by berzerkshires

(M, 25k) This documentary follows the story of two people who fell in love in the last place you'd expect. Louis is a detective at the Boston Police Department investigating a trail of recent murders. Harry is the latest victim who survived an attempted murder and is sent to live at a safe house with Detective Tomlinson as the killer is still at large.

This is their story.

No Place I'd Rather Be by @iamasphodelknox

(E, 29k) Harry's had a crush on his stepfather's friend for six years. A small crush. A tiny crush.

Honestly, if you don't look at Harry's dozens of poems about Louis Tomlinson, the crush is practically infinitesimal. They haven't even had a conversation.

But then a car wreck prompts them to finally have a conversation.

Christmas works its magic, Harry pines, Louis fonds, and they just might make it.

baby shut your mouth and turn me inside out by ballsdeepinjesus

(E, 10k) Harry and Louis meet in a mcdonalds. louis is everything harry needs.

The Joke's Always On The Joker, Baby by @greenfeelings

(M, 16k) It’s all about an anonymous one-night stand that turns Harry and Louis’ lives into a rom-com cliché, provides Liam with the perfect opportunity to finally approach the man of his dreams, and confirms Niall that he’s always right.

Hold You With My Hands Tied by @letthemusicmoveyou28

(E, 12k) "There’s a club in town called Habit, and they’re looking for a bartender to cover evenings and weekends. No previous experience required."

Harry furrows his brows. He’s never been to Habit, but he certainly knows what type of club it is. BDSM.

It’s not the ideal position for an Omega surely, but beggars can’t be choosers he supposes. He tilts his head to the side. “And they would be ok with an Omega filling that role?”

Janet scans her eyes over the job description before nodding. “Yes, actually it says here Omegas are preferred but not required.”

Harry sighs.

“When do I start?”

(Or the one where Omega Harry loses his bakery job and is forced to take a temporary position bartending at a local BDSM club. It turns out to be not so bad. Especially when he catches the eye of the owner Louis, who also happens to be a gorgeous Alpha).

if you show up there then you know I will too by @harrybirthdaytoya

(M, 11k) Everyone in Louis' life keeps getting married, but he's almost 30 and single. (He's also grumpy about it). Harry sings in a wedding band, and Louis may have a bit of a crush.

I've Always Liked the Fireworks by QuickedWeen

(T, 12k) When alphas and omegas reach the age of twenty-one they are required to attend a Proving Day ceremony. Omegas watch as alphas do their best to compete in events, show off their skills, and prove how good a mate they can really be.

The whole thing is a bit ridiculous, but Louis Tomlinson has always dreamed of finding his mate. He's got two unsuccessful Sheffield Proving Days under his belt and decides to go for the much more competitive one in Manchester. His goal is to play his best, leave it all out on the pitch, and hope that one of the omegas watching just happens to be his mate.

Hold My Heart by Awriterwrites, phdmama

(E, 14k) Or, the one where famous Louis Tomlinson offers his hand and a lot more to his seat mate on a transatlantic flight.

Torn On The Platform by conscious-ramblings

AU where harry and louis are strangers but they always get the same train to work in the morning and one day harry falls asleep on louis’ shoulder. louis wants to be annoyed because harry just broke a least seven rules of tube conduct but he looks so soft and peaceful that he just lets him sleep and wakes him ever so carefully when it’s his stop. it happens again and again until it becomes a regular thing where louis will let harry snooze and then gently nudge him awake, hand him the cup of coffee he took from him so it wouldn’t slip and spill everywhere and send him off with a “have fun at work, love” and after the tenth time harry isn’t even embarrassed anymore.

Cue changing work schedules, missing each other for the first time in weeks, panicking because “i don’t even know his name, why didn’t i ask for his name”, dramatic waiting on platforms and finally bumping into each other again when they least expect it

✨💎 Tell Me Your Secrets, Teach Me Your Ways by @insightfulinsomniac

(E, 23k) The day after turning eighteen, Omega Prince Harry is expected to meet with eligible Alpha suitors. It's a day he's been looking forward to all his life, desperate for romance and yearning to find his mate.

What he doesn't expect to find, however, is that he's one half of a historic soul-tied union: a phenomenon last seen over a century ago. Luckily, his future mate is everything he ever dreamed of finding.

But... that's just the problem. Louis makes Harry feel things he's never felt before and has no way to describe. He knows that once they're married, he and Louis are meant to mate, but what that actually entails is a mystery…

Who better to ask about these feelings than his mate-to-be?

AKA: A regency-ish royalty AU featuring overeager soulmates who maybe give into temptation a little too much on their secret journey of sexual discovery.

The way you move for me baby (lights me up like nobody else) by @thechavier

(M, 12k) Those green eyes found him again and he struggled thinking of what to say.

"You look beautiful in that dress" It's what he landed on. (...) "You know I wrote a song back in the day called little black dress?"

He didn't imagine the little spark in his eyes, nor the pleased smirk on his lips, nor the tongue peeking out to wet them.

"Why do you think I chose it for tonight?"

or the rolling stones awards au

Talk Dirty To Me by BriaMaria

(E, 13k) Or the one where Harry is absolutely terrible at dirty talk so he asks his best friend to teach him. And the one where Louis knows it's a catastrophically bad idea but agrees anyway.

Because Sparrows Mate For Life by @builtyouahousefromabrokenhome

(E, 24k) Harry’s tattoo gets done all wrong, and he needs someone to fix it.

Bend Like a Hairpin by @letthemusicmoveyou28

(M, 26k) Or the one where FBI agent Harry Styles screws up in a mission and he has one more chance to save his career. He’s going undercover as a stripper to investigate a strip club suspected of money laundering. There’s just 2 problems: 1) Harry can’t dance, and 2) he might be falling for the club’s owner Louis, who just happens to be the prime suspect.

Celebrity Discount by @loaded-gunn

(T, 27k) Louis fell for Prince Harry when he was ten and Harry was eight and peeked behind the Queen’s elegant gown for his first public appearance—a shy smile and a mess of curls. He fell for him when he caught Lottie putting up a magazine cover of Harry on her wall and all she had to say for herself was, “He’s such a good person, yeah?” and, yeah. He fell for him when Harry gracefully accepted his demotion. He fell for him when Harry came out and stayed out.

tonight's not over (come over and stay) by @adoredontour

(E, 17k) Zayn doesn’t say anything for a moment, pausing and worrying at his bottom lip. Finally, he asks, “Have you heard that Cox guy is coming out with a new song?”

Louis freezes, fingers hovering over his keyboard where they had been typing his password.

“No, I hadn’t,” Louis says truthfully. “Where did you hear that?”

“Tell anyone this and I’ll kill you, but I’d consider myself a big fan,” Zayn says. His face doesn’t change in expression, completely serious as he admits this to Louis.

