#is that why you think you can never actually mean you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thexsilentxwordsmith · 17 hours ago

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: A change of living arrangements means you and the lieutenant are going to be sharing quarters for a bit. All would be fine, if you two could actually stand each other. Is that really it though? Neither of you will tell. But one night, an impromptu confrontation leads to something explosive.

Word Count: 7.9 k

Warnings:

“Fuckin’ hell,” the masked lieutenant says under his breath as he opens the door to his new room in the barracks to see just what fresh hell awaits him now.

As a slew of recent recruits just got added to the task forces numbers and so orders went out that temporary room assignments would be put in place until more permanent accommodations could be dealt with to fit the growing numbers. That meant everyone already here had to double up in the short term and Lt. Riley is no exception.

It’s already been a long day and he just wants to get this over with so he can get some sleep soon. The door widens just enough that he can see the figure of his new roommate on the other side of the room setting up their area and that is all it takes for him to stop dead in his tracks as his heart begins to pound heavy in his chest.

No, no, no; this can’t be right.

Even from the back he already knows it’s you that will be sharing a space for God knows how long and suddenly he is unsure of how he is going to make it through the proximity. Why the fuck of all people did it have to be you that he was paired to board with? The one person that would make the stay that much harder?

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ jokin’,” he says aloud and as soon as those distinct bassy notes make it out of his mouth you immediately turn.

The color drains from your face. “No,” you say as you shake your head. “This has got to be a setup. What the hell are you doing here?”

The lieutenant adjusts his pack full of his clothes and personal items hanging off his shoulder. “What the fuck do ya think I’m doin’?” he asks, his tone harsh. “This is tha room I’ve been assigned.”

The universe has to be playing a cruel joke on him that it would force him into being near the one person he can’t stand above anyone else in this shithole. It has been hard enough having to work together, but now he would have no escape from you and he could already feel himself growing weary at the prospect.

You shake your head. “That can’t be right. There’s no way they even thought to put us together.”

“Ya think I jus’ decided ta bunk with ya of my own free will?” he shoots back as he moves to his side and sets his gear down. “I’d rather be anywhere else, princess.”

Where this dislike came from neither of you even really knew. There was never any pinpointed incident, no explosive confrontations, no pushbacks to his authority from you or questions about your abilities from him; it seemed to be as simple as two personalities that just repelled each other.

At least that’s what Lt. Riley tells anyone that happens to ask about why you two can’t seem to really get along, but if someone were to really pay attention maybe it isn’t that at all. Maybe there is, in fact, another reason for his attitude, a secret reason that means his eyes will sometimes linger a little too long on the person he says he dislikes, but if…and that is a big fucking if…there is something, he would rather take it to an early grave than even give a hint of anything.

And you, well… Your eye rolls whenever he crosses your path are getting a bit too theatrical to be believed fully anymore, almost as if you are trying to not only convince others of your strong distaste for the officer, but that you are trying to convince yourself as well. You keep your lips sealed tight though and so face value is all anyone can take, even if they just so happen to catch a glimpse of the way your pupils seem to dilate when he is near.

“Don’t think you’re going to be here long,” you say, your tone snide. “This will be sorted soon enough cause this” you point between him and yourself repeatedly “will not work.”

The lieutenant has already resigned himself to living in hell as he hunkers down in his bed. “Whateva’ ya fuckin’ say, princess, but ya know what Cap’n Price said about not bringin’ this bullshit ta him as he’s too fuckin’ busy dealin’ with everythin’.”

Fuck. You’d forgotten that little memo… mostly likely put in place to avoid having to deal with situations just like this. If it wasn’t for that you would have marched right down to the captain’s office at first light to demand a change, but you’re already on thin ice as it is right now and can’t afford to cause trouble. All you can do is suck it up and bear it.

It’s just a few weeks, right? Just a couple of measly weeks and you can both go back to avoiding each other like the plague and all will return to the status quo. Right?

Well a couple of weeks feels a lot longer when it’s spent in company with someone you are actively trying to keep up appearances around. By the end of the second week, even being the highly trained military officer that Lt. Riley is, even he is starting to crack under the constant closeness.

He used to have an outlet, time that he could spend away from you to deescalate the desperate need growing in his belly, but now… now he has to see you after hours moving about the room in your pajamas that leave very little to the imagination and fuck is it killing him to not have some form of relief.

He needs something to take the edge off or he is going to start getting sloppy around you and there are still three more weeks that just got added on to this torture. He’s held on for as long as he can, done all the mental gymnastics to keep certain thoughts at bay, but being forced to have his nose filled with the scent of your soap after your shower and have to watch you lay about casually on your bed as you read before going to sleep, legs propped in just a way that he can almost look into your shorts, he can’t do it anymore.

Tonight he has to fix his problem or you’re going to be able to see it protruding from the crotch of his pants.

Lt. Riley waits long after he’s heard the change in your breathing to be sure you’re sound asleep before he puts his plan into action. The sharp edge of his teeth grip into the rolled up bottom of his crew neck shirt, holding it up off his stomach as his large hand is wrapped tightly around the shaft of his cock sticking out the top of his grey sweats. He had stuffed the fabric into the cavity to keep himself quiet, not wanting the sound of his desperation to wake you until he can finish; he has to get through this somehow and keeping his balls empty is the only way he knows will work.

Vigorously he strokes up and down his length, using the bit of precum dribbling out of the tip as lubrication to smooth his movements. Those coffee-colored eyes stare up into the dark ceiling as his fantasies play through his mind like a film: you being a vision of beauty naked, his large body wedged between your legs, your bare thighs crushing against his hips as he slams into you hard and rough enough to make your breasts bounce with each thrust.

Fuck, he cannot draw his thoughts away tonight.

He desperately aches as he always does to feel you, get lost in your curves, let his touch map the contours of your body as he pulls your pleasure from you himself. His hand around his cock strokes harder as he imagines the way your body would feel wrapped around him instead of his rough palm. Would you cry out as he stretched you out for the first time? How hard would your hips buck and writhe against his?

God dammit, why do you have to be just out of reach? Close, right on the other side of the room, but not close enough… not in his bed, not under his body, not filled with his cock. Instead, here he sits propped up against the wall in his bed just as he has so many times before in his old room, using his palm to fuck himself, wishing he could be worthy of a minute of your softness instead.

He nearly bites a hole through the bottom of his shirt imagining the way the sound of your whimpering voice would run like a drug through his veins, leaving him in an intoxicating haze of desire as you moaned his name into the silence.

And that’s when it happens. This one isn’t only imaginary though, like your voice in his head. Muffled, your name falls from his lips in a groan and he doesn’t realize what he has done.

The hardened military lieutenant is unraveling at the seams, forcefully stopping himself from grunting like an animal as his abdominals tense the more that pressure builds inside. He’s almost there, so close that just a bit more and he is going to spill over the edge and finally be able to sleep so that another day can pass, but before he can reach that sweet peak of pleasure his eyes flutter open…

And there you are silently standing near the edge of his bed.

He should have been paying more attention to his surroundings during such an intimate act, but the ecstasy was too strong and he missed that squeak of springs and the soft pitter of feet across the floor. The bunched up shirt slips out of his lips as he tries to shove his cock back inside his pants, praying that the dark has masked enough of his body that you can’t see him clearly.

“What tha hell are ya doin?” he asks as embarrassment floods his nervous system.

Reaching over to his bedside table and brushing your hand over the fabric of his mask, there is a click as you turn on the small lamp to give the room just a tiny bit of light. You try not to get distracted by having those sharp features that you so rarely get to gaze upon meet your sight and you swallow to regain composure to continue.

“Could ask the same thing of you,” you return as you nod your head, using it to point to where his hands are doing a poor job of hiding the massive hard-on he still has.

Now it’s his turn to be silent. What the fuck is he supposed to say? It’s obvious that you’ve seen everything so no lie is going to convince you otherwise.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” you ask, but still he says nothing. “You know, you’re not as quiet as you think you are.”

The thought is left to hang in the air a moment, the only sound filling the room is of his heavy breathing as you weigh your options on how to handle this. You know you could simply chide him for needing to have a wank while bunked with a roommate and leave it at that, but that’s not what you want. No; you know what you just heard and that you have to know if what he was just doing was out of need for you… a need that you secretly share.

If this is your chance to make something happen between you both, you cannot let that go.

The lieutenant’s breathing gets even harder as he watches you move forward without another word and slowly climb onto the bed with him. You move your body up over top of him, his back still propped against the wall behind him, crawling up over his legs until you are straddling over his lap.

Your face is right before his and there is a glisten that shimmers through the irises of your eyes as you stare back at him that catches the spare bit of light illuminating the room and it makes him unable to pull his sight away. You’ve been quiet this entire time, but he still expects you to say something, anything, break the silence because he isn’t going to do it. The lieutenant doesn’t say a word as he keeps his eyes plastered to your face. His gaze drifts down to your lips where they linger only a moment before finally he watches you open them to speak.

“But, you know, it wasn’t the sound of you fucking stroking yourself that woke me up,” you say and his eyes drift back up to meet yours. “Been in the military long enough to know that when you gotta relieve pressure, no matter the situation, you just gotta fucking do it. No, that wasn’t it.”

You pause and he waits on baited breath for you to finish the thought. He needs you to finish the thought so he can do something about how you are over his lap, nearly rubbing up against the tip of his hard cock.

Reaching for the bundled up edge of his shirt still resting at the top of his stomach, you give it a tug to draw his attention to it, brushing your knuckles over the hair covering his abdomen and he fidgets trying to keep quiet as ecstasy-filled synapses spark over his skin from your touch.

It isn’t hard to miss that the contact has a certain effect, but you don’t say anything and instead continue your thought. “Your muzzle really isn’t that effective at buffering the sound…when you absentmindedly said my name in a moan. Care to explain why I was in your head?”

The lieutenant bristles and your smirk is as sly as a foxes. “Have I been in there long, sir?”

That strong jaw shifts back and forth as he breathes in deep through his nostrils to try and calm his pounding heart from beating out of his chest. You’ve barely touched him and it is already rendering him nearly incoherent, but he has to pull it together cause he won’t give you the satisfaction of making him fall apart, especially and until he figures out what the hell is going on.

“Why don’ ya just go on back ta fuckin’ sleep ‘stead a askin’ questions?” he pushes back. “I’s late.”

You shake your head. “Suddenly I’m not so tired anymore. Come on, I promise I won’t tell,” you lower your voice “How many times have you stroked it to the thought of me?”

“Bed,” he barks, but you aren’t having it.

“I’m already in one and I’m not moving until you tell me.”

Fine, he’s already caught anyway. What’s the harm in the truth? You already have enough ammo to use this against him, what’s a little more?

“Alright, ya really wanna know? Do ya ‘ave any fuckin’ idea what it’s like to want someone and feel like you’re unable ta do anything ‘bout it?” he growls. His intense gaze never waivers and yours doesn’t either. “I mean, we ain’t exactly chummy with each other, what the fuck was I ‘spose ta do other than rub one out ta get it outta my system? Do ya know how bad I’ve been fuckin’ achin’ to ‘ave my way with ya?”

You tilt your head. “Is that why you’re always in such a piss poor mood when I’m around? Cause you want to bury that cock of yours in me so fucking bad? Is that right, Simon?”

He smirks in return, running the tip of his tongue slyly over his top lip to buy him enough time to calm his racing heart down from hearing you say his name before his hand juts up from his side to find its way onto the back of your head tangling in your hair.

He gives the strands a rough tug that makes you grin instead of wince. “Who said ya could fuckin’ call me that?” he waits for your answer a moment, knowing you won’t give one before continuing “And what’s your fuckin’ excuse for the way ya act, hmm? Maybe ya want me ta bury my cock in ya, princess.”

You move your face in nearer despite his grip, your lips ghosting so close to his that he can feel the heat of your breath on them. “Are we going to keep sitting here exchanging insults…” the sentence gets interrupted by a hiss from him as you rock your hips so that your pajama clothed pussy brushes over top of his bulge, “...or are we going to do something about this? Cause maybe we just found a way we can stand each other and you’re letting it slip by.”

A chuckle emanates from deep in his chest. “Fuck you,” he grunts.

The tip of your nose bumps against the tip of his as again you move your hip and you can feel the sharp inhale he takes as it steals some of the air from your mouth. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to get you to do, Simon. So, you better make up your fucking mind fast. Am I going back to sleep or…?”

That dam of need he’s kept walled up inside himself for this long had never been tested like this before and as you roll your hips one last time it finally bursts open with such force that there is no stopping the flood. Simon is no longer in control of his actions, though he still has a bit of sense left that he lets out in a terse comment before he lets himself completely go.

“I can’t fuckin’ stand how much I need ya, but you ain’t goin’ anywhere, princess,” he says in a groan and before the last syllable is even uttered his hand at the back of your head pushes your head in towards him so rapidly that you can feel the last word die on your mouth before he mauls you in a kiss that overwhelms your entire face.

A kiss that you cannot get enough of and you meet his intensity and desperation with the same magnitude of your own.

All he needs from this point on is you, all he wants in this moment is you. Nothing else in the world matters or exists except the two of you tangling your limbs and lips together in a union he has obsessively fantasized over for so fucking long it makes him ravenous for each kiss, each, touch, trying to satisfy that burning desire he had suppressed. And by the way you meet his kisses with a ferocity, he knows that you will take it all, anything that he has to give.

Suddenly, in a display of his sheer strength, he grabs you tightly in his arms and flips you both over so that your back is now pressed into the mattress and his body weight is crushing you into it, causing the kisses overwhelming your mouth to not be the only thing making it harder to breathe. His heart is racing, his blood feeling like fire in his veins as he briefly breaks his mouth away to look down at you beneath him, swallowed under the bulk of his body; the angle he’s dreamed of seeing you in. His lips lock back to your own, devouring every heated kiss that you give to him like a man starved.

You moan into his mouth as he thrusts his hand down the top of your short pajama bottoms and into your panties while he pins his lips tighter against yours to swallow the sound of your pleasure down like water and keep it from escaping into the room. He has needed this for so long that now that he has it, he can’t get enough and he won’t waste a single note of it.

The lieutenant is flying blind, but his desire won’t let him falter in his movements. He struggles to keep as much attention he can scrounge up to observe you, read your body, let your sounds guide him so that he can adjust his actions. He isn’t worried about the rush, he is going to be thorough in finding all the ways that can make you fall apart for him and have you completely addicted to him by the end.

Simon’s thick fingers spread apart the silky, warm lips of your pussy and he slides the middle one right up your slit to your clit where he presses the rough pad against it harshly and begins to draw tight circles over it. He is not hesitant at all, touching you like he owns that thing between your legs and you are rendered dumb within just a couple of minutes of him stroking his finger over that small bud.

You’d seen his hands before, meticulously cataloged each thick finger both in and out of his skeleton-patterned gloves and mused about what they would feel like against you, on you, in you. So you know exactly how big they are, but having them between your thighs is an entirely different thing. They are strong, precise, everything a trained professional should be and you know you don’t stand a chance against how he decides to use them.

The more he plays, the more that other hand of his he wants to put to good use and so he slips it up under the hem of your shirt to roughly push it up revealing your soft torso until it reaches the point that he will have to pull from your mouth to rip it off over your head.

Simon tears the fabric off your body, flings it away, and lets his dark eyes linger on your naked curves to take you in as if seeing you for the first time all over again. He’s seen you almost every day that you’ve been a part of this team, but he has never been able to see you like this: naked, breasts on full display with their hardening nipples, the muscles along your torso clenching as his hand in your bottoms is quickly making a mess.

But all this newly revealed bare skin calls to him and he pulls his fingers out of your cunt to cross his arms over his abdomen while grabbing the bottom of the shirt he still has covering his chest so that he can quickly pull it up and off in one fluid motion. He tosses the piece of clothing to the ground atop yours and immediately dives in to press tight to you while letting his touch glide over the contours of your exposed skin until his fingertips tremble with ecstasy.

There is an electrical pulse that bursts over his flesh as your bodies connect skin to skin for the very first time, an attraction that is magnetic in its design, and he groans deeply as he nips at your bottom lip lightly. “God dammit, why tha fuck do ya feel so fuckin’ good?” he huffs in a desperate strain of his gruff voice as his fingers slip up into the short pant leg of your pajamas so that they can go right back to servicing your now damp pussy.

A shuddered breath escapes his lips, the corners upturning into a sinister grin as an idea strikes him and suddenly he is bringing his head in towards your chest, moving to one side and opening his mouth so that he can graze the tip of your nipple with the edge of his teeth before he circles it with the tip of his tongue.

God damn, where the fuck did he learn something like that?

You let out a whimper as the feeling he elicits from your breast when he does it again can be felt in your clit, making the stroke of his finger even more potent. “F-fuuck…” you say in a shaky breath and you swear you can feel that bastard smile into your tit as he hums with satisfaction that his maneuver worked just like he had hoped as he switches sides to do the same to the other.

Satisfied with how your nipples are nice and hard, his lips press into your breast so he can suck them into his mouth and now he has you right where he wants you- whimpering and bucking your hips into his hand to grind harder on his fingers. He knows right now he can do anything he likes and your body will force you to comply just to get him to keep going…and he is still feeling raw from being the only one to have to confess the extent of his need earlier.

That hot mouth unsuctions from your breast with a pop.“Admit it,” he demands abruptly as he pulls his mouth away from your skin. “Admit ya have been achin’ for me just as bad as I’ve been achin’ for you.”

Caught up in the pleasure, you close your eyes and ignore his order to talk, wanting to only focus on the sensations causing your mind to get more hazy by the second. “Don’t stop,” you moan instead. “We’ll talk later.”

Without a word he drags his finger down through the gathering wetness in your slit away from your clit and lifts it out to settle it on the crease between the lips of your cunt and your leg, forcing you to open your eyes to him as you whine in protest. “Ya heard me tha first time,” he says.

You desperately try to wriggle your hips to maybe somehow get him to slip back in, but his free hand keeps your body restrained in place. He’s strong, strong enough that you aren’t going to get anywhere trying to push back against him. The only way you’re gonna get him to keep going is to speak…and you better do it fast because you cannot take this torture.

“Okay, okay,” you give in with a frustrated sigh; you made him admit, it’s only fair you do the same. “There is just something about you, I can’t explain it. This…desire… came out of nowhere and it’s been torturing me for a long time now. And then all this happened and I thought I wasn’t going to make it; I need you so bad sometimes it feels like I’m going to fucking combust. Then I heard you say my name tonight and the only thing I could think as I walked over is that I hope he will want to act on whatever he’s fantasizing about. Is that good enough?”

Simon’s hand moves back to inside your lips, but it isn’t back up towards your clit. His finger gathers a friend and he moves them both down to your entrance where he aligns them quickly before slamming them up into you until the lips of your pussy hit his palm.

“That’ll do,” he praises in a low growl that gets quickly drowned out by your moan from the stretch of your walls to accommodate his large digits.

God you’re so fucking tight around his fingers it’s enough to drive him insane and his cock throbs as his excitement grows to thrust it inside, but not yet; it’ll do for now just to hump the back of his hand against your pussy until he’s finished prepping your body for what’s to come.

Over and over he heatedly ruts against you and the bulge in the crotch of his pants hardens again into a stiff peak that tents his clothes. There are only a few measly pieces of fabric that separate your bodies and that only makes him grind harder and harder, scrambling for a tiny bit more friction. You match his energy by wrapping your thighs around his hips so you can roll your body into him and ride his fingers curling up inside until you feel the drip of your honey down his hand to gather into the crotch of your panties.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans.

You nod. “I’m ready,” you say desperately. “Fuck me; I need you inside me.”

Your plea goes unanswered for a moment as his fingers continue until you hear him chuckle; it’s anything but cheerful.“No.” The statement is short, but powerful.

“What?” you gasp, your breathing heavy.

That familiar tension is starting to build inside that causes your limbs to tingle and you know that if he keeps the rhythm steady that it won’t be long and he will make you cum. A part of you wants him to stop and fuck you, but the other part, the part that is surprised at his skill with his hands, wants him to keep going. You don’t have to struggle with the weight of deciding too long as your decision is made for you.

“You’re not getting a god damn thing more till ya cum for me right now, princess,” he demands, “all over my fuckin’ fingers. Wanna feel it. Ya don’t know what you’re gettin’ yourself into; you’re gonna ‘ave ta be nice and wet ‘fore ya take me.”

That pressure is welling up inside you, ready to burst at any second as long as he keeps his strokes steady. Your mouth falls open and hangs slack so you can simply breathe as each minute that passes brings you to that edge until that heated knot in your core finally becomes so pressurized that it bursts open and sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body like a river of fire.

You cry out as your body lurches and your hips buck against his hand and he groans in ecstasy to feel your body clench around his fingers. “There ya go princess, let it out,” he coaxes as he curls his fingers over and over inside you through your orgasm until you finally relax as the ecstasy subsides.

You lay there breathing heavily as you try to contemplate how hard you just came, but your thoughts are wrangled back into the present as you feel heated lips against your neck trailing down to your collarbone.

Simon pauses and pulls his face back up to meet yours for only a moment; he is on a mission and can’t be stopped for long. “I am gonna fuckin’ ruin ya,” he snarls his deadly promise into your face before flashing a smirk and diving back into his work.

Your body is burning under his fingertips as if everywhere he touches he sets ablaze and he can feel it as his lips follow closely behind. Down the line of your abdomen he places his kisses: over your ribcage, across your waist, over your belly button, and coming to a stop right above your shorts.

His fingers hook into the fabric. “Lift your hips,” he urges and you follow his request as he grips into the material to pull them over the curve of your backside and down your thighs, tugging them the last bit off your feet and tossing them out of the way.

Only the skimpy bit of fabric that is your soaked panties remains, but his feral brain will only let him remove them one way and it isn’t with his hands. He moves in by lowering his head to your pelvis, his warm breath traveling over the sensitive skin just below your belly button until he raises goosebumps across the surface in response. The scent of your arousal fills his nostrils and it only fuels his urges with fervor.

“Christ, Simon,” you moan at delicious feeling of the damp heat from his mouth warming your skin, followed immediately by a louder one as the stubble on his jaw pricks you as the touch of his lips meets your body so that his teeth can sink into the top of your panties.

Your head pops up over the line of your body at the strange sensation just in time to watch him slink down over your legs with shoulders arched and muscles rippling across his back while dragging the cloth of your panties stuck securely between his teeth. He looks up so his eyes can lock onto yours as he goes and you swear you can see them darken with the untamed desire that is floating in their depths, desire to give in to all that he has denied himself for so long and unleash it on you in the most depraved ways.

He makes it to the end of your legs and harshly pulls the fabric off, holding the garment in his mouth like an animal as his chest heaves strenuously up and down with each labored breath. God, he can’t stop the way your body holds his gaze hostage. He is drowning in the beauty of you as he stares with baited breath, admiring how all this gorgeous flesh that he has pinned to get just a glimpse of time and again is right in his grasp and all he has to do now is reach out and take it.

Taking your damp panties out of his mouth and setting them onto the bed, he pops his gaze back up to your eyes. “Open your legs,” he says, inhaling sharply as you follow his direction and he sees your naked pussy presented to him.

He tries to be as coherent as he can through the heavy panting he cannot settle, mix that with the visceral reaction he has to seeing you bare and dripping before him and his temperature begins to skyrocket so that the overwhelming desire he feels for you in that moment is strangling him like a straightjacket of heat.

Suddenly he is overwhelmed with an insatiable hunger to get at you with his tongue, wanting to feel you squirm across his face as his mouth makes contact and he begins to lap at you like a hungry dog. He needs you to make an absolute mess of cum across his stark features as he uses his tongue to draw out your pleasure until your scent has fused with his skin and your nectar has awakened the taste buds in his mouth.

Crawling on all fours he stalks back in close and in the haze of his desire, he grabs your thighs harshly to spread them even wider as he drops down onto his stomach. “Was jus’ gonna fuck ya, but not yet,” he growls. “You’re gonna cum again and I’m gonna eat ya out till ya do.”

No more words, he ignores your pleas to give you a moment as he moves his face in and places his lips to the petals of your pussy in delicate kisses that send shivers up the length of your spine from the stimulation and makes your head strike back into the mattress as you cry out.

You shut your eyes tight as you are immediately overwhelmed with the sensation of his lips pressed between your legs as he uses his tongue to push through them so he can suction around that sweet little bud and sucks it into his mouth.

The sensation from your still tender cunt makes you buck your hips and slam them against his nose, but that doesn’t deter him one bit. The thrill of the struggle to eat you out while you’re still so sensitive is what makes him want more; Simon wants those whining cries and moans, wants to feel trapped against you as your muscles flex and make you lock your legs around his ears.

It takes a bit, but soon the slight discomfort subsides and all that’s left is the ecstasy of his agile tongue. Your hand finds the back of his blonde head and pushes down so that he is pressed tighter against you. Simon hums his pleasure deep inside his chest at the act of being forced to suffocate against you and the grip wrapped around your thighs tightens as if he is physically trying to hold on to his sanity.

The moisture rolls down Simon’s strong chin, through the stubble on his jaw, and drips down his face onto the sheets beneath him so that a noticeable dark stain begins to form on the fabric. Good, get him filthy, wreck his sheets, he doesn’t care. He isn’t going to stop licking and sucking no matter how bad it gets.

How does he do it? How does he keep up the stamina to keep going at your clit with his tongue with just as much vigor as when he started minutes and minutes ago? You whine and it seems to make him go in harder, you buck and he is not deterred; you’ve never been treated like it was a fucking pleasure to get the opportunity to eat you out before.

Just the insatiable way Simon uses his mouth to pleasure you is enough of an aphrodisiac to kickstart the second gathering of warmth in your belly.

You want to cum again for him and so you leave him to his work and focus on letting him go wild. Giving up that control is what it takes and within minutes, you can feel that tautness inside about to give way to your ecstasy. You go completely silent and with a few more strokes of his tongue your orgasm comes on strong so that your legs draw together out of reflex to the overwhelming euphoria.

Your thighs are wrapped around him so tight that if you don’t let up he is going to die between your legs from lack of oxygen, but still he doesn’t give up; if he dies, he dies. The air is slowly slipping away and just before he goes to pry you open so that he can escape, your body relaxes and you release your hostage as you sink into the mattress.

Simon rolls onto his side and rests his head against the shaking muscle of your thigh to catch his breath, lifting his eyes to gaze at the mess shimmering as it leaks from between the lips of your pussy, the mess that is entirely his doing. He smiles to himself as he wipes away the spit and cum that’s accumulated on his chin before he sits up and moves back over top of you.

“God damn, ya never sounded better than when you’re cummin’ for me,” he breathes the words against your raw mouth as he steals it again, trying to drink your whimpers as you come back down that second time.

There is a bit of fidgeting between your bodies that you can feel as he keeps your face at his mercy, but soon it becomes clear that he is wrestling down his sweats off his hips and kicking them off his legs.

Through a panting breath you beg him. “Please.”

That’s all you have to say to make your intention clear, that one word is all he needs to understand what you’re imploring him to do; you need to feel him, even though you aren’t even sure you can stand another orgasm. It doesn’t matter, you need his cock inside you - now.

The tip of his free cock throbs against the skin on your thigh and he grabs your hand to wrap around it so you can get your bearings on what he has to work with; it’s definitely got some girth. “Tha’s all for you,” he grunts as your hand tightens around the shaft. “Ya want it, princess?”

Staying silent, your hand still wrapped around it, you move it to align the head with your sopping entrance. You can taste the distinct musk of yourself in his kiss that he steals as he pushes his hips forward and presses the tip against the membrane.

“I’ll go slow,” he reassures in a whisper on your mouth, “jus’ breathe for me.”

Those strong hands hold your hips steady as he clenches his abdominals and drives the tip of his cock carefully up into you until your body gives way to his girth. The stretch causes your walls to expand quickly and you cry out at the delicious feeling of suddenly being so completely full of him.

Christ, you’re so tight that he has to pause and pant heavily to gain control of his sanity before he attempts to continue or else he risks coming too soon. And nothing, absolutely nothing, is going to make this moment you’ve both waited agonizingly long for be over before it’s begun.

“Tha’s it, sweetheart, tha’s it,” he struggles to get the words out coherently.

His thrusts start slow, hips rocking back and forth easy until he is sure he can pick up the pace without losing it. As the speed increases so does the strength, each new thrust hitting harder and harder as he holds onto your hips to keep your body from being shoved away from the intensity.

