#mini one-shot

[kensington-queen]

My Things, Your Space

Fandom: Her Love in the Force 

Pairing: Kaga/MC

Rating: Fluffy T 

Mini-One Shot

AO3 Link: Here 

It happens gradually and becomes so ingrained as part of his normal that he doesn’t notice until long after the fact.

It starts minor enough, a spare toothbrush becomes claimed by her soon after her first sleepover. She lives in the dorm, where he can’t risk being seen so his place becomes the default setting for home dates. Her overnight bag is slung over her shoulders each time she comes over, packed with her favorite shampoo and face wash brands. He takes note of it a couple of weeks later when he finds her drying the bottles after being used so she can take them back to the dorm. The next time she arrives he has new ones lined up on the shower shelf below his own toiletries, out in the open and ready to be used. He adds pads and tampons to his shopping list, placing them under the bathroom sink in case she needs them after an emergency run to the shop. He even goes as far as getting girly shaving cream and her own razor, having noticed she’s been discreetly using his own. Not that he minds that. He just wants her to feel comfortable in his space.

As her first year winds down and he finds himself crankier in the mornings when she doesn’t stay over, he tries to not think too hard about why that is.

When graduation becomes less of an abstract idea for her and more of a matter of time, and right before she’s given a spare key, he clears out a section of the drawers for her clothes. She’s been increasing the amount of time she spends at his, and it’s gotta be annoying to have to remember to bring an overnight bag each time she comes over. He gets her some more of the lingerie she wears and some more practical ones for when she has training and slips it into the drawer, washed and ready to be worn the next time she stays over.

At some point before she graduates she stops needing to bring an overnight bag, but when that actually happens neither can really pinpoint. He also stops asking her if she’s staying over too, an unspoken understanding that he doesn’t have to ask because the answer is obvious.

She has her own little place after graduation, but more of her things are at his than there, and it’s more common to see her in his kitchen sneakily attempting to slip vegetables into his portion of dinner than it is to eat alone.

He starts wondering why they’re keeping up a farce of her maintaining an apartment when she could be saving that money and living with him. It annoys him that Captain Tsugaru is just upstairs, able to track when she comes and goes, and he doesn’t like the idea of her interacting with him any more than she has to.

“You should just move in already,” he grumbles over breakfast before work, seven months after he’s been calling her a colleague and referring to her privately as his unofficial fiancee. The ring has been hidden for a couple of months, and a plan to make it open and public is not too far off.

“There’s a ban on department romances, remember?” She reminds him, smiling when he narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. She thinks of the ring he has hidden, suppressing a smile. She’s been patiently waiting to be asked since she accidentally came across it.

“You’re not on my squad, moron,” he says with a tinge of softness reserved just for her; this is a weekly conversation and it plays out the same each time. “When’s the last time you stayed at your place anyways?”

She pauses from drinking her green tea. He can see her trying to remember. She’s been staying over every night recently and her eyes cloud over when she figures it out.

“Uh, almost a month…?”

He nods, a triumphant smirk spreading across his handsome face.

“Move in,” he repeats, swiftly moving in and kissing her nose, catching her off guard. His voice is lower than usual and the huskiness of it is too much to deal with so early in the morning. “We can use that money toward a down deposit for a bigger place if you want,” he adds a minute later, his mind drifting on its own accord to a baby with her eyes and smile staring up from a crib. He quickly shakes it off, focusing instead on her.

“You want to get a bigger place? This one is already spacious for two,” she teases, a small little smile that told him she knew exactly where his thoughts had gone on appearing on her pretty face. When did she learn to mimic his skills so perfectly against him? “I like that idea,” she admits in the same breath and his heart flips with anticipation.

“Keep looking at me like that and you’ll be in for a punishment,” he says with surprising steadiness. A quick glance at the time on his phone tells him they both need to get going soon for the office but part of him feels a surge of rebellious temptation to carry her back to bed.

Her eyebrows lift knowingly and she’s definitely smirking at him now. “I think we’re long past punishments, Hyogo. Any time you touch me is a reward these days.”

She pushes away from the table then, pressing a kiss on his forehead and darting out of reach when he tries to catch her. She lets him grab her in the hallway, laughing as he carries her to bed.

They somehow make it to the office, giving up on trying to stagger their timing for just one day.

[sleepgarden]

Pupa ✢ The writing reads:

Time envelops and keeps me Not awake / Not asleep In this chrysalis / In this shroud I am stillborn / I am buried alive Yet I change / I am changing / And I ache Held still

I started this over a year ago and came back to it periodically, but I decided to just finally finish it. It’s morphed, undone itself, and transformed many times in the process of illustrating it. Sincerely, I considered giving up on the piece. I am glad I didn’t despite its awkwardness; I admit that it doesn’t sit in the eye well. But somehow I feel that it suits the piece and what it means.

I am, if anything, relieved to have finished an illustration finally. It’s been nearly eight months since my last. Prints are available in my shop. (I also have mini prints for $5cad/$3.40usd!)

[baeshijima]

thoughts on being engaged to duke!sunday, the head of the oak family, an incredibly influential figurehead within society, the close subordinate of emperor gopher wood who brought him and his sister in and raised him like his own, and the villain who faces a tragic ending in a novel you recently finished — the very same one you just so happen to find yourself transmigrated into. he is as cunning as he is blinded, a trait which brought ruin to many in the empire, and one which ultimately brought ruin to himself at the hands of the protagonists.

as luck would have it, you became a barely mentioned side character from a marquis family, whose role was to be the villain's wife stuck in a one-sided love who, too, would get caught up in the tragedy alongside him. however, now that it's you who is stuck in this position, you're determined to try any means necessary to deter him from going down that path, all in an effort to escape your predestined doomed fate!

of course, you didn't expect it to be easy. the day of your arrival in this world was already the night before your wedding, so you had little time to prepare yourself for the nonchalance of your supposed family, how they viewed you as but a means — a tool — to boost their influence and prosperity, the dismissive mannerisms of the household servants, and the absolute beauty of a man you will be married to.

(seriously. the novel descriptions did not do him justice. he was like... like... like he was handcrafted by god himself! and not to mention his sister, robin, was the very epitome of an angel! perhaps you're destined to perish by the god-tier visuals instead...)

to say the least, the wedding ceremony went by quickly. safe to say you didn't spend the night; he was cordial and gentlemanly upon letting you know that he won't do anything until you're ready, that you can take this relationship slow, but somehow you ended up feeling a tad insulted. like, who leaves their newly wedded alone in a big cold bed as they walk out on their own? a sick bastard that's who!

well, whatever. it's not like you need nor want to consummate with him! besides, you have bigger things to worry about — things such as your impending death. and, of course, the only way to stop sunday that you can imagine working is by chipping away at his resolve bit by bit, and opening his eyes to reality.

he is a tragic character, one who cares more about the well-being of penacony and its people than anyone else, but was manipulated into getting his hands dirty in the emperor's stead. you knew this. you sobbed over his story, cursed out the protagonists, and even fought internet randos on novel forums about sunday's motivation and how,

no, he is not just a stupid villain. he is a complex character with flaws and humanity and was cruelly taken advantage of by someone he considered family. he was deceived through the suffering the emperor wanted him to see to make him easily manipulated, creating a rift between him and robin to have that prominent separation. you know what? maybe you're just a !%#@ who can't even #@?"% read properly!

and yet you still find yourself at a loss when faced with the walls he has in place. your initial efforts went as well as it possibly could have; you trying to earnestly help him, while he "kindly" dismisses your offers! well, "kindly" being more condescending since you could read between the lines of his mannerisms and amiable demeanour, but that's fine! you expected this! that just means you have to double down on your sincerity, get through to his heart (somehow), and help him realise humanity isn't as weak as he's led to believe!

you have three years until the novel's plot officially starts, and another year after that until your demise. that's plenty of time to get him to warm up to you!

it was easier said than done, but after your valiant effort and abundance of time put into this relationship, which admittedly you could do with some of that lost time back, you could give yourself a pat on the back with the progress you made! while you definitely could have done without a lot of the headaches, it's safe to say sunday has significantly warmed up to you in comparison to your wedding day. he now willingly eats all his meals with you with some real conversation, takes garden strolls with you in the early evenings, invites you out for dinner at a restaurant at least four times a week, hell he's even joked and laughed with you more frequently! but most importantly, he has begun asking for your opinion before finalising any decisions he is required to make. and he actually listens and considers your side! now, that certainly is the best outcome you could hope for after all this time, and it most definitely will help in your endeavour to save you both from the protagonists!

however, you've noticed he's been more... affectionate? well, at the very least he now willingly holds your hand when in private (not just in moments when you're in the public eye and he has to make sure the family's reputation is spotless), sometimes he will hug you out of the blue ("i just need to... recharge. you have a way of calming me down. i hope you don't mind." ...how could you say no to his supreme god-tier face card? that's just a losing battle you won't even bother fighting against.), oftentimes he opts to just gaze wordlessly at you (robin had mentioned over one of your tea times how it almost appears as though there is no one but you in the world when sunday gazes at you with, in her words, "the eyes of a man so deeply in love!" ...whatever that's supposed to mean...), but a more recent development has been his sudden interest in kissing you; well, more specifically giving you a kiss to the back of your hand or on your forehead — certainly not anywhere near the lips! (besides, he's probably just gotten comfortable with you, enough where he can freely act without judgement. nothing more, nothing less.)

well, either way, development is development! soon enough, the time for the main plot to start has arrived. it of course follows what you remember, from the organised balls to the protagonists meeting to the political aspects of it all. the only difference is sunday's less active involvement in all the schemes and the emperor's ploy. rather, he seems more focused on you and the future of your marriage and even displayed a sudden interest in your practically non-existent relationship with one of the foreign diplomats, aventurine— wait...

"[name]," he calls your name out so sweetly you nearly disregarded it as someone else he was talking to. well, perhaps you would have done had he not suddenly appeared before you, a tight-lipped smile tugging the corners of his lips as he steadily approaches you.

oh. he doesn't seem very happy, if his tense figure is anything to go by. you wonder if one of the nobles grated his nerves a little too much this time?

sunday comes to a halt a step away from you. "i don't like that... gambler being so close to you. it... it brings me a rather unpleasant feeling." there's a slight, trembling pause. not a moment later does he close the gap between you, one knee on the ground as he matches your seated height on the fountain rim, your hands gently enclosed in both of his.

you idly wonder if this is what robin meant by the so-called "eyes of a man so deeply in love" she constantly gushed about, for the way in which he gazes up at you is enough to render you breathless.

"tell me, [name]," he begins once more. there is an underlying desperation woven within his tone, one which has your head spinning and heart thumping wildly as his trembling gaze holds you in place. "tell me, what am i to do with this fervent love and overwhelming adoration i hold for you?"

oh.

...oh.

perhaps your impending doom should be the least of your concerns when you now find yourself in the arms of a clingy husband...

(though, it's safe to say you did, in fact, manage to prevent him from succumbing to his tragic fate! you just gained a loving, yet slight slightly emotionally challenged husband along the way.

well, you can help him work through it; you have the rest of your lives now to figure it out, after all.)

[stevesgother]

Chalkboard Hearts - Pt IV

Pairing - KindergartenTeacher!Steve Harrington x SingleMom!Reader

WC - 5.6k

Summary - A snow day prompts Steve and Abbey to spend a little one on one time together.

AN - sorry this one took a little longer! being creative is hard when the U.S keeps sucking me of all my joy. thanks for the patience, love y’all! ~ emma

Three weeks ago, your daughter’s kindergarten teacher gave you his phone number in a chilly, deserted diner parking lot, and every weekday since that night, Abbey has had to all but drag you from his classroom when you go to pick her up in the afternoons. One topic leads to another and another, and before you realize it, you and Steve have been chatting in his mostly empty classroom for over an hour. But this morning, you’re dialing those digits he gave you on your landlines keypad for the first time with shaky fingers. You’d spent the past hour exhausting all your other options. Your mother? Working. Your sister? Out of town. Your usual babysitter? sick.

Steve was the only person you knew for a fact wouldn’t be working today.

It wasn’t for a lack of wanting to that you hadn’t called yet. Every waking hour since that night, you had been wrestling with yourself about what an appropriate reason would be. Was he flirting with you? Did he genuinely just want you to have access to him in case of an emergency? Both? Your inner dialogue was deafening– like a squawking bird in the back of your brain.

The intrusive volume of your thoughts seemed to quiet now as your leg bounced impatiently– anxiety over the prospect of having to call into work outweighing your trepidation– waiting for him to pick up the call on the other line. 

He finally answered halfway through the fourth ring, “Hello?” Despite the early hour, Steve sounded wide awake. Probably rousing at the same time you did, not expecting to be temporarily blinded by three feet of bright, white snow piled on top of his car. On the kitchen radio, you can hear the newscaster announcing a closure of the local schools.

“Steve, it’s Y/N,” your voice cuts through the static.

He pauses briefly, yours probably being the last voice he expected to hear when he picked up his phone, “Hey, morning–” he clears his throat, “everything alright?”

“Yes– well– I don’t know.” You rub the tips of your fingers restlessly over your closed eyelids, “I don’t have anyone to watch Abbey with the school being closed, I've tried everyone and I really hate to ask but–”

“Of course, I can be there in thirty. Can you give me your address?”

