#erm. glancing to clock.

[cakeemoji]

guh....kinda wish i were dead -_-)b

[writersblockedx]

A Rekindled Kind of Love

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary - Spencer and Y/n hadn't talked since the Summer before college and then he sees her name as the only survivor in their latest serial killer case. Warning - violence, drinking Words - 3.6K

A/n - It's be a while! I've had a surge of inspiration lately since becoming a little obsessed with character ai lol and thought to write this one into a little one-shot.

masterlist

Spencer was lying if he ever called any day at the BAU normal. Between serial killers, sadists, and everything else in between, the boy had a blurred definition of normal. So, he expected anything - or so he thought. When he entered the meeting room that morning, he hadn't expected the name of Y/N Y/L/N to pop up.

"We've got three victims and, weirdly, one survivor." Garcia started to explain, clicking through the victim's dead bodies, the woman squirming at just a glance of the photos. "Whoever this sicko is, he's going after journalists. His latest victim, Y/n Y/l/n, was actually able to get away before he had a chance to kill her."

Spencer stopped. His gaze snapped up as Garcia clicked once more and he caught sight of the girl he once knew. Only now was she older, and her expression was stern. The unsub had left her features tainted, early bruises and several cuts littering over her. "She's pretty distraught says doctors, but she's alive and well."

He couldn't stop staring at her, memories of high school, of that last summer, of their blissfully ignorant friendship fueling his feelings. This was not normal. None of what he felt was normal - not for him away. "He stabs them?" Emily observed, all of the team had yet to clock onto the haze Spencer had suddenly found himself in.

Garcia hummed, "Yep, as many times as it takes before they...you know...die."

"He's aggressive, he's got no remorse for these victims," JJ spoke, glancing between her file at the screen in front of her.

"Not only are they all journalists, but they're female journalists too." Rossi added. "There's got to be some reason for that too."

Hotch nodded, "Either way, we should take Y/n into our care. She's the first to get away, I doubt he's happy about that-"

The shaggy-haired boy couldn't seem to take it. The way Y/n had gotten herself mixed in like she was any other victim, like she wasn't once the most important person in Spencer's life. "Excuse me," The boy stood abruptly, not giving any reasoning to the team before he practically ran out, gasping for breath.

The team were left with nothing. Their expressions moulding into ones of confusion, and puzzlement, "What's up with him?" Morgan was the first to question. But it was only met with the same uncertain expressions and a shrug from Hotch.

Morgan took it upon himself to stand, following Spencer out into the adjacent hallway where Spencer was panic pacing. A hand swooped through his hair as his thoughts raced. "Hey, kid, slow down," Morgan soothed. He hadn't realised the arrival of Derek until he spoke. Spencer turned, swallowing the lump which had since grown in his throat. "The hells going on with you?"

He took a breath. He evened his lungs and took a moment before confiding, "I- erm- I know her, Y/n Y/l/n, the survivor." He explained and that was enough for Morgan to understand. "Well, I suppose I knew her, we lost contact when we went to college, but we had been friends."

Morgan gazed back into the meeting room, "Reid, it's okay. She's okay, you know? She survived."

His head shook, "It doesn't matter. You heard Hotch, she's still a target." She wasn't safe and that fact was only nagging at Spencer.

"Alright, alright, how about I talk to Hotch? We'll go to the hospital, you make sure she's okay yourself?" Reid had barely agreed before Morgan walked back into that meeting room.

Of course, he wanted to make sure she was okay. But that also meant seeing her, after all these years. Spencer didn't know what had changed - if anything had. And he didn't know which option was scarier. Either way, he soon found himself at the hospital, waiting at the reception desk as a doctor went to find her.

His feet were tapping, his nerves obvious to Morgan. "Reid, calm down, she's gonna be alright," He said, but no words from Morgan or a doctor was going to help. He needed to see her.

"It's not just that I'm worried about." What if everything had changed? What if nothing had? What if-

He turned and found his eyes on her. She still had that same look. That same smile, the same soft gaze, the same ease about her that Spencer craved. But this was the very moment he feared.

She wandered up to him, quickening her pace as much as she was able to considering her state. "Spencer," She said his name like a sigh of relief. Before he realised it, her arms were wrapped around his neck, melting into his touch as if no time had passed.

"Hi," He breathed into her ear; she was safe. The hug didn't last long enough. How could it? They had 12 years of missed hugs.

"I can't believe you're here, the doctor said a profiler and then said it was Doctor Reid and I-" She trailed on, "I don't know why I was so surprised. Of course, you made it big."

Spencer shrugged, "I wouldn't call this big." The boy became sheepish, almost flushed and Derek Morgan had certainly taken notice. "I'm sorry I stopped calling and I should have-"

"Oh, Spence, save it," She chuckled lightly, "I could have picked up that phone just as well as you had. I just wish we could have met under different circumstances."

He nodded, "Yeah, well about that," Spencer turned to bring Derek into the conversation, "This is Agent Morgan, he's erm gonna help."

Morgan sent his usual cheeky smirk as he did with any pretty lady, "It's good to meet you, sweetheart. Glad to hear you're feeling better too."

Spencer hadn't expected anything less from the man. "Look, I don't know if the doctor explained it to you, but we're under the belief that this unsub may still be targeting you."

"Unsub?" She reiterated.

"The killer that went after you." Morgan answered, "Unknown subject, unsub for short."

"We erm- we have to take you in, make sure you're safe kind of thing," Spencer explained, fidgeting with his fingers as she glanced between them and the girl in front of her.

Her pupils grew worrisome, "You think I'm still in danger?"

Spencer hated that word. Even the thought of Y/n in danger made his spine shiver. "You're the first to get away, we erm- we don't think he'll be very happy about it. He could lash out, many unsubs, new unsubs especially, a victim getting away could be like a double stressor, he could be on a rampage, he could be doing nothing but think about getting to you." He realised he was rambling and his words were only worrying the girl more, "Sorry, I just, I want to make sure you're safe."

But Y/n understood, "It's alright, Spence. I'll go grab my things."

With that, a rush filled the girl as she turned her back on the two agents, wandering back into the hospital room she had come from. Spencer's eyes hadn't left from where her figure was once standing. This was personal for him - even if he hadn't seen the girl for years now. "She's not just someone from high school, is she?" Morgan realised as he observed Spencer.

He turned to him as if he had just left the trail of thoughts in his mind, "Hm?" He turned back to look at Morgan.

His response had only made Morgan smile, "Y/n, she seems more to you than that."

"It was..." The boy thought back to it, to that Summer, he didn't know how else to describe it, what they had, her. "Complicated."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

12 Years Prior, Las Vegas

Y/n always had something Spener didn't: Popularity. Well, in a way. Spencer was cast away from many of his peers. A social reject. While, Y/n was a social butterfly of sorts. She took to a crowd with ease. The type of girl that could make friends with anyone.

The boy had certainly hit the jackpot when he was assigned to tutor her. Over the course of several sessions, they had bonded over literature, future college plans and, surprisingly, Y/n's distaste to certain 'jocks' - as the social hierarchy liked to describe them as.

She was the only reason Spencer turned up to the end of year house party. Crowds weren't his thing, drinking neither. But she...she was worth it.

"Spencer!" The girl gleamed as he wandered into the house. 

He didn't belong at all. His shoulders were stiff, his glasses at the edge of his nose. But, despite such, Y/n still took him into a longing hug. "H- Hi." He greeted, his eyes flickering all over the place. From the demolished kitchen to the living room where drunken teens were dancing on top of couches and coffee tables.

Her brow raised, "Come on, we'll get you a drink." Her hand slipped into his, bringing the boy back to his attention: her. "You do drink right?" She checked as she guided him towards said demolished kitchen.

"Erm, not a heavy drinker but, sure I can have one."

"You sure?" She spoke ever so softly, "You know you don't have to."

"Just one." He offered her a smile.

She grasped a few bottles: vodka, rum, tequila. "Pick your poison."

Spencer had simply shrugged, a chuckle at the tip of his tongue, "I'll have whatever you're having."

"Rum it is!"

She poured the two the same drink - almost half liquor, half mixer. Spencer coughed when he swallowed, causing the girl to giggle, "Too much?"

But Spencer simply shook his head, "Just perfect," He almost joked as he leaned onto the kitchen counter next to the girl, "I almost didn't come," He admitted.

"I don't blame you," He gazed down at her answer, his expression urging her to add some context. "Ashley James puked up after two drinks, Kacy and Liam broke up, now Liam's making out with Polly. It's just...a mess." Her eyes rolled. "But then again, what was I expecting?"

Spencer smiled at her. She was good at knowing like everything. While he was filled with facts and statistics, Y/n knew everything about everyone. Within one look, she knew your secrets. Maybe that's why she was so good with people. "We can go somewhere else if you want?" He suggested.

His question brought along an idea for the girl. With her free hand, she took Spencer's and led him out into the back garden. Whoever lived here was almost rich. Well, rich enough for a pool and a pretty big outdoor area. "Come on," Y/n urged him as she pulled the boy towards the edge of the pool.

She slipped her shoes off, sitting down and letting her legs dangle into the fresh water. Spencer watched her for a moment before joining her, the two sipping on their drinks. "Better?" She asked him.

He nodded, "Much."

"At least we've got Summer now, no more being forced to see them assholes." She joked.

Spencer's brows narrowed in thought, "You mean the assholes that you were friends with until you met me?"

"Well you got me there, Spence." She shrugged, "Social survival, that's what I call it. It's not as if there won't be similar people in college. I mean, fucking sororities, semi-pro football leagues, frats?"

"I'm sure you'll fit in amazingly at Princeton." His smile seemed to falter at his own words.

She gazed at the boy who seemed captivated by the slowly swaying water below them, "We'll still call you know, text, just cause we're in different places, doesn't mean anything, Spencer." Y/n attempted to comfort him.

"That's what everyone says but, I don't know." He shook his head, ignoring a thought.

But she noticed it; she noticed everything, "But what?"

He huffed and stared over at her, his eyes pooling in admiration. "You're one of the best things to have happened to me in a long time you know," He offered her a smile, "I couldn't even imagine losing you."

The girl bit her lip. Something was on her mind and Spencer had noticed. He too noticed everything about her. But he didn't ask. Partly, because he didn't have the chance to. Her eyes flickered to his lips. Then to his eyes. And before Spencer could realise, she had leant in, her lips at his. Without even realising, she had changed everything for the boy.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Spencer accompanied the woman towards a private, interview room. He would offer support and comfort but at the same time, he had a job to do. A part of that was questioning. She was the only person to know this unsub. As difficult as it would be for her, he would have to ask them questions.

"Hey," Emily spoke as he entered the room, two coffees in hand: one for Spencer and one for Y/n. "Coffee orders are here," She smiled as she placed them at the table between the two. "I'm Emily, Reid says you're an old friend."

Her eyes flickered to the man before she shook Emily's hand, "Something like that yeah."

"Well, we're here if you need anything, alright?" She said, "You're in good hands here, especially with our Doctor Reid."

With that, Emily left to join the rest of the team who were busy compiling a profile. Which left her and Spencer. This was the part he wasn't looking forward to. "I've erm, I've got to ask you some questions, it'll help us understand this unsub, help us find him." He explained. When she nodded, the boy continued, "I'm going to ask you to close your eyes, alright? And then I'm just going to go through the night you were attacked. Is that okay?"

She swallowed the lump which had grown in her throat, "Yeah," She muttered.

Y/n followed the instructions and let her eyelids close before Spencer started the exercise, "Okay, just go back to that night. You were on 9th Street, correct?"

"Yes."

"It was getting late, but it was summer, think about the air, was it still warm? What sort of things could hear, anything?"

She thought back to it. Y/n had just finished her work week, she was walking home from the Subway. "There's a group of girls on the other side of the road, they're giggling. Drunk, I assume."

"That's good, that's really good." Spencer praised, "Then when did you realise something was off?"

Her brows furrowed and she thought about it, the pit in her stomach growing, "Someone- someone was yelling. A man. I thought he was like bible bashing so I wasn't paying much attention to what he was saying."

"Think." Spencer jumped in, "Listen to him, pick any words, any phrases that stick out to you."

And she did so. Her mind ran through the memory, "Something, something about an agenda, the- the snowflake agenda? It's ruining America it's-" She cut herself off as the memory reached the worst part. "That's when he grabbed me." Her voice quickened, her breaths soon becoming uneven. "He had a knife to my neck- he pulled me to an ally. I- Spencer."

Her hand reached out over the table instinctively, "It's okay," He too had become panicked just seeing her's. "I'm here, it's over, you can open your eyes."

When she finally did, she took one breath. A sigh of relief that she was okay. And then, a single tear dropped from her eyeline. Spencer couldn't take it. He stood and she followed suit, "Come here," He spoke before taking her into a tight hug. "You're safe, I promise." 

She pulled away just slightly but never dared to break touch, "The only reason I got away was because I had pepper spray in my bag," She explained. 

Spencer thought on that and then an idea came to mind. "Come with me," The boy took a hold of her hand, guiding the girl through the bullpen towards the meeting room where the rest of the team had been.

The round table was scattered with files and papers. Garcia typed away at her laptop while the rest were debriefing. At the entrance of the pair, they glanced up. 

Before they could ask any questions, Spencer started rambling, never daring to let go of Y/n's hand. "The unsub was protesting on the street, he's some kind of right-wing enthusiast. He was going on about the left-wing 'agenda', about how it's ruining America." He explained. "Not only that, but Y/n used pepper spray on him."

Like that, they had something, "He would have had to go to the hospital?" JJ thought.

"Or at least bought some kind of medical supplies."

"Yeah, saline wipes or there's a nasal spray that helps the pain." Spencer went on to explain.

From there, Hotch turned to Garcia, "Cross check avid right-wing protesters in the D.C. areas, men with low criminal offences, things like hate crime. Then look at anyone whose been admitted for treatment of pepper spray or has bought any medical supplies to treat it."

Like that, the aggressive typing ensued. The team were all waiting, Y/n still at Spencer's side, anxious for the name of her attacker to be revealed. "I've got it, Tony Jones."

When Hotch stood from his chair, the rest of the team started to follow. "Send us the address, Garcia."

"Already done it, Sir."

Each of the team members stood, one by one walking passed Y/n. That was apart from Garcia who was still glued to her laptop, sending the address to the rest of the team. Spencer was about to turn when Y/n reached for the boy's hand once again. Her eyes filled with nothing but worry. "Do you have to go?"

Her question had made his heart ache. His eyes flickered to Garcia who was already glancing at the two, "I- I probably should but, but Garcia will stay with you." He offered.

Y/n looked back at the extravagant woman who was smiling, "Of course, I've got loads of things I can show you in my office!" She gleamed.

Y/n returned the smile before turning back to Spencer, "You'll be careful, right?"