“Fuck…ya drive me insane,” he grunts, his fingertips digging into the meat of your hips so hard you can already feel the skin begin to bruise. “And I can’t fuckin’ get enough a it.”

His breaths are now ragged, each one more of a struggle to draw in than the last and his thrusts become more sloppy with each pass as he fights himself to gain back control.

“Your mine,” he groans with a fierceness that sets your soul on fire to hear. “All mine, no one else can fuckin’ have ya. Understand? You belong ta me. Say it, say ‘I’m yours, Simon’.”

There isn’t a moment of hesitation as the words fall effortlessly from your lips. “I’m yours, Simon,” you repeat his words and he slams into your hard.

He drills his fingertips into your soft thighs to hold on to them like handlebars. “Say it again,” he commands.

“I’m yours, Simon.”

He frees one of his hands from your thighs to find the back of your neck and closing his eyes, he leans forward while pulling your head towards him to rest against you with foreheads touching. “Again.” The needy word is barely audible.

You steady your voice by taking a deep breath. “Simon, I am only yours,” you reassure and again he slams his cock into you more vigorously in response.

He could ask you to repeat the phrase ad nauseam until you are hoarse and he would still want to hear it again; he can’t get enough of the way it makes his heart pound faster and faster to hear you say it with such conviction as his cock is buried inside you. It’s the only thing he wants, the only thing he craves, and he cannot help the way he wants to hear it again so he can commit it to memory in case this is all some big dream he will soon wake up from.

Your bodies slip against each other more now as the perspiration created from your copulation coats over all that exposed skin until you both sparkle in the soft light of the room. His hips roll into you with a sense of urgency; he’s close, but he has to be sure you come first. Reaching between your bodies into the gap created from this position, he guides his hand down the warm, glistening skin of your pelvis to slip his fingers back between your damp petals and up against your swollen clit.

You mewl pitifully into his face with your mouth hung open as the pleasure radiates out from that tiny bead that his fingers rub over down into your core and you can’t help but try and push against his hand that is keeping your head locked to his as you desperately try to arch your back. “Gonna cum again,” you struggle to say.

Simon nods his head against yours. “Finish for me, sweetheart,” he groans against your bottom lip as his fingers slip through all that natural lubrication that begins to dribble down over the back of his hand towards his knuckles the longer he strokes. “I need ya ta cum one more fuckin’ time for me.”

Your walls are fluttering around him, the pressure in the pit of your stomach almost painful as your body strains to bring you to orgasm for the last time. But it can’t be stopped even if you wanted it to, you are at the point of no return and there is no turning back. You whimper into his face, loud and pitiful, seeing stars in the darkness behind your closed eyes.

He adjusts his head and opens his eyes so his sight can watch the movement of your bodies, watching to make sure that he is keeping steady. “That’s it, pretty girl,” he grunts, about to cum himself, “come on my cock. Show me how I’m tha only one that knows how ta make ya come.”

A few hesitant groans and your body clenches as you reach climax once again, only this time the wave of pleasure is more intense as his cock is buried inside you. And Simon feels it, the way you core squeezes him and he can’t hold off from cumming any longer. At the last possible second he pulls out of you and up between your thighs as his warm cum shoots out the tip of his cock to cover your stomach.

Through the mind-numbing ecstasy flooding your body to make your limbs tingle, you quickly reach for him and wrap your hand around his shaft firmly, stroking it to milk his orgasm for as long as possible as he grunts deep and guttural while writhing in your touch. His fingers sink into your thighs as he sits back and lets you finish him off until he slows his movements and places his large hand atop yours, causing you to immediately slow to a stop.

Your hand releases him and falls heavily onto the mattress beside you as you lay there and try to calm your breathing. The sweat along your curves starts to cool your burning skin the longer you stay still and it isn’t much longer before you start to get a chill. The hulking officer still kneeling between your legs is able to gain control of himself after a few minutes and moves to lay beside you on the bed, but not before stretching himself to the floor to grab his shirt.

Simon moves in closer and using the top he wipes up his cum off your stomach carefully, making sure to get it all before tossing the garment back to the ground. You turn your head to look up into his face as he props himself up on his elbow and meets your gaze.

“You going soft on me?” you ask, your tone light and playful as you are too tired to even try and pretend your usual attitude towards him is going to be kept up now.

Grabbing your hand he laces his fingers through the spaces in between your own, his thumb stroking over your knuckles gently. “Just keep quiet and fuckin’ enjoy it, yeah?” he returns, pulling your arm to roll you over so you are against his chest.

He leans down and captures your lips so you can’t say anything else. Suddenly these new room assignments don’t seem so bad. In fact, you may just become a permanent bunk mate in his room no matter what comes in the next few weeks if this keeps up…and he is going to be sure it keeps up.

442 notes · View notes

klm-zoflorr · 3 days ago

Text

Okay so uh. I was wondering about what the fuck this is caused by and nobody had answers?? And OOP is not explaining why this is so obvious because of secret fast food place knowledge probably. But anyways here's what i got from my google searches and detective work on the mysteries of cooking appliances (please correct me i am certain of nothing)

First off, oil starts a fire when its too hot. The temperature this actually happens at depends on the type of oil you have, it's pretty high temperatures but you should be careful about not getting it too hot. Especially if your pan is small: small pan means less oil means it heats up quicker, that's why OOP mentionned that.

Now the first latke didn't catch fire. But for the second one I think the oil had simply gotten hotter as time passed. Which brings us to the problem.

So apparently frozen food in oil isn't a problem in an of itself, it's just that:

-frozen food usually has little droplets of ice on it, which when plunged into hot oil turn into steam, which project droplets of boiling oil everywhere, which can burn you and set something else on fire also. But I don't think that's what happened here.

-frozen food takes up a lot of place in a pan, because of the water expanding when turning into ice. Also the pan was like, small. So what I think happened was that the pan was too small, the oil was getting hot, the latke being dropped in made a pocket of oil between it and the bottom of the pan, it got very hot very quick cause it was very thin, and it caught fire. And the frozen food didn't really make it colder, because it was food and it transmits heat less easily than a liquid like the rest of the oil

Anyways in conclusion i'm never ever going to try deep frying stuff and also we all need to buy a food thermometer

#klm-zoflorr

99K notes · View notes

singmyaubade · 1 day ago

Text

Cindy Lou Who

james potter x slytherin!female!reader

summary: you and lily have been polar opposites from birth, disconnected in everything. but when the one thing she has crosses the bounds, you can't avoid it even if it destroys you.

warnings: eventual smut! 18+ heavy angst, cursing , jealousy

a/n: it's part 2! no, its not a dorcas and y/n love story.

i hope you enjoy and you can fw it or not, not my issue.

—

The journey to James's parents’ cabin had already been a nightmare in the making, but the fact that you somehow found yourself stuck in the car with the Marauders made it feel like the universe had personally conspired against you. It was as if Lily was trying to send a message to make you never speak to her again.

Ten minutes earlier:

You stepped off the train, dragging your suitcase behind you, and made your way toward Lily and her usual entourage. You could already feel the tension between you and the rest of the group, but at least Lily was there to distract you.

"Ah, Y/N!" Lily cheered, her arms suddenly wrapped around you in a hug. You stiffened slightly, offering an awkward smile as she pulled back to look at you. Her grin continued to grow, "We were just discussing seating assignments," She explained, glancing at the group, which was all standing around and debating loudly.

"I voted for apparating. It's quicker, and no one has to listen to Sirius whine the entire time," James grumbled, shooting an annoyed look at Sirius, who was lounging against the wall with an exaggerated sigh.

"Well for one, your apparating skills absolutely scare me," Dorcas chimed in.

Mary snorted. "Yeah, I’m pretty sure we'd show up without a neck if either of you tried to apparate us," She said, resting her head on Dorcas’s shoulder, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she looked over at the two boys.

Sirius immediately recoiled, "Excuse me? Leave me out of this, my apparition skills are impeccable if you ladies must know," He said, puffing out his chest and sticking his tongue out at both of them.

Marlene chuckled, chiming in, the sound light and teasing as she looked at you. "Yeah, I think we need someone with actual skill, not just a big ego." She glanced at Sirius, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Sirius shot her a playful glare, but his lips twitched as though he might actually be enjoying the banter. "You wound me, Mar. But I’ll have you know, I’ve never left anyone in a heap of twisted limbs," He said, half-defensive, half-proud.

You sighed, clearly tired of their antics as Dorcas spoke again, "Okay, okay, if you two are done with the theatrics, how about we get someone who actually knows how to apparate without leaving us in the wrong century?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow dramatically, looking at you, "Well, actually, someone insists that ‘bonding time’ means suffering in cramped cars with people you barely know, which is really quite charming," He said as if everyone was meant to agree with his sarcasm.

James shot a playful look at Lily, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Don't blame my little Lily-bear for her big heart," He teased, only for her to stomp on his foot, causing him to yelp.

“I don’t even understand why we discussed apparition in the first place,” Lily huffed, annoyed, “We are driving and that is final.”

You snorted at the sight, feeling momentarily distracted from the impending doom of the ride. Mary, ever the voice of reason, cleared her throat. "Ok Mother, back to the cars. Who's in which?"

You raised an eyebrow, scanning the group with mild skepticism. "Can any of you actually drive?" The question hung in the air, and for a split second, the group fell into silence, as if your voice had been the last thing they expected.

"Well, Remus and I can," Dorcas answered with a grin, clearly amused by your audacity. "And James already asked his parents to send over two cars," She added, her eyes twinkling.

"Wow, loaded with money, Potter?" You teased, turning to James, who shot you a mockingly smug grin.

"Don't act like you didn’t know," He replied with a wink as if he always knew how to make your sarcasm work in his favor.

"And how many people can each car fit?" Mary asked, eager to move things along.

"Four each, including the driver," James answered, his voice laced with confidence.

"Well, this is perfect!" Lily exclaimed happily, her voice full of relief. "Peter can't make it anyway, so Y/N can take his spot!"

Your stomach twisted. "Excuse me?" You nearly gagged, your face contorting in disbelief.

Lily’s eyes softened with an apologetic look. "Oh, don’t worry! They won’t bite, I promise," She assured you, gesturing to the Marauders, who were now standing off to the side like a haphazardly formed band of troublemakers.

You couldn’t hide the disgust that flashed across your face as you looked at the group. The thought of being stuck in a car with them—all of them—felt like some cruel twist of fate. “Can’t you just ride with the boys?” You asked, crossing your arms and giving Lily a pleading look.

Lily hesitated for a moment before offering a sheepish smile. “I could, but I kind of want you to get along with them, Y/N. I really don’t want to force you into anything, but they’re good people underneath the mess," She said sincerely, rubbing your palm comfortingly.

You felt the pressure building. On one hand, you wanted to be a complete brat and insisted that you’d rather take your chances with a single, less painful car ride with the girls. But on the other, you knew this trip wasn’t about you. It was Lily’s weekend, and you couldn’t spoil it just because the Marauders were a walking headache.

"Actually, Lily, it's fine," You sighed, rolling your eyes. "It’s just a four-hour car ride. I’ll survive."

Lily looked at you, her eyes full of sincerity. "Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable—"

"Yes," You groaned dramatically, cutting her off. "But if you ask me again, I will change my mind."

Lily’s face lit up with a sweet, relieved smile. “Thank you, Y/N,” She whispered in your ear, pulling you into another hug.

You smiled faintly despite the dread that churned in your stomach. You lightly pushed her off, trying to hide the weirdly sentimental feeling. "Let’s get this over with, then," You muttered, grabbing your luggage and marching toward the exit.

As you walked out of the station, you could hear the sound of the Marauders’ footsteps trailing behind you, their chatter and laughter loud enough to make you wince. Your fate was sealed, and you had no choice but to endure the upcoming car ride with them.

But who knew? Maybe the next four hours wouldn’t be as bad as you were imagining.

Thirty minutes into the car ride, and you were already questioning every decision you’d ever made in life.

For one, Sirius and James hadn’t stopped talking since you left the station. It was like they were competing to see who could out-talk the other, their voices blending into an incoherent mess of loud jokes, sarcasm, and the occasional burst of laughter. You swore you could hear Sirius’s voice every five seconds, but it was impossible to tell what he was even saying.

The only bearable one in the bunch was Remus—the designated driver, who for the most part, was quietly focused on the road. He had a way of staying out of the chaos, and you were thankful for that. If he’d joined in, you might have just jumped out of the car.

Unfortunately, luck had not been on your side, and James was sitting right next to you. Of course, he was. As if this trip hadn’t already been your own personal hell, the universe had decided it would be even more fun if you were forced to endure James’s company.

The luggage was shoved behind you both, making the car feel cramped in every possible way. And somehow, the small space between you and James seemed to grow more suffocating by the second.

It wasn’t like you hated him—well, maybe you did a little bit right now—but he wasn’t exactly your favorite person to be sitting next to. Especially in a tiny car where you had no choice but to pretend that everything was fine.

And to make matters worse, James had been sneaking glances at you every couple of minutes. You could feel his eyes on you, even when you kept your focus fixed firmly on the road ahead, your chin resting in your palm as you leaned against the cool window, trying to ignore the constant pounding in your skull.

You tried your best not to react. You weren’t about to make eye contact with him or give him any reason to think you wanted to engage. The last thing you needed was him making some stupid comment about how uncomfortable you were being, as if that would make it any better.

But no matter how much you ignored him, you could still feel him there, like a weight pressing on your chest.

You wondered—truly wondered—how you had managed to get yourself stuck on what was likely the worst trip in the history of trips. It wasn’t even like you’d had a choice in the matter.

You were thinking that perhaps you should've grabbed a book from your bag or even your Walkman from home.

Anything to avoid the chaotic, uncomfortable mess that was currently your reality.

But then again, you still wanted to make Lily happy. It was her weekend, and you knew how much this trip meant to her.

And you knew you had to endure this for her, even if that meant suffering through endless hours of loud barking and James Potter’s stupid glances.

But you were starting to develop a newfound dislike for the countryside and for the stupid cabin you were heading to, and especially for James Potter and his stupid face.

You were stopped in your train of thought by the loud crunching in your ears as you looked beside you in disgust to see James eating Sour Cream & Onion chips loudly.

You had hoped that James would choke on the chips he was shoveling into his mouth right then and there, but he was luckily immune to your silent prayers. Instead, his eyes flicked over to you as he extended the bag in your direction, his mouth still full.

“Want some?” He asked, chewing loudly, completely oblivious to the venom in your stare.

You groaned, slumping back in your seat and closing your eyes, hoping that maybe—just maybe—you could escape the situation by sheer force of will. But no. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough to get rid of James Potter. You could still feel his gaze on you, heavy and unrelenting, like a hot spotlight.

“You know,” James continued, completely oblivious to your very clear displeasure, “You could be a little nicer.”

Before you could respond, Sirius—who had been quietly enjoying the chaos—turned around in the front seat, his usual shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “Slytherins are incapable of that. It’s not in their blood.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could snap back, Remus muttered a resigned “Sirius,” trying to rein him in.

You leaned forward, making sure your voice was dripping with sarcasm as you met James’s gaze, “And Gryffindors are incapable of not being complete and utter twats.”

James’s eyes lit up with amusement at your choice of words. You could see the smug little grin forming at the corner of his mouth, like he was proud of his ability to get under your skin.

“Ah, she speaks!” He said dramatically, as if this was some huge victory. You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes and groaning. “I was beginning to think you were either deaf—or perhaps a robot.”

Your eyes narrowed as you leaned in just a little closer, meeting his gaze, keeping it steady. “I believe you’ve got something right here.” You moved in slowly, and you could see his face flush just slightly, his lips parting as if he was about to say something.

You didn’t give him the chance. “Right here…” You muttered, keeping your eyes locked on his, before quickly flicking your finger against his forehead.

James immediately shot his hand up to his forehead, wincing as though he’d been hit with a particularly nasty spell. You couldn't help but smile brightly, crossing your arms triumphantly. You were winning.

Sirius, of course, couldn’t help himself. He started laughing so hard it almost sounded like he was barking. “Wow, Y/N—1, Prongs—0!” he whooped, throwing you a thumbs-up from the front.

You heard the nickname, but your victory felt too sweet to care about it right now. You were too busy basking in your small but satisfying win. Maybe it was the most minor of triumphs, but seeing James’s smug confidence deflate for even a moment was pure, unadulterated joy.

James, still rubbing his forehead, pouted dramatically. “Good to know," He muttered under his breath, though you could hear the faint hint of amusement in his voice. “That’s what makes you happy.”

You leaned back in your seat, your grin never wavering. “You have no idea, Potter,” You said, crossing your arms again, feeling very much like you’d won the game.

You suddenly decided to just take a nap for the remaining two hours of the trip, head leaning against the cold window.

At least then, this trip will be bearable.

"Aww, isn’t this a sight for sore eyes?" You heard a voice mutter, and your eyes blinked open to see Sirius staring down at you with that signature smirk of his.

You hummed in confusion, realizing that your head was no longer against the window but resting on the broad canvas of a shoulder and jaw.

Your eyes widened as you quickly snapped up, inadvertently knocking your head into James's chin. He groaned in protest as you hissed from the pain in your own skull, rubbing it with one hand.

Sirius barked out a laugh, the sound loud and unmistakably amused. You shot him a death glare. James whined like a child. "Couldn’t you have just gotten up softly?" he asked, tending to his chin as if it were more damaged than it likely was.

"I was repulsed," You said bluntly, crossing your arms over your chest.

James smirked, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Didn’t seem that way with your head on my shoulder," He teased, and before you could stop yourself, your fist landed squarely in his shoulder. He groaned dramatically.

You hated how easy it was for him to tease you, it was almost as if he didn't hate you as much as you hated him.

"Shut up, Potter," You muttered under your breath, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Finally, Remus got out of the car, and you were beyond relieved to be able to stretch your legs and get out of the cramped space. As you stepped out into the fresh air, you were hit with the sight of the cabin—a massive wooden oak structure that dwarfed most houses you had seen. Of course, it shouldn’t have been a surprise with James's family wealth, but it was still impressive.

"Admiring something?" James’s voice called out from behind you, and you turned to see him watching you with that grin of his.

You stepped toward him, eyebrows furrowing. "We were trapped in a car for four hours together, and you still want to annoy me?" You asked, annoyed.

James’s grin only widened, something almost unreadable flickering in his eyes. "It’s just so fun," He said sweetly, his tone laced with something that made you furrow your brows deeper.

He moved past you with that same self-assured confidence, and you couldn’t help but watch him for a moment, your mind swirling with an odd mix of curiosity and frustration.

What an odd boy.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of loud cheers, and you turned to see Lily and the other girls finally arriving at the cabin. Lily immediately rushed over to you, throwing her arm around your shoulders. "This is going to be so fun!" She exclaimed excitedly, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Your expression remained indifferent as you shrugged off her arm. "Sure it will, Lils," You said, barely hiding the boredom in your voice as you moved past her toward the cabin entrance.

Inside, the cabin was everything you expected—grand yet homely. Fairy lights twinkled on the ceiling and wound their way along the railings of the stairs, casting a warm, soft glow. A beautifully decorated Christmas tree stood in the corner of the living room, and the fireplace was already crackling with flames, filling the air with the comforting scent of wood smoke.

You couldn’t help but admire the place, its charm undeniable.

Okay, maybe you were admiring it a little more than you wanted to admit.

As much as you wanted to keep exploring the cabin, you couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming desire to just collapse into a bed and escape the chaos for a bit.

The car ride had been long—four hours spent crammed between the Marauders and Lily, with Sirius and James' constant bickering as background noise. You could already feel the tension in your shoulders from it.

You made your way up the stairs, eyes scanning the doors with name cards carefully placed next to them. It was so Lily to do something like that—everything organized to the tiniest detail. When you reached your door, you saw your name beside Dorcas’s.

You hadn’t spent much time with Dorcas, but from what you’d gathered, she was a bit of a mystery.

She was quiet in a way that was similar to you, but then, the next moment, she was all sharp humor and a wild streak of extroversion. It was interesting to watch her switch between the two.

You just hoped she didn’t have any issue with Slytherins. You’d heard whispers from some Gryffindors, and while you liked to think you were nothing like the stereotypical Slytherin, you still didn’t feel like being judged by a new person.

James and Sirius were already enough of a headache on that front.

You pushed the door open and stepped into the room, instantly relieved by the sight of two beds with nightstands and soft lamps. It was cozy—nothing too extravagant, but warm. There were two separate closets as well, and a part of you actually sighed in relief. Privacy. That was something you valued deeply.

"Thank God for separate closets," Came a voice from behind you, and you turned to find Dorcas already standing in the room, “Sharing a closet can drive me absolutely nuts, I need the privacy,” She added. You hadn’t even heard her come in. Her eyes were fixed on the closets, and somehow it felt like she’d read your mind. "As do you," She added, her voice light and as if she head read your mind.

"I—I do," You stammered, caught off guard.

Something about Dorcas always made you feel a little out of your depth, though you weren’t sure why. She had this way of being so at ease with herself, and it was hard not to be a little intimidated.

Dorcas just shrugged, as if your reaction was nothing new. She walked over to the bed, settling herself against the headboard with a relaxed sigh. "Honestly, I’m glad we’re rooming together. That car ride was chaos. I’m not sure I’ve recovered yet."

You chuckled awkwardly, the tension still clinging to your limbs. "Agreed," you muttered, fiddling with your bag as you unpacked some of your things into the closet. You felt Dorcas’s eyes on you, but when you looked over, she was giving you a teasing smirk, as though she could see right through you.

"The Marauders weren’t too insufferable, I hope?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

You laughed dryly. "Well, Remus was a saint," You said, trying to keep it light. "Black and Potter, though? Bloody migraines." You sighed, shaking your head as you hung up a few shirts. "I don’t know how they do it. They thrive on being insufferable, I swear."

Dorcas let out a soft laugh, a mix of amusement and sympathy. "That’s their usual act," She said, as if it were the most predictable thing in the world. "Don’t worry—you’ll get used to it. Or at least, you’ll stop being surprised." She shifted, lying back and staring up at the ceiling, her hands behind her head.

You looked at her, unsure if you were ready to get used to them.

It's like she could read your expression or your thoughts in general.

Dorcas gave you a quiet smile. "You’ll get there," She said with surprising wisdom for someone who seemed so carefree. "Just don’t take it too seriously. They’re all talk."

I hope I never do, you thought, but kept it to yourself.

You couldn't help but think of how you would ever survive this entire trip. In all honestly, you would rather have spent it with Petunia degrading you.

And you were incredibly worried that the tension in your spine would always still there.

You looked at Dorcas questioningly, "Do you think this trip is going to be fun?" You asked, your voice quieter now as you paused in the middle of unpacking.

Dorcas rolled over onto her side, propping her head up with one hand as she looked at you with a thoughtful expression. "I think it'll be interesting. Not sure if 'fun' is the word I’d use. But you never know. It’s a change of pace, at least." She smiled. "One thing’s for sure: it’s going to be memorable."

"Let’s hope it’s the good kind of memorable," You muttered, smiling slightly despite yourself.

"Trust me, I’ve got a feeling this is going to be one for the books," Dorcas replied, giving you an amused look.

You gave Dorcas a slight smile as you both suddenly heard a thump downstairs and several voices of laughter as Dorcas stood, smiling, "Think I'm gonna check up on everyone down there, wanna come?" She asked, looking at you.

You fake yawned, stretching out on the bed. "I think I'll actually take a nap, feeling quite drowsy," You said, trying to keep the tone casual.

Dorcas gave you a smile, but there was a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. "Okay," She replied softly before turning and heading for the door. She closed it behind her, leaving you alone in the room.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. Dorcas was nice, but you really didn’t feel like hanging out with the whole group right now. It was just too much.

You reached for your backpack, hoping to lose yourself in time with a book. But when you opened it, your stomach sank. No books.

"Fuck," You muttered, frustrated. You never forgot your books. You always packed them, even for short trips.

You flopped back on the bed, groaning. This wasn’t going how you’d planned.

After a few moments, you grabbed your toiletries and towels.

Screw it.

A shower would help clear your head.

You turned the tap, and the hot water came on quickly. Stepping into the stream, you let the heat wash over you, hoping it would erase the tension from your body.

The noise of the water filled the bathroom, and for a moment, everything felt quiet.

You sighed deeply, letting go of the frustration. It wasn’t ideal, but you’d figure things out later. For now, you’d let the world outside the bathroom fade away.

After a nice, long shower, you slipped into a soft nightgown, figuring you wouldn’t be going anywhere tonight. The warmth of the cabin made it easy to settle in, and you were content with some peace and quiet.

But as you put your things down, you suddenly heard Lily’s voice ringing out from downstairs.

"AAAAAH!" Her scream echoed through the house, followed by frantic footsteps.

You froze, heart racing. Was she hurt? You quickly rushed out of your room, ready to help. The moment you reached the top of the stairs, though, you saw her laughing hysterically in the living room.

"I told you she would come down!" Lily called, gleefully looking at James and Sirius, her hand outstretched for galleons.

You blinked, your heart slowing as you saw the grin on her face. "What the hell?" You muttered, out of breath.

James was looking at you in wide-eyed awe, but you couldn’t help noticing how your nightgown was just a little too revealing—way more than you’d planned for. The last thing you needed was to give James any more ammunition.

"Really, Lily?" You scoffed, already turning to head back upstairs.

"Wait!" Lily rushed to you, her eyes pleading as she grabbed your arm. "Just come hang out for a little bit!"

You immediately thought 'Fuck no!' but then you thought,

It's her trip.

You glanced at her, and despite everything, her puppy-dog eyes got to you. "I suppose.." You muttered, giving in.

Lily squealed, her excitement infectious as she pulled you downstairs. "We’re about to start the puzzle!" She said with a huge grin.

You raised an eyebrow, not sure whether to laugh or groan. "A puzzle?" You teased. "Are we in fourth year?"

Lily pouted. "Stop being such a buzzkill."

Marlene leaned over from the couch with a smirk. "Lils always makes us do something childish on the first night. Gets it out of our system before the real fun starts."

"Exactly," Mary added. "A bit of innocence before we dive into the chaos."

"And so she doesn’t feel guilty when we get wild later," Sirius teased, his grin mischievous.

Lily stuck her tongue out at them. "I do it because it’s fun! And once we finish, we can glue it and hang it up. Isn’t that cute?"

James groaned dramatically. "But Remus and Dorcas always do the best work, and the rest of us just give up."

Lily shot him a look. "Not this time. This time, we all finish it fast."

Well, that didn’t turn out to be the case.

Lily had, of course, accidentally bought a 900-piece puzzle, and it was much more complicated than anyone had expected.

You, Remus, and Dorcas were the only ones making any real progress. You were surprisingly good at it, which seemed to amuse everyone else. The three of you worked mostly in silence, with you passing pieces to Remus and Dorcas helping out when necessary.

Meanwhile, the others had either given up or wandered off. Lily, Marlene, and Mary were baking cookies, and Sirius was napping on the couch, his loud snoring filling the room.

But, as always, James was not one to leave you alone for long.

"How are you guys still working on that?" He whined, popping up beside you and peering over your shoulder. "It’s annoying and difficult!"

"Just like you," You muttered with a sly grin, not looking up from the puzzle.

James’s started smirking. "Sorry, what was that?"

You scoffed, "Just like y-"

Before you could finish your sentence, James was behind you, fingers digging into your sides, tickling you mercilessly. You yelped, trying to push him off, but he only laughed louder, his hands relentless.

Dorcas and Remus exchanged amused glances, clearly entertained by the scene unfolding.

"Say it again!" James demanded, his voice obnoxiously loud.

You gasped for breath, trying to squirm away from his grasp. "Stop it, Potter!" You barely managed to keep your voice serious, but it came out more like a laugh.

"Okay, say I’m the most brilliant person at Hogwarts!" he pressed, his grin wide.

"I will never say that!" You laughed, finally able to wiggle out of his grasp.

"Come on!" James pushed, tickling you more.

"Okay, okay!" You cried, laughing helplessly. "You’re the most brilliant person in Hogwarts, now get off!"

James finally relented, sitting back with a smug smile. "That’s what I thought."

You quickly adjusted your nightgown, your face flushed with embarrassment. You couldn’t believe you just got into a tickle fight with James Potter—of all people.

Lily appeared, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "What just happened out here?" She asked, her voice teasing. "I heard you laughing."

You turned away, trying to hide your embarrassment. "You didn’t hear anything."

"Actually—" James started, but you punched him lightly in the knee, making him wince.

"—I heard nothing," He corrected quickly, his voice strained as he rubbed his leg.