“Are you sure, Steve? I can just call out if–”

“Don’t be ridiculous, just give me your address,” his incredulity and lack of hesitation sends the wings fluttering about in your stomach again, while cementing the reassurance of his words. You gain the courage to repeat your home address for him to write down.

You can hear the sound of pen hastily scratching paper, then after a few beats of silence he speaks again, “It’ll take me a little bit to clear off my car, but I’ll be there as soon as I can,”

“Thank you so much, you have no idea.”

“Don’t mention it,” you can hear the grin in his voice, can picture the flash of perfect white squares, “see you soon,” you breathe a heavy sigh of relief at the click of the receiver being placed back in its cradle. Abbey is bundled up on the couch watching Rugrats, a bowl of cereal in her lap. Normally, you wouldn’t let her eat in the living room, but you needed respite from her usual game of 20 Questions to make some phone calls.

“Hey, Ab,” you say as you approach her, thoroughly engrossed in her cartoons, “Is it okay if Mr. H comes over and watches you today while mommy goes to work?”

The question is more than enough to pull her focus from the television screen. Her face lights up like the Fourth of July as she nearly spills her cereal with the force of her straightening on the sofa, “Really?” She asks hopefully.

“Yes, grandma is working and Julia is sick. Is that okay?” As excited as you know she is, you want her verbal confirmation. Mostly because you’d never put your child in a situation she’s uncomfortable in; but a smaller, more selfish part of you wants to be absolved of the guilt you feel for having to leave her all day.

Your wish is granted almost instantly as she squeals and hops off the couch where she’d been lounging, placing her bowl on the coffee table. Halfway to her room, she calls, “Mommy! Where are my coloring books?”

“They’re on top of your bookshelf,” you call, “don’t make a huge mess, please!”

“I won’t!” She replies, muffled through the drywall separating you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You hadn’t had time to tidy the house or make yourself look even remotely presentable before Steve arrived. If it weren’t for the relief that floods your body upon seeing his car pull in the driveway, you might even be a little embarrassed. Booted footsteps shuffle up the porch as you’re shoveling things into your bag at the last minute, followed by three light knocks on the door.

“Coming!” You shout from where you stand in the dining room.

Before you even have the chance to reach the foyer, Abbey is darting from her bedroom in plastic play shoes and throwing the door open with immeasurable enthusiasm.

“Hey–” Steve starts, expecting it to be you before he realizes who’s greeting him, “Oh, hi Ab,” he waves to the little face staring up at him, “Where’s your mom?”

“Mommy!” Abbey calls, “Mr. H is here!”

Steve spots you holding two pieces of notebook paper clad with chicken scratch scribblings. You look frazzled– hair thrown up hastily and scrubs wrinkly. He scours the place where he would normally find an emotion akin to pity for your distressed state, but in its absence, he only feels endearment laced with a little concern.

He doesn’t get a word in before you’re shoving the papers in his hands and spouting off information that he’s praying is already on the sheets you’ve given him.

“I should be home by five, if anything happens, this–” you point to a barely legible number, “--is my work phone. This is her doctor’s phone number and she’s allergic to peanuts. There aren’t any peanuts in the house but–” you sigh, exasperated with yourself, “just in case.”

The rest of the pages are filled with ramblings about which channels Abbey likes to watch and how to work the television. How, in case she needs a bath, you have to pull and then twist the knob for the hot water to run. That she is not, under any circumstances, allowed to put nail polish on by herself and where you keep her Epi Pens.

Steve’s surprised at how many of these sentiments he already has catalogued. He’s required to know Abbey’s emergency contacts and that she has a nut allergy for his job, but he knows that channel thirty-seven has the best cartoons because Abbey once told him that Power Puff Girls was her favorite– and you’d already relayed to him the hilariously tragic tale of what happened the last time Abbey attempted to paint her own nails.

Despite this revelation, he doesn’t dare interrupt you. He indulges your ranting, a grin creeping involuntarily along his face.

“-- sorry, I’m rambling– I’ve just never left her with someone who wasn’t my mom or her sitter before,” you’re a little breathless after two straight minutes of talking.

“Hey, hey– you’re okay,” he wastes no time reassuring you, “you know I’d never let anything happen to her.” You nod your understanding, “Besides,” now he’s speaking to Abbey, “we’re gonna have a super fun time right?”

She shouts, “Yes!”

He looks at you with his brows raised, amused, “See?”

“Okay, alright,” you kneel down, chuckling, “do I get a hug? Or am I chopped liver?”

Giggling, Abbey wraps you in a suffocating embrace, like always. Her excitement for Steve has never quelled her affection for you, and you can tell that she’s still hesitant to see you go. You smack a kiss on her cheek, grabbing your bag from the floor as you rise again.

“Swear you’ll call me if anything happens?” You ask him one more time, already knowing the answer.

“Cross my heart.” He smiles fondly, stoking the flames burning bright around the cage that your heart inhabits.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Your home is cozy, much cozier than anything Steve had growing up. He’s warmed at the idea that Abbey has the privilege of growing up in a house that feels so lived in– stains on the carpet, soft edges and yellow lighting. There’s clutter on the kitchen counter by the microwave and colorful alphabet magnets securing several bright pieces of artwork to the fridge.

“Are these the pictures you drew in art class last week?” He asks Abbey, who has been trailing behind him all through the house, pointing things out to him as they go.

“Uh-huh, Mrs. Morse helped me with that one,” she points to what Steve thinks is probably supposed to be a zebra.

“Well, you’re very talented, I love them,”

“Can we go play outside?” She asks, drawing out the last syllable and completely ignoring Steve’s compliment.

“Sure we can,” he chuckles, “where do you keep your snowsuit?”.

Abbey takes Steve by the wrist and leads him to the coat closet by the front door. Similar to the rest of your house, it’s stuffed to the brim– full of puffy nylon and heavy winter boots. He catches a glimpse of a familiar brown and green jacket– his jacket. You’d promised to wash it and return it to him, but it must’ve slipped your mind. He grins to himself at the reminiscence as he fetches Abbey’s snow gear and shuts the door.

Steve hadn’t dressed appropriately for a morning rolling around in the cold. He had slipped on a pair of your mittens, probably meant more for fashion than practicality, because his fingers were already completely numb. But he can’t seem to deny her when Abbey pleads with him to make snow angels. They’d just spent the past half an hour building two snowmen– one short like Abbey and one tall like Steve, she insisted, as she wrapped her scarf around the snowman that resembled her.

“Please, Mr. H?” She begs when she notices his hesitancy.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, “but then we’re gonna go inside and have lunch. Deal?”

That appears to be a good enough covenant for her, “Okay!” Abbey exclaims, falling fairly harshly to the cushioned ground. Steve braces himself for tears, but Abbey only keeps laughing in that contagious way as she begins spreading her arms and legs out beside her in a repetitive motion.

“Are you gonna make one?” She questions from her place on the ground.

He grunts as he reluctantly lowers himself down next to her, anticipating the icy wetness waiting underneath him. The snow seeps uncomfortably through his jeans, but the sound of Abbey’s unbridled joy nearly makes up for his soiled clothing.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

What’d you want to eat, Ab?” Steve calls from the pantry while Abbey changes out of her wet clothes in her bedroom.

“Not hungry!” She calls back.

He sighs, expecting her stubbornness– she was nearly as mulish as you.

“Remember the deal we made earlier?” He asks, “That if I made a snow angel with you, that you’d have to eat something for lunch, right?”

She emerges from her room, pout prominent on her strikingly adorable features, “But I wanna keep playing,” she whines, giving her foot a little stomp on the linoleum for emphasis.

“We can keep playing after, I promise,” he knows he’s not winning this battle without a compromise, “does your mom let you eat in the living room?” He asks with a lilt to his voice that makes him sound conspiratorial.

“Sometimes…”

“How about…” he pauses as if thinking, “I make us some food and we watch a movie while we eat?”

He can tell he’s got her after that– hook, line and sinker. She still pretends to mull over his proposition for a moment before agreeing, “Hmm…I think that sounds good,” she settles, trying and failing to mask her elation.

That’s how Steve ended up, plates of grilled cheese sandwiches in hand, dodging barbies and miscellaneous stuffed animals on his way to the living room a few minutes later.

“Have you found a movie yet?” He asks Abbey as he sets the plates down atop the coffee table.

“Yes but–” she jumps on her tiptoes, “I can’t reach it,”

Steve walks over to the towering shelf of VHS tapes in front of her, “Which one are you trying to reach?”

Abbey points at the tape in question, “Home Alone,”

“Alrighty,” Steve says as he grabs it with ease, “Your foods on the table, go sit while I put it in,”

Abbey, for once, does as he asks– bounding over to the coffee table with the excitement typical of a five-year-old who has an adult's permission to break a house rule.

While Steve eyes your VCR, he catches a glimpse of a photo out of the corner of his eye, causing him to pause. It’s you, no older than twenty, holding a swaddled baby in a sterile hospital room. He doesn’t recognize the picture as one he’s seen before.

Of course you’ve never seen it before, he thinks, you barely know her. Get a grip.

You’re filled with such youthful brilliance in the shot, despite the underlying weariness of having just given birth; your hair tied messily into a bun at the nape of your neck, sweat beading on your brow bone. It’s just you and Abbey, Steve thinks her father must’ve been the photographer.

He can’t help but think of himself at that age and all the stupid shit he was doing. How, if you had handed him a baby then, he wouldn’t have known the first thing about what to do with it– but here you had raised such a bright, healthy daughter and largely alone. He was struck by such a sudden and overwhelming admiration for you that he nearly forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

“Mr. H?” Abbey asked, mouth full, “When are we gonna start the movie?”

Her question sends him hurling back to reality. A reality where he’s your daughter’s kindergarten teacher, and the two of you are friendly with each other at best.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

At some point during the movie, once their lunch was reduced to crumbs on empty plates, Abbey had hauled out her box of coloring books and crayons that she had been looking for this morning.

Steve, the less creative of the two, was coloring in a cartoon illustration of a fairy while Abbey was making her own drawing on a piece of white construction paper. The lack of constant chatter is a welcome reprieve, but he knows that Abbey only becomes quiet when she’s particularly concentrated, so he chances a peek to his right at what she’s working on.

She got a death grip on a brown crayon– shaved almost down to the tip– with her tongue sticking ever so slightly between her lips as she focuses intently on her art.

The picture is of three stick figures– two tall and one significantly smaller in between them. It’s set at what looks to be a playground, a bright yellow sun in the sky and blue scribblings around white clouds. Swings, slides and even a little blue dog adorn the rest of the background.

Pleasantly surprised at her artistry, Steve says, “That looks amazing, Ab!”

She’s snapped out of her stupor, her face split with a wide toothless grin. She doesn’t thank him, only lets out a few bashful giggles at his praise and says, “I like yours too,”

“Is that you?” He points at the littlest figure.

“Mhm, see? I made her hair curly like mine!”

“It looks just like you,” he agrees, then draws her attention to the other figures, “Is this your mom and your dad next to you?”

“This is mommy,” she points, “I put her in the blue clothes she wears at work,” he knows she’s referring to your scrubs, but the phrasing makes him chuckle.

“And this is you!” She circles the figure she’s drawn with the tip of her finger. She’s included his voluminous chestnut hair and his silver wire-framed glasses, even one of the stupid striped polos he wears at school. Looking at it now, it’s obvious who it was supposed to be– but it’s so unexpected that he feels his face heat up at the realization.

“Oh, wow, Ab– That’s–” he grapples to find the words to express the juxtaposition he’s found himself in. He’s honored, truly, to be included in this portrait Abbey’s made of herself and her mother– her family– but there’s a gnawing guilt he can’t seem to shake. The fear that, in some way, he’s replacing her father.

“I love it, Ab, thank you,” he smiles fondly at her work, the proud grin she wears slowly melting the flash freeze of trepidation that encased his conscience.

“Can we hang it on the fridge for mommy to see when she gets home?” She asks after a moment.

“That sounds like a great idea.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Around four o’clock, Abbey begins asking what they’re having for dinner. Steve wonders briefly if you always have to deal with her being so ravenous.

“How about we start cooking now? That way it’ll be ready for your mom when she gets home,”

“Okay,” Abbey concurs. Steve wouldn’t consider himself a Michelin star chef by any means, but he can make a mean chicken parmesan.

A trip to the grocery store was needed to grab some ingredients. After scribbling down the required items on a crumpled receipt, and struggling for ten minutes to get Abbey’s carseat in the back of his BMW, they’re on their way.

He meets her eyes in the rearview mirror, “Do you want me to put on some music?”

“Christmas music?” She asks hopefully.

Steve isn’t the biggest fan of Christmas music– Christmas in general, really– but he obliges her request and turns the dial to their local channel, soft bells and a choir of voices begin to flood through the interior of the car. She really is so harmlessly manipulative with her saucer eyes and round button nose, he can’t seem to refuse her anything.

Steve drives more cautiously than he thinks he ever has, even more so than when he was sixteen and learning how to drive with his family’s Pontiac as his father stared harshly at him from the passenger seat. He comes to a full halt at every stop sign, and he never takes his eyes off the road.

After fighting some early rush hour traffic, they make it. Without a second thought, Abbey grasps Steve’s hand while walking through the parking lot. He tries not to look startled at the sudden contact, recalling how she always seems to have a firm grip on your hand in public spaces too. Steve’s just glad she feels comfortable with him.

