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angelfic · 3 years ago

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— CHERRY RED.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x reader

summary: it's the hottest day of the year, your air conditioning is broken, and all you and your roommate slash best friend slash crush have are a box of cherry flavored popsicles and months of pent up sexual frustration each other

warnings: smut. smut smut smut smut lots of smut and, oh yeah, smut! praise kink, (mild) dom!peter, fingering, (brief) dry humping, ice play? popsicle play? also swearing, no use of a condom because mc is on the pill but use protection y'all. best friends 2 lovers, college roommate au

author’s note: inspired very much so by the sudden increase in weather :) my first time writing smut btw so apologies if it's bad, let me know what u think and happy reading angels! ♡

“Oh, you have got to be shitting me,” you practically yell in the middle of the freezer aisle, wincing when you spot the concerned face of a mother covering the ears of her toddler.

The apologetic look you offer her quickly turns sour when you notice the mother-daughter duo is the reason for your outburst. The reason you’re about to tear off the door to the grocery store freezer and snap it in two like a graham cracker.

They took the last box of lemonade popsicles.

You fight an internal debate, the dehydration from today being the record-breaking hottest day of the year almost swaying your decision not to snatch the box right out of the toddler’s hands, before reluctantly picking up the cherry flavored ones.

Oh well, you think, at least your roommate Peter gets his favorite flavor. It's a little hard to look on the bright side however, when your jeans are sticking to you from perspiration, clinging on like a second skin. Those, and the ill-chosen long sleeve shirt, are the reason you practically run to the self-service checkout counter in a hurry to get home.

You're just about to scan the box of popsicles when your phone dings with a notification.

spiderboy [14:44] bad news

you [14:46] pls don't tell me it has anything to do with our ac

spiderboy [14:46] ...

spiderboy [14:46] ok i won't tell u

you [14:46] parker

spiderboy [14:47] yeah our ac is broken

spiderboy [14:47] can't get a repair guy in til tomorrow

spiderboy [14:47] also we're out of ice

you [14:48] FFS.

you [14:48] i'll get some ice but istg if theres only one bag and that snotty little toddler has it i'm throwing hands

spiderboy [14:48] sorry WHAT.

Grumbling to yourself the whole way, you grab some ice from the thankfully abundant collection in the freezer and get out of there in record time. The ride home is so suffocating that once you get home to your shared apartment you barely spare Peter a glance, tossing him the bag of ice and popsicles.

"Hey," you mutter, having to look away from the sight of him in his black tank top, showcasing his arms. The image of his biceps flexing as he catches the frozen products with his eyes closed - spider-senses obviously - just spurs you to walk even faster to your room.

"Where are you running off to?" he asks, frowning slightly as he gets up to put the stuff in the freezer before they melt in your ac-less apartment. "Come hang out, I'm bored."

Fanning yourself, you laugh at his childish tone. "I need to change out of these clothes. They're like a prison. I only wore them 'cause they made my ass look good this morning."

You see him take a peek at your ass as soon as you say this and you roll your eyes before shutting your bedroom door.

"That they do!" he yells through the door and you slap a hand to your mouth to stop the snorting laughter from being let out, knowing he'll hear the unattractive noise with his heightened senses.

It's times like this, you think as you strip down to only your panties (no way in hell are you wearing a bra in this weather), that you're grateful to be in the know about Peter's biggest secret. Having been his best friend since the early years of middle school, it was only expected he confided in you as soon as he was bitten.

Now you're both in college, he's still Spider-Man and you're still the ordinary human best friend that's hopelessly in love with him.

Yeah, that one may have been a recent revelation, but what can you do! You've always had a little crush on him, but having lived with him for the first two years of college, not only are you even more aware of how insanely attractive he's gotten, but due to his increase in one-night stands since school, you're also aware of your... feelings. Particularly jealousy.

The flirty nature of your friendship definitely does not help matters.

You ponder the fact you've both had dates and flings and the like since high school, strongly alluding to the idea you and Peter will never be a thing, with a sour face as you throw on the least amount of clothing you possibly can - fuck double standards! If men can parade around shirtless in the streets, then you can wear the same tank top and shorts you've had since high school damn it!

Emerging from your room feeling only slightly less like a melted stick of butter, you immediately catch Peter's eye and he chokes on the chilled water he was previously chugging down.

You furrow your brows as he gives you a once over so slowly that you almost regret the outfit choice. And then you remember it's the 21st century.

"Don't give me that look!" you scoff, pointing an accusing finger at him. "If you can wear a tank top without a bra then so can I!"

He swallows and clears his throat, asking you hoarsely, "You're not wearing a bra?"

You raise a brow and fold your arms.

"Is that an issue?"

He splutters and his gaze dips down to your chest for a split second. "No!" he yelps, looking away to stare determinedly at the TV screen. "And stop making me sound like a misogynist, you know I'm all for freeing the nips and all that."

You laugh at the very true statement as you walk over to the freezer, bending over to forage around for the cherry popsicles. Your mouth twitches as you hold back a smile when he goes silent.

"I can feel your eyes on my ass, Peter."

"Wh- I was not looking at your ass!" he insists, and when you turn around to throw him an accusing look - and one of his favorite cherry popsicles - you see that he's scowling. "I wasn't. I was just noticing your shorts."

"And my ass, but whatever," you sing-song under your breath. "What about my shorts?"

Collapsing on the couch right next to Peter, you prop your feet onto the coffee table, facing your roommate to prompt his answer. "Nothing, I just... Aren't they the same ones you would wear 4 years ago in gym class?"

"Precisely, my web-headed friend." Grinning at Peter's growing scowl at the nickname, you unwrap your popsicle, tasting the lip-numbing treat while he does the same. "God, I've been sleeping on these. They may just be as good as the lemonade."

"I think you mean better," says Peter, pointing the bright red stick of ice at you. Sticking your tongue out in response, you snatch his water bottle and it's your turn to scowl when he chuckles. "Your tongue is bright red."

"It's the latest look."

You lean back, pressing the water bottle to your neck and moaning at the cold, frosty relief. The plastic soon becomes warm from the heat of your skin, so you eventually just unscrew the lid and pour tiny amounts of water directly onto your skin.

"Oh my God, that feels so good." Peter shifts in his seat and you glance at him to see his jaw gone slack as he stares the water bottle like it's offending him. You feel heat crawling up your neck and it definitely is not due to the heatwave. "Stop looking at me like that!"

"I literally feel like I'm watching a porno and I don't know if I would rather be the water bottle or you."

His words make your stomach jolt, but you hide it with a scoff, chucking the water bottle at him. Peter may have been bitten by that radioactive spider years ago, but his ability to catch things without even looking still bugs you to this day - pun intended. "Since the other way around is physically impossible, unless your powers allow you to transform into inanimate objects, you can be me."

Shrugging, Peter finishes off his own popsicle and you shudder at the way he bites the ice so quickly. Your own popsicle is still completely intact.

Speaking of your own popsicle, you decide to bring your focus back to that and pointedly ignore his own moans of ecstasy at the chilled water dripping down his neck.

If the heatwave doesn't kill you, this definitely will.

Since the sensitivity of your teeth won't allow you to bite, the artificial red of the popsicle that's bright enough to rival the red of Peter's Spider-Man suit starts dripping down your hand. Too preoccupied with licking the melted juice before it ruins your couch, you barely register the pause in Peter's own ministrations with the water, instead his eyes focusing on the way your tongue pokes out to catch the sticky liquid.

You lick a long stripe up the popsicle and hear a faint groan coming from your best friend. Ceasing your own movements, you try not to blush.

One thing you've noticed in the last few months is that Peter hasn't had a single girl over. Not that you're complaining, but it's surprising since he once confided in you that not only were his senses heightened, but... other things too. Thus, you can't blame him for probably being turned on by you right now.

He never had the same girl over twice, though. You selfishly did not mind this at all. Not that it would make a difference, you think, shaking your head to rid yourself of any ideas and focusing on your slightly disappointing popsicle.

Sighing, you glare at the stick. "This was good for like two minutes, but I'm still hot."

Running his eyes over your body like he did when you first stepped out of your room, Peter cocks his head. "You wanna try something?"

"What?" you ask, narrowing your eyes in suspicion.

He rolls his eyes at your dramatics, plucking your popsicle out of your hand. "Trust me?"

"Well, you are my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man," you point out, pretending think about it.

"Exactly, now shut up and close your eyes."

Doing as he says, you wait in anticipation.

After a good five seconds, you're about to open your eyes and ask Peter what's taking so long when you suddenly feel the icy cold wetness of what you assume is your cherry popsicle, running across the top of your chest.

Gasping at the cool sensation, you don't even have time to properly react before Peter licks the liquid off your chest.

You can't hold back the shudder that contradicts the normal bodily reaction you should be having in the middle of a heatwave, partly due to the fact your best friend just licked you, and partly due to the fact his tongue is surprisingly cold - presumably from the popsicle.

"Oh," you gasp, eyes flying open when the popsicle travels to your neck. Despite knowing what's coming next, you sharply suck in a breath of air, your hand automatically threading into Peter's hair as he laps up the red juice, taking longer this time to bite and suck at a particular spot on your neck. He chuckles when you whimper for a second time, his warm breath scorching your skin. "I-I don't think this skin-to-skin contact is particularly effective. Especially when you run like a radiator even in winter."

"Want me to stop?" Peter mutters, his hand coming up to play with the waistband of your shorts and your brain starts fogging up. That doesn't stop you answering him though.

"Don't you dare," you practically growl and you can feel Peter's smirk against your neck. He pulls away and ignores your noises of protest, but instead of moving away completely, he runs the popsicle across your jaw and up to the side of your mouth.

Painfully slow, Peter licks the trail of liquid from the bottom of your jaw and stops right next to your lips, so close that you can feel his eyelashes tickling your cheekbone. "Peter, please," you moan, breathily, your hand sliding down his neck to grip at his bicep.

"Fuck," he groans under his breath and sits back in his seat, but not without pulling you up and over onto his lap, flush against his chest as he throws the popsicle onto the coffee table. Your lack of bra makes you even more sensitive and it doesn't help that you can feel how hard he is through your shorts.

Your whimper is immediately swallowed by his lips as he seals your mouth with his own, kissing you with enough intensity to literally set you on fire - as if the heatwave wasn't enough.

Peter tugs you closer as he kisses you until you're seated right on top of his clothed erection and then the worst happens. He grips at your hips and pushes his own upwards, making you gasp and he takes this as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

Continuing his assault on your lower lip as he nibbles and sucks until you're certain it's swollen, you grow more and more frustrated when he's stopped moving. You pull away for breath, feeling lightheaded.

"Why did you stop?" you whisper, still gripping the tops of his shoulders.

Grinning like a kid in a candy store, Peter slides his hands up your legs and annoyingly stops at the top of your inner thighs. "I want you to beg again."

You scoff. "Like hell am I going to beg ag- Holy shit," you whimper, falling forward when he rolls his hips again, just once before stopping. "Okay, please, Peter, please."

"Good girl," he mutters, looking up at you lazily through his eyelashes, but with an intense stare that looks like he wants to eat you. You moan at the nickname and his eyes light up at unlocking this new information before attaching his hands back to your hips and pressing your core against him yet again, until your legs feel like jelly.

"Uh-uh," Peter clicks his tongue, lifting you off of him before you can finish and laying you down on the couch. His hand slides under your tank top and up until it rests just below your breast. "You're not getting off that easily after parading around in those tiny, tiny clothes."

"Oh my God," you groan, arching up into his hand, embarrassingly turned on by him despite no proper physical contact. He leans over you and continues nibbling and sucking on your bottom lip, his tongue swiping over the swollen area every few seconds. "Peter, please."

"Please, what?" he teasingly asks, swiping his thumb across the underside of your breast, but keeping his hand there. "Use your words, princess."

Feeling like you're about to explode, or beat the shit out of your roommate, you tug on his hair in frustration making him groan and chuckle at the same time. The fucker knows exactly what he's doing to you. "Please... touch me already."

"Yes, ma'am." Peter presses his lips to yours again and moves his hand upwards, grabbing a fistful of your breast. You try to stifle your moan but it's impossible when he pinches your hardening nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. "Shirt, off. Now."

He tugs impatiently at the material and it's your turn to laugh at the scowl on his face. You pull the tank top up and over your head in one swoop and Peter doesn't hold back his groan, a tortured expression on his face. "Fuck, you're beautiful."

"Stop," you laugh nervously, shy all of a sudden as you try and hide your warming face.

"No, I mean it," he deadpans. The expression on his face is as serious as can be and he places his hands on either side of your face to make you look at him. "Forget giant lizards, you're the thing that's finally going to kill me."

"As much as I enjoy being compared to giant lizards, please pick up where we left off."

Peter doesn't need to be told twice. However, before he touches you he grabs the almost completely melted popsicle from the coffee table and grins mischievously as he takes a bite of the iced stick of juice. Throwing it back onto the table, Peter leans forward with the red block of ice between his teeth and runs it around your nipple.

"Shit," you gasp as the ice melts almost instantly, leaving only his tongue swirling around the hardened bud instead. At the same time, his hand moves down and fiddles with the waistband of your shorts. "Off, please, take them off."

Taking your direct commands as a sure sign, Peter tugs your shorts down, taking your panties with them. He swallows roughly and looks up at you, pupils blown wide. "You're so fucking pretty. I mean it when I say your pussy is going to be the death of me."

Growing more and more frustrated by Peters fingers wandering around your inner thighs, but not actually touching where you want him to, you frown at him. "You're a whole lot of talk, Parker. When are you actually going to- Oh, fuck."

"What was that?" Peter asks, his lips brushing against your ear as he finally runs a finger up and down your slit, your arousal making it easy. Your breathing gets quicker and when he slips a finger past your folds and you find your hips moving upwards trying to make his movements go faster. "No words, princess?"

Peter inserts a second finger, allowing you to adjust before adding a third and starting to pick up the pace as your moans and whimpers continue to escape you. His fingers get faster and faster, the palm of his hand in exactly the right spot against your clit which makes your eyes prick with tears as you continue to arch into him. "Such a good girl... You gonna cum for me, baby?"

His words spur your climax to approach even quicker and Peter can feel it coming when you start to tighten around his fingers so he speeds up his movements. The feeling that tugs at you in your lower stomach quickly escalates until it snaps, pushing you over the edge and you let out a cry of ecstasy.

It takes you a minute to calm down and you would believe Peter if he told you that you blacked out for a second. "That was- You were- Fuck. I need you now."

Peter curses lowly at your words as you tug off his tank top, revealing his built torso that you've helped him stich up and disinfect a countless number of times. You fumble at his grey sweatpants, trying to pull them down along with his boxers, but his hand stops you right at the waistband. "Wait, wait. Are you sure you wanna do this?"

If it weren't for the fact that you could see how painfully hard he was through his sweatpants, you would think he didn't want you. Trying not to smile at how sweet your best friend is, you quirk a brow. "I'm definitely sure. Are... are you sure?"

"Are you kidding?" he deadpans. "I've literally wanted to fuck you since puberty hit. And I've wanted to kiss you everyday of our lives since we were 11. Like, romantically."

"You- What?" you choke out the the words, shocked at the sudden confession and unable to hold back the smile this time. "Are you serious?"

"We could continue to discuss my embarrassingly obvious crush on you. Or, you could let me show you by finally letting me fuck your brains out before I literally explode."

"I vote option two, please."

"Smart girl," Peter grins, pressing one more searing kiss to your lips and nipping at your bottom lip before tugging off his sweatpants.

And shit, if he isn't the biggest you've ever had.

"You're going to break me," you moan, one hand gripping Peter's bicep and the other flat against his chest. If it wasn't for his super fast healing, you definitely would be leaving scratches. He smirks as he presses the tip of his cock at your entrance, coating himself in your arousal to ready you.

"That's the plan," he says, determined. And before you can say anything else he enters you, slowly filling you up. The short, breathless gasps that leave you combined with how tight you are causes Peter to groan and grip the side of the couch. You barely register the seat cushion ripping from his super strength, instead focusing on the way he starts moving inside you. "Jesus- fuck, you feel amazing."

His constant praise and his now powerful thrusts make literal tears form in your eyes, your arousal coming back even faster than before. You clamp a hand over your mouth to stop your screams, but Peter doesn't allow this and he removes it, leaning over to bury his face in your neck. "I wanna hear every sound coming out of that pretty little mouth of yours as I'm fucking you."

He emphasizes this statement with a particularly powerful thrust, bringing his hand up to circle your clit with his thumb and you can't help letting out a scream, the tears escaping your eyes as you start to babble nonsensical words. "Don't stop, please, please, please."

"Never," he assures you, panting as he continues thrusting into you faster, deeper and harder, your climax building at the same time as Peter's. "Shit, baby, you're gonna make me cum."

"Me too," you whimper, gripping his back to pull him impossibly closer to you as you let go, having to bite his shoulder to stifle your scream. "Peter, oh my God."