Lily flashed a knowing smile. "Sure," She said, winking at you before heading back into the kitchen.

You groaned inwardly. This was only the beginning, and already Lily was convinced you were best friends with her friends.

Your mind drifted back to earlier, to James’s behavior and how Lily always seemed to indulge him. It left a bitter taste in your mouth.

"I'm heading up," You said abruptly, not waiting for an answer as you made your way to the stairs.

"But the cookies aren’t ready yet!" James called after you, his voice almost pleading.

"Enjoy them when they are," You snapped, already heading up to your room.

As you reached your door and flopped onto your bed, you let out a long, frustrated sigh. This was going to be a weird trip.

302 notes · View notes

keferon · 19 hours ago

Note

Mecha headquarters is attacked. The building collapses. Blurr goes in and doesn't come back out. And Swindle's the one that's got to deal with the fallout. As far as nightmare scenarios go, this is pretty high up on Swindle's list.

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

Swindle only pulls his phone out of his pocket when he reaches the shadows off to the side of where rescue crews are digging through the rubble of mecha headquarters. Digging they only started because Blurr, the face of mecha, went into that building and didn't come out. Digging they are only continuing because they believe they've found signs of life buried in the rock. Which is why Swindle's phone has been buzzing nonstop for the past several minutes.

He looks at the names next to the missed calls. Shockwave. Shockwave again. Pharma. Unknown number. (Shockwave?)…. The list goes on.

Swindle doesn't know how Shockwave or Pharma knows already, but they must. Swindle's first call since Blurr disappeared under that ton of rubble had been to emergency services. Every call since has been to call in favors, pull strings – exert as much influence as he can to keep the details of what's going on out of the news. To keep the potential damage this could do to a minimum.

Somehow, it hasn't been enough. Which means this situation is fast heading towards something more than what Swindle can handle on his own.

Swindle pulls a second phone from his pocket and hits the number on speed dial.

"Hello?" A voice answers within one ring of Swindle dialing. Onslaught. He relaxes slightly.

"You watching the news?" Swindle skips over customary greetings, security measures – there's no time for them now. He knows it is Onslaught on the other end of the line. Onslaught will recognize it is him by his voice. That much, they still have to be able to trust.

What exactly will be on the news, Swindle doesn't know. But, it's a safe bet that at least some of the basics of the mecha attack will be broadcast. Beyond that, it all depends on how much Swindle's contacts came through.

"Yeah. Mecha was attacked. They're saying no casualties, so why are you calling me?" Onslaught asks.

"That's all they're saying?" Swindle asks in return. "No casualties?"

"That's all. No casualties," Onslaught confirms. "Showed some footage of the fighting. Pretty standard stuff. Cut in some impressive footage of Blurr's mech. What's going on? Not that I'm not glad to hear personal confirmation you're not dead, but this line is for emergencies."

"There is one. Shockwave." Swindle says the name as though there's no further justification needed for why he's calling on this line. And really, there isn't. They had agreed to that from the start of this venture. "He's been calling me. Non-stop."

Swindle thinks he hears a soft curse on the other end of the line then, "Why would he care? What's his interest?"

"Blurr," Swindle says. "That footage, of his mech – was the actual fight. A fight he never should have been in. But he did it anyways because there was no other option. He went into the building and he never came out. He's the reason they're still here digging – the reason I'm still here."

"And the reason Shockwave's calling," Onslaught fills in.

"Yes. Him. And Pharma." Swindle adds.

"Pharma is a medic, you know. With ratchet going more or less of the grid and First Aid and Ambulon tied up with Vortex he's the highest ranked medic in mecha. It would be his job to supervise pilot injuries." Swindle can tell even over the line that Onslaught doesn't really believe his own words. But they need to make sure they've covered everything if they're going to stay ahead of this.

"He shouldn't know though. I called in favors to delay the news of Blurr's status until after excavation is complete and you said yourself the news only confirmed no casualties yet," Swindle points out. "I've sent no internal communications. Pharma shouldn't know yet. He's too close to Shockwave. Neither of them should know. But they've both been calling since the collapse – within minutes of each other."

Swindle definitely hears Onslaught swear at that. "I don't know exactly what the connection is between Shockwave and Pharma – but I don't want Pharma – or Shockwave – anywhere near this, anywhere near Blurr," he finishes.

"Blurr's alive?" The question is stated matter-of-factly, though Swindle wouldn't have blamed Onslaught for expressing a note of skepticism. If the man is still alive, there's no way he's walking away from this without serious injuries. Swindle would bet every dollar in his accounts on it.

"Possibly. There are signs of life under the rubble. We paid Blurr to be the part of a hero for the media. Turns out when it mattered it wasn't entirely an act. He saved a lot of lives today – including mine." If Blurr is pulled from that rubble alive, Swindle will give every dollar it takes from his bank account to ensure it stays that way. They need Blurr. More than he knows.

"I never told Blurr the truth behind why it was so important that mecha hire him," Swindle's voice drops as he says the words.

"I am not repaying what he did today by letting him find out firsthand whatever it is Shockwave does in those labs of his. We're not going to sit back and watch the creation of another Vortex. It was bad enough when we didn't know. Now…. Right now, I need you to distract Shockwave and Pharma."

"How long do you need?" As Swindle had at the beginning of their call, Onslaught skips the unnecessary validation and asks the question that gets at the point. It has Swindle breathing a sigh of relief.

"A few hours, minimum. But I'll take anything you can give me, just stall them as long as you can. I've got to go." Swindle hangs up without waiting for Onslaught's reply. A stretcher is being carried out of the ruins towards a waiting helicopter.

Swindle manages to make it onboard just before take-off. He rides all the way to the hospital with Blurr. Handles all the forms. Tells the receptionists to put the bills on his card. He knows (hopes) Blurr could do it when the time came (the man certain has the money; Swindle's been writing his checks) – but he shouldn't have to. All Blurr should have to focus on is his recovery, and what comes next. Blurr should have friends, family, a partner – someone to support him in this.

Swindle knows – has known since early on in working with Blurr – that that is not the case. He's observed enough to see that Blurr asks for help if he truly needs it, but no one just offers it to him. Because no one knows to. In this case, Blurr cannot ask, so Swindle manages instead.

In an ideal world, someone would stay by Blurr's hospital bed, simply so the man didn't have to wake up alone in unfamiliar surroundings with no explanations. But this is not an ideal world. And Swindle is not that person. His time runs out long before then.

Fresh blood has been spilled. The predators are circling. Swindle has a show to put on. The best he can do is leave his card on the bedside table as a reminder and hope Blurr actually calls if he needs anything.

I. LOVE THIS. SO FUCKING MUCH YOU CANNOT EVEN IMAGINE

Absolutely in love with this conspiracy thing Onslaught and Swindle have going on. Because YES. OF COURSE. Gosh this is why I love Combaticons. They’re on their own side. Whatever system they are forced to be part of - it doesn’t have full control on them. They’re doing their own thing ehehehehhehe

#maccadam #transformers #tf mecha universe #mecha art #hmm….how tf do I tag it #mecha cbc art #swindle #mecha writing #mecha cbc writing #mecha bs writing #blurr #Onslaught

274 notes · View notes

back2bluesidex · 2 days ago

Text

To Be Popular - JJK [Prologue]

Pairing: Social Media Influencer! Jungkook X Marketing Manager! Reader ft. Yoongi

Summary:

You love everything about social media - apart from the ever-growing number of social media influencers. You don't understand how these people gain followers and admirers just by installing a camera and doing very basic things in front of it. And you despise how some of them can do anything to gain fame, to be popular - even if it includes uploading their bedroom scene in pornsites aka people like Jeon Jungkook. But when your company launches a new product and your department head tasks you with signing Jeon Jungkook up as an endorsement partner - you have no choice but to chase him like the corporate slave that you are. However, things turn worse when you embroil in a dating rumor with him and have to keep the game going for the sake of everything. is it really for the worse or things will turn in a way you never expected it to?

Theme: Strangers to lovers au, fake dating au, kind of enemies to lover au, angst, smut, fluff.

Full Series Word Count: 26k

Chapter word count: 1k

Warnings: a tiny little smutty scene, dirty words.

Masterlist | Patreon (For access to the complete series)

Taglist requests are open.

Minors, I am not responsible for what you consume online. So, act more rationally and stay away.

A/N: After brooding for a long time, I have decided to (alongside your votes) release one of the patreon exclusive, since no other stories are working out. Though this is originally a drabble series, I will release longer chapters here.

Chapter index: -

Or read the full series right away on Patreon at a discounted price today!!

Your eyes zero on your laptop screen - the quality is just above what is called grainy.

But you can clearly recognize those tattoos. Moreover, you can recognize that voice, even if he says nothing good but filth.

“You whore!” a slap rings as if to punctuate the man’s breathy voice, “look at your greedy hole swallowing me up so good!”

You look at what his voice is referring to. The place where his cock disappears into her, creating a lewd, wet sound, her arousal drips down the back of her thigh - your own thighs come against each other as an impact.

Even though their faces are not visible in the 3 minute video, the whole country knows who they are.

Social media influencer Jeon Jungkook and Youtuber Kim Doona.

There are a plethora of reasons behind why you don’t like these social media influencers. If you have the energy to make a list then it will go like:

1. These people think of themselves much more highly than they actually are. You mean, they are not even celebrities or making the country proud or something. What the fuck make them so obnoxious?

2. They have an awful number of dumb followers. Why do people even follow them? For showing their makeup and skin-care routine? For screaming loudly at the gaming screen? For recording themselves eating, doing the most random shit every normal human being does on a daily basis? You just don’t understand why.

3. These people are absolutely fame-hungry. They can do anything and everything to boost their followers even if the said actions aren’t really positive.

Take an instance from the current scenario - two of the most popular social media influencers have dropped their bedroom scene at an adult site and it got monetized within a day. Nice move because they gained both money and fame 10x overnight.

It’s not that you have paid to watch what you are watching currently - you would rather die than feeding into the delusions of these influencers. You are watching because you despise these people and there was a leaked version circulating on Telegram.

You scoff at the screen but the wetness in between your legs scoffs back at you.

You hate them, yeah, but it’s not like you are totally immune to the sexy scene they have portrayed. Especially the way Jeon Jungkook’s tattoo arm held onto the female’s waist, or the way his muscles flexed under the dim light, or the way his cock-

“Y/N! What the fuck?” you scold yourself, slam-shutting your laptop with unnecessary force. You blame it on your temporary state of celibacy that has been forced upon you since your last break up.

And the fact that you have a fat crush on your manager - doesn’t make things any less painful.

So you decide to shut off your system for the night and go to sleep as you should have done long ago. You have work tomorrow and a meeting, being wet after watching some influencers fuck each other wouldn’t help you with your career.

Or would it?

Your jaw hangs ajar, threatening to touch the floor as Min Yoongi, aka the manager you have a fat crush on, presents the campaign plan of your company’s new product’s marketing. Everything was fine until Yoongi suggested influencer endorsement and if this is not a joke of the universe then you don’t know what it is because you can see Jeon Jungkook’s picture gracing the screen.

“Jeon Jungkook? Why?” you utter these words without so much of a thought.

Yoongi looks at you with his narrowed eyes, “why not? You know, he is really famous. He is trending currently.”

“Yeah but the reason he is trending- well. I don’t think he is suitable for our brand image.” you press on.

Yoongi chuckles at your constipated expression, “Y/N-ah” he calls you softly and a tiny part of your heart melts, “I am sure our brand image can go up with a few charitable works here and there. But the company wants a return of what they are investing in marketing. I bet signing up Jeon Jungkook will help.”

“Y/N, you know we are already at a tight spot right? Our last campaign wasn’t as successful as we expected. The company may take steps if we don’t do this right this time.” calls Mrs. Lee from the other side of the table.

“And before you ask me why him, why not the other influencers…” Yoongi chimes in again, “We are selling gaming laptops and this guy is addicted to games. He has more followers than the actual streamers. He is young, hot, and talented in many areas. In one word, he is perfect.”

“You awfully sound like you want to date him.” You scoff at the man. He only chuckles.

Yoongi tries to say something but a knock rings on the door. One of the staff opens the door only a little and says, “Sir, he is here.”

Yoongi nods and says, “send him inside.”

“Who is coming?” you place the question. Only for Yoongi to smirk as a response.

When you are about to press more, the door swings open revealing the man who-should-not-be-named, Jeon Jungkook.

Your eyes go wide as you take him in - all baggy clothes and a cute bucket hat perched on the top of his head. Bambi eyes scanning the room like a puppy brought to his very new home. As if he is not the guy who is going viral for fucking on camera and selling it to an adult site.

He bows deeply and opens his mouth to greet, “Hello, I am Jeon Jungkook.”

You feel your blood pressure raising at the thought of working with him. You will survive it right?

You will have to.

Permanent Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie @mikrokookiex @jjk174 @lallataegi @savageyoongi @jwnghyuns @parapiop7 @futuristicenemychaos @armystay89 @ryryvna @purple-realms

223 notes · View notes

specialgradefckr · 3 days ago

Text

tw: explicit content, incest, satoru/reader, satoru/suguru, shoko/reader, codependency, very twisted relationship dynamics, implied abusive/neglectful childhood

suguru had never known what to make of the two of you.

satoru the six eyes and his twin sister. satoru who was his best friend, and you, the girl who looks just like him.

satoru who let suguru bend him over and fuck him until he cried, only to roll off the bed, pulling out his phone.

god. he knew satoru was a dick, but this?

it hurts more than it should. they'd never talked about it, never even called each other friends. he should have figured this wasn't anything special.

but what the fuck is satoru doing on his phone?

"satoru?" he says, trying to sound casual.

everything has to be casual with satoru. low-key. being with him feels like he's coaxing a wild animal. get too close, and he might just bolt.

bolt, only to hit him out of the blue days later with a picture of a candy and a smarmy comment about suguru's taste in food. or his hair. or his power as a sorcerer, or whatever was going through that malfunctioning brain of his.

god, why the fuck does he even like him again?

satoru turns back so suguru can see his smirking face.

god. that was why. the face of a fucking angel, a smile that made his heart skip. why did it have to be on this asshole?

"what, suguru? you feelin' lonely?" satoru drawls.

it's a question he knows the answer to. keep it chill. don't show your hand. don't get too close or he'll get scared.

it aches. "shut up," he says, "i'm just curious who you're texting right after i pulled my dick out of you."

he smirks back when satoru pauses, hesitates.

"who's this person you're thinking about right after you cum?" suguru drawls. he's proud of how distant he manages to sound.

satoru's eyes dart towards him, all ice blue and piercing.

"nobody," he says, setting his phone face down while he pulls on his pants.

he blinks. "what are you..."

satoru ignores his question, strolling out towards the door while waving goodbye. "later, su-gu-ru~"

"but this is -"

before his eyes can furrow, satoru closes the door behind him.

"...your room."

he'd thought that it meant something different this time. satoru always left right after they fucked, he never stayed.

but this is satoru's room. so he'd either kick suguru out, or let him stay.

he hadn't been prepared for him to just... leave. his own room.

what's wrong with him? seriously.

suguru glances at the downturned phone. flips it over.

nee-chan~ (2)

his sister? it beeps.

nee-chan~ (3)

no, don't. i'll ask shoko

you'll ask shoko to do what? satoru has a lock, so he can't see.

seriously, i mean it

after a moment, there's another message.

are you ignoring me, or just busy with him?

don't come over. slut

...what?

the message notification disappears along with the message.

suguru gets a strange feeling.

he looks around satoru's room. he finds some girl's clothes.

does satoru even like girls? they could be yours. he's seen you in his room before.

the strange feeling starts to get. stranger.

there's condoms in here, too, which is weird because satoru has never asked him to use them. or used them himself. he whined when suguru suggested it, actually. asked if he was scared of getting knocked up.

ugh. stupid, insufferable, endearing little shit. he wants to have him in his arms right now.

but it doesn't mater what suguru wants. satoru just left. like he always does, sooner or later.

picking up the phone, he makes his way out. down the hall, towards the girls' dorm.

shoko is already there when he gets there. holding out an arm to stop him.

he raises a brow.

"she's sleeping."

"how do you know i'm here for her?"

shoko shrugs. "why else would you be? saw gojo go in there. anyways, they're asleep now."

"can't be. i was with him just a few minutes ago."

the look she gives him is... strange. everything about this situation feels... off.

he pushes past her, and she sighs.

there's no noise inside, at least. he looses a curse to twist the lock on the door, turn it form the inside.

and it's surprising because - god, what was he expecting?

you're there, curled up beneath the blanket with satoru laying behind you, arms wrapped around you and holding you close.

it's romantic, sure. intimate.

but nothing weird. well, nothing too weird. satoru's always been weird, and you're just like him, so of course you're both weird together. you've always been close. you're his twin sister. what is he thinking?

with a toss, he lets satoru's phone fall onto the floor.

he avoids shoko's gaze as he closes the door and stalks off.

(he doesn't see her anxious glance at the door.)

"he's gone," satoru whispers to you, brushing his thumb over your nipple as you bite your lip.

"shut up," you hiss, putting a hand over his. "i can't believe you did that. why did he follow you? what did you say to him?"

his other hand, threaded beneath your panties, wriggles playfully.

"whaaat? you said you wanted to go to bed. i didn't want to make you wait." he sighs dramatically, "i'm the strongest sorcerer, you know. i need my rest~"

and without you, there is no rest.

as soon as your body is against his, it's like all the tension leaves him. you're there, with him, and everything is all right.

all his worries fade away when he can wrap his arms around you and feel you embrace him in return. mind blank at the soothing sound of your voice. never mind the words you're saying.

"yeah, but do you need to do... this." you say fruitlessly. "you could have come later."

"didn't wanna come later," he kisses your shoulder, "wanted to see you now."

you wriggle in his arms, too wide and too strong to escape, even if you wanted to.

it's enraging. it's gratifying. you don't know what it is, and never have.

he must have been fucking suguru. and after he got his, he came to you.

should you laugh, or cry?

"i could have asked shoko." you mumble almost miserably.

but a sigh escapes you as he fondles your breast. satoru always knows how to make you feel good.

maybe not as good as shoko does, but you're still nice enough not to say that to his face.

"what? to sleep with you?" satoru scoffs, "you can't sleep without me, either."

neither of you have ever slept alone, not a single night in your life.

not even when you were deathly ill and the clan begged the precious six eyes to stay away and not catch your sickness.

satoru had stayed by your side the entire while. held your hand while your head pounded and your body ached. wiped your tears when you cried.

because you were very young, and very sick, in more pain than you'd ever felt before. you had honestly thought you were going to die.

there had been no servants, no mother or father or caretaker. only satoru holding you close, lifting you to drink some water and medicine. telling you that you couldn't die. he wouldn't allow it.

and to your child's mind, that had been reassuring. your brother never left you. your fever broke and you were okay, just like he said you would be.

now, you know better. now you know satoru would lay in bed with people who weren't you, even if he always came back (for now).

now you knew what it was like to have someone else by your side.

(but was it enough? could it ever be enough? could it ever be what you have with him?)

"i'll never know until i try." you turn in his arms to face him, and he allows it.

blue eyes. beautiful, beautiful blue. a pretty face. almost as pretty as shoko's.

you've been learning, lately. you used to think of the mole on her cheek as an imperfection, the cigarette smoke a bad habit.

now? you still think it's a bad habit, but the mole is charming. and you don't hate the smell as much because shoko took you out shopping for perfume.

she asked you which one you liked the most, and bought it for herself. she wears it every friday when you have your girls night out with utahime.

where you get drunk enough to make out with her until she brings you back to the dorm, kissing and fondling and touching.

she asks you if it's okay. asks you how you like it best. asks you to touch her this way, that way.

it's not like how it is with satoru. but she makes you feel good, makes you happy. she wants you to feel good. when you cry she kisses your tears away, like she knows better than to ask but wants to comfort you anyways.

when was the last time satoru tried to comfort you?

"hey," satoru breathes into your ear, pulling your panties down, "c'mon."

when you think of her, your heart flutters. when you think of satoru, your stomach flips, and your whole body aches.

you don't know what love is. you don't think satoru does, either.

otherwise, why would he ever leave geto's arms? when he's so obviously head over heels for him?

you clasp one arm against his chest as you reach down, stroking his cock to hardness. geto must have made him cum (satoru has never made you cum). must have fucked him.

satoru rolls you so you're on top of him.

his shirt is off, baring his lean, muscled chest. your brother, your strong, handsome, beautiful brother, looking up at you with wandering eyes and greedy hands.

your hands are equally greedy. running over his chest, ghosting over his nipples until he shivers. oversensitive. he always is after he's been with geto.

satoru's got a condom out already. he slips it on, leaning forward and pinning you down beneath him.

he doesn't have to use condoms with geto. he doesn't have to be the one on top all the time, either. geto can fuck him. he must like that.

geto's a special grade sorcerer. geto's a man. he's not his sister.

his cock is sliding up and down against your entrance, wetting the condom as he nips at your breast.

he always leaves marks like this, but never where anyone can see.

does he leave marks on geto?

"do you like him more?" you mumble, anxiety swirling in your gut. your lower half is a hot swirling pool of need, leaking for him.

and he inches in, making you whine, making you claw marks into his shoulder. you hope geto sees them.

satoru groans, low and throaty. it always feels like coming home when he's inside you. a perfectly matched lock and key.

his hand threads through your hair. you're so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. he'll admit he's a vain bitch, but who wouldn't be? looking like the two of you do.

maybe one day he should get you to dress up like him. wear a strap and fuck him, that'd be fun.

for now, you're warm and soft and perfect for him. so comfortable. and you're rambling about stuff that isn't important.

"what," he murmurs, breathy from the warmth of you around him, "who?"

if the frustration shows on your face, he can just fuck it away.

"geto." the name is swallowed by a swift thrust, hands planted on your hips.

you wish he'd touch your clit more (you never ask). you wish he'd answer your question (you're afraid to push). but your brother just doesn't think about other people.

"c'mon," he whines, "don't talk about some other dude. you're with me."

"you were with him."

"so?" he thrusts in harder, stealing your breath, like that'll win him the argument, "you're fucking shoko."

satoru fucks you breathless, then. pumping in and out so quickly that the friction has you shuddering, shivering, close enough that you finally start to squeeze around him.

it's always like this with him. you feel like you're drowning, helpless. all you can do is cling to him.

"satoru," you hate how pitiful your voice sounds, "satoruuuu...."

he's hitting you, so deep and so hard it hurts, pierces through the breathless haze and leaves you clenching around him.

"please," your breath escapes you with his next thrust.

please don't leave me. don't abandon me for him. don't discard me now that you have someone better. don't leave me all by myself...

tears dot at your eyes, squeezing around him. satoru's own eyes are wide and wild, his hips shoving into you staggeringly fast.

"i got you," he says, close, so close, "i've got you."

another deep thrust, painful as it is pleasurable, bruising and fast like his fingertips on your hips. he swallows your moans with a kiss.

he thinks he can eat up all your complaints, all your anxiety. hide away from his own by nestling himself in your body.

you don't want anyone but him, right? he's the only one who touches you like this.

the way you squeeze around him, the way your body feels against his, no one else gets that from you. shoko couldn't do this for you. no one could.

you say his name again and he's ready to burst. you love him always. you're so good for him. you make him feel good just by being there.

a part of his life. a missing limb. his precious sister, his beating heart, right there against his chest.

"there," satoru pants, "fuck, there, cum for me, baby..."

it's tears you blink away when he gasps and cums, burying himself inside you with a wounded sort of whimper.

you never do, when it's him. to be fair, you've never done it to yourself, either.

you only ever came when shoko fucked you. but fucked is such an ugly word for how gently she touched you, how soft she smiled.

"satoru," you whine again, "do you like him more than me? i like you more than shoko..."

satoru doesn't answer you. his hands move from your bruised hips to wrap around you, pull you close, plant kisses on your head.

"you know," he mumbles out your name. "you know."

there's a flash of rage. irrational.

he won't say it. he won't even say it. satoru will fuck you, his own sister. cling to you like he needs you to survive, sleep with you every night of his life.

but he won't say he loves you more than geto. he won't even say he likes you.

and you know - because you know him like the back of your hand, you were born with him, you spent every waking moment of your life with him until you came to the school - you know satoru loves you.

but he loves you like he loves air. it's always there. always accessible. it's not like the air will suddenly leave.

you curl into satoru's muscled chest, let him embrace you closer, sink into the silence that's only comfortable for him.

maybe there's something you can do about this.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #jjk x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo smut #gojo x reader #suguru geto #suguru geto smut #satosugu #satoru x suguru #shoko ieiri #shoko ieri smut #shoko x reader #female!reader #gojo!reader #tw: incest (siblings)#gojo twincest

271 notes · View notes

supermenz · 2 days ago

Text

one

summary: One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do; two can be as bad as one, it's the loneliest number since the number one. Or: you're two years old when you lose your parents. Your brother, a kid himself, is unable to give you the love you deserve, and you end up at twenty being as burn out as only a Gotham University student can be. So, what do you do? Change scenery, of course.

pairing(s): clark kent x wayne!reader, bruce wayne x sister!reader, eventual platonic batfam x reader (no use of y/n)

warnings: genius kid trope, kinda doomed siblings, language, there are reference to what happens in "the batman" but there will be a merge of both comics and films, written with david!superman in mind cuz he's my pookie 😞, bruce is so pathetic i love him sm

word count: 2.2k

author's note: my first ever fanfic for the dc universe!! constructive criticism is welcomed as english is not my first language,

next | series masterlist

Gotham has left you feeling more claustrophobic in the last few months than it did all your life.

Maybe it’s because you’re seeing your brother slip into his work — aka beating criminals in the night as a hobby — more and more, or maybe it’s just your brain playing tricks on you. It’s probably the latter.

You’ve never been good with emotions — it comes with being a Wayne, and surely, having your parents die before you were three didn’t help your situation. Bruce spending most of your childhood abroad with barely any contact with you also probably didn’t help either.

“But I’m here now,” he had said once, “Am I not?”

He is, but even if you love him with all your heart, sometimes you think that you’re more like colleagues rather than siblings. Your bond is strained, with him being so closed-off and spending most of his free time cosplaying as a bat, and you having just entered your twenties, trying to get your second degree in biology after an early graduation and an even earlier PhD in engineering. And since his first big case four years ago, neither of you has been the same.

Your relationship has never been easy. The flood and the Riddler’s case basically forced you to trauma bond over what you both had experienced, as surely no therapist would’ve wanted to hear about all the horrors that you two experienced, even for all the money in the world. Besides, it’s not like Bruce could just enter a therapist’s office and tell them that he’s the fucking Batman.

As of now, you tend to have your… ups and downs. Both prefer to just hide behind paperwork, projects, cases or research rather than just talk some things out. Because yes, Bruce’s your brother, but that doesn’t mean he’s easy to love. There are some days where he seems to be barely able to talk to you, others where you know he just wants to scream at you for whatever reason, others where… others where you think he might just crumble at your feet and start crying.

You don’t have a lot in common. Maybe that’s why he manages to stay in Gotham even after all that’s happened — combined with the fact that he’s spent ten years or so abroad. Maybe you need that, too.

“I’m thinking of moving out,” you tell him during one of your rare dinners together. You have already talked about your plan to Alfred, who has shown his support towards the idea and urged you to get out of Gotham as soon as you could, but you also wanted to tell Bruce — just to be honest with him.

Yes, he left you to study abroad all those years ago without any kind of goodbye or anything, but you have no intention of leaving him behind like he did to you — you may be grown adults now, but that doesn’t mean that being left behind doesn’t exist anymore. You doubt Bruce would ever feel left behind by you, of all people, but still. “Found a faculty in Metropolis that will be able to transfer all my credits and studies and a nice flat downtown near the Wayne Enterprises’ site there. I think I need a breath of fresh air– I need to go somewhere where the sun actually shines and not everyone has hidden agendas.”

You’ve heard good things about Metropolis, and you think that the Martha Wayne Foundation could be expanded a bit more — somewhere far from Gotham, where surely there are other orphanages, other people in need that could use some help. “I could handle Wayne Enterprise’s gestion and settle our matters there while continuing my studies in a more… calm environment.” calm is a big word for a metropolitan city as big and populated as Metropolis, but every city is calm in contrast to Gotham.

Your brother doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, wide-eyed, fork still raised to eat the potatoes Alfred cooked, his face blank. Is he having a heart attack? You didn’t think that you moving out would’ve been such horrendous news for him. Yes, even if you are not that close he’s still very protective, but he went to live abroad at ten. You’re twenty and you’re just… moving to Delaware. It’s not like you’re going to the fucking Himalaya mountains as he did.