“Can I help?” Abbey asks as Steve grabs a cart from the corral.

“Course’,” he smiles, “do you wanna grab the ingredients and put them in the cart for me?”

She bounces excitedly, “Sure!”

Wandering through the aisles, Abbey never strayed from Steve’s side. Every time he read off an item, she would dutifully fetch it and throw it into the cart with a little more force than necessary, but Steve didn’t mind.

“Do you live by yourself?” She asks out of the blue as they peruse the store.

“I do,”

“Then how come you know how to cook?”

He laughs at her inquisitive nature, “Well I have to eat don’t I?”

“Yeah…” she ponders, “I guess so,”

“Alright, the last thing we need is breadcrumbs,” he informs her, scanning the shelves.

Like earlier, Abbey attempts to stand on her tiptoes to try and reach the can in question, “I’m getting it,” she mumbles in determination, very much not getting it.

“Here,” Steve says as he lifts her up by her waist like it was second nature to him.

“Got it!” She exclaims, tossing it in with the rest of the groceries. “Can I ride in the cart now?” She yawns with a polite hand over her mouth. He supposes grocery shopping takes a lot out of you when all the shelves are at least five feet taller than your head.

“Sure,” Steve chuckles as he slots her little legs through the designated holes.

Despite the ride home only being about ten minutes long, Abbey manages to doze off– lulled to sleep by the subtle hum of the car's engine. Steve veered as gently as possible into the driveway, careful not to disturb her even though he was about to wake her up anyway.

“Abbey,” he shakes her softly, “we’re home,”

Abbey rouses, but only slightly. She yawns again and stretches with her arms over her head before extending them out, silently motioning with her eyes still closed for Steve to carry her inside.

“Okay, c’mon lazy bones,” he grunts at the angle but lifts her from her car seat nonetheless. After unlocking the door one-handed, he sets her carefully on the couch and covers her with a plush throw blanket before heading back outside for the rest of the groceries.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The first thing you notice when you approach your front door is the savory smell of something cooking. Inside, the TV is off and your daughter is sleeping soundly on the couch. Quiet clattering noises flood from the kitchen.

The sleeves of Steve’s burgundy sweater are rolled up to his elbows and the kitchen smells of roasting chicken and mahogany as he stirs a simmering pot of homemade pasta sauce. He’s humming some tune softly under his breath– Bob Segar, you think.

“Hey,” you greet with a grin as you set your bag down on the dining table. Steve turns around to meet you as you ask, “What’re you doing?”

“Cooking?” He replies.

“No, really?” You deadpan back, eliciting an amused chuckle from the man standing at your stove.

“Abbey was asking about dinner,” he pauses, “we were gonna do this whole thing– we were gonna make it for you together, have it ready by the time you got home, but,” he gestures with his arm to the living room where Abbey is napping. Steve Harrington is nothing if not expressive– talking with his hands, eyebrows always either furrowed in concentration or raised in amusement. It’s one of the most charming things about him, you think.

“Well, thank you,” you say, “you didn’t have to do that,” you feel a blush heat your cheeks at how domestic this feels– like you come home to Steve cooking dinner for you and your daughter every night. You can picture it as easily as if it were your actual reality and it leaves you feeling briefly vertiginous. You’re not sure Jeremy ever cooked even one meal for you in the entirety of your relationship.

“The chickens almost done and then I'll get out of your hair,” he assumes a teasing lilt to his voice to disguise the fact that he feels like he’s overstepping– overstaying his welcome or crossing some invisible line.

“Are you kidding?” You scoff, “You’ve gotta at least stick around long enough to see how it came out,”

“You don’t mind?” He asks hesitantly.

“Steve, of course I don’t mind,” honestly, you think you’d start a fire and burn your house to the ground if it meant getting him to stay just a little longer to help you put it out, “plus, I’m sure Abbey’ll be stoked.”

“Alright, well,” he smiles warmly, “it’s ready if you wanna go wake the gremlin up,”

At the table, Abbey insists on sitting next to Steve in the chair across from you.

“This is delicious, Steve,” you compliment.

“Best you ever had?” He teases, but his phrasing makes you choke a little on your pasta.

Abbey makes a twisted face, “The sauce tastes funny.” Saved by the bell.

“Abbey!” you scold playfully, poorly concealing a laugh behind the back of your hand, “Sorry– I think she’s just used to eating Prego,”

“That’s okay– I think she’s right, actually,” he assures you, twisting his expression into something sour and causing Abbey to giggle. His eyes are the color of rich soil as he sends you an oh, so familiar look across the table, communicating another silent thought to you. One that says, I don’t mind how blunt she is, I think it’s endearing.

When dinner is finished, Steve insists on doing the dishes for you too. “You cooked, Steve, let me–” you try to barter.

“--You do enough as it is,” he counters simultaneously.

“You watched my child all day!” You laugh at his stubbornness.

“I do that everyday anyway!” He argues, beginning to fill up the porcelain farmhouse sink with hot, sudsy water.

“At least let me help,” you give him that wide eyed look you always seem to be giving him lately. God, you’re no better than Abbey. “You wash, I’ll dry?”

“Fine,” he tries to frown but his smirk betrays him in his act of faux annoyance.

After a few minutes of stuffy silence, you ask, “She wasn’t too much of a pain in the ass today, was she?”

“Not any more than usual,” he jokes and a plate slips through his fingers, causing a small splash of water to coat your face in dishwater. You gasp at the sensation.

“Oh– Sorry!--” he tries to apologize, but you take your dishwater soaked fingers and flick them in the direction of his own face– small soapy bubbles clinging to his lashes and eyebrows.

“I cannot believe you right now,” he says, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“There, now we’re even,” you smirk.

“I’ll let it slide. This time.”

“Mommy!” Abbey rushes into the kitchen, “Can Mr. H stay to watch a cartoon before bed?”

“I don’t know, baby, it’s getting late,” you can just barely see the flash of heartbreak in her gaze before Steve interjects, “It’s okay, I don’t mind staying for a little longer,”

You send him a skeptical glance over your shoulder, but he just nods and asks Abbey what she’d like to watch.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The end credits for an episode of The Rugrats flashes across the screen, illuminating Abbey’s sleeping face in muted shades of blue and orange. She snores, slumped against Steve’s chest with her arms wrapped around his torso. You sit propped against the other arm of the couch watching them intently– trying to memorize the sight before you. You’ve never seen Abbey cradled like this before by anyone else except you. It wasn’t something you felt you craved until recently.

Steve turns, catching you staring but not calling attention to it. He can count on several hands the amount of times he’s done the same to you– Steve Harrington is many things, but he is not a hypocrite.

“Did you know the guy from Devo wrote the theme song for this?” He gestures towards the television.

“Really?”

“Mhm,” he replies, “I can’t remember who told me that,”

After a few beats of hushed silence, you say, “Should probably put that one to bed– unless you wanna be here all night,” you try to joke but your voice shakes.

He would if you were sincerely asking. He’d stay right here on this uncomfortably worn sofa, with your daughter whom he has such an affinity for, sleeping against his chest for the next millenia. He’d fossilize here if he could– your presence beside him calm and grounding like an anchor in a storm.

He voices none of this. Instead he says, “Do you want to take her?”

“It’s okay,” you wave him off, “I’ll just come with you.” The three of you slowly make your way to Abbey’s bedroom, Steve carrying her bridal style against his torso and the door creaks on its hinges when Steve pushes it open with his hip. She stirs only a little when he sets her down, but is soothed quickly with a firm palm stroking her back a few times.

The door clicks behind you as Steve leads you both back to the living room.

“I should probably–”

“Do you want–”

You begin to speak at the same time, awkward chuckles leaving both of your nervous lips.

“You first,” he offers, scratching the back of his neck.

“I was– just gonna ask if you wanted some wine, but I know it’s late–”

“Wine sounds great.” His lips form a line across his face as he grins.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Half a bottle of wine split between the two of you, and your hands were tingling from the effort it was taking not to reach out and card your fingers through the hair of the man sitting across from you.

“How come you never called?” He asks suddenly, but not unkindly.

“Hm?”

“You never called– well, not til’ this morning at least,”

“Didn’t know what counted as an emergency, I guess,” you shrug, the alcohol shaking your nerves loose.

He must’ve been feeling in a similar way to you– speaking freely in a way he wouldn’t have before, “Just wanted to talk to you,” he smiles fondly.

“Oh,” you whisper, and when you don’t say anything else, Steve changes the subject.

“I like that photo of you on top of the entertainment center,” he says contemplatively, “you looked really…peaceful,”

“Well, raising a miniature version of yourself tends to age you a bit, I suppose,”

“Can I ask you something?” He asks, testing the waters.

“Always”

“Where was Jeremy in the picture?”

“We always talk about me,” you roll your eyes spiritedly and release a contented sigh, “Tell me why you really came to Maine,”

“Don’t deflect,” he teases.

“C’monnnn,” you draw out the last syllable, “answer,”

“I asked you first,” Steve chuckles.

“Jeremy wasn’t at Abbey’s birth,” you admit, it's immediately like an aching weight removed from the length of your spine– one that's been there consistently for years. “He didn’t even want me to have her,” you scoff humorlessly.

You had told almost no one this before. For the sake of keeping appearances, even after he passed, only your mother and sister knew that Jeremy had pushed for you to terminate your pregnancy when he’d found out; and that only once your daughter was actually born did he want to be involved in her life. The burden felt shockingly easy to lay at Steve’s feet, like someone might confess to a priest. This tender man sitting across from you– whether it was the wine or simply his presence, you aren’t sure– but it felt so effortless to be vulnerable right now. Your soft, white underbelly on display for him to do as he pleases, trusting him to have a gentle touch.

“That fucking sucks,” he knows you well enough by now to understand you’ve never cared for empty platitudes, so he doesn’t bother schooling his bitter, empathetic expression, “M’ sorry,”

Not wanting to dwell on it any longer, you say, “Your turn,”

“My old man was an abusive, drunk asshole,” he says frankly, “I don’t know if I ever saw him sober,” he huffs a laugh but there’s no humor behind it. “I needed to get out– to see what else there was, you know?” He asks, and you nod, “He died in my sophomore year of college. Didn’t even go to the wake.”

“Well, I’m really glad you ended up in this shithole,” he laughs at that, “I think you’re pretty neat, Harrington,”

“Thanks,” he deadpans, “Juries still out on you,” he pokes your side and you giggle like you’re a damn teenager again.

You swat him lightly on his bicep in retaliation, and before you know it, you’ve both succumbed to a fit of contagious laughter. When it begins to die down, you’re closer to him than you’d been before. It steals the breath from your lungs and your heart thrashes inside your ribcage like a wild animal.

You’re gazing at each other now, heads light from the alcohol and dizzy with proximity. His heavy lidded gaze lands on your lips for a second too long, and then he’s pulling your face flush to his own by the sharp edge of your jaw.

It’s a soft kiss, but it’s maddening nonetheless. His lips are plush and smooth– malleable against yours. You huff a surprised breath of air, but don’t pull away. One of his calloused hands is resting firmly on your waist while the other one snakes up tenderly to hold the back of your head. You feel that familiar itch to bury your fingers in his brown tresses, so finally, you do. What realistically only lasts a moment, feels like hours before he’s pulling away, nearly frightened.

When he looks at you, his doe eyes are wide with fear, glassy with the impending fallout of what he’d just done. He stammers, “I’m sorry–that was–” he runs his hands down the length of his guilt twisted face.

“No– Steve, It’s okay, I–”

“I should go–” he says quickly as he slips his shoes and coat on, not even bothering to tie the laces, he grabs his keys, “I’m sorry I’ll– I’ll see you on Monday,”

He’s closing the door behind him before your mind gets the chance to catch up with your mouth. You wished to tell him that it was okay, that you liked it– that you wanted him to stay and never leave again.

But it’s too late. You’re left alone in the stifling air of your living room, half a bottle of wine on the coffee table and your heart on the floor.

taglist - @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name @ilovetaquitosmmmm @mrsnarnian @negomi123 @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @jamdoughnutmagician @cali-888 @kolsmikaelson @1deverland @borhapparker @alexa4040 @chiliwhore @weonlysaidgoodbyewithwordss @paddockspookie42 @foxes-n-frogs @j-mlover383

divider cred - @cafekitsune

[fallstaticexit]

Resonance - After his mother’s death, non speaking 8 year old Alexander forms a quiet bond with his elderly great aunt, also non speaking, as they both heal in silence.

So, today I learned that Agnes is related to Mortimer and this story was sitting on my brain every second of the hour lol

[kimmie2me]

Dynamite and His Player 2

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Twitch Gamer!Bakugou x AFAB!Reader

.....

Bakugou glances over at the camera, brows furrowed as he adjusts his headset. "Alright, you extras, get ready to shut the hell up," he growls, his voice laced with annoyance. "She’s real. I’ve got her right here, and she’s playing with me tonight."

You laugh off-screen, causing his chat to explode with reactions. Up until now, they didn't believe a word Bakugou said when he claimed he had a girlfriend. After all, this is the guy known for his explosive reactions when things go slightly wrong. He grumbles, trying to keep his cool, but the slight blush on his cheeks gives him away.

The game loads up, some horror-puzzle co-op that requires a ton of coordination. But while Bakugou’s all business—focused on solving puzzles and surviving—you have other ideas. You’re busy teasing him, wandering off to explore the map, or purposely messing up just to get a rise out of him.