"Let go for me, princess," he murmurs, lips moving against your neck as you finish, his own thrusts starting to slow down and he shudders against you, the only sounds being both of you breathing heavily.

You stay like that for a moment, until Peter's body heat smothers you and you're wishing it was the middle of winter so you wouldn't feel relief when he gets up to shrug his sweatpants on. You watch him do so, unable to move and the sight of you makes him grin like an idiot. You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he's thinking; he just gave you the best sex of your life, the little shit.

He leaves your clothes and his own vest discarded on the couch, lifting you up in his arms bridal style with ease and carrying you into his room. Once he sets you on the bed, he collapses down next to you.

"So, you've had an embarrassing crush on me since we were 11, let's talk about that," you say, using every ounce of strength within you not to burst out laughing.

Peter scowls, but his expression doesn't match the way his thumb is rubbing circles in the side of your hip where his hand rests. "I was thinking we could talk about the praise kink you so obviously displayed."

"Shut up," you scoff, but there's no malice in your tone because he's completely right. "If it makes you feel better, I've loved you for the same amount of time."

"I bet I loved you first," he protests softly, kissing your shoulder.

Great, now you're back to feeling like a melted stick of butter.

"Hm, I'll take that bet. What does the winner get?"

"The winner gets to take his girlfriend swinging across the city," he smirks, knowing he's got you there when you gasp in excitement. Peter is way too protective over you when it comes to his Spider-Man life and swinging across the city is a very rare occurrence.

"I lose, you loved me first, now take me swinging!"

"Yeah, let's wait til you can walk again first."

#peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker oneshot #tasm peter parker smut #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm x reader #tasm smut #peter parker imagine #peter parker scenarios #peter parker fanfiction #tasm peter parker x you #tasm peter parker #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield smut #andrew garfield x you

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narcolini · 2 years ago

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when the crows come home, 4

part one / part two / part three & ao3 link

angel reyes x gn!reader, part 4 of ?, 4588 words

a/n: screams. finally get to bring in some angel pov and some spanish AND some OCs. im chomping the bit - also theres translations at the end (thankyou @yourlocalspacewitxch love u)!

taglist: @drabbles-mc @cositapreciosa @ashlingiswriting

Angel didn’t mean to fall asleep here. He really didn’t mean to fall asleep here.

He was talking, no, you were talking, he was listening, for most of the night. Until you weren’t. Until you were asleep. Well, who knows which person went first, it doesn’t matter, really. He doesn’t remember. All that matters, is that he fell asleep in your bed, still dressed, and that was never the plan. He was gonna leave, back out the window and onto his bike before it got too early to be pointless. So much for that. Instead, he fell asleep like he was already home, with your TV flickering over him instead of his own.

It’s still on now. He’s still in his kutte too, and he fucking hates sleeping in his kutte. Shit feels like sleeping on a saddle, rigid and hot, so hot, once he starts sweating under it.

God, he hopes you haven’t noticed the sweating. First time you’ve shared a bed and he’s damp under his shirt, behind his neck, across his fucking brow.

He stares at the ceiling above your room. You haven’t moved yet, besides the lift of your shoulders and the push of your breath over him. You don’t know that he’s awake and thinking himself into something like a nightmare.

Didn’t mean to cross that boundary, right, Angel? To fall asleep with you against him, face on his chest, patches probably leaving imprints on your cheek. Santo Padre pushed into the skin in that same blocky font. Way too fucking soon for that, yeah? Why not seal the deal and go have breakfast with the parents, too?

So much for taking it as it comes, for letting you figure your own shit out, before stuffing himself into the middle of it all. If he’d known this would happen, he’d have rode off last night when you didn’t answer on the first dial tone.

Fuck. He didn’t mean to leave his bike out in the open all night, either.

He’s out of the bed faster than he should be, considering you’re sleeping still, but the bike’s there when he looks through the window and the relief of that quickly overshadows any guilt he has about waking you. Thank God, you live in a neighbourhood full of pensioners. No-ones even looked twice at his bike. The helmet’s still swinging from the handlebars.

‘Angel?’

You’re disorientated, obviously. He’s just thrown you onto the mattress like you’re an extension of the sheets.

‘Hey.’ He wipes his palms against his jeans and turns back to the bed. ‘I just.’ He stops. It must look like he’s trying to escape through the window, caught in the act before he can even touch the frame. ‘You good?’ he asks, hoping he looks relaxed, or as normal as someone can be in this situation.

You nod and make a noise that’s almost readable as a yes.

That job shit really got to you. This is the longest you’ve gone without telling him something about himself, or cracking a joke that makes him so annoyed, but so glad you’re back. He misses it like you’ve gone mute.

‘Sorry,’ he explains, though you aren’t awake enough to care, ‘I thought someone might’ve stolen my bike. Forgot your neighbours are, like, five hundred years old.’

You’re propped on your elbows, squinting at him like the sunlight’s blinding you. Your hair’s flattened on one side, your lips are dry from breathing through your mouth—yeah, that’s something he’ll use later—and honestly, you look like you haven’t been awake, or human, in a year at least. But he wants to get back in, he realises. He wants to apologise again, lie down, and put your goofy sleep-struck face back onto his chest like he’d never moved at all.

And that is a very fucking loco thing to be thinking on a Thursday morning. Looking at you, biche.

He puts his hands in his pockets and keeps his feet firmly in the same spot on the carpet. ‘Guess we fell asleep,’ he says, because that’s better than suggesting he stays and wastes the day with you.

‘Fuck,’ you mutter, before rubbing your eyes with your fingers. ‘What time is it?’

His phone’s on your bed still, under your stomach—he can see the edge of it beneath your t-shirt. When he points it out, silently, you oblige, taking it and clicking it once to read the time.

For a second, his gut tightens, because he know’s you’re seeing it again, the photo Potter sent him. But you know about that now, to an extent. He forces a breath until his lungs deflate. The kid’s not a secret anymore. You don’t even react when you see him shining back at you.

Annoyingly, it doesn’t feel like a relief yet. There’s still things he hasn’t told you, things that could make you react worse than ‘I have a baby’ did—though, that, you took better than he ever imagined. Freakishly well, really. It’d be weird as fuck if he wasn’t so used to you and your calculated responses. A lot has changed since you went away, but you weren’t a liar then, and you aren’t now. As far as he knows, anyway.

‘Well, house is empty,’ you say afterwards, words still nudging into each other with sleep. ‘You're good to use the door.’

Like that’s what he’s worrying about. He hadn’t even got to thinking about your parents yet.

‘Alright.’ He nods, taking the phone when you hold it out for him.

Should he leave? Is that what that was? Just a polite way of saying, get out please, we made it fucking awkward, right?

He half expects you to say it out loud, but you don’t.

Instead, you fold back into the bed, arms collapsing under you, head pushing into the pillow he’d been using. There’s no reason for you to get up, he guesses, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling conflicted about it. He almost wants to drag you up and make you come with him, but Bish would have something to say about that. Fuck, all of them would have something to say about that. Even EZ would find some smart-ass comment to make.

‘You gonna be okay today?’ he asks, watching your face, your eyes closed already.

You murmur a yeah. Lying, clearly.

He’s never seen someone actually look depressed while they’re falling asleep before, but you’re managing it. He can see you waiting for the bed to swallow you whole. Something about the way your shoulders are sitting, all tucked into yourself.

He cant help himself; he has to say, ‘Text me when you’re up, alright?’ like he’s got you under 24-hour supervision. Like he has some right to know.

Your answer is another hum, followed by, ‘Go do your job, Angel. M’not a kid.’

You aren’t. You’ve dealt with worse, without him, plenty of times before. He’s gotta remember that. He shouldn’t need prompting.

‘Sure, biche,’ he replies, but you’re already asleep, lips parted slightly.

__________

Letting himself out is easier than he expects it to be. Though, really, why would it be hard? House looks the same as it did when he was there to eat pizza and watch WrestleMania on the box TV in your living room. God, that was a lifetime ago now. You taped it for him, when you remembered, and he’d come round to watch it, sitting inches from the screen. Highlight of his week, every week.

That’s one thing that has changed actually, it’s a flat-screen now. Your parents have welcomed more of the 21st century into their home than Pops ever has. He’d still use the black and white set if he could. He didn’t change it ’til him and EZ pitched in for a new one.

The front door locks as he shuts it behind him, which he’s glad of. Least you won’t get robbed while you sleep the day away. Then, he’s back into reality, down the steps from your porch and over to his bike like nothing has happened. No sleepover, no boundaries crossed. Just back to the grind, same as every day. Feels good. Feels right. He takes a breath big enough to fill his lungs before swinging his leg over.

It’s border work this time, fucking baby seats, of all things. Like he wants to spend his day carting those about, knowing he’ll never need to buy one himself.

He sighs, back curving as he slouches into the seat.

Gotta stop thinking like that, man. Won’t make him come home any quicker.

‘Yo.’ He’s called EZ before even touching his helmet, or the keys in the pocket of his jeans. His brother’s groan cracks into his ear in place of a hello. ‘I wake you up?’ Angel asks, fighting the urge to hang up again. The one time he’s up before noon and every other person he talks to is dead-set on being sleeping beauty.

‘Yeah, actually.’ EZ groans again, then clears his throat until he sounds lively. ‘Thought we weren’t meeting til twelve?’

‘Sooner we start, sooner we get it over with.’ He was already thinking about the beer waiting for him afterwards. Ice cold, condensation up its neck. ‘You gonna be ready when I pull up?’

‘Fuck, no.’ EZ laughs. ‘I gotta shower and eat something first, bro. Gonna be a long fucking day.’

Wrong answer, but it’s too early to argue with him. ‘Alright,’ Angel sighs, ‘I’ll stop by Pops before I come to you.’ He pulls the keys from his pocket and turns the ignition, hoping EZ can hear it through the phone. Hurry up, it says, don’t keep me waiting, hermano. ‘Someone should probably check on him, anyway. Make sure he’s eating and shit.’

‘You nearby?’

Angel snorts; imagines himself saying, Yeah, I’m near by. Wanna hear a crazy story, bro? Guess where I slept last night.

But that’s another thing it’s way too early for, so instead he says, ‘You’re supposed to be showering, fool.’ Then he pins the phone to his shoulder and reaches for his helmet. ‘You got an hour, no más. Entiendes, carnal?’

‘Alright, relax,’ EZ complains. ‘Man, I like it way better when you’re the one oversleeping.’

Yeah, me the fuck too.

Heroin-stuffed baby seats. Ironic even to Angel and he barely knows what the word fucking means. Made to save kids in a car crash and they’re filling them with dope, sending them right past border control with someone playing sweet little Mommy behind the wheel.

So dumb, but it always works. World’s funny like that.

‘That all we’re moving?’ he asks, shining the torch over EZ.

They’re by the tunnel’s exit still, EZ stuffing the load into the cushioning of the car seats they’d brought. Thank fuck, they got to avoid the dirty job this time, left that part to Gilly and Coco instead. He hates going through the tunnel. Shit always sticks to his hair: cobwebs, dirt. He’s the only one tall enough to brush the fucking top of it.

‘That’s all there is,’ Gilly answers from behind.

Well, fuck.

‘Shit’s not gonna last long out there,’ he says, though it’s obvious, but someone’s gotta say it.

EZ looks up at them. ‘Neither are we if it stays like this,’ he says.

And that’s even more fucking obvious.

‘Will you hurry up?’ Coco whines, clinging from the ladder still. He’s poking out the hole in the ground like a prairie dog. A prairie dog in his abuelita’s wig. ‘I’m fucking itchy man, this shit is clinging to me like fucking asbestos or some shit.’

EZ ducks his head again, shoving the final package into the seat.

‘It’d be quicker if you helped, asshole,’ Angel says, earning him a, fuck off, go do your part, in return.

Yeah, don’t have to tell him twice. He can’t wait to get out of this shit-hole and back into the open air.

‘Have you noticed Coco’s got cranky lately?’ EZ asks, once it’s just them again, a car seat in each set of arms.

‘That’s what he’s always like,’ Angel answers, eyes rolling. ‘I used to live with him, remember?’

Used to make breakfast around him like he was cohabiting with a viper. So bite-y until he’d had his breakfast, or a smoke.

‘Probably forgot his morning coffee or some shit,’ he adds, though he can tell by EZ’s expression that he already doesn’t agree with him. He’s got that line between his brows like Angel’s said something stupid again. His favourite fucking expression lately.

Angel looks away before it can piss him off.

‘Pops didn’t get out of bed,’ he says after a minute. ‘House is a fucking mess, too. Dirty dishes everywhere.’

When he went, Pop didn’t even return his hello. Didn’t even lift his head to look at him, standing in the doorway. Somehow, it felt worse than arguing does. He’d rather that, Pops telling him how much of a constant disappointment he is, than whatever this is. Silence stings in a way he can’t shake off.

EZ sighs beside him, switching the seat to rest on his opposite arm. ‘What’re we gonna do, man?’

Angel shrugs. ‘Fucking no idea. I’m not good at fixing people, bro. That’s your job.’

‘Since when?’

‘Um,’ he shoots EZ a look, ‘since forever?’

Since Angel went to Chino, before he’d even turned twenty-one, since he ruined his relationship with Pop and fucked up every good thing he had going for him. Since he scared you away, right out of Santo Padre.

‘You’re good with people, Ezekiel. Pops will listen to you eventually.’

‘Fucking hope so.’ He tuts. ‘I hate seeing him like this.’

You get used to it, Angel wants to say. That’s how it was every fucking day when EZ was in Stockton. But he knows what the answer will be. You went away too, you know. We had to deal with the same shit, Angel. Mum as well.

So, he says nothing, and he sets his eyes on the car of the poor woman who’s gonna take this shit through the border.

Finally, finally, he gets his God damn beer. He feels like kissing it, but he takes a sip instead. Fucking beautiful. He lets the rest of them fall into conversation, along the bar to the right of him—he took the end seat for a reason—and enjoys the quiet he’s pretending he has. Lets himself think, properly, for the first time today.

Until he’s interrupted, that is.

‘You depressed, homeboy?’ Coco laughs, looking down the line, past Gilly and EZ, to target him. ‘Looks like you’re gonna cry or some shit.’

‘I’m thinking. Jesus.’ Can’t have a minute to himself without a fucking interrogation. He rubs a palm over his face, then sets it on his beer again afterwards, rings clinking against the glass. ‘Was thinking if I knew of any jobs going,’ he explains, reluctantly. ‘Got a friend that needs some work.’

Gilly shrugs. ‘Always need more mules going over the border.’

‘Fuck no. Not that shit.’ The idea of it almost pisses him off. No, it does piss him off. The thought of you sitting there, drug-filled baby seats behind you. He’d rather be the one taking that risk. Him and his ‘arrest me’ looking self. So, no, not that. He takes a swig of his beer to wash the sour from his mouth. ‘Something above board,’ he says, ‘legal. Something normal people do.’

EZ laughs. ‘Do we know any normal people?’

‘Ha-ha.’ God, he’s hard to talk to sometimes. So quick, it’s annoying. ‘It’s for…’ He stops himself. Things shared at midnight, in the quiet of bedrooms, don’t usually come with a free pass to tell other people. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he finishes, head shaking. ‘I’ll think of something.’

Then, right on cue, you message him. He knows, because his phone vibrates against his chest, jumping alive from the inside pocket of his kutte, and no-one else texts him lately. Besides EZ, and that fool’s sitting shoulder to shoulder with him.

Thanks for last night, the text reads, and, yes, I just woke up.

He smiles. Then sniffs and rubs a hand over his mouth to wipe it away again. No problem, he types back. You feel better?

He does, anyway, miles better, in fact. About the baby, about the two of you. About being useful to someone who isn’t paying him to be.

So much, you reply. Ready to take on the world.

Shit, watch out Santo Padre. He hopes you laugh at that, lame as it is. Hopes you snort in that way you do. The typing bubble pops up again as he takes another drink.

You staying out of trouble? you ask.

The answer comes easily. Hell yeah, good as gold, biche.

He didn’t mean for it to be a lie, Gilly and Coco just have really, really bad timing. The moment he hits send, and looks up from your conversation, is the exact same moment that Gilly punches Coco, sending him right into the back of a uniformed soldier. Right into a group of them, even, flattening Coco and the one nearest onto the pool table behind.

Who knows what they were arguing about, who knows who was in the right, or how it went from beer-side talk, to a physical fucking fight—between men who are supposed to be brothers, he might add. Angel doesn’t know, or care, that’s for sure. What he does know, however, is that when a soldier throws a punch at one of his own, yeah, that’s when it becomes everybody’s problem.

EZ turns to him, as he reaches the same conclusion Angel has. ‘Shall we?’ he asks.

Angel swallows the last of his beer. ‘I think we fucking shall.’

And, fuck it, he’ll bring the bar stool too.