The boy nodded, "Of course," He replied before taking her in his arms once again. But this time, when he pulled away ever so slightly, it was to place a gentle kiss to her forehead.

And like that, a soft smile, a goodbye, was passed between the two before Spencer turned away to join the rest of the team. She stared out the door of the conference room until Spencer slipped away. From there, she turned, a weak smile given to Garcia as she came to join her at the round table.

The other woman had watched the interaction and, while she wasn't a profiler, she wasn't oblivious to the world of loving. "He really cares about you, doesn't he?" She asked. Though, Garcia already knew the answer.

"I care about him just as much," Even after all this time, a piece of her heart still belonged to Spencer Reid - it always would.

"You're not just an old friend, are you?"

Y/n swallowed, glimmers of that high school Summer filling her brain. "It was, complicated." She described. "We erm, only really had a Summer as..." How could she describe it? "More than friends, I guess. And then we were both shipped off to college. And I mean, we lost contact. As a lot of people do." And 12 years later here she was.

Garcia offered her a smile, "You still love him, don't you?"

The girl giggled but gave a nod, "I don't think I ever stopped."

"Well, if my time with Doctor Reid has taught me anything, the way he is with you, I mean it's like no other." Her hand brushed at her shoulder gently, "I don't think your feeling is one-sided."

That would stick in her head for the next hour. While Spencer and the rest of the team were arresting Tony Jones, Garcia was giving the girl a tour of her office. Everything wonderful and weird. And while she tried her best to pay attention, her mind kept being dragged over to Spencer. If he was safe, if he was coming back...if, once again, everything had changed.

She knew one thing: she would make sure they didn't lose contact this time around.

When the boy finally returned, he practically rushed through the BAU to find her. She was at Garcia's side as they exited her office, "Y/n," He called.

The girl's head snapped to him, her pace quickening as she came to reach him, "Did you?"

He nodded, "He's at the station, don't worry." He assured.

"Oh, good, yeah," She spoke before a sigh fell from her lips. "So, I mean, what happens now? Do I just go home?" The idea of such, while stupid to think so, was almost disappointing. Going home meant she wasn't in Spencer's company any longer. And that wasn't something she wasn't to lose just yet.

But Spencer's reaction was a similar one, "I can walk you home, if you want of course."

Her smile grew, "I'd like that."

"I'll just erm," He gestured to his FBI vest, "I'll only be a second."

And so she watched him leave for barely a minute, coming back in his shirt. He took her hand, led her into the lift and pressed for the ground floor. A moment of silence. A moment of thought. One of which was urgring Y/n on.

She glanced over at the boy, "You know I always think everything happens for a reason." Her nerves suddenly flooded her body as she realised what she was about to admit, "And as much as getting jumped was not fun, I'm glad it brought me back to you, Spencer."

Y/n turned to face him, barely any space between them, "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Spence."

With that, Y/n made the leap. She closed that gap, their lips meeting every so soft, ever so longing. Like they had both been waiting for this moment for 12 years. And when they pulled away, her hands cupping his face and his placed at her waist, it was like they were 18 again. "Promise we'll keep in contact now?" He almost joked.

And she chuckled, "Promise."

[rindreamery]

yukimiya, sweet or bitter (u choose), a tight embrace and secret relationship, please & thank you ♡

ORDER 4: READY TO GO !

yukimiya + bitter + tight embrace + secret relationship w.c. 1.6k+

note. thank you minjee for proofreading <3 erm so this went way above 1k👩‍🦯 i feel like if i cut it short, the story just wouldn't sound right at all, yk?? listened to the instrumental version of toxic till the end - rose while writing this, highly recommend

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there’s nothing more disappointing than being stood up.

the feeling of being so excited to see someone again, after weeks of your schedules not lining up with one another, just for them to not follow through with their plans. without notice, of all things. you understand, in some cases— some things come up unexpectedly, emergencies, problems that are simply out of your control. but as far as you’re aware, there had been no emergency.

yukimiya had simply forgotten all about your date. again.

this would mark the third time, at this point. which was so weird, so unexpected, and so out of character for someone like him. he was nothing short of practical; he was always organized with his time, and any and every event would always be marked down on the calendar in his phone. set with an alarm, a calendar widget added onto his lockscreen, and everything. 

you glance at the clock on the wall, and you sigh to no one in particular. it’s late, hours past the time he had agreed to come over. the food on your dining table had long gone cold, the candles had been blown out and the smoke had fizzled out, and you’ve changed out of your nice clothes into something more comfortable. you sit on the couch in absolute silence, your apartment still, and you stare out the window. 

the city outside is buzzing with the usual hum of nightlife, and you can hear the distant chatter and laughter as people whizz by. people on their phones talking, people with their friends, and people with their significant others. it fills you with a feeling you can’t quite name. jealousy? discontent? or are you simply just sad? you’re not quite sure. 

you’re about to get up, about to pack up the food and save it for yourself to eat another day, when a rapid series of knocks at your door pulls you out of your thoughts.

for a second, you stand there, unmoving. you chew on the skin of your lips as you contemplate opening the door— you know who it is, but truthfully, you’re unsure of whether you're in the mood to really talk to him. a second passes, a tick of the clock rings somewhere in the silence, and then another knock to your door. you walk, despite your best judgement, and you take your time opening it.

you crack the door open, only a little, and a sliver of yukimiya comes into view. 

“i’m so sorry,” he apologizes, words tumbling out of his mouth and rushed, and he sounds as if he were out of breath. beads of sweat line the crown of his forehead, his bangs are slightly matted to his skin. “i swear, i promise, my manager sprung something on me, last minute.”

you stand there, hands gripping onto the doorknob, as you take in his disheveled appearance— his typical polished, put-together demeanor crumbling right in front of you. for the first time, since you’ve known him, yukimiya looked genuinely distressed. his mouth was opening and closing repeatedly, desperately searching for the right words to say, and you can see a glint of pleading swirling in his eyes. but the words never leave his mouth, and all you’re stuck with is his rushed apology. 

“please,” he finally speaks again, “please, open the door. let me in, please.” 

you don’t, not yet.

you’re disappointed, angry, sad, all at the same time— you feel it all as one emotion, deep in your heart, and you want to shout at him. you want to open the door and shove him back, to give him a piece of your mind, and let him feel the weight of the constant disappointment. three dates worth of waiting, having hope that things might finally change, and then realizing that it won’t. 

but you stay calm, eerily so. “you’re late,” you tell him instead, voice flat and quieter than you intended. though, even to your own ears, it sounds more sad than anything. he flinches slightly, despite your hushed voice. “third time, yukki. this is the third time.”

“i know,” he mutters, “and you didn’t deserve that.”

at least you’re aware, you respond back in your head, but you don’t say it out loud. a silence falls between the two of you, thick and suffocating, and you both stand on opposite sides of your door. he doesn’t move, he doesn’t try to shove his way into your apartment, but he simply keeps a hand on your door. just there, yet somehow, so invasive. 

you’re just not sure what hurts more: the fact that he keeps forgetting about your dates, or the fact that you’ve begun to expect it. you’ve already started bracing yourself for the feeling of disappointment each time, somewhere in the back of your mind nagging you that your hopes would be crushed by the reality of his busy life. 

the life he just doesn’t seem to be able to make room for you in. (the life he keeps you far, far away from.)

"please, just open the door." with a heavy sigh, you swing the door fully open. there, the two of you stand, facing each other, unsure of what to say. 

you press your lips together, your mind swirling with all the things you want to say, all the frustration you’ve bottled up. and you end up talking before you think, “another modeling gig.” his shoulders tense at the words, and the way his eyes flit away for a second tells you all you need to know. “and you couldn’t say no, again. even though this date was planned two weeks in advance, and you ended up choosing a modeling gig over me. again.”

the words sting as they leave your mouth.

"i know, i’m sorry. i don’t know what else to say," is all he could say, his voice barely audible, and his apologies repeat like a broken record, "just, i’m sorry."

you want to demand more from him, more than just an empty, repetitive, half-assed apology. but before you can, he steps forward, closing the distance between you, in one swift motion.

you don’t step back. you don’t move at all.

when his arms wrap around you, your arms stay stuck to your sides. his embrace is tense, desperate even, in the way his arms tighten around you at the lack of response. you feel everything he feels— you can feel the way his heart pounds against his chest that’s pressed to yours, you can feel the way his fingers curl into your hair as he pushes your head deeper into the crook of his neck, and his ragged breath that fans against your ear as he buries the side of his face into your hair. for a split second, you find yourself losing to yourself, melting into his touch against your will. 

you can feel the apologies, you feel his regret— as if he’s hoping this hug would say everything he can’t put into words. but it doesn’t fix anything. it doesn’t change the fact that he’s failed you again.

it’s hard to ignore the fuzzy feeling of having his arms wrapped around you once again, the feeling of being shielded from all of your problems. but it’s even harder to ignore that feeling of fear that you’ll always be second to everything else in his life. his jam-packed schedule, spontaneous modeling gigs that he just can’t seem to say no to, and his fans who aren’t even aware of your existence— all who come before you. you’ve tried to be understanding, to be patient, but the neglect has finally worn you down. 

“we can’t keep doing this,” your words are muffled by the skin of his neck, his hand on the back of your head keeping you close to him. "i can’t do this anymore, yukimiya."

silence. 

your words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, you’re unsure of whether you've even said them out loud. but the shift in yukimiya’s grip—his body stiffening, his breath audibly getting caught in his throat, his hold on you faltering momentarily—tells you that he’s heard you. loud and clear. another beat of silence, and you realize the two of you will never get anywhere like this.

you take this chance, this moment of weakness, to put some distance between you two.

you find the resolve to rip yourself from his arms, hands pressed against his chest as you finally push him away. “i think—” and your voice cuts out as you swallow heavily. but you’ve made up your mind, and you continue. "that maybe it’s better if we don’t see each other anymore," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

his arms reach out for you again, but this time, you step back. "i’ll change," he pleads with you, his eyes searching to meet yours, "i’ll tell everyone about us, i’ll make sure my time is all yours. i’ll even quit, if you told me to." and you know, deep down, that he would. 

you look at him, and the part of you that still (inevitably) loves him aches at the sight. "you know i would never ask you to do that for me, yukimiya," you tell him, shaking your head. "and i should never have to ask you to change, you know."

and yukimiya knows, you’re not wrong.

still. he stands on the threshold of your apartment, unwilling to leave, not wanting to leave. but with a gentle shove of your fingertips against his chest, he steps back. and with that, you move to close the door between you, a “goodbye,” slipping past your lips, before the door clicks shut.

© rindreamery, 2024

[matcha-binz]

Muse. (teaser)

The newly arrived painting captures your attention as the archivist of the local museum. But, as you investigate further, you discover a secret that no one was supposed to know. Panicking, you run from the scene in a daze, trying to hide what you have witnessed. Before you could even realize, you were stopped from your trance by a suspicious individual. To your horror, it was none other than the secret himself. the muse of the oil painting stood right before you, looking into your eyes with a gaze too human.

Genre . Suspense, fantasy, romance, fluff

pairing . Prince!beomgyu x museum worker!reader

wc . N/A

note . Erm… oops. I’ve been gone for a while now… tehe. Anyways I’m back with this wip. Idk when it will be released, probably at the start of September, hopefully !

As your hands trace the intricate, gold framing of the painting, your eyes cant help but wander back to his deep, honey hued ones. This one is different.

The brush strokes that combine together to make his eyelids, the thin lashes that look as if they were painted each individually, and the deep, oak colored hair that rest around the golden crown adorning the head. And his lips, so carefully painted the exact shade of the pink carnations that he held. His attire is something a tad too simple for a prince to wear — a plain ruffled tunic, fading to a light beige — a popular clothing choice from this time, you observe.

It’s hard to imagine someone to be this beautiful. But at the same time, this oil painting seems to be waiting for the moment to just come to life. The furrowing of your brows do not go unnoticed by Taehyun, as he observes your reaction from the doorway.

“It took some time for it to arrive here-“ a graceful smile paints his face. “… I’m glad you like it” he chuckles, his laugh echoing off the dim lighted walls at your speechless form.

It takes a good second for you to snap out of your awe struck trance, stuttering a flustered respond for your coworker, who only smiles as you do so. “L-like it…? Taehyun, I’m like- “ you sigh. “I… I can’t believe this.. “

with an airy laugh — that was more of a half gasp — you turn over your shoulder to look into his eyes. “This can’t be… is this… the original copy?”

your eyes widen as he slowly nods his head. Your teeth nip on your lower lip as you struggle to keep in your excitement, the hand that rested on the gold frame of the painting jitters and twitch as you tuck it back in your cardigan pocket, and the smile that etched onto your face, you knew that it wasn’t coming off anytime soon.

“Well, I’ll trust this relic to you then” he states, shooting you a farewell smile and shutting the wooden door behind him. As he leaves you in the room, the sun has completely set behind the horizon and leaves darkness scattered in the sky. the clock strikes 8.

With one last glance at the painting, taking in all of its beauty, you take a step back, letting out a small yelp nearly tripping over a pile of old books that was probably left by taehyun as well. Lovely. A sigh leaves your lips as you crouch to take pick them up, blowing away the dust as you walk towards your desk that sits facing the wall.

“All right, then. Let’s get you in the system…” you idly mutter to yourself as you turn on the computer, the soft sound of the whirring fills the room, reminding you of just how old this computer is. As you quickly punch in the pin, you take note of saving up for a new desktop, this old one takes too long to load, to your dismay.

You right click onto the program to record the the addition to the museum gallery. Most of the gallery consists of old relics from important time periods to relics and art from before technology existed. You have always found these works to be exceptionally beautiful, the timelessness of these objects made by the talented artists are not to be forgotten by those who truly appreciate art.

Same goes for this painting, you think as you enter the description and the room it shall be placed in. But as the cursor hovers over the ‘name’ section, you hum as you try to rack your brain for the name of this piece.

“Hm… What was your name again..?” You say, to no one in particular as you glance back at the painting that stood still in the middle of the room, the dim lighting shining off the gold frame. Your brow raises as you tilt your head. Did you move it to the center before? The memory doesn’t appear immediately, but you deduce that you probably did.

And with a shrug, you turn back to the glowing screen, letting out a theatrical sigh.

”You may address me as prince Choi, ”

-

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 8

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

Your head is throbbing. The hangover of your night of crying greets you like a drumbeat. You cradle your skull and shudder, roused only by a clink from the kitchen. You grumble and sit up, blearily checking the clock beside your bed. The digital numbers stamp your vision. It’s too early for your mom to be up. You can’t even remember the last time she was awake before you. 

You know she won’t be happy about having to make her own coffee. You get up, clumsy steps carrying you to the door as you rub your temples. You go out into the hall, your tee shirt caught in the top of your striped linen sleep shorts.  