"Can you just—dammit! Will you STOP wandering off?" Bakugou snaps as he watches your character take another detour. "We’re supposed to be working together!"

You grin at the screen, purposely moving your character in circles. "Aw, come on, Suki~ We’re just having fun, right?"

His jaw clenches, and he mutters something under his breath about "not having fun if you keep screwing around." But his viewers are eating it up, laughing at his frustration and flooding the chat with comments like "She's brave for messing with him, LMAO😭😭" and "Bros .4 seconds away from exploding his monitor for the 10 millionth time🪦"

Eventually, he just huffs, slouching in his chair and mumbling, "Fine. Do whatever the hell you want. I’ll just wait here." His expression says he's beyond annoyed, but the hint of a smile peeking through his scowl gives away that maybe, just maybe, he's actually having a little fun too.

Grumpy Twitch Gamer Bakugou Headcanons

...

— Every time he messes up, he narrows his eyes at the camera with that “are you stupid?” glare. Chat spams "IT’S NOT OUR FAULT!” and "WHY R U LOOKING AT US LIKE WE DID THAT??" but he just huffs, “If you idiots weren’t DISTRACTING me…”

— Bakugou’s streaming style is brutally honest—constantly throwing out curses like it’s second nature. If he dies in-game, his go-to is, “How the hell am I supposed to win with this garbage game?!” and he never blames himself, ever.

— He has zero chill. Every so often, he’ll pound the desk so hard that the camera shakes, and one time he punched his mic so fiercely that it cut out, leaving chat in hysterics as he tries to fix it, muttering about “this piece of crap gear.”

— After every gaming session, he gives a review of the game he’s playing—most of which devolve into full-on rants about terrible controls, stupid enemies, and “whoever the hell designed these levels.” At this point, it's an entire essay by the time he's done.

— There are moments when he hits the mute button just to scream or cuss off-mic. Chat sees him red-faced and mouthing words, knowing he’s losing it, which makes them spam laugh emotes to annoy him further.

— Sometimes, when things get really bad, he just simply says "Okay." and goes quiet, leaning in close to the screen with this intense focus. Chat knows that if he’s silent, it’s only because he’s plotting to obliterate whatever got him killed.

— It’s become a running joke with his followers—every time he streams, they place bets on which piece of his equipment he’ll break. He’s replaced his keyboard three times already and had to upgrade his camera stand because he broke the last one during a particularly heated rage quit.

— When he finally beats a level, he acts like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “See? Wasn’t even hard, you just have to not be a dumbass.” Cue the smug smirk.

— Occasionally, in his absolute rage, he’ll end the stream immediately after a loss. One second he’s there, screaming at the game, and then—stream offline.

— Despite all the rage, he’s actually insanely good at gaming. When he goes on a winning streak, chat blows up with admiration, but he barely acknowledges it. “’Course I won—who the hell do you think I am?”

— He has zero patience for backseat gamers. “Oh, you think you could do better? Why don’t you go start your own damn channel, then!” The mods know by now to instantly time out anyone who even hints at suggesting how he should play, and the ban count is astronomical by the end of each stream.

— Occasionally, Bakugou gets so into the game that he goes almost silent, and chat jokes it’s an ASMR session because all they can hear is his intense breathing and muttered curses. “Oi, STOP saying it’s ASMR, it’s not ASMR, you freaks!”

— Loading screens are his worst enemy. Every single time, he glares directly into the camera, arms crossed and seething, ranting about the “stupid long loading times” and how he could’ve “beat the damn game twice by now.” and how "a whole child could've been born by now." Chat watches in suspense because they know the rage is simmering, just waiting to explode.

— If he’s playing a console game, the controller does not have a safe future. He’s thrown it across the room, slammed it on his knee or desk, and even threatened it like, “You’re next, you little piece of shit, keep messing up on me.” He’s gone through so many controllers that his sponsor had to send him extras.

— When he loses in a PvP game, he has 1,001 excuses. “Lag. Dumb luck. Exploiter. The devs nerfed my character, obviously.” If chat calls him out, he just scoffs, “You think that was my fault? Keep dreaming.” And the mods instantly clear out any “L” spam from chat because he’s already dangerously close to slamming his keyboard.

— His channel has special emotes for when he loses his temper—explosion icons, angry Bakugou faces, and even one of his own “ARE YOU FUCKIN’ KIDDING ME?!” face. Chat spams these whenever he starts heating up, which only fuels his fire.

— His viewers love to try and provoke him. Someone will innocently say, “Hey Dynamight, I think you missed something back there,” and he’ll instantly pause, glare at the screen, and say, “I DIDN’T MISS ANYTHING, DUMBASS, WE'RE MOVING ON.” It’s like a game within the game for his followers. (He goes back to check right after.)

— “Easy mode?” he scoffs at the suggestion. “I’d rather throw myself into a fire than play on easy mode.” Even if he’s dying over and over, he’ll never, ever change the difficulty. Chat has tried for months to get him to switch, but he’s stubbornly loyal to “the only real mode” (aka Hard Mode, Nightmare mode or above).

— If he actually wins a match, he’s unbearable. He’ll sit there, grinning and basking in his victory, smirking at the camera with a smug, “And that, extras, is why I’m better than every single one of you.” Cue chat sarcastically clapping.

— He once had a bet with his mods that he’d try to do a stream without cursing or raging. He lasted five minutes before he exploded, screaming, “THIS GAME IS FUCKING RIGGED!” after an unexpected jump-scare. The mods were dying, and he banned half of them out of spite (they were unbanned five minutes later, but still).

— Every time he’s about to start a new game, he’s got this exaggerated, dramatic intro: “ALRIGHT, EXTRAS, prepare yourselves ‘cause we’re about to dominate the shit outta this game. And if I see anyone backseat gaming, you’re banned. Don’t even THINK about telling me what to do.”

— Every now and then, when he dies for the tenth time in a row, he just deadpans to the camera, “I swear to God, I’m deleting my channel after this.” Chat knows he’s bluffing, but they still spam crying emojis like “NOOO PLEASE DON’T” just to mess with him.

— Every so often, when he’s focused on a tough level, he’ll mutter something like, “Okay, maybe you’re not so bad, chat. Don’t tell anyone I said that,” and the comments absolutely blow up with hearts and “WE LOVE YOU, DYNAMIGHT.” He immediately goes red and yells, “Didn’t mean it, idiots!” but it’s too late.

— Once, he rage-quit a game so hard that his entire setup fell silent. He’d punched the desk, and the screen went black. Chat watched in shock as the stream just… cut off. The clip went viral, with an entire 30-minute compilation titled “Every time Dynamight destroyed his setup” He came back the next day, reacted to it, and you already know he gave the video a thumbs down and left a long hate comment.

— His mods convinced him to play a “relaxing, casual game” that was secretly full of jump scares. The first time it happened, he almost flipped his entire desk. He immediately banned half of his mods and told the rest they were “on thin ice.” Chat still laughs about it every time he plays a “cute” game.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Dungeon Meshi: The RPG

[alohajix]

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒀𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚

Description: in the quiet town of Holmes Chapel, Amara—a gentle, nurturing kindergarten teacher—lives a life built on routine, safety, and quiet strength. She’s not looking for love, especially not after the scars left behind by someone she’d rather forget. But when Harry Styles walks into her classroom carrying his three-year-old daughter and a heart still grieving the loss of the woman he loved, everything changes. Neither of them is ready. Neither of them is looking. But sometimes, the people who change your life don’t knock first. They just… show up.

Warnings: this mini-series includes grief, past emotional abuse/manipulation, trauma recovery, single parenthood, and emotional vulnerability. Later chapters will contain explicit smut (clearly labeled).

Words count: ~ 90K.

First part is here! Tell me what do you think in the comments💕

*****

PART ONE – Tiny Brave Things (Words: 15K)

AMARA

The kettle clicked off just as the sun began its slow rise behind the garden hedge, spilling pale gold through the kitchen window and casting a honeyed glow across the tile floor. I stood barefoot by the sink, hands wrapped around a mug that still steamed gently against my palms, and let the morning settle around me. The quiet was soft and familiar—no cars, no voices, just the faint hum of the fridge and the birds calling to each other through the hedgerow.

This was my favorite part of the day. Before the noise, before the paint-stained fingers and paper towel crises, before someone cried because someone else used the purple crayon first. Just the stillness of home. My own breath, steady and slow. The ceramic weight of the cup in my hands. The ache in my shoulders I hadn’t realized was there until the heat began to ease it.

I took a sip and leaned against the counter, watching the steam curl and vanish. My skin was still warm from the shower. I hadn’t bothered with the hairdryer—just towel-dried my hair and twisted it into a low bun. A few strands clung to my temples, already loosening in the morning humidity. I didn’t mind.

I glanced at the clock above the oven: 6:41 a.m. Early. Earlier than I needed to be up, but I’d stopped fighting it. My body knew what it needed. I gave up on sleeping in years ago—around the same time I realized I felt safest when I had a little extra time. A little extra quiet. A little extra space between me and whatever the day might bring. Some people woke up to alarms. I woke up to the weight in my chest shifting ever so slightly.

I finished my tea, rinsed the cup, and padded barefoot across the warm kitchen floor to my small dining table—the one I’d rescued from a vintage shop three years ago and painted myself on a rainy weekend. Pale blue, a little chipped at the corners now. I liked it better that way. I pulled out the chair closest to the window, sat down, and reached for my to-do list. Just seeing it calmed me. It was half crossed-out already, scrawled in neat loops across lined paper, right down to things like “pick up more lavender spray” and “replace dying peace lily in reading corner.” I didn’t mind the repetition. Some people found it exhausting. I found it grounding. The structure. The rhythm. The knowledge that every morning, twenty-three little faces would walk through my classroom door, dragging backpacks and half-zipped coats and stories about their cat’s birthday party or a new rainbow shirt.

And today—there’d be one more. Olive Styles. Age three. I hadn’t met her yet. Her father had registered her yesterday, just before the office closed, so I’d only heard the name in passing from Mrs. Keller, the school secretary.

“Sweet-sounding little thing,” she’d said. “He filled everything out perfectly. Very polite. Very…” She’d paused then, lowering her voice even though it was just the two of us. “Put-together.”

I’d smiled, distracted by a stack of coloring books I needed to sort, and hadn’t thought much more of it. At the time. But now, sitting alone in my kitchen with the day stretching ahead of me, I realized I was… curious. Which was ridiculous. Parents came and went. I met them at drop-off, at parent nights, at emergency “your child has a tooth in their pocket again” calls. I didn’t wonder about them. And yet—

I shook it off.

I stood, slipped into my flats, pulled my cardigan from its hook near the door, and took one last glance around the room—everything tidy, everything still. Then I stepped outside.

��� ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Holmes Chapel was still half-asleep as I walked into town. The air was cool against my skin, and the streets shimmered faintly with dew. I took the long route, weaving past hedgerows and low stone walls, nodding to the dog walkers I saw every morning. The same faces. The same smiles.

That was the thing about this town—you couldn’t hide in it. Not really. People knew each other. Knew who’d married whom. Who’d left, who’d come back. And in my case, who’d once dated Logan Clark, and who now politely avoided the subject.

I passed Mrs. Whitmore’s house just as she stepped out in her robe and slippers, watering can in hand.

“Morning, love,” she called, not looking up.

“Morning. They’re looking lovely,” I said, nodding at her roses.

“They always bloom early when the weather’s soft,” she replied, and I smiled.

I turned down the high street, already waking up with the scent of fresh bread drifting from the bakery and the soft jingle of the florist unlocking her front door. The bell above the café rang as someone stepped out with a paper bag and a steaming cup. I walked past it all, my pace steady, familiar.

Ten minutes later, I pushed through the iron gate in front of the school and stepped into the quiet hallways of a place that had become more home than anything else. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as I made my way to my classroom. The moment I unlocked the door, I was hit with the faint scent of lavender spray and children’s markers. I breathed it in like oxygen.

This space—bright, safe, colorful—was where everything felt steady. The paper butterflies we’d made last week still hung from the ceiling, their wings swaying in the faint breeze from the open window. The reading corner cushions were fluffed. The whiteboard still had the words “You Are So Loved” written in big, bubbly letters.

I set down my bag, slipped off my cardigan, and turned on the fairy lights above the bookshelf. Then I got to work. Puzzles out. Name tags in place. Crayons sorted. Paint trays prepped. I moved with the rhythm of someone who’d done this a hundred times and still cared enough to make it feel new. I was adjusting a stack of books when I heard a familiar voice from the doorway.

“Well, well. Look who beat me in.”

I turned to see Mya, leaning against the doorframe, holding two takeaway cups and smiling like she knew something I didn’t.

“Miracles happen,” I said, walking over to take one of the cups. “No more running in at 7:59 like I’ve just escaped a burning building.”

“I don’t know, I kind of liked that look on you,” she said, stepping into the room. “A little wild-eyed. Kept the parents on their toes.”

“You’re terrible.”

“I’m honest.”

She sank into the beanbag in the corner and took a sip of her drink, eyes following me as I rearranged the art supply shelf.

“So,” she said casually. “Today’s the day, yeah?”

I glanced over. “The new student?”

“Olive Styles,” she said, as if she were testing the name out loud.

I nodded. “Starts today.”

Mya grinned. “That’s such a cute kid name. Sounds like someone who wears tiny boots and carries a leaf collection in her pocket.”