(Meanwhile, Bruce is spiraling. He wonders when the hell did his little sister grow up, how it can be that she isn’t the little girl he used to sway around anymore, and why would she ever want to move out. Is it because of him? Did something happen?

Isn’t Metropolis in another state? Is he so tremendous that you have to move states in hopes to forget about him? Is he too overbearing? He thought he had always given you enough space to do your own thing–)

Instead of saying all of the things he’s thinking, he tries to muster up a smile, even if it comes out as a grimace. “Alright.”

He nearly jumps out of his seat when you beam at him — is he really that obnoxious that you can’t wait to move out and have him out of your life? “Oh, I’m happy that you’re taking it well! I was afraid you’d freak out.” you get up from your seat and move over to hug him, and he chuckles nervously. “Why would I? You’re an adult, you can do what you want.”

(What do you mean?!, his conscience screams in his head, She isn’t even twelve! Just yesterday she was talking about going to the homecoming dance with her friends–

But time has passed, and even if Bruce feels that it was particularly hard on him, he didn’t think it’d affect you too, somehow. It’s weird acknowledging something’s — someone’s — changes in the years in… so little. He had gotten so used to you being his little sister that he didn’t even think about you becoming a full on woman. He still remembers the pink bundle of blankets your parents had given him that day at the hospital, telling him to be careful with her, she’s your little sister.

When have you grown this much? Where did the time go? He swears it was just yesterday when you were admitted to Gotham University.)

“But… a flat? Are you sure you’ll be comfortable there? It’s not exactly as big as a manor.”

You avoid his gaze, scratching the back of your head. “Yeah, about that…”

He raises an eyebrow, “Let me guess, you bought the whole building?”

You snap your fingers, “They don’t call you the greatest detective for nothing!” you sit back down, cutting the meat on your plate, “I plan on making the floors I won’t live in into a laboratory of sort– almost like the Batcave, y’know, so I can continue working on the models I designed undisturbed.”

When Bruce had started his crusade as Batman, you had just gotten your bachelor’s degree in engineering, and were working on your master’s degree. You had basically given him the head-start, creating the software of the Batcomputer (or of the computer, as he calls it), designed and adapted a sport’s car to the Batmobile (just call it the car, Bruce always insists) and basically modified and created every single one of the gadgets and systems he uses.

You just hope he won’t let the Batcomputer get hacked as soon as you land in Metropolis — you spent weeks programming her and years perfecting her system. You spent so much time on her, she might as well be your firstborn by now.

“I’ll always be a call away,” you murmur when your brother’s eyes get a little dazy, unfocused– like he’s in another world, always thinking about the worst that could happen. “You know that, right?”

Bruce blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, I– I know that.”

(He isn't sure about that.)

You pat his hand, mustering a smile. "Maybe you should take a break, too. Why don't you book a vacation in, let's say... the Bahamas? Just to get a bit tanned and remember what the sun actually looks like."

He shakes his head. "Can't. Batman doesn't go on vacation."

You raise an eyebrow, sighing in defeat. "Well, I'm sure the GCPD could handle Gotham for a few days, but do as you like."

Your arrival in Metropolis is, of course, followed by an unhinged swarm of journalists and press that surround you as soon as you land.

You can already see the headlines — THE PRINCESS OF GOTHAM NOW IN METROPOLIS or some other corny predictable shit like that — as they shove their cameras in your face, screaming and trying to grab you, as your bodyguards try to contain them. You're much calmer than they are, having already endured years and years of invasive journalists.

“Miss Wayne, would you care to tell us the reason for this abrupt change in scenery?”

“Has your move got anything to do with your relationship with your brother?”

“Miss Wayne, look here! A smile for the front page–”

“Miss Wayne, why Metropolis, of all places?”

“Miss Wayne, a word for the Daily Planet?”

The guy for the Daily Planet catches your attention– he seems far too nice and isn’t elbowing anyone; he must be either new at the job or is too nice for it. He’s got a mop of curly, black hair atop his head, thick glasses perched on his nose, baby blue eyes behind them. His posture is a little crooked — he’s getting squeezed by reporters on both of his sides — but, even as disheveled as he is, you notice a thing.

Ohh, he’s pretty. Like, jaw-dropping pretty, the kind of pretty that makes you want to bite his cheek and never let go for the rest of your life.

You stop in your tracks, lifting your sunglasses to your head, bodyguards panicking at the swarm of journalists that suddenly all point to one direction; you reach for the pocket of your jeans and take out a business card that you pat on the pretty reporter’s chest. “Another time, pretty boy,” you promise as he takes the card, his fingers brushing yours, the other journalists speechless around you. “I’m kinda busy right now.”

You don’t stay long enough to see him blush and hold the business card tight in his palm so that the other reporters don’t snatch it out of his grip — the bodyguards urge you forward, towards the SUV with obscured windows that is waiting for you right in front of the arrivals’ exit of the airport. One of them opens the door for you, and you don’t hesitate to get inside, the car speeding off as soon as everyone’s inside.

“Never seen anything like this,” one of the men mutters.

You shrug, “I’ve had worse.”

The ride to your building is short, mostly because it’s late in the evening and there aren’t many people still around. You leave a generous tip to both the bodyguards and the driver, thanking them but assuring them that you can walk alone the thirty steps that separate you from the entrance to what’ll be your home for the foreseeable future. They help you take out your trolley and duffle bag, which you swing over your shoulder right after taking the keys of the building out.

You open the front door, carefully closing it behind you, taking the elevator right in front of it. You press the number thirty out of thirty-four, which turns green with a ding, and wait for the doors to open back up. And once they do, you’re not disappointed.

The loft is arranged just like how you asked the movers to — it would’ve been hard not to, as you sent them the 3D interior design plan you had made, but still. You’ve been raised with the idea that if you want something done well, you have to do it yourself, so you’re pretty happy about how it turned out.

Still, something’s missing.

You check around the loft for any pieces of missing furniture or something like that, not finding anything. You even go back to the 3D model to make sure that everything got here safe and sound, only to find that yes, everything is in the colour you ordered and exactly in the place you asked for it to be.

You sit on the U-shaped couch that sits right in front of the giant windows that let on the skyline of Metropolis, eyebrows knit in deep thought. The house is nice — for fuck’s sake, you bought a whole building just for you and your projects — but it’s weird not having anyone else around. There’s no Alfred to welcome you, no half-asleep Bruce roaming without an idea of where he is, no squeaking and creaking of the floor when you walk.

You sigh. “Maybe I should get a cat.”

156 notes · View notes

marauder-misprint · 2 days ago

Text

Permission

Series Masterlist

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

1.5k words

cw: fluff, swearing

Sirius makes it his mission to find Regulus before dinner. He doesn’t have any idea how he would convince Regulus, but he figures he’d start with asking him. Worst Regulus could say would be ‘no,’ right? And then Sirius could work on wearing his brother down until he said ‘yes.’ You may be a dear friend of Regulus, but Sirius was confident he could sway him.

Sirius makes his way to the library. He is almost certain Regulus would be there. He had seen you walk down toward the Slytherin Common Room so all he can do is hope Regulus is in the library and not awaiting you in the dungeons. He feels uneasy as he opens the library door. He doesn’t visit the library often so the thick scent of old parchment and ink takes over his senses. Madam Pince gives him a cautious look from her desk.

As Sirius walks in, he scans each table for his brother. He passes shelf after shelf, looking down each one. Each table is filled with students but none of the Slytherins are Regulus, and none are ones he could ask for his location. However, he’s on a mission. He has to find Regulus. Sirius looks throughout the entire library and stops right before the last shelf. He takes a deep breath. If Regulus isn’t at the table at the end of this aisle, he’ll have to search all of the castle. He takes a step forward and turns his head.

There he is, sitting at the table which is covered in stacks of books. Sirius can’t help the massive grin that spreads across his face as he casually strolls down the aisle. The younger boy doesn’t notice him until he’s practically leaning over his shoulder.

“I remember Flitwick assigning that essay,” Sirius says lazily.

Regulus stops moving for a moment. Then, slowly and mechanically, he turns his head to look at Sirius and sits up straighter.

“Sirius.”

His blank stare quickly turns unnerved as he sees Sirius’ smile. Whenever Sirius hunted him down, it was to give a message to their parents and therefore, he usually had a grim or annoyed look on his face. This unbridled joy is a new look.

“I need to ask you something,” Sirius says.

“Then ask it, brother.”

“I need your… permission.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “For what?”

“To take your friend on a date.”

He blinks at Sirius.

“My friend?”

“You know which one.”

“Yeah… The dog person.”

“So, can I take her out?”

“I don’t know why you’re asking me. She’s her own person.”

Sirius pulls out a chair and sits down.

“She said you have to think it’s a good idea. Otherwise she won’t go with me.”

Regulus hums and looks back down at his essay. “That’s interesting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“After she came back smelling of you twice, she said she’d tell me if you made a move,” he laughs. “Didn’t know she was going to make you tell me yourself.”

“She isn’t making me do anything,” Sirius says, crossing his arms and leaning back into his chair.

“She’s making you get permission, isn’t she?”

“Yes…” Sirius pauses. “So can I take her out on a date?”

Regulus sighs as he takes a long look at Sirius. Sirius sits there silently, trying to get a read on his expression. He couldn’t quite tell which way this conversation was going.

“What do I get out of it?”

“Anything.”

That was a dead giveaway for Regulus. If Sirius was willing to owe him anything, he really wanted to take you out on a date. It was also a game changer for him. Regulus had been planning on saying no the entire conversation; if you sent Sirius his way for permission, you figured out that Sirius wasn’t taking no for answer from you and needed someone he might actually listen to.

“She thinks you’re pretty, by the way,” Regulus finally says. “But if you hurt her in any way, I will personally make your death look like an accident. Or they’ll never find your body. I’ll decide on that later.”

Sirius gapes at him.

“She thinks I’m pretty? Did she say this to you?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, you said if I hurt her. So you think me going on a date with her is a good idea?”

Regulus snorts a laugh. “Well, no. But we’re going to say I do. I think it’d be good for her. And you.”

“Huh,” Sirius says, not completely sure what his brother meant by that but he wasn’t going to ask.

“Huh?” Regulus echoes.

“Yeah. … What else did she say about me?”

Regulus rolls his eyes before actually returning to his essay. “Fuck off. Be glad I think it’d be funny to hear about a date with you from her perspective. Go.”

Sirius claps a hand on Regulus’ shoulder before he leaves the library with a new spring in his step. Was he technically in Regulus’ debt? Yes. But Sirius is certain it will be worth it, and there’s always the chance that he will never redeem this favor.

He’s surprised when he doesn’t see Regulus at dinner. Dorcas and Pandora sit on either side of you. Sirius spends far too much time watching you with a permanent smile on his face during the meal.

“Did… something happen?” Remus asks cautiously.

“Mhmm.”

“Okay so what happened?” Peter follows up.

“She’s going on a date with me.” Sirius’ voice is giddy.

James nearly chokes on his juice. “She agreed to a date with you?”

Sirius shoots him a look before saying, “All I had to do was get Reg on board. Surprisingly easy.”

“I don’t believe that,” Peter says through a mouthful of food. He swallows. “Why would your brother need to be ‘on board’?”

“They’re friends, remember?” Remus answers.

“Probably thought he’d say no or something,” Peter says.

“But he didn’t. And now we’re going to Hogsmeade this weekend.”

Sirius continues to watch you for the rest of the meal. You don’t look his way once. You think there is no way that he’s already talked to Regulus and managed to get him to say it’s a good idea. You don’t even bother to tell your friends about it. You’re certain it’s not happening. That’s why you sent Sirius to Regulus; the brothers never agreed on anything. They never talked.

After dinner, you’re leaving the Great Hall with your friends when you hear Sirius calling your name. You turn and cross your arms. Dorcas pulls Pandora away with her, somehow understanding that Sirius would want to talk to you alone again.

“We’re on for this weekend,” he says confidently with the same giddy grin that was on his face all meal.

You choke on air. “Excuse me?”

“Regulus gave me permission. Said it was a good idea. Whatever you want to call it. I have his blessing.”

“No. No. No.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes, my darling,” Sirius replies, his eyes lighting up. “We are having a Hogsmeade date and you can’t get out of it.”

“No. No. No. No. No,” you keep repeating.

“Come on, love. It won’t be as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

“I’m not getting my hopes up,” you say before running a hand through your hair with a groan. “I’m not believing you until I hear it myself from Reg.”

“That’s fine. But I talked to him in the library before dinner. We’re in the clear.”

You turn away from Sirius and walk away. Your mind is spinning from the idea of actually going on a real date with Sirius Black. There is no way Regulus actually said it was a good idea. He wouldn’t betray you like that. You’re suddenly at the common room entrance. Your body had gone into autopilot while your thoughts and worries about the possibility of this weekend swirled in your mind. However, worry quickly melts into anger as you descend into the common room and see Regulus lounging on one of the couches.

“Black!” you yell from where you stand at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m going to murder you!”

He glances over at you. Even from a distance, you can see the slight glimmer of fear in his eyes. You approach the couch with purpose in your steps. You grab his shirt collar and pull his face close to yours.

“What the fuck did you say to your brother?” you hiss.

“You kept saying no to me. Thought you might like to go on a date with a different pretty bloke. At least he’s occasionally funny,” he teases, although there is a slight tremble in his voice.

You furrow your brows as you drop his collar.

“You were supposed to say no!” you groan, moving around the couch so you can fall down next to him. “You were the one accusing me of dating him!”

“I’m giving you the chance to find out if you actually like him. See if it does go anywhere beyond him being pretty like me.”

“Regulus. I might actually kill you.”

“Why?”

“Because of you, I’m spending my Saturday in Hogsmeade with your goddamn brother!”

“Yeah and thanks to you, Sirius is now in my debt.”

“No,” you gasp.

Regulus’ lips twitch upwards.

“He said he’d do anything.”

“I hate you.”

He shakes his head. “If it’s really so bad, you can decide what Sirius owes me.”

“I think I should get to decide that anyways.”

tags: @2dloveshp, @yearninglustfully, @made-for-oliverwood, @ilovejamespottersomuch, @hisparentsgallerryy, @itsseaberri, @corawithfanfiction, @devilslittlehelper, @jllyunn, @barnes70stark,

tags: @crowleythesexydemon, @flow33didontsmoke, @navs-bhat, @louweenier, @l0g0phobe,

@ellouisa17, @theendofthematerialgworl, @marina468, @bmyva1entine

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #slytherin!reader #slow burn

147 notes · View notes

1980shorrorfilm · 3 days ago

Text

has it hit you?

click!!!

pairing…sam carpenter x gn!reader

in which…an argument causes sam to push you away; which she regrets when you end up under the mistletoe with someone else.

before you read…angst with comfort. alcohol usage. mentions of sex.

“whatever sam said, she didn’t mean— you know she gets like that sometimes!”

tara follows you around the frat house that was lazily decked out with flashy christmas decor, like a child being led by her parent. fitting, considering she’s taking your fight with sam to the heart.

it was sudden, so sudden yet something you should’ve been entirely prepared for.

you made the mistake of taking a step in a direction she’s repeated several times she didn’t want to go down. emotional intimacy. a hint at a relationship. dinner with your family for the holidays.

you had invited her and tara, having believed you were close enough with them to do so, but specifically sam. the woman you’ve spent most of your nights with, wrapped in her arms, skin to skin.

it wasn’t just sex with her. when she was vulnerable enough, she’d trust you with some of her lighter secrets, still unable to tell you everything that goes on her mind.

you were okay with that, though, always so patient with her. that’s why you accepted what you two were…nothing and everything at the same time.

not dating, no, she wouldn’t say that. she wouldn’t call you her partner. she wouldn’t even call you her best friend. you were just…you. someone she liked enough to occupy her time with, and she assumed that’s all she was to you.

not someone to bring home to your parents, sam did not think she had the title. she thought she didn’t want it, imagining the judgmental faces from your beloved family members, as if you brought home a mistake.

a mistake. that’s what she called your whatever-ship.

something that should’ve never happened, she told you. you’re too clingy, she said. just leave me the fuck alone, she begged.

you listened. you always listen to sam.

leading you to a frat party, being followed by her little sister, a constant reminder of what you’re trying to escape.

“maybe we should go home— she’s probably waiting for you,” tara tries again, watching you grab a beer from the fridge. you sigh her name, not wanting to scold her, but really tired of hearing about sam. tara gets the hint, and the obvious annoyance in your tone, deciding to back off. for now.

your mind can ease somewhat without having tara’s shadow, actually talking to your friends while the alcohol works its way into your system.

you find yourself playing beer pong against some faces you occasionally see in class, laughing at just how bad you were— then remembering how good sam is. her aim is amazing, sam knows the right angles and how delicate or hard the pressure should be. you learned that a long time ago, though.

why are you thinking about her? when you’re just her mistake?

you shake your head, bringing the red solo cup to your lips and downing the alcohol while the opposite team celebrates their win. your partner, a tall blonde who leaned in very close to you the entire time, now trying to hold a regular conversation.

“aren’t you seeing that carpenter chick?” they had asked, and your head snapped toward them, brows knitting at the comment. you hadn’t known your association with her seemed to others what you also had viewed it as. romantic.

it’s slightly comforting, knowing it wasn’t entirely in your head, the way samantha tried telling you it was. maybe she was lying more to herself, than you, or so that’s what you hope for.

“nope,” you tell them, “not seeing anyone.”

the bitterness of your words goes unnoticed, and is taken as an invitation; which it sorta is. you came here to forget her, to make yourself feel better. and if that’s with some blonde that lost beer pong with you, you’re okay with that. you think.

you’re honestly not doing a lot of thinking right now. you’re fake laughing at their stupid jokes. you’re repeating ‘right,’ at their never-ending stories.

you’re being reminded why you picked sam over everyone else. this is draining, a chore to pretend to be interested. there was no pretending with her. her. her.

holy fuck, you need another drink.

you excuse yourself, but they follow, still talking to you. they cut themselves off, an enthusiastic ‘hey,’ as their palm on your wrist halts you in the doorway.

“wh—”

they point up, and you glance. mistletoe. you see it more in movies than in reality, you’re almost amazed by the sight of the small green and red shrubs. to be beneath it with the love of your life— to be beneath it with sam.

sam isn’t here.

but you are, and so is the blonde.

because why the fuck not, you close the space between you two, a peck on their lips that goes as quickly as it came. but it lasts long enough for her to see it.

the heat rushes to her cheeks, tara not telling her you were occupied with someone else in the urgent message she had sent her. just the fact that you were drinking, and she’s taking your recklessness as confirmation.

sam ignores the stares as she pushes past the drunken partygoers, remembering exactly why she didn’t come to shit like this. if she wanted to feel judged she would’ve searched her name online, a habit you’ve tried to stop her from doing.

“y/n.”

her voice cuts through the music and chatter, your eyes falling on her in the doorway of the kitchen. you’re leaning against the counter, the blonde in front of you, looking between you two. sam is only looking at them.

“can you leave us?” it comes out as a demand when she says it, and they don’t protest, both of you now alone when they scurry away.

you gulp at whatever she has to say to you, probably to get scolded for having fun without her. with someone else. despite her harsh words making it seem like that’s what she wanted from you; to find someone else and stop bothering her.

you laugh dryly to yourself at the thought.

“what was that?”

“what was what?”

sam exhales through her nose, trying to be patient in a moment she absolutely did not want to be. she will show you some grace due to being buzzed and not entirely there, but that doesn’t change how she feels.

bitter. annoyed. mad, very mad, at you.

“so we have one argument and that’s it?” she begins to walk toward you, making you feel extremely small the closer she got, and the louder her voice became.

you dare to bite back, “thought that’s what you wanted.”

“why would i want that?”

“because you fucking said so, sam,” you tell her, the woman not realizing the weight of the things she had said until this moment.

sure, they weren’t the kindest words that had left her mouth, but they were spoken out of fear rather than honesty. unfortunately, you’re not a mind reader, and you have feelings that sam has obliterated.

“i don’t…” she trails off, a roar from the crowd in the next room causing her to squeeze her eyes in annoyance. “let’s go home. talk there,” sam tells you, hand gently grabbing at yours, but you pull away.

“you can go home.”

“y/n.”

“im staying, sam. don’t wait up for me,” you push past her, to the fridge you had originally come into the kitchen for. to your luck, there’s one more beer, but it leaves your hands as soon as you grab it.

sam walks away with the drink, practically shoving it into someone’s welcoming hands, a tight-lipped smile on her face that drops when she faces you again. “guess i am too, then.”

the audacity.

making you feel like shit, pushing you away, then pulling you back in when you find happiness without her. even if it’s stupid decisions like kissing strangers and drinking until your head hurts. it’s a better feeling than being told you’re not wanted by the woman you love the most.

“fuck you, sam.”

with that, you storm out of the room, out of the house entirely, the freezing december air hitting you at once. you hug yourself, your ugly holiday sweater not providing you the warmth that the frat home had, and drag your feet to the sidewalk.

you hear her behind you before she makes her presence known.

“where are you going?”

“why? gonna follow me?”

once more, her hand finds your arm, a firm grip holding you in place, and a hard stare that goes through you. it causes your attitude retreat, and your confidence to die completely.

“if you want to be mad at me, fine, but i’m not leaving you alone like this.”

you remain still, eyes falling to your feet because holding her gaze is too overwhelming. she sees through you, gets to you easily like she is now, and why you’re accepting defeat.

“fine, whatever. let’s go.”

she lets out of a sigh of relief, thankful this wasn’t going to be another argument. she’s too drained for that. her grip on you softens, along with her eyes that scan your face momentarily, like she was taking you in for the first time tonight. red eyes and a cute frown on your face that she wishes she wasn’t the reasoning for.

sam leads you to her car, making sure tara is okay before she leaves, the ride is quiet and uncomfortable. she taps her fingers on the steering wheel, occasionally glancing at you, your head facing the window, watching the snow begin to fall.

you look at peace, probably the most calm you’ve been since the fight. since she wiped the smile off of your face, replacing your joyful eyes with eyes of pain. her heart begins to hurt.

at a red light, she peels off her jacket, handing it to you without saying anything. you don’t put it on, but you use it as a blanket, inhaling the scent of the cinnamon and sandalwood perfume she drowns herself in. a comforting scent that makes you feel warmer than the jacket itself.

when you arrive at her place, you’re still clinging to the piece of clothing, sitting on the couch while she makes sure all the locks on the door are secure. you’re mindlessly watching whatever channel on the tv she previously had on, hearing her shuffle in the kitchen.

it’s a few minutes later that she enters the room with two mugs, placing one in your hands. you smell the hot chocolate before she informs you that’s what it is, thanking her before sipping on the sweet drink.

she sits beside you, leaning forward to grab the remote and mute the television. damn it.

“can we talk?”

“go ahead,” you mumble, but sam is not as bothered by your subtle attitude. she gets it. she may have acted like it was unwarranted earlier, but you’ve made it very clear she had hurt you. and she deserves the absolute worst for that.

“what i said to you…i didn’t mean any of it. i was upset— and that’s not an excuse, i know,” she begins, brown eyes trained on her drink, “i just…haven’t loved anyone like this since…”

sam goes quiet, unable to finish that sentence, before speaking again, “and it’s a lot…you’re a lot for me— not in a bad way —it’s just new. and i’m scared im gonna fuck up. i mean i already did.”

she dryly laughs at herself, at the thought of shutting you out to avoid getting hurt and ending up in a much worse position. how she had someone so caring and beyond understanding, and made them feel bad about it. a villain simply for loving her as much as you do— but you’re not one, and you never will be to her.

even now, you have nothing unkind to say to her. you have no desire to even talk about the argument that had taken place. your patience runs deep with samantha, your sympathy outweighing your frustrations.

sam is hurting even more than you, trauma that you couldn’t even begin to understand, insecurities that taint her mindset and your relationship. it’s a problem, you both know this, and you’re still valid for being upset with the words she had spoken due to her own personal complications. words that aren’t true or reflect you at all.

sam will do better for you.

there’s a beat of silence, not nearly as uncomfortable the ride here. the tension is somewhat fleeting, replaced with something else, vulnerability when you both need it.

“so…” you begin, “you love me?”

her head snaps to you, shocked you’re even asking, and that you’re not addressing anything she had said. she doesn’t mind it, though, and answers you.

“so fucking much.”

your cheeks go red at her words, how she means it. sam loves you hard. it is the only reason why you had a fight in the first place.

sam understands it now.

in that part of her brain that is kind to her, in the part that allows her to be in love with you, freely, deeply, openly, like she deserves, ignoring the cruel self-deprecating voices in the back of her mind.

you end the night with your head on her chest, listening to the rhythm of her heartbeat as you fall asleep cuddled into her body.

#-🐈‍⬛#sam carpenter x reader #fuck scream 7 #sam carpenter fanfic #samantha carpenter x reader #samantha carpenter fanfic #sam carpenter fanfiction #sam loomis x reader #scream fanfic #horror x reader #horror fanfic #wlw fanfic #lesbian fanfic #why are you still reading this? do you want me??

133 notes · View notes

zorosangell · 15 hours ago

Note

hiii! hope you’re doing good and I’d like to give in a suggestion, could you make a fic about gnreader being choppers mother figure and both zoro and reader are fighting for the parental role 😭😭

(they later on share it lol)

⛥ﾟ・。 endgame

synopsis: prequel to inn -- when chopper asks about your past, zoro reminisces on your history together... and is reminded of exactly what you are to him.

cw: THIS IS A PREQUEL TO INN, fluffly fluff, comfort, takes place pre-timeskip during alabasta, young reader is so cute, protective zoro, ZORO IS WHIPPED, i really loved writing this.

a/n: i really, really loved writing this

"Hey, Zoro!" Luffy called, eagerly. "Look over here! Look at what we're doing!"

"We're training!" Usopp added, clapping his hands together.

Begrudgingly, Zoro looked up from Chopper's fur, glancing toward the boys, who were standing under a huge stream of water like it was a ninja's waterfall.

"Real funny," he nodded, sarcastically, before returning to what he was doing.

After saving the kingdom of Alabasta, the king invited the crew to the royal bath, hoping to clean up after dinner.

The young doctor had asked for help washing his back, and the swordsman played it off as having nothing better to do.

But, in actuality... he enjoyed helping boy, feeling a sort of fatherly obligation toward him.

"Zoro?" Chopper piped up, quietly, eyes trained forward as the man went back to carefully scrubbing his fur.

"Yeah?" Zoro hummed. "What is it?"

"Do you know why (y/n) acts the way she does?"

Confused, Zoro raised a brow, unsure of what he was talking about.

"What do you mean?"

"Well... you know," the boy slightly stammered. "She's so nice... and kind... she cares for me so well even though I just joined the crew."

He looked down at himself, making sure to choose his words carefully.

"Even Doctorine didn't warm up to me this quick... but she treats me like she's known me all her life. And I figured since you two grew up together, you could tell me why."

'So, that's it...'

Zoro nodded, finally getting the picture.

"I see what you mean," he confirmed, moving on to the boy's shoulder. "(y/n)'s always been like that... even when we were kids. There's no rhyme or reason to it."

He glanced up, the memories rolling back like calm waves after a storm.

"She just... is."

"I thought I told you to stop following me! Cut it out!" a ten year-old Zoro exclaimed, glaring at you sharply.

"But... you're bleeding..." a nine year-old you reminded, worried, as you tightly clutched the handle of your first aid kit. "Kuina beat you up really bad this time."

"Shut up!" he barked. "I don't need your help! Or anyone else's! I'm gonna get stronger all on my own!"

You flinched at his tone, but held strong, despite the tears welling in your eyes.

"Well, you can't be the strongest if you can barely lift your arms!"

Zoro's eyes widened, surprised.

In your months of chasing him, attempting to patch him up, you had never raised your voice.

Not even once.

"I believe in you! And I wanna help you! So let's make a deal!"

Brows furrowed with determination, you pointed at him, firm in your disposition.

"Every night, I'll patch you up, and help you out with normal stuff, like food and clothes! And in return, you work your hardest to become the strong enough to beat Kuina! Sound fair?"

"No!" he scoffed, incredulously, and incredibly confused. "Why are you doing this?! You don't even know me! What do you get out of that?!"

"I get to watch you!" you grinned, jumping at the chance to gush. "You're so cool! And tough! I'm no good at sword-fighting, but you're amazing at it! I can tell you're gonna be a really great swordsman someday!"