He was getting his ass beat. Not this time, not now, but then, fucking years ago, in Chino. In the fuck-up that took his stay from twelve months to eighteen. It was a fight that lasted all of three fucking minutes and it got his sentence extended, without debate. Could have been worse, of course. Could’ve ended up dead in the yard for running his mouth, again. He hadn’t worked out how to survive in there yet, didn’t know when to joke and when to keep his mouth shut. How to make friends and who to avoid all together. Couldn’t get it right, at all, until Gabe had taught him how.

That was the first time he’d spoken to him. Gabriel ‘Gabe’ Trujillo.

He’d got to Angel before the COs did, pulled the brawl apart like he was shucking corn. Pulled Angel right from under the guy, Boney—yeah, dumb name, that’s why it started, Angel just had to tell him that—and set them away from each other like children. Got involved before it got too bad, while Angel was still able to stand.

‘Pinshe mocoso cagadero, ‘tás tratando de que te maten?’ he barked, all up in Angel’s face.

He stood in front of him, voice hard like he’d been fighting himself, not watching it happen, and waited for an answer. Like Angel could give him one, like he could even focus on the guy. There was two of him, he remembers, their heads going in and out of each other in the blur.

‘What?’ Angel parroted. ‘What?’

He was bleeding from his brow, dripping red over his eyes. His own head was spinning from the hits he’d taken. He couldn’t understand English, let alone Spanish, but that’s all Gabe ever used with him.

He didn’t look at Boney either, didn’t even address him. Just stood between the two of them, his back to the other man, chiding Angel like a kid.

‘Pues, quieres morir,’ he said, ‘es eso?’

No, Angel tried to tell him, who the fuck are you? No, he doesn’t want to die.

But before his mouth could catch up, the COs had arrived, and then Angel was against the fence, wrists pulled together behind his back, Boney slammed into place beside him. Somehow, that was the worst part. That shit hurt the most.

__________

Once he was let out of the Hole, Gabe had found him again. He sat down across from him, at the table Angel had been occupying, and put a pill in front of his food tray.

Angel stared at it. His face was still too bruised and swollen to bother with pulling any sort of expression in return.

‘Aspirin,’ Gabe explained. ‘I get it on a doctor’s note. Migraines.’

Migraines? Angel looked from the pill, to Gabe, to the CO standing in the corner of the room.

‘Figured your head’s hurting more than mine right now.’

‘What?’ Angel asked, looking back to him.

He still didn’t know the guy. He was shorter than Angel, but older. Forty vs twenty. Thicker too, working muscle with a noticeable belly, and a beard that touched his chest when he talked.

‘Quieres que lo repita?’ He scoffed, and kept his voice hushed as he continued. ‘Tómalo antes de que vean, plebito.’

His head was pounding, so he took it. And he gagged, of course, because he’s always been fucking bad at taking pills. It sat on his tongue, refusing to go down, until Gabe sighed and passed him the drink from his tray. Like he couldn’t even do that himself.

‘Thanks,’ Angel managed, sounding ungrateful. He didn’t recognise what a lifeline it was, what it meant in the grand scheme of things. Now, Angel would go back in time and tell himself to pull it together. Gabe is giving you more than a fucking painkiller, fool.

‘Mira. Kid.’ He switched to English, thinking Angel didn’t know it well enough to keep up. ‘I’m tired of seeing you get your ass beat. They’re gonna extend your sentence for that one, y’know? Other guy’s lip was split, needed stitches.’

Angel scoffed, like that was his fault. Boney threw the first punch. ‘That’s not—’

Gabe put his palm up. ‘They don’t give a shit. Damage is done, everyone pays for it.’

That’s when Angel noticed the tattoos across Gabe’s knuckles: MAYANS MC. He remembers thinking it was goofy, branding himself like that. Then, here he is now, having covered more of his skin than Gabe has, with the very same name. You don’t get it, until you’re in it.

‘I can’t sit and watch you ruin your life, okay?’ Gabe said. ‘Too many kids go that way.’

His brother, Angel found out. He told him that later. Apparently, he had Angel’s attitude and stubbornness, made the same mistakes over and over without learning from them. Angel didn’t know at the time, but Gabe had been keeping an eye on him since the beginning, hoping that eventually he’d wise up. The shit with Boney was his limit. Like seeing a ghost, he said. Hermanito.

‘So, what?’ Angel asked, disbelieving. He’d never had a guy in his corner before then. ‘You gonna make me part of your crew or something?’

‘Pendejo…’ Gabe muttered. ‘You ever think before you speak?’

‘No, not really,’ he replied and, somehow, that chipped a smile across Gabe’s husky features. Sealed the deal for him.

‘Gabriel,’ he said, putting a hand out for Angel to shake, ‘Gabe, if you’re not my mother.’

He took his palm. ‘Angel.’

Gabe laughed at that, really fucking laughed, and Angel smirked back like he was in on it.

‘Angelito,’ he said, once he’d wound down again, ‘ah, qué chistoso. You stick with me, you might even start enjoying yourself, kid.’

Yeah, not quite. But, he’d kept him straight after then, and when he got out before Angel did, he sent him mail and called and—fuck, Angel really should ring him soon. It’s been too long.

You’d like Gabe, really. He’s your sort of person, doesn’t talk until he has something to say. Doesn’t lie either, just gives you whatever he thinks is right, as long as it’ll serve a purpose. If he wasn’t in Oakland, Angel would introduce you to him before anyone else, before anyone in Santo Padre leathers at all. Hell, he’d take you to fucking dinner at his house. Gabe’s approval almost means more to him than Pop’s does.

But that’ll never happen. You won’t even get close.

Bishop is in a bad fucking mood. Obviously, news of the fight at the bar hadn’t gone down well and they’d been scolded for it, in front of the whole damn club. Never gets any easier. He never gets any leeway either, no matter how high he goes. Angel’s made it to secretary now and still, when you’ve fucked up, you’ve fucked up. Bish has no problem reminding him, or anyone, of that.

But, he gets it. He gets it. Scrapping with military men in public does nothing for the club’s rep, but, man, shit happens sometimes. Bishop would’ve acted the same damn way if he was there.

Angel’s outside now, smoking on the clubhouse steps like the cigarette might drag all the shitty feelings out of him, pull it right up from his stomach, into his lungs, off into the fucking air with the smoke. It isn’t working yet. Maybe on the next drag.

‘Hey,’ Bish appears behind him, halfway out the door, ‘I’ve changed my mind. I want bodies tonight.’

Angel nods.

‘Be back here at midnight.’ He holds his gaze. ‘No more fucking about, Angel.’

‘Yeah, got it.’ Loud and clear. ‘Midnight,’ he agrees and then el presidente disappears again.

Fucking attitude.

Sometimes, he misses Oakland. He even misses Marcus, of all people. The guy had the leash so tight, Angel never got in trouble in the first place, never got scolded for things, because he never stepped out of line. He didn’t know he could miss that until recently.

Marcus you wouldn’t like, he thinks, or maybe you would. He can’t tell. Maybe you’d like him for what he’d done, him and Gabe both. They’d moulded Angel into something worthwhile, after all. Someone worth coming back to.

A whining engine catches his attention, Chucky’s dumb little vespa pulling into the lot in front of him. There’s a box balanced on the back of it, tied down with a fraying bit of string. Knowing Chucky, it’s something edible, in way too big of a quantity, that absolutely nobody has asked for. Donuts, or some shit. He’s always playing housewife when he has actual yard work to be doing.

Ah, now, that’s an idea.

‘Hey, Chuck?’ He finishes his cigarette, snuffing it beneath his boot before taking the steps onto the gravel. ‘You got a minute?’

Chucky beams, nodding quickly as he kicks the stand down. The unclipped straps of his helmet bounce by his chin. ‘For you, Angel? Always, brother.’

He smiles back and tries to make it look genuine. Chucky has a real talented way of making things sound fucking weird.

‘You ever feel like you need an extra pair of hands around here?’ He winces as soon as he asks it, Chuck’s wooden fingers already up and wiggling between them. ‘Sorry, you know,’ he sighs, ‘you get what I’m saying.’

‘Sure,’ Chucky agrees, nodding again.

It’s a twitch, it must be. His nerves are rattling out through his skull.

Angel carries on despite it. ‘We got room to take on someone else?’

‘I think so,’ Chucky replies. ‘Who d’you have in mind?’

------

part five >>>>

‘Pinshe mocoso cagadero, ‘tás tratando de que te maten?’ = Fucking little shithead/kid/brat, are you trying to get yourself killed?

'Pues, quieres morir, es eso?’ = Well, you want to die, is that it?

‘Quieres que lo repita? Tómalo antes de que vean, plebito.’ = You want me to repeat it? Take it before they see, dumbo.

qué chistoso = how amusing/silly

#angel reyes x you #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfic #HOOOOO BOY!#gabe i will die for you i hope the people will agree

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machinegunbun · 3 years ago

Note

concept: so i know we think of colson as this really rough guy when it comes to sex, but what about soft!dom col where he's strict but caring, and maybe the reader even has a bit of a praise kink. ❤❤

Omg yess

word count: 1.3k

A/N: sorry theres not a lot of smut, my brain got to wandering and I didn't feel the horniest so maybe pt.2? tons of fluff tho and its good to be back :)

Okay, so.

I'm thinking maybe reader has a past that left them uncomfortable with intimacy, whether from a relationship or otherwise. They're still super into freaky shit, but they need to feel comfortable first.

Does that make sense? Like, they need that safety blanket there first.

So obviously at first meeting Colson was scary, because to an outsider (especially early kells) he's this chaotic, sex machine.

It's clear to everyone that Reader is obviously attracted to him, and they are. They love the idea of doing all this kinky stuff with him, and at first Colson being Colson comes on kinda strong with the flirting, which makes them a little nervous to pursue anything.

But, one day, reader is hanging out with the gang (I imagine she's friends with Ashley [ that is his assistants name, right? God, it's been so long ] ) Maybe they're at a restaurant, nothing fancy just something where you seat yourself, and everyone squeezes into a booth, deliberately leaving no room for Colson and Reader, pointing to a two seater across the way.

You sit just far enough away from the group that you're out of earshot, and you can see them peeking the heads up and around the booth to try and catch a glimpse of what you're saying.

It's awkward at first, you're expecting him to drop some flirtatious joke that makes you choke on your drink, but instead he asks you how you met (whoever you're connected to in the group.) You tell him the story and return the question. He opens up about the fact that they're a day one, and even tells you about some of the stuff they went through together, good and bad. It's the first time you'd seen Colson not crazy or off something. He wasn't kicking out a windshield or hanging from the roof by a metal beam, he just was.

It was then that you realized the difference between MGK and Colson baker, and that before today at this restaurant you'd never met the latter.

Colson was able to express himself a lot better than MGK ever seemed to, at least when it came to you. He inquired a lot about you as a person, but the moment was ruined when you were in the midst of exchanging deep personal stories and Rook shot his straw wrapper at Colson and it bounced off his forehead and into his drink. Colson stood to return the favor, his story completely abandoned.

You didn't get a chance to speak to him like that again until two weeks later, when you met up once again in his hotel room. You were both sat on his bed watching spongebob, waiting for Rook, Slim and Baze to return with the bucket of ice. It wasn't a secret to anyone what they were doing, it didn't take three grown men to find an ice machine.

You didn't mind though.

Colson made you a little less nervous now that you'd seen him as someone other than the party animal you'd come accustomed to on stage. He was actually pretty cool, and really funny when he wasn't stressing you out with his antics.

When you asked him if he would finish his story for you he looked surprised.

"Oh, wow. You remember that?"

"Yeah, of course I do. It feels like the first time I ever really got to talk to you." He seemed uncomfortable at first, but continued with his story nonetheless.

The conversation flowed effortlessly until you began talking about how you always found Colson so interesting. He did things that terrified you like they were nothing. You admired his grab life by the balls attitude, and somewhere along the way of your ranting you opened up about how nervous intimacy made you. How most of the time the only way you could ever get off was by masturbating.

You hadn't even brought it up with him in mind, but the relation clicked immediately for him.

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry."

"No, it's really nothing," you laugh nervously "I think it's just anxiety, I dunno. I'm paranoid."

"No, no. I'm sorry for the way I always talk about you— To you." he corrected "I never realized it made you uncomfortable. You always seemed into it, but I should've been more considerate and I'm sorry. I never would have— If i'd known I was making you uncomfortable—" He rambled

"Colson, it's fine." You cut him off "I mean, I am into a lot of the same stuff as you, It's just... I tend to like the concept a lot more than the reality because I am worried, and I need to feel safe before I can even consider something like that."

Colson must've really taken the conversation to heart, because he treated you a lot differently after that. When he'd heard that his loud onstage personality made you a little nervous he was sure to cool it when he was around you. He made sure to address you directly more often when you hung out in groups, whether to joke with you or as a conversation starter. He hadn't realized how uncomfortable and ostracized you'd been feeling in the group aside from your connection to it, but he was determined to change that.

It took a little bit, but eventually you really were comfortable with him, even when he was acting wild. You realized that being an anxious person and being around someone loud like him that you didn't really know was a little off-putting. Large crowds were hard enough for you, but with constant abrupt movement and noise it only worked to make you more anxious. Once you knew Colson a little better it didn't bother you as much, and he even helped you to become a little more comfortable and a little less anxious.

So when you found yourself in his hotel room once again, finishing the tail end of a family guy episode, you decided to make your move.

You weren't really sure how to start. Not with Colson.

You managed to awkwardly snuggle your way into his side, to which he gladly obliged, but you both remained silent apartment from the episode flashing on the tv. Glancing up at Colson, he stared blankly at the TV, glimpsing down to you momentarily to see what you were looking at him for. Your eyes returned to the TV soon after, your hand finding its resting spot just above his XXX tat.

You could feel Colson's chest shake softly with laughter. You tried to remember what had just happened in the show, but you were so busy anxiously devising your master plan to seduce him that you completely blanked. You could feel your heart beating in your chest. All you wanted was for him to blindfold and tie you to the bed and fucking own you. Everything about him drove you crazy. From his voice to his tats to his eyes to that fucking hair. God, you wanted nothing more than to have him between your legs while you tugged at those beautiful curls.

Your hand drifted lower, your nails scraping softly across his skin. This time he audibly chuckled.

"Are you tryna fuck me?" he asks, causing you to blush. It wasn't that you thought you were being sly, but you didn't expect to be confronted like that.

"I-"

"You're good, it's cute that you're shy, I just don't fuck with that teasing shit so, unless you wanna get yourself in trouble..." Although the words were harsh, his tone was soft. Things progressed quickly after that, your lips meeting in a heated kiss to your hands pinned above your head, his mouth moving to your neck as he whispers in your ear

"What's your safe word, princess?"

~*~*~*~

taglist

@kidtheekid

@cclynn88

@lonerlee

@madisonmgklover22

@bakedcolson

@triplexdoublex

@chokemeshaw

@myfatbottomedgirls

@friedwangsss

@rumoured-whispers

@sunflowerbebe07

@nichmeddar

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lavenderjacobs · 4 years ago

Text

fluff alphabet - Sapnap

➳ wc; 2,1K (she’s a long one lol) ➳ pronouns; gender neutral<3 ➳ song reccomendation; heart eyes - coin

A=Attractive (What do they find most attractive in a partner?)

nick’s an ass guy and you can’t convince me otherwise. he’s also just loves your thighs and your stomach. he loves how soft your skin is, and how good you smell. whenever he’s sad he just rests his head on your stomach while you tangle you fingers in his hair.

B=Best memory (Their favourite memory of you)

he cherishes your first kiss so much. he just has such a soft spot for that memory. the moment he finally found out you felt the same about him, the moment he finally found out what your lips against his felt like. it’s just something he had looked forward to for forever, and to him, it was perfect.

C=Cuddles (What type of cuddles do they like?)

sapnap is a WHORE for cuddles. if it where up to him, you two would just lay in bed all day, tangled in each other’s arms. after a long day, he just wants to hold his favourite person and fall asleep with them, so he just wraps his arms around your waist while he uses your chest as a pillow. but if he’s in a chatty mood, he’ll just talk your ears off, ranting about something he finds interesting, while you’re all snuggled up in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

D=Dirty mind (Do they have a dirty mind?)

I mean, come on. it’s sapnap. we all know he does. he gets *excited* very easily, which can sometimes get in the way when you two are just trying to cuddle. he just has such a soft spot for your body and has to have his way with you once certain ideas have entered his mind.

E=Effort (How much effort do they put in the relationship?)

nick would definitely try his best. honestly you don't care if his plans actually turn out the way he intented them to, it's the thought that counts. and nick knows that. but theres just something about you that makes him want to spoil you and treat you like a princess. so prepare yourself for fancy dates, him making you your favorite food, all that type of stuff.