“Big fan? Like run a blog and everything?”

or, harry is a famous singer and louis is a student who just wants to write his novel

where sirens fear to tread by @stylinsoncity

(M, 28k) in the royal line, there are only a select few sirens with the ability to transform into humans once a month. harry is one of those sirens. he mostly sticks to the rules. when he's on land, he reads his books. he buys copious amounts of ice cream. he keeps to himself. that is until he meets a lifeguard named louis working at one of the luxury resorts on St Barts. and unfortunately, harry doesn't know the rules about falling in love at all.

✨💎 When The Stars Come Out by @briannamarguerite

(E, 30k) Louis was about to reassure Harry further when Gemma bounded back over to him, slipping a hand around Louis' waist. Harry’s eyes followed the movement. And then that lip gnaw again. Christ. How was he supposed to survive this weekend?

He turned his attention to Gemma as her palm came to rest right above his heart. Laying it on a bit thick, dear. Or at least that’s what he hoped he’d conveyed with the simple tilt of an eyebrow.

In response, she went up on tiptoes and laid a noisy kiss on the hollow beneath his cheekbone. Louis didn’t take his eyes off Harry, who watched the scene play out with a blank expression. Once Gemma dropped back to the ground, Harry shifted away from them, his gaze dropping to his feet.

[Or the one where Louis pretends to be Gemma's boyfriend for her horrid cousin's wedding but fate is a nasty jerk and throws Harry in his way.]

•°•°•°•°•°•

part 1 (+50k) | part 2 (30-50k) | part 4 (<10k)

[h0ney-mochi]

A Drabble, more or less. [2]

Character in mind: Kaedehara Kazuha. Feel free to imagine someone else :)

Content: sub reader, dom character. afab reader. nsfw, smut.

A/n: watched jjk and I got hit by such a big wave that I had to write something.. might as well give it to you guys. I hope your holidays went well and that you celebrated the new year well! ♡

Your hand between your thighs, moans just barely getting hidden by your other hand, you're laying in your bed. You've been left alone for far too long again, your sexual needs building up over the days.

Your darling has been busy, so he hasn't made many appearances in your shared home. Maybe he gets home late at night, when you're already asleep, just to get in bed with you and be gone in the morning.. or he just has stayed where he had to, for days on end.

Either way, the lack of his.. skillful fingers, tongue and, well.. him in general, has gotten you in this situation. Sexually frustrated, craving his touch, but simply not being able to get it. So if you're alone all of the time, might as well use it well. Sort of. By pleasuring yourself.

Another day without your dear boy, you're in your room again, all alone. Lights dimmed low, you're laying in bed, imagining things and remembering moments with him. Of course you don't expect him to suddenly turn up, so your guard is low. You're close, oh so close to hitting that one high, though it's just not the same without him. But oh well, it'll have to do.

...

"..[name], my dear? Are you home?" His voice calls as he enters the house. Leaving some things he had bought in the kitchen, he walks off to find you. He hasn't seen you in days and man, he missed your touch. You always managed to make his day better and your skin was just.. so soft..

For a moment, he thinks that you might be out. Maybe with a friend, maybe a walk. He reaches your room's door and is about to open it when he hears you. More precisely, he hears his name from your mouth.

He froze, face flushing immediately, as he blinks at the door in front of him. No movement, he continues to listen. There it is again, the sweet sound of your voice. Your moans.

Breathing in, he tries to open the door quietly. Looking inside, he sees you on the bed of course. Your back is turned to the door and you're breathing heavily, a moan slipping here and there. He smiles, closing the door the same way. You heard the door handle make a small noise and you rushed to pull your shirt down enough for a cover as you sat up, turning to the door.

"Ah.." He speaks, "I didn't mean to startle you. It's just me." You stare at him, both embarrassed and.. shocked? God knows. "Oh my.. you're home, I'm so sorry—" You stumble on your words, stuck on what to say in this situation. He chuckles and God, him.. fuck you missed him.

"It seems I've been gone for too long, haven't I? I should be the one apologizing, you know how I am," he turns to lock the door before walking towards you. "Let me help, please. It's the least I can do right now for you."

He's on the bed, hands trailing up your legs, going over your knees, stopping there. Waiting for your permission.

You stare at him, heart pounding, butterflies already swarming in your stomach.

"You.. God, don't, please- Go ahead, please, do what you want with me, just- just don't take your hands off of me, please." You manage to say, throwing your hands on his shoulders and pulling him on you, for a kiss.

He's quick to reciprocate, letting your tongue meet his, eyes closing in the process. His hands go down your thighs, one in between them and you jump slightly from the contact. The one you've been longing for so long. An amused, muffled noise comes from his mouth as he pushes a finger in you, oh, you're really this excited, huh?

Just when his finger goes deeper, he's quick to pull out. The kiss muffled your sound and he departs from you. You're about to ask why, why did he not go further? Why stop there? He's really gonna leave you like this? Unreal.

But you close your mouth when you watch him lay down, hands on your hips, pulling you towards his face. His eyes meet yours and you swallow, suddenly feeling oh so nervous.

He tilts his head to the side, slowly blinking at you as he speaks, "This will be my apology to you, love."

And then your hand clutches the sheets under you, right when his tongue makes contact with you. Another flutter in your stomach when he flicks his tongue; then it does a flip when he puts his whole mouth on you, flattening his tongue.

Oh, you already feel like you're about to pass out.

Just how long can you miss a person that their touch has you crumbling to pieces?

[buccini555]

… 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

𝐖𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝...

≡ Shinichiro finally noticed you

⌕ I m a g i n e s !

♡... 𝑭𝒕. Shinichiro Sano and special participation by Izana Kurokawa!

⚠︎!! explicit smut,unprotected s♡x, virg♡nity loss, school bathroom s♡x, oral, overstimulation, bl♡wjob, smoking, petnames (baby, honey)... I think that's all?

On that day that seemed to be just another day full of boredom, not many people had gone to school because it was a week after the holidays, but, you were there with your friends, you realized that they didn't give a damn about you, for that reason you ended up walking away and going to some corner of the classroom where you could be alone, as you didn't have classes that day, you just stood there passing a colorless nail polish on your nails anxious to finally leave that stupid place, everything was really boring until someone walked through the door in the class, Shinichiro Sano, a grade above you, you had already talked a few times before and you had a huge crush on him, so you laid eyes on the taller one, you had already noticed him a few times, but, you knew that despite being extremely extroverted, he was shy when it came to girls and you also faithfully believed that you would not have a chance with that boy, he is handsome, tall, affectionate and cute, you always have him in your thoughts, every time Shinichiro spoke to you he was extremely kind.

Shinichiro came to bring the message from the another teacher, since they had nothing to do in the classroom, it was better that they practice some sport or something, you thought it was a waste of time, but it was the same with the rest of your class, arriving at the place of sports, you sat apart from the rest, continuing to manage your nails and listening to songs, your playlist had just started when Shinichiro sat down next to you.