Happily, you looked up at him, your starry eyes bringing a faint tinge of pink to the boy's cheeks.

"And I wanna be there to watch the whole thing!"

For a moment, Zoro paused to think, weighing his options before caving with a sigh, unable to say no to your hopeful smile.

"...Fine."

"YAY!"

Without hesitation, you pulled him into an embrace, overwhelmed with joy.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! No hugging!"

Zoro chuckled, moving the scrub brush to the young doctor's head.

You were the strangest, most persistent girl he had ever met... but the only one that believed in him from the very beginning.

Even if it was at your expense.

"What were you thinking?!" a twelve year-old Zoro scolded, haphazardly applying band-aids to all your cuts and bruises. "You know Haru and Kenzo are stronger than you. Why'd you try to fight them?"

An eleven year-old you sniffled, using the back of your hand to wipe away the stray tears rolling down your cheeks.

"They were making fun of you," you mumbled, looking down at your lap. "They said three-sword style was stupid, so I tried to punch them... but I missed and they ganged up on me."

"Did they, now?" Zoro glared, turning to the two boys next to him.

Quickly, he struck them both in the back of the head, giving them two giant welts and adding to their multitude of injuries.

"What do you two say to her?!"

"We'wre sowwy..."

Chopper lit up, relieved to her you had no ulterior motive in your kindness.

"(y/n)'s been this nice all her life? Wow! I wish I met her sooner! She sounds like a really great friend!"

Zoro nodded, fighting off the small smile threatening to rise to his lips.

"I was lucky to meet her when I did... her enthusiasm always gave me something to look forward to."

He sighed, dreamily reminiscing on the thought.

"Even when the future was unclear..."

"I can't believe it! We're actually leaving!" an eighteen year-old you squealed, watching the island of Shimotsuki get smaller and smaller as you clung to the mast of your small fishing boat. "This is so exciting!"

"I know," a nineteen year-old Zoro agreed, watching with an air of pride. "Feels like a new chapter. One step closer to becoming the strongest."

You nodded along, until you were suddenly hit with a thought, which forced you to sit down.

"But... I can't help but wonder," you started, glancing up at him. "Why'd you bring me along?"

He raised a brow, confused, and silently asking you to elaborate.

"You know I'm not very strong. Hell, I can barely throw a punch," you reminded. "I won't be much of a help..."

"All those years ago... didn't you say you wanted to watch me become the Greatest Swordsman in the world?" Zoro asked, rhetorically. "You can't do that cooped up in a dojo."

Your eyes widened slightly, not expecting such a straight-forward answer.

"I promised you I'd work hard to become the strongest. So you better believe you're getting a front row seat," he smirked, plopping himself down next to you, slightly rocking the boat. "You're stuck with me, (y/n). There's no backin' out now."

You replied with a chuckle, carefully resting your head on his shoulder, blissfully unaware of the flush on his cheeks.

"Thanks, Zo'."

He nodded, slowly and warily looping an arm around your shoulder, letting out a sigh of relief when you didn't move away.

"Don't mention it."

"Wow! I'm so happy!" Chopper cheered, jumping up from his seat. "I'm gonna go dry off and give her a big hug to say thank you for all the stuff she's done!"

Quickly, he turned to Zoro, his blinding smile warming the swordsman's heart—though he'd never admit it.

"Thanks for telling me Zoro!"

Without a word, Zoro nodded, and Chopper zoomed off back to the rooms, leaving the man alone with his thoughts.

Glancing at the divider separating the men and women's bath, Zoro listened closely, tuning out Luffy and Usopp's roughhousing to see if he could hear you.

And he did.

From beyond the great wall flowed in your silvery laugh, the delightful sound hitting his ears like the world's greatest song.

Closing his eyes, the swordsman rested his arm on his knee, and his cheek in his palm, allowing himself to fully experience its beauty.

God, he was so in love with you...

Words couldn't even begin to express.

You were the most consistent thing in his life.

His personal nurse.

His number one supporter.

His best friend.

His childhood crush.

If he was being honest, he didn't know where would've ended up if it weren't for you, or the person he would've turned out to be.

You taught him the value of kindness and compassion at such a young age, and were never afraid to wear your heart on your cheek if it meant pushing him closer to his dream.

And you knew him so well.

He couldn't have found a better partner in crime if he'd searched for a thousand years.

Muscles relaxing, a small smile rose to his lips as your laugh floated into the air once again, accentuated by the occasional, adorable snort.

There was no one else in this world for him.

There would be no one else in this world for him.

You were absolutely, positively, without a doubt... his endgame.

#zorosangell #one piece #one piece x reader #roronoa #roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro #zoro x reader #op

129 notes · View notes

fleshdyk3 · 17 hours ago

Text

i actually cant stop thinking abt how liberal this post is. like every single point here just shows how little this person knows abt the world. the "drunks" comment like everyone who has ever stepped foot in a bar is a movie alcoholic (and also the complete lack of any kind of consideration towards the realities of addiction. bc drugs bad). the "non allergenic cats" with the "of course" is sooo funny to me bc like the whole point of cat cafes is to work with shelters and help cats get adopted. not be cottagecore aesthetic griffindor wet dreams. like not only do non allergenic cats not exist, there is like zero shelter cats that are hypoallergenic. obviously. also the "section of the cafe where cats cant go"??? what do you think a cat cafe is like like do you think the cats are allowed to roam wherever they want? obviously not what are you on about 😭 if theres food being served fucking obviously theres spots cats cant go. this is just like common sense. also i loooove love love the rainbow capitalism of it all like the little pride flags everywhere (even the obscure ones) and the £1.50 pins... its just so funny to me. i just love the way the op has never even considered the world being any different than how it is at all. also the led lights followed immediately by autism friendly is fucking frying me like come aaawnnn.... you cannot be serious 😭😭😭 im also very confused on what led lights like... means here. There are LED lights. like what does this mean what does tgis have to do with gay culture or whatever. i can only assume theyre talking about those rainbow strip lights but that seems so out of place in a cat cafe when we're considering the idealized aesthetic version of whatever this is in the op's head. "mostly queer artists" is hilarious too bc like why not all 😭 they cant even get all queer artists playing over the radio. also you can have a sticker to write your pronouns on. like im just talking here im not really saying anything but like this post is just hysterical to me. you just know a millennial with a mortgage made this post

we should like end these people's lives

#like the only possible nugget of a good idea theyre saying here is maybe there should be a place for gay community and socialization where #addiction and recovery are taken into account. but clearly that's not what they meant here. especially given how they talk abt alcoholics at #the start there. god this post is so funny

329 notes · View notes

tsukimefuku · 1 day ago

Text

CHAPTER THREE PT. II: DIMINISHED CAPACITY ❀ HIGURUMA SENSEI SERIES

masterlist link | mdni! | oopsie, is that... a special banner? gee I wonder if there's something to see at the end of this chapter, huh?

❀ diminished capacity.

Diminished capacity refers to an individual’s impossibility to form the intent necessary for committing any criminal act, because their capacity to fully comprehend the nature of their actions is impaired. It doesn’t, however, completely exclude their responsibility, and they may be held accountable to a lesser offense.

wc: 5.5K ❀ pairing for the series: professor!higuruma x student!reader

❀ tags and c/w.

non-curse au. college au. slow-burn romcom. professor and college student pre-relationship. internship interviews suck. nobara likes to steal food from people. mentions of hypothetical violent crime. nanami gets pestered by gojo even here. higuruma likes sunflowers. nanami has a sixth sense.

❀ notes etc.

Apologies to any colleagues reading the word “evidence” in place of “proof” and feeling like tackling me with a broom, lol. Also, a huge thanks to everyone who came around for part one, I hope you guys get to enjoy reading this just as much I enjoyed writing it.

Argh… Monday.

Internship hunt was hell. There was no other way to spin that wheel. You knew it’d be incredibly hard, but not this hard.

Mondays were cursed days, but to know that not only cursed, they’d also start with terrible interviews — plural — was not in your bingo card for this week. Between oh, you just started criminal law I this semester? and we will let you know laid the crumbling sounds of your utmost despair of knowing full well you were in for a ride for those next few days.

Well, if only daydreaming about him could save you.

It didn’t, though.

Unfortunately.

You arrived at the campus cafeteria where you were supposed to meet Nobara. Even on a fairly uncomfortable chair, she slouched nearly enough to slide down onto the ground like a rag doll, and it didn’t take you much to realize these past few days were throwing her through the wringer too.

“You look like death,” you joked as you pulled your chair to sit with her, putting your tuna sandwich and can of soda over the table.

“And you look like… like… hmph,” she scoffed while rolling her eyes and propping herself back up again.

“No snarky comeback? Are you that tired?”

“Leave me alone,” she replied, and apparently, she really wasn’t in the mood for playful banter. You took a bite out of your sandwich, pondering if you should ask her about it, but she beat you to it. “Why is getting internships this early in college is so damn hard?”

“Apparently, places don’t trust complete newbies or youngsters,” you noted, “and they want someone who has already studied all the necessary subjects prior to hiring. Also, people with prior experience are preferred.”

“Yet these are internship opportunities! Aren’t interns supposed to be newbies who are going to learn from the experience they’ll get through the internship?” Nobara irritatedly inquired, her implied commentary more a complaint than a question. You nodded.

“Absolutely. It makes no sense, it’s like they’re just trying to hire a junior lawyer with less rights and a lower pay rate,” you churned out through your mouthful of tuna and mayonnaise, “now that I think about it, it’s probably that, actually.”

“I can’t go back home! I mean, I made it all the way here. If I had to go back I would never get over this. I need some money, and I need some money soon, otherwise this will all just have been a waste of my time. I should just get a part time job already instead of insisting in starting my internship as fast as possible.”

Nobara covered her face, and she sounded genuinely upset. You paused your munching for a bit, and after washing it all down with a few gulps of soda, you leaned towards her, pulling her hands from her face.

“Hey, Nobara, we’re not letting that happen, okay? Neither me, Maki, Yuuji or Megumi.” you offered in an attempt to comfort her. She let you peel her palms away, and gazed at you in a mixture of frustration and anger, which softly subsided after your comment. You decided to push your luck, just a bit. “We can refugee you in Megumi’s car. We’ll get you a hammer so you can hit passerbies for shits and giggles to let some collegiate steam out.”

Consternated, she shook your hands off of her while you chuckled. She made her best effort to still look pissed, but you noticed a tiny smile forming on the edges of her mouth.

“That’s a shit plan, but I’ll take you up on that hammer offer,” she said, and you smiled at her, a gesture she finally reciprocated.

“I’d expect no less from you. So, tell me, in which area are you looking for internships? Fashion law?”

“Nope, entertainment.” Nobara picked your half eaten sandwich in her hands and took a bite before you could protest. “Maki had told me it was easier to get internships in entertainment law to garner some experience for a future in fashion law, but honestly? I’m skeptical now.”

“There might be some openings soon. Have you tried Professor Gojo’s firm? It’s the same as Professor Nanami’s, isn’t it? I mean, that giant firm with dozens of departments and that nearly every teacher at our college seems to work for.” You stretched your hand to get your sandwich back, but she slapped you away. “Hey!”

“I need it more than you, I’m sad!”

“I’m sad too! I had four terrible internship interviews today, give it back!”

You both entered a silly slapping match, and the few people walking past the table would look away nervously in fear of getting dragged into the middle of whatever war was going on over a cheap cafeteria tuna sandwich.

“You were having interviews today too?! How come you never told me?! I’m gonna eat your food for not telling me stuff, you’ve been weird ever since that party that you went off for a smoke and dipped!” She took another humongous bite and you jumped over the table, finally snatching whatever remained of your food out of her hands.

“I haven’t been weird!” you had, “and yes, I did. I am interviewing for internship openings in criminal law, but… well, you’ve been through that these days yourself. You know the drill.”

She grunted with tuna smeared around her mouth, trying to reach for the rest of your sandwich, and it was your turn to slap her.

“Stop it, Nobara. Quit being so stingy and buy one for yourself!”

“Not when I can eat your food for free,” she joked while taking a big gulp from your soda can, and you sighed, which only gave her a shit eating grin. “Did you interview for that spot they announced today?”

“What? What opening?”

“I just saw it, there was a new flyer on the main hall board. It’s an internship for criminal law, apparently under the guidance of Professor Geto,” Nobara said while shrugging. “Apparently the huge firm now has a criminal law department too. It was announced last week or so.”

“Did it say up until when they were taking applications?”

***

Each and every tendon in your body tensed as you sat with the perfect lady-like crossed ankles at the 45º angle under your second-hand suit. The meeting room was, for the lack of a better word, mighty, having an entire glass wall peering into the rest of the office, and towered over you high enough to have you feeling like a tiny speck of dust humbly drifting its way over the clearly expensive brown, leather couch. A few people walked by as you waited, and the mahogany table seemed big enough to fit three people. It was probably worth your entire year’s tuition, and you wondered if the ceiling height really needed to be tailored for elves. Or ents. Tree people, perhaps.

The firm’s name hung high right in front of you, the logo and letters made out of stainless steel illuminated by LEDs behind it. Opulence wasn’t a big enough word to describe that pompous display of corporate wealth.

You were fished out of your rags to riches daydreams by the pivoting door opening, figuring it was your interviewer for the position.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t the already well-known foxy-eyed, long haired Professor to come in, but a much more stoic individual with the polar opposite for a hair, not only in length but in color too. You already knew him from afar, as your commercial law Professor. He carried himself in a dignified manner, and upon further inspection, not only was his navy blue suit absolutely pristine, he also didn’t have a single hair strand out of place. You got up to greet him, bowing respectfully, and he returned the gesture.

“Good afternoon, Mrs.,” he said as he sat down on his chair across from you, “my name is Nanami Kento and I’ll be responsible for your interview today.”

You introduced yourself, and remarked, “apologies, but I thought Prof- I mean, Mr. Geto would be the one responsible for this interview today.”

“As it stands currently, the criminal law department is my responsibility,” Nanami clarified, “so I decided I’d be the one responsible for interviewing our future team. I currently work in our corporate law department.”

You acquiesced with a professional smile. Something about how every tiny detail in him was on point gave you enough leads to conclude that of course this man took it upon himself to be the one responsible for the interviews.

“I’ve read in your resume that you are currently undertaking criminal law I and criminal procedure law I,” Nanami said as he held your resume in his hand, glancing at you and then at the paper, “which isn’t ideal for an intern entering a newly built department.”

Harsh enough?

You readjusted yourself on your chair before speaking.

“Yes, I am.”

He hummed quietly and pulled another paper sheet from his briefcase, and even if his facial expression was perfectly collected, something about how the edges of his lips curled gave away that he was less than happy about whatever was written on it.

“Our HR insisted I should bring this questionnaire with me today, so that I could ask you this list of questions as part of our interview,” he stated, his words followed by a quiet sigh. Nanami then proceeded to tilt the paper towards him and took a moment before proceeding. “Tell me more about yourself in three… captivating anecdotes.”

His voice sounded robotic, as if he was feigning not to loathe the question at hand, and deep down, you did find it amusing. Not enough to distract yourself from the fact that you were usually horrible at interviews altogether, though.

“I’m currently in my late twenties. I started law school last year, and worked during my early twenties to save money for tuition. I’m really passionate about criminal law, that is why I applied.”

Oh, God. What was that?

Well, you sounded robotic too, listing off obvious factualities as if providing a recipe’s ingredients. Both of you stared at each other in silence, wondering if that was what this question was supposed to infer, and it took the two of you so long to speak up again that it became uncomfortable.

Clearing his throat, Nanami unconsciously loosened his tie — barely — before continuing.

Well, at least I’m not the only one who’s uncomfortable.

“What…” he paused for a moment, and seemed to be biting down a discontented sigh, “animal would you be?” His gaze quickly darted down the sheet of paper, and his displeasure was palpable. For someone with such a straight face, his eyes were very telling.

What are these questions? Are we a hip tech company? Nanami thought to himself, wondering if he should make a new list to leave at HR. He was quick to discard the thought once he realized that meant he’d be telling other people how to do their jobs, something he did enough of already.

You didn’t quite know what the hell to answer.

“I… don’t know? I haven’t really thought about that in my life? A cat, perhaps?”

“I haven’t thought about that either, don’t worry, that’s unimportant. Let’s move on to the next question. How…” Nanami lifted an eyebrow, and that alone was enough to tell he was absolutely consternated, “many basketballs can fit inside a bus?”

“… Huh?”

Is this serious?

“I apologize, I believe there must have been some sort of mix-up at the HR, let me…”

Nanami was interrupted by three knocks on the glass wall. You both turned your heads to see Professor Gojo pointing at something — the paper Nanami held in his hands — while subsequently making a thumbs up, a wide grin smeared all over his face.

Without uttering a word nor missing a beat, Nanami got up, walked towards the glass and pulled on something you hadn’t yet noticed. Immediately, blinds slowly descended in front of the glass wall, and Nanami calmly walked his way back to his chair as Gojo’s face tried to keep peering inside the meeting room, descending alongside the rim of the blinds. He kept plastering his hands over the glass like a mimic.

A faint pained moan and a thud echoed once the blinds were about a foot away from reaching the floor.

“Is everything okay?” you inquired, pointing at Gojo’s direction.

“Ignore that.”

That wasn’t a request. You nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Perfect. Let’s also ignore this for a while,” Nanami remarked while putting the sheet of questions aside with his fingertips as if it was radioactive. “Let’s try something else.”

Nanami had this feeling — a familiar one — that he’d be able to pry from you what he needed to know if he went about this interview in a more practical fashion. It reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“I’m going to describe a hypothetical scenario, and I want you to debate it with me,” he stated.

“Okay.”

“A client comes to this office being investigated of homicide and he wants to hire the firm to represent them in Court. They intend to plead not guilty.” you nodded, and Nanami continued, “The victim was shot, but there was no gun to be found in the crime scene. However, the client was the only person in the vicinity apart from the victim’s body. The client’s clothes — a long sleeved shirt and jeans — are evidence that has been collected at the crime scene, but no forensics were requested for it by the prosecution. When questioned in their first meeting, the client is adamant that they did not commit the crime. The attorney needs to decide which path to take regarding evidence they’ll request or submit. Now, I ask you, which type of evidence would the attorney request if the client is truly innocent?”

You took a deep breath while mentally going over the hypothetical scenario Nanami had just relayed, and considering all he mentioned, there was only one possibility.

“If my client was truly innocent, I’d ask for forensic evidence on their clothes. Guns leave gunpowder vestiges on things like clothes, so if this person didn’t actually pull the trigger, there should be no gunpowder on their sleeves.”

Nanami acquiesced, but remained silent.

Ok, this is not the only thing he wants to know.

“Also… I’d tell exactly that to the client.”

Nanami’s face remained completely expressionless, but something about how he tilted his head less than an inch gave you the feeling that he seemed pleased with your answer.

“And why would you do that?”

“We need to work with accurate information. If the client was lying, and we submitted a request for that evidence — forensics on their clothes — we’d be tanking their defense. They need to know what we’ll be submitting as evidence and why. I believe telling that to our client would be enough to sway them into telling us the truth,” you sighed, before concluding, “people lie. Even when they shouldn’t.”

Nanami silently picked your resume back into his hands, and seemed to scan it quickly with his eyes. You knew your chances were slim, considering you had just started Criminal Law that very semester, something he didn’t fail to notice.

After a minute, he spoke again.

“Would you be willing to use some of your spare time to study topics you might not have seen yet in criminal law?”

“Yes.”

Your heart was thumping in your chest. This was it.

Here goes nothing.

“Then, it’s settled. Can you start on Monday?”

***

This wasn’t Higuruma’s usual go-to wish when he found himself behind the Passo’s wheel, but truth of the matter was, he hoped more than anything for his car to breakdown before he got to his destination. It wasn’t something completely out of the question considering his car’s track record, but as if some destiny’s mockery had been bestowed upon him that morning, even the clack-clack-clacks he was already used to hear for the past three months were gone. As Murphy’s Law would have it, the Passo glided over the asphalt like butter.

“Of course you won’t fail me when I need you to, you unreliable piece of-”he muttered to himself under a discontented huff.

Put upon wasn’t strong enough to convey how Higuruma was feeling, his knuckle-white grip around the steering wheel being enough to give him a sharp pain in his palms that would surely follow him for the next few hours. In a sense, he had been knuckle-white tense ever since that morning, thinking about this endeavor he was kicking himself to push through. It was the nth time he’d tried to make that visit over the past year, one that he dreaded with each and every fiber of his being.

The Professor eyed his passenger’s seat for a second, his gaze lingering on the plastic bag he carried with him that day. Inside, there were a bottle of Kirin, an incense, and a single sunflower. The flower was definitely too long to fit properly inside the bag, and it’s head peeped though the opening, yellow petals flickering while the car moved, every ridge on the road seemingly making it jump further and further out of its container.

With one hand on the wheel, and the other reaching out, he tried shoving the sunflower back into the bag, and in between eyeing the bag, then the road, picking the flower, pushing it, the bag sliding off the seat, loud news coming on the radio, Higuruma getting startled, his glasses slipping down his nose bridge, him pushing them back in place with his shoulder, tires screeching, a car horn, his heart pounding and his ears ringing, Higuruma came to the sensible conclusion that he should, as any responsible adult would, take a break.

I need a smoke.

Who he was visiting was definitely not going anywhere.

Checking where he was, Higuruma noticed a cafe nearby, and as fate would have it, there was a single parking spot right in front of it. He maneuvered the Passo, and the car fit neatly in between the white lines. Higuruma pulled his sunflower shawl — this time, not caught under any death trap, but laid over his back seat alongside your scarf —, threw it around his neck and got out. He took a moment to stretch his fingers in the cold air, his breath clouding in front of his mouth, and tapped around his coat to take his wallet, finally inserting some coins into the park meter and crossing the guardrail by the sidewalk.

He’d have exactly thirty minutes to get his shit together.

The cafe was warm, inviting, and strangely familiar, its orange light almost emanating the smell of coffee beans, croissants and decadent redemption for weary travelers. The store front had a glass display through which he saw an assortment of sweet and salty baked goods. Higuruma would probably pick one of those to eat — the greasiest one, if possible —, had he not been carrying a rock in place of his stomach for the past few hours.

With his resolution waning, he mindlessly took a step back while peeping, and sighed, his tired sigh weighing on his body deciding for him that an espresso was probably the way to go.

Stepping inside, Higuruma paid no mind to whatever was around him, and waited for his turn in line to order his drink. Across from him, you nearly choked, half a donut shoved into your powdered-sugar smeared mouth, nearly spilling your own coffee over your second-hand suit.

After your interview, you thought it’d be a good idea to have a snack, and made your way inside the closest, warmest, coziest cafe you found, which was across the firm.

At that moment, you found yourself in a cliché adult life predicament — you just saw someone you knew, but they didn’t see you. Should you go over to greet them? Should you not? Would simply leaving be rude? Should you go actually talk to the man you definitely had — and shouldn’t have — a crush on?

You clutched your coffee harder as the thoughts flew around in your mind, as second nature at this point to avoid giving him another beverage shower.

After some quick consideration, you decided you would at least say hello, after all, it was the polite thing to do. You shoved the rest of your food into your mouth, washed it all down with the rest of your coffee, haphazardly cleaned around your mouth with a napkin and slowly walked towards him, stopping a few feet away. Somehow, he still hadn’t seen you, apparently too immersed in thought.

That was when you noticed a shawl around his neck.

It was pretty damn ugly.

“Professor, hi!” you greeted, and Higuruma got yanked out of whatever daydreams — or waking nightmares — he had been simmering in while waiting in line.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t expect to meet anyone here,” Higuruma replied, “I just stopped by for a snack.”

“Oh, nice. Their coffee is pretty good,” you said, “I got the espresso.”

“And… I hope that you’re finished already? With your coffee, I mean.” he asked while checking your hands, his usually unaffected tone slightly playful, earning him a chuckle from you.

“Rest assured, I’m not assaulting you nor your ugly shawl with my coffee,” you quipped, but his eyes only widened. His owlish eyes blinked once, and then twice, in absolute silence.

That was when you realized.

Oh. I said that out loud.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Awfully hypocritical of both of us, huh?” he noted, with a discreet smile pulling on his lips.

Relieved, realizing he hadn’t taken offense, you sheepishly returned his smile, “I guess so. I don’t think I’ll get to keep being hypocritical about our ugly scarfs, though. I can’t seem to find mine, it’s been gone ever since that party.”

It was like a light bulb went on in Higuruma’s mind, and he cleared his throat before saying, “well, I may just prove you wrong. Follow me.”

Not fully understanding what he meant by that, you stood by him while he paid for his coffee, got it and walked outside. The cold winter breeze prickled your cheeks and your uncovered neck like hair-thin razor blades, and you followed Higuruma towards a car that wasn’t all that strange to you. Upon further inspection, you noticed that it was indeed his car, the old navy blue beat up thing you used as a shield for the wind during that night when you tried and failed at least half a dozen times to light a cigarette.

And then met him, and gave him a vodka scare.

And helped patting him dry with your-

“Here,” he called out, opening the door to the back seat. Sure enough, you saw that red, frizzly old thing tangled up in a ball.

“My scarf!” you reached inside and took it out, instantly throwing it around your neck. Higuruma noticed how you were genuinely pleased to have finally found it, and thought to himself that he’d most likely feel the same way if he ever lost and found his beat up, old shawl.

It was just one of those things imbued with a sense of history and familiarity that only beat up, old tokens from days past had.

“Thank you,” you whispered, while sliding your fingers through the worn out cotton. “It was a gift. I might complain about it more often than not, but-”

“But it’s an important part of your life,” he replied, and you both glanced at each other while you nodded.

“Yes. Something like that. It’s my favorite curse to carry around while complaining about it, you know?” you mused, adjusting it around your neck and gratefully welcoming the warmth it brought around your neck.

“I think I do,” he answered finally, taking a sip from his coffee.

“Let me repay you,” you offered. “Can I offer you a snack, or anything? Perhaps a smoke?”

“I’ll take you up on that cigarette offer,” he replied, and you pulled your pack out of your coat. Giving it a few taps, a cigarette popped up, and you took it in your lips, pulling another one and handing it to him.

Against his better judgement, Higuruma was slightly disappointed, and for a second, felt like kicking himself over it.

Idiot, you can’t seriously be expecting her to light a cigarette for me every time she offers you a smoke. Actually, I shouldn’t expect that at all.

Against his will, Higuruma felt his cheeks warming up, and he tried his best to dive his face into his shawl while politely took the cigarette off your hands. You didn’t notice his moves and offered him your lighter — the same yellow, disposable one he had given you days ago. He picked it up, lit his cigarette and returned it.

“I see you still have it,” Higuruma noted, smiling gently, and you acquiesced.

“It has been my faithful companion for these past few weeks. I’m just glad I haven’t lost it like I lost my scarf,” you said before chuckling.

Higuruma leaned over the guardrail with his elbows, finally relaxing after… God knows how long. Slowly, he seemed to be getting lost in thought, and you seized the opportunity to better look at his shawl. It had a sunflower pattern that went in a straight line right in front of it.

Still looking around as he stewed in his silent contemplations, you noticed there was a bag laying on top of his passenger’s seat. Peeping through it, stood a single sunflower, and what seemed to be the top of a Kirin bottle.

A sunflower man, hm?

The thought amused you as the corners of your mouth perked up in a gleeful smile, but you were quickly pulled out from it.

“Do you work nearby?” he asked, while taking a drag from his cigarette. “This is far from campus.”

“No. I mean, not yet. I was just… chasing my dreams,” you remarked, puffing some smoke. “What about you, Professor?”

Higuruma chuckled softly.

“I was being haunted by mine.”

You must’ve looked puzzled, because he quickly amended, “I was just on my way to visit someone and took a break for some coffee, that’s all.”

“Oh, I see,” you replied, realizing you were probably getting in his way. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you from your appointment. I-”

“It’s okay, there’s no one waiting for me. Or so I like to think.”

That comment left you with more questions than answers.

“Apologies. I don’t mean to keep you from going about the rest of your day too,” he bid behind a curtain of smoke, “and thank you for the cigarette. I really needed it.”

With your final puffs, you put your cigarette out and smiled at Higuruma.

“It’s okay, Professor. I should really get going, though. We are, indeed, far from campus and I’d like to get to my dorm before it’s dark.”

With a bow, you walked away, leaving Higuruma to his own devices. He sighed, alone with himself and his thoughts once again, turning his attention once more to the bag he had inside his car.