You squeak as you stop in the doorway of the kitchen. It’s not your mom. You’re so surprised, you can’t move. You drop your hands, hugging yourself as you stare at Steve’s back, his broad shoulders stretching the leopard print of your mother’s robe. The insinuation of the piece of clothing, makes you choke. 

He glances over his shoulder before you can flee. His gray hair is slightly mussed and you can see his boxers poking out past the short hem of the robe. You sway on your feet. 

“Good morning, sweetie. Want some coffee?” He asks, sleep dragging in his voice, “pot just finished brewing.” 

“Oh, um... I’ll make my own.” 

“More than enough,” he insists as he takes out another mug from the cupboard. His familiarity with the place makes you squirm. 

“Erm,” you bite your lip. 

“Here,” he turns to you with a mug. “You like sugar? Milk?” 

“Black,” you answer as he nears. 

You accept the cup as he holds it out. His lack of shame makes you even more uncomfortable. You are an adult. It isn’t that absurd that your mom would have... needs. It’s just not something you know much about. Nor had you ever really thought about her finding someone like this. She only ever griped about your father and every other man she knew. 

“Wow, I would’ve thought you had a sweet tooth,” he remarks. 

You shake your head, “thanks.” 

You turn to escape with the comfort of the coffee. He hums as if disappointed but you let the sound fade behind you. You close your bedroom door and quickly cross the room, as if to get as far from him as possible. 

You just weren’t prepared. You’re still reeling from the night before and your bout of tears. Ugh. You’re just stupid. You get so swept up in stupid emotions and then you mope around. You sip the coffee and set the cup down. 

You look down at your bare legs and cross them, pulling subconsciously on your tee shirt. Oh gosh. You’d been walking around in front of him like this. 

You grab the cup again. You focus on finishing it, on letting the temperature sooth you. You hear your mother’s voice but it’s distant and indiscernible. When you empty the mug, you go to your bed and sprawl out. You’ll probably just stay in here all day; out of the way, alone. Not much you can do with a headache. 

You close your eyes and drift into a shallow half-sleep. You can feel the day brighten outside the window and hear the chirping birds but your room is shrouded in fog. A knock breaks through your stupour. You groan and roll onto your side. 

The door opens and you lift your head to look at your mom. 

“You’re not staying in your bed all day,” she stomps into the room, “get up. Go for a walk or something.” 

“A walk?” You sit up, head wobbly. 

“I don’t care where but you need to get out of this house,” she snarls, her lip quivering. You won’t ask if she’s used her inhaler, she’s already worked up, “get out of my way.” 

You blink and nod. You stand up and go to your dresser. She huffs, “and don’t make a whole thing when you leave. Just go.” 

You pull out a pair of thin pants as she slams the door behind her. You frown and change, quickly making yourself tolerably presentable. You don’t know that even if your clothes were nicer or your face prettier, that you would ever feel acceptable. 

You take a book and go into the hallway as quietly as you can. The smell of maple makes your stomach growl. You glance down toward the kitchen and stay close to the wall. You creep down to the entryway and slip your feet into your shoes. 

“Hey, off to somewhere?” Steve startles you as he peeks out of the kitchen, a spatula in hand. 

“Um,” you look back and forth. 

“She’s just going for her morning walk,” your mother chirps as she appears from behind him, “aren’t you, honey?” 

You nod stiffly. Morning walk? You can’t remember the last time you walked past the end of the avenue. 

“Oh, I wish I’d known. I’d love to come with. Maybe explore the neighbourhood,” Steve says, “what about breakfast? You wanna eat first?” 

You look at your mom. She grimaces. You shake your head. 

“Not hungry. Thanks.” 

“Hm, alright,” he frowns, disappointed, “I’ll put some aside for you. Maybe another day.” 

He goes back into the kitchen and your mom mouth’s one word, ‘go’. 

You do as she says and you leave. You clutch your book tightly as you come down the front steps and try to figure out what to do. There’s a bench near the park you can sit on and read. A chapter will take a while and you should try to spend more time outside. 

Your eyes narrow against the sunshine. Your head still hurts and your now your stomach is clenching violently. Just the smell of food had you ravenous. Well, there’s be cold pancakes waiting for your return at least. 

You find the bench. It’s not where you remembered. It wasn’t by the entrance but further inside. Still, it’s early and there’s no one there. 

You sit and watch the birds for a while before you open the book. A few squirrels skitter by, chasing each other’s tails, and you smile. You like being outside. You just don’t enjoy the people outside. 

You put your head down and start the chapter. You can’t really remember what happened in the last one. It’s been a while since you were able to focus enough to read a book cover to cover. 

As the morning light shifts, a woman and two children appear at the park entrance. The follow the path to the play place and you watch from afar. Soon, several other kids arrive to join the fun. Their parents stand around the parameter in pairs and clusters, chatting as they watch the younger crowd. You should find somewhere else. 

You stand and notice someone walking toward you. You watch Marge as she approaches, and another woman, you think her name is Callie. You smile at them nervously. Are they mad? You don’t have kids, why are you sitting there? 

“Good morning,” Marge chimes in a sing song voice, “you’re up bright and early.” 

“Morning,” you murmur and peer between the blondes. 

“And how’s your mother?” Callie asks with an edge. 

“Okay,” you swallow dryly, hugging the book to your chest. 

“Mm, great, that’s great. Your lawn looks much better,” Marge praises. 

You nod and slant your mouth. 

“You’re so lucky to have such a helpful new neighbour,” Marge smirks, “he seems so nice.” 

You just stare back at her. You don’t know what she wants you to say. Sorry? Should you have done it yourself? You were going to but the mower broke. 

“What’s his name?” Callie asks. 

You frown. 

“You can tell us,” Marge steps closer, “really? We’re just curious. We want to welcome him to the neighbourhood. I made him lasagna and I wanna know what to call him when I show up.” 

You feel your chest locking up. They remind you of the girls in highschool who would take your lunch tray. You chew your lip until it’s raw. 

“We know he’s been talking to your mother. And you. It’s a small neighbourhood, hon,” Callie chirps, “just tell us his name.” 

You push your shoulders up and sidestep away from them. The bench presses to your knees as you retreat. They turn on you, following with hands on their hips. 

“Don’t run away, hon. We’re neighbours--” 

“I don’t know,” you say. “I gotta go home.” 

Marge sighs and Callie blows a raspberry, “boo,” the former says, “fine, run home to mommy.” 

You turn away and barely keep from doing just that. You don’t know why they care but you wouldn’t guess anything good. They have wanted you and your mom out of the suburb for as long as you’ve been through. Maybe they think Steve would be a perfect ally in their crusade. 

[my-castles-crumbling]

midnight kiss - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 244

It was stupid.

He was being so ridiculously masochistic, putting himself into this situation.

Half the bloody school wanted a midnight kiss from Sirius. The odds of him having to watch his best friend snog some random girls were high. And yet here he was, sipping a butterbeer, watching the clock count down, pining after the same boy he'd been in love with since fourth year.

He should've just gone home for the holidays.

But as the clock ticked to 11:55, Sirius sidled up to him, brushing their arms together, and Remus felt his stomach swoop into his throat.

"S'almost midnight," Sirius murmured, avoiding Remus's eyes.

"Erm...yeah," Remus answered, unsure of where the conversation was going.

"I had a resolution," Sirius continued, gripping at his drink so tightly Remus saw his knuckles whiten. "And...y'know. I never give up on my resolutions."

It was true, Remus thought. Their second year, Sirius had resolved to ride a Hippogriff. That had been a day.

"What was your resolution, Padfoot?" Remus asked nervously, glancing at the clock. 11:59.

"I..." Sirius stuttered, continuing to look down.

People began counting down and Remus just stared at Sirius, dumbfounded as to what Sirius was trying to tell him.

But then the shorter boy looked up, a steely resolve in his eyes. And he suddenly leaned in, quick enough that Remus didn't have time to react.

And right at midnight, their lips met, fireworks bursting behind Remus's eyes.

[melanieph321]

bae please write something for one of the barca boys😩

🫡

Pedri/Fermin x Reader - Nude

Who's more artistic, Pedri or Fermin? 💅

Pedri and Fermin are tricked to take an art class by some of the Barca boys. Things get a little heated as the two of them are expected to portray a nude model, the nude model being you.

Enjoy!

"I can't believe we're doing this?" Said Fermin.

"We?" Pedri pushed open the door to the arts department. They had struggled with directions on campus and were most likely running late for the class. "Look around, Fermin. It's your big mouth that keeps getting us into shit like this. If you and Cancelo would just stop betting your well-earned salaries, we could be having a day off for once. Instead, we're in The University of Barcelona, fulfilling silly side quests such as this one."

"Okay, okay, Gonzalez. I get it, I messed up....again. But let's see the positive in this."

"Which is?"

They paused on the top of a stairscase. People were passing them by, students, turning their heads at the sight of them.

"Our parents would be proud to finally see us attending university."

Pedri rolled his eyes and shoved Fermin for him to keep walking.

The boys eventually found the right classroom and stumbled through the door in chaotic fashion. Students, seated before large canvasas, shifted their heads.

Pedri and Fermin looked at each other hesitantly. "Erm...Buenos días?"

"You made it!" A woman stood from behind a canvas, approching them where they stood awkwardly by the door. "Señores! You must be Pedri, and you must be Fermin." She shook their hands vividly. A surprisingly strong grip "I'm Martina Ramirez, the teacher of this class. My husband and children are big fans of Barça. Matter of fact, they still don't believe that the two of you are participating in my class today."

"This is it?" Fermin frowned, which earned him a slap in the back of the head from Pedri.

"Puta! Why did you do that for?"

"Yes, yes, of course." She directed them towards the circle of students, sitting them down before their blank canvasas.

Pedri ignored his friend, smiling at the woman. "Thank you for having us today Señorita Ramirez. Should we take our seats?"

Fermin looked to Pedri, shaking his head in disbelief. However, as the class began, the boys found themselves surprisingly engaged. Señorita Ramirez was a great teacher, and she made the class fun and interactive. They started with drawing, and before long, Pedri was actually creating some pretty impressive sketches. Fermin, on the other hand, struggled a bit more, but he found joy in experimenting with different colors and textures. That is, until you stepped into the room.

You were late, slowed down by the unexpected rain. Luckily, your clothes were meant to come off anyway. You entered the dimly lit classroom unnoticed so as not to disturb the students, deeply immersed in their work. But of course, Señorita Ramirez spotted you and waved for you to take your place in the middle of the circle.

"Señoras y señores, our object has arrived."

Like clock work the students flipped the pages of their sketchbooks, none of them bothering to give you a second glance, none of them expect for two boys who seemed a bit lost at what the other students were doing.

"Yes, boys, just like that." Señorita Ramirez encouraged. "Flipp your pages. It's time for a new drawing."

They did what they were told. Meanwhile, you took your place in the circle, untying the ropes of your bathrobe, the fabric sliding down your naked shoulders.

"Joder!" Someone gasped. One of the lost boys. His eyes were wide, staring at you like a maniac on ecstasy.

"Now Señor Lopez...." Señorita Ramirez approched him, pointing to his blank canvas. "Paint what you see, honey. Paint what you see."

He swollowed nervously but managed to diverge his eyes back to the canvas. Beside him his friend was already getting busy with his paint brush, a slight blossom to his cheeks.

"You holler when you need a break cariño."

"Yes, señorita Ramirez."

You usually lasted the whole class without a break. However, you could feel drops of water from your wet hair running down the length of your naked back, which could be a problem for later. But right now, your main focus was to pose for the students, two of those students who looked awfully familiar to you, but from where, you had no idea.

At one point, you tilted your head to get a better look at the other. The one with the dark hair and blushing cheeks. However, some students would hiss at you, urging for you to stand still. You did this repeatedly, curiously regarding the new boy who kept his eyes on his canvas, refusing to throw glance your way. His friend on the other hand, grinned at you like a kid in a candy store. He seemed more fascinated by your nakedness than Jack did Rose in that Titanic movie.

"There, times up!" Señorita Ramirez announced.

"What, already?" Fermin sighed.

Pedri, on the other hand, stood, swiftly grabbing his coat.

"Boys..."

"Puta." He hissed, seeing as Señorita Ramirez made her way over to them.

"I hope you enjoyed attending this class as much as I liked having you here?"

"Oh, I enjoyed myself for sure." Fermin said, slapping the canvasas tucked underneath his arm. "Trust me, this one is going up on my wall at home."

Pedri wanted to slap his friend again. But just then you were seen walking up to his canvas, clutching your bathrobe around your body. You were regarding Pedri's painting, making him even more nervous.

"Excuse me?" He said, pushing pass Fermin and Señorita Ramirez. He pushed passed them and lunged for his canvas, pulling it away, out of your site. "I'm sorry, but it's not finished." He muttered.

"I can see that." You giggled. "A good start though."

Pedri looked up, meeting your eyes. "You think so?"

"I mean you only drew my face, but I guess that's the best part of me, no?"

"Yes, yes it is...."

You frowned.

"No!" He blurred out. "Not only your face looks good. All of you looks good. I just wish that I had more time to finish it."

You smiled. "Well, there's always sametime next week."

Pedri nodded, however did not raise his head to meet your eyes again. "Yeah, maybe next week..."

"Great, I'll see you then." You offered him your hand, which he shook almost immediately.

"Pedri, Pedri Gonzalez."

"Nice to meet you Pedri, my name is Y/N."

"Y/N." He said it almost dreamingly.

"....And my name is Fermin, Fermin Lopez, if you please." His friend disrupted the moment. Pedri looked to want to kill him. Nevertheless, the boys left shortly after that, never to be seen again. That is, until you turned on the TV that following night.

[little-emerald-snake]

Sebastian x MC x Ominis. where Sebastian and MC seduce Ominis?

Seduction - Ominis Gaunt X Sebastian Sallow X F!MC

🔥 NSFW 🔞 MDNI

Warnings: threesome m/m/f, mentions of poly relationships, biting, neck kisses, oral m receiving, facial, cum swallowing

2k words

Ominis had known something was up for a while now. Both of his friends had been spending more time away from him. At first he had assumed that maybe romance had sparked between his friends but the longer it went on the more something felt off. Flashbacks of fifth year plagued him till finally he’d decided to confront them both.

He stepped into the cool stale air of the Undercroft, hushed voices met his ears till the chime of the clock mechanism whirred. Two hushed voices went silent, causing his teeth to clench with concern.

He let his wand guide him, boots echoing off the stone walls as his long legs ate the distance between the entrance and the sitting area of couches they had set up. “What’s going on?”