"What are you doing here, alone? Have your friends left you out again?" Shinichiro approached you, making you take off your headphones and pay attention to him, you could only notice how handsome he was and that made you a little intimidated.

"They're like... boring as fuck! but I really don't give a shit, how about you? Why are you here?" You replied despondently, looking away and putting your songs aside.

"I saw you alone and I came to keep you company! I don't want to see you so sad" He smiled, Shinichiro looked confident and shy at the same time, you could see a bit of nervousness on the taller one's face.

"Hmm? Okay... Seriously, I really wanted to go somewhere more secluded, don't you know any places?" You questioned him, watching the other people from afar.

"Hmmm? I know a place! Do you want to go with me?" He looked at you after thinking a bit, wondering if you really wanted to go with him.

"I honestly am hating being here..."

"I think it's best that no one sees us going together, so go to the bathroom behind the court and wait for me, understand?"

"Bathroom?" You laughed, questioning him about the location.

Shinichiro laughed and you got up, quickly going to the aforementioned place without get other people's attention, that bathroom had been disabled for a few years, so no one went in there, unless you had the key, as you obviously didn't get it, you waited for Shinichiro, who arrived soon after.

"Do you have the key to this place, Shinichiro?"

"...I have my secrets, baby." Sano responded immediately, taking the keys out of one of his coat pockets.

He opened the door, first looking to see if anyone was around, but there was just you and him.

"What a strange place!" You spoke in a low tone while looking at the abandoned bathroom.

"We can leave here if you want..."

"Oh, Shini, whatever! We should go into one of the cabins, someone can come in here."

"It's quite impossible for anyone to enter here, but... Since you want to enter, let's go."

You and Shinichiro entered one of the cabins, the place was tight, for that reason you were getting closer and closer, at that moment, you started to see Shinichiro with different eyes, you knew the sudden approach was getting him a little excited, but obviously he wasn't going to show it, he seemed to want something, but he didn't know what to do, so, you got even closer to him, when he finally took the courage to hold your waist and give you a small kiss.

"I-I'm so sorry! I don't know why I did it!" Nervousness took hold of him, as he had never had a girl in his hands before.

"Shini? Hey, no need to apologize, I... want to." You reciprocated the kiss, this time, it became longer and the kisses were getting more and more "warm", you held the chain around Shinichiro's neck while kissing him, he gently ran his hand over your body, making you sigh a few times.

After a few kisses, he gently held you by the waist again and placed you on top of a small counter inside the cabin, staying between your legs while kissing you, at that moment you realized that he put more strength into the touch, also feeling how excited he was while he was between your legs you could feel how hard he was, he was itching to try you, you knew that if they did something, it would have to be quick, so, even though you were still a virgin, you didn't waste time at that moment with Shinichiro.

"Shini, S-shini? P-please"

"Baby? You want to stop?"

"No! Please, I want more!"

"Hmm? More?"

"I-I want you, Shini."

"I don't want to give you the wrong impression..."

"N-no, baby, I want to lose my virginity with you..."

"B-baby, you should expect someone special!"

"You are special to me, Shinichiro, please, I'm so horny, only you can satisfy me."

The fact that you wanted to lose your virginity to him just made him even more horny and more willing to fuck you, when he realized that you really wanted him, Shinichiro just stopped talking, he started kissing you with even more desire and put his hand inside your pants, gently jerking you off over your panties, when he started to feel you were wet enough "So pretty, baby!" he just pulled your panties aside and started touching your clit, after you started moaning even more he gently put his fingers on you.

"...Mmm, baby? I promise to be careful."

You were already horny, almost begging him to fuck you, you just moaned softly begging for his dick, so, answering your request, Shinichiro gently made you touch. "Can you handle a dick that big, or nah?" You just nodded your head in affirmation, he was already extremely turned on so he started to put it on you carefully, when you got used to his dick he started to be faster and go deeper and deeper, holding her mouth so no one can hear her moans, "That tight pussy belongs to me, only I can fuck you like that, cum for me honey" He said as he worked hard, he just wanted to make you have your first orgasm, so Shinichiro really put effort into what he was doing.

"F-fuck, can I cum in your mouth?Please" He asked you when he was about to reach his peak, you quickly accepted, giving him a blowjob before he cumming, you knew what you were doing so you just made the taller one let out some moans and melt in your mouth.

You still had some time, so Shinichiro refused to try your pussy taste, he really wanted to use his tongue at that moment, but, when he started to lick your clit and penetrate you again with his fingers, some motherfucker knocked on the door, Shinichiro was sure it was his brother, Izana Kurokawa, Izana had become a fucking smoker and used to go to that bathroom for a smoke sometimes.

"Fuck! stay quiet, baby, I won't stop" He made you stay quiet while he finished what he was doing, when you finally came in his mouth, Shinichiro and you got dressed and left the bathroom.

"What the hell is that, Shinichiro?"

Izana screamed as soon as he saw you leaving the place together, he started laughing, apologizing for having disturbed. Shinichiro just looked at him in disgust and grabbed your hand, pulling you away.

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Can I get a Derek Danforth x shorter Male Reader where reader is like the only person Derek cares about. Reader is very cuddly but Derek isn’t big on PDA but when they are alone Derek loves holding the reader in his arms.

If not it’s ok!

OFC YOU CAN!!!

I had like fifteen different drafts for how this story could go and I couldn't make up my mind until literally last night, thus why it took so long. I hope this is okay!!!

Tangled

Derek Danforth x Male! Reader

Summery: The holidays are a miserable time of year, especially when ones mother won't even talk to them to let them know she's not coming, sending Derek into a breakdown and wrapping you up in the process.

Tags: No use of Y/N, short! Reader, hurt/comfort, mommy issues, drug use (marijuana), arguing, breakdown, banter, comedy, injury, eventual fluff, holiday fic. (I don't give a fuck that it's Febuary, shut it.)

Notes: honestly I was HYPED when I saw this request. I fucken GOT YOU babe and I am so sorry it took this long. I hope this was worth the wait <3

•°○《▪︎☆▪︎》○°•

I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to be honest; who likes the holidays?

The decorations are nice. The food's better. But in the matter of family and visitation, could anyone honestly say they liked the whole routine? Picking who to see, booking flights, trying not to lose yourself in a bottle of liquor that you bought on the way to their house.

Maybe not every detail is the same, but you get the general idea.

"Please sit down," I begged Derek, watching him pace the floor. All week Derek had been in a mood, which isn't totally uncommon I will admit. But usually he could be coaxed out of it, sweet words whispered in his ear finally bringing him off whatever edge he was ready to fling off of and convince him death was for another day. This week however was different, Derek always tapping his foot, glaring at something. And pacing. Neverending, always thinking, lasts through the night pacing. I was beginning to feel sick from the anxiety, and my mood was making Derek even shorter in his.