“I hope so.”

She gave me a look. “And the dad?”

I blinked. “What about him?”

Mya raised her eyebrows. “You tell me. The name Styles isn’t exactly forgettable.”

I shrugged, turning to face the shelf again. “Mrs. Keller said he filled out everything properly. Sounded polite.”

“That’s code for hot,” she said, sipping her coffee with a smirk.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s code for ‘I didn’t ask.’”

“Sure. Sure it is.”

I tossed a crayon box at her gently. “Some of us are focused on the children, thank you.”

She laughed, catching it. “You’re such a mum already, it’s scary.”

“Maybe someday.” The words slipped out before I could catch them. I didn’t mean to sound wistful, but there was a silence after that. A breath.

Mya watched me for a beat too long. “You’d be a brilliant mum, you know.”

I smiled, quiet. “Thanks.”

She stood and handed me the empty cup. “Alright, I’ve got to go prep for my own little chaos tornado. But text me if anything interesting happens.”

“Define interesting.”

She grinned. “Tall, dark, and devastating.” And with that, she left.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

HARRY

Olive was already in bed with me when the alarm went off. I didn’t even hear the first buzz. Just felt her small hand tug at my T-shirt, the way she always did in the early hours. Her knees were curled into my side, bunny tucked between us, thumb grazing her bottom lip like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to suck it or not. She never cried out when she came into my room—just showed up, quiet, steady, like her body remembered something her mouth hadn’t quite learned how to say.

I blinked up at the ceiling, still hazy with sleep, then down at her soft curls resting against my chest. It was early. Still grey outside. Still the kind of hush that made you feel like the world hadn’t quite started yet. I liked that part. The stillness. The space between night and day. The part where no one needed anything from me yet. Except for her. I brushed a hand gently down her back, the fabric of her sleep shirt warm from sleep.

“Morning, bug,” I whispered. She didn’t answer, just snuggled closer. Today was her first day. The first day of something new. And it felt… big. Bigger than it should’ve.

It wasn’t just preschool. It was the first time I’d let someone else carry her weight for a few hours. The first time she’d sit in a room full of strangers and look around for a face that wasn’t mine.

I pressed a kiss to her hair. “Think we can be brave today?”

Her breath shuddered out across my chest. Just a tiny sound. She didn’t answer. I didn’t push. We stayed like that for a few more minutes, until the light outside turned a little less grey and a little more gold. Then I sat up slowly, pulling her into my lap.

“Toast and jam?” I asked. She nodded, eyes still heavy. “Milk in the bunny mug?”

She gave me a sleepy thumbs up. I carried her to the kitchen, setting her gently on one of the bar stools. She leaned against the counter with her head in her hands, bunny tucked under one arm, curls wild and matted in the back. I started the toast and turned on the kettle, letting the familiar motions quiet the nerves buzzing under my skin.

The house was still. Not empty—but quieter than it used to be. There were still traces of Becca everywhere. In the way the mugs didn’t match. In the pink apron hanging behind the pantry door. In the stack of kids’ books on the shelf near the fireplace. I hadn’t moved any of it. Couldn’t. Some days, it helped. Some days, it made me want to take a hammer to the walls.

Olive stayed quiet while I made breakfast. I knew she was nervous—could feel it in the way she picked at the hem of her sleeve, in the way she stared at her bunny like it might have answers she didn’t. I set her food down and leaned against the counter across from her.

“You remember we’re going to school today, right?” She nodded, eyes on her plate. “And remember, I’m not leaving until you’re ready.”

Her lips pressed together, like she was thinking hard. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I know,” I said gently. “You don’t have to. I’ll be right outside for a little while. And then I’ll come pick you up after lunch, just like we said.”

She took a tiny bite of toast. “Will there be books?”

“Lots.”

“Glue?”

“Probably.”

She looked up. “The funny-smelling kind?”

I smiled. “The exact one.”

Her shoulders dropped slightly. “Okay.”

I walked over, crouching beside her stool so I was eye-level. “You’re gonna be okay, bug. Just try your best. That’s all.”

She leaned into me, small arms around my neck. “Will Miss be nice?”

I hoped so. “Yeah. I think she will.”

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

We were quiet on the drive. I kept the music soft—something acoustic and familiar—and glanced at her in the rearview mirror every few seconds. She was staring out the window, bunny still in her lap, curls pulled into two low pigtails that I’d clumsily tied myself. Becca used to braid them. Made them look easy. Olive never flinched when Becca did her hair. Now, she only let me do it if I promised to be gentle. And I always tried.

We pulled into the small car park beside the school, and I turned off the engine. Olive looked up at the building. Then back at me. Her bottom lip wobbled. Just once. I unbuckled my seatbelt and reached for her.

“You ready to be brave?” She shook her head. “That’s okay,” I said, lifting her carefully from the seat. “You can do it scared, too.”

I carried her toward the building, her arms looped tightly around my neck, bunny squished between us. The school was quiet from the outside, sunlight glinting off the windows, the iron gate just barely ajar. When we reached the door, I paused. She was breathing fast, her forehead pressed to my collarbone.

“Bug,” I whispered, “you’re safe.”

She didn’t let go. But she didn’t pull away either. I adjusted her in my arms, took a deep breath, and opened the door. And there she was.

She turned from the bookshelf when we walked in, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The room glowed behind her—fairy lights strung above the shelves, sunlight pooling on the rug, soft music playing from a speaker I couldn’t see. It smelled like lavender and Play-Doh and something warm I couldn’t name.

She looked up at us and smiled. It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t practiced. It was soft. Real. Welcoming in a way I hadn’t expected.

“Hi,” she said, walking toward us. “You’re right on time.”

Her voice was gentle—like she was speaking to both of us at once. Not just Olive. Olive peeked at her from beneath my chin.

“I’m Miss Amara,” she said softly. “But you can call me Miss, if that feels easier.”

Olive didn’t answer, but she didn’t hide, either.

“She’s a bit shy,” I said, my voice lower now, unsure why. “And this is all new.”

“I understand,” Amara said. “She can take all the time she needs.”

I nodded, heart tugging as Olive pressed her face into my neck.

“She brought her favorite book,” I added, reaching into her little backpack and pulling out The Koala Who Could. “And her blanket’s in there, too. Just in case.”

She took the book gently from my hands, her eyes scanning the cover like she recognized it.

“Thank you,” she said. “This helps a lot.”

“She likes the part with the tree,” I said, then caught myself. “Sorry. I know you probably don’t need all that.”

“No,” she smiled. “It’s lovely. I like knowing what matters to her.” She knelt down a little, meeting Olive’s eye line. “I heard you’re very good at puzzles,” she said softly. “I saved a special one for you, if you want to see it.”

Olive didn’t move at first. Then, slowly—so slowly—she turned to look at me.

I nodded, brushing a curl behind her ear. “Want to try?”

She hesitated. Then let her arms fall away from my neck. I crouched down and set her gently on the floor, her bunny still tight in her hands.

“You can bring that,” Amara said. “We like bunnies here.”

Olive blinked at her. Just once. Then followed her toward a little round table covered in puzzle pieces. I stayed by the door, heart full of something I couldn’t name. Amara turned back, eyes meeting mine.

“She’ll be alright,” she said. I believed her.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

AMARA

Olive didn’t say much. But she didn’t cry either. And honestly? That was more than enough.

She sat at the little round table near the windows, gently pressing puzzle pieces into place like it was a task someone had assigned her and she was determined to get it right. I stayed near her for the first ten minutes. I didn’t hover—just tidied nearby, made soft commentary, occasionally pointed out a missing tail or paw. She didn’t respond with words, but every once in a while, she’d glance at me. Just to check I was still there.

Eventually, I drifted across the room to welcome the others. Kids tumbled in—some running, some sleepy, one in tears because her snack box had the wrong sticker on it. The usual chaos. The beautiful, joyful, sticky kind. And all the while, Olive watched. She didn’t join in. But she didn’t shrink away either. She sat with her bunny tucked between her knees and her shoulders squared like she was bracing for something.

About an hour in, I was helping two boys at the paint table when I felt her beside me. Quiet as anything. She held up a small piece of paper. It was her drawing. A tree. A tiny grey shape in the middle. A koala.

I crouched to her level and smiled. “That’s beautiful.”

She pointed to the koala. “Kevin.”

“From your book?” She nodded once. “He looks very brave in your drawing.” She didn’t say anything. But she smiled.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

At snack time, I let her sit beside me. Some of the kids liked crowding together in little clusters on the rug, but Olive stayed close. Not clinging—just nearby. Her bunny sat in her lap while she quietly munched on crackers and watched the others giggle about apples shaped like hearts.

One of the boys—Elliot—came over and plopped down beside her without warning. Olive stiffened.

“That’s mine,” he said, pointing at one of the puzzle blocks she’d brought over earlier.

I turned toward him gently. “She’s using the extra pieces from the bin, sweetheart. You’re okay.”

He frowned. “But I used the yellow one yesterday.”

“She didn’t take it,” I said softly. Olive stayed frozen. I crouched, placing a hand gently on her back. “It’s okay.” She looked at me—those big, searching eyes—and I swear, the tension in her shoulders melted just a little at my touch. I looked to Elliot. “How about you show Olive how you built your tower yesterday? Maybe you can do it together?”

He grumbled, but after a minute, he nodded and scooted closer. Olive glanced at me again, then sat up straighter. She placed the yellow block in front of him. And when he smiled at her, she whispered, “Okay.” It was barely audible. But it was there. And something in me shifted.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

The day flowed in soft, colorful waves. We did handprint art with washable paint. I read a story about a dragon who only ate marshmallows. Olive sat closest to the rug’s edge but turned her head toward me with each page. She never interrupted like the others did. Just listened, wide-eyed, taking it all in. She let another little girl braid one of her pigtails. She handed someone a red crayon without being asked. She laughed—once—when someone sneezed glitter by accident.

And for a few precious hours, I didn’t think about Logan. Until I heard my name at the door.

“Amara?” I looked up to see Mrs. Keller peeking in, holding a clipboard. “Phone message for you, love. Not urgent. Just… something to have.”

I stood, brushing paint from my hands, and met her at the door. She handed me the pink slip.

LOGAN, it read in thick, rushed letters.

Called to ask what time you finish today. Said he might stop by.

The breath caught in my throat before I could hide it.

Mrs. Keller’s eyes softened. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” I lied. Because what else was I supposed to say?

I tucked the note into the pocket of my cardigan and turned back to the classroom. Olive was watching me. Not with fear. Not with confusion. Just… watching. Like she knew what it looked like when someone got a call that changed the air around them.

I forced a smile. “Time to clean up, sweet pea. Want to help me with the paint lids?” She nodded. Didn’t let go of her bunny. But walked with me anyway.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

The clock on the classroom wall ticked closer to one. The sunlight had shifted across the room now, casting warm stripes on the floor where a few kids were finishing their snack. Most had gone home for the day—early pickups and half schedules. Olive was the last still waiting. But she didn’t seem worried.

She sat beside me at the low round table, her bunny perched carefully on the edge, as we sorted puzzle pieces back into their box. She was focused. Calm. And every once in a while, she’d glance at the door. Not anxiously—just waiting. It was only her first day, and somehow, she was already part of this place.

I felt a quiet kind of pride settle in my chest.

When the knock finally came, she didn’t flinch. Just turned her head and smiled before I even stood up. I walked to the door and opened it.

He was there. Harry Styles. His curls were slightly messier than this morning, like he’d run a hand through them too many times. He wore a grey jumper and jeans, his coat unzipped, his shoulders a little more relaxed than they’d been before. But his eyes? Still soft. Still searching.

“Hey,” he said, a little quieter than necessary. “She alright?”

“She’s better than alright,” I said, smiling as I stepped aside. “She’s been brilliant.”

He looked over my shoulder and saw her—tiny, bunny in hand, puzzle box now clutched to her chest. His shoulders dropped a little more. And for a second, something passed between us. Not a moment. Not yet. But a pause. Like he saw me now. Not just as her teacher. As something more.

Olive slid off the chair and padded over in her little pink trainers, curls bouncing softly.

“Daddy,” she said, not with desperation—just warmth.

He crouched and held out his arms, scooping her into a hug. “Hey, bug. You did it.”

She pulled back just enough to show him the puzzle box. “We found the fox.”

“You did?” he said, eyes wide like she’d just announced she’d climbed a mountain.

She nodded, then looked at me. “Miss helped.”

I smiled. “She did most of it herself.”

Harry stood, Olive still perched on one arm. He turned to me with something in his expression that wasn’t just gratitude.

“You’re very good with her,” he said.

“I try to be good with all of them,” I replied gently. “But she made it easy.”

He exhaled through his nose. “She doesn’t usually let go like that. Not since…” He trailed off, glancing down at her. I knew what he was going to say. He didn’t need to finish it.

“I’m glad she felt safe here,” I said.

He looked back at me, and for a second, the noise in the hallway faded. Everything stilled.

“ If she wants to come back tomorrow.” I smiled. “She’ll have her spot waiting.”

He nodded. “Same time?”

“Same time.”

We stood there for a second longer than we needed to. Then Olive tugged gently at his collar. “Can we get the bread with the holes?”

“The bagels?” he asked, already smiling. “Course we can.”

He glanced at me one last time. “Thanks again, Miss Amara.”