The two who had been rather chatty only a moment ago so why now had they chosen to go so silent in his presence. He could practically feel them glancing back and forth having some sort of silent conversation that he couldn’t be part of. “None of that talking with your eyes nonsense, I know something has been up. Out with it before I slip veritaserum into both your pumpkin juices.”

The silence was palpable, enough so that they could hear the crackling of the candelabras that hung from the high ceilings above. “No one wants to talk then? Silly, considering only a moment ago you were both so chatty. Have you two been dabbling with dark arts again?”

Sebastian cleared his throat, deciding to be the first one to speak up. “No, Ominis. No dark arts, no spells, no forbidden potions. We’ve erm, just been talking…and it seems we have a bit more in common than we originally thought.”

He could almost hear their female companions' silent pleas to remain silent. “So you’re forming romantic bonds then? That's all? Why all the secrecy lately. You’ve both been so withdrawn and won’t talk around me…are you worried you’ll upset me?”

Sebastian hesitated, the silence so thick with tension it could be cut with a knife. “Not particularly romantic, Ominis. But we ha-“

She quickly interrupted, waving her hands wildly to stop the brunette from speaking. “That’s enough, Sebastian. Say nothing further.”

Ominis’ unseeing eyes locked onto her, he could feel her discomfort, sense the urgency in her voice. He would have commented on it had it not been for Sebastian carefully reaching forward to grip her hand in his. “I told you we should tell him. Let’s just do it now. I know he won’t be upset. Just trust me.”

Ominis furrowed his brows with a mix of curiosity and concern. A sigh fell past her lips and then the tension of the room lifted. “You have to do it then.”

Ominis’ mind went to the worst case scenarios. What mess could they possibly have gotten into to warrant such secrets and heavy tension. But Sebastian seemed to act like it wasn’t serious so he held his tongue. Eager to understand a lick of anything they were saying.

She pulled her hand from Sebastian’s grip and Sebastain adjusted in his seat, turning to face his blind friend. “Ominis. We had…something come up. And for a while now we’ve been talking about it and exploring things. Ideas maybe. Talking things through to see what the best outcome would be.”

Ominis blinked, confusion washed over him like icy ocean waves. Something had to be wrong. But Sebastian was so calm as he spoke. “We haven’t quite reached a decision but we both rested close enough to something. So I’ll give you that version. We erm…both of us…have expressed an interest in you. Something a little more than friendly interest.”

Ominis’ hands dropped to his sides, wand still blinking helpfully, but his mind was less on taking in his surroundings and more on digesting the bombshell Sebastian had dropped. “We have talked a bit about it. And maybe I can’t fully speak for her but…we want you to know that if you choose one and not the other…we understand. O-or if you chose neither. We also understand that too…”

Ominis closed his mouth which had popped open briefly. He swallowed harshly, brain rapidly trying to process what sounded like not one but two love confessions wrapped into one. “W-we briefly talked about if you…maybe also had some feelings and couldn’t choose…we’d be open to try…erm…some sort of arrangement. If it came to that.”

Ominis staggered backwards till he felt the cushion of a chair push into his calves. He sunk down into the couch, brain working overtime to understand what was happening. “W-what?”

Her voice chimed up, softly and a bit unsure, which was almost calming to him, that he wasn’t the only one feeling confused or unsure in this situation. “If you wanted us both. W-we could share you…if you somehow have feelings for both and can’t choose whose to reciprocate…we’d…share.”

His blood went cold and her hand slid into his, her fingers lacing through his own slender ones. She gently tugged him down to sit between the two of them.

He was still as stone till he felt the couch dip as she swung her leg over one of his. She sat on his lap, gentle hand caressing his cheek. She was so close to his face he could feel her warm breath skate across his skin.

He struggled to find the words, his wand hand struggling to find an acceptable place to be when another hand, thicker and more calloused than the one laced with his other, snatched his wand before returning to lace its own fingers between his.

It caught him off guard as a broader body moved, muscular thighs sliding over his open thigh to sit just the way she had. He stuttered, reaching for words. Something, anything he could say to describe his thoughts.

Her soft voice, now heavy with sultry heat he’d never heard from her before ghosted across his ear. “Should we show you a hands on approach to how we feel? Since you can’t seem to find your words?”

Sebastian hummed, leaning in close and letting his lips drag up the side of Ominis’ neck almost so feather light that someone not so in tune to touch might have missed it.

The sensation caused a shiver to surge up his spine. He was left sightless without his wand and without his hands to feel which left him utterly at a disadvantage. “C-could I just have a moment to think? I-I’m overwhelmed is a-ah!”

Ominis yelped when Sebastian’s teeth grazed the sensitive column of his neck. A smacking sound caused Sebastian to release and lift his head, allowing Ominis a moment to process and breath. “…Ow!”

He could sense the glare she was sending to Sebastian from his other thigh. “He asks for a moment and you can’t help but be a mouthy mutt?”

Sebastian rubbed the back of his head, soothing the place where she smacked him. “Oi, not my fault he’s overwhelmed from enjoying it. Just look at him. He’s hard as fuck from just this little bit of teasing.”

Sure enough, Ominis was sporting a tent in his trousers. Heat flooded his cheeks as he realized they were both staring at him slowly falling apart at the seams. The worst part with both of them occupying his limbs he couldn’t hide the sight of his arousal from their visual perusal.

Sebastian licked his lips at the sight of his friend flushed, achingly hard, hair slightly mussed, lips plump from biting them anxiously. The blonde was a right mess and he craved to continue pulling down the prim and proper walls his friend had built.

Sebastian’s mouth was on him again in seconds, this time placing open mouthed kisses over the pale skin. Ominis moaned, causing Sebastian to practically pur in satisfaction.

Ominis flushed deeper, the sound of his best friend’s growl against his neck causing him to twitch impatiently in his pants. In the heat of it, he didn’t really care that they were his friends, he was desperately craving the attention from them both.

He barely managed to hold back a whimper as her mouth met his. Soft plump lips meeting his much thinner ones, inviting him for a gentle yet urgent kiss.

Her free hand landed on his chest, sliding down with a slowness that both excited and terrified him. Heat trailed in those delicate fingers wake as she moved closer and closer to where he threatened to burst from the seams in his trousers.

Sebastian’s lips disconnected from his neck, bringing out a whine from her and Ominis’ kiss. Sebastian chuckled, watching her fingers dance across their lovers stomach till those fingers met the hem of his pants and her lips left his. “Can I touch you here, Ominis?”

Ominis seemed blissed out, cheeks flushed, lips puffy from kissing, cock so hard it strained against the fabric. “Not to be dramatic but…i-if you don’t, I think I might die.”

She chuckled, along with Sebastian, and her fingers tugged at his belt, working quickly to undo it and his button and zipper, relieving some of the strain against him. She rubbed him through the fabric of his underwear, getting a good feel of the bulge that awaited beneath.

She slid off of Ominis’ lap, quickly followed by Sebastian who helped Ominis lift his hips so she could slide his pants down to his ankles, leaving his erection standing proudly in his lap.

Ominis felt exposed in the stale air of the Undercroft but it didn’t last long, as Sebastian placed a hand on either thigh, leaning forward to slide his tongue up the proud shaft of his lover.

Ominis bucked but Sebastian had prepared, belting an arm across his hips to keep them in place. “O-oh fuck, Sebastian…”

Sebastian grinned at his blind lover's eyes, looking down at him. He made direct eye contact with those milky orbs, hoping Ominis would feel it as he dipped his head, mouth enveloping his entire length before coming to a natural bob.

Ominis’ head tipped back, a moan falling past his lips as Sebastian worked his skilled lips and tongue around him. Everything felt so good. He had used his hands to map out his best friend's face before but never could he have imagined those plump lips being so incredible around his cock.

Just as Ominis was getting used to the stimulation he felt a hand come up to tap Sebastian’s hand on his thigh. Sebastian pulled off of him with a resounding pop.

Ominis swallowed thickly as another set of lips wrapped around his length. He felt Sebastian reach up and geather her hair in his hand before reaching up and urging his own hand to grasp the makeshift ponytail.

She hummed around him and the vibrations shot directly to the base of his spine. He gasped and moaned as she twisted her head, using her tongue to lap at every solid inch of him as she bobbed her head.

She wasn’t going as deeply as Sebastian but from what he’d felt, she had a much smaller mouth than the aforementioned. She licked and sucked, it felt so divine that had Seb not still been holding his hips down he would have bucked into her mouth.

Again they traded off, making sure that Ominis never got too used to one mouth on him. The heat and sensations they brought were driving him mad. Not to mention the thought that not one but two people were on their knees in front of him, servicing him with their mouths and doing their best to pleasure him. And pleasure him they did.

On her next turn, Ominis groaned, panting out that he was close. She replaced her mouth with her hand, twisting her wrist on every upstroke to brush her thumb along the sensitive spot below his head that she knew drove him wild.

Both her and Sebastian waited on their knees in front of him. When Sebastian slipped his wand into his hand, Ominis groaned, ‘seeing’ their silhouettes waiting so patiently for him to come undone.

He groaned, bucking his hips into her palm as his climax hit, making a mess on both of their waiting faces. She stroked him till she was sure he was finished and he sat back, panting.

Ominis groaned, ‘seeing’ his lovers face each other and take turns licking his cum from each others faces. Sebastian even bringing a hand up to slide some off her cheek before pushing it into her waiting mouth. “Gods. I can’t imagine not having you both now. Not after that brilliant demonstration.”

[katyawriteswhump]

the freak in the penthouse part 3.1

E-rated (for sexual content), accidental millionaire eddie/sex-worker steve.

On tumblr: Part one Part two or search #thefreakinthepenthouse

On AO3

3.1 Cracks in the plasterwork

Eddie was vegging out front of the TV, watching a rerun of Star Trek, when a knock sounded. Shit, shit, SHIT! He was literally naked and he’d not ordered anything on room service.

Not till later, at any rate. Eddie glanced at the clock. Only four pm.

He grabbed a bathrobe. Despite Steve’s brutal early wakeup call, Eddie had gotten more energy than in an age. Life really did feel less of a gloom-fest today.

Even if his self-loathing still throbbed like a bitch.

A voice sounded from the corridor. “Uh, Mister M… I mean, Eddie? You there?”

It was Steve! Already? Eddie threw both the doors wide. “Greetings and salutations. You’re mega-early.”

“Yeah. Sorry. Can’t stay. The main elevator guy’s off sick. I’m stuck there all day.”

Eddie was seriously cracking up. In his bellboy hat with its little strap under his chin, Steve was ridiculous levels of adorable. And fuckable. Which was all kinds of wrong.

“No sweat, Stevie.” He reined in his giggles. “I’m up for a quickie in your elevator, if that’s all that’s on offer.”

It was a joke. Steve sighed. He looked exhausted, kinda shadowy around the eyes. “I finish at eight. I’ll be here as soon as I can. Listen, I’m really sorry. I think I dropped something here last night. Can I, erm… have a peep, see if I can find it?”

“Sure.” Eddie stepped aside.

Steve rushed first into the bedroom, throwing himself flat to look under the bed. “The chambermaid’s been and gone,” said Eddie. He already felt like a total a-hole for laughing at Steve, who seemed genuinely stressed out. “Don’t think she picked anything up that wasn’t my usual trash. What did you lose?”

“Oh, nothing.” Steve hurried back across the lounge area and into the restroom. “Well, actually, it’s kind of important. It belongs to a friend… Oh, thank God.”

Eddie arrived at the restroom door in time to receive an epic view of Steve’s butt in his deadly-tight uniform pants. He was crawling to retrieve something from under the spacious clawfoot washtub. “Christ, I was going outta my mind! I keep this safe for my friend, Robin—she’s a junior sous chef, and, uh, yeah, she’d totally lose her head if it wasn’t attached. Anyway, she put it in my bag without telling me yesterday, apparently. What a flake!”

Steve shoved the cause of his anguish—which turned out to be one of those blue asthma inhalers that Eddie had seen kids use at grade school—into his back pocket. His breakneck monologue seemed a bit odd, but he was all smiles now, which made Eddie relax again too. Especially as a glint of that irresistible come-hither returned to Steve’s big brown eyes.

He’s pretending, Eddie reminded himself. He’s good. This guy’s reeeeeally good at this. Unfortunately for Eddie, Steve already backed toward the doors.

“Hey, I heard rumors there’s a plunge pool in the other restroom,” said Steve. “That true?”

“Fuck, yeah,” said Eddie. “Big enough to swim in. How about we take a dip later?” Steve responded with an Oscar-winning grin and flutter of his lashes. “Oh, wait a sec.” Eddie dived to retrieve his wallet from beside a vase of fake orchids. “Here’s your one-fifty. Plus, two hundred bucks in advance for tonight.”

“Wow. Thank you.” Steve’s voice trembled strangely as he took the cash, while Eddie found himself beaming like an idiot. Steve had knocked his hat askew crawling under the bath, and now Eddie reached out and straightened it. Steve flushed slightly, suddenly unable to meet Eddie’s eye: 

“Look, you treated me real nice yesterday, Eddie. Sorry if I come across grouchy. Or pushy. I know I can be like that. They’re brutal traits, in my line of work.”

“Not a problem,” said Eddie, not quite believing how badly he didn’t want Steve to leave. 

Steve reached the doors, lightly touched the handle and glanced back. “I mean, I’m sure I can do any weird kinks for somebody as nice as you.”

“Did I tell you I had a weird kink for fucking guys in bellboy outfits?” It wasn’t true at all, but Eddie couldn’t help it.

“Yeah, right. That’s a surefire way to experience my weird kink for punching annoying clients in the face.”

Ooookay. For some reason, Eddie grinned about that for the next hour.

The silence that followed Steve’s departure was still too much for Eddie to handle. For the first time in weeks, he put on a CD—Guns n’ Roses’ ‘You could be mine’ simmering on low volume. He picked up the phone and called Dustin.

“I’m gonna go through your notes this afternoon,” Eddie told him. “Will try and get some ideas going, but no promises. Oh, and don’t you dare call this evening. I got a date.”

Eddie’s whispering demons about the half-lie were drowned out by Dustin’s screams: “Aaaaaaaagh! That’s awesome, Eddie. Hey, how about you and your date double up with Suzie and me. There’s this cool new pizza joint on Rodeo Drive—”

“No way in hell,” said Eddie. He didn’t hang up on Dustin this time. At least, not until he’d gotten a promise from his bud to send a fresh batch of decent weed over.

…

Steve reached Eddie’s suite, slightly out of breath, at seven minutes past eight. He still wore his uniform, minus the hat. He really couldn’t risk another night rushing around dressed like a hooker.

Kline had already swiped fifty dollars off him—a ‘cancellation fee’ that he’d demanded Steve charge Eddie. If the slimy son-of-a-bitch discovered Eddie hadn’t chickened out and that Steve had taken the ‘job’ himself, Steve would be out in the gutter.