"I'm fine," he snapped.

"You're clearly not," I said. In his hand he gripped his pen, clicking it to life with five rapid clicks before taking a long pull like he couldn't breathe without it. "Derek."

"I said I'm fucking fine."

"I have never seen you as more of a mess, will you please just sit down for one moment?" I pleaded, shifting closer to the edge of the plush loveseat kept in front of our bed. "I'm worried about you."

He wants to snap. His jaw is tight, teeth gritted as he spins on the heel of his black, pointed boot, mouth opening as he begins to point one finger at me. But the minute he actually makes eye contact the edge drains, his shoulders sagging slightly as he exhales his smoke, bags appearing under his eyes. Derek had a reputation for being a hard-ass, but when we were alone and I grabbed his attention, his demeanor would shift into one more gentle, more honest. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he finally crossed over to me, sitting beside me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

"I'm fine," he said quietly, tucking my head under his chin. His hand strokes up and down my back, his heart still pounding but beginning to calm as the smoke begins to work into his bloodstream, allowing him to focus on me more than his thoughts. His cologne compliments mine, smelling mostly of cinnamon to match the winter season. The silk material of his red shirt is soothing against my skin, little silver snowflakes decorating it. Always a pattern with him.

"Is it your mother?" I asked quietly. He stiffened, his heart rate picking back up against my ear.

"I don't want to talk about this," he said quickly, beginning to pull away. I gently grab his arms, making him look down at me before he can close off once more.

"We've been together for almost a year and you won't say anything about your-"

"I said I don't want to talk about this."

"We have to talk about this at some point or you're going to have a giant fit and I won't be able to help you."

It isn't meant as an insult, but I hear it as soon as the words come out. Derek's eyes narrow into slits, bitterness seeping through.

"Fuck you. I don't throw fucking fits." He pulled away quickly, the battery of his pen glowing as he took another hit, long and deep, blinking rapidly to show he's hit his limit.

"You are on the cusp of one right now. You're in denial," I said concerningly.

This time he really is about to snap when someone knocks on the door, popping her head in to announce dinner will be ready shortly.

"Is she on her way?" Derek asked the redheaded assistant, blowing his smoke out through his nose, hands on his cocked hips. The woman presses her lips together tightly, glancing between the two of us before speaking.

"I haven't heard anything from President Danforth for a few hours, sir," she finally said. Derek sighed deeply, looking down and pinching the bridge of his straight nose as he taps his foot at impressive speed.

"Thank you," he said quickly, not meeting anyone's eyes. She takes the opportunity, quickly nodding at me and ducking out of the room with the quick click of the door, leaving us alone again.

I simply stare at him, hands folded on top of my lap as I wait for him to say something, do something. When he goes to take a third blinker, I finally stand.

"Don't you fuckin' dare," Derek warns me, holding out his palm.

"You are going to get stoned to the point that you'll fuck up this dinner the you have been worried over for the past week. What the fuck is wrong with you?" I hiss, stepping closer.

"There's no fuckin' point, she's not coming," he said, shrugging harshly and scoffing.

"And that bothers you. Will you just admit that?" I said. I step closer, close enough to reach for the pen, but I wait, letting him narrow his glazing eyes at me first.

"What is your obsession? You want me to break down? Cry? You wanna fix me, huh?" His tone is harsh, paranoia settling in as he takes a step towards me. "Whatever savior shit this is, I'm not taking."

I snatch the pen quickly from his grasp, only to have his hand grab my wrist without any real thought. Derek towers over me, gripping me tightly enough it hurts.

"Drop it," he growled.

"No," I growled back.

"I'm not asking."

"Tough shit."

"What is your-"

"Derek." The snap does something, my voice bouncing around in his ears as he glares at me, but releases my wrist nonetheless. I step away quickly, tucking the pen into the inside pocket of my evergreen blazer. "You'll get this back tonight," I tell him, not looking back. Derek mutters under his breath, brushing past me to exit the suite. Fine. Let him hate me. See if I care.

Derek never liked public affection in the first place. Growing up in a house with a politician for a mother he was hyperaware of all the right and wrongs to a public reputation. I think he also just had no desire to be seen as any kind of vulnerable in a crowd. But tonight it's different. Tonight there is a tinge of hate with the distance he creates, and my side feels cold without him. With each step forward he takes five back. People filter in and out of each room, some I'm sure just here with a friend of a friend for the free food. But if there's anyone I never see through the passing hours, it's Derek's mother. I can see him checking his phone every five, three, then every other minute.

It was a touchy subject. Derek loved his mother, adored the ground she walked on. And when she would visit him or welcome us over to wherever it was she was staying it was obvious she loved him too, allowing him to get away with things most mothers wouldn't. But her head was always in work, her eyes always scanning a document with a pen in her hand to sign off on anything at any given moment. There were times we'd spend the visit gathered in silence lest she retreat to an actual study, claiming she could not focus with our chatter. Derek loved his mother, but it was obvious he was neglected by her too.

He'd been planning the party meticulously. Ordering dozens of sample just for garland, asking my input on plates. Yes, Derek was known for throwing elaborate and wonderfully tasteful parties, but if he thought his mother would be in attendance he would go the extra mile, not sparing an inch of detail and making sure that it was so perfect she'd have no choice but to attend.

Problem is, Madame President has many choices for her perfect Christmas party.

It isn't until the clock strikes ten and security begins to push people out that he finally locks eyes with me, the hate draining and giving way to the exhaustion underneath. He disappears through a doorway, and I follow after him, watching his snow white suit that matches my shirt perfectly work its way quickly through the endless halls as I chase him down the rabbit hole. Oh yes, don't think I escaped his scrutiny just because I'm a living being. I didn't even know we'd have complimenting outfits until I stepped out of the shower that morning while he worked on a cigarette, waving it around between his fingers on one hand with the hangers in the other and a phone pressed between his shoulder as he shouted something in Spanish at the poor assistant on the other line.

He doesn't bother shutting the bedroom door behind him whether he knows I'm following him or not. But when I gently push the door shut behind me, finally turning away from him, I feel his warm body press against mine from behind. His arms wrap around me, one around my waist and the other around my shoulders, alcohol thick on his breath as he buries his head into the crook of my neck. His hand finds my hair, burying his long fingers in it as he takes a deep inhale of the pine scented cologne dabbled on my neck. His body is heavy against mine, swaying slightly from exhaustion.

"Hi," he says softly.

"Hi," I say just as soft, reaching up to find his curls. I smile slightly at the feeling of his fried ends, tainted from overprocessing. "You wanna talk?"

"No," he maintained. But his voice cracks, and the collar my shirt is starting to feel wet. Not to mention his arms are shaking.

"You wanna not talk on the bed?" I ask him.

"I'm fine right here," he says in a broken voice. But when he softly sniffles and takes a tiny gasp for air, he's finally done in and dragging me towards the oversized bed, not bothering to actually open the canopy as he flops himself down onto the lush, green and gold duvet.