I liked the way he said it. Like it mattered. “You’re welcome,” I said. And I meant it.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

The classroom emptied slowly. I lingered, like I always did. Wiping down the tables. Tidying the reading corner. Restoring the classroom to the gentle stillness it always held before the day began again.

The sunlight had faded to a softer gold now, stretching long across the floors. I turned off the fairy lights and packed my things with the kind of slow rhythm that comes after a full, good day. I didn’t feel tired. Not the heavy kind. I felt full. Full of little moments. Olive’s soft voice. Her quiet nod. The way Harry had looked at her—and at me—like something new had settled between the three of us and none of us quite had the words for it yet.

I stepped out into the early evening air and started toward the square. I hadn’t planned to stop at the market, but my fridge at home was bare, and the day had left me craving something warm. Something soft. Maybe bread. Or jam. Or chocolate.

The cobblestone paths were glowing under the fading sun as I walked into the village center. The hanging baskets of spring flowers swayed gently in the breeze. A woman walked past with her daughter, holding hands and humming the same tune Olive had been singing under her breath at cleanup time.

The bell above the market door jingled as I stepped inside. It smelled like oranges and pinewood. I made my way to the produce aisle and reached for a basket of strawberries, still thinking about the way Olive had said Miss helped like it meant something deeper.

“Afternoon, Miss Amara.” I turned.

Mr. Beckett stood behind me in his usual green jumper, arms tucked behind his back like he always had something to say.

“Hi, Mr. Beckett,” I said, smiling.

He gave a knowing look. “Heard you’ve got a new one in class.”

I nodded. “Olive Styles.”

He tilted his head. “That’d be Harry’s girl, wouldn’t it? Up by the hill cottages?”

I hesitated. “Yes.”

“Sweet thing, that one. Saw them last week at the bakery. Didn’t say much, but the little girl had her eyes on the pain au chocolat like it held all the answers to the universe.”

I laughed softly. “Sounds like her.”

He leaned on his cane, his voice gentler now. “People talk, you know. Small town and all. Shame what happened to his girl.”

My throat tightened. “Yes.”

“I didn’t know her well,” he went on. “But she had a light to her. That kind of quiet kindness you don’t always see anymore.”

“She must’ve been special,” I said.

He looked at me for a long moment. “You’re one of the good ones, Amara. Always were. That little girl’s lucky to have you.”

“Thank you,” I said, the words catching slightly on their way out.

He smiled, tipped his cap, and moved toward the back of the shop. I stood still for a second, basket in my hand, surrounded by fruit and light and the soft hum of old music playing overhead.

I didn’t know what I was feeling. But it was something. Something warm. Something real.

I grabbed a loaf of bread, a jar of raspberry jam, and—without thinking—a bar of chocolate I didn’t need but wanted anyway.

When I stepped back outside, the sun had slipped behind the rooftops, and the sky was washed in pale pink and lavender. And even though the air had cooled, something lingered in my chest. Not warmth. Not yet. But the sense that maybe—just maybe—something had shifted. And when it did… I’d be ready.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

HARRY

Olive fell asleep before I finished the dishes. She was curled sideways on the couch in her unicorn pajamas, one hand tucked under her cheek and the other still wrapped around her bunny’s floppy ear. I didn’t move her right away. I just stood in the doorway, watching her chest rise and fall in that slow, even rhythm that only came when she was truly safe.

The house was dim now, lit only by the lamp in the corner and the glow of the kitchen light. There was music playing low on the speaker—something soft with strings—but I couldn’t hear it clearly over the noise in my head.

I’d done it. We’d done it. Day one.

She’d gone to school, let go of my hand, sat at a table beside strangers, and smiled at her teacher. She’d come home with purple marker smudged on her fingertips and told me about Kevin the koala like it was the most important story in the world.

And she’d said she wanted to go back. That part broke me a little. In a good way. I sat on the floor beside the couch, letting my hand rest gently on her foot. Just enough to feel her warmth. I thought about Becca. About how proud she would’ve been. How she’d probably cry and then pretend not to. How she’d make cupcakes for the whole class after week one and write me a to-do list I didn’t ask for.

I closed my eyes and let the ache come and go like it always did. Then I opened them again. And saw Olive’s sketchbook on the coffee table. I flipped it open slowly, expecting crayon scribbles. But there it was. A tree. A koala. And below it, written in crooked three-year-old letters, a name.

Miss.

And just like that, Amara’s face filled my mind again—her quiet voice, her steady gaze, the way she’d crouched beside Olive like she’d known exactly what to say and exactly when to say nothing at all. I didn’t know why she stayed with me like that. But she did. And something about it felt a little like the beginning of something I wasn’t sure I deserved.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

AMARA

I sat on the couch in my comfiest socks with a cup of tea cooling beside me and my feet tucked beneath a throw I’d had since university.

The house was quiet. Lavender-scented. Dim except for the reading lamp behind me. I should’ve been grading. Or planning. Or sleeping. But my thoughts kept circling back to her. To Olive. To the way she’d looked up at me after storytime with a crayon in one hand and her bunny tucked under the other.

And—maybe more than that—to him. To the softness in his voice when he said her name. To the look in his eyes when she reached for my hand. To the quiet that settled between us like something shared.

My phone buzzed with a text from Mya.

MYA: Sooo… how was the dad?

I smiled, shaking my head and picked up the phone—only to see another notification above hers. One I didn’t open.

LOGAN: Still pretending I don’t exist? You know I can always find you.

I locked the screen. Pushed the chill back down. Then opened Mya’s message instead.

AMARA: Polite. Thoughtful. The kind of guy who remembers which page in the koala book his daughter loves most.

MYA: Oh no. You like him.

AMARA: I don’t know him.

MYA: Yet.

I put the phone down and leaned my head back against the cushion. The warmth from the tea drifted into the air, sweet and steady. And somewhere beneath the comfort of the night and the quiet hum of my house, I felt it again. That shift. That pull. That soft, slow opening. Something new. Something gentle. Something I didn’t have a name for yet.

But maybe— Maybe when I’m ready, I’ll let it in.

[r-memberme]

Masterlist

Official masterlist over my fics of Klaus Mikaelson.

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

smut/suggestive - ✧ fluff - ♡ angst - ✦ comfort - ✿

that time of the month ⎯⎯You burrow further into the blankets, voice muffled. “A new body?” ✿

the woman ⎯⎯"Are you quite finished glaring daggers, love? I believe the poor woman is in danger of bursting into flames under your stare alone," you merely inhaled sharply and said, "How many women have you been with?" ♡✧

come find me ⎯⎯He cannot. To speak it would be to surrender. To speak it would be to lay his soul at her feet, raw and wanting and entirely hers. ✧

in the eyes of the beholder ⎯⎯"That’s a dreadful attempt at impressionism," he comments one evening, arms crossed as he studies your canvas. "Your brushstrokes lack conviction. Have you even looked at a Monet before?" ♡

then we're even ⎯⎯Like she is something holy, something he was never meant to touch. ✧

breathe with me ⎯⎯His heart clenched. He had seen war, carnage, despair, and yet this—watching you locked in a battle against an enemy that existed only in the shadows of your mind—this felt crueler than anything he had ever faced. ✿

tell me ⎯⎯You tilt your head. "Of course not. Just standing in the dark, whiskey in hand, looking like the embodiment of every tragic poem ever written." ♡

knit me a threat ⎯⎯“Darling,” he drawled, stepping into the study, “would you happen to know why my coat has been invaded by a miniature version of myself? ♡

torment ⎯⎯Klaus sighs, dramatic, running a hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you have like a thing for older men or something?” ✧ ♡

unraveling ⎯⎯His jaw clenches, fingers twitching against the desk. “Because, my love,” he whispers, voice thick with restraint, “I wanted you to feel the ache as I have.” ✧

masquerade ⎯⎯“In a world built on secrets and shadows, we find ourselves dancing in the light of our hidden truths.” ♡

heist ⎯⎯Klaus smirked. “Ah, yes. Borrowing. Without permission. That’s called theft, love.” ♡

road trip ⎯⎯“I don’t need a map,” he replies, completely unbothered. “I have an excellent sense of direction.” ♡

move ⎯⎯“You are the kind of storm that arrives in the dead of night, shaking the windows, rattling the doors. You disrupt. You demand to be noticed.” ♡

argument ⎯⎯His smirk is slow, predatory. “I could steal someone else’s drink for you.” ♡

wildflowers ⎯⎯“Darling,” he drawls, “am I supposed to be flattered or humiliated?” ♡

selene ⎯⎯His eyes flicker with something unreadable. “A love cursed to only exist in the quiet hours of the night,” he muses. “How tragic.” ♡

a wolf's lament ⎯⎯“You move like a ghost,” she murmurs, and it is not the first time she has accused him of this. ✦

the stars ⎯⎯Klaus hums beside her, hands folded behind his head, fingers threading into the wild mess of curls at his nape. “I think about many things.” ♡

restless ⎯⎯He considered that for a long moment. “Perhaps the moon prefers it that way,” he mused. “Perhaps it doesn’t want to be touched. Perhaps it’s content to watch, to exist in the quiet, to remain untouchable.” ♡

sugar ⎯⎯Klaus grinned at the memory. “Two hours and thirteen minutes. I was quite impressed.” ♡

nik ⎯⎯Because it was the only name that did not come with expectation, with weight, with history. It was just his, just theirs, just a thread between them that refused to break no matter how much the world tried to sever it. ♡

watercolored ⎯⎯“You told that old woman in the market that I was in need of a motherly embrace!” ♡

hold you close ⎯⎯“Shhh.” His lips brushed against your temple, and you nearly stopped breathing. “You wiggle like that again, and I’ll take it as an invitation.” ♡

jealous ⎯⎯“I do hate to steal her away, but—oh, you know how it is. She does have a rather short attention span, after all.” ♡

bleeding heart ⎯⎯“But if there is a day meant to celebrate love, then why should I not love you a little louder?” ♡

the world tilted ⎯⎯Klaus’s scream—raw, unpracticed, and filled with an agony that no immortal soul should ever endure—broke the night ✦

I could have you ⎯⎯“I could have you,” he murmured, his voice like silk, smooth and slow and dangerous. “If I wanted.” ♡✧

antique ⎯⎯"‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day—’" ♡

lavender and chamomile ⎯⎯A rare moment, a mutual understanding. ✿

hammock ⎯⎯The sky above is deepening now, the colors bleeding into something richer—indigo creeping in at the edges, stars beginning to flicker to life, hesitant but present. ✿

marriage auction ⎯⎯Klaus hums, swirling his champagne. “That’s lovely, sweetheart.” ♡

picture day ⎯⎯“You could at least pretend I’m not the most difficult person you’ve ever photographed.” ♡

trinkets ⎯⎯ “I may have acquired it through slightly less than legal means.” ♡

scarf ⎯⎯“Because I’d rather be cold than watch you shiver.” ♡

we ⎯⎯Klaus scowled. “I will throw you into the sun.” ♡

sap ⎯⎯“You’re rather difficult to look away from.” ♡

ghost of you ⎯⎯He carved himself into you, into the deepest parts of your soul, until forgetting him would mean unraveling yourself entirely. ✦

like a man starved ⎯⎯It was nothing. It was everything. ♡✿✦

master chef ⎯⎯“I wanted to do something special,” he continued, finally looking at you. “Something… personal. And what’s more personal than a meal prepared with my own two hands?” ♡

at my worst, at my best ⎯⎯His eyes searched yours, his breath hitching. “I don’t deserve you,” he said quietly. ✦♡

intruder ⎯⎯“You really should get better locks, by the way.” ♡

deception ⎯⎯“Gaslighting implies a level of effort that I am simply not putting in. Deceiving you doesn’t require much.” ♡

gentle waters ⎯⎯He reached for your hand, his touch gentle as he brushed his thumb across your knuckles. “Let me take care of you tonight,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. ✿

sweet escape ⎯⎯He smirked. “If this is your idea of fun, love, I worry for you.” ♡

pottery ⎯⎯“Show me what you’ve got, Picasso.” ♡

s'mores ⎯⎯“Nothing,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re just more captivating than the stars, that’s all.” ♡

the line between us ⎯⎯“I’m saying,” he interrupted, his voice firm now, “that I’m tired of being just your best friend. I’ve loved you for longer than I care to admit, and it’s agony pretending I don’t.” ♡

the paint beneath ⎯⎯“You always did stare at art like it owed you something.” ♡

blood ⎯⎯"What are you suggesting? A blood beauty contest?” ♡

anything ⎯⎯“Did you… raid every orange grove in the area?” ♡

history ⎯⎯“Perhaps it requires a certain level of intellect to appreciate.” ♡

show me ⎯⎯“I’m not gentle. I don’t know how to love without breaking everything I touch.” ♡✧

you ⎯⎯“You are my destruction, love. And my salvation. My madness and my solace. Do you think leaving spared me? No. It condemned me to a century of torment.” ✦

crawlin' back to you ⎯⎯“Where are you?” you asked, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. There was a pause, and then he said, “Outside. In the rain.” ♡

fixed ⎯⎯“No. I came because I couldn’t stay away.” ♡

shouldn't be here ⎯⎯ “Loving you is the only thing in my long, cursed existence that has ever felt easy. The only thing that’s ever made sense.” ♡✦

concert ⎯⎯"It’s not because I think I have the right to you. It’s because I’ve tried—God, have I tried—to stay away." ♡