F=First date (What was your first date together)

arcade date arcade date arcade date. sap is super competitive and I feel like he would thrive in an arcade. he would play it off like he was just trying to proof how good he was at the arcade games. but he'd just love to see how hard you would be trying to beat him. obviously he'd let you win a lot, and when he collected enough tickets, he would get you the biggest prize he could find.

G=Gentle (How gentle are they with you?)

it....depends???? lmao. nick CAN be super gentle with you, he’s pretty protective of you and would never want you to get hurt, so he’s definitely very careful not to do anything to hurt you. but sometimes his instinct just kinda takes over and well, he can get pretty rough.

H=Hands (Do they have nice hands?)

hmmm nick has like,,very manly hands,, if you know what i mean. i dont know, they're just so rough but yet so pretty??? and they're like really big compared to yours so when he holds ur hand, yours looks so tiny in his. and omg he won't shut up about it. "LOOK AT YOUR HANDS THEY'RE SO SMALL🥺"

I=Impression (What was their first impression?)

he just thought you were so ~cool~. like he immediately knew he wanted to be your friend. he was just so in awe of how funny, chill and charismatic you were. and it literally took two days for him to develop a crush on you. his friends would notice this right away and tease him about it so much omg.

J=Jealousy (Do they get jealous often? If so what do they do?)

YUP. nick gets jealous so easy yup yup yup. jealousy, protectiveness, possessiveness, you name it. you two would often get in fights about this, but most of the time you would just think it’s cute how riled up he gets. he doesn’t get mad at you (because you’re his precious little baby and can do no wrong in his eyes :D) but god help the souls of whoever tries to flirt with you, because they’ve got a hell of a storm coming.

K=Kisses (What type of kisses do they like/give?)

god nick’s such a passionate kisser. or at least he can be lol. he loves the way your face fits into his hands, and how soft your lips are. so he definitely is a fan of just some wholesome passionate kisses. but damn this man gets sloppy when he wants to. his lips constantly trails off to your jaw, neck and collar bones.

L=Love (Do they show their love?)

i feel like his love language would be like a mix between words of affection and physical touch??? he’s definitely very verbal with his love for you. he doesn’t shy away from saying i love you or letting you know how much he appreciates you in any other way.

M=Memory: (Their favourite memory in general?)

there are certain moments where nick just sits back, watches, and realizes how amazing his life is. and how grateful he is to have you. for example, you were playing minecraft on his pc, and your house kept getting blown up by creepers, he found it adorable how mad you got every time. he just watched you play, while sitting on his bed. after a while, you looked over at him, and caught him staring. “what?” you asked after letting out a soft chuckle. he felt like he was gonna explode from how much he loved you.

N=Nickname (What nicknames do they call you?)

i’m getting very strong “baby” and “doll” vibes from nick. he loves baby-ing you and smothering you with other loving nicknames. just any petnames that show how much he loves you he’s all for. he would also love calling you “pretty” or “beautiful” for obvious reasons.

O=Over (What happened the one time you ‘broke up’?)

nick HATES fighting with you, but once you two get into an argument he can get pretty carried away. he’s definitely the type to let his emotions get the upper hand on him. raising his voice a lot, stuff like that. but the second you leave to get some space he just breaks down. sliding down the wall and resting his face in his hands, just letting all the emotions out. he never meant to hurt you. when you came back to him, ready to be enclosed in his arms again, he had a hard time letting you back in. he just felt like he didn’t deserve you after he treated you like this. it took some convincing, but once you broke down his walls again, it was like he gave you all the love in his body. just smothering you with “i’m sorry”s and kisses.

P=Parents (What would they be like as a parent?)

dilfnap dilfnap dilfnap omg he’d be such a good dad. like just very caring and loving, but also strict and stern when he needs to be. he’d constantly be telling stories to the kids about the absurd adventures him and his friends would get into, and omg the dad jokes he’d make. idk maybe it’s my daddy issues but dad sapnap lives in my mind rent free.

Q=Quirk (Something special about them)

he loves holding your hand. especially in public. if you’re in a crowded space, he just holds onto you very tightly as not to lose you. or if you two are just going on a walk together, his hands would just feel so warm and soft around yours. and omg he loves it when his hands are in his pockets, and you put your hands in there with him, and intertwine your fingers with his. hmmm he gets so soft when you do that.

R=Romantic (How romantic are they?)

i- uh- I MEAN HE WOULD TRY he really would, and again, that’s all that matters. I feel like he would be the type to try to prepare a whole surprise dinner, he would cook all the food himself, he would set the table all cute, with candles and shit, but just completely ruin the surprise by accidentally giving it all away by saying something or just behaving very obviously suspicious.

S=Sad (What are they like when they’re sad?)

he just gets really quiet. he would never want to bother you or be a pain in the ass by complaining to you. but obviously you notice when something is wrong with ur bby boy. a sentence like “are you okay?” or “what’s wrong?” would immediately send him over the edge, burying his face in your chest, trying his best to supress his sobs. but he eventually calms down, and once he does, he’s able to just rant to you about whatever is bothering him.

T=Together (What are they like when you’re together?)

i feel like it would really depend on his mood, like he could be either SUPER chill, just wanting to savour the time you two had together. or he could be really hyper, constantly talking, wanting to do all kinds of activities with you. he’d be the literal definition of :D

U=Understanding (How understanding and empathetic are they?)

very. i just get such empathetic vibes from him. he’s such a good listener and he’ll just listen to you talk whenever you have something to be upset about. he never invalidates your feelings and omg he’d give the best advice.

V=Value (What do they value most about the relationship?)

he loves that he can 100% be his self around you. there’s no part of his personality that he feels like he has to hide, or tone down, whenever he’s with you. you also aspire him to be his best self, he just wants to be the best boyfriend in the world. all his friends have noticed this too, you bring out the best in him.

W=Wedding (Would they want marriage? If so what would they like?)

eh. if you’re a person who really values marriage, he’d 100% do it for you. but it’s not like he HAS to. he gets a bit scared by the idea of this whole big event, where everything is about you two, he would way rather celebrate the love you two have in the comfort of your own home, just the two of you. the one thing he would love about a wedding, would be seeing you all dolled up, walking down the aisle, omg he’d be the proudest man ever to be able to call you his.

X=X-Ray (How well can they read you?)

the SECOND you start to feel sad or depressed in any way, nick notices immediately. he knows you better than anybody else, and he knows exactly what to do to cheer you up. it’s like his superpower. if you’re feeling anxious he’ll just wrap his arms around you really tightly, holding on to you until you calm down. and when you’re sad, and in need for something to cheer you up, he’ll take you outside for a walk in the park, or he’ll just sit in bed with you, watching your favourite show.

Y=Yuck (What they would never want in a partner)

he hates when you flirt with his friend, even when you’re very obviously joking. his jealous ass can’t deal with that lmao. he also gets super pissed when his friends make flirtatious jokes towards you, they know how much it gets on his nerves and that’s really the only reason they do it. but omg he gets so pissed when it happens.

Zzz (How do they sleep around you?)

nick would be the cutest sleeper ever omg. he doesn’t like to admit it, but he loves being little spoon. he loves resting his head on your chest, while you play with his hair, patiently waiting for him to fall asleep.

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shorkbrian · 4 years ago

Text

Infuriated

Prelude - ok.

Y’all are so horny for Levi Sir and I get it he’s hot lol. I am trying to get to everyone’s asks I promise!!! Also it’s up to you why Levi is mad lol

Prompts -

Pairing - Levi Ackerman X Reader

Warnings - NSFW, dubcon, noncon, choking, mentions of snuff, emotionally compromised Levi, overstim.

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/2f2hbFjim051DVx0o8o4rU?si=5waL376sSRSqjN2j8G0Y8w

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He comes home in a bad mood.

He shuts the door quietly, and it’s clear he’s beyond pissed. Past the point of yelling, of slamming the door and causing you to flinch with the indicator of his foul mood. It’s not you he’s mad at, but it might as well be. He finds himself wanting to break something, but not dishes or glass, just you.

Wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze till your breath rattles in your chest.

Levi finds you in the living room, standing by the hallway with wide eyes, shrinking against the wall. You thought you could avoid getting his anger taken out on you if he didn’t catch you while you were lounging on the bed. Hoping the man wouldn’t strip you bare and crush your soul like he had so many times before.

He’s so enraged that he can’t even think of the event that provoked him to such a state in the first place.

“Come here.” He stops in his tracks when he sees you, hands flicking to his tie so he can unknot it, loosen it from his neck. It’s not often he gets this angry, warm and burning, filled with emotions that he doesn’t know how to process, doesn’t even really want to.

“Come here.” Levi repeats himself, eyes burning when you still don’t move, as you begin to shake. You’re afraid of him again, good.

You had gotten past that, at least to the point where you could hide your fear of the man. Tamp it down beneath submission and pleasure, because doing what he says meant getting fair treatment.

But you aren’t doing what he says. You’re cowering against the wall, and Levi’s furious. You’re meant to follow his every order, know what he wants you to do before he even has to say, and yet you’re ignoring him as if you had the luxury of making that decision.

His shoes click across the tile as he strides towards you, already unbuckling his pants with sharp movements. When he reaches you, your frightened eyes pleading, the rise and fall of your chest quickening. Levi bets if he checked, your pulse would be fluttering, fast, like a scared little bird.

Your head snaps to the side when his hand connects with it, the sharp sound echoing throughout his home.

“Take off your pants.” Clothes are a luxury he’s been allowing, but this blatant disobedience when he’s already fuming will result in punishment.

Trembling hands fly to your pants, and Levi almost wants to laugh at the expression in your face as you turn it back, cheek reddening immediately. You should’ve came when he called you.

He doesn’t bother to take his slacks off all the way, barely pushing them down to his thighs before taking his cock in hand. He’s not even hard, but he needs to fuck something, focus on a different emotion than the fury settled deep in his bones. The satisfaction of how easily you break under his hands, the pleasure of filling you, stretching you past your limit, the way you draw him in like that’s where he belongs, even though it’s obvious you want to be anywhere but with him.

The hand on his cock is too dry, too rough, but that doesn’t matter. Levi’s able to pump himself to hardness as you fumble with your pants, almost falling as you slip them off.

With a quick movement, he’s slamming you hard against the wall, breath punching out of you, head hitting the wall and dazing you.

Levi spits in his hand, takes it between your legs and rubs his saliva where it’s needed. There’s no way you’re wet, no way you’re ready to take him. But if there’s a little blood, there’ll be a little blood. Levi can clean it off your thighs later.

It hurts when he starts pushing inside, the head of his cock breaching your hole far too fast. The crushing realization that he isn’t going to actually prep you is evident across your face, obvious by the panicked little whine that falls from your lips.

“Shut up.” He can’t stop himself from snapping at you, irritated at the noise.

He’s focused on filling you, the too-tight squeeze around his length and the overwhelming heat of your body where he’s pressed against you. At least you know better than to try and fight him, hands only clutching his shoulders, not trying to push him away, just trying to hold on.

What he would do if you struggled now, Levi doesn’t know. It’s possible he might break something important, push too hard, forget his own strength as he throttles the life out of you.

That reminds him.

The hand not guiding his cock into you rises to your throat, grasps the smooth column tightly, tight enough to feel the ridges of your esophagus, spongey and delicate. If he squeezes a bit harder, Levi wonders if it would collapse, crumbling beneath his fingers like tissue paper.

But your loss would make him inconsolable, so he reigns in his wrathful curiosity, his impulsive side that only sees the sun when he’s furious.

He's fully seated now, pressing deep into your sensitive walls. You’re shaking, trying to hold in your tears, your pitiful noises, your desire to beg him for mercy. There’s no slick feel, other than the slight ease from his saliva, so Levi knows you haven’t torn.

That eases his mind a bit as he slowly retreats from your hole, intent on making this quicker than it should be. He needs to fuck, hard and fast and maybe just a bit painful. There’s no explainable reason as to why, and Levi isn’t interested in trying to analyze himself at the moment.

So he draws out, pushes back in immediately, doesn’t mind your choked, hiccuped gasp. You’ll adjust soon enough; even as he pushes back in, you’ve started to get wet, and there’s no stink of iron in the air, so it’s your body trying to make this easier for you.

Levi figures it’s good that at least one of you was actually concerned about that.

As the slide becomes easier and easier, his pace picks up accordingly, until he’s swinging his hips in a punishing rhythm. He can’t stop himself from giving a rough press onto your throat, relishing the way your body jerks, already breathless and panicked, now denied air and already missing it.

He’s getting close, which is surprising. Levi thought it might be difficult to reach release, reasoned that he was too focused on the rage filling his veins and weighing him down to lose himself in your body.

But he should’ve know, you always have an effect on him.

Your cunt starts clenching around him, and Levi’s head shoots up from where he’d been watching the steady hammering of his cock into you, glares at your face now.

“Don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare.” His tone is clipped, and he’s mad all over again. He doesn’t even know why.

It’s not fair that you’re enjoying this while he’s still simmering, struggling to calm himself. It’s not like he doesn’t want you to find pleasure, but the least you could fucking do is have some decency for once and not cum before he does.

You clench your teeth, grimacing as you try to listen, do your best to obey. He’s trained you well.

But not well enough.

With a pitiful cry, you squeeze tight enough to make Levi groan as he refuses to stop moving his hips. Velvety walls spasm around his length with a vengeance, your nails digging into his shoulders as you lose yourself to the sensation.

Levi’s infuriated.

“You’re not allowed to cum.” He hisses, and your eyes are filled with sorrow, with regret and remorse, with emotions Levi has never bothered to learn the names of.

He slows down, slams into you hard enough that his tip kisses your cervix, makes you lurch in pain that lances through the afterthroes of your orgasm.

Your throat is abandoned for now, his hand joining his other in painfully clutching your hips, fingers dimpling up your flesh, sinking into the pillowy skin so he can pull you down onto his cock the same moment he thrusts up.

It’s hurting now, your face contorting on each deep thrust. Levi doesn’t care, you were selfish enough to take your pleasure before him, when he so obviously was trying to soothe himself.

He’s starting to get a cramp from how hard and slow he’s driving up into you, but he’s crawling closer and closer, so he ignores the twinge for now.

And then he’s there, bursting from the inside out, uncaring of trying to avoid filling your womb with his seed.

It feels good, good enough to talk him down from the edge of hurting you, of destroying, of raging and bruising and damaging.

Levi’s left panting as he finishes, as his abs clench and unclench while he shoots his sticky finish into your tight hole. You’re still grabbing at his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut at the foreign sensation; Levi usually dons a condom, or at least pulls out. Rarely does he lose himself to do what he just did.

He’s calmer now, feels less like a pacing tiger that's been provoked and prodded until it attacks.

But he finds himself irritated at you, at your audacity.

The man knows he’s being irrational, and that he’s emotional right now, prone to lashing out and striking at anything that dares to defy him. You hadn’t done anything particularly wrong except exist in the same space as a thoroughly pissed-off Levi, and he recognizes that.

But he still wants to see you punished.

So you find yourself on the bed, stripped of your clothes. The only thing you’re wearing is a leather collar, attached to cuffs on your wrists by a thick metal ring. The contraption keeps your hands up by your face, unable to do anything but clench into little fists. It’s almost cute.

Theres a spreader bar cuffed to your ankles, and a vibrator in Levi’s hand. He had cleaned himself as soon as he pulled free of your warmth, not bothering to stop the cum that escaped from the unconscious clench of your hole.

Levi had taken a moment to change out of his work clothes, calm himself further and evaluate everything with a clearer mind. Now dressed in nothing but loose sweats, he felt more at ease, cooler both physically and mentally.

The vibe was flicked on, pressed to your mound at the same time Levi wiggled a finger inside of you, feeling his cum still warmed by your body. It was a weird sensation, but you were wet, and he was focused on the task at hand.

Making eye contact with you, Levi leveled you with a stern look.

“You aren’t allowed to cum.”

Four minutes later, when you crested the edge despite an obvious struggle against it, Levi clenched his jaw, removing the vibe and his finger from rubbing at your walls.

When your eyes opened, Levi met them with a glare.

“You aren’t allowed to cum.”

The vibe was flicked back on, a setting higher this time. Levi shoved two fingers inside of you, and you whimpered in distress. You’d beg if you knew it would sway him, but Levi had forced you enough times for you to know that he followed his own desires.

You were just supposed to lay there and take it.

#yandere #yandere levi #Yandere Levi Ackerman #levi #levi x reader #levi ackerman #ackerman #dark #tw noncon #tw dubcxon #tw.noncon #tw.dubcon

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negandarylsatisfaction · 4 years ago

Text

[SUMMARY: PRE APOCALYPSE. Negan is your Sex Ed professor.]

Smut

Negan and Brielle.

Health class was your absolute favorite and only you and your bestfriend Jane knew why. You had the biggest crush on your professor. He was tall, handsome,charming and although he was a teacher he had a rebel look to him that you liked. Being over 18 and attracted to your professor you liked to have innocent fun with it. Everyday you would come in with flirty outfits, either show some legs or cleavage. Jane told you one day while you were up in front of the class giving a speech that she caught him leaning back on his chair looking at your ass. Never had you actually caught him yourself but it did excite you.