"It's fine, I'm fine," he insists even though he's dragged half of a gold chiffon curtain down and around him and he's too high to figure out how to get it off. "She has meetings, this happens."

"Yeah, well. It happens a little too often," I say gently, trying to help him before he gets this thing wrapped around his neck. In his vulnerable and understandable fit he's making this curtain situation much worse, actively reweaving whatever I untangle from him in his blind confusion.

"I mean, I get it. Running the country, having a conversation with your own son, it's fine," Derek hiccuped as he gestures his hands like scales weighing the options, one drastically higher than the other. His face is as red as his shirt, large tears streaming down his face as he paws uselessly at the fabric. He swipes frantically at them, clearly becoming frustrated at being unable to control his raw emotions. "I mean, priorities shift so what the fuck am I complaining about?"

"Honey, I think you're sitting on it."

"What?"

"The curtain."

Derek moans inconsolably as he throws himself against the bed, taking down the rest of the gold chiffon and covering us both in the material.

"What does it matter?" Derek cries pathetically. "I could hang myself with this and she'd have a fucking meeting in Germany!"

"Your mother would come to your funeral," I say softly, stroking his hair as I press my lips together, letting him heave out his sobs. He brings a bundle of the fabric to his face, bunching it up and sobbing into it before raising his head once more for another comment.

"Probably have a flood in Uganda day of. I'd fuck up my own suicide day," he snaps to no one in particular.

"No you wouldn't," I say, continuing to run my hand through his hair. Derek sinks into the golden bundle once more, curling in on himself like a child. Then suddenly his eyes grow cold again.

"And the fucking appetizers were cold!"

The comment is so out of left field that a short laugh escapes me, my hand immediately covering my mouth. I instantly feel awful, looking away as I try to compose myself from the dramatic change in complaint.

"Don't laugh at me," Derek snaps. "I paid good money for those."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, that was just a bit random. Would you like to get off of the curtains you also paid for?" I ask him softly, fighting the fit of giggles his hateful eyes inspire to continue. I try to wrap my arms around him in comfort but he moves away in irritation. Or tries. This curtain is keeping us pretty close, which only adds to the whole thing.

"No," he says as he finally gives up. He crosses his arms in irritation and huffs, but after a long moment and a glance at my bemused face he moves to get the curtain off of his own. "Yes. Get this off of me!"

"Okay, I'm coming."

"Where the fuck is the end?"

"I told you, I think you're sitting on it."

"Your mother is sitting on it!"

"Let's not bring anymore mothers into this-"

We struggle in the cocoon of chiffon, twisting and turning in the same and opposite directions, both of us bickering over who has what and who's preventing our freedom.

"This shouldn't be fucking hard!"

"Quit moving, you're making it worse."

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck you!"

"Hang on, I think I-"

With a forceful tug I pull the end out from underneath of Derek. Unfortunately, Derek had shifted himself to move off of the end at the same time, leaving me to fling off the side of the tall bed and hit the lush rug underneath that hardly cushions the oak floor with a loud 'thud' that makes the artifical blond gasp.

"Fuck! Are you okay-?"

Derek scrambles to the edge to look down at me, but he's too high to realize he's overshot his position and sends his larger body crashing on top of mine, making me cry out as I break his fall.

"Eat a salad," I groan, curling in on myself as I try to catch my breath.

"I did, that's why I'm the tall one." Derek and I are once again tangled in the curtain, laying on the floor in a pile of limbs and half of Derek's face is burned from the rug. "Are you okay?" He asks worriedly, looking over my body for obvious injury.

"Have roses at my funeral," I cough, clutching my stomach.

"Rose's are cliché."

"Rose's are fucking iconic."

"If you have basic taste, then yes."

"I don't mix snake and cheeta."

"It's French."

"Then get fucking cheeta print rose's."

"Don't be hysterical."

I shoot him a look and finally he manages a laugh, wiping at his nose with the cuff of his blazer and smiling.

"Maybe I'm a little hysterical," he offers.

"I think I have a concussion."

"Oh, you don't have a concussion," Derek says dismissively. He cups my cheeks gently, his soft hands forcing my eyelids open wide as he checks my eyes. "Oh, fuck. Yeah, you have a concussion."

I laugh, pulling him close and keeping my eyes closed to keep from getting sick.

"Mister 'I Don't Throw Fits,'" I tease.

"I can just not take you to the hospital."

"Bitch."

"Cunt."

"Dickhead."

"Fuckface."

"Fashionably handicapped."

"Poor."

Derek finally figures out how to free us from our prison, pulling away the fabric and looking down at me from above with a gentle smile on his tear stained face. "You've got good bone structure, though," he says.

"It's my daddy's," I tell him.

"I don't remember buying you that."

I smack Derek's chest playfully, groaning as I try (and fail) to sit up. "You're awful."

"You love me," Derek says softly, sitting beside me. The statement is true and meant as a playful reminder, but it's the way his bloodshot eyes still glisten with leftover moisture that makes me cup his face. Or try. I can't see.

"I love you," I say softly.

"That's my chest."

My hand moves.

"Knee."

My hand moves again.

"That's my dick."

"Jolly good friend," I say with a squeeze and overexaggerated British accent. This knocks the last bit of sorrow out of Derek, making him laugh loudly as he finally lays down beside me. He wraps his arms around my smaller frame, pulling me close to him as he presses a soft kiss to my forehead.

"I'm sorry,' he says softly.

"We really do need to talk about your mother at some point," I tell him, stroking his arm that lays across my chest.

"I know." Derek's voice is soft, his fingers playing with one of the buttons on my blazer.

The silence is sweet, the sound of Derek and I's breathing the only sound in the room. And the slight ringing in my head.

"I think you need to call someone," I tell him.

"My problems aren't that bad," Derek says in a hurt voice, moving to look down at me.

"For me."

"Oh!"

▪︎《•☆•》▪︎

I'm going to be so fr, I haven't watched 'The Beekeeper' since it was in theaters so if the mommy issues are inaccurate that's on me. But y'know what it works better for his character so it's °~*accurate to meee*~°

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

Masterlist

[gowns]

both my grandmothers (my only remaining grandparents) aren't doing too hot... they're both in their late 80s and have always been fairly sedentary / don't eat well, AND (this is the most potentially lethal part) they're both stubborn as fuck and won't accept help from anyone ever. this has led to things like my mom's mom falling down and breaking her fragile bones multiple times, and my dad's mom is still DRIVING even though she has increasing vision and hearing problems. on top of that, they are both showing signs of "sundowning," getting increasingly confused and losing their memory.

i recognize that i'm totally made out of the same stuff that they're made of; i am also a stubborn independent prickly bastard and this will undoubtedly be my fate. they're so happy being alone and living in their own space, and they REFUSE to go live in a home or have hired help.

and yes, i keep telling my parents that eventually they get to override their parents wishes, because my grandmothers should NOT be continuing to move around the world in a way that is actively endangering themselves and others. but no. my mom is still afraid of her mom, and my dad is still afraid of his mom, they have all this TRAUMA and WEAK BOUNDARIES and etc that makes it difficult to "keep it real" with their parents.

and... lo and behold... i am also made of the same stuff that my parents are made of... so strong, and yet so weak... so hard to look into the eyes of the person What Gave You Trauma and say "hey buddy, can i be honest with you," and then proceed to be honest with them.