vino veritas ⎯⎯“Flattery won’t get you out of trouble if you embarrass me in front of the sommelier.” ♡

not a chance ⎯⎯“Let me guess—you’re mysterious, brooding, and devastatingly complicated?” ♡

canvas ⎯⎯“Have you ever painted me?” ♡

echoes of you ⎯⎯"Klaus Mikaelson wept" ✦

bold ⎯⎯“If I’m a fool, it’s only because of you,” ♡

kitchen ⎯⎯“Are you telling me you’re challenging me to a dance battle?” ♡

storm ⎯⎯just the two of them, dancing through the storm together. ♡

sparkling commentary ⎯⎯“What can I say? I’m a giver.” ♡

a royal pain ⎯⎯“Exciting? You’re like a cranky old man stuck in a twenty-something’s body.” ♡

burden ⎯⎯Every shadow needs light to be revealed ✦

silent spectator ⎯⎯This was now no longer a game of observation or veiled curiosity. It was undeniably, absolutely, desire ♡✧

kiss me like you mean it ⎯⎯kisses, kisses and more kisses ♡

snowman ⎯⎯ ‘Oh look, it’s Greg—the gallant snowman of the yard!‘ ♡

sweet talker ⎯⎯Maybe klaus isn't so bad after all ♡

dusty tomes and worm love ⎯⎯“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” ♡

my inner aesthetician ⎯⎯In a warm, candlelit sanctuary, two souls share playful banter as they engage in a soothing skincare ritual. ♡✿

fire and tenderness ⎯⎯In a candle-lit embrace, warmth blooms as tender kisses chase away the cold. With whispered apologies, a spark ignites into passionate connection, where playful banter entwines with sincere affection, promising to shield from the world’s chill. In this moment, hearts intertwine, wrapped in comfort and light. ♡

morning brew ⎯⎯ a timeless soul navigates the soft glow of a quaint coffee shop, enchanted by a vibrant girl who brings light to his shadowed existence. ♡

are you asking me on a date, Klaus? ⎯⎯ The long awaited date between a girl, and an old grumpy original hybrid. (First fic ever) ♡

Series

technique ⎯⎯Then Klaus, in the most delighted tone imaginable, says, “Sweetheart, I do believe you just murdered an innocent shrubbery.” ♡

double it ⎯⎯Then, in the most insufferably smug voice imaginable, Klaus drawls, “Careful, sweetheart. You’re starting to look like you actually know what you’re doing.” ♡

tam lin ⎯⎯And you—always drawn to him, always at his side, your fates tangled like ivy clinging to stone, entwined in a way the world could not unmake. ✦

fae ⎯⎯“You cannot keep him,” you whispered, though your voice was steady. “You cannot have him.” ✦

ever yours, ever mine part I ⎯⎯And no matter what came next—no matter how many lifetimes you lived, how many battles you fought, how many times you lost and found each other again— That promise would never break.

ever yours, ever mine part II ⎯⎯Then—softly, quietly—he said, “I don’t think I was made for happiness.”

ever yours, ever mine part III ⎯⎯Klaus coughed, spitting blood into the dirt. His eyes flickered to you, and that was when they struck him again. You felt the impact as if it were your own. ✦

ever yours, ever mine part IV ⎯⎯"You're real." It was a whisper, a breath, a plea.

ever yours, ever mine part V ⎯⎯The witch’s expression softened—not with kindness, but with understanding. “She is something that should not be. Something caught between. Not alive. Not dead. And certainly not human.”

territorial ⎯⎯“Whatever you say, Nik.” ♡

trouble ⎯⎯“Ian,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “What a name. Sounds like he was born to be dull.” ♡

I wouldn't hesitate ⎯⎯“if I had the chance to fall in love with you again, I wouldn’t hesitate.” ✦

I didn't hesitate ⎯⎯ “The thought of you being anyone else’s sunlight is something I can’t stomach.” ♡✦

something about me

Last updated: march 22nd 2025, 13:00

[harrywavycurly]

Handle With Care: Highly Recommended

Masterlist: here

CW: Frat Harry, language, Harry is a bit of an ass, bit of angst, your ex shows up and is a dick (this is the only time you’ll see him)

A/N: Honestly Harry is gonna be going through it in this mini series so just buckle in because he’s in for an emotional roller coaster, also Niall is in this because as if I can have frat Harry without frat Niall. Enjoy!✨

Tag List: @gmikaelson @ell0ra-br3kk3r @tulips4harry @mellamolayla @mads3502 @empathyroad @idk199o @sassamanda77 @maudie-duan @macy-tpwk @coralferrio1

Summary: You hire a company to help move you into your new apartment and someone ends up dropping a box and hurting your feelings📦✨

You let out a sigh as you stand in the middle of your small campus apartment that’s currently filled with boxes, finding it hard to believe that after almost four years this is the last morning you’ll ever spend in this space. You look around and smile as memories flood your mind of the various milestones that took place in this cramped space, such as when you got broken up with by who you thought at the time was the love of your life while sitting on the edge of your twin size bed or the time your friend got too drunk at a party and ended up falling asleep on your living room floor and woke up the next day with a piece of pizza stuck to her forehead. But the most recent one that comes to the surface of your mind is when you were sitting on your couch and got the call you’d been waiting for, that the job you applied for and wanted more than anything was yours.

You don’t get to reminisce for much longer as a loud knock on your door makes you let out a startled squeak as you jump a little at the noise. You quickly take a step towards the door and raise an eyebrow at the conversation happening on the other side of it.

“M’telling you her name was Jenny.”

“And I’m telling you her name was Jamie.”

“Oh fuck off Harry you’re shit with names and you know it.”

“Not the names of hot-”

The two men standing in the hallway immediately stop their conversation and turn to look at you as soon as you open your door, the one with blonde tips but darker colored roots and bright blue eyes gives you a smile and a small wave. But the one with a backwards SnapBack covering his brown curls and green almost emerald colored eyes doesn’t do anything but stand there and not so subtly allow his eyes to roam over your body for a moment before they dart back up to your face. You give them both a smile and step to the side letting them enter your apartment, it’s then that you notice how similar in age to you they appear to be and when you look at their attire you can’t help but wonder how long they’ve been doing this job because you’ve never seen movers arrive in skinny jeans or basketball shorts.

“Uh so I’m not sure-”

“Oh shit sorry where are my manners? I’m Niall.” The blonde one laughs as he holds his hand out for you to shake. “And that grumpy fuck over there is Harry and we are your hunks for this morning and you’ve got us for two-oh no sorry uh you’ve got us for three hours.” He explains as you reach out and shake his hand, you glance over to Harry who is eyeballing the amount of boxes in your living room, not paying any attention to the conversation going on between you and Niall.

“Lovely to meet you both.” You say as you introduce yourself and let go of Niall’s hand. “Do you two do this a lot?” You ask making Niall laugh while Harry just rolls his eyes as he walks into your small bedroom.

“You could say that.” Niall answers as he slides his phone into the pocket of his silver basketball shorts after he checks the time. “This is our summer gig and we’ve been doin it for a few years but seein’ as we graduate in a few weeks this is one of our last jobs as official college hunks.” You can’t help but smile at Niall’s Irish accent, it just makes everything sound so much more interesting.

“I graduate in a few weeks as well.” Niall just smiles at your announcement not wanting to tell you he figured as much giving the whole moving out of your on campus apartment, but he’s a gentleman so he just keeps that to himself.

“No shit.” You quirk a brow at the sound of a British accent making a mumbled comment from behind you in your kitchen. Niall’s face drops as he sends a glare over your shoulder making you turn your head only to find Harry leaning against your counter with his arms crossed over his chest, letting you get a quick view of the random tattoos scattered on his arms. When he catches your stare he raises a questioning eyebrow at you.

“What? I mean it’s obvious you graduate soon that’s why you have to move out which is the whole reason we’re here.”

“Right. Sorry.” You feel your cheeks get hot as you turn to look back at Niall who gives you a warm smile as you walk by him and into the living room where the majority of your boxes are. “Uhm it’s just boxes and my bed the rest-”

“The twin? That’s your actual bed?” Harry asks with a hint of shock mixed into his voice as he pushes himself off the counter and motions towards your bedroom.

“Uh yes that’s mine it was cheap and I didn’t need anything bigger-”

“That’s not surprising.” Harry mumbles as he pulls his phone out of his back pocket, Niall just rolls his eyes and shakes his head before he gives you his full attention.

“So the boxes and your bed is all we’re takin’?” Niall asks just to confirm what you were saying before Harry interrupted you.

“Yes and uhm some boxes I labeled with stickers so you’ll know which ones to be a little careful with.” You explain as you point to a box on your kitchen counter with a few red “fragile” stickers on it, Niall just nods and turns to look at Harry who is scrolling on his phone not listening to anything you’re saying.

“Hey asshole did you hear that?” Harry lifts his head up at the sound of Niall shouting at him and gives him a shrug.

“It’s boxes and a toddler sized bed frame Niall it’s not fucking rocket science.”

“You’re just so much fun to be around in the mornings Harry no wonder all your lady friends leave before the sun comes up.”

“I don’t cuddle. That’s why they leave. Now are we doing the bed first or the boxes?” Harry slides his phone into his back pocket as he waits for Niall to answer his question. You watch Niall look around your living room and then walk into your bedroom so he can get a better idea of how many boxes you have. But while Niall is busy doing that you feel as if someone is staring at you but when you turn to look at Harry he quickly looks away and down at his scuffed up boots, another thing you’ve never seen movers wear.

“Do you always dress like this to move people?” You don’t know why you ask him because you already can tell from the few things he’s said to you that he for some reason doesn’t like you. So it’s no surprise when he looks down at his white tank top and black skinny jeans with his scuffed brown boots that when he looks back up he has his eyes narrowed in a harsh glare aimed directly at you.

“Well if you really want to know.” You watch the corners of his mouth curl up into a smirk as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I forgot we had this job today so I didn’t sleep at my place last night” Only the last part of his confession takes you by surprise, seeing as you’re sort of used to being easily forgotten or pushed to the side for something or someone else so you don’t take it too personally you just take it as Harry isn’t very organized with his time.

“Oh uh well for not knowing you had work today I’m uhm glad you weren’t late.” You stumble through your sentence making Harry let out a quiet laugh that you know isn’t at what you said, it’s more so just him laughing at you.

“Let me guess this is how you always dress huh?” He asks in what you know is a teasing tone as his eyes travel down to your t shirt and black shorts with little flowers all over them before finally landing on your white slip on shoes making you feel extremely self conscious.

“Uh yes why-”

“Okay let’s load the bed first then just pile all the boxes around it.” You turn and face Niall as he walks out of your bedroom with his phone in his hand, he gives you a smile as he holds his phone out towards you. “Just need you to initial right here for me love, this says we are starting at nine fifteen and your three hours starts now.” He explains in a soft and friendly tone as you take his phone and put your initials next to where he’s pointing with his free hand.

“Okay great.” Niall just smiles as you hand him his phone while Harry heads into your bedroom to start grabbing your bed frame.

“Alight Styles let’s do this.” As soon as you hear Niall say the name Styles you’re hit with the realization that you know you’ve heard that name before, you just can’t remember where.

Harry doesn’t know what it is about you that irritates him, it could be the way you just seem too happy at nine in the morning or maybe it’s the way you smile every time you see Niall walk into the room but either way something about you rubs Harry wrong and has him acting in a way that’s not like himself. Now he’s not the sweetest person alive, not by a long shot but he’s known to be charming and maybe a bit cocky but still he’s never been called rude or a jerk by anyone unless maybe by a girl he turned down for a date or a fling he had to explain his lack of feelings for when it came time to end things but other than that Harry is known around campus to be a relatively nice guy. He figures you have to be nice in order to get the things you want, and in his case it might be a date to a party his fraternity was throwing or a quick hookup on a night out at a bar, being nice works quicker than being the typical douchey fraternity brother people assume he is but something about you has suddenly turned him into what he usually isn’t, an asshole.

He can’t be bothered to return any of your smiles, no matter how nice they are or how they make a weird little fluttering feeling start up in the pit of his stomach. He chooses to distract himself with a game on his phone or going to look around your boxed up apartment while you and Niall discuss the logistics of the move. He tries to ignore the way your room smells as if he just walked into a field of flowers on a warm summer day and he will absolutely deny the fact he quite likes it. So much so he finds himself taking a deep inhale as he walks towards your connected bathroom where it seems to be the strongest making him believe it might be the body wash or shampoo you use in the shower. He shakes his head in an attempt to clear his mind as he heads back into the living room, coming to the conclusion that the smell was just messing with his head a bit and he doesn’t at all want to be wrapped up in it for the rest of his life.

When he walks back into the living room he sees a box that’s open and since your back is facing him because Niall is going over the spiel about how they won’t be doing this job for much longer he takes the opportunity to take a little peak. He doesn’t expect to see much of anything really, maybe some random clothes or decorations you packed last minute so when he looks in and sees a photo of you and some guy hugging and smiling at each other like two idiots in love he has to stop himself from grabbing it and taking a closer look to see if he recognizes the man. Harry ignores the weird feeling in his chest as he sees a small teddy bear and some other items in the box with the photo and he wonders if this box is full of things the man in the picture gave to you, if it is then he has cheap taste because Harry knows for a fact the teddy bear looking up at him was a free gift with purchase at one of the campus stores last Valentine’s Day.