Today you came into class in a lavender v neck and tight jeans. He waited by the door as each of you entered, giving you a quick wink as you passed him with Jane.

"Morning Brielle."

"Good Morning, Professor Negan." You smiled as your friend nudged you before you got to your seats. With your pen between your lips you couldnt take your eyes off Negan as he spoke. He wore dark jeans and a black button shirt unbuttoned at the top showing a light patch of his chest hair. Distracted with your day dreams of your professor you werent paying attention to anything he said and got caught off guard when he called on you.

"Brielle, what is the scientific explanation of what causes men to wake up with an erection?" You blanked out, not having any answer to what he asked as well as being stunned by the question.

"Um...I-" you froze, the whole class staring at you as if you were stupid.

"I'll see you after class, Brielle." You sunk in your seat in embarrassment as you heard a few laughs come from students around you. Waiting for him to dismiss the class you sighed knowing you made yourself look like a fool today. Jane gave you a pity look as everyone left the class and you walked up to your professor's desk.

"You asked me to stay Professor Negan?"

"Brielle," he grinned as he leaned back on his chair.

"You look like you were having some trouble with today's lesson, theres an exam next week on all we've talked about this week. I want to be sure you're ok."

"Oh um-yes...I don't know what happened today. I was caught off guard I guess." He chuckled as he scratched his beard.

"I figured that, I would think you know what makes a man wake up with morning wood." His words caught you off guard making you raise a brow to him. Having a conversation with a man so attractive of this topic was intimidating.

"I'm sure your boyfriend has told you about it."

"Um..I don't have a boyfriend." You laughed nervously as he leaned forward in his chair putting his hands together with an intrigued look.

"Well that's hard to believe."

"Why would that be hard to believe?" You asked confused not exactly catching his point. He laughed thinking your naive response was cute.

"Well excuse my french Brielle but shit, you're a damn attractive fucking woman. I dont know how one of these men in my class havent made you theirs yet." You let out a shocking nervous giggle quickly covering your lips. The sound made him chuckle, he knew he made you nervous. You couldnt believe what he was actually saying, you couldnt wait to tell Jane.

"Well-" he cleared his throat as he stood up, the man so much taller than you, you looked up at him.

"Sit down, let's go over today's lesson." He motioned to his chair as you quietly moved past him and sat down. He leaned over you turning the pages in his book, you couldnt stop staring at his beard, his lips, his neck...the smell of his cologne so close to you. He began to speak and once again you blanked out just staring at him, how could a man be this good looking?

"Do you understand what I'm saying, Brielle?" He asked looking over at you making you quickly nod.

"See, when a man gets excited-" he leaned in closer to you, the sound of his voice very close to your ear.

"It sends messages that causes a blood flow which causes an erection to occur."

"So when a man is sleeping and gets aroused it's cause hes dreaming of something that made him excited?" You asked innocently.

"Sometimes." Negan responded.

"It can be a natural thing that occurs because the man is so relaxed or sometimes it can be a dream. It happens very often to every man. Especially when a man has an attractive woman on his mind.” The tone in his voice made your skin hot. Obviously you knew everything he was explaining and he was sure you did too, you could tell. Without looking at him you could feel his face close to yours. Leaning over your shoulder Negan could see a perfect view of your cleavage. He could tell you were nervous, your chest rising up with each deep breath. Suddenly you turned to him and caught him looking down your shirt. Negan quickly looked up, a smirk as if he knew he had been caught appeared on his face. “That necklace...is nice.” Negan used it as an excuse to look back down at your breasts. Your heart began to beat faster, you knew what he was doing. Without expecting it he gently picked up your silver necklace, his fingers gently brushing over your cleavage. “Oh yeah....that’s very nice.” He whispered seductively as he slid his thumb over the charm. He looked up and locked eyes with yours, you could see the attraction in his eyes. Your nerves making you lick you lips before being interrupted by a knock on the door. Negan quickly let go of your necklace, the two of you jumped to see another professor standing by the door.

“Sorry to bother, I had some paper work to give you. Until what time will you be here?” The man asked Negan as he quickly stood up straight. Nervously you picked up your books and grabbed your bag.

“I gotta get going-I’ll see you tomorrow, Professor Negan. Thanks for the....extra tutoring.” You sounded confused not being sure what to call it. Before he could respond you quickly left walking past the other professor at the door. Your nerves getting the best of you, you ran...you felt like an idiot. You knew you weren’t just imagining things, your professor was actually checking you out and throwing indirect comments. Quickly you called Jane and told her everything that happened.

“Why the hell did you leave? Maybe he was going to make a move.” She laughed making you sigh.

“I don’t know...I just got nervous. He’s so attractive and he was so close. I don’t know, maybe it was just me anyways.”

“Yeah, I doubt that. I guess we’ll see tomorrow.”

The next day you decided to where a more appealing outfit. Perfect for the weather with the sun coming out you put a soft blue spring dress. As soon as you walked in you noticed Negans eyes quickly look you up and down before greeting you with a smile. Jane once again nudged you as he was making it more obvious that he checked you out. The two of you sat down as Negan announced he would be returning everyone’s exams from the week before. As you received your paper you gasped at the big red F circled on the paper with a side note that read to meet him after class.

“There you go, another excuse to see him....alone.” Jane teased you as you shook your head.

“Seriously I need this credit. I’m screwed if I fail this class.” You responded as you were genuinely concerned with your grades, you couldn’t afford to fail this class.

As the class went on Negan had you all take a quick quiz. He stood in front of class watching everyone quietly working on their paper when he realized you quickly finished. Not taking his eyes off you, he watched as you stood up and walked over to him.

“I finished, I think it’s all good?” You whispered standing beside him as you handed him the paper. He looked down at the paper as you innocently leaned over beside him looking on at your work. Negan felt you press your chest against his arm, not being able to help himself he took a peek with the corner of his eye before clearing his throat.

“Well is it good?” You looked up at him making him turn to you, but all he could see was the curve of your breast’s spilling out of your dress.

“Very good.” He whispered making you smile before you walked back to your seat. You had no idea how aroused you had just made him, he sat behind the desk to hide any evidence of it.

Waiting for the class to be over and for everyone to leave you quickly marched up to the desk with your graded exam in hand.

“Professor, I need to find a way to fix this. I really can’t fail this class. Is there a way I can make this up?” Negan sat writing something on a paper before he slowly stood up and walked towards the door and closed it shut.

He walked back to you looking down at you mysteriously before he finally spoke.

“You’re a smart girl, Brielle. Were you paying attention in class today?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Alright then tell me, what was today’s topic?”

You felt your cheeks turn red at the thought of mentioning it alone with him.

“The female orgasm.” You responded making him smile.

“Exactly.”

“Well...I know about all of that already.”

“Do you?” He raised a brow as he moved closer to you.

“Brielle, you ever had a boyfriend?”

“Yes. One.” You responded with a puzzled expression.

“Did he know how to....get you going?” As attractive as you found Negan you got nervous at the direction of the conversation.

“Maybe this shouldn’t be spoken about, Professor.” You responded hesitantly, you were honestly afraid of someone over hearing the conversation.

“Who’s gonna tell?” He winked at you making your heart jump, you couldn’t deny it the rush of speaking about certain things with him did make you excited.

“Now, did this boyfriend of yours get the job done?”

Your slow response made him smirk, he could tell you weren’t too experienced. Truth was you only had sex with that one boyfriend you had but, you didn’t remember much of the experience. You hadn’t reached orgasm with him.

“This is why a woman should test the waters out on herself first so she knows what makes her body reach climax.” You looked away making Negan tilt his head as if he had just realized something with your response.

“Oh. Say it ain’t so.” He responded with raised brows making you look up at him confused.

“What?” Negan chuckled before he took another step closer to you.

“You’ve never felt an orgasm at all before, have you?” Your lips parted at his upfront shocking question.

“I mean-“

“Well that’s interesting.” Negan stared down at you for a moment, his tongue slowly gliding over his bottom lip.

“Do you wanna know what it feels like?”

“Um, Professor I..um I don’t know how to answer that.” You laughed nervously. You could feel the tingly sensation between your legs at the excitement of what he asked you. The look in his eyes as he looked down at your soft pink plump lips.

“You’re gorgeous, Brielle....you know that?”Your eyes lit up, his voice deep and rough. Negan had always thought you were beautiful from the first moment you walked into his class. Never had he been so attracted to a student of his, he knew it wasn’t right but he couldn’t help himself. Negan could see through your innocence, he could tell you were attracted to him too, your innocence only aroused him more.

“A gorgeous woman like you should know what it feels like to cry out in pleasure.” His words left you speechless, how you could you respond to this?

“You should know what that feeling is, Brielle.”

“How..?” You whispered as you suddenly felt his fingers lightly brush over your thigh as he looked into your eyes. He could see the shock look in your eyes from his soft touch.

“I can show you better than I can tell you.” His finger very slowly brushed over the side of your thigh before reaching the sensitive inner side.

You could see it in his face, how badly he wanted to take you in that moment. Negan looked behind him to the door before he turned to you with a smirk, you already knew what was on his mind.

“You...you want to show me?” You whispered in a shaky breath.

“I’m just giving you a private lesson, sweetheart. No one has to know.” He suddenly picked you up and sat you on his desk making you gasp.

“Professor-“

“Shh..” You felt his fingers press against your panties softy before he began to move them slowly teasing your clit. He pushed your dress up higher as you leaned back on your hands on the desk. Your pink lace panties in full view as he pushed them to the side. You remained still watching as he touched you.

“Oh that’s a pretty pussy.” He slid down your slit with his thumb, before spreading you open and teasing you some more.

“See I’m gonna start off slow with you, doll.” He whispered as you looked at him still in shock with what he started doing. He noticed you softly biting down on your bottom lip, he knew he was staring to make you feel good. You closed your eyes and began to grind your hips slowly as the feeling got better and better.

“That’s it...” Negan unexpectedly stuck his finger inside you making your hips jump before he moved slowly in and out. You moaned softly as he fingered you, pulling his finger out wetter each time.

“Well look at that, looks like you’re ready for me, but I’m not done yet.” Negan this time went back in with two fingers while playing with your clit with his other hand. Your eyes rolled back at the sensation he was making you feel. Never had a man taken his time with you like this making sure you were feeling pleasure. Both of his hands began to move faster as you moaned, doing your best not to do so loudly. He knew you were on the verge of having your first orgasm.

“Oh my god...” you began to pant as he watched you intensely before changing the positioning of his fingers inside you making him hit your g spot. You screamed feeling something you had never felt before wanting to explode within you.

“Professor...professor-“ you gasped helplessly as the pleasure was so intense it almost frightened you.

“Cum for me, Brielle. Relax and let it go.” He whispered hoarsely when your legs tensed up and suddenly began to shake. Negan smiled as you threw your head back and moaned loudly completely forgetting you were in a classroom.

“Atta girl..keep cumming..” he whispered as you panted, whimpering as he slowed down.

Negan pulled his fingers out and sucked the juices off as you sat there with trembling legs.

“Oh look at you.” He chuckled with a smirk, he could tell you had never felt the feeling before. It turned him on knowing he was the first man to make you feel that. Your legs open facing him, you looked down at his crotch area and noticed the very obvious bulge.

“Now look what you did.” Negan chuckled as he quickly unbuckled his pants and revealed his thick cock. You couldn’t believe what was happening but you didn’t want to stop it. He sat back on the chair and looked at you with an excited smile.

“Come get on your professors lap, let’s get you that A.” You bit down on your bottom lip and smiled before doing as he asked. Your back facing him Negan pushed your dress up as you adjusted yourself leaning back on him, you slowly lowered yourself letting his cock enter you. You gasped leaning your hand on his arm not expecting him to have felt so big inside you. You jumped back up before he took hold of your hips and easily guided you down.

“Easy...like that, sweetheart.” Negan grunted at the first feel of him fully inside you. You began to slowly move up and down on him as he held your dress up, he was bigger than your ex and you hesitated with moving fast. Negan squeezed your hips trying to bring you down harder, he wanted more but he could tell you were afraid. He wanted to take over.

“Don’t be afraid, doll.” You began to move harder on him making him moan. He sounded sexier than you ever imagined he would.

“Turn around.” Negan spoke roughly. You did as he asked and straddled him and felt him slide in easily, face to face with him you couldn’t believe you were having sex in a classroom with your professor.

“Someone can come in..” you whispered as he adjusted himself beneath you.

“Don’t worry about that.” Negan slouched in the chair and began to pump upward into you making you gasp. He moved how he wanted to knowing it would make you feel good. You moaned holding onto him as he quickly pulled the top part of your dress down, revealing your breasts.

“Holy shit-“ he whispered looking straight at them, they were much bigger than he expected them to be and he loved it. He wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you closer to him, your breasts close to his face as he began to thrust upward vigorously. He panted roughly as you moaned.

“Oh my god- wait!” You screamed as you held onto him.

“No, take it” he bit down on his lip as he began to feel you pulsate around him. Negan stood up carrying you with him and sat you down on his desk. Moving full force he knocked down his cup of pens on the table as he watched your expression while you orgasmed with him in you.

“Yeah...good girl.” He whispered as you moaned. He looked down and noticed his cock drenched in your cum. The look in your eyes he hadn’t seen in a woman in long time, then again he hadn’t been with a woman so inexperienced since he was younger. The thought of him showing you how good this felt pleased him. Negan pulled out and came right on top of your pussy. You watched as intensity filled his eyes as cum shot out of him onto you. He jerked himself off letting out every drop. The sight of you innocently laying back on his desk, legs spread and his cum all over you was one he never thought he would actually see.

“Jesus fucking Christ..” he whispered looking down at you before quickly turning away. He couldn’t believe temptation took over him, never had he slept with one of his students. Still out of breath, you both cleaned yourselves up as Negan turned back to you.

“Professor?”

“This...” he pointed towards you and him slightly getting distracted as you fixed your breasts in your dress.

“This stays between us, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Professor.” You agreed before he got closer to you, still out of breath.

“Think of me tonight when you touch yourself.” Your eyes widened at his assumption, but he knew with how good he made you feel today that you would want to discover how to make yourself feel that way.

“Oh I know exactly what you’re going to do.” He chuckled at your shocked expression looking down at you.

“Now think of me. There’s so many more things I could do to you. I know I’m suppose to keep my hands to myself, darling but I don’t think I can.” His voice deepened more than it already was as he spoke.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” You responded softly when suddenly your phone rang. Negan looked over at your phone and saw Janes name on it before raising a brow to you.

“No one.” He warned and truth be told you didn’t want to tell Jane, you didn’t want to tell anyone of your dirty little secret.

#jeffrey dean morgan #the walking dead negan #twd #negan twd #negan x of #negan x oc #negan x reader #negan x you #the walking dead fanfiction #negan fan fic #negan imagine

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years ago

Text

Little Border Town Pt. II

Summary: Harry starts to find himself more and more drawn to the bookshop owner. She’s maybe not as annoying as he first thought. And maybe Harry isn’t the worst like she thought either. A little notebook, drinks, shoes, and a boat begin to show each other that.

AKA: Harry and Y/N are neighbors that fight all the time, the whole town wants to know when they’ll just fuck.

ello loves, part 2 is finally here pls let me know what you think!! barely proofread sorry... also i think theres gonna be quite a few parts to this because i keep not getting all i want to say said in each part. and im trying to keep the chunks relatively short. — also I made one direction lowkey exist bahaha

Word Count: 9.2k | Warnings: flirty fighting/banter, slowburn

Part 1

The next day Harry found himself walking into the bookshop next door without really thinking about it. He hadn’t seen Y/N again for his early morning run and he had his list for her of the Paul Simon albums he already had. They hadn’t had their windows or shades open last night either so it was the first night he didn’t give her a salute and she didn’t flip him off. The jostle in routine seemed a little weird to him so as he walked through the shop's door and the bell sounded, he thought the smile on his face was because he was well rested and unbothered by anything.

Y/N had slept in this morning. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the beginning of Fall always put her in a cozy sleepy mood. She wanted to go to a pumpkin patch and watch a fire burn out in a fireplace. She wanted to listen to her halloween playlist and plan out an intricate costume with her friends. All of this was a wistful dream though. She had quickly learned that the little border town didn’t celebrate Halloween how they did in the States or any major cities. It was okay, at the end of the day, even if she was a little bummed about it. This was her new life and she would have to adapt to the new customs.

After she walked downstairs and unlocked the door, she went back over to her front counter. Yesterday, right when Harry had come in, she had found a booklet of Marie’s. It was leafed over to the point that all the pages were crinkled and dirtied from hand debris. Each page was filled with her loopy handwriting, all of it in French. She must have only liked blue pens because even if the type changed over different pages, the color was always blue. Each page was headed with a name, a customer’s name Y/N was starting to realize as she leafed through the pages. She sat back on the wooden stool she had gotten for behind the counter and propped the book in her hand. After the name of the customer there were extensive details on them. Not their purchases specifically, but their preferences, their personality, and just tidbits about any quirks they had or interesting things Marie had decided were of note.