--

anyway it's probably my grandmas' last holiday season. that is a really depressing thought. if they live another year, they will be in a markedly worse condition -- who knows what they'll remember, how much they can move around, by next year.

my dad's joke to me, after seeing his grandmother deteriorate, which he repeats to me often: "i swear to god, the moment i start losing my mind like that, i want you to take a baseball bat to my head! bam! take me out! don't hesitate, just do it!"

--

i've been thinking a lot about jokes and how they function as a release valve for fear, uncertainty, and tension

there's a delicate equation as to how much fear and uncertainty goes in and how much humor comes out

the way my father acts it out, too -- a guy who was ruthlessly beaten by his parents and grandparents -- "the moment i look at you and say 'what's your name again?' just grab that steel baseball bat and wham, wham, don't make it more than two blows, swing for the fences!" --

there has to be something therapeutic for him in this vision of cartoon violence death! the way he repeats it, like a prayer!

[kaen-ace-of-diamonds]

Christmas Horror Kids Tournament

Because this isn't the Hunger Games, the kids are in competition but not in direct opposition to each other. Basically: there's some big monster/villain threatening their holiday, which of these main characters is not just surviving but is coming out on top the fastest?

Propaganda for each contender (and spoilers for all movies mentioned) under the cut:

Pietari: fears neither God nor death nor army of feral elves. good at keeping calm under pressure and making plans on the fly. carries a gun around the whole movie but never actually uses it, so not sure how well he could shoot. his actor was 11 when the movie came out but I think he's supposed to be a few years younger?

Luke: horrific demon child, zero moral limits so long as he gets what he wants, -5000/10 would not recommend babysitting. extremely good planner, but vulnerable to overlooking small details that ruin him. about 12: very smart but fairly immature for his age. has to be reminded not to kill his competition this time.

Thomas: literally just wanted to stay home and play trains with his grandpa, but now he's got to defend them both from a killer Santa. models himself after action movie heroes and is so good at Home Alone-ing his house that his director tried to sue for plagiarism. about 10-11 years old?

Anna: would be better with her friends to help her, but is pretty damn capable of making it in the zombie apocalypse on her own. not sure exactly how old she's supposed to be, since I'm not clear on how the New Zealand school system works, but she's an older teenager.

Billy: definitely has his wits closer about him than his dad does, that's for fucking sure. does get tricked into creating gremlins, but you know what, who would have expected them to have fucked with his clock? successfully takes on and kills an army of gremlins, albeit with help. probably the oldest competitor here since he's out of high school (?)

Max: definitely willing to go to bat for the Christmas spirit, and to put his own life on the line to protect his family, but is pretty severely lacking in strength or savvy. is good at dodging an army of killer toys, but might not do so well without a bunch of relatives around to also be targets. like Pietari, his actor was 12 but I think he's supposed to be a bit younger.

Trudy: ngl, might be a little weak in solo competition, since she's maybe 7-8 years old and so relies a lot on Santa the one-man army. but she's clever, has exactly zero fear of hardened criminals with machine guns, and is very good at turning Home Alone traps exactly as deadly as they should be.

Winnie: the most Final Girl (TM) out of all the competitors imho. learns very quickly how to improvise and use whatever's handy as a weapon, and while she's also best with a partner to distract an opponent, can handle herself very competently in a physical fight. about 17?

Samantha and Clara: actually, fuck Billy, does Clara even count as a kid at all, being an ancient demon in the form of a child? has telekinetic powers and is good at Breaking Speeches, but is bound by being sealed in the school and unable to kill her enemies herself. Samantha is a pretty normal middle schooler (?), but also has the guts to go face a cult of killers with an axe when she could have run away and saved herself, so don't count her out.

Kevin: is Home Alone a horror movie? no. could I possibly exclude the king, the champion, the future Jigsaw apprentice? also no. smart and absolutely cold-blooded when he needs to be, he's excellent at fending enemies off from a distance, but it's game over for him if he's actually caught.

[he-goes-down]

There Was A Time:

Previous chapters/ warnings

9. Patience:

A/n: THIS IS SO SHIT SORRY, THIS IS A FILLER CHAPTER AND I REALLY JUST WANTED TO USE PATIENCE IN SOME WAY

Additional A/n: edited it because it's shit (still shit cause I haven't wrote in ages)

BUT DON'T WORRY GUYS WE UP AND WE BACK

THE HOLIDAY IS HERE AND THE NEXT CHAPTER IS HALFWAY DONE <3 (kill me)

Second Person POV:

You woke up with a pounding headache. You didn't remember drinking that much last night, in fact you don't remember a lot from last night. You rubbed your eyes trying to clear your vision and see where you are. You felt a breeze on your skin and looked down at yourself. 'Oh shit.' You were butt naked in a random bed. You looked to the left of you, Sebastian was sleeping next you, his hair scattered all over the pillow and his face. You were relived but wanted to scream. You just had sex with your ex. You sighed and rolled over to the other side, you first wanted to focus on getting more sleep to calm down this migraine. As you rolled to your right you were met with another face. David. He sleepily put his arm around you and pulled you closer. You were shocked beyond belief. And not to your surprise He was naked as well as the blonde on the other side of you. You vowed to never have a threesome again after your last one a few years ago but seems like you've been breaking a few of your vows this past year. You could tick this off your New Year's bucket list. You tried to shimmy out of David's embrace, as you got back to middle of the bed you sat up, and a wave of nausea came over you. You quickly jolted and rushed out of the covers and ran to the ensuite of the bedroom to throw up the little food you had last night into the toilet bowl. Sometimes you really couldn't hold your liquor. After what seemed like hours, keeling over into the toilet and getting dizzy from the severely unpleasant experience, you brushed your teeth and numbly stepped to the bed again and stole one of whoever's shirt was on the ground, put it on, and climbed back into the bed to rest more.

You were soon kicked out of the place as the owner wanted everyone out. You and the rest of the band went home but Sebastian and David accompanied you and walked you home and talked and giggled about last night. You appreciated them being cheery and helpful but were too sore and sick to really be enthusiastic, so you kind of zombie walked with them back to the house.