On the other hand, thanks to Eddie, Steve had been able to put in an order for his prevention meds. That would take the pressure off his rescue inhaler. He already craved that cool, fresh feeling in his lungs, as those expensive pills did their thing, opening up his airways. He’d put the rest aside to pay off a little more of last winter’s hospital debt. 

Shame about lying to Eddie earlier, but hey, who’d wanna hire an asthmatic call-boy? And last night had gone fine, so why worry now?

Eddie opened the door with a megawatt grin. Damn, Eddie was stupid levels of adorable when he smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey there.”

Fortunately, Eddie no longer wore that hideous Hugh Hefner bathrobe. Instead, he wore a pair of black silk boxers and nothing else. He slouched against the door frame, and indicated with his head that Steve should enter. Steve snapped his mouth shut before he drooled.

“The plunge pool is getting hot and steamy,” said Eddie.

“Great.” Steve stepped into the room, tugging apart his collar, stripping his shirt off. “Sorry about the uniform, I uh—”

“Gotta confess,” said Eddie, “I miss the eye-liner… Woah!”  

Steve had peeled down his pants to reveal a teeny pair of denim hotpants. He kicked his clothes across the room, rolled his shoulders back and shimmied his hips… in sync to a very faint beat.

“You’re red-hot, Baby.” Eddie moved close, slid his hands to clasp Steve’s butt, where the super-tiny shorts cut off half-way up Steve’s butt cheeks. They also cut in like cheese wire, particularly now Steve started to grind the bulge around the front of them into Eddie.

“You broke your no-music rule,” he murmured into Eddie’s ear, arms looping up around Eddie’s neck as they swayed to the unfamiliar rock song.

“My penthouse," whispered Eddie. "My rules.”

...

Part 3.2

(Likes reblogs and comments much appreciated and will feed the bunnies🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕)

On tumblr: Part one Part two or search #thefreakinthepenthouse

On AO3 All my ST stuff on AO3

[rilakeila]

exchange of roses, ep 1: the battle between the two brutes

host club! jjk x fem!reader

ep. overview the former kendo champs, sukuna and mori, face off in a kendo duel. let's see how this goes!

gojo satoru is the head of jujutsu technology academy's elite high school host club with his friends: geto suguru, nanami kento, itadori sukuna, shoko ieiri, haibara yu, and of course, their princess manager. what happens when they go up against another elite host club in an exchange event with different schools? let's find out!

a/n: erm, the next two events will def be more interactive with the ohshc, the club specialty ep will def have a lot of ohshc/jjk interactions. im just being indecisive rn

the clashing of the shinai (sword made of bamboo) sounded through the room reserved for jujutsu tech. the early morning awoken by the continuous practicing of techniques against the dummies. it wasn't as if there was some sort of waver in sukuna's confidence for the upcoming event later in the day. perhaps, it was the weight of his club's reputation because of his greediness and pride from the prior day's small conference despite it was his doing.

he shook off the thought by striking the side of the body with the outer third of the shinai. his concentration was broken only to hear snoring, causing him to sigh. he brought satoru and (y/n) to accompany him. for the former, they were supposed to train together, and for the latter, she was only there for moral support. endearing, really.

trailing over to the sprawled out figure, he dropped the tip of the shinai onto his stomach, causing satoru to jolt and immediately sit up straight, arms at ready to fight. his eyes followed up to the shinai and its holder, "oh, it's just you. what time is it?"

sukuna glanced over to the clock, "8:06."

"ugh, it's so early," satoru plopped down onto the ground, stretching his limbs star-like. he looked over to their manager, "and, she's still sleeping."

(y/n) was slumped over, neck surely hurting. she was at first delighted to watch the two spar and prepare for their martial arts games. she watched intently, handing genuine praises out, knowing both thrived off of them. sukuna would never display his appreciation for them, but she noticed he holds his head a little higher, more tilt in his smirk. as time passed, satoru tapping out by 6:00, both succumbed to slumber.

without much thought, sukuna lightly poked her head with the shinai, causing satoru to swat away the stick. she stirred, only to snap her eyes open, remembering where was, "what time is it?"

"7:08."

hearing the time, she laid down, resting her eyes, "it's too early."

"tch," sukuna turned around, swinging around the shinai.

"my neck hurts," she groaned, trying to massage the crick.

"i'm surprised that you didn't move around," satoru flailed his arms around on top of her, which he earned a heavy hand to the stomach.

"if you two are both going to lounge around, then leave," sukuna chastised.

"awww, kuna, but we've been here since earlier. we're both more than ready."

"we all need to leave, the announcements start at 8:30. i can't have you both missing breakfast either," (y/n) rose to her feet, trying to pull satoru up with her. she eventually quit, when he went deadweight. "sukuna, you don't start until 8:45 later, and your first opponent isn't really anyone that i've heard of. you'll be fine. be at breakfast soon."

the pink-haired teen grumbled, but his stomach seemed to reflect his sound. breakfast doesn't sound too bad.

8:40.

"look, there's itadori-kun"

honey pointed through the glass windows of the gymnasium. there was sukuna, preparing for his first round of the day with (y/n) holding his men (helmet). he was fastening his kote (gloves), which he soon put his helmet on, bonking the top of (y/n)'s head in the process.

"he looks scary with all of that on," kaoru commented.

the ouran host club gathered around honey senpai at the window, watching the match get started. sukuna and his opponent bowed to each other before bowing to the officials with the referees. now, the match was on.

sukuna's personality reflected how his techniques and how executed kendo. teasing, he had a sway in the way he holds his shinai, falsifying whether he would initiate an attack. this would allow catching his enemies off balance, which is when he first strikes.

"kote!" ippon, the perfect strike.

the red flag raised to signal a point to sukuna. cheers echoed in the gym, and the host club couldn't help but cheer with them. the players reset once more in the middle before resuming the match at the referee's call.

"he moved so fast," hikaru exclaimed.

"itadori-chan hasn't changed one bit with his techniques. he's still so fun to watch!" honey said. he eyed takashi, who used to look up to sukuna's techniques when they were all younger. the two never formally met the pink-haired student, however, it's hard to miss those colored tufts with loud cheers when passing through the championships.

the ouran host club watched intently, if they took their eyes off, they might miss an important attack.

however the other player wasn't making any offensive moves, probably unsure how to attack him. sukuna lessened his tough stance, hoping the other would just charge at him, but there was no budge. he started to quickly swing at the shinai, hopefully waking up the sorry guy. however, there was an opportunity that sukuna doesn't ever miss. he trapped the player, giving him the opening to thrust the tip of the shinai to his neck.

the red flag goes up once more, and the bell signalling that the match was over. they go to their respective starting positions, wrapping up the match. cheers roared through the gym, as sukuna removed his men off.

"woah, he's so cool," kaoru marveled, the twins pretending to be kendo players with imaginary. tamaki was already taking pictures with his phone during the entirety of match, which his members caught him ("it's just for reference.")

"his last kendo tournament, he only lost as the referees were paid off to let the other person win. since then, he hasn't been seen competing," kyoya stated.

"he was supposed to compete in takashi's last tournament but he pulled out of it last minute," honey added, earning a nod from the taller male.

truth be told, sukuna only missed that tournament as the host club had a beach vacation at the special request of kento. no one wanted to pass over the opportunity to a holiday or how kento asked for something.

"well, mori-senpai, we'll be rooting for you in your kendo match," haruhi smiled before the twins dragged her into the gym, trying to find seats.

"you'll do amazing, senpai!" tamaki shared a grin before quickly following the trio, shouting after them.

a small smile on takashi's face at the encouragement from his members. honey noticed the contentment on his face, knowing how grateful he was despite the little words the taller expressed. he pulled his cousin down, enough to pat the top of his head, "good luck out there."

even with nothing said, he just feels everything completely.

"the next two sections, martial arts and table tennis, will be happening concurrently at around 10:30. so try to support both groups as best as possible," (y/n) read off from her clipboard, earning a salute from her members. ieiri and yu were participating in the table tennis duo matches, while satoru would be participating in the martial arts (which he found out that the specific art was karate aka not his favorite).

"and what sport will you be participating in, miss manager?" suguru questioned, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

"none, everything is all on you guys today," she answered, in honesty, she wasn't feeling any of the individual events and would rather wait until tomorrow to expend any of her energy.

"that's no fun, but it'll be great having you support all of us. i expect the same amount of attention from you when i prepare for the relay," suguru pointed to the fact that she was helping sukuna prepare for his round earlier.

"he's just been on edge since this morning, figured the least i can do is help him with his equipment," she said, causing suguru to hum in response.

currently, the tall member from the ouran host club, morinozuka-san if she remembers correctly, was completing his kendo round. based on the portfolio kyoya built for them, he was a national kendo champion. the clicks of the bamboo swords heard through the gym. morinozuka currently playing the defensive side, as his opponent continued to play with a set of aggressive attacks.

it was already 1-0, due to morinozuka taking an advantage in the first minute of the match. however the round of kendo were only set for 10 minutes, and it looked like morinozuka-san was now playing for time before he strikes.

that was what sukuna was talking about during his morning session. he was already thinking about what was three steps ahead of him, as he usually does. sukuna brought up as him and morinozuka's strategies and techniques are about the same, and their match might have an extending round.

"look at him go, he has great balance," satoru commented as he watched.

"yeah, he's kinda the same to sukuna with the way he fights, but somehow very different," yu mentioned the fighting style. (y/n) thinks how morinozuka isn't as badgering as sukuna, probably has more patience and firmness.

morinozuka slipped through a weakness of his opponent, catching him completely off guard.

ippon! strike to the neck, and it was game.

"he ended the match, just like sukuna-senpai did," yu exclaimed.

cheers erupted again once the bell signalled the ending of the match.

"10 minutes until the final round with sukuna and that guy," ieiri said as their pink-haired host trailed in behind her, carrying his bag of items with him.

"that was fast, final round already?" suguru questioned. there were matches happening concurrently, but there should have been a couple of dozens.

"a lot of them forfeited kendo and martial arts, seeing who their competition was," kento answered. he was on patrol for (y/n), updating her on any information in terms of matches and the entire exchange event.

"losers!" satoru cried out, laughing, seemingly the only one who found it funny. "oh, come on, guys."

"alright, sukuna, you're up next!"

this is annoying. sukuna's pride and need to be irritating (according to (y/n)) always got in the way. sometimes, it worked in their favor, sometimes not. and in this situation, it's biting sukuna's ass. he never exerted extra efforts unless the outcome severely aided him in his favor. and now, he's stuck going toe-to-toe with a national kendo champion because he decided to say some shit (even if himself is champion, also)

typically, (y/n) or kento saves him (or satoru and suguru) when he's mouthing off, but they didn't.

he sighs while hopping back to resume his stance.

two options: give up by letting up or let run time

both options would result in failure in some way. the latter, in kendo rules, would result in an extension, and he still has to continue playing. the first would honestly just ruin his reputation, and morinozuka would see right through it. however if he forgoes both options and tries, it would seep into the second option regardless.

he's not the type to do it for anyone but himself, but why does he have the sudden urge to just do it for the club. no, he'll do it for himself despite if there's nothing to gain from it. what's the point if he can't win?

sukuna scanned the player in front of him, figuring out what would be the best way to earn a perfect hit. the height difference between both of them wasn't off too much, him just being a little taller than morinozuka. there wasn't many weak points to strike, but he would be able to test the waters.

he pulls the first offensive move since the beginning of the match. the bamboo sticks ring through the gym, both trying to earn a point. at this point, there shouldn't be much time left on the clock.

"this match is a little boring," hikaru yawned, to viewers, the match seemed to be rather long.

"we're going to find something more entertaining," kaoru completed his brother's thoughts, almost walking away until tamaki stopped them.

"hey, wait a minute, it's the last match and the least we can do for mori-senpai is to watch him," their boss made them sit back down, but they couldn't go without a huff. "what do you think will happen, honey-senpai?"

"it's hard to say. i bet both of their motives are for the clubs. since their techniques mirror each others quite well, i think the officials will send them to a draw without a round extension and give both a point in team points," honey said, as he downed a piece of his cake.

takashi tried to lunge and strike sukuna's left side of his torso, until it was blocked. there hasn't been a match where he was so unsure of what he planned to do for an attack, but here, this pink-haired teen has him stumped. they seem to mirror each other's movements and the plan of defense was, and even when he tries to do a technique he has never done, it's blocked. and it's back to square one.

sukuna almost plans to make a fool of himself and just charge without a technique, but it would give kiddish and actually tarnish his name. he could play dirty and force him out of bounds or make him drop his shinai.

however the bell rings, signalling the end of the match. the red and white flags raised. the two concede, finishing with the formalities to end a kendo match, waiting for the call from the officials.

"morinozuka takashi and itadori sukuna, the match ends in a draw. both performances leading up to this round have been tallied, which assumes into a draw. the games of table tennis and martial arts will start in an hour, please proceed."

"hmph," sukuna bows to takashi once more before mirroring his footsteps to exit the middle of the gym. he was rather unsure how to feel about the ending. he finds his members gathered together, waiting for him, grins all on their faces minus kento who only smiles softly.

"you did great, kuna!" their president first hugs him, which ends up piling everyone into embracing their cocky member. despite the uncertain ending to his kendo match, there was no doubt of the one skip in his heart as his club congratulated him.

that's enough skips for one day.

extra

8:40

"do you ever get nervous fighting or like before? do you feel anything during match days?" (y/n) questioned, watching sukuna adjust his equipment.

"no, i don't feel anything," he answered. though, he knew that she wouldn't have a random question without a reason, "what makes you ask?"

"just wondering." she fiddled with the flaps of the bottom of the helmet. "i don't know, i was also thinking about how angry i would be if i was playing a sport and so close to being a champion, only for me to lose because people got paid to alter the outcome."

he remembers that day vaguely, as he just wanted to push out the emotions that filled in him in those moments. so, it was a lie that he doesn't feel anything, that day, he felt everything. not even in a good way.

"that day, once i figured out the referees were paid off for the last round, why try if the result was already set in stone," he blankly stated, pulling his gloves on. the thing was he did try, he tried the best he was able to, everyone was counting on him that day. his host club, his family, but it just had to be paid off. so close to reaching his one goal, only to be snatched away by greed.

"is that why you stopped participating in kendo? because it might happen again?," she always knew, and he wasn't sure if he hated that she always knew.

"no," he was going to answer, but he wasn't sure how to respond anymore without giving her any leverage. he did lose the passion of participating in his club outside of the academy, as well as the one at jujutsu tech.

"hmm.. just a thought. but i wouldn't let anyone take what i enjoy away from me." she handed him his helmet with a soft smile on her face, "just so you know, we all knew you won that last point. we knew you won that day."

with that stupid smile on her face, he snatched the helmet.

and with that stupid skip in his heart, "get out of here."

ep 1, complete.