“Hiromi,” a familiar voice called out. Higuruma turned around, only to be met by Nanami, who had a indecipherable expression on his face.

Minutes before, Nanami decided to visit the nearby cafe and check if they had his favorite casse croûte that day. He wouldn’t mind getting a croissant, though.

Upon stepping outside his building with dreams of pastries swirling around his overworked mind, he noticed you and Higuruma outside the cafe, and figured that was the perfect opportunity to approach you both and introduce you as the new intern for the criminal law department. It was just a matter of time before Higuruma accepted his offer, as Nanami thought, and you’d be both working together. However, before he could, Nanami noticed you and Higuruma were chatting, and not only that, but you approached Higuruma’s car and got something — apparently belonging to you — from his back seat. The ugliest red scarf Nanami had ever seen.

… What?

Nanami then remembered that you were a student on the very same university he tended to.

The same one in which Higuruma was a teacher too.

Why does Hiromi have things belonging to a student in the backseat of his car, of all places?

Nanami was at a loss for words, and faltered for a few moments, wondering how he should ask Hiromi about this. That is, if he even should ask Hiromi about anything at all. Nanami decided to watch from afar, and something about the way Higuruma was carrying himself bothered Nanami.

He had only seen his best friend behaving like that in very specific scenarios, ones in which Hiromi definitely shouldn’t be interacting with a student of his.

After you left, Kento finally walked towards Hiromi, still uncertain if he should question his friend about the nature of your relationship with him. He could be imagining things.

But something was definitely disturbing him, he was sure of it. Something he couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“Kento, hi! Oh… I had forgotten, your firm is nearby, isn’t it?” Hiromi asked while looking around. “Sorry, I always seem to forget where it is. That explains why this cafe felt so familiar. Care for a smoke?”

“No.”

“You haven’t smoked with me in a long time,” Higuruma offered, pulling his own cigarette pack from his coat’s inner pocket.

“I quit years ago,” Nanami reminded him, trying to put an end to this conversation detour.

“You still smoke on special occasions,” Higuruma offered, “eh, I wish I had your resolve.”

“You do, you just fail to direct it at things that will benefit you in the long run.”

“Just my little human shortcoming, I guess,” Higuruma finally replied, sparing Nanami a soft smile. He walked towards his car while unlocking it, “Let’s have something to eat, the coffee opened up my appetite. I just need to get more coins in case I end up going over the meter’s time limit, hold on.”

“Hiromi,” Nanami said once again, his tone graver than usual. That caught Higuruma’s attention.

“Hm, is everything okay?” Higuruma asked while leaning into his car.

Before Nanami could go on with his planned line of inquiry, he noticed what was over passenger’s seat. Especially the sunflower.

“Are you at it again?” Nanami asked, gesturing with his head towards it.

“Ah, you saw it…” Higuruma commented, as if he was a child being caught red handed while making a mess out of the house. “Well, yes. I’m trying to, and failing at it once again.”

“You know you don’t have to go, right?” Kento offered, while pulling some change from his pocket. “I have coins, we’ll be fine. Let me get you a snack, this cafe has the best casse croute around.”

“I do have to go, though,” Higuruma closed the door and stepped back onto the sidewalk. “I should, at least.”

Higuruma’s earlier energy seemed to wane ever so slightly, his shoulders falling while he slouched, unconsciously making himself smaller.

“I don’t think I’ll manage to do it today, either,” he finally said, his eyes low on his feet, and his voice barely above a whisper.

Assessing the situation, it was clear that Higuruma was in no way in the right mindset to have that conversation regarding you, so Nanami put a mental note on it to ask about it at a later time. He stepped beside Hiromi and put a hand gently on his shoulder, sighing.

“Is it low tar?” Nanami questioned, clearing his throat to disguise his displeasure.

“Hm, what?”

“Your cigarette. Is it low tar?”

Higuruma huffed, a tiny smile forming on his lips as he said, “yes, yes it is.”

In a smooth motion, Higuruma pulled his pack back out of his coat and took two cigarettes out of it, handing one to Nanami along with a lighter. With the disposition of a man ready to face the electric chair, Kento pursed his lips around the cigarette, and lit it, only to be thrown in a coughing fit moments later.

“How the mighty do fall,” Higuruma noted with a discreet smirk on his lips, “you used to smoke more than me.”

“Shut up,” Nanami managed to churn out in between coughs, “this brand is awful.”

His friend chuckled while taking one long drag from his cigarette.

“Hey, Kento.”

“What?” Nanami considered tossing the cigarette as far as he could, but tried his best to survive it, even if just for Hiromi’s benefit.

“Is that offer still on the table? To…” Hiromi paused for a moment, clearing his throat, “hm, work in your firm?”

Managing to get his throat and lungs under control, Nanami glanced at Hiromi, knowing full well that good things came to those who wait.

Just like he had.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

Hi, did you know I like to shamelessly plug people's work? No? So, yeah. I love doing that.

I got this STUNNING commission from @radish-breath and I have no shame to admit that I scrumpt a scream never screamt before when I got this 😭💜 I think you should go check out her work if you still haven't, lots of great sfw and nsfw pieces (all truly delectable 🤌) - Twitter | Patreon | Carrd.

Rad, once again (you already listened to me screeching like a banshee and ugly crying over it, lol), thank you very much for this amazing piece. It is beyond my wildest dreams alsdjasldkj

Tag list (updated):

@arusearu @yammy-yammy-yama @redlikerozez @killerplink

@alwaysfreakingout @murderofravens @cmdrfupa @higurumapet @cindyneko-strider

@ohhheymessa @bigbaddulce @actuallysaiyan @s-witch-bitch @yeonjunarchives

@soft--cherry @quinnyundertow @traffi @shibataimu @shimadalluvia

95 notes · View notes

rootedinrevisions · 11 hours ago

Text

A Holiday to Remember

SUMMARY: When plans with your family fall through, an unexpected invitation leads you to spending Christmas with Glen - and his lively, close-knit family. You find yourself swept up in the warmth of holiday traditions and the undeniable pull of a connection you never saw coming. Between stolen moments under twinkling lights and whispered confessions, the boundaries of friendship blur, leaving you to wonder if this Christmas could be the start of something extraordinary or just a fleeting holiday dream.

A/N: So I was hoping to have this out before or on Christmas but then I got writer's block and struggled to finish it. And then I got inspiration...maybe too much inspiration. I watched Anyone But You and then a couple Hallmark movies so this definitely has a rom-com/cheesy Hallmark vibe to it. That's also why this is so long because as I was watching those movies I got ideas for moments to add to the story. But hopefully you all enjoy this!

WARNINGS: Some light cursing, maybe? Otherwise I don't think there's any warnings. Just 17k words of cute fluffy wholesomeness.

WORD COUNT: 17.5k (I got a little carried away with this one.)

TAGS: In Comments

The warm glow of string lights hung delicately along the restaurant's windows, casting a cozy hue on the bustling Los Angeles sidewalk. You took a deep breath, smoothing your sweater as you stepped inside, the gentle hum of conversation and clinking glasses enveloping you.

Approaching the host stand, you offered a polite smile. "Hi, I’m here for Glen Powell’s reservation."

The host, a young woman with a sleek bob and a professional smile, glanced at her list before nodding. "Of course. Right this way." She grabbed a menu and gestured for you to follow her through the dimly lit dining room.

As you weaved between tables, your nerves fluttered faintly, though you weren’t sure why. It wasn’t like this was anything new—just dinner with Glen. Something you’d done dozens of times.

The host led you to a table tucked in the back corner, offering a little more privacy from the busy main floor. Glen spotted you almost immediately. He set his phone down and stood up, his familiar, easy grin spreading across his face as he opened his arms.

“There she is,” he said warmly, pulling you into a hug as soon as you reached him. His cologne—a blend of something woodsy and clean—wrapped around you, as comforting as the embrace itself.

“Sorry I’m late,” you murmured against his shoulder before pulling back. “Traffic was a nightmare.”

He waved off your apology as you both sat down, his smile never faltering. “You’re in L.A.—isn’t traffic always a nightmare?” He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the edge of the table. “Besides, you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

The way his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long made your stomach flutter, but you quickly pushed the feeling aside. It was Glen, your friend. Nothing more.

You picked up the menu and skimmed over the options, even though you weren’t really focusing on the words. Glen sat across from you, flipping his own menu open but still managing to glance your way every few moments.

“So,” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence. “How’s the movie coming along? Are you still filming, or are you finally getting some time to breathe?”

Glen chuckled softly, setting the menu down as he leaned back in his chair. “We wrapped a few days ago, actually. Post-production is in full swing now, so it’s out of my hands now. Now I can take a break and get some normalcy.”

“Normalcy,” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “For you, that probably means jetting off somewhere, doesn’t it?”

He smirked, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Okay, maybe my version of ‘normal’ is a little skewed. But I’m just going back to Austin for a few days. Nothing too crazy. What about you? How’s work? Are they letting you off the hook at all this holiday season?”

You sighed, your eyes drifting back to the menu as you tried to keep your voice light. “It’s fine. Busy, as always. But I guess that’s better than having nothing to do, right?”

He frowned slightly, studying you with an intensity that made you squirm just a little. “You sure you’re doing okay?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “I’m good. It’s just—work has been hectic, and I haven’t really had time to think about the holidays.”

His brow furrowed. “Wait. Don’t tell me you’re not going home for Christmas.”

You hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “It’s just… complicated,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “My family’s so far away, and with work, I just couldn’t make the timing work. So, yeah, I’ll be here this year. But it’s not a big deal.”

Glen’s jaw tightened, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “You’re spending Christmas alone?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “I’ll survive.”

“No way,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “That’s not happening.”

You blinked, startled by his sudden intensity. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re coming with me,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “To Texas. You can’t spend Christmas alone—that’s just… wrong.”

“Glen,” you began, already shaking your head. “I can’t just crash your family’s holiday. That’s not fair to them—or to you.”

“They’d love you,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And it’s not crashing if you’re invited. Which you are. Officially. Come on, what’s holding you back?”

You opened your mouth to protest again, but the way he was looking at you—earnest, determined, like he wouldn’t take no for an answer—made the words catch in your throat.

“It’s just a couple of days,” he added, his voice softening now. “And I promise, it’ll be fun. Think of it as an adventure.”

You hesitated, your resolve wavering under the weight of his sincerity. Maybe, just maybe, he was right.

“Glen, I can’t just pack up and leave,” you said, trying to keep your tone firm. “I only have a couple of days off for the holiday, and—”

“Perfect,” he interrupted with a grin. “I’m only staying three days anyway. We’ll head out the morning of the 23rd, and we’ll be back by the 26th.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “It’s not that simple. Do you know how expensive last-minute flights are right now? Not to mention the hassle of even finding one—everything’s probably booked solid.”

His grin didn’t falter. “I’ll help you find a flight. Hell, I’ll even cover it if that’s what’s holding you back.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Glen, no. You’re not paying for my ticket.”

“Why not? Consider it my Christmas gift to you,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a casual shrug, as if he hadn’t just offered something outrageous.

You scoffed. “You’re insane.”

“I’m resourceful,” he corrected, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “And if it really comes down to it, I’ll fly you there myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head. “Now that seems like a gross misuse of your pilot’s license.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, but his determination was starting to chip away at your defenses. “Glen, I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t want to intrude on your family’s holiday. It’s their time with you, and I’d just be—”

“A welcome guest,” he cut in, his voice softer now. “Trust me, they’d love to have you there. My mom’s been asking when she’s going to meet my mysterious ‘friend’ I talk about anyway. This is the perfect chance.”

Your cheeks warmed at that, and you looked away, suddenly very interested in the pattern on your napkin. “I don’t know…”

“Come on,” he urged, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table. “It’ll be fun. You’ll get to relax, eat some great food, and experience the chaos that is my family at Christmas. What do you have to lose?”

You sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to let this go. “What about the fact that I’ll probably end up sharing a room with one of your nieces or sleeping on the couch? Not exactly my idea of a restful holiday.”

“Wrong again,” he said with a triumphant grin. “We will be staying at my place. I have plenty of space. I’ll even take the couch if you want the nice bed.”

You laughed despite yourself, the mental image of Glen curled up on his own couch making it impossible to stay serious. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re running out of excuses,” he pointed out, his grin widening. “So? What’s it going to be?”

You hesitated, your gaze meeting his. There was something in his eyes—an openness, a genuine warmth—that made it hard to say no.

“Fine,” you said finally, throwing your hands up in defeat. “You win. I’ll go.”

His face lit up, and he reached across the table to squeeze your hand. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”

“You’d better be right,” you teased, though you couldn’t help but smile back at him.

* * * * *

The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow across the Austin skyline as Glen navigated the bustling city streets, the hum of his truck filling the comfortable silence. You sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the vibrant murals and quirky storefronts that zipped past. Normally, you’d be chatting nonstop, asking Glen a million questions about the city or teasing him about his questionable playlist choices. But now, your hands fidgeted in your lap, and your lips pressed into a thin line, your mind elsewhere.

“You’re kind of quiet over there. You’ve said about five words since we got here,” Glen remarked, his voice light but tinged with curiosity. He glanced at you briefly, his brows furrowing in concern before turning his attention back to the road. “That’s gotta be some kind of record for you.”

You blinked, his comment pulling you from your thoughts. Turning to face him, you tried to muster a small smile. “Sorry. Just... a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Glen didn’t look convinced. “Uh-huh,” he said, his tone skeptical. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with meeting my family, would it?”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the seat. “Maybe a little.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Relax! You’ve got nothing to worry about, you know. They’re going to love you. I’m the one they’re stuck with, remember?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, but the sound was short-lived. “It’s not that I’m worried they won’t like me,” you admitted. “It’s just... I don’t know. What if I say something dumb? Or trip over the Christmas tree? Or—”

“Hey,” Glen interrupted, his voice gentle. At a red light, he reached over and placed a warm hand on your knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re overthinking this. My family’s not expecting perfection, okay? They’re just excited to meet the person I’ve been talking about nonstop for the last couple of months.”

Your eyes widened at his confession, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve been talking about me?”

Glen grinned, the light turning green as he started driving again. “Obviously. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t brag about how great you are?” He paused, then added with a teasing smirk, “Although I may have left out the part where you can’t handle spicy food. Don’t let my mom’s salsa scare you off, alright?”

That earned a genuine laugh from you, and Glen shot you a quick, satisfied look before turning his attention back to the road.

As the city gave way to sprawling suburbs and then the open, winding roads on the edge of Austin, Glen’s demeanor remained steady—calm, reassuring, and lighthearted. He pointed out landmarks along the way, sharing stories about his time growing up in the area and cracking jokes to pull you out of your nervous headspace.

“You doing okay over there?” he asked after a while, glancing at you again.

“Yeah,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Putting up with you?” Glen repeated, feigning offense. “You think I invited you out here because I had to? Please.”

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat. Before you could dwell on it too much, Glen reached over to nudge your shoulder playfully.

“Seriously, relax,” he said with a grin. “You’ll fit right in. And if anyone gives you a hard time, they’ll have to answer to me.”

You smiled at that, the knot in your stomach loosening slightly. Glen had a way of making you feel like everything was going to be okay, even when your own thoughts tried to convince you otherwise.

When he finally pulled into the gravel driveway of his house, nestled on a quiet piece of land just outside the city, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Glen parked the truck and turned to you with an encouraging smile.

“Alright,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “First stop: my place. Let’s drop off your stuff and then we’ll head over to my parents’ house. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” you said, taking a deep breath as you climbed out of the truck. “Sounds good.”

Glen led the way up the front porch steps, his boots thudding lightly against the wood. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let you enter first.

“Welcome to Casa de Glen,” he said with a grin, sweeping his arm theatrically as you stepped inside.

The interior was exactly what you’d imagined—a perfect blend of cozy and modern. Warm wood floors stretched throughout the open-concept space, and the living room featured a large leather couch and a stone fireplace that was clearly the centerpiece of the room. A framed poster of Top Gun: Maverick hung on one wall, balanced by shelves filled with books, photos, and a few sports trophies.

“Wow,” you said, taking it all in. “It’s nice. It feels... you.”

“That’s what I was going for,” he said, closing the door behind you. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

He guided you through the living room and into the kitchen, which was sleek and modern with stainless steel appliances and a large island in the center. “This is where the magic happens,” he said, patting the countertop. “By magic, I mean reheating leftovers and making the occasional breakfast taco.”

You laughed, running your hand along the cool stone of the counter. “Very impressive.”

He pointed out a small office that doubled as a gym, then led you to the back door, which opened onto a sprawling patio overlooking a modest backyard. Twinkling string lights were strung across the patio, and a firepit sat off to the side, surrounded by chairs.

“This is great,” you said, stepping out onto the patio and taking in the peaceful view.

“It’s my favorite spot,” Glen admitted, leaning against the doorframe. “If you need to escape the chaos over the next few days, feel free to sneak out here.”

The offer warmed your heart, but before you could respond, Glen pushed off the doorframe and motioned back inside. “Come on, let’s get your bags upstairs.”

He carried your suitcase up the staircase, which was adorned with simple but tasteful decorations—a mix of family photos, framed movie posters, and a few awards he’d picked up over the years. At the top of the stairs, he turned to the left and opened a door.

“This is the guest room,” he said, stepping aside to let you enter.

The room was cozy, with a plush queen-sized bed covered in a navy-blue comforter, a small desk by the window, and a few decorative touches that made it feel welcoming—a basket of rolled-up blankets, a lamp with a warm glow, and a stack of books on the nightstand.

“This is nice,” you said, setting your carry-on bag down by the bed.

“I figured you’d want your own space,” Glen said, setting your suitcase by the desk. “Bathroom’s just down the hall, and there are extra towels in the closet if you need them.”

“Thanks,” you said softly, meeting his eyes.

He hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to say something, before giving you a small smile. “Alright, let me show you the rest of the upstairs.”

You followed him back out into the hall, where he pointed out the bathroom and a smaller guest room that had been converted into a second office. Finally, he led you to the master bedroom at the end of the hall.

“And this is where the magic really happens,” he joked, pushing open the door to reveal a spacious room with a king-sized bed, a walk-in closet, and a sliding door that led to a private balcony.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “You and your magic. I’m starting to think you have a pretty loose definition of the word.”

“Hey, I have my moments,” he said with a wink.

He led you back downstairs, where the tour ended in the living room. “Alright, that’s the grand tour,” he said, clapping his hands together. “What do you think?”

“It’s great,” you said honestly. “It feels very...you. Like even if I didn’t know this was your house I could see you fitting in here.”

And you meant it. You’d been to Glen’s place in Los Angeles before. And it was comfortable and fine enough. But it felt more like a bachelor pad. But this house here in Austin felt like him. It felt like home.

“Good,” he said, his smile softening. “I’m glad you like it. Now, you ready to meet the chaos that is my family?”

Your stomach flipped nervously, but Glen’s easy smile was enough to settle you. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” you said.

“Perfect,” he said, grabbing his keys off the counter. “Let’s do this.”

*****

The truck rumbled to a stop in front of the charming two-story house, its exterior painted a warm cream color with dark green shutters. Wreaths adorned the windows, and strings of twinkling lights outlined the roof, giving it a postcard-worthy holiday glow. Glen shifted the truck into park, but before he could even cut the engine, the front door burst open, and a wave of people spilled out onto the porch.

“Here we go,” Glen muttered with a grin, glancing at you. “Brace yourself.”

Your heart raced as his mom was the first to step forward, her arms already open as she made her way down the steps. Cyndy Powell was the picture of warmth, her hair perfectly styled, and her face glowing with excitement. Behind her, Glen’s dad, Glen Sr., stood with an easygoing smile, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. His sisters weren’t far behind—Leslie, the youngest, bounced on her toes with a wide grin, while Lauren, the oldest, followed at a more measured pace, one hand gripping the tiny hand of Glen’s nephew. Glen’s niece trailed behind, clinging to Lauren’s husband.

“Glen!” Cyndy called, waving both hands like she hadn’t seen her son in years, even though he’d assured you it had only been a couple of weeks.

You opened your door cautiously as Glen hopped out of the truck, meeting his mom halfway with a hug.

“Hey, Mom,” he said, his voice filled with affection.

Cyndy pulled back just enough to cup his face. “You look too thin,” she said, making him laugh. “Are you eating?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” Glen assured her, glancing over his shoulder at you.

You hesitated for half a second before stepping out of the truck, suddenly feeling like every pair of eyes was on you. Cyndy’s expression shifted immediately to one of pure delight as she made a beeline for you.

“And you must be the one Glen keeps telling us about!” she said, pulling you into a hug before you could even respond. “Oh, it’s so good to finally meet you. I’m Cyndy.”

“Hi, Mrs. Powell,” you managed, your voice slightly muffled by the hug. “It’s really nice to meet you, too.”

“Oh, please, call me Cyndy,” she insisted, pulling back to hold you at arm’s length. “You’re even prettier than Glen said.”

“Mom,” Glen groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he came to stand beside you.

“What?” Cyndy said innocently before ushering you both toward the rest of the group. “Come on, everyone’s dying to meet her.”

One by one, you were introduced—Glen Sr., who gave you a firm handshake and a kind smile; Leslie, who immediately wrapped you in a hug and declared you were “way too cool to be hanging out with Glen”; Lauren, who gave you a warm smile and said she’d heard so much about you; and finally, Lauren’s twins, who peeked out from behind their dad shyly until Glen crouched down to scoop them up in a playful hug.

“Alright, alright,” Glen said, standing with a twin on each hip as he turned back to his family. “Let her breathe, would you? She’s not used to all this chaos.”

“Chaos?” Cyndy said, feigning offense. “This is love, Glen. Pure holiday love.”

You laughed, but Glen caught the way your shoulders tensed, and he stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on your lower back. “You okay?” he asked softly, his tone just for you.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s just... a lot.”

“Don’t worry,” he said with a wink. “I’ll run interference if I have to.”

Before you could respond, Cyndy was ushering everyone inside, rattling off questions about the drive and insisting you must be starving after traveling all day. You followed the group into the house, which was every bit as welcoming as its exterior—soft, cozy furniture, a roaring fire in the living room, and the scent of something sweet wafting from the kitchen.

You shrugged out of your coat and Glen stepped closer, his hands brushing against your shoulders as he helped slide it off. The gesture was so natural, so easy, that it sent a little flutter through your chest.

“Here, I’ll take that.” His voice was casual, but the faint smile he gave you as he carefully hung your coat on the rack was anything but.

As he turned back to you, Cyndy leaned in with a knowing smile, her voice low enough that only you could hear. “He’s been so excited to bring you home. You should’ve heard him talk about it.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the comment, your cheeks warming as her words sank in. “Oh,” you managed, a little breathless.

Cyndy’s hand lingered on your arm for just a moment, her expression soft with unmistakable affection. “You’ll see,” she added with a wink, before stepping away to call to her husband about something in the kitchen.

When you turned back to Glen, he was watching you, his head tilted slightly. “What was that about?” he asked, his tone light but his curiosity clear.

“Oh, nothing,” you said quickly, trying to wave it off. But you couldn’t quite keep the smile from tugging at your lips—or the slight flush from creeping up your neck.

Glen’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Uh-huh. Sure.” He didn’t push, though, instead gesturing for you to follow him. “Come on. Let’s grab something to drink before everyone starts peppering you with questions.”

The moment lingered as you followed him into the house, Cyndy’s words echoing in your mind. The idea of Glen talking about you—being excited to bring you here—was hard to shake. Maybe it was just his family’s charm, or maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, you couldn’t help the quiet smile that stayed on your face as Glen led the way.

* * * * *

With a steaming mug of cocoa warming your hands, you smiled politely as Glen's mom chatted animatedly about the Powell family Christmas traditions. You nodded along, but the flurry of introductions and the cozy chaos of his family had you feeling a little overwhelmed. Sensing your chance for a breather, you leaned toward Glen.

“Excuse me for a minute,” you murmured, setting your mug down on the counter.

He shot you a curious look but nodded, letting you slip away.

You wandered down the hall, grateful for the moment to collect yourself. After freshening up in the restroom, you made your way back toward the kitchen, but you stopped short as voices drifted toward you from the other side of the doorway.

“...she’s adorable, Glen. Seriously,” one of his sisters—Lauren, you thought—said with a teasing lilt.

“And you brought her home for Christmas?” Leslie chimed in, her voice lilting with mock surprise.

Glen groaned, and you could practically hear him rubbing his hand over his face. “Guys, come on. We’re just friends.”

“Right,” Lauren said, drawing the word out like she didn’t believe him for a second. “Just friends, and yet you insisted she come here instead of spending Christmas alone. Sounds like something a boyfriend would do, don’t you think, Les?”

“Definitely boyfriend behavior,” Leslie agreed, clearly enjoying herself.

“You two are impossible,” Glen muttered, though his tone carried more amusement than frustration. “I didn’t want her to spend the holidays alone, okay?”

Your breath caught at his words, warmth spreading through your chest.

“Sure, sure,” Lauren said, her tone sly. “But just so you know, Mom’s already planning the wedding.”

Glen let out a sharp laugh. “There isn’t going to be a wedding. Let’s dial it back a little, huh? She’s nervous enough as it is without you two scaring her off.”

You took a step back, considering whether to linger a moment longer, but the sound of chairs scraping against the floor signaled that Glen’s sisters were on the move. Quickly, you stepped into the doorway, pretending you hadn’t heard a thing.

“Oh, there she is,” Leslie said with a grin as she and Lauren passed you.

Glen leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, his brow lifting as you stepped inside. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft and genuine.

You nodded, though your gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than you intended. “Yeah, just needed a minute. Your family’s really nice, by the way.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “They’re a handful, but they mean well.”

You walked over to retrieve your cocoa, the rich chocolate aroma grounding you. “They seem really excited to have everyone together.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of their thing,” Glen said, watching you closely. “What about you? You hanging in there?”

You shrugged lightly, a small smile playing at your lips. “It’s a lot, but… in a good way. It’s been a while since I’ve been around a big family like this.”

Glen straightened, stepping closer so his arm brushed against yours. “Well, they already love you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. His grin widened, but before he could say more, his mom’s voice rang out from the living room, calling for him to help bring in the extra chairs for dinner.

He sighed dramatically, earning another laugh from you. “Duty calls,” he said, but his hand lightly touched your arm as he passed. “Don’t let them rope you into anything too crazy while I’m gone.”

You smiled, watching as he left the room. Something about being here—with him—felt unexpectedly right.

* * * * *

The kitchen buzzed with activity as Glen’s mom and sisters dove into dinner preparations. The smell of roasted turkey and fresh-baked rolls filled the air, making your stomach rumble despite the cocoa you’d just finished. Cyndy was meticulously checking the oven temperature, while Lauren and Leslie were chopping vegetables at the kitchen island.

“Need any help?” you asked hesitantly, stepping further into the room.

Lauren glanced up with a warm smile. “You’re sweet to offer, but trust me, this kitchen is already at max capacity.”

“Speak for yourself,” Leslie said, pointing her knife toward the pile of unpeeled carrots. “Here, grab a peeler. You can help me out before Mom has a meltdown over the timing.”

Cyndy turned from the oven, mock-offended. “I heard that!”

Leslie just smirked as she handed you a peeler and a couple of carrots. “Ignore her. She loves when we tease her. Keeps things interesting.”

You laughed softly and settled in next to Leslie, grateful for something to do with your hands.

“So, how are you holding up?” Leslie asked after a moment, her voice quieter, more personal.

You glanced at her, surprised by the question. “Oh, um… good, I think. Your family’s been really welcoming.”

“We’re loud, though,” Lauren chimed in, pausing her slicing to grin at you. “Hopefully Glen warned you about that.”

“It’s a good kind of loud,” you said honestly, feeling more at ease with them. “I’m just… not used to it, I guess.”

Leslie nudged you lightly with her elbow. “Well, if you can survive the Powell family Christmas chaos, you’re pretty much invincible.”

“Noted,” you said with a laugh, peeling another carrot.

Lauren tilted her head, studying you curiously. “So, how did you and Glen meet, anyway?”

You hesitated, glancing toward the doorway like Glen might walk in and save you. “We met through mutual friends,” you said carefully. “It’s kind of a long story, but we just… clicked, I guess.”

Leslie smirked, clearly enjoying the topic. “Clicked, huh? Like, just friends clicked? Or ‘maybe there’s something more’ clicked?”

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you focused intently on the carrot in your hand. “Definitely just friends,” you said quickly, your voice a little too firm.