A few days had past, and your nausea hadn't died down. You were starting to get worried. You knew Seb is the kind of guy that 'doesn't dig rubbers', and to add even more fuel to the fire, you don't even remember what David was doing there, there were endless possibilities to who the father was if that was the cased, well not endless, two maybe two point five. You had taken two pregnancy tests although, one came out positive and the other came out negative. 'Shit' you'd have to go to the doctors. You were too frightened to go alone, what if you actually were pregnant and you passed out at the news? Seb and David were out of town, and you telling them about the possibility of you being pregnant might make matters worse too. As well as you were too scared to ask any of the guys to take you, who knows how they would react. You sat on the edge of Duff's bed, the creaky mattress sinking slightly, face buried in your hands and your elbows pressed on your knees, sighing into your palms and rubbing your face in contemplation as thousands of things were rushing through your mind. You heard a small knock at the door, fully expecting it to be Duff, and relaxing slightly thinking of his somewhat comforting presence. You looked up from your hands, only to see Axl standing by the door looking at you with guilty and concerned eyes. "Fuck off, I'm not in the mood." You bluntly told him and went back to dreading into your palms. "I just-..." He began in an irritated tone but inhaled and sighed. "I just wanted to say sorry." He spoke sincerely, his words lingering in the air slightly. ‘sorry’ Axl was ‘sorry’ yeah right, you thought. You responded back in a breathy chuckle. He couldn't possibly serious. It was quiet. You looked up again to see him still standing there, his face showing some kind of disappointment. Shit he was serious. You started to feel bad, his shining eyes showed so much regret and sincerity. "Shit sorry..." you apologised, a bit breathy, for laughing, and you looked down and away, not giving any eye contact in this awkward moment. He then stepped into the room and came over and sat next to you, he raised his hand to put it on your back, but he hesitated and retracted it, placing it on his own thigh. Before, you guys were so close, but now it just felt awkward even being in the same room with each other. "Ax… please, I really don't feel like talking right now." You told him, still not looking at him, just trying to dismiss him. You hadn't called him that in ages, he felt slightly glad that the bond between the two of you wasn't completely gone as you called him that nickname. "Listen… I'm glad you came to apologize but not right now, please." You said, glancing at him, then your face now going back into your hands. He didn't leave, he didn't even consider leaving you alone. He still sat next to you, in silence. You felt his hand touch your back, placed gently, not moving, just softly hovering. 

"You've been throwing up recently." He spoke softly, not with any condescension, not trying to imply or insinuate anything. You didn't think he would notice, or at all care. You thought Duff would be the first to say something. But again, you tried to be secretive as possible. "It’s... probably a bug or something." You said tiredly, getting your face out of your hands and crossing your arms over your stomach. "I'll take you." He spoke, breaking some of the silence. You looked at him with slight confusion. "To the doctors. I know you said once you didn't like going alone." He explained. He was being sincere, and you were willing to at least give him that second chance. You reluctantly agreed after contemplation, getting ready and heading off the hospital. 

Sitting in the boring waiting area, the sound of receptionists typing and soft coughs from strangers on other sides of the rooms. Your leg shook nervously as you bounced the ball of your foot on the floor. Your hands clutching each other in front of you and your elbows rested on your thighs. Looking around, waiting for that one call of your name. You felt a bigger warm hand ingulf your two ones. You looked up to Axl, his soft eyes giving you a comforting look. Your stomach sunk, you felt horrible. Nausea. Nauseous looking at his face. His stupidly good-looking face. The face you stupidly fell for, and feeling like you’re still head over heels for him in this moment. You wanted to say so much. Why was he sorry in this moment? What triggered it? Was it because Erin and him aren't together? Were you a rebound? You opened your mouth about to ask the first question that came to mind, but you were cut off before a word even came out. The doctor called your name. You sighed before getting up from the uncomfortable chair, waving a small goodbye to Axl before entering the room you were allocated to. 

Some normal icebreaker questions were asked, then the doctor got you to sit on the bed, checking your breathing and heartbeat. You told him your symptoms. Your nausea, fatigue, etc. "Is there any chance you could be pregnant?" He had popped the question without hesitation. Still listening to your breathing, the cold stethoscope placed against your back. You just nodded and spoke a blunt 'Yes'. "Well, that's sweet of your boyfriend to come bring you here, most guys these days just run away at the moment it's mentioned." The doctor spoke. You were confused. You just laughed a fake 'yeah' trying to keep a comfortable atmosphere. What boyfriend? 'Fuck, he meant Axl.' "You two make a cute couple." He smiled at you as he finished his general check-up. Soon you were sent off the bathroom, with a cup. Nervous and jittery through every second. Giving your now filled cup to a nurse and the doctor inspected you for other reasons of your symptoms whilst your urine was being inspected. It felt like hours of painfully waiting, sitting on the examining bed with your teeth clenched, silently hissing in anxiety as your leg bounced nervously. The uncanny feeling of the hospital making your nerves prick uncomfortably even more. Your results came back soon, even though it felt like forever. The doctor said a farewell and you walked back to the waiting room and handed you the paper with your results, you clutched onto the piece of paper he gave you, not looking down at it just yet, then you looked up. You stopped. Your eyes scanning the waiting room. Axl wasn't there. Of course, he fucking wasn't. You thought as the same anger from the other night bubbled in your stomach. You began to walk out of the hospital with a storm, walking down the endless white hallways, the thought of Axl just abandoning you like that searing into you as you clutched the result sheet. ‘Of course he left, probably to fuck some hot nurse, who fucking knows… always second in his eyes.’ You thought, as you got to the big spacious lobby at the ground floor of the hospital. But then a glimpse of ginger was caught in your peripheral vision. With a turn of the head, there he was, standing at the till of a gift shop, one with balloons that said get well soon, stuffed animals, chocolates, flowers. In fact, he was standing with flowers and paying for them, giving the cashier a small smile and a wave as he finished paying. Turning around to see you looking at him. Shooting you the smile that make your knees weak and your stomach queasy. "Sorry, I thought you would take longer." He apologised and handed you the flowers, your favourites. You were silent, starring at the flowers, your heart doing small flutters. Subconsciously you knew you never stopped liking him. You looked up at him then back down at the flowers your mouth slightly open in surprise. "So... how was it?" He cocked his head to the side a bit, seeing how silent you are.

"Oh right-…”  You looked down at the paper in hand and back up at him, trying to shake off the countless emotions going through your head. “I was a bug, well more like food poisoning from the party. But the doctor gave me this, so we have to go to the pharmacy." You said holding up the piece of paper, which also had the prescription for nausea pills, giving it a small wave. 