[rockingrobin69]

Food for thought

“I’m so glad you came,” Potter said with that look on his face. Draco felt himself clam, go small-small-small until his nose barely cleared the line of his shoulders.

“It’s,” he tried through a too-dry mouth, “no problem, really. Happy I could help.”

“I don’t know why it keeps doing that,” scratching the back of his neck with those big Potter-hands. The grandfather clock had been in the Black house for centuries. Now it was showing the right time again, and also, conveniently, no longer throwing darts at bystanders. “I swear it was working this morning.”

“Truly, a mystery.” Draco levelled a scathing glance at Pansy, who was sitting at the counter with a far-too-neutral expression. “Pans, if you wouldn’t mind, a word?”

He dragged her out to the corridor, only barely not by the ear. She had the audacity to smile. “Everything all right, dear?”

“None of that,” in a heated whisper. “That’s the third, Pans. How many times would you break Potter’s things just to have him call me?”

“If you’d bothered calling him yourself, I wouldn’t have to.”

“Pansy Parkinson!”

“Draco Malfoy.” Examining her fingernails with an exaggerated yawn. “Are you suggesting I’m messing with my own colleague? I would never.”

He rolled his eyes so hard his head hurt. “You’re not fooling anyone. Did you forget I actually know you? Potter does too. Soon enough he’ll figure out—”

“That he simply must take you on a date? I’d hoped so, yes.” With a cheeky wink: “Got to go, my show’s about to start. We’ll catch up later, yes? Still on for drinks on Friday?” and she left, the corridor and a flushed, slightly hyperventilating Draco, alone in Potter’s place.

“Erm, Draco?” from the kitchen. “I think I might’ve made too much pasta. Stay for dinner?”

Oh, he’s going to kill that woman.

After dinner, that is.

*

“You’re a life-saver,” Potter murmured, pretty mouth hanging open. On the sofa, Seamus was smiling so smugly, Draco could punch him.

Didn’t. Stood there, made himself small and wished to be not-here, not-now. “It really was no problem. The windows should shut properly now. Have you tried,” but it was useless, he knew why the windows were jammed, and it wasn’t poor maintenance.

His ‘friends’ were just out to get him.

Suppose they thought it was funny? Suppose… Draco didn’t know. Tried to curtail his mortification at being summoned here, again, in another attempt to humiliate him.

That’s what they were doing, right? That’s what this was all about. They knew how he felt about Potter, nothing was more obvious. It was there in pub nights and on their stupid hikes and that time they all went to the beach, it was in Draco’s eyes, in his hands always reaching out, never touching.

“Thanks,��� Potter said, for the third time. “You’re so… It’s really fucking kind of you to. Take care of me.”

Startled, “I don’t—it’s just your windows, Potter. There’s no reason to get all sentimental.”

A loud noise: Seamus, snorting. “You boys are such a mess.” Shaking his head. “Anyway, this was fun. See you two Saturday!” and he disappeared, cartoon-quickly.

(Draco’s been watching cartoons recently. Mostly with Potter, late at night after their friends would leave; sometimes by himself, wearing the jumper he’d stolen and feeling rather pathetic).

“Are you by any chance hungry?” Potter asked from a surprisingly-short distance. He was right there, close enough to touch. Tittering on his tip-toes, like he had any reason to be nervous. “It’s only, I’ve ordered far too much food, and Seamus just. Erm. Left.”

Draco folded inwards, made himself as small as possible, so it won’t start leaking out, all this… foolishness. It was stupid. It would break his heart.

He stayed anyway.

*

“Thank you so much,” Potter rubbed his eyes, this half-grin on his awful, handsome face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with this house. I think it hates me.”

“I think someone does,” with a murderous look to Ginevra, who not only smirked, but also made a point of coming to see for herself. The cooker had stopped frying everything to a crisp, and should be safe to use again. Big whoop.

“That’s some quick spellwork,” she hit his shoulder far too hard. “Didn’t know you were so good with these.”

“Really,” incredulous. “You didn’t know.”

“And how lucky, that Malfoy could come over so quickly?” she looked between Potter and him. “Maybe you should move in. Easier for the next time something bends out of shape.”

Draco didn’t splutter, because he was an adult, but he must have looked rather pinched. “There won’t be a next time.”

“I’m so sorry,” Potter sounded miserable, standing there in his too-tight Quidditch top and those joggers that always rode too low, “god, Draco, I’m sorry I—”

“No!” he cleared his throat, had no hope of clearing his face of that awful, telling blush. “No, it’s absolutely fine. I don’t mind! I meant, I hope your things stop breaking all the time for no reason.”

“Oh. Don’t worry about it. I, erm, accidentally made too much curry, so—Gin, you were saying you can’t stay?”

Draco’s belly made a terrible gurgle. Oh, he’s going to kill all of them. Closing his eyes, he missed some of the encounter, and probably an evil grin from Ginevra.

“Draco?” Potter came closer, and he smelled like lemongrass and thyme, and like Potter, and like summer, “Would, erm, would you like to stay for dinner?”

Why were the gods testing him this way? He tried to go small-small-small till he wasn’t noticeable anymore, but Potter was too close and Draco’s heart was crushed open. The weight of his want, which had to be so clear on his face, this absolute agony. And nothing he could say but, “Yes, yes,” and hide behind his fingers, and endure it.

The worst part was, Potter was a great cook.

No: the worst was at the end of the night, when he kissed his cheek so, so gently.

Draco went home, and buried himself in his duvet, and swore to never play the fool in these games anymore.

*

“This is so embarrassing,” Potter announced into his hands, “I don’t know what happened, it just. Won’t quit it.”

His shower curtains were singing. Non-stop.

“I,” Draco swallowed, and his ribs nearly cracked with it, “didn’t k-know you were such a… big Celestina fan.”

Couldn’t hold it in: laughing so hard he was crying, and Potter was laughing too, shoulders heaving, so bright and so wonderful Draco’s teeth ached. They both ended up on the floor, winded and flushed. Draco loved him so much it was frightening.

“I,” he almost said it out loud, covered his mouth with a hand.

“What?” Potter, laughing. He took Draco’s hand with both of his, tried to pull it away, “What, what were you going to say?”

“Nothing!” in a tiny squeak. “Potter!” when he basically climbed in his lap, still laughing, laughing.

“You have to tell me. I made your favourite biscuits, so you have to.”

“You—did?” confused and bright-red in the face, “Why? Was someone supposed to come tonight?”

Potter’s eyes were so big. “No?”

“So why did you…” Potter always had too much food not due to a lack of planning, but his heart, that huge thing. “You cook when someone comes over.”

“Yes,” Potter agreed. He was so close and so warm. Baffling.

“So who did you bake the biscuits for?” who was responsible for this evening’s prank, he meant, for this torment. Whom should he thank or perhaps curse. Potter blinked his pretty eyelashes, then one big hand came to cup Draco’s face.

“You,” he said. This tiny, shy voice. “I made them for you. I was hoping you’d come. Might have… erm… cursed the curtains a bit.”

Draco would have gasped, but Potter’s hand on his cheek. “What?”

“Well… you never come when I invite you, only when something’s broken, and I, I, wanted to see you.”

No, that didn’t clarify anything. “Why?” Draco asked, and his voice was small too.

Potter huffed something warm on his face. “Because I like you, silly. You must have noticed? Everyone else did. They’ve been driving me bonkers and… they were right. I should have just been honest with you.”

His heart was racing, raucous in his chest. “You know they’ve been playing us. The clock, the windows, the cooker, everything that went wrong, it was them.”

“Not this time,” Potter said. His mouth was so close, so red and so stupidly gorgeous. Coming even closer. “Draco, can I…”

Instead of making himself smaller, Draco went big. Chest expanding, arms sending out and reaching, touching. He kissed Potter before the stupid git could even move, and then they were snogging, wet and sloppy on the bathroom floor.

It was stupid. It was perfect. Behind them, the curtain were still humming: a cauldron full of hot, hot love…

Had to stay for biscuits, right?

For my lovely @orange-peony who gave me a brilliant prompt from this list. Hey, you could do it too!

[the1975attheirverybest]

Real Life – Chapter 2: The First Date

I AM VERY VERY RUSTY AND THIS IS MESS BUT WE GOTTA START SOMEWHERE.

Read chapter 1 here

See character list here

more tidbits under the tag #real life fic or #matty x claire

Matty’s bloodshot eyes caught his own reflection in the glass display of the store in front of him. He turned around to face away from it, recoiling from the truth of his appearance. The silence in the air was deafening. It pained him to walk around his old haunts and see “for sale” signs where booming businesses once existed. Luckily, the pounding headache brought on by his hangover prevented him from dwelling too long on the grim reality. He flinched when he felt a drop of water against his neck, slapping it, annoyed. Moments later, he felt another drop, this time straight to his head. 

“Fucks sakes.” He glanced up, realizing that rainfall was imminent. The news of rain wasn’t as bad as its consequence: he now had to face the choice that he’d been putting off all afternoon. He needed to decide whether to go home, or to find a place to kill a few more hours in; a cafe perhaps, or someplace to at least buy an umbrella. 

Groaning, he lifted the collar of his jacket to shelter under it and rushed into the first open business that he could spot out of the corner of his eye.

“Good afternoon, hello!” A young person, with bright blue hair and a nose piercing greeted Matty from behind the register. Their name tag read “Shay.”  He was at a bookstore.

Matty nodded, awkwardly, giving Shay an obligatory wave as he stumbled his way in. 

“Can I help you find anything?” Shay asked. 

“Erm….this is quite….is it offensive to come into a bookstore and ask for non-book related items?” He shrugged "feels sort of...offensive."

“Pardon?”

“Looking for an umbrella.” Matty cleared his throat. “If….that’s alright.”

“Oh! Not a problem. Our merchandise is right over there.”

Shay had pointed him in the right direction, but Matty had already gotten distracted by a clever book title and wandered off. 

“No, sir! To your left." there was no use in calling after him, he’d already trailed off, gravitating towards a sign by the stairs, and, eventually, descending the stairs into the special events area.

Shay dreaded having to let him walk right into an author's reading.

***

A woman stood behind a lectern, looking down at the book in front of her, reading aloud. 

The next time he sees her is the last time. She’s standing across the room with a bunch of important men in suits, a lipstick-stained cigarette between her fingers. He can't help but notice how the men hang on her every word. He thinks about going up to her but chooses not to. Maybe if he'd chosen differently that night, his final memory of her could've been different. Maybe he would've remembered a different woman than the one who had flashed into his mind upon reading of her death, but for better or for worse, he blinks, and she's gone.

"Thank you," Claire smiled, graceful, at her captive audience.

Matty recognized her smile as the same one she gave her audience that night at the charity event, right after her speech, moments before she'd disappeared into the ether. Quietly, he found a seat in the back row of the packed room and shuffled into it.

"That was...wow." the host, a critic of some sort, whose name Matty had clocked on the sign upstairs but had already forgotten, motioned, breathlessly, for Claire to come back to her seat. "Thank you for sharing that with us....So, I'm glad you chose to read the ending because it has sparked quite the conversation among readers." The host glanced at her notes, "I wanted to ask you, did you always know you were going to end the book this way?"

****

Matty could see her more clearly now that attendees began to empty their seats and form a line for the signing. I remained in his chair, watching her, wondering if he should go up to her. What would he even say? 'hi, remember me? you invited me to your event and i as rude to you.'

He walked around the edges of the room, scanning the shelves, absorbing the conversations around him, and eying her book. He picked up, leafing through it, and eventually settling into a corner to read.

When he finally looked up from the book again, the crowd had mostly thinned out. It was still raining outside and he was still without an umbrella. across the room, he saw Claire leave the signing table.

“Claire!” Jazmyn squeezed her elbow to get her attention, pulling her towards a woman with a press badge. “This is Raven Burner.”  Jazmyn offered a preemptively apologetic smile. "Raven, this is Claire."

“Hi! I’m with People Magazine. I was wondering if you had time for just a few quick questions? Big fan of your-“

“People Magazine?!” Claire’s voice revealed a little too much of her feelings towards the publication. She hadn’t intended to be so rude, but she knew that they were after more than just her writing process, or details about her next project. Her eyes darted around the room in avoidance, looking for an escape plan. Among the sea of faces, stacks of books, her eyes locked on someone else’s. Big, brown eyes, that pierced through her. 

Matty stepped forward. “Erm, Claire? S-sorry to interrupt but…our reservations.”

“Reservations?” she echoed him faintly.

Jazmyn eyed them, suspiciously. 

“Yes!” Matty insisted. “For our date. That we’re going on. right now.” He made a show of checking the time. “We really should get going. If we don’t want to be late. I know how much you love their dessert.”

“Oh.” Claire sighed, “oh! Right! Yes, of- of course. Our- date.”

He offered her his arm and she accepted. “Excuse us. Thanks.”

***

"Thank you." Claire unhooked her arm from his once they were outside. "You didn't have to do that."

Matty smiled, "felt like I owed it to you." he unwrapped his brand new umbrella. "I'm-"

"Matt Healy, I know."

His brows scrunched.

"Or, as I like to call you, Robin Hood."

Matty rolled his eyes. "You remember me then?"

"Rich guy who hates rich people. I tend to remember people who talk shit about me at my own events." she giggled

"It's Matty, by the way, if we're being accurate." He opened the umbrella. "And, I'm sorry about the Robin Hood thing. I...had no idea who you were, and....I tried to find you after the- umm...anyway, I'm sorry."

"Relax, you look like you're gonna sweat through your coat. I'm just messing. It's all good. I have buckets of money what do I care, right?" The blank expression on his face made her laugh harder. "oh, unclench your ass, it's just a joke."

She inched closer to shelter under his umbrella as they stood on the sidewalk. He lit a cigarette and she asked to bum one off him. She was a firm believer that cigs tasted better in the rain somehow.

“It’s quite good.” Matty said as he squashed the end of his cigarette on the concrete. “Your book, I mean. I’m only a few pages in, but I like it so far. 

“You sound surprised.”

“Not surprised….just….” 

She made him nervous and he hated it.

She crossed her arms over her chest, the cold beginning to get to her. "Anyway, thanks for the cig. Oh, and, thanks for umm...." she nodded in the direction of the bookstore. "these vultures, they won't stop prying about my...." she seemed to get lost in her thoughts as she watched the journalists, inside, surround her publicist. She snapped out of it, turning her attention back to Matty. "Anyway, nice to see you again, Matty."

"Erm...no, wait!" he blurted out as she turned to walk away. "Our date! we have reservations"

she furrowed. "They're not real. I thought...."

"They can be. I know a place not too far from here. You like Italian?"