She found many names that were now familiar to her after her few months of living in the little border town. There really weren't that many people to get to know and the tourists were starting to die down now that the school year was getting back in. After a few minutes of pouring over Monsieur Friedfrickson’s page, who lives across the street from her and runs the flower and gardening supplies shop, she flips to an even more familiar name’s page.

“Harry Styles.” The page had the name written out in strong tall letters. Marie had used a blue inky pen for his page, not a ballpoint. “Likes Music. Poetry. Love stories. Romance with a happy ending, but also likes the practical love too.” The interests are laid out plain and she purses her lips at the idea that Harry is interested in romance novels. She wondered what type of poetry he liked since Marie didn’t seem to think that had to be elaborated on. “He’s a special one,” it reads and Y/N scoffs to herself, really Marie? She reads on, “His heart is in the right place, but he’s got a mouth on him. Quick-witted and charming, but kind-hearted and sincere.” She pauses, and flicks the page back and forth, checking that it still reads Harry’s name when she gets back to it. Was she really the only one who found Harry vapid and annoying? Sure she had softened a little towards him since she had arrived, but they were by no means friends. “While seemingly perfect in every way, Harry is actually-” it reads and she mutters to herself, “Ok, now we’re getting somewhere.” “While seemingly perfect in every way, Harry is actually scared of his own shadow.” “This can’t be real!” She once again scoffs at the book and looks up to the ceiling like Marie is going to talk back to her from beyond. “His exterior persona is very strong, both physically and in his personality, but it seems like he’s just waiting for that right person that he can really be vulnerable with and let them into what he’s really thinking. He’s looking for his Angie.” Now she’s just confused. Who the fuck is Angie? She almost doesn’t finish reading the page because honestly it’s just making her mad, but there’s only a few more lines. “Lots of tattoos, why so many tattoos? Thinks he’s funnier than he is. Flamboyant Harry is best.” And beside that last sentence is a star. She tries to hold in her laughter. At least it wasn’t a complete page of praise for Harry.

Thinking back to her knowledge of Harry, she realizes that Marie must have known him for about three years. Maybe more if he had come to visit before moving there officially. She agreed with Marie that Harry had a lot of tattoos and that he thinks he’s funnier than he truly is, but she was yet to see flamboyant Harry. She knew he painted his nails and wore rings, as well as interesting clothes, but she wouldn’t say he was particularly flamboyant for any of that. That comment definitely piqued her interest. When would Marie have seen Harry where he was being flamboyant?

Her eyes scan over the page once more and realize that this book is only for the most current year. Marie re-did the customers' outlines every year. So this was this past year before Marie died. She wondered where the other books might be and if Harry’s outline had changed over time and also if her name was in the one from when she had visited. That would be interesting to read. It’s strange to read a dead person’s private musings. To her knowledge, no one else alive knew the contents of these pages and these pages seemed especially personal since they spoke of people’s lives and who they were at their core. Maybe that’s why she didn’t hear the chime of the door this morning when the first customer arrived.

Her eyes don’t shoot up from the page until two ringed hands enter her eye line on the counter. The tanned skin, with the gold and silver dazzling rings on each finger and the cross tattoo all register in her mind as her eyes go wide. She snaps the book shut when her eyes meet Harry’s almost ivy green eyes - they’re darker in the foggy fall light streaming through the window today. She hadn’t even turned on the lights yet in the store, the natural light being enough for her this morning. The book is clutched in her hands as Harry’s smile widens to a grin of amusement.

“What have you got there?”

There’s no cover on the book so he can’t make anything out about it. He assumes it’s some novel she’s embarrassed of and has chosen to slip the cover off of to keep anonymity of it. This assumption is why his tone is so teasing and why she grimaces at him in response. Her cheeks have also tinted themselves, she’s flustered that the man she had just been conversing about with the book was now in the store.

“None of your business.”

“I guess not.” He replies easily when she responds curtly and places the book out of sight somewhere under the countertop.

“Why are you here again?” She’s avoiding his eye contact now, feeling like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been even though it was perfectly within her right to read something that now belonged to her.

Harry’s smile falters with her followed curt reply. Annoyance settling in, Harry straightens up and removes his hands from the counter. The familiar feeling doesn’t exactly feel nice, but familiarity is better than discomfort. “You wanted a list of my Paul Simon records? So you could order me one I didn’t already have?”

She looks at him curiously as the conversation comes back to her from yesterday morning and she nods. That conversation was real. “Oh yeah, I said that.” She replies, still not looking at him. “Okay,” she says when he doesn’t move or do anything. Her eyes widen, silently asking him to get on with it.

His hands shove into his pockets, searching around for a list he apparently had made. They come out empty. He pats over his jacket pockets and feels nothing but his phone and wallet, no list. “Fuck,” he mutters beneath his breath. She scratches at her eyebrow and sits back on her stool, seeming like she might be waiting awhile. After a few more minutes and no produced list, she sighs. “Do you just want to go next door and grab it since you obviously forgot it?”

“I didn’t forget it…” His voice is low and he shoots a glare at her, the annoyance that had come back had now doubled.

“You did, but it’s okay if you can’t admit that-”

“It must have fallen out of my pocket!” He insists.

She rolls her eyes and stands up. Walking to the front door, she looks on the ground and then a little ways outside. “I don’t see it, just go back and get it. You probably left it in your boudoir, it’s fine.” Her tone is a little less condescending now and more understanding. She forgets stuff all the time and she really wasn’t trying to be rude when he first came in. He had just startled her is all.

He turns around to face her. Her body is now completely out in the open area of the front of the store. His head tilts and one of his loose curls flops over his forehead while he takes in her appearance. “Why do you do that?”

She wets her lips and steps closer to him, more on her way back to the counter than anything. “Do what?” She’s oblivious to what he’s taken note of.

“When you have a conversation in English you’ll swap in some words that are French. They’re easy words to figure out and you don’t do it a lot, but you’ve done it enough times for me to notice.”

“Oh...I don’t know. I prefer French to English. It’s so much sexier.” She walks closer to him and utters her next sentence as she brushes past his shoulder. His gaze follows her every movement. “Would you prefer a girl to whisper in your ear, “let’s go back to my bedroom” or “let’s go back to my boudoir.”?” Her French accent hangs in the air with the word and compared to the hard American accent she had employed for ‘bedroom’, ‘boudoir’ sounds far more dirty this time than before.

A shiver rolls down Harry’s spine, but he doesn’t let it show. She shrugs her shoulders, “I think the answer is clear.” He clears his throat in response and a smile grows on her face. “Don’t you agree, monsieur?” She leans her head into her hand now that she’s behind the counter and looks up at him sweetly. He knows she’s teasing him now, her smile more of a sultry smirk.

“Piccola diavola,” his Italian rolls off his tongue and she squints at his words. She knows “devil” but the first word troubles her - it just means little. Her Italian really wasn’t strong and it hadn’t improved that much since she’d been in the little border town. But she also wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking what he had said. Harry chuckles at her confusion and relaxes now that he feels the playing field has leveled once again.

“So your list… Do you want to go grab it? Or if you can just list it off the top of your head? As enthralling as your conversation skills are, I actually don’t have all day.” She trails off again, her questions lilting from her mouth after regaining some composure.

“I wasn’t the one teasing about taking someone up to their bedroom,” he huffs. Her face colors with crimson. While she had been teasing him, she didn’t want to be called out for it.

“Wasn’t teasing…”

“So it was a serious offer?” He inquires with a lop-sided grin, changing the meaning behind her words in one fellow swoop.

“That’s not what I was saying! Shut up and give me your list.” Now her blush was all over her face and neck, and she was totally and completely flustered by Harry. She glanced down at her hands that were fiddling with a pen and paper, ready to write his words down.

“I can either shut up or tell you my list. But it’s sadly one or the other, love.”

She groans and takes her free hand to run it over her face. “Just tell me what you already have, Harry. Please.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles and spreads out his hands in front of them both. He crosses back to the counter and leans on it once more. They are in close proximity once again, only the counter between them now and she can feel his hot breath fan over her softly. Smells of wintergreen gum, her favorite.

She glances up at him and their eyes hook together for a moment before she tears hers away to look back at the paper. He rattles off a good amount of Paul Simon’s albums and she nods approvingly as she scribbles the names down. She would have to look through his discography to find the ones Harry didn’t have and she probably could’ve made Harry do that and then give her that list, but she didn’t. It was too late now to do that as well, so she’d just have to live with her decision.

When he finishes, she glances at him once again. His eyes are very large. A detail that isn’t really important about him is seared in her mind. They’re big and they’re staring right at her. His pupils are almost as big as his irises, it was interesting. Her eyes shift under his gaze after a beat and she straightens up again. While they went over his list, she had indulged in the close proximity, the mingling of warm breath and brushed hands as she scribbled and he pondered. She nods a farewell, “I’ll let you know when I order next, but I won’t say what album you’ll get. It will be a surprise.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” his smile snaps back to his face and he scratches absentmindedly at his side. He hesitates before exiting the store. “I have a question.”

“Don’t need my permission.”

He emits a half-laugh, half-scoff from his parted lips. “Wasn’t asking for it...How come you never go out?”

She stares at him curiously, her head tilting to the right. “How would you know I don’t get out?” She challenges him.

“There’s only one pub in this little town and I’m your next door neighbor. I know.” He’s insistent on being right.

She scoffs, but only in an attempt to cover up her embarrassment. Her skin had finally cooled from all the excitement that had happened earlier and she wasn’t in the mood to grow red once again. Today was the first day she had ever felt flustered by Harry. It was annoying, it made her feel out of control. She liked to go out well enough, maybe more than the average person. But she’d only been in the little border town for a few months and going out hadn’t been on the top of her list of things to do. Sure, it would be nice to go get a drink out in the town, but she didn’t really have anyone to go with. Meeting people wasn’t hard in the town, but there weren't many people who were her age and she hadn’t particularly clicked with anyone where she would want to go out on the town with them. It was embarrassing to face the fact that she wasn’t flourishing as much as she had hoped. She was happy, but being confronted with the truth that she hadn’t gone out yet dampened her belief in her success in the little border town.

“I - It’s not at the top of my list of priorities,” she stutters, her chin raising a little in indignance.

One of his shoulders shrugs and Harry makes a little face as if he was indifferent to her answer, even though she knew much better than that. Harry always wanted to get a reaction out of her, maybe that was all he gained from their interactions - entertainment. She didn’t know, but she didn’t feel like giving him the satisfaction and left it at that. His eyes meet hers again, his stare far more intense now. “Ciao, diavola.” He simpers, repeating the little nickname. It was far more sultry of a nickname than ‘Shrimp’ but she wasn’t going to complain. She rolls her eyes in response, the only correct one at that.

That night, she found herself feeling pulled to journey down to the pub. It was on the Italian side and like she had acknowledged to Harry, she hadn’t been. She wouldn’t admit to anyone, especially not Harry, that his question had been what had pushed her towards the establishment when night fell. Yet, here she was. Her pants were dark red silk that matched the black tank top with red embellishments that she wore over her chest - the only part of her it really covered. Her boots were a matching black with gold metal bits, they were knock-off horsebit Gucci shoes, the closest she could get to the real thing with her modest budget. She was having to be more frugal lately, after buying her car here in September, she had really seen how little money she truly had.

The heels of her boots clicked against the cobblestones as she stalked up to the front of the bar. There was happy chatter seeping out the open door, the warm but dimmed light also flooding out along with the sounds of people within. Taking a deep breath and fiddling with the waistband of her pants for a second, she made her way into the bar. Stepping off the deep end and making the plunge. She knew there was nothing to be afraid of, but after months of not going there, she felt a little sense of apprehension now.

The warmth was the most surprising bit of the bar that she felt when she stepped past the threshold. Some Italian song was buzzing below the words of the patrons and she smiled at the automatic welcome she felt upon entering.

At the tables, there was a mix of younger and older patrons. At the bar, there wasn’t much of anyone. The young bartender leans across the bar to talk to another man, who had dark brown wavy hair and a dark linen shirt on. He’s seated at the bar and his back is to her so she can’t make out anymore than that. She doesn’t notice the myriad of tattoos gracing the patron’s arm that rests casually on the bar as he laughs at something the bartender had said, just for him.

She smiles, thinking it’s a cute little flirtation between the two and hates that she has to go over to break it up. Her movement gets the bartender’s attention easily and has the patron glancing her way as well. The smile she had once had falters off of her face and her eyes go wide at the realization of who she has settled herself beside. She had left a seat open between her and the man, but now she wished she had chosen a spot across the bar and simply flagged down the bartender. Better yet, she wished she had stayed home. As her smile falls away, Harry’s only grows wider. He’s grinning down at her as he moves his whole body to face her.

“Ciao!” The bartender starters, not noticing her discomfort at seeing Harry. He begins to ask what she would like in Italian, but her eyes widen even further. He’s speaking far too fast for her and she blushed in embarrassment. In her fluster, she forgets to even try French and she just stares dumbfoundedly at the handsome man behind the bar, who’s now looking at her with great curiosity. Harry has watched the entire thing and chuckles behind his glass. She has no attention span left to allow her to even try and guess what he’s drinking.

He interjects for her, actually saving her any more embarrassment, surprisingly. “She doesn’t speak Italian. She’s from the French side and new in town, so she hasn’t been able to refine her Italian.” The bartender gives a smile and nod of understanding in her way and she wishes she knew what Harry had just said. Whatever it is makes the bartender switch to French for her and her jaw goes from being dropped back into a normal position.

“What can I get for you, mademoiselle?” He transitions smoothly and she smiles, his French accent sounding practically perfect. She’s recomposed herself, but Harry is still watching her intently, like a reality television show that he can’t wait for the trainwreck finale to occur on.

After she orders, the bartender gives her a wink and then walks off to get what he needs to begin preparing her drink. Harry slides over, eliminating the courteous one seat between them. Her eyes watch the movement and she refrains from the letting out the sigh festering in her chest. She really had hoped he would not be here tonight, at least that’s what she believed. She truly felt embarrassed that the night after Harry had accused her of never going out, he had seen her out. But it also was nice not to be sitting in the bar alone. It seemed that Harry had been sitting alone at the bar before she had come in, but she also wasn’t Harry and didn’t know how much enjoyment she would have gotten out of being alone.

“I see my words had some effect on you.” He says out of the corner of his mouth after running his tongue over the bottom of his lip. Her scoff once again dies in her throat because she knows he’s right and he knows it too. There is no being proud right now. He essentially caught her red handed.

“Thought I’d come out and see what all the fuss was about. I see you’re alone tonight, but I assume that’s how most nights go.”

“You should know by now that is simply not true.”

“Just because you leave with someone doesn’t mean you come with someone.”

“I guess…” He trails off.

She picks up when he doesn’t seem to have any more of a response. “How do you even meet people here? Isn’t it all locals?”

“Not always. Not all of the people here are locals tonight,” He scans the crowd. “She’s visiting...So is she...that whole group actually. Look French. So we’ve got a group from Nice tonight…” He looks a bit more. “Eh, that looks like it tonight, but still. It’s plenty.” He finishes with a smirk and she grimaces, understanding the meaning behind his words.

The bartender returns with her White Russian, which Harry had cocked his head at, but had kept his opinion to himself for once. Expecting Roman to return to their conversation, Harry turns his attention back to him, but he is only greeted with the side of his head because Roman is still staring at Y/N. He coos something to her in French, that Harry can’t pick up and his nostrils flare when she emits a giggle following their exchange. The two people he was last talking to were now ignoring him to talk to each other. How rude.

After another moment without their attention, he huffs loudly. Roman seems too entranced in Y/N to notice, but her eyes slide over to him. “Yes?” She inquires, albeit disdainfully.

Harry isn’t sure what to say to her now that he’s gained her attention. He was on his second drink and her stare has made his mind go blank. All he had wanted was for her to stop flirting with Roman so that she’d pay attention to him. But he hadn’t thought of his next step yet. He takes a sip of his beer to grant him a little more time and she rolls her eyes at his action. His mind rattles through possible things to say, but every single one is coming up as not good enough.

“I used to be in a band.”

Her head tilts and she swivels more to Harry. His comment is unexpected and rather intriguing. She had expected something annoying or rude. Truly she had just expected him to say “Nothing” once he had swallowed his drink so he could distract her from enjoying her night.

“You were in a band?” She asks incredulously, her voice pitching slightly higher than normal. While Harry was many things, including handsome, she just didn’t think he had the right persona to be in a band. He dressed like a grandfather most days and he tended to a little shoe shop, he didn’t come off as a guy who would enjoy traveling around performing. The constant praise would be on brand though, she conceded.