You then both headed to the pharmacy and got your prescribed pills, heading out again just for a late afternoon stroll as there was really nothing else to do. Down by the boardwalk, looking out at the sun setting over the water. The orange and pink cascading and blending into the scenery, and the orange soft light and soft ocean breeze made it feel comforting familiar. You hadn't had one of these walks in ages with him, it was something you and him always enjoyed, it was nice to having something special like this back. You had almost fully forgiven him. Thoughts raced through your mind again. The apology? Was he serious? The flowers? Was it just to make you soft? You stressed. Axl immediately caught on. "You okay?" He asked. Putting his hands on your shoulders, stopping both of you in your tracks. Leading to the empty wooden bench closest to you. Taking a breath as you sat down, a soft sigh as you collect your thoughts and words. There was a pause, both looking at each other. The sun making his eyes glisten. "Why..." you began, trying to collect yourself. "Why did you kiss me?" You asked him. He didn't say anything, thinking of what to say, and he tried hard not to break eye contact. "And Erin?" You added. "What did it mean to you? What do I mean to you?" You emphasised the ‘I’ in last question. His hands creeped into yours, his head hanging slightly as he looked down at your hands in his now. You were about to take your hands away from his, but he held them tighter, gently, but still slightly tighter. "Fuck... I…" He began. "I love you, that’s why. I've been fucking in love with you." His words sent a shock through you, but other emotions were overriding the lovesick ones. "Then why go date someone else?" You retorted quickly with irritation at his inconsistency. "Because you always say you can't ‘date in the band’." He said. "Yes, but a week after? Seriously?" You responded. "I needed an out, I couldn't stop thinking about you after our kiss, it was making me crazy." He said, sighing with a gravel and running his hand through his hair. 

You didn't know what else to say. That it was stupid? That you loved him too? But even if you wanted you couldn't be with him. 

"I still want to... I still want you. I want to be with you." He sighed out softly, squeezing your hands. "You know we can't..." You told him. He began to talk about how he'll wait this time. Wait until you're ready. You knew it wouldn't happen, but at least gave him the chance, and yourself the chance of hope of you together. 

"If I can't have you right now, I'll wait dear."

———

A/n: SORRY THIS WAS ABSOLUTE SHIT, THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE INCORPORATION OF 

'I sit here on the stairs 'cause I'd rather be alone'

AND 

'Said, woman, take it slow and things will be just fine'

PRAY THAT THE NEXT CHAPTER COMES OUT SOON

[fandom-hoarder]

Grabbing these tags by @deanwinchesterpregnant from this post to expand.

Because yes, this is a very important part! Sam says it, too!

And while there ARE Sam haters that will say "Sam doesn't know how much Dean sacrificed!" and mean it as a JUDGEMENT and omg wooby!Dean; there are also people like me, who started writing s1 Sam POVs to understand him better, and suddenly connected him to my little brother like, 'OH. Sam doesn't KNOW. How COULD he know??😭' and it's not a judgment of his character or his love for Dean! And he's not stupid! They're both just kids who have yet to work through their own shit enough to realize they don't know EVERYTHING about each other, despite their shared history. It's part of why Sam says in In My Time of Dying that they were "just starting to be brothers again."

Obviously it's a necessary part of s1 to give us, the viewer, expositional glimpses into Sam and Dean's inner workings. But the way they each react to certain new revelations about each other are still canon even if there are Doylist reasons.

It's canon that Sam didn't know Dean carried him out of the fire. It's canon that Dean has felt responsible for Sam almost being eaten by a shtriga since he was 9/10 years old, and it's canon that Sam never even knew that happened. It's canon that the memory of Mary was so coveted by Dean and John that Sam has virtually no connection to her; no stories and no echoes of her in the way they live other than the infamous Winchester Surprise.

It's canon that Sam doesn't really have any happy holiday memories, and Dean does. It's canon that their perspective on the same shared holidays is completely different. It's canon that Dean stole Christmas decorations and presents for Sam and apparently none for himself. And it's canon that Sam realized Dean did that for him and gave him his only present. And it's canon that remembering that made grown-up Sam want to give Dean Christmas even though it meant admitting something hurtful to himself. (John not showing up for Christmas/Dean's last Christmas)

If you put yourself in Sam's shoes--- a kid left alone for most of his formative years; unable to put down roots and make friends; whose best friend, the only one who could even try to understand him, is his good little soldier brother--- it's easier to understand why Sam felt lonely and became a much more introspective person. Because he was literally stuck with just his thoughts and anxieties and the TV for days at a time. When you think about how sick he must've been about it, every time Dean and John would leave. Waiting for that next phone call. Biting his fingernails when the call was late. Wanting to be invited to prove yourself, but also because if you're THERE at least you KNOW what happens.

But then, too, if you can put yourself in Dean's place: it's not necessarily something a kid or young adult can fully appreciate--- especially a somewhat emotionally immature young adult--- that their little sibling is a completely autonomous person with their own inner life. They don't just pause when you leave their sight. Dean throws himself into the hunt, and isn't thinking about how much Sam is worrying about them. He's thinking, "Sam is safe, so I can focus on backing Dad up."

It sounds selfish, but it's simply a fact of the maturing brain that it takes some time to comprehend someone else's existence outside of you as a real thing and not just a vague concept.

So, to touch on another aspect that gets discoursed:

There ARE a lot of things about Dean's parentification that Sam doesn't know at first, but he has always known about it to SOME degree. He had his own perspective on it, and for sure I wouldn't say that Sam thought of Dean as his parent. Dean has definitely always been his older and somewhat overbearing big brother. But who do you think Sam took his problems to? Who threatens to rip his bully's lungs out in After School Special? Who remembers what fucking play Sam did in drama?

And a short related aside--- thinking about how Sam was surprised about the things of his John had in storage. His surprise that John kept an eye on him at Stanford. And relating these things that changed Sam's understanding of his father, to the way his understanding of Dean shifted with each revelation of what Dean had done for him. And despite everything Sam ALREADY knew, his adult brain and life experiences gave him new perspective on things.

This maybe is a little rambley, but oh well. What was I saying...

Oh yeah. So sometimes people get upset about Dean being given like. More praise than he deserves or something, by having those "you practically raised me" lines and things. As if it's a retcon. But it's really not.

It's Sam growing up, and his brain constantly taking in new information and reshaping his understanding. It's Sam seeing how much Dean blames himself for things that weren't his fault, and wanting Dean to see the good he's done. It's Sam being able to see Dean's heart underneath his codependent or selfish decisions, and reaching out. It's Sam trying to remind Dean he can lean on Sam, too.

I've gone off on a tangent and made myself tear up lol. I don't remember where I wanted to end up anymore. Somewhere in the ether there's another rant about how Dean has a harder time allowing himself the introspection on his perception of Sam, and how this leads to Sam having to do a lot of the leading on the emotional maturity of their relationship, and how hard this is when the person you're leading still sees you as their kid, in whatever capacity.

But ultimately, of COURSE Sam does as much for Dean. Of course Sam has agency in this and isn't Dean's baby that had a pampered childhood vs Dean's horrible one. Sam and Dean acknowledging the actual circumstances of their childhood dynamic doesn't have to be a Samgirls vs Deangirls fucking situation lol.