“Hmm,” Lauren said, exchanging a look with Leslie.

Before they could press further, Glen walked in, carrying a couple of folding chairs from the garage. He stopped short when he noticed the three of you huddled together.

“What’s going on in here?” he asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he set the chairs against the wall.

“Nothing,” Lauren said, her voice entirely too innocent.

Leslie shrugged. “Just getting to know your friend.”

Glen sighed, giving his sisters a pointed look before turning to you. “Don’t let them gang up on you. They’re relentless once they get started.”

“I think I’m holding my own,” you said with a small smile, though you were grateful for his presence.

“Good,” Glen said, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “Because dinner’s almost ready, and if they scare you off before dessert, Mom’s going to kill them.”

The laughter that followed eased the lingering tension, and for the first time since you’d arrived, you felt like you were starting to find your footing amidst the whirlwind of the Powell family.

“Alright,” Cyndy said, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get everything to the table before it gets cold.”

The dining room table was a feast for the senses. Platters of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables were arranged in the center, surrounded by bowls of cranberry sauce, rolls, and casseroles. Soft holiday music played in the background, and the warm glow of the chandelier added to the cozy atmosphere.

You found yourself seated between Glen and Lauren, while the twins took turns giggling and sneaking bites of their food despite their mom’s warnings to “at least wait for everyone to get their plate.”

The conversation started casually, with everyone complimenting Cyndy’s cooking and trading jokes about who had eaten the most last Christmas. It wasn’t long before the table was buzzing with overlapping chatter and bursts of laughter.

“So, what’s everyone’s plans for New Year’s?” Lauren asked as she helped her daughter cut her turkey into smaller pieces.

“Will and I are thinking of taking the kids to the park downtown for the fireworks,” Lauren said. “What about you, Glen?”

Glen shrugged, reaching for the mashed potatoes. “Haven’t decided yet. Depends on if this one’s dragging me somewhere” He nudged your shoulder with a playful grin.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m not dragging you to anything. You keep inviting yourself to my plans.”

“Semantics,” he quipped, earning a chuckle from Leslie.

Cyndy, ever the gracious host, leaned toward you with a warm smile. “So, what do you usually do for the holidays with your family?”

You hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the question. “Well, when I can make it home, we usually have a quiet Christmas. Just my parents and my siblings. Lots of food, games, and, uh, my mom’s famous fudge.”

“That sounds lovely,” Cyndy said, her tone genuine. “You’ll have to share the fudge recipe sometime. Maybe we’ll add it to our dessert rotation next year.”

“I’d love to,” you said, feeling a little more at ease.

Throughout dinner, Glen made sure to keep you involved in the conversation, throwing in lighthearted jokes and even sharing an embarrassing story from high school that had everyone in stitches.

“Remember when Glen tried to sing karaoke at the Christmas talent show?” Leslie said, her face lighting up with glee.

“Oh, no,” Glen groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Lauren jumped in. “He thought he could hit the high notes in ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You.’ Spoiler alert: he couldn’t.”

The table erupted in laughter, and even you couldn’t hold back a giggle. Glen peeked at you through his fingers, feigning betrayal.

“Sorry,” you said between laughs. “But I need to hear this someday.”

“Not happening,” Glen said firmly, shaking his head.

By the time dessert was served—a towering plate of Cyndy’s homemade pecan pie—you were full, content, and starting to see why Glen loved spending the holidays here so much.

After dinner, the energy in the house began to settle. The twins had all but fallen asleep at the table, and Lauren and her husband said their goodbyes, bundling their sleepy children into coats before heading out for the night.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” Lauren said, pulling you into a warm hug. “You did great tonight. Don’t let these guys scare you off.” She winked, glancing briefly at Glen.

With the house quieter, you, Glen, and Leslie remained behind to spend a little more time with his parents. Cyndy brought out another round of cocoa, insisting on adding an extra dollop of whipped cream for everyone.

The fire in the living room had burned low, but Glen Sr. stoked it back to life, filling the room with a warm glow. You took a seat on the couch near the hearth, your fingers curling around the mug of cocoa as you soaked in the comforting crackle of the flames.

The warmth of the fire helped, but the Texas winter chill still lingered, and you found yourself shivering slightly as you sipped your drink.

Glen, sitting in an armchair nearby, noticed immediately. Without a word, he stood and grabbed a thick, soft blanket draped over the back of the couch. Crossing the room, he carefully draped it over your shoulders, his hands lingering for a moment to ensure it was snug around you.

“Better?” he asked softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You nodded, your heart warming at the small, thoughtful gesture. “Much better. Thank you.”

Instead of returning to his chair, Glen sat down beside you on the couch, the corner of the blanket brushing against his arm as he stretched out. The closeness was both comforting and a little distracting, the ease of his presence pulling you further into the moment.

Across the room, Cyndy and Glen Sr. shared a knowing look, their quiet conversation halting as they observed the two of you. Leslie, seated in the armchair Glen had vacated, leaned over to whisper something to her mom, her expression amused.

Glen Sr. gave a subtle shake of his head, murmuring something you couldn’t quite catch, though his tone held a hint of playful exasperation.

The whispers and exchanged glances didn’t go unnoticed by Glen, who shot his sister a pointed look. “You guys good over there?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Totally,” Leslie replied, a little too quickly, her smile innocent in a way that wasn’t fooling anyone. “Just enjoying the show.”

You glanced between them, confused. “What show?”

“Nothing!” Cyndy said quickly, her tone light but clearly trying to steer the conversation away. “It’s just nice to see Glen bringing a friend home for the holidays.”

You felt your cheeks warm under her gaze, and Glen let out a small sigh, clearly used to his family’s antics.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

Leslie smirked but didn’t push further, and Cyndy changed the subject to talk about the Powell family’s Christmas morning traditions.

The room was dimly lit, the fire crackling softly in the background. The evening had settle dinto a quiet calm, with Glen sitting on the couch, his arm stretched across the backrest. Despite your best efforts to stay engaged in the chatter between Glen and his family, your eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment.

Cyndy and Leslie paused mid conversation when they noticed you were asleep. Your breathing was slow and even, your head nestled against Glen like it was the most natural thing in the world. Cyndy and Leslie exchanged a look, both already grinning.

“She’s so sweet,” Cyndy whispered, her voice barely above the crackling of the fire.

“And you’re adorable together,” Leslie added, leaning closer to her mom as if she were sharing a juicy secret.

Glen’s eyes flicked toward them, his lips tugging into a faint, knowing smirk. “We’re just friends,” he said, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing you.

Leslie arched a brow. “Sure, you are,” she teased, crossing her arms. “Because friends totally look at each other like that.”

“What are you even talking about?” Glen asked, rolling his eyes, though his free hand instinctively adjusted the blanket draped over you, tucking it more securely around your shoulders. You stirred slightly, leaning into him more, and his arm moved without hesitation, wrapping lightly around you to keep you comfortable.

“Like that,” Leslie said pointedly, gesturing at him with a playful smirk.

Cyndy’s eyes were full of warmth as she added, “Leslie’s right, honey. It’s the way you look at her. Like she’s the only person in the room.”

Glen sighed, running a hand through your hair but careful not to jostle you. “I’ve thought about it,” he admitted softly, his gaze dropping to you as you slept peacefully against him. “Probably more than I should have.”

Leslie’s teasing grin shifted into genuine curiosity. “So what’s stopping you?”

“It’s not the right time,” Glen said, his voice low but thoughtful. “My schedule’s insane. The next six to eight months are booked solid with filming, press tours… I’d barely be around. Starting something with her when I know I don’t have the time to make it work or for it to be healthy? It doesn’t feel fair to her. Or to me.”

Cyndy tilted her head, her brows furrowed slightly. “But you’ve managed to keep your friendship going despite all that. You both make time for each other. If you were dating, it wouldn’t be that much different, would it?”

Leslie chimed in, “Exactly. You’ve already proven that you make her a priority, even with everything you’ve got going on. If you really like her—and it’s obvious you do—why not take the chance?”

Glen glanced down at you again, the flickering firelight casting a warm glow across your peaceful face. His arm tightened just slightly around you, as if the thought of letting you go, even metaphorically, was too hard to bear.

He didn’t respond right away, the weight of his family’s words settling in as he watched you. Maybe they had a point. But taking that leap still felt like a mountain he wasn’t sure he could climb—at least not yet.

“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, his voice soft and a little distant.

Leslie opened her mouth, ready to press him further, but Cyndy gave her a gentle nudge and a pointed look. “Let it go, Leslie,” she said quietly. “He’ll figure it out when he’s ready.”

As they turned to leave the room, Cyndy glanced back at Glen one more time, her expression full of motherly understanding. Glen caught her look, gave her a small, grateful nod, and then shifted slightly to settle more comfortably against the couch, his arm still securely around you.

For now, he decided, this moment was enough.

The warmth of the fire flickered softly, casting golden light across the room. Between the gentle crackle of the logs and the soothing rhythm of your breathing, Glen found himself starting to relax in a way he hadn’t in weeks. Your head rested against his shoulder, and the weight of it, combined with the soft rise and fall of your chest, brought an unexpected sense of peace.

Glen shifted slightly, careful not to disturb you, but the movement only made you nestle closer, your arm brushing against his. He glanced down at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. The firelight danced in his eyes as his mind wandered, replaying his mom and Leslie’s words.

She’s sweet.

You’re adorable together.

What’s stopping you?

His gaze lingered on you, and a soft sigh escaped him. He knew what they meant. Knew how easy it would be to let himself fall. Maybe he already had.

The fire crackled again, pulling him from his thoughts. The room was growing quieter, the warmth enveloping him like a cocoon. His head tilted back slightly, his eyes growing heavier with each passing moment. Despite his best efforts to stay awake, the comfort of the moment proved too much.

It wasn’t long before Glen’s breathing matched yours, slow and steady, his chin dipping slightly toward his chest as sleep overtook him. The two of you sat there, heads close, his arm still loosely draped around you while the blanket kept you both warm.

Some time later, Cyndy padded softly into the living room, a smile spreading across her face as she took in the scene. You were still tucked against Glen, your hand now resting lightly against his chest. Glen’s head leaned toward yours, his features relaxed in a way only sleep could bring.

Cyndy stood there for a moment, her heart warming at the sight. She grabbed another blanket from the linen closet and approached quietly, careful not to wake either of you. With practiced ease, she draped it gently over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders before stepping back.

She turned to the fireplace, stoking the remaining embers and making sure it was safely extinguished. The room dimmed as she turned off the lights, leaving only the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains.

Before heading to bed, she paused once more, her gaze softening as she looked back at the two of you. A small, knowing smile played on her lips as she shook her head lightly, then whispered to herself, “Just friends, huh?”

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving you and Glen to rest peacefully in the quiet glow of the night.

*****

The soft light of morning filtered through the curtains, casting a faint glow across the living room. Glen stirred, his body shifting slightly against the couch cushion as he blinked groggily, trying to orient himself. His eyes felt heavy, and for a moment, he couldn’t figure out why he felt so warm.

He shifted again, feeling something—or rather, someone—pressed against him. He froze, his heart skipping a beat as he realized he wasn’t alone.

Looking down, he saw you curled into his side, your front pressed snugly against his chest, your legs tangled with his. One blanket was wrapped around you, tucked in as though you’d done it instinctively, and another—one he didn’t even remember grabbing—covered both of you. His arm was draped protectively around you, his hand resting lightly against your back.

Your breath was warm against his neck, soft and even, and he could feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat where your chest touched his. The realization sent a jolt of awareness through him. How had this happened? The last thing he remembered was sitting upright, with you asleep on his shoulder.

He let his head fall back onto the couch for a moment, exhaling slowly as he tried to make sense of it. Well, this is... comfortable, he thought wryly, though he couldn’t deny the quiet peace that came with waking up next to you.

As his brain started to wake up, he rubbed at his eyes, his other arm instinctively tightening around you as you shifted slightly in your sleep, murmuring something he couldn’t quite make out.

The sound of soft footsteps made him glance toward the archway leading to the kitchen. His parents stood there, his mom holding a coffee mug while his dad held the morning paper.

Cyndy stopped mid-step when she saw the two of you, her lips curling into a knowing smile she didn’t even try to hide. Glen groaned quietly, his free hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he looked up at them.

His dad raised an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Well, good morning,” his dad said, his tone amused. “Sleep well, son?”

Cyndy swatted his dad lightly on the arm but didn’t say anything, her smile widening as she looked between Glen and you.

Glen cleared his throat, his voice low and rough from sleep. “Morning,” he muttered, trying not to move too much and wake you.

Cyndy stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You looked so peaceful last night. I didn’t have the heart to wake you,” she said, her gaze warm and teasing.

Glen gave her a look, half-exasperated and half-grateful. “Thanks, Mom,” he murmured dryly, though there was no heat in his words.

“You should probably wake her before the others come down,” his dad added with a chuckle, nodding toward the stairs. “Don’t want to give Leslie too much ammunition.”

Glen sighed, his eyes flicking back to you. You were still sound asleep, your face relaxed and peaceful against him. His dad wasn’t wrong—Leslie would have a field day if she saw this.

“Yeah, I’ll handle it,” he said quietly, shifting slightly to try and rouse you without startling you.

Cyndy leaned closer to her husband as they turned to head back to the kitchen, her voice just loud enough for Glen to catch. “I think they’re adorable,” she whispered.

Glen groaned again, though he couldn’t quite hide the small smile tugging at his lips as he looked down at you, still nestled against him.

Glen sighed softly and glanced down at you, his heart doing an odd little flip at the sight of you so peaceful against him. For a moment, he hesitated, not wanting to disturb you. You looked so content, your face relaxed and framed by a strand of hair that had fallen loose.

But his dad was right—he needed to wake you before anyone else saw this and started making jokes he’d never live down.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle. He shifted slightly, his hand moving to lightly brush against your shoulder. “Time to wake up.”

You stirred faintly but didn’t open your eyes, your brows furrowing as you shifted closer, burying your face into the crook of his neck. The movement sent a wave of warmth rushing through him, and for a split second, he froze, unsure how to handle the sudden closeness.

“Come on,” he tried again, his voice soft and laced with a hint of amusement now. “You’re going to miss breakfast.”

This time, you let out a soft hum of protest, your voice barely audible as you mumbled, “Five more minutes...”

Glen couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Come on, you need to wake up before the others come downstairs.”

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, and it took you a moment to register where you were. When you finally looked up at him, still half-asleep, your cheeks flushed as the realization hit.

“Oh,” you said softly, your voice hoarse with sleep. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“Don’t worry about it,” Glen cut in quickly, his tone reassuring.

Your eyes dropped to where his arm was still draped around you, and you slowly began to sit up, the blanket falling away as you shifted. Glen helped, his hand steadying you as you moved, though he couldn’t quite hide the slight reluctance he felt at the loss of warmth.

“I, uh... hope I wasn’t too heavy,” you said, brushing a hand through your hair as you tried to smooth it down.

Glen smirked, leaning back against the couch. “You’re fine. But you do steal blankets, apparently,” he teased, motioning to the second blanket draped over him.

You blinked, confused, then looked down at the blanket and frowned. “Wait, where did that even come from?”

“Mom,” he said simply, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. “She came in last night and covered us up. I think she wanted to make sure we didn’t freeze to death.”

Your cheeks reddened further, and you groaned softly, hiding your face in your hands. “Oh, great. So your mom saw us like that?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, reaching out to tug your hands away from your face, his smile softening. “She thought it was cute. So did Dad, for the record.”

“Wonderful,” you muttered, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at your lips now.

Glen watched you for a moment before standing and stretching, his hand running through his hair as he glanced toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he said, offering you a hand. “Let’s get some coffee before Leslie sees us and decides to turn this into a running joke for the next decade.”

You laughed softly, taking his hand as he pulled you to your feet. His touch lingered for just a second longer than necessary before he let go, his gaze flicking to yours briefly before he led the way toward the kitchen.

As you and Glen walked into the kitchen, the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee hit you, immediately comforting in the way that only mornings at someone else's home could be. His parents were already seated at the island, sipping their own coffee, looking up with warm smiles as you entered.

“Good morning, you two,” his dad, Glen Sr., greeted with a grin, his voice low and warm.

“Morning,” you replied softly, moving to grab a mug from the cabinet. Glen’s mom, Cyndy, shot you a look, an almost mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked, her voice friendly, yet filled with a knowing edge.

You nodded, your face flushing again as you took a seat next to Glen. “Yeah, I did. Thanks for the extra blanket.”

“Of course,” she said with a smile. “I couldn’t have you freezing to death in here.” She paused, her eyes flicking between you and Glen for a moment. “Though, I must say, it was nice to see you both so cozy last night.”

Glen let out an exaggerated groan, shaking his head. “Mom, please.”

You chuckled softly, looking over at him, your hand wrapped around your mug of coffee. “It’s fine,” you said, offering a reassuring smile. “No harm done.”

His dad chuckled, clearly enjoying the moment. “You’re lucky. I don’t see Glen like that much.”

“I bet,” you responded, teasing, taking a sip of your coffee. “I wouldn’t have guessed he’s such a softy.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Cyndy said with a wink, earning a playful nudge from her husband.

Glen rolled his eyes, then leaned back against the counter, his eyes flicking to you. “So, I was thinking we should head back to my place in a bit,” he said, casually stirring his coffee. “We’ll change clothes, then I’ll bring you back here. Sound good?”

You nodded, sipping your coffee again, grateful for the warmth in your hands. “That sounds perfect.”

Leslie walked in at that moment, still wearing her pajamas, her eyes narrowing in on you and Glen still in the clothes you had on yesterday. “Did you guys sleep here last night?”

Glen groaned again, clearly not ready for another round of teasing. “Leslie, please, not now.”

But Leslie was already grinning, turning to their parents. “They fell asleep and slept on the couch, didn’t they?”

“Mind your own business,” Glen said, his voice half-amused, half-annoyed, as he stood up from the counter. He shot a glance at you, his expression softening. “Alright, let’s go grab some things from my place.

As you and Glen walked toward the door, you could hear Leslie's voice rise from the kitchen, her tone laced with playful teasing.

"I mean, it’s so obvious," she said, her voice carrying easily to where you both were standing.

"I heard that, Leslie!" he called out, his voice a mix of annoyance and amusement. "Knock it off."

Leslie’s laugh echoed from the kitchen, followed by a muffled comment you couldn’t quite make out, though you were sure it was another jab at him.

Glen rolled his eyes and shook his head, but there was a softness to his expression when he looked at you. "Sorry about that," he said, his tone light. "She’s relentless."

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a warmth in your chest at how natural this all felt. "It’s fine," you said, chuckling.

He held the door open for you, letting you step out first, his hand brushing against yours as you passed. The drive back to his place was quiet at first, the hum of the engine and the soft sounds of music on the radio filling the space between you. You found yourself glancing out the window, watching the suburbs of Austin pass by as the sun began to rise higher, casting a golden glow over everything.

Glen’s hand rested casually on the steering wheel, his fingers tapping lightly in rhythm with the beat of the song. Every now and then, he’d sneak a glance at you, a slight smile curling on his lips as if something was playing in his mind. You caught him once or twice, but neither of you said much, content to simply exist in the quiet comfort of each other’s company.

Finally, as you turned onto the street leading to his place, Glen broke the silence, his voice low but warm.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, glancing over at you, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “You’re not regretting agreeing to spend the holidays with my family, are you?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Not at all. It’s been… nice. Really nice, actually.”

He gave a small, satisfied nod, then pulled into the driveway of his house. As he parked, you both sat there for a moment, the truck gently rocking as the engine turned off.

As you both entered the house, the familiar warmth wrapped around you, making you feel at ease. Glen led the way toward the stairs, his movements easy, casual—like nothing had changed. But you couldn't ignore the shift, the quiet tension that seemed to have settled between you after spending the night curled up together. It wasn’t awkward, not exactly, but it was different. You both seemed a little more aware of each other than before.

"Bathroom's upstairs," Glen said, breaking the silence as he gestured to the staircase. "You can use the guest bathroom, and I'll take the one in my room."

You nodded, following him up the stairs. The house was quiet now, the early morning stillness hanging in the air. When you reached the top, you stopped briefly in front of the guest room. Glen was a few steps ahead of you, but you caught the way his gaze flickered to you for just a moment. His eyes lingered, and you felt the weight of it—the subtle shift you’d both sensed. He quickly looked away, his lips curling into a casual smile, but it wasn’t the same as before. There was something unspoken now, something you couldn’t quite name.

"Alright," Glen said, his voice a little softer than usual. "I’ll meet you downstairs in a bit. Take your time."

You hesitated for a second, feeling the strange pull between you, but nodded and stepped into the guest room. The door clicked shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stood there, the silence pressing in. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just different. You couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too, that quiet shift in the air, the one that had somehow made the space between you seem just a little smaller.

You shook your head, trying to push away the sudden thoughts swirling in your mind. This was still Glen—your friend. Nothing had changed, right?

But as you started to get ready for your shower, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had.

The hot water helped clear your head, and you focused on the simple task of washing off the sleep from your body. The shower was quick, just a few minutes of cleansing and letting the steam fill the space, but you didn’t want to take too long. Glen was probably already waiting, and you didn’t want to leave him hanging. You turned off the water, stepping out and grabbing the towel from the hook.

As you dried off, you realized your mistake. Your clothes were still in the guest room, neatly folded on the bed. You hadn’t thought that far ahead, assuming you’d just grab them when you finished. You sighed quietly to yourself, wrapping the towel securely around you, careful not to let it slip.

You checked yourself in the mirror for a moment, making sure everything was in place. Satisfied, you opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway, glancing toward the guest room. It felt strange walking across the house like this—towel-clad, with nothing but the soft padding of your bare feet on the floor to accompany you.

You moved as quickly as you could, trying not to draw attention to yourself, but the slight breeze of the air made you acutely aware of just how vulnerable you felt in the moment. When you reached the guest room, you took a quick glance down the hallway, just in case, before slipping inside and closing the door behind you.

You quickly pulled on the clothes you had set out, opting for something comfortable but still presentable. After slipping on a soft sweater and a pair of jeans, you grabbed the brush and ran it through your damp hair. You added a little product, hoping it would hold up for the day, but you didn’t want to stress too much about it. After all, you were just heading downstairs with Glen—nothing too formal.

You took a deep breath and made your way toward the door, hoping the day would continue as smoothly as possible. But as you stepped out of the guest room, you nearly collided with Glen. He was just emerging from his room, his shirt still in his hand, his chest and abs exposed in the moment before he pulled it on. His muscles were defined, his skin still warm from the shower, and you found your gaze involuntarily drifting down for just a moment.

You quickly snapped your eyes away, trying to ignore the rush of heat that flushed your face. You gave a nervous smile, your heart thudding in your chest, and practically rushed past him. Your steps were quick, almost too quick as you hurried down the stairs, praying to some higher power that Glen hadn’t noticed your lingering glance.

The sound of his footsteps following behind you reassured you that he wasn’t focusing on the moment. You let out a quiet breath, hoping you could push the moment from your mind and keep everything normal.

"So, what do you think? Want to hang out here for a bit? Enjoy the quiet before we head back to the chaos?" he asked, his voice casual, but there was an unspoken invitation in his words.

You glanced toward the living room. The cozy, inviting space was practically calling out to you. The thought of staying here, just the two of you, no teasing, no distractions. The idea of getting alone time with Glen was tempting.

But as you stood there, a tug of guilt gnawed at you. You could already picture Glen, laughing and joking with his family, enjoying moments that he didn’t get to have often due to his hectic schedule. He didn’t get much time with them, and you knew that all too well. The last thing you wanted to do was take him away from that, especially when you knew how much he cherished it.

You had more time with him than they did. You saw him regularly, had long conversations over coffee, shared lazy afternoons together on his days off. They were lucky to have him home, and you didn’t want to be the reason he missed out on these rare moments.

The thought of staying here, just the two of you, was appealing, yes—but not at the expense of his family. You didn’t want to be selfish. They didn’t have the luxury of seeing him every day, and you knew that if you stayed, it would be taking away from that time they had.

Finally, you shook your head slightly, offering him a small, apologetic smile. "I think I’d rather head back over," you said, trying to push aside the selfish urge to keep him all to yourself. "You don’t get to see them much, and I don’t want to take that away from you." With a final glance at the quiet room around you, you gave Glen a small smile. "Shall we?" you asked, your voice light, trying to push the lingering tension aside.

He nodded, his smile softening, understanding exactly what you meant. "Yeah, let’s go."

As you followed him to the door, the weight of the quiet moments you shared earlier in the day seemed to hang in the air, but there was something comforting in it. A subtle shift, one you couldn’t quite put your finger on but couldn’t ignore either.

The cool air greeted you as you stepped outside, and the drive back to his parents' house was peaceful, the car filled only with the sound of the engine and the faint rustling of the wind. You both had your own thoughts, but the comfortable silence made it feel like there was no need to fill the space.

When you pulled up to the house again, the familiar warmth of the lights shining from the windows seemed inviting. Glen turned to you before you opened the door, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. "Thanks for letting me have so much time with them" he said quietly, his voice sincere. "I appreciate you understanding."

You smiled at him, a quiet understanding between you that didn’t need words. "Of course, I know how important they are to you," you replied, giving him a look that was just as much reassurance as it was a soft acknowledgment of the unspoken bond you shared. And with that, the two of you stepped out of the car, ready to head back inside, where the sounds of family laughter awaited.

* * * * *

The warm scent of cookies filled the kitchen as you worked alongside Cyndy, Lauren, and Leslie, mixing dough and rolling it into perfect little balls. The rhythm of your hands, the soft scrape of the spatula against the bowl, was comforting. The kitchen was a cozy flurry of flour, sugar, and laughter.

As you moved the dough onto the baking sheets, the sounds of laughter echoed from the living room. Glen’s voice was unmistakable, full of warmth and joy, accompanied by the high-pitched giggles of the twins. You couldn’t help but smile, a soft chuckle escaping you as you glanced up.

“Seems like he’s a fun uncle,” you commented, rolling the dough into another ball.

Cyndy and Leslie shared a knowing look before Leslie grinned. "Oh, he’s the favorite uncle, hands down," she said, shaking her head with a teasing smile. “I mean, he’s practically a big kid himself when they’re around.”

You laughed, imagining Glen’s easygoing nature blending perfectly with the chaos and energy of his niece and nephew. It was clear that they adored him.

Lauren continued, her tone light and affectionate. “I think the twins might actually think of him as their second dad sometimes. He spoils them rotten."

After a few moments, Glen appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath but grinning from ear to ear, his hair a bit messy from wrestling with the twins. His cheeks were flushed from the fun, but as soon as his eyes found the cooling rack of freshly baked cookies, he couldn’t resist. He made his way toward it, trying to sneak a cookie without anyone noticing.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you saw his move. You grabbed the spatula from the counter and, with a quick swipe, playfully swatted at him.

“Don’t even think about it,” you teased, but before you could even get close, Glen’s hand shot out to grab your wrist, stopping the spatula mid-air.

He chuckled, his grip gentle but firm, his fingers brushing against your skin in the briefest of moments. His gaze locked with yours, and for a second, the playful banter seemed to fade as the space between you both felt charged with something a little different.

“Really?” Glen raised an eyebrow, his voice soft with amusement.

You laughed, trying to pull your wrist free, but his hand stayed in place, still holding you with a steady but warm grip. “They aren’t ready yet,” you said, laughing as you tried to wiggle out of his grasp.

The laughter from Cyndy and Leslie behind you broke the moment, and you both turned, noticing their amused expressions.

“Are we interrupting something?” Cyndy asked with a teasing smile.

Leslie, barely containing a grin, raised an eyebrow. “You two are really cute together, you know that?”

You shot her a playful glare, but Glen gave a sheepish chuckle, releasing your wrist and straightening up. “We're just friends,” he said with a lighthearted shrug, though the hint of something unspoken lingered in his tone. “But I am taking one of these cookies.”

Before you could respond, Glen grabbed a cookie from the cooling rack with a victorious grin. You rolled your eyes in mock exasperation as he happily bit into the cookie, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you said, shaking your head with a smile.

Cyndy and Leslie exchanged a knowing glance, but neither said anything else, letting the moment hang in the air between you two, filled with warmth and an undeniable connection.

Lauren gave Glen a mischievous grin and, without warning, tossed a small pinch of flour in his direction. The flour puffed up in the air, and Glen let out a surprised laugh, his hands immediately going to his hair and face to brush it away.

“Hey!” Glen laughed, glancing around at the chaos unfolding. “You’re going down for that!”