Harry nods and bites back his smile, knowing he had struck the perfect chord. “I was...it only took off in the UK but we were pretty popular.” He boasts.

“So what do you play?”

Harry’s eyes widen, expecting more of a question about the name of the band or something. “Well, it was, like, a boy band…” He says.

She was taking a sip of her drink and she contained her little laugh behind her glass. Another hum as she swallows the liquid that burns her throat a bit. “Oh. Interesting. So no instruments.”

“Well I can play a bit of guitar and piano!” He adds quickly, seeing her eyes shift away from him, like she thinks the conversation is over. “I was thinking of trying a solo thing, but then plans changed...”

“And now you’re here?”

He echoes her, affirming the question. “Now I’m here and I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t miss it then?”

“Didn’t say that. I miss it at times, but this is where my life took me and I’m happy to be here. Maybe happier than I ever was in the band.” His eyes stare at the liquid in his glass and he swirls it lightly, determined to study the way it moves as he ponders something quite personal to him. He never really talked about his past with anyone here. Saying he was in a band and retrospecting that time are two very different things to share with someone. She’s just watching him now, not trying to make a quip or bug him. His demeanor shows that’s not something he’s very interested in hearing right now.

She experimentally puts a finger on his knee when it seems that he’ll never raise his gaze from his glass. His eyes move down to the tiny pressure he feels and sees her painted nail poking in to him. His tongue darts across his lower lip as he raises his head to meet her eyes. He notices the sparkle in them, she finds amusement in the childish gesture and so does he.

“I do miss the stage though,” he admits, smiling more now. “Performing. It was like nothing else.” Instead of a sad state of mind, his look is far more wistful now and she actually feels the smile growing on her face.

“You’ll have to sing for me sometime, then.” She says resolutely after taking the last bit of her drink and then pushing the glass across the bar. Roman had wandered off, much to Harry’s pleasure, but now they both needed another round so she was looking for him.

Harry slides over a chair so that they’re sat side by side. He had originally done it to reach across her for a napkin, but then hadn’t retreated to his original seat after he was successful. They talk as they drink, but most of it seems to be flirtatious teasing even if neither of them recognize that fully. Harry just wanted her attention earlier and now he found that he wanted to keep talking to her all night. It was a Friday and usually he would be looking for someone to take home. The group of women at a table that he had observed were visitors would be a perfect place to start his quest, but that wasn’t on his mind. He liked watching the different shades of blush Y/N’s face kept turning as she drank more and how silly she was getting with each passing drink.

She was enjoying her time out, she had only gotten wine drunk in the confines of her little home since she’d been in the little border town. And that endeavour was all by herself. It was much more fun when you had someone to talk to, so joking around with Harry was a nice surprise. She no longer felt embarrassed about showing up after he had teased her for never going out earlier today. Now she felt empowered, like she could come to the bar whenever she pleased. He was nicer than she had realized. His hand was quick to encircle her back respectfully when she laughed a little too hard at a joke and began to tip off her stool. His smile was genuine and his eyes didn’t flit over her body more than once. His jokes were funnier than she had first thought or maybe that was just the alcohol clouding her mind, that one she wasn’t sure about. But, truthfully, Harry was exceeding expectations tonight and being a stand up human being for once, in her eyes.

A couple at the end of the bar, locals, watched on as the shoemaker and the bookkeeper threw back their heads in boisterous laughter and placed their hands on each other chastely. The older women smiled to themselves as Y/N smacked Harry’s bicep after an especially cheeky joke he told her. They were going to have a field day with this interaction once they told their friends tomorrow morning.

After drink three, she definitely felt drunk. Not completely out of it and can’t walk drunk, but I haven’t drank anything stronger than wine in months so three cocktails are kind of hitting me drunk. And because of that buzz that’s enclosed her mind and body, it makes perfect sense to her that Harry’s hand is resting casually on her knee as they talk. It also makes perfect sense to her to cross her legs, causing two things to happen. Harry’s hand shifts up further on her thigh and her boot is now dangling right next to Harry’s shin. The fabric of his cream linen trousers look especially soft and so the next logical move in her mind is to rub her foot against the fabric. She hooks around her foot easily and the patent leather of her shoe slips softly against the pant leg that flows over Harry’s calf.

He hums lowly at the feeling, but makes no other notion to acknowledge what she is doing. After the hum he gets back to the story he’s telling her about his boat. She had been extremely interested in the boat initially, but not she was transfixed on the feeling of the fabric slipping past her boot. When he shifts his leg, absentmindedly or not, she almost squeaks because this movement has Harry’s foot brushing around her ankle. The footsy was occurring without any acknowledgement of it besides small sounds the two had made in their chests. No knowing looks, just the presence of each other’s bodies against one another.

He had switched to a Manhattan after his second beer for some reason that she didn’t ask, but he was enjoying it nonetheless. When she slipped her foot against his calf, it had sent a spark of electricity from the point of contact up to his alcohol muddled head. It felt nice so he went with it.

Around midnight the two of them were practically in each other’s laps, nursing their fourth round. Brains a million miles away while their glassy eyes stared at each other. Harry’s arm nestled around her waist while hers played with the stir stick in his glass. Their heads inches away, closer than they’d ever been before.

Somehow they decided they should walk home about then. Maybe Harry had checked his phone and decided he was done. Maybe she had glanced at the clock above the bar and realized she needed to go to bed. Either way, they slammed down the last bits of their drinks and stumbled into the street. With only each other to hold them up, they had some trouble gaining their balance. They could walk just fine if they wanted to be serious, but Harry kept trying to step literally on her toes and she kept throwing all her weight into his side. Both of their actions would cause them to stumble one way or another along the empty streets. Their blurred minds thankfully didn’t get them lost, but the travel time back to their places was far greater than the travel time to the bar initially.

Finally arriving at the border of Italy and France, their shops and homes, she stared up at Harry under the glow of the streetlamp across the street. His hair looked more dark brown than his usual caramel chestnut in the light. His linen outfit billowed across his pectorals that were exposed. A tan golden color that he seemed to maintain from his frequent runs and trips on his boat. His jaw had a bit more stubble on it now, his morning shave no longer sleek on his skin. His mustache was still the most prominent bit of facial hair he had and she wondered what he might look like without it. She also thought if she’d ever kissed a man with a mustache, her mind was pretty sure she hadn’t.

As she stared, she moved from his side and took a step closer to her door. His hand reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her and bringing her attention to his eyes. He dropped her hand and stepped closer to her. They had been laughing about some weird encounter she had in Nice the other week. But now their laughter had faded out, the conversation all but forgotten.

“Hi.” She says meekly.

“Hi,” Harry laughs.

“I had fun tonight,” she muses and takes a step forward. She began swinging her arms back and forth, rocking on her feet. She felt antsy now that it was so quiet. The silence made her realize it was really just her and Harry together right now. Which wasn’t unusual, they had been alone together plenty of times. Maybe it was the time of night, but it felt far more intimate to her this time which made her squirm a little. Why was she nervous with Harry right now?

Harry nods and laughs again at her actions. “Yeah, you’re not so bad.”

Neither of them realized the proximity of their bodies until her hand swung a little higher and hit Harry’s hip bone. “Oh! Sorry!” She moves to take a step back, but Harry grabs her hand once again and tugs her even closer. Bringing them chest to chest under the lamp light. Her eyes flicker between where their bodies touch and Harry’s face. He’s looking down at her sweetly, gently. She feels safe with the way he’s looking at her. The warmth radiating from him was a nice contrast to the dark cold of night. The open expanse of skin that lived between the two sides of his mostly unbuttoned shirt seemed to have the most heat coming off of it. He had a jade cross that hung between the two muscles and she almost reached out to play with it. If it hadn’t been so dark and she hadn’t been so inebriated she would have realized the color matched his eyes almost exactly.

He’s not quite sure what he’s doing, but for some reason it feels like he might kiss her. The mood that was set by their surroundings made it sound right. Romantic even. Her lips look precious too, plump and puckered, flushed from alcohol and the brisk night air. They look a little glossy too from the last time she had wet them. He wanted to feel them for himself. His head ducks to move his lips to touch hers.

Upon registering his movement, she moves her hand from his grasp and places it on his chest, causing him to take a small step back.

“I think...I think this should be goodnight, Harry.” She breathes out. She’s trying to clear her mind enough to have conviction in her decision.

After a little intake of air, less than a gasp, Harry agrees, running a hand through his hair, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Her hand slips from his warm chest, immediately curling in on itself to maintain the warmth his body had just provided. She watches her tendons in her hand ripple before looking back at Harry with heavy eyes. He doesn’t seem to want to make eye contact with her, but she’s determined to leave on a good note.

“Thank you, Harry.” He looks up from beneath his lashes at his name, like a shy toddler. “You gave me the push to face a fear of mine.” With her final words she crosses the little distance between them once again and places a chaste kiss to his cheek. Immediately, his cheek flushes and she can feel the heat beneath her lips, as well as the light prickle of his stubble. Harry swallows, causing his Adam's apple to bob quickly, at the contact. His senses get overloaded with the sweet kiss and the smell of her perfume. It all swims through his consciousness.

She smiles as she pulls away and then turns to let herself into her place without another word. Once unlocked, she gives one last glance to Harry who’s also busying himself with opening his door. She doesn’t see that his free hand is caressing over his cheek where her lips had just been.

The next day, she woke up and groaned feeling the stiffness in her body. Especially her head. Oh god, her head. It was like she was back in college, but worse because she wasn’t as young. At least she didn’t have to roll out of bed for an 8 am lecture. For that, she was thankful. Still, the pounding needed to stop or subside at least. Grumbling, she threw her legs off the side of her bed, the fuzzy socks she had slipped on in her drunken stupor settled on the hardwood. She dragged her body to her window and raised the shade. Her window was fogged from the difference in temperature outside and in her room. Kneeling down, she began to pull open the window, in need of the cool fresh air on her clammy skin. Three drinks, or was it four? She couldn’t remember, either way, it was too many.

Her eyes glanced around the view of the window. It wasn’t much since it was so close to the building right next door. Peaking up, she could see the already clouded sky. To the left she could see the street and to the right was more buildings. The scene most easily accessible was the window right across from her. The shade was mostly closed, a little bit of the floor could be seen where Harry hadn’t lowered it completely. It was just the same hardwood as what she sat on staring back at her. She sat there, breathing in the crisp morning air. After a night of drinking, she usually woke up rather early, today was no different.

It dawned on her, far too slowly, that a pair of feet had entered the plain hardwood scene she had been staring at outside her window. A tiny stage now filled with two matching characters. The pair of feet were tanned and large. Little tattoos seemed to be sprinkled both on the toes and the ankles of the feet. She couldn’t read them even if she tried. But upon realizing what these feet might be doing, she had been discouraged from staring any longer. Still, her brain was foggy and her body was not nearly quick enough to hide her from view as the owner of the feet did something to open his shade as well. Then, once again, like deja vu, she was staring at her naked neighbor. Thankfully, this time, he had briefs adorning his hips to keep covering the part of him that would keep her up for weeks trying to forget again. The briefs were, just that. Brief. Low on the hips and barely touching his thighs, it seemed they really only existed to keep that one appendage covered. Still, she had to tear her eyes away from the lower half of his body and let the embarrassment wash over her when she met his eyes.

The knowing smirk of his has him nibbling at the inside of his cheek. She had been checking him out. It was a nice confidence boost after last night. The awkwardness of her stopping him from kissing her had him spiraling in his mind when he went to bed. He didn’t know why he had even tried to kiss her in the first place, probably just because he was drunk. Yeah, he was drunk and feeling needy on a friday night. That’s what it was and she had been there.

He’d have to thank her today for putting a stop to that colossal mistake. They were barely just friends, he hated to think what would happen if he’d done something so reckless as to kiss her out of the blue. Still, he couldn’t shake the thought in the back of his mind that he had gotten the vibe from somewhere. Why else would his drunken mind tell him to kiss her under the glow of the lamp light. He thought back to the bar and what they had talked about. He wouldn’t categorize it as overly flirty. He thought back to their physical interactions at the bar, okay, maybe his hand on her thigh and her playing with his drink was a little flirtatious. But that could be boiled down to him being close to hear her in the bar and her idle fingers wanting something to do while she was drunk. The footsy, though. He wasn’t sure if he could explain that one away. Instead, he would choose to ignore it. If he didn’t think about it, did it actually happen? Was it something he had to worry about? Not in his mind.

Returning his focus to the girl in the window across from him, his smirk was now fully fleshed out on his face. She was still sitting on her knees as Harry looked down at her and if they were in the same room this might have seemed like a rather compromising position. Her cheeks were still red, noticing the difference in height, she clambered to her feet.

��G’morning,” Harry’s voice is groggy and deep. Scratchy almost from the alcohol he had drank last night. It rings through her ears lowly and seems to have her blushing even more. It’s a different feeling than how his voice used to make her feel.

“Hey,” She clears her throat before responding, not wanting her morning voice to crack in front of Harry. Usually she would talk to herself a bit or sing along to her music before going downstairs, not wanting her first customers to hear her as if she just woke up. For some reason, she makes a little wave along with her greeting, feeling especially awkward at this moment. Harry chuckles and repeats her motion. His large hands mimicking the same daunting motion makes her laugh and releases some of the nervous energy she had been holding in her body.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he openly flirts, placing one hand on his naked torso and the other against the frame of the window, leaning towards her. His movement flexes just about every muscle in his body and she keeps her eyes trained on his face, determined not to be caught gawking once more.

A roll of her eyes and she’s back to staring straight into his green ones that he’s still blinking awake. “It’s almost like we’re neighbors.”

He scrunches his nose at her deadpan. “You’re no fun,” he mutters.

She sighs, “I’m fucking hungover after last night…” and runs a hand through her tousled hair.

Her foot rests itself over her other, causing her hip to just out slightly. The movement of her body that accentuated her curves and her words have Harry blushing now. The red flowers at the center of his chest and begins to spread up his neck and cheeks. He’s once again presented with the almost kiss last night.

“Big night out for you,” he laughs, “I’ll admit I don’t usually drink that much, bit of a lightweight myself.”

She only hums in response, her fingers beginning to twiddle with the hem of her t-shirt. It reminds her of what she is precisely dressed in. The big t-shirt and tiny pajama shorts that Harry can’t even see are the only things on her body besides the socks on her feet. She glances down at her legs and takes in the expanse of fleshy skin that is showing just below the shirt. Harry’s eyes follow hers and admires the skin there, wondering what it would feel like underneath his big hands.

“I should probably start getting ready for the day,” She says finally, shaking herself from the random thoughts flitting around her mind about bare thighs and the man across from her. “Are you open today?”

Harry emits a noise from the back of his throat at her question. He draws his arm back from the window and stands up straight. His head tilts as he thinks about her question, his mind still muddled this morning.

“Er..no, actually. I was planning on going out on the boat today, switching my closed day to today instead of tomorrow. Why?”

“I’m in need of shoe repair,” she smiles, her eyes catching the glimmer of the sun starting to peak out. Harry swears it’s her eyes genuinely sparkling on their own accord. “But if you’re out today, it can wait.” She begins to walk away from the window to go to another room in her apartment.

“No!” Harry steps forward, but is restricted by the screen, which keeps him from falling out of his window. She swivels around, looking at him curiously. “I can - you can just come over. I’ll fix it up for you before I head out.”

“Really?” She’s truly surprised that Harry would do such a nice thing for her. She knew they were getting along better, but for him to open shop just for her repair seemed overly nice.

“I mean,” and Harry’s once again blushing under her gaze and he’s hoping she can’t see it. “What are neighbors for?”

“I guess,” she’s still unsure. He seems like he’s nervous, his body tenses and one of his hands twisted in his curls. Harry’s so weird. “Thanks.”

She jogs the short distance from her front door to Harry’s once she’s ready. The pair of deep teal almost navy loafers she needed new soles in - she was pretty sure - in hand. A red pinstripe blouse half buttoned falling over her figure perfectly, hugging the right spots and flowing over the others. She’s in white jeans today that are flared slightly but also cropped. As it gets closer to Halloween she keeps having to remind herself not to dress festive and it’s a struggle everyday.

When she reaches the door, it doesn’t open. The cream door doesn’t budge as she tempts the handle with her free hand. She looks between the handle and the inside of the shop. Her eyes search for Harry’s figure. She had been inside his shop only a handful of times, never for a repair before. Maybe less than a handful, once to check it out and once again when she thought she needed a new pair of shoes and then decided against it. Oh, and that one time she went over to yell at him about something. Maybe the planters, maybe the shade, she couldn’t remember anymore.