[ghxstlly]

how did feangers (or Becker and pooles lol) wedding go? 🫢

Ive actually wrritten about how their wedding went!

Here you are, for your reading pleasure <3

---

Pacing in tight circles, surely wearing a hole in the parlor’s carpet, Mr. Poole reached shaking hands up to adjust his bowtie for what had to have been the hundredth time as he glanced up at the clock and stifled a wince, for not even a full five minutes had passed since his last check.

“Pull yourself together, Freddie,” He whispered firmly to the empty room, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in a bid to clear his thoughts. “Y—You can do this. Confidence, poise— just like in the courtroom. Easy peasy. You will be perfectly fine. It’s just a wedding, your wedding, n—nothing to be… ah, nervous about.”

Almost immediately, he deflated at his own words, stopping his incessant pacing to sink into the nearest seat, his head falling into his hands. A strange, weak chuckle escaped his mouth, then, followed closely by a distraught whimper as he did all he could to stave off a bout of nervous tears and wondered how it was that he was meant to get through this without having a nervous breakdown.

This had all seemed so simple in theory.

“Freddie?” Startling him out of his fretting, a voice unexpectedly called from just behind the parlor door, accompanied by a soft knock. With a sharp gasp, Poole bolted upright, hurriedly clearing his throat, trying his best to assume some false facade of composure and only partially succeeding.

“I, erm— y—yes, come in!” He called back, and quickly perked up when it was June who entered, gently shutting the door behind her. “Oh— M—Miss Kelly, hello!”

“Hi, Freddie,” She said sweetly, and, blinking down at the hand that Poole had awkwardly extended for a handshake as she approached, giggled and rolled her eyes, tugging him into a tight hug instead.

“Thank you again— I’m still just so glad you could make it,” Poole murmured against her shoulder, voice wobbling slightly as he tenderly returned her embrace. When they broke apart, her hands slid down to his, squeezing them reassuringly. “I—I know you’re busy, so, it— really means a lot.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything in the world. I’m so, so happy for you, both of you.” She beamed, the sincerity in her words soothing over Poole and working to calm his frayed nerves. “I thought I’d stop by before the ceremony, just to check up, see how you’re doing. You look so handsome! White looks good on you— and I love the bowtie!”

Grinning bashfully, Poole glanced away, bringing one hand up to give said bowtie a little tweak, adjusting it absentmindedly as a light warmth bloomed in his cheeks.

“Heh— thank you, it’s, uhm— it was a gift, from— from Ira, actually.” He said, a dreamy little smile playing about his face as he spoke.

“Your husband?” June corrected, and almost burst out laughing when apparently just hearing the word aloud was enough to make a scarlet flush explode across Poole’s face.

“Y—Yea—yeah—” The lawyer managed to stammer, biting his bottom lip and trying in vain to hold back a huge, silly grin. “I mean— he will be in... In about f—forty-three minutes, anyway. If— if things, uhm, run according to schedule.”

“They will,” Withdrawing her hands, June gave his shoulder a reassuring pat and glanced towards the clock. “I’ll make sure everything is taken care of, don’t you worry.”

“Hah, that’s a relief. I really appreciate it— frankly I’m not sure what we would’ve done without you.” Poole chuckled, a note of relieved gratitude in his tone.

“Don’t be silly,” His friend hummed, waving a playfully dismissive hand. “You would have been fine. I’m just here to make things extra easy. So! How’re you feeling? Butterflies in your tummy?”

“Uhm,” Chuckling nervously, the lawyer averted his gaze and lifted a fidgety hand to the back of his neck. “That would be an understatement.”

“I should’ve guessed.” June nodded understandingly, offering him a sympathetic smile. “But, you know— the scary part will be over before you know it, and you won’t even remember being nervous. Try not to stress so much and just enjoy yourself— it’s your wedding, after all. Let me handle the stressful parts.”

Smiling sheepishly, Poole took a deep, steadying breath and nodded appreciatively.

“I’ll, uh— I’ll try. Thanks.”

“No need to thank me! It really is my pleasure.” She said, beaming for a moment before she abruptly perked up and clapped her hands together. “Oh— I almost forgot— before I leave, there is… one little thing that needs your attention.”

Immediately, Poole stiffened, reflexively standing up straighter as worry returned to his face with a vengeance.

“Wh—what?” He fretted, perhaps a tad more urgently than he intended to sound. “I, uhm, I’m sure I can take care of it really quickly, whatever it is—”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that—” She interrupted quickly, raising a placating hand to halt his anxious babbling in its tracks. “It’s just… I really think you should check on Ira.”

Poole blinked, visibly deflating as his brow furrowed with confusion.

“On… Ira?” He echoed cautiously, failing to suppress a concerned wince. “Is… I mean, is he okay—?”

“He’s fine, don’t worry,” June assured him, laying a soothing hand on his shoulder. “I just think it would do him some good to see you before the ceremony— that’s all.”

Tilting his head slightly, Poole held her gaze, wracking his brain for any possible understanding he may be lacking in the matter before humming nervously, almost sounding hesitant to speak.

“Ah… But, uhm… Is that even allowed—?” He asked slowly, and nearly jumped when June made a quick ‘pft’ noise, waving a dismissive hand.

“Tradition shradition, Freddie, no one cares about all of those silly wedding rules. As your Maid of Honor, I am allowing it.” Nudging him with her elbow, June giggled and winked playfully. “He needs you right now, and honestly, I think you need him, too.”

“I—...” Poole faltered, smiling sheepishly as June raised a brow at him. “...Okay. Ye—yeah, you’re probably right. You’re… usually right.”

“I know.” His friend hummed teasingly, looping her arm around his and gently leading him out of the parlor. “I’ll walk you over.”

Sighing softly, the lawyer merely nodded, falling into an awkward silence as he was guided down the hall, across the venue to a closed door secluded at the very end of a short corridor. Though it was a rather short journey, Poole couldn’t help feeling that the few moments it took to get there were the longest of his day so far, as just being outside of his dressing room was enough for the gravity of everything to sink in, a little less than comfortably.

June was none the wiser— releasing Poole’s arm as they approached, she had stopped a few paces short of the door and nudged him forward, smiling encouragingly as he glanced about as though expecting to be reprimanded by some nonexistent chaperone.

“Go on, now— he’ll be happy to see you. Trust me.” She whispered sweetly, turning as she began to walk the opposite way, but not before pecking him on the cheek with a proud, loving smile. “See you soon!”

Murmuring his thanks as she strode away down the hall, Poole felt almost paralyzed with apprehension, watching her a short while before dragging his attention to the door he’d been led to. For a few long, drawn out seconds, he simply gazed at it, his mind wandering unhelpfully back to the swarm of uneasy what-ifs and uncertainties that seemed bent on clouding his thoughts, before he reached up and rapped his knuckles lightly on the wood.

It was an empty pause that followed— a long, uncomfortable silence— before a sharp reply snapped from behind the door.

“Christ, what now?”

“Sorry, it’s— it’s just me.” Poole called back nervously and listened for movement, hearing nothing for a few beats before a series of footsteps approached and the door swung open.

“Fred?” Sounding nearly incredulous, Mr. Becker stood in the entryway, eyes widening a fraction as they swept over the nervous lawyer fidgeting before him.

“Hi,” Poole squeaked, a timid half-smile rising to his face as he waved limply, quickly taking in his fiancé’s appearance, feeling his heart skip a beat despite the knot of nerves that had formed in his stomach. “Uhm— how... are you?”

“The Hell are you doing here?” Becker demanded, ignoring the question as he grabbed the taller lawyer by the wrist and pulled him sharply inside, turning to him with an intense, unintentionally intimidating glare the instant the door was shut behind him. “We’re on in half an hour, are you nuts?”

“I, uhm— well,” Poole quickly said, voice hitching as he tugged lightly on his collar. “First of all, you look great— uh, I mean, really— g—great. Uhm, second— Miss Kelly came by and said I should drop in on you. She… said that you— that you, ah…— n—needed to see me?”

“What? June said that?” Becker barked, and Poole shrugged innocently, nodding.

“Well, what she said was… uhm… Er, y—yeah, that was… pretty much verbatim, actually—”

Immediately, cutting Poole short, the shorter lawyer made a frustrated growling noise, something between a sigh and a snarl as a complicated expression, an odd sort of gruff embarrassment, washed over his face, his eyes quickly darting away.

“Great.” Was all he said, balling his fists at his side and turning away to stalk further into the room, his whole form visibly tense.

Blinking owlishly after him, Poole paused for a beat, taking a moment to observe his agitated fiancé, his brow furrowing with worry at the display, before carefully pursuing a few steps behind.

“Are you… is everything okay—?” He prompted gently,  setting a hand on Becker’s stiff shoulder and ducking his head, trying to meet his eyes, but the other lawyer merely shook him off and continued to fume.

“Fine. Swell.” Becker gritted out, his tone tight but transparently forced in its hardness. Even with his back turned, Poole could see the tension in his shoulders, in his clenched fists, and frowned a little at the obvious lie.

“Nice try.” He said flatly, putting his hands on his hips. “Really, Ira, what is it, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me— you know that never works.” Poole huffed, his frown deepening when Becker stubbornly twisted away as he tried to face him. “Come on, talk to me. I—I mean, are… are you having second thoughts—?”

At that, his fiancé abruptly whirled to face him, whipping around so fast that Poole instinctively flinched, taking a startled step backward as the shorter lawyer rounded on him.

“What kind of fucking question is that?” Becker snapped, a mingled look of hurt and anger flashing in his eyes. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Okay— sorry, look, I—I don’t know, you just— something is obviously wrong, and you won’t tell me, so—…”

He stopped.

Something in his fiancé’s expression had caught his attention just as his eyes met that fiery glare— something so impossibly out of place that it rendered Poole simply stunned for a moment, stricken by the sight.

It was a vague shimmer— a suggestion of moisture gathering along the edges of the shorter lawyer’s sharp gaze, restrained but all the same gleaming unshed in his eyes.

“Are—… Ira, are you… tearing up?” Softening, Poole’s brows knitted together, his voice dropping to a tender murmur, and immediately, Becker reared back, affronted, as though he’d just been slapped.

“No—” He snapped, turning away and bringing a hand up to angrily swipe at his eyes. “My fucking— my eyes are itchy, I’m probably allergic to all the goddamned perfume everyone’s wearing.”

For a moment, Poole only looked at him, his expression growing softer still as he came to understand what it was that had upset Becker so— and, in the process, could hardly suppress the tender smile that vaguely took shape on his face at the realization.

“You’re nervous.” He stated slowly, and watched as his fiancé seemed to deflate a bit in response, his shoulders slumping with a burdened sigh. “You’re… scared.”

There was a pause after he spoke, a heavy moment of silence while Becker visibly struggled with himself, his mouth twisting into a hard grimace, before he finally relented and nodded stiffly.

“...Of course I’m fucking scared.” Becker admitted in a gruff, mumbling tone, and when Poole remained silent, waiting for him to continue, he tightened his jaw, unable to hide the tiny, almost imperceptible wobble in his voice as he continued more quietly, as if embarrassed by his own words. “How the Hell some people manage to go through this multiple times, I will never understand. It’s just… ours feels like such a big deal. It feels like everything— like it needs to go exactly according to plan, but I don’t know what I’m doing and I… don’t want to fuck anything up. To fuck us up.

“And I know that’s an asinine thing to be worried about— but it would appear that all this wedding shit has a way of making me into a goddamn basket case because it’s been bothering me like you wouldn’t believe. I feel like I’m gonna blow a gasket on what should be the happiest day of my life, for Christ’s sake.”

Huffing loudly, then, he turned and raised his gaze, and as he met Poole’s eyes and saw how gently, how affectionately he was looking at him, he couldn’t quite help the tiny, shaky sigh that escaped him as some tension eased out of his posture.

“...Well, anyway. I said it— I’m fucking scared of our wedding. Happy?”

Humming lightly, Poole mused for a moment, fidgeting vaguely before he took a small step forward and carefully reached down, fingers delicately ghosting over Becker’s wrist until the shorter lawyer unfurled his fist and accepted his hand.

“I get it,” He murmured, rubbing his thumb reassuringly over Becker’s knuckles. “Really, I do— for me, uhm… Scared doesn’t even begin to cover it. I am— I’m completely petrified.”

Holding his gaze, Becker studied him almost skeptically, an incredulous frown playing about his face while Poole squeezed his hand, a lopsided, shy grin curving his lips.

“In fact, I, uh... I honestly thought I was going to throw up twenty minutes ago. Or pass out. Or both.” A tiny huffing laugh escaped him at that, his smile growing when he noticed a hint of wry amusement flickering in his fiancé’s eyes.  “Point is, I—I know this is scary, but… you aren’t alone. We’re in this together, and we’ll figure it out. Or… something… Heh.”

Ducking his head a bit, as though embarrassed by his own words, Poole bit his lip and shuffled his feet a bit before continuing, his cheeks flushing.

“Whatever, you know what I mean. We’re gonna be just fine, you and I— as long as we have each other, it doesn’t matter if we don’t know what we’re doing. Together we can— well, you know. Make it work. And Ira, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you could possibly mess this up even if you tried, because... well, uhm, I—I couldn’t ask for a… better partner.”

A pause.

“Really, I mean it. I never believed this day would come, you know— when we met I thought you were sort of— ah, rude and scary. And abrasive. And loud. But now, I think you are the most— the— the, uhm—”

“Okay— that’s enough.” Becker interrupted. Although he was rolling his eyes, Poole could easily see a teasing smirk pulling at his lips, his agitation easing away as he tugged Poole by the hand into a one-armed hug. “Christ, you sound like a damn Hallmark card— save it for the ceremony, would ya?”

Chuckling sheepishly, Poole flushed a little, leaning down into the embrace and resting his head atop his fiancé’s as he returned the hug with both arms.

“Heh— sorry.”

For a little while they remained like that, simply holding one another, enjoying the welcome silence and swell of warmth in their shared proximity. For the first time all morning, Poole felt grounded, protected, as though a heavy weight had been lifted from him while he basked in his fiancé’s secure presence, breathing him in, savoring the moment of peace. Wherever his butterflies had gone, they were forgotten now, leaving behind an odd, bubbling feeling that he almost wanted to call excitement.

It was pleasant, he had to admit.

When at last they parted, Becker kept his arm around his waist, gazing up at him with a fondness exclusive to him, a rare look that made Poole feel weak in the knees.

“...Thanks, by the way.” Becker rumbled out his gratitude, his tone a bit awkward and gruff but the words unambiguously sincere. “That helped.”

Standing up a bit straighter, Poole brightened, biting his lip in a bid to restrain a toothy smile.

“Heh— o—of course, anyti—” He stammered bashfully, only to be cut off by Becker suddenly grabbing him by the lapels and dragging him down for a passionate kiss— one he eagerly leaned into, his legs nearly giving out on him in the process.