In an instant, the flour fight was on. Leslie, quick on the draw, took the opportunity to sprinkle flour over Glen’s shoulder. He retaliated with a handful of flour that he flung in her direction, his aim slightly off, hitting the edge of the counter instead. You couldn't help but laugh, your hands covered in flour as you tried to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.

Glen shot you a playful look, and before you could duck out of his reach, he tossed a small pinch of flour at you. It landed right on your nose, and you gasped in mock horror.

“Oh, it's on now,” you said, wiping at your nose. “You’re going to pay for that one.”

The kitchen erupted in more laughter as flour and frosting flew between the family members, and before long, the "fight" ended just as quickly as it started, with everyone covered in flour and sugar but still grinning from ear to ear.

You went to wipe the frosting off your cheek, but as your finger brushed over it, you only seemed to smear it further. Glen, watching you with a teasing smile, leaned in slightly, his gaze softening as he shook his head. “You’re just making it worse.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Got a better idea?”

He didn’t say anything at first, just reached for the kitchen towel. His fingers brushed against your chin as he gently took your face in his hands, tilting your head slightly to get a better angle. His thumb carefully wiped away the frosting from your cheek, and you held your breath, caught in the moment, his touch gentle and thoughtful.

“There,” Glen said softly, his eyes still focused on your face. “All better.”

You met his gaze for a moment, feeling something stir inside you. His hand lingered just a little longer than necessary before he dropped it to his side, giving you a sheepish smile.

Glen’s mom, Cyndy, appeared in the doorway, holding a broom in one hand and a Swiffer in the other. She surveyed the flour-coated kitchen with an amused smile, shaking her head at the mess.

“Start cleaning this up, Glen,” she said with a grin, holding out the broom to him.

Glen, still wiping frosting from his hands, gave her a mock salute. “Yes ma’am,” he replied, his voice teasing as he took the broom from her with a sigh.

Cyndy smiled and turned back to the counter, the familiar, easy banter filling the air. “I swear, uou start a food fight every time we bake cookies around here.”

“Hey, I didn’t start it. I was just defending myself,” Glen shot back, sweeping a pile of flour into the dustpan with care.

You glanced over at Glen, a grin tugging at your lips. It was hard not to notice how much he resembled his mom in that moment—easygoing, playful, and always the one tasked with cleaning up after the fun.

“Don’t look so smug, you’ve got your own work to do,” he teased, gesturing at the counter where the remaining cookie dough sat ready to be rolled.

You just laughed and walked over to help Cyndy and Leslie, trying to distract yourself from the small, fleeting moment you’d just shared with Glen.

The kitchen felt warm with laughter and good company as you all continued to work together, and for a moment, everything seemed perfectly in place. Glen was hard at work, and you were right where you wanted to be—with the people who mattered most to him, helping make new memories.

After the cookies were finished and the kitchen was tidied up, the festive energy of the day shifted to the living room, where the Christmas tree stood, waiting to be transformed. Glen’s mom, Cyndy, had made it clear—no tree decorating until everyone, including Glen was home. So, even though Christmas Eve had arrived, the tree still sat untouched, its branches bare, twinkling lights tangled in a mess of cords.

You and Glen made your way to the storage tote, ready to tackle the daunting task of untangling the lights. Glen grinned as he opened the lid, revealing the well-loved decorations inside. "Every year, this takes longer than it should," he muttered, already pulling out a jumble of strings.

"At least you’re here to help now," you teased, grabbing a section of lights and trying to work through the knots. "I’m sure your family appreciates that."

Glen shot you a playful look as he started to untangle his own section. "Yeah, yeah, they know I’m the official light untangler. No one else can be trusted with this responsibility."

You both worked together, your laughter and conversation mixing with the sounds of his sisters in the living room. Cyndy and Leslie were busy sorting through the assortment of ornaments, laying them out in neat piles to be hung on the tree. The occasional clink of glass and soft chatter filled the space as they talked about the best places to hang each ornament.

The mood was lighthearted, and there was a cozy comfort in the room as the tree slowly started to take shape. You glanced over at Glen, catching the familiar glint of mischief in his eyes as he struggled with a particularly stubborn knot.

"Need help there?" you asked with a smirk, leaning closer.

"Nope, I’ve got it," he replied, his voice teasing but also faintly apologetic. "I’m a professional at this by now."

As he worked on the tangled mess, you couldn’t help but notice how the sight of him—focused and determined, yet still making light of the situation—made your heart flutter in a way that was different from before. You shook it off quickly, telling yourself it was just the holiday spirit getting to you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of struggling with knots and wires, the lights were untangled. You plugged them in to make sure they worked, and sure enough, the tree lit up with a soft glow, casting a warm, comforting light on the room.

Cyndy clapped her hands together with excitement. "Alright, now the fun part! Everyone grab an ornament, let’s make this tree sparkle."

Glen’s sisters eagerly began pulling their favorite ornaments from the piles, each one carefully examined before being placed on the branches. Glen handed you an ornament with a small grin. "I think this one’s for you," he said, handing you a glass star ornament that had a delicate silver shimmer.

As the tree filled with decorations, you couldn’t help but feel the warmth of the moment. It was peaceful and festive, and even with the occasional playful jab from one of Glen’s sisters, you couldn’t deny that it felt right.

Glen stepped back for a moment, surveying the tree as the last few ornaments were added. He gave you a soft smile, and you both exchanged a quiet moment before returning to finish the final touches.

As the final ornaments were being placed, the room seemed to hum with festive energy. The tree was almost done, with the soft glow of the lights reflecting off the glass baubles and tinsel. You stepped back to admire the view when Cyndy, holding the delicate star topper, made her way toward you.

"Here," she said with a warm smile, holding it out to you. "I think you should be the one to put the star on top. After all, you're the special guest this year."

You immediately felt a slight panic. "Oh, no, no, someone in the family should do it," you said, shaking your head, trying to pass the ornament back to her. "This is your tradition."

But Cyndy, always insistent, simply raised an eyebrow and gave you a playful smile. "You’re part of the family now," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Before you could protest any further, Cyndy shot a glance over at Glen, who was leaning casually against the wall, watching with a smile. "Glen, help her up."

Glen’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he moved toward you. "You heard her," he teased, holding out a hand. "Up you go."

You gave him an incredulous look, but there was no backing out now. Glen bent down slightly, motioning for you to climb onto his shoulders. With a deep breath, you carefully moved onto his broad shoulders. Glen straightened up, your legs now on either side of his neck, and you were perched on his shoulders, a little wobbly at first, but he steadied you easily.

"Alright, ready?" he asked, his voice close to your ear, making you feel a little more unsteady than you had been just moments ago.

You nodded, and Glen slowly straightened his back, lifting you higher so you could reach the top of the tree.

With his support, you leaned over carefully, stretching just enough to place the star on top of the tree. You could feel his arms beneath your legs, his grip steady as he held you in place. As you aligned the cord with the top strand of lights, the star clicked into place, and the top of the tree lit up with a soft, radiant glow.

The room seemed to pause for a moment, everyone looking up at the tree as the star twinkled brightly, casting a warm glow over the entire room. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a sense of pride and contentment as you admired the result.

"Perfect," Cyndy said, her voice filled with approval. "It’s beautiful."

As Glen slowly lowered you back to the ground, his hands slid to your waist, steadying you as you regained your footing. You both stood there for a moment, a shared silence settling over you as you looked up at the tree. The lights glowed softly, casting a gentle warmth over the room, and the star at the top shone brilliantly.

The atmosphere was calm, peaceful. You couldn’t help but feel a small flutter in your chest as you stood close to Glen, the warmth of his hands still lingering on your hips. It wasn’t anything overt, just a quiet moment where the connection between the two of you felt more real than ever. The world around you seemed to fade away for a second, leaving only the soft hum of the Christmas tree lights and the quiet of the room.

You both stood there for what felt like an eternity, neither of you saying a word. The only sounds were the soft crackle of the fire in the background and the distant laughter from the others. And then, without warning, Glen seemed to notice the looks from the corner of his eye. Leslie and Lauren were standing at the other side of the room, their eyes fixed on the two of you, their smiles too knowing for Glen’s liking.

Caught in the moment, Glen quickly pulled his hands from your sides, his fingers brushing against your skin just enough to send a small shiver down your spine. He cleared his throat and turned toward the others, trying to act nonchalant.

“Alright, alright,” he said, chuckling awkwardly.

Leslie grinned and gave him a playful wink, but it was Lauren’s knowing smile that lingered in your mind. You and Glen shared a fleeting glance before you both turned to rejoin the others, the moment still hanging between you two.

* * * * *

Later that evening, after the lively chaos of dinner had settled, you found yourself stepping out onto the deck of Glen’s house. The crisp air of the winter evening wrapped around you as you leaned against the railing, a cup of warm tea cradled in your hands. The steam curled up into the cool night, and the soft hum of the distant streetlights was the only sound you could hear. It was a peaceful contrast to the laughter and chatter that had filled the house earlier, and you welcomed the solitude.

As you sipped from your cup, your thoughts drifted back to the night’s events. Glen’s family had been warm and welcoming, and though you could see how much they all cared for him, you couldn’t help but notice the way Cyndy had spoken earlier. It lingered in your mind, that softness in her eyes when she spoke of how much happier Glen seemed since you arrived. It made your chest feel tight, both in a comforting and nerve-wracking way.

The door behind you creaked open, and you turned just as Glen stepped onto the deck. He moved toward you with that familiar easy stride of his, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. For a moment, he stood beside you, silent, just taking in the night air with you. The way the soft glow of the house lights reflected off his features made him seem almost impossibly handsome in the moment.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, as if he knew that his family’s energy could be overwhelming at times. “I know they can be a lot.”

You offered him a soft smile and took another sip of tea, the warmth of the cup soothing against your palms. “I’m enjoying myself, really,” you assured him. “Your family’s great. It’s just... nice to have a little peace and quiet for a moment after everything today, you know?”

Glen gave a small, understanding nod, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. The comfortable silence stretched between you both, but then, as if on cue, a gust of cool air swept across the deck. You couldn’t help but shiver slightly, the chill catching you off guard.

Before you could react, you felt a warmth at your shoulders. Glen’s arm wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you closer to him, the solid feel of his presence comforting against the cool night. His touch, the gentle weight of his arm around you, made your heart race for reasons you couldn’t quite explain. It felt natural, like he was just trying to make sure you were okay—but there was something else there, something unspoken that hummed beneath the surface.

For a brief moment, you thought he might lean in, maybe say something that would break the quiet tension between you. But he didn’t. He just stood there, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, but not close enough to cross that invisible line.

The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence where two people simply existed in each other’s presence, the world around them fading away. Still, something about the stillness between you and Glen made you aware of the subtle shift in the air. You glanced up at him, catching the thoughtful, almost distant expression on his face.

“You okay?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. There was something in his demeanor that made you wonder if something was on his mind, maybe something he wasn’t sharing. He seemed more serious now, the playfulness from earlier replaced by a quiet vulnerability you couldn’t quite place.

Glen turned his head to look at you, blinking as if he had been lost in thought, and then he let out a low chuckle, brushing it off. “You don’t want to know,” he said, his voice light but guarded, as if the answer to your question was something he wasn’t sure he wanted to share.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful grin curling on your lips. “Try me.”

His gaze flickered to yours, and for a second, you could see the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. It was a small thing, but it was there—a brief moment of vulnerability that he quickly masked with a deep breath. He didn’t say anything at first, just looking out at the dark sky, the stars twinkling above.

“I’m just…” He trailed off, then ran a hand through his hair, clearly unsure of how to continue. “I don’t know. Just... thinking about how much things have changed recently.” Glen sighed again, letting out a breath like he was releasing something heavy. “I guess... it’s just been a lot. Work, family... and now you. It’s all good stuff, but it’s a lot to juggle sometimes, you know?” He paused, his words becoming slower as if he were processing something in real-time. “I don’t want to mess things up. With my family, with you...”

The air between you and Glen felt thick with unspoken things, so you did the only thing that felt natural. You shifted slightly, closing the space between you until you were pressed against his chest. Instantly, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you in, and you rested your head just beneath his chin, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath against you.

For a brief, fleeting moment, you thought you might’ve felt something—something soft and sweet, maybe even a kiss. But when you lifted your head to look up at him, you realized it wasn’t that at all. He’d just rested his chin on the top of your head, his touch warm and gentle, like a quiet reassurance that you didn’t know you needed until now.

You pulled back a fraction, just enough to tilt your head and meet his eyes. Your fingers brushed against his chest lightly as you took a breath, wanting to say something—anything—that would keep this moment from slipping away.

“You couldn’t possibly mess things up with me,” you assured him, your voice steady but filled with a quiet confidence. You didn’t know why you said it, but you meant it. The last thing you wanted was for Glen to feel like he was doing anything wrong by simply being himself.

Glen laughed softly, though it was a little unsure. “Don’t be so sure about that,” he teased, his voice still carrying that hint of vulnerability beneath the humor. He didn’t let go of you, though—his hands resting lightly on your shoulders, almost like he was grounding himself to you in this moment.

You couldn't help but smile at the mix of playfulness and seriousness in his tone. It was typical of him—strong and self-assured, yet still somehow uncertain when it came to matters of the heart. But the way he was holding you, the way his arms had wrapped around you so naturally—it told you everything you needed to know.

“You’re not as big a mess as you think you are, Glen,” you said, your voice soft, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “At least not when it comes to me.”

Glen smiled back at you, the warmth of it reaching his eyes. The distance between you two, both physically and emotionally, was narrowing with every second.

Another breeze stirred the air, cool against your skin. It caught a strand of your hair, whipping it across your face. You instinctively reached up to brush it away, but before your hand could meet your face, Glen shifted. His fingers grazed your cheek softly, his touch warm as he gently tucked the errant strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, resting along your jaw for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

You looked up at him, and in that moment, the world seemed to slow down. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met yours, searching, almost like he was wondering what you were thinking—if you were feeling the same pull he was. His breath caught slightly, the air thick with everything unsaid between you two.

For a long, fragile moment, you were certain neither of you wanted to break the connection, but it was like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Glen’s fingers lingered on your face, his touch almost electric, and you could feel the heat rising between you.

He parted his lips like he was about to say something—anything—but then stopped. Something held him back, that same hesitation that had kept him quiet, kept him at a distance all evening. His breath faltered, but you could tell he was fighting himself.

The words left you before you could even think twice about them. Soft, barely a whisper, just enough for him to hear: “Kiss me.”

You weren’t sure if he caught it at first. It was so quiet, almost too soft for him to hear. If he didn’t want to, he could easily dismiss it, pretend he hadn’t heard and let the moment pass. The uncertainty and the weight of the words hung between you, like a fragile thread.

But then Glen’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, and the gesture was enough to make your heart race. Without another word, he closed the distance between you, his lips pressing against yours in a kiss that was soft but full of promise. There was no hesitation now, no second-guessing.

The world melted away, and all that remained was the warmth of his mouth, the sweetness of his breath mingling with yours

The world melted away, and all that remained was the warmth of his mouth, the sweetness of his breath mingling with yours. You could taste the hint of his cologne, feel the heat radiating off his skin as his lips gently moved against yours, a quiet but insistent promise.

You reached up, your hands trembling slightly, and grabbed onto the fabric of his shirt, as if grounding yourself in this moment. His touch was everything—strong, steady, and a little desperate, like he was holding on to something precious. One hand found its way to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he gently pulled you closer, his lips urging yours to open. The soft pressure was almost a question, and you answered it without hesitation, your lips parting as his tongue slid in, exploring you with slow, deliberate movements.

The kiss deepened, and everything else faded. His free hand moved to your waist, pulling you against him, making you feel the undeniable heat of his body. The way he held you tightly, possessively, ignited a spark inside you that set your skin on fire. You felt every inch of him, the strength in his arms, the warmth of his chest pressed against yours, his heart racing in time with yours.

Without breaking the kiss, he gently pushed you back, guiding you until you were pinned between his solid body and the railing behind you. You could feel the cool metal against your back, the contrast of it to the heat radiating from him, but it only made the moment more intense, more real.

His mouth never left yours, and you were lost in it—lost in the way he kissed you, in the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in that instant. His tongue moved against yours, a slow, sensual dance that sent shivers down your spine. He was patient but relentless, as if he couldn't get close enough, as if he wanted to drown in this feeling, in the taste of you.

For a moment, you lost yourself completely in him. The kiss became everything—the way his lips molded to yours, the heat of his body pressed against yours, and the deep, almost desperate need that surged between you. It was as if nothing else in the world existed but the two of you.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to let you both catch your breath, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged. He didn't let go, his hands still on your waist, his body so close you could feel the warmth of him seeping into you. His eyes searched yours, almost like he was asking for permission, or maybe trying to figure out what this meant.

Glen took a slow, deliberate step back, his hands lingering for just a second longer than necessary on your waist, as if reluctant to let go. His gaze locked with yours, still heavy with unspoken words and that same intensity that hung thick in the air. His lips parted slightly, as if he might say something, but the moment lingered—unsaid, just like everything else that had passed between you two.

He reached down, his fingers brushing against yours, and when he grasped your hand, it felt grounding, but at the same time, like a promise. He gently pulled you inside, his touch still warm against your skin, the heat from the kiss still lingering between you.

You stepped closer to him, his hand never leaving yours, and the world outside seemed to fade away once more. The air was different inside—charged in a way that made everything feel more intimate, more real. Glen glanced at you over his shoulder, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, his eyes dark with something unreadable, something that only added to the tension building between you.

And then, with a quiet, almost playful tug, he led you further into the house, closing the door softly behind you.

* * * * *

You stirred slowly, the warmth of the bed and the soft, rhythmic press of Glen’s lips against your shoulder coaxing you out of sleep. His gentle kisses trailed up to your collarbones, each one sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. The sensation was soft, tender—like he was savoring the moment, as if he didn’t want to break the stillness of the morning.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, your eyes fluttering open just enough to catch the sight of him—his face only inches from your skin, eyes closed in quiet reverence. His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer as though you were the only thing anchoring him to this moment. It felt so natural, so right, that you could almost forget it was Christmas morning.

With a soft sigh, you rolled onto your back, the bed creaking slightly as you shifted. You turned your head, your gaze meeting his. He hadn’t noticed you were awake, his lips still lightly grazing your skin, his breath warm against your neck.

A small, sleepy smile tugged at the corners of your lips, unable to hide the happiness bubbling up inside you. It was a moment of peace, of simplicity, and you knew it was one you’d carry with you for a long time.

When Glen finally met your eyes, his expression softened, a quiet tenderness in his gaze that made your heart flutter in your chest. He leaned in again, pressing a kiss to your lips, brief but full of meaning. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered, his voice low and rough from sleep.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered back, your fingers gently brushing against his cheek, the moment feeling so intimate, so perfect.

Just as you were starting to drift back into the peaceful warmth of the moment, Glen’s phone rang, breaking the silence. He groaned and reached for it, clearly annoyed by the interruption. "Not now," he muttered, glancing at the screen and seeing it was Leslie calling.

"Seriously?" you teased, raising an eyebrow. "She can’t let us have five more minutes?"

Glen chuckled, though it was laced with mock frustration. "Guess not. She probably wants us to hurry up and join the rest of the chaos." He answered the call and put it on speaker, letting out another groan. "Leslie, it’s Christmas morning, cut me some slack."

You heard her voice, cheerful but insistent. "Yeah, I know, but you need to get over here! We’re all waiting for you to start the presents."

Glen rubbed a hand over his face, looking over at you with a grin. "Alright, alright. We’ll get up and head right over."

But Leslie, ever the sharp one, picked up on the tone in his voice. "Wait a second," she said with a teasing smirk in her voice. "You said ‘we’ll’ get up? So that means... you’re both still in bed?"

You felt Glen stiffen, his eyes locking onto yours as the corners of his mouth twitched. Before he could respond, Leslie continued, sounding far too smug for 8 AM. "And she’s with you, huh? In your room?"

Glen groaned dramatically, putting a hand to his forehead. "Leslie, it’s too early for this," he muttered, clearly embarrassed by the line of questioning.

Leslie wasn’t letting up, though. "Oh, I get it," she said in a sing-song voice, a little too amused for her own good. "I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’"

Glen looked at you, mouthing, "I’m gonna kill her."

He sighed, sitting up on the bed, clearly trying to change the subject. "Okay, okay. We’ll be over soon, alright? Stop prying."

"Sure, sure. Just don’t take too long, or I might have to send Mom in there to drag you both out," Leslie teased before hanging up with a cheerful goodbye.

Glen, still looking mildly exasperated, dropped the phone onto the bed. He laughed and leaned back against the headboard, stretching his arms over his head. "Alright, guess we should get up and face the madness."

You and Glen exchanged sleepy smiles as you both began to rise from the bed. Glen stretched his arms overhead, letting out a long yawn, before he slipped on his slippers and headed toward the bathroom. You turned toward the guest room, mentally running through the few things you had to do to get ready for the day.

As you dressed, you couldn't help but replay last night in your head—the kiss, the closeness, the way it felt like the world had just slipped away, leaving only the two of you. But now, in the cold light of morning, you couldn’t shake the uncertainty that lingered. What did it mean? What were you to Glen after everything that had happened? Your heart raced as the thought crossed your mind. Was this something you were supposed to talk about? Or would it be just another fleeting moment, like so many others in the past?

You finished getting dressed, smoothing your shirt and running your fingers through your hair, trying to calm the nerves that had appeared out of nowhere. When you stepped out of the guest room, you found Glen already ready, his jacket on and his keys in hand. He was standing by the door, waiting for you.

He gave you a soft smile when he saw you. "Ready?" he asked, his voice warm but with an edge of hesitation that matched how you were feeling.

You nodded, trying to brush off the unease. "Yeah.”

You followed him to the truck, your mind still racing with questions. The drive was quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the space between you. As you passed the familiar landmarks, your eyes wandered to Glen, who was focused on the road. You wanted to ask him everything, to know where the two of you stood after everything, but you didn’t want to make things awkward.

Finally, Glen broke the silence. “I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice steady but quiet. He glanced at you for a moment before turning his focus back to the road. “About last night. About us.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Yeah?” you prompted softly, unsure of where he was going with this.

He let out a breath, his lips curving into a faint, almost self-conscious smile. “Look, I know my life isn’t exactly… simple. My schedule is a mess, and I’m gone a lot. I don’t want to pretend like that’s not going to be a challenge. But,” he paused, his voice growing more certain, “I want to see where this goes. With you. If you’re willing to, that is.”

For a moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. You could hear the nervous edge in his voice, the way he shifted slightly in his seat like he wasn’t sure how you’d respond.

You let the weight of his words settle over you before you replied. “I’m willing to,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “I wouldn’t have let last night happen if I wasn’t.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face, and he smiled—an honest, open kind of smile that made your chest feel warm. He reached over, his hand finding yours where it rested on your lap. His touch was gentle but firm, like he was grounding himself in this moment.

“Okay,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly against the back of your hand. “Then we’ll figure it out. Whatever it takes.”

You squeezed his hand, your heart lighter now, but the lingering uncertainty still hung between you. “So, what do we do about your family?” you asked, tilting your head toward him. “Do we tell them, or…?”

He sighed, his lips quirking in a wry smile. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” His fingers tapped against the steering wheel, his mind clearly turning over the possibilities. “Part of me thinks it’s better to just get it out there. But another part of me… I don’t want to make today about us when it’s supposed to be about family.”

You nodded, understanding his hesitation. “We don’t have to decide right now,” you offered. “Let’s just see how the day goes.”

Glen smiled again, his gaze soft as it flicked toward you. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

The rest of the drive was filled with a sense of quiet anticipation, the air between you lighter now but still charged with the potential of what was to come. Glen didn’t let go of your hand the entire way, and you couldn’t help but feel that, no matter what, the two of you were in this together.

Glen stepped inside first, his hand still firmly clasping yours as he guided you over the threshold. The sound of laughter and conversation spilled from the living room, filling the house with the unmistakable hum of family.

Glen paused just inside the door, turning to face you. His hand lingered in yours for a moment before he gently released it, reaching instead to help you shrug off your coat. His fingertips brushed lightly against your arms as he slid the thick material off your shoulders. You glanced up at him, catching the faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Thanks," you murmured, offering him a small smile of your own as he hung your coat on the nearby rack.

He gave a slight nod. "Anytime," he replied, his voice low and quiet, just for you.

With that, you made your way toward the living room, Glen trailing close behind. The sight that greeted you was as welcoming as the sounds and smells: his entire family gathered around the tree, mugs of steaming coffee and hot cocoa in hand, their laughter blending with the soft crackle of the fireplace.

"Well, there they are!" Leslie called out, her grin widening as she spotted the two of you.

At her words, all eyes turned to you and Glen. You felt a momentary flush of warmth—not from embarrassment, but from the sheer warmth of the welcome in their gazes. Glen’s mom was the first to rise, crossing the room to pull you into a gentle hug.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” she said, her voice as soft and kind as ever.

“Merry Christmas,” you replied, smiling as you returned the hug.

Glen hung back for a moment, his gaze sweeping over his family before it landed back on you. When his mom released you, he stepped forward to exchange his own hugs and greetings, his presence grounding you in the lively room.

As you settled into the living room, Leslie’s sharp eyes darted between you and Glen, a knowing glint lighting her expression. “You two look cozy,” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

Glen shot her a warning look but didn’t rise to her bait. Instead, he placed a steadying hand on your back as he guided you toward an empty spot on the couch. “It’s still too early for your commentary, Les,” he said dryly, though there was a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly as you sat down, feeling Glen’s hand linger for just a moment longer than necessary before he joined you. The family resumed their chatter, and you felt yourself relax into the warmth of the room and the easy dynamic Glen had with his family.

There was an unspoken understanding between you and Glen as the morning unfolded. Whatever the day might bring, you were in this together, and that made everything—his teasing siblings, the bustling energy, the unrelenting sense of closeness—feel a little less overwhelming and a lot more like home.

The morning carried on with a joyous rhythm, the room buzzing with laughter and the crinkling of wrapping paper as Glen’s mom began handing out gifts from beneath the tree. One by one, brightly wrapped packages found their way into eager hands, and the sound of tearing paper soon filled the room.

You found yourself nestled comfortably on the couch beside Glen, warmth radiating from his side. At some point, almost without thinking, you leaned into him, resting your head lightly on his shoulder. His arm instinctively came up to wrap around you, pulling you just a little closer.

The moment felt effortless, like breathing, and you let yourself savor the comfort of it.

Unfortunately, it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Ohhh, would you look at that?” Leslie’s voice rang out, her tone dripping with mischief.

Your head snapped up, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you realized all eyes were now on you and Glen. His parents exchanged exaggerated grins while his older sister’s gaze softened with a mix of joy and curiosity.

“Well, this is new,” somebody teased.

Glen let out a long-suffering groan, running a hand over his face. “Can we not make this a thing?” he muttered, though there was no real heat in his voice.

Leslie was undeterred, her grin widening as she leaned forward. “Oh, no, this is absolutely a thing. Care to share with the group, Glen?”

He sighed, glancing at you. The flush on your cheeks deepened, but there was no judgment or pressure in his expression—only quiet reassurance.

Finally, he turned back to his family, his shoulders squaring as if bracing himself. “Fine. Yes, we’re… seeing where things go,” he admitted, his voice steady but soft. “And that’s all you’re getting out of me right now.”

His mom clasped her hands together, her face lighting up like the tree behind her. “Oh, Glen,” she said warmly, her joy unmistakable.

The teasing and comments came in waves after that, a mix of playful ribbing and heartfelt congratulations. You felt your face grow impossibly warm, but Glen’s arm around you tightened, grounding you.

Eventually, Glen turned to his family with a pointed look. “Okay, you’ve had your fun. Can we get back to the presents now?”

Leslie laughed but relented, reaching for another package beneath the tree. As the room shifted back to its lively rhythm, Glen leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. Are you?”

His eyes softened, and he gave a slight nod. “Yeah.”

And as the morning carried on, the lively chatter and laughter of his family surrounded you, filling the room with warmth. Glen’s arm stayed comfortably around you, an anchor amidst the joyful chaos. For the first time in a long time, you felt at ease—like you belonged, not just in this house but at his side.

Whatever this was, whatever it might become, one thing was clear: this was the beginning of something worth holding onto.

#Glen Powell #Glen Powell Fic #Glen Powell Fanfic #Glen Powell Fanfiction #Glen Powell x reader #Glen Powell x you

90 notes · View notes