Now that she thought about it, she had been in the bookshop once more. Two and a half years ago when she had visited the little border town for the first time. It was a little fuzzy for a memory, but she was sure she had at least peaked into the shoe shop after her lengthy visit with Marie the second day there. It looked just as it did now, maybe it used to be a little more vibrant, but she couldn’t be sure. She remembered an older man in the shop greeting her in Italian and her offering her sad ‘Ciao’. Back then she was even worse at Italian. He had looked at her with kind eyes and a sweet smile. It was a similar lopsided grin that she had now grown accustomed to on another man’s face. After beckoning her over to him the old man had turned away from her and shouted into the back of the store in quick Italian. It blew over her head completely. There must have been someone in the back of the shop who he had talked to. She was sure of it, because after she had perused the cute boots and shoes he kept, she saw a swish of hair coming around the counter. It was just as she was turning around to exit the shop, after she had bid farewell to the man she now connected as Joe. Whoever it was had long hair and was tall, slinking out into the main shop floor. The mysterious stranger was whoever Joe had shouted to in the back.

Y/N wasn’t the quickest when it came to timelines and how people could change over time. She didn’t connect the year she had visited with the year of someone else's arrival or the same chestnut waves cascading around someone’s face, just now much shorter. It made perfect sense who would be in the back of the store, but for some reason the idea of time and hair length were standing in this girl’s way. Oh well, maybe Harry would spell it out to her someday.

Harry finally rounds the counter that separated the back room to the front. The shoe shop was set up a little different from the bookstore. Her counter was right when you came in while Harry’s was about halfway through the shop. He shakes his head and laughs at her expression. The sound brings her out of her memory as well as a grimace on her face.

“Sorry, I was a million years away.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘a million miles away’, love.” Harry continues chuckling while correcting the girl in front of him.

She holds up her pair of shoes, ignoring his teasing. “Fix my shoes, shoe man.”

His smile drops and he walks back from the door. His feet taking back steps as he beckons her into the interior of the shop. When they reach the corner, he takes the shoes from her hands and places them between their bodies. The teal loafers stare up at them. Harry inspects them, a serious expression falling over his features. His brows scrunch together slightly, the wrinkles in his forehead growing more prominent as he examines the shoes. Large hands reach out and begin to finger over the patent leather on the top and the leather soles. After a few minutes of silent deliberation, he places down one of the shoes and then holds the other up as if to showcase it.

“These,” he juts out the shoe in his hand, “need new soles. What did you do to ‘em?”

“I wear them a lot.” She insists while Harry looks on quizzically.

“I’ve never seen you wear these.”

Her brow quirks at his comment. “I wore them a lot before I got here,” she corrects. “They’ve been feeling wonky every time I try to wear them, must be because they need new soles.”

Harry nods, now satisfied with her answer. He hums, regarding the teal shoe in his hand once again. “Alright.”

She looks at him confused once again. “Alright what? Can you fix them?” What does he mean by ‘Alright’? “I’ve honestly missed wearing them these past few months.”

Harry bites his tongue, a quip ready to be voiced. He’d gotten so used to fighting with her, he was confused how it had slipped away all so easily. His fear of them not talking if they stopped fighting didn’t seem to come to fruition so he could rest easy on that front. But now he was going to have to retrain his brain not to be rude after every comment Y/N made.

“Yeah, of course.” He sighs, placing the shoe next to its mate and then turning his face to her. She had been chewing on her bottom lip, actually worried for her shoes. They really were her favorites. She’d had them forever and it would be heartbreaking if they had to be thrown out. If she couldn’t wear them though she was almost sure she’d just let them collect dust in her closet rather than dispose of them if it really came down to it.

“But it’s like a good amount of my day to replace soles…”

Her face falls, but she tries to hide it. She knew Harry was doing a favor by taking a look right now. If he could fix them it didn’t matter when he did it. What he says next though truly throws her off. No normal enemy-ship turned somewhat friendship overnight would engage in what Harry was about to propose. If any such relationship other than her and Harry actually existed.

“Do you want to come out on my boat today?” His brow arches, his lips in a soft smile, he’s being genuine.

“Why would I do that?” Her brows raise along with her voice, taken off guard by his suggestion.

“More fun waiting for me to fix your shoes on a boat than in your shop.” He says simply before taking the shoes and placing them in a little cubby hole behind the counter for safe keeping. “Trust me, you’ll love it.” Her expression doesn’t change. “Just say yes,” He pleads now.

She sighs, “Fine.” All of the reasons not to go out on Harry’s boat are at the forefront of her mind, but she still finds herself saying yes easily. His pleading really wasn’t necessary to get her to agree. The bookstore could live with being closed today, it wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #eventually both of those will bop up #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #feedback pls ❤️#me putting this uo at 12:30 am oops

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oikirstein · 4 years ago

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𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 | 𝐤.𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚

PAIRING: tsukishima x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: You’re in your third year at Karasuno High, and have liked Tsukki for all of them, but after finally being in a relationship with him for the past six months, you realize his cold, careless demeanor, which you once fell in love with, was the same reason you were falling out.

CONTAINS: Angst (?)

WORD COUNT: 2,610

A/N: Anyway, this is my first time writing a char x reader one shot, so hopefully it isn't too dreadful to read. I wanted this one to be about Mr. Kei Tsukishima because the phrase “take it back” sounded angsty, and I have a burning hate towards him, so I thought it would be fitting.

Part two here.

Prompt from here.

Six months.

That’s how long you’ve been in a relationship with Kei Tsukishima, but is that how long you’ve practically been in love with him? Of course not. You’ve liked the blonde boy since your first year orientation, when you noticed how much he soared over the other students. Obviously his height wasn’t the only thing you liked about him. You adored the way he cared about his best friend, Yamaguchi. You found it hilarious when he picked on the other first years (and occasionally the upperclassmen as well). You were in awe of how he almost glowed at the end of a long game. You grew to love his stone cold face, which he wore so effortlessly and so undeniably well. You were fond of the way he’d get annoyed of his short golden curls tickling his forehead. You were desperately in love with every little thing about him. Who would’ve thought that over these past six months, those things that you found so much comfort in, would’ve also become the exact reason you were in the position you’re in now?

You had the grades, you had the looks, but most importantly, you had the boy. What more could you ask for?

It was January when Tsukki had seemed to have forgotten to walk you home—which you thought was strange since he’s walked home with you everyday for the past year and a half—but you made the excuse nonetheless.

Maybe he’s just running a bit late. Maybe practice was taking longer than expected. Maybe he just lost track of time. Maybe—

Excuse upon excuse was running through your head as you sat outside the gym waiting for him, like you did every day you were together. You always asked him why you couldn’t just wait for him inside so you weren’t vulnerable to the elements (and so you could watch him practice).

“You’d only be a distraction,” is what he always said before walking away and leaving you all alone beyond the gym doors.

A forced smile spread across your face as you shrugged your shoulders and turned on your heels to sit on the bench near the vending machines. You wondered why he was so distant with you—no—you longed for a real answer. Was he trying to hide something within those concrete walls? You knew Tsukki had secrets that he kept from you, hell he hardly ever talked about the things that weren’t secrets, but to say you were shocked when you found out the secret he was keeping was you, was an understatement. Because that day, that special winter day, was the day the sky decided cry.

Your legs moved before your brain could think, and suddenly you were running towards the gym’s entrance, seeking refuge from the rain. The sounds of sneakers squeaking against the laminated hardwood floors, the echoes of volleyballs ricocheting off of walls and hands, the murmurs of huffing and puffing coming from the athlete’s chests—they all came to a halt as they stared at the girl who just interrupted their practice.

“Can we help you?” their captain, Yamaguchi, said with a smile and both hands resting on his hips.

“Oh um sorry. I was waiting for Tsukki outside and it started raining so I kind of just ran in here without thinking,” you giggled to hide your nervousness, but your shaky tone was still apparent.

“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi questioned.

“Yeah...” you trailed off thinking of what to possibly say. Tsukki wouldn't be very happy if he found out that you actually came into the gym and showed yourself in front of his teammates, but then again it’s not like he ever got upset about anything, “it’s just that me and my boyfriend usually walk home together and he still hasn’t come out.”

If according to routine, Tsukki typically would’ve been done with practice about two hours ago. At this time, It would usually be just Yamaguchi left alone with the first years, as he liked to spend extra time working with them and their skills.

“B-boyfriend?” the green haired boy almost couldn’t contain his laughter in his reply.

“Yes...” you tried to laugh with him, but the awkward tension in the air kept getting thicker and thicker.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, “it’s just that Tsukki’s never told us he had a girlfriend, or even liked anyone before.”

Oh. So that’s why he wanted to keep you out of the gym.

“Say, how long have you two been dating now?”

“A little over six months.”

His expression went a complete 180. What was once the look of light, friendly banter, was now riddled with fear, shock and a jaw nearly touching the floor.

“Oh my god,” Yamaguchi looked as if an apology was on the tip of his tongue, but before he could get the chance, you opened your mouth.

“Uh well since Tsukishima obviously isn’t here, I’ll just walk home myself. Thanks for the help Yamaguchi,” you hurriedly replied, one foot already out the door.

Step after step, the time it took between your strides became shorter and shorter, as you broke into a run, making your way towards home. Why would he keep you a secret from them? Why is he always so cold? Why does he always push you away? Why does he always tease you with that same monotone voice? Why did he not love you?

You stopped mid-step as you took in your surroundings. You knew exactly where you were. This was the intersection where you and Tsukki would part ways. You debated: left or right? My house or his? Where should I go?

You took a minute to think about which direction to take, when suddenly your phone rang. Pins and needles ran through your skin and a chill went down your spine as you read the caller ID.

“Tsukki”

You stared at the phone in shock, eyes wide, mouth agape, and skin turning paler by the second. He never called you first, so why start now? Ah. That’s right. Yamaguchi probably told him what happened.

“Hello?” you practically almost whispered.

“You went inside the gym today?”

“Uhm yes?”

“Why do you sound like you’re not sure,” his words said one thing, but his tone said another. Like he was trapped trying to scream in a place where the volume was muffled.

“Yes,” you said, more stern this time. Today was the day you were going to get answers.

“Why?”

“Take a fucking guess, Tsukki.”

Silence.

“I was waiting for you. Outside the gym. For four fucking hours,” you all but yelled into the phone.

“You could’ve just stayed outside.”

“Are you blind, four-eyes? Did you forget your glasses or something? Its raining!”

“Y/n,” he didn’t say your name often, maybe that's why it always had you so weak in the knees, “where are you right now?”

“Why?”

“Well you sound upset and it seems noisy in the background,” maybe he actually did care about you?

“The intersection.”

“Theres thousands of intersections in Miyagi, Y/N, try being a little more specific,” there it was, the passive aggressiveness he was so good at using.

“I know that, dumbass,” annoyance dripping from your lips, you tried getting across to him that you were fed up with his attitude, “the one where we always split up.”

“K,” was the only thing he uttered before you heard the dial tone.

Could he be on his way here? Did he want to talk to you? Did he want to see you?

One ounce of you. All it took was one ounce, one sliver of hope, for you to be waiting out here in the rain, not entirely sure if Tsukki was going to show up or not. You made a deal with yourself: if he wasn't here in the next fifteen minutes, you were leaving, and the two of you would be over. Right then and there, you hadn't realized that one of those things would have been inevitable anyway.

Five. Ten. Fourteen.

You cautiously watched the clock on your phone as your anxiety grew more and more intense with every passing minute.

There it was. Fifteen.

Some part of you must have known he wasn’t coming, because when the clock struck exactly fifteen minutes, you did not hesitate to get up and take the right to finally go home.

As you turned the corner, you heard the faint tap, splash, tap, splash, tap, splash, coming from behind, growing louder and louder the closer it got. You thought it was just a dog, or maybe some sweet, innocent child playing in the rain. Then you heard the volume of a voice you never thought you'd hear.

“Y/N!” Tsukki cried while running towards you, “Wait!”

You did not stop. You did not wait. Your steps did not waiver the way your breath hitched at the sound of your name. You continued on as if nothing was said at all.

Though this plan of yours didn’t work as you had forgotten one important factor: Tsukishima was an athlete. You forgot how fast he could run if he really wanted to...but maybe you wanted him to run after you? This was all you wished for after all. For once you wanted him to understand how it felt to chase after someone with no requiting in sight.

You didn't stop walking until you felt a heavy hand on your shoulder and an audible exhale against the nape of your neck.

“Why are you running away from me? I know you heard me,” he said, his monotone tone of voice almost slipping...was he...pleading?

You hadn’t turned around yet when you spoke, “You have some nerve asking me that,” you all but spat.

“W-what?” Oh so now he was stuttering? Was this even the same Tsukishima you fell in love with all those months ago?

You turned around so fast, you could have sworn he winced when his arm was violently whipped to the side.

“Isn’t that all you’ve been doing for the past six months?” You raised your voice—something you’ve never done in front of him before—but little did you know that this day was going to be full of firsts for you two, “Just look at today. You forgot about me. You didn’t tell your team about me. You barely even talk to me.”

“Wait, that’s not true—”

“Is it not? Your best friend didn't even know that you had a girlfriend,” you cut him off.

“Well if you would just shut the fuck up and let me explain you would know why I did all of that!��

What a terribly heartbreaking sight: to see two young lovers yelling at each other in the rain. Tsukishima grabbed your wrist and turned around, making an effort to start walking in the opposite direction.

“Just follow me,” he sighed, putting his headphones on and dragging you along behind him.

You were tired—exhausted really. It was draining to be the only one putting in effort to stay together. You genuinely believed that if you stopped initiating, the two of you would fall apart. That’s probably the reason why only a mere whisper could be heard from your lips.

“Do you even like me?”

With the sound of the rain’s relentless smacking of the puddles on the floor and the music coming from Tsukki’s headphones, he wasn’t entirely sure if he heard you correctly, or if you had really said anything at all. Still, although his pace never faltered, he still felt a pang in his heart from your supposed words.

You used your free hand to ever so lightly tug on the hem of his shirt, and that’s when he realized you truly did utter those broken hearted words. It was like he nearly came undone at your touch.

“What?” he said as he slowly lowered his headphones to rest on his shoulders.

“I know you heard what I said,” suddenly the sky wasn’t the only thing crying that day, but unlike the heavens above, your tears were warm, livid, and came slowly down your face—inaudible to the human ear.

“Y/N—”

“It’s a simple yes or no answer, Tsukishima,” you said this despite already knowing the answer. He was either going to tell the truth or lie.

“Yes.”

He lied.

It was true: you had the grades and you had the looks, but life could not grant you the boy.

“Let’s,” your voice almost broke at the thought, but you kept yourself together for just a little longer, “break up.”

Tsukki swore his heart stopped beating for a second. Surely you weren’t serious.

“W-what? Why?” His voice was shaky and panicky—two things you wouldn’t dare associate with him.

“You’re smart! Do you need me to spell it out for you?” You looked up at him, eyes glossy from oceans spilling out of your lash line, and the sound of defeat flowing out of your throat. “I’m so tired of this whole relationship being one sided! Do you want me to start coughing up rose petals for you until I can’t breathe? Because surely I’m getting there.”

“Do you seriously think I don’t like you? I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn't care for you,” he half-screamed. Tsukki was offended that you’d doubt him, but he was the one who gave you every reason to.

“For the first time in six months—six fucking months—you came for me. Where was this attitude yesterday? Or the week before? Or months ago? The fact of the matter is,” you took a deep breath as to not unravel right then and there, “your heart is the one thing that will never be mine.”

You turned away from him and whispered, “So let’s just end this here, before any of us—before I—get hurt,” and you walked away. It wasn’t until you were out of earshot when Tsukki’s heart wrenching three words slipped from his mouth.

“Take it back,” he held his hand out for you, watching as your petite frame got smaller and smaller with every stride.

When you disappeared from view, he slowly turned around and slumped in his step. He went back home and dropped to his knees when he opened the door to the reminder of your absent presence.

Why had he left early?

He planned a special surprise for you at his house for your six month anniversary. A banner, chocolates, roses, teddy bears, and all of your favorite movies. It took him all of six months to build up the courage to do something as heart warming as this—but unfortunately, he was six months too late.

Why was he so cold?

He knew that’s why you caught feelings for him. You told him all about how you fell in love with his distant demeanor. How you thought it was cute when he cringed at people trying to make conversation with him. He never changed because he thought that's what you wanted. After all, that is the reason you liked him, wasn’t it? Maybe he was just too inexperienced to recognized what you truly wanted—no—what you truly needed.

You see, Tsukishima was the type to love in silence, the way you did all those years ago. He left you love letters in your shoe locker, the ones you assumed to be from random secret admirers. He’d leave practice thirty minutes early so you wouldn’t have to wait for him too long. He’d make sure to shut anyone up who dared speak a single negative thing about you, because he too, was in awe of every single aspect you had to give.

Neither of you could have predicted that that unassuming day six months ago was truly the beginning of the end.

reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

#ik i don't like tsukki but writing this kinda made me sad #hopefully its angsty enough #keitsukishima #tsukki #tsukishima x reader #reader x tsukishima #tsukki x reader #reader x tsukki #haikyuu #haikyuu one shot #haha fuck tsukki #gel scribbles

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