Breaking apart just a few short moments later, it was with reluctance, a low, shaking murmur escaping Poole as Becker pecked him once, twice more on the lips before setting him back upright and smirking at him, undoubtedly amused by the flustered, dazed look he’d managed to put on his face.

“Alright, c’mon— let’s go get this show on the road.”

[junkiepunkie]

Marauders fic snippet?

Hey so I thought I’d put a lil snippet of the first chapter of my new marauders fic here and ask people’s thoughts? (For context, the fic is set during prisoner of Azkaban and onwards)

this excerpt comes right after Remus finds out Sirius has escaped Azkaban:

Remus thought about laughing, he really did, the type of exasperated laugh that people let slip at the worst of times, but he couldn't. Everything he had tried so desperately to forget for the past 12 years was crashing into him at once, and he was drowning in it. Could he even go to Hogwarts again? Could he ride the train without James? Or eat in the great hall without Pete? write in a classroom without Lily looking over his shoulder? He didn't know. It was moments like this where Remus most wished he still had someone who knew everything about him. Someone he could really hash these big questions out with. well, Remus didn't quite know anyone who knew his childhood anymore, but he knew just who he needed in this moment. 

He hauled himself with the last ounce of power he thought he could muster that morning and put on his worn, brown Mackintosh coat, and dragged himself out of number 7 Godric's hollow and to the train station. He needed London. now. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remus triggered the cafe door bell upon entering. He smiled for the first time that day at the sound. He had scrapped his plans to visit the job centre and taken a day trip to Camden, where his favourite coffee shop lay hidden down a fairy-light laden alley. "Macdonald Coffeehouse" was painted moss green and burnt orange, with brick peeking out where the wall was chipped in the corner. As he entered, Remus bathed in the warm light and shed his distress for a moment, frozen for the time being in a melancholy hopefulness. He walked up to the counter like an eager kid and waited for a minute before finally caving and letting out a small "hello" to alert those in the backroom that someone was present. 

"oh shit- erm ONE SEC!" a melodic female voice shouted through from the store room.

Remus Laughed. "s'alright Mary its only me!" 

A relieved face peeked out from behind the door. Mary was glowing, six months pregnant and flashing her eye-reaching smile. 

"Well, if it isn't my favourite customer." she grinned waltzing over. "god, you came the one day I made Jill take a break!" 

Remus sighed happily, Jill, Mary's long term girlfriend was a workaholic to say the least but Remus knew that she wasn't long after her top surgery, no wonder Mary was refusing to let her work. 

"Yeah you'll have to tell her I said hi." 

Mary rolled her eyes "tell her yourself! Just come over again sometime. It's been ages." 

Remus bit his gum to keep from tearing up. "actually... that's kind of what I came here to talk about."

Mary raised her eyebrows and pouted the way she always did when she knew Remus was going to say. Without a word she held up her finger to him and started preparing his usual -cinnamon latte- with a laboured sigh. Remus sat at the nearest table and prepared himself for a debrief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remus held his middle finger up to Mary in a fit of laughter. 

"I can't fucking believe you! i'm trying to make a serious decision!" he told her.

She snorted "fuck off with your 'decision' shit! 'oh i've just been offered a job in a mansion in Scotland where I get free food and housing and get to do my dream job, but oh no Mary! it's so far from you!' yeah that a real hard choice."

"uh- it's a castle actually." Remus mocked

Mary stuck out her tongue before she glanced at the shops clock. 

"Christ okay, i can't chat for much longer hun, you know how weirdly busy this place gets at night."

Remus smirked. 'Weirdly busy' was code for Mary's 'herbal tea' hours being mobbed. "of course-"

"No wait. Before you leave we are going to get to the bottom of why you really don't want to take this job."

Remus groaned. He should've known he couldn't hide from Mary, she knew him too well.

"right," he started "You remember I told you about my school? and um... what happened after school."

Mary looked to the floor and she sipped her tea "yeah, the gunman."

"exactly." Remus choked on his lie but recovered as he always did "well, this- this school is my school so going back.."

"feels like taking a trip down memory lane." Mary finished "yeah, you know what I wouldn't want to be in your shoes. I reckon i'd crumble."

Remus frowned gently "nah, you wouldn't. You'd move on.”

the fic is called “we were laughing” on ao3

[kindnessisweakness2]

2

The next morning Emily woke up at 7am, anything but well rested. She didnt get into bed until 3am and despite being exhausted sleep would not overcome her. She tossed and turned for hours, her mind going round and round yesterdays events. Coming home to find that girls underwear and dirty sheets. Her explosive episode at Teller Morrow that left her extremely embarrassed. She spent all last night crying and packing away Noah’s things. 6 years. Gone in the blink of an eye. Tears welled in her eyes at the painful thoughts, the ache in her chest something she was already becoming familiar with. NO. She’d done enough crying, especially over that asshole. Pulling herself up from the warmth of her bed, she forced herself into the bathroom to get ready for what she already knew was going to be a long day. 

Jax watched from the office as Noah leaned against the boxing ring chatting to one of the clubs many hang arounds. He really was never gonna learn. Something about him didnt sit right with Jax. Jax messed around with more than his fair share of women, and he had no doubts about the broken hearts he left in his wake, but Piney was right. Half the men in the Club would kill for a woman like Emily to hold them down, and the likes of Noah just threw it away. He thought he knew everything but the reality was the little runt didnt know his arse from his elbow. “You wanna tell me why your glaring holes through that kid?” His Mom spoke without even a glance away from her paperwork. Gemma Teller really didnt miss a beat when it came to her son. Jax shook his head before turning to his mother. “It just dont sit right with me thats all. Got a bad feeling.” Gemma raised a knowing eyebrow at her sons vauge response. “Oh so its got nothing to do with you being curious about Little Miss Angry?” Jax smirked at his mom. “No. Just looking out for the good of the club, as aways. And trust me, Noah isnt good.” Gemma nodded as she poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. Before Gemma could continue her questioning, they both turned at the sound of a knock on the open office door. There she was. Little Miss Angry. Stood in the doorway looking uncomfortable. "Sorry to interrupt. I'm just here to sign the paperwork for the bike." Emily wanted the ground to swallow her up as she stood there awkward and red faced. "Oh, and here." She thrust the large baking tray full of homemade lasagne and Garlic bread towards Jax. "I made you guys food to say sorry for erm. What ever that was yesterday." Jax gratefully accepted the tray. "You really didn't have to darlin. Come this way, you can fill the paperwork out in the clubhouse." Jax jerked his head in the direction of the building but regretted it when he saw her face change as she clocked Noah still stood by the boxing ring. "How about we sit on the benches instead?" Emily visibly relaxed at the suggestion. She wanted to be the furthest away from him she could get. "You guys head over, I'll bring the paperwork out." Gemma spoke as she took the tray of food off of Jax. "I'll put this in the clubhouse kitchen, the guys will be all over it like pigs if they see it now." Smiling at the pair as she left. Jax couldn't help but shake his head at his mother. She really was obvious. Leading her to one of the picnic tables, Jax sat down opposite Emily. "So stupid question but how are you holding up?" Emily's eyes widened at the question she wasn't expecting. "Yeah I'm fine. I'm always fine." Emily may have convinced her self she was fine but Jax wasnt buying it. The bags under the girls eyes were dark, she looked exhausted. She glanced over to where Noah was stood talking to some girl. He really didn't give a fuck about her. Clearly. "He's been busted back to prospect." Emily couldn't help the shock that spread on her face at Jax's comment. Before she could speak jax answered the question that he knew was coming. "For the disrespect. He didn't earn his place at our table. How he treated you? It wasn't going to go unanswered." Emily Shrugged her shoulders. “Not gonna lie i wasnt expecting the club to do that. The way you tend to treat women isnt exactly good, So i wasnt expecting you guys to care. Thought i would have my angry outburst and you guys would go on about your day. You hardly know me anyway, he always kept me seperate from it. He used to tell me it was because of how dangerous things got. I thought it was sweet, him looking out for my safety. When really its because he wanted to  fuck around behind my back.” Emily smiled at Jax through watery eyes. “First love dies hard ya’know? I’ve stayed loyal to a sad excuse of a man for 6 years thinking he loved me. He was my first everything. Pretty pathetic right? 25 years of age and I’ve only been with one man.” Emily sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Yeah love will make you do stupid shit, until one day reality smacks you in the face. Hard.” Jax smiled at her. “I get it. Fuck, if i could tell you what my first love did to me, you wouldnt believe it. Had me proper twisted up. Even debated leaving club for her.”Emily’s eyes widened. “Fuck thats messed up. Im sorry. Loyalty is hard to come by nowadays.” Jax couldnt agree more with Emily. He couldnt understand why but he felt he could talk to her without being judged. She was different. Beautiful, but different. “Em?” Jax watched as she visibly stiffened at the sound of his voice. “I didnt know you’d be coming in? What are you hear for?” Emily ignored him completely, still staying focused on Jax. “Did your mom say how long she’d be with the paperwork?” Jax Frowned at Noah, “No Darlin’ Ill go and check now.” Fucking Noah. Was all Jax could think as he stood from the bench and headed into the office to get the paperwork his mom had clearly forgotten. 

Outside Emily was praying  Noah would disappear into thin fucking air but god had other plans. “Hey, are you gonna talk to me?” He placed a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. Emily instantly jerked away and stood up from the bench, trying to create space between them. She could feel the anger burning in her stomach again as she looked at the man she once loved. What she ever saw in him she would never know. Its as if the blind fold she had been wearing for the last 6 years had finally been lifted and she saw him for what he truly was. A Pathetic Sad little man. “What are you doing sitting with Jax? You know his reputation. What you wanna get back at me so your gonna fuck a brother?” Noah’s voice carried across the busy TM Lot. Everyone from the Mechanics working away, the rest of the club coming out of the club house, and even customers heard the accusation spill from his mouth. “Are you fucking kidding me?” There it was. The anger she was trying to hold back came spilling from her mouth. “What i do, Who i speak to and who i fuck is none of your goddamn business anymore! Stay the fuck away from me.” Emily tried to leave it at that. She tried to walk away. But Noah made the mistake of grabbing her arm and trying to pull her towards him. And before he knew it Emily’s clenched fist was making contact with his nose. The crunch was loud. Satisfying even. “Carry on and I will FUCK every single man that sits around that fucking redwood table that doesnt have an old lady waiting for them. 6 years of shitty sex i think im owed a good dicking down. Maybe ill save Jax for last, from what i hear he’s second to none in bed.” Emily spat as she smacked Noah again, ignoring the searing pain in her hand. “And im pretty sure as prospect they can make you watch.” The loud whoops and whistles that came from the rest of the club, shocked Emily. Noah sat on the floor holding his bloody nose as she turned to walk away shaking her quickly bruising hand. Jax came rushing towards her with the paperwork in hand. “Come on, after that you can definitely fill this out in the clubhouse. I’ll get some ice for your hand aswell.” Emily nodded as she followed Jax. Her anger gone, and embarrasment quickly taking over. 

[emasstars]

night terrors

dallas wakes up from a nightmare and you don’t know how to comfort people | hurt/comfort

a/n: this takes place early in the relationship, for context. also, how do other people make these stories long????? oh and i wrote this in study hall 🤑🤑

dallas shoots up in bed, his breath shaky as he tries to gather some form of air. he feels like a house just collapsed onto his chest.

he hunches forward and holds his face in his hands, tired of this constantly happening. he hates his brain, forcing him to experience the same moments of blood and tears and screaming over and over again.

he’s supposed to be tough. he is tough. this doesn’t get to him during the day, so why does his brain have to shove it down his throat in the few times he gets peace? or, at least as much peace as someone like him can get. and of course it has to happen tonight, the first night where you’re here.

he hates this feeling—the feeling that he’s drowning. that no matter how hard he tries to get to the top, he can’t swim, and just sinks. dally shakes his head, trying to shake his thoughts away. they don’t fit with who he is.

he reminds himself that he doesn’t care, that he shouldn’t care. he starts chewing on his lip, glancing at the night stand before grabbing a cigarette from the pack. he grabs a match to light it and takes a long drag, releasing tension from his shoulders as he exhales. dally starts to feel the mattress move a bit, and your voice interrupts the silence in the room.

“go to sleep, dally,” you grumble, annoyed by the smell of the cigarette smoke waking you up.

dally scoffs, “i can’t sleep, man. i ain’t sleepy.”

you sit up, rubbing your eyes to try and keep them open. “what happened, why are you awake?

“been thinking,” he quickly says in response.

“you can think?”

“don’t knock it, [name],” he says, sending a sharp glare in your direction.

there’s a beat of silence between you two, a bit of tension in the air. you open your mouth, trying to think of something to say, and then close it. you know you’re not the best at comforting people, and you don’t want to say the wrong thing.

this is the first time you guys have actually just slept in the same bed, nonetheless been in his room. after what feels like a moment of forever, something to say comes to your mind, and though you already know the response you get, it’s at least worth the thought.

you try to swallow away the thumping in your chest. “do you want to talk about it?”

“no,” he instantly says in return.

you can’t help but sigh a bit, sometimes exhausted by how stubborn dally can be. silence falls over the room again, and you notice that he’s fiddling with his necklace. out of impulse, you place your hand over his. his hands are cold, almost like he’s stuck them in a pile of snow during a cold january, and rough from how many punches he’s thrown at people.

he looks at you, and you feel like he’s about to tell you to stop touching him. maybe if it was a bit brighter in the room, you’d see his eyes soften so slightly. he knows his hands are cold and his knuckles are busted, but his heart can’t help but flutter when he realises you didn’t flinch away.

“we can start the day,” you offer. you can’t tell the exact time as you glance at the clock, but you can make out that it’s five-something.

he puts out his cigarette on the nightstand, and you take your hand off of his. he looks at you, seeming as though he wants to say something, but then shakes his head, biting his cheek.

“yeah, sure, whatever,” he says, starting to get out of bed.

you feel a little bit disappointed, wondering what he could have wanted to say, but also a bit proud. you’ve broken off another piece of that wall he puts up, and he thought of opening up to you.

dally crawls out of the bed and starts walking to the door. but, just as he’s about to open it, he pauses for a moment before turning back around to face you. he clears his throat, looking a bit stiff as he stands there.

“oh, erm, thanks,” he gruffly says. it’s clear dally’s not exactly sure what he’s thanking you for, and neither are you, but maybe you managed to help in some way. after a moment of awkwardly standing there, he turns back around and opens the door to go use the bathroom.

maybe he’ll eventually be able to tell you whatever he wants to tell you, whenever he wants to tell you, but it’s clear that won’t be soon. but, that’s okay. you’re willing to wait.