When he decides he’s seen enough he quietly makes his way into the kitchen and leans against the counter as he waits for instructions from Niall on how he wants to handle this move. When he hears you mention you’re graduating soon he doesn’t mean to let the words slip out of his mouth, truly he doesn’t. He meant to say it in his head but again, something about you has him knocked off balance so when you look at him with a raised brow he has no choice but to explain his sudden outburst and it doesn’t come out as nicely as he intended making him feel like an asshole when he sees your cheeks get pink out of embarrassment. But of course he can’t just simply stop there, no he has to go and make a comment about your bed as if it’s any of his business really because who is he to judge you for keeping a twin sized bed when in reality he just graduated to a queen size himself after moving out of his frat house two weeks ago.

It’s when you try to make small talk with him that has him thinking insane things such as the possibility you’ve got him under a spell or something because why can’t he stop himself before saying something rude like he normally can? It’s as if his mind and his mouth are having a battle and his mouth is winning causing him to really look like an absolute asshole. The look on your face when he says he forgot about the job today; which was a lie because he had it saved to the calendar on his phone and even set a reminder alarm and everything, is one that almost takes him out of his irritated state because it’s as if that’s something you’re used to hearing. Like people forgetting about things that pertain to you is a common occurrence and that has him instantly wishing he could take the whole interaction back but he can’t. And the worst part of it all is he knows what you’re thinking, that he spent last night with some girl or “lady friend” as Niall calls them but he didn’t, he spent it on his friend Tyler’s couch after he fell asleep at an embarrassingly early hour after one too many beers while watching a football game.

He’s never been happier to actually start a job before, because as long as he’s busy that means he won’t have to be near you for longer than the few minutes it takes for him to grab another box or two and head back down to the truck and the best part is, he simply wont have any time to stand there and talk to you. As soon as he’s in the hallway with your twin sized headboard and footboard in his arms it’s like he can finally breathe again, but he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t immediately miss the flower and sunshine smell but still, he feels at ease and even smiles to himself as he waits in the area the elevators and stairwells are at for Niall who has some pieces to your bed frame in his arms.

“Dude what the fuck is wrong with you?” Harry knew this was coming the moment he first let out a huff in front of you, Niall isn’t one to take being rude to someone for no reason very lightly especially someone who hasn’t been anything but nice since she opened her door. “Why are you being a ragging fuckin’ twat to the poor girl?”

“I don’t-I just can’t help it?” Niall glares at him for a moment before he just walks by him and puts the parts to the bed frame down so he can press the button for the elevator.

“Well figure it the hell out because she’s nice and I don’t want her leaving a shit review because you can’t get your head outta your ass.” Harry doesn’t say anything in response, he just looks down at the floor as they wait for the elevator doors to open.

Harry has two boxes in his arms and is half way to the truck parked on the street outside your campus apartment building when he hears someone calling his name. He looks around with a furrowed brow as he continues on his way to the truck not seeing anyone heading his way until his eyes land on someone he didn’t plan on seeing anytime soon since usually he only sees him trying to sneak his way back into house parties after being kicked out for getting too rowdy or just pissing the entire chapter off. The smile on the man’s face makes Harry want to roll his eyes at how fake it is, but he just gives him a simple nod of acknowledgment as he places the boxes on the floor of the truck and with one hard shove sends them sliding towards the back near your bed.

“What’s up Styles? You helping someone move?” Cody asks as he takes a quick glance into the back of the truck, Harry just turns around and leans against the truck as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“It’s kinda my job so yeah.” He answers with shrug which for some reason makes Cody laugh as he runs a hand through his short dirty blonde hair. “What are you doing here? It’s a bit early for you to be awake isn’t it?” Harry is lucky that Cody isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed because his tone is anything but teasing but it seems the man doesn’t notice as he just turns and looks at the building behind him and then back to Harry with a simple shrug of one of his shoulders.

“I’m just here to get some stuff from someone.” He answers and Harry just nods expecting that to be the end of it but Cody lets out a sigh as he shoves a hand in his back pocket to grab his phone. “You know how crazy ex girlfriends can be. Always coming up with dramatic reasons to make you come over.” Harry in fact doesn’t know, having ended his only two serious relationships in a very civil manner so he’s never had to deal with anything close to a crazy ex.

“Oh got it.” With that Harry uncrosses his arms and takes a few steps towards the building and away from Cody who is looking down at his phone with a furrowed brow. “Good luck mate.” He sarcastically calls over his shoulder with a shake of his head as he thinks of the poor girl who’s about to have to deal with that jackass.

“Okay so just these boxes left?” Niall is pointing to a stack of boxes on your kitchen counter when Harry walks back into your apartment, and for a moment he thinks he’s finally out of whatever weird daze he’s been in over the past hour while helping you move because he doesn’t find himself being hit with the overwhelming smell of flowers and sunshine. He walks into the kitchen and stands near your sink waiting to hear what’s left for the two of them to take to the truck.

“Yes and those are the ones with-”

“What the hell is going on in here? Are you-you’re actually moving?” A loud voice coming from your front door startles you as you make the tiniest little squeak and bring your hand up to your chest.

Now Harry has been good for the last forty five minutes, he hasn’t looked in your direction or given himself too much time in the apartment alone with you to allow himself the opportunity to say something dumb or more importantly, rude. But at the sound of Cody’s voice he can’t stop himself from looking at you and the moment he does he regrets it because the look on your face is one of not only shock but Harry swears there’s also a hint of nervousness hidden behind your eyes and it’s all directed towards the man standing only a few feet away from where you’re standing in your living room.

“Uhm yes I-I told you remember? That’s why I asked you to come get-”

“I thought that was some bullshit lie to just get me over here so we could talk.”

“Oh uh well I asked you over here three-three weeks ago and you uhm ignored my texts.” Harry feels his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he watches Cody roll his eyes as he takes a step further into your small apartment.

“I mean we aren’t together so I don’t have to answer your texts or calls any-wait Styles? Oh shit Horan? She’s the one you’re helping move?” Niall looks at Harry over his shoulder and rolls his eyes before looking at Cody with a smile that only Harry would be able to tell is fake.

“Obviously.” Harry snaps making Cody look at him with a raised brow.

“How did you even hear about these guys?” Cody asks you while still staring at Harry, you look at Niall who gives you his signature warm smile as he walks towards the kitchen to grab a box off the counter.

“Oh uhm Monica recommended them.” Your answer makes Cody laugh as he finally looks away from Harry and over to you while Niall silently makes his exit with a box deciding he doesn’t want to be around Cody and his bullshit any longer.

“Monica?” You nod and Harry hasn’t ever wished the world would open up and swallow him whole until this very moment, as soon as you said the name of who told you about their company Harry knew exactly who you were talking about and he knows Cody does as well.

“She’s a friend of yours isn’t she Styles?” Harry acts like he doesn’t see the way your eyes dart over to him as Cody crosses his arms over his chest while turning to fully face Harry.

“I know her yeah. Helped move a couch to the dumpster for her. That’s all.” It’s only a partial lie, he very much didn’t just help her haul a couch to the dumpster but he really doesn’t want you to know about any of that because he knows it’ll just solidify the idea you have in your mind that he’s an asshole who sleeps around.

“Don’t be so modest it must’ve been a good time if she recommended your services to her friend.”

“I moved a couch that’s-”

“Oh you’re Styles. Harry Styles.” Your voice saying his name makes his jaw clench because the way you sound like pieces to a puzzle only you can see are being put together in your mind makes him want to punch a wall out of pure frustration. Learning Monica is your friend means you probably already know everything and he can’t do anything about it, and the most annoying part is he doesn’t know why he cares, he doesn’t even know you.

“You’ve heard of him?” Cody asks as he walks into the living room towards the open box full of stuff Harry took a look at earlier and of course he’s the one who got you the cheap teddy bear, what an asshole.

“Not uhm anything bad I just have heard your name around before like at uh parties and-”

“And Monica?” Harry questions and again he swears he didn’t mean for it sound so harsh and accusatory, he just wanted to know if she told you anything about what went on between them and of course it comes out rude and snappy.

“She just told me you were nice and helpful that’s all.” You look extremely overwhelmed as you answer him and Harry knows it’s partially his fault so he just does what he thinks is best and gives you a small nod and goes to grab a box from the kitchen counter.

“What is all this shit?” You turn to give Cody your attention as he stands there going through the box of stuff. “Why would I want any of this? Is the bear I got you?”

“It’s everything you ever gave me I uh well-uhm didn’t know if you’d want it back?”

“You called me over here to give me a box of things that I gave you as gifts back to me? Are you serious?”

“I’m sorry I’ll just keep it then.” Harry can hear the uneasiness in your voice as Cody lets out a scoff as he grabs the box and brushes past you on his way to the door.

“You’ve always liked wasting my time.” Your shoulders slump as his harsh words hit you just as he reaches your door. “Delete my number.” Is the last thing he says before he walks through the open door and down the hallway towards the elevators.

One thing about Harry is he hasn’t ever had the best timing, he really thinks that’s the universe’s way of getting back at him for all the little wrongs he’s done in his life. So when he grabs the box off your counter he knows the moment he lifts it up that he’s going to drop it, not because it’s too heavy or because it’s not taped and securely closed but because just as he decides to lift it off the counter and take a step towards the door he allows his eyes to find you. Of course he would choose to look at you just as your asshole of an ex storms out of your apartment leaving you standing there looking like you’re one second away from breaking down, your eyes are big and your cheeks are pink from the embarrassment but it’s the way your hands are balled into little fists that tells Harry you’re trying to hold it together.

So in true Harry fashion that has to be the moment he lets a box slip out of his hold and land on the floor of your kitchen with a sound that has his eyes squeezing shut because he knows that was something glass that probably just broke. When he opens his eyes he lets out a sigh as he bends down to grab the box and he hates the sound it makes when he lifts it off the ground, but before he can take another step he sees your white shoes step in front of him making him pause his movements as he slowly lifts his eyes up from your feet to your face.

“Uhm did you just-”

“I didn’t do anything.” He wants to smack himself as soon as the words leave his mouth because you saw him drop the box, he knows you saw him drop the box and on the off chance you didn’t see it he knows you heard it.

“It’s okay it was just an accident.” Your voice is so soft and soothing it pisses him off because you should be yelling at him not reassuring him, especially after what he just saw and heard you have to deal with.

“It would be if something happened but nothing did. I’m just trying to finish getting your shit to the truck.” He doesn’t even recognize his own voice at this point because why is he still talking as if he didn’t drop your box right in front of you and if that’s not enough now he’s trying to act as if you’re holding him up from finishing his job, you’re going to hate him by the end of the morning he just knows it.

“Harry.” He lets out a sigh as his name falls from your lips just as he walks around you and towards the door. “It’s okay.” Harry doesn’t say anything as he’s suddenly surrounded by the familiar sunshine and flowers scent and then he feels you place a hand on his arm and he swears if he hadn’t already dropped the box in his hands he would’ve done it just then because the softness of your hand on his bare arm sends a weird kind of shockwave down to his fingertips. But he just adjusts his grip on the box and because he figures he’s already dug himself a decent grave he might as well make it a little deeper by acting like nothing happened as he walks out your front door and down the hallway.

“Shit shit shit.” He mumbles to himself after he places the box down by his feet along with the hat he had covering his hair once he makes it to the elevators and runs both hands through his hair as his heart starts pounding in his chest as if he just ran a marathon. “What the fuck is happening to me?” He asks himself as he tries to gain some sort of composure.

“You look like shit.” Niall states with a laugh as he steps off the elevator and gives Harry a once over, he glances down the hallway before looking back at Harry. “Please tell me the douchebag is gone.”

“Yeah yeah he’s-he’s gone.” His words come out breathy as if he’s still struggling to fully catch his breath and calm down. Niall gives Harry a weird look before he just shakes his head deciding it’s better to not ask, so instead he walks around him and down towards your apartment to grab the last two boxes.

“Get it together Harry. No more dropping boxes. You’re better than that. You’re a professional.” That’s as good of a pep talk he can muster at the moment before he grabs the box and steps into the elevator deciding he’s going to do everything in his power to avoid direct contact with you for the remainder of the hour and a half he has to spend moving your stuff.

[ultravioletbrit]

“fake” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 469 words

“xmas cards” - 25 Days of Jegumas - Day 19 - @noblehouseofgay

Jamie <3: do you know how gorgeous you are? Regulus: What do you want? Jamie <3: just to tell you how stunning you are! Jamie <3: and how much i love you Regulus: James. Jamie <3: fine. marlene is bringing her good camera tonight because some people asked her to take pictures for their xmas cards Jamie <3: so i was thinking… Regulus: No. Jamie <3: i knew you would love the idea! Jamie <3: just wanted to make sure you had time to make your already perfect curls more perfect Jamie <3: love you! Regulus: No. Regulus: James. No. Regulus: Answer your phone, James. Regulus: JAMES!

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Regulus scowls at himself in the mirror. “I’m not doing it.” He tells himself as he finishes perfecting his curls. He takes that one curl in the front that never stays where it’s supposed to, “We’re not doing it.” He says to the curl before tucking it behind his ear. He gives himself one last look then leaves the bathroom with a heavy sigh to go find James.

“You look incredible, love.” James tells him the moment he steps in the living room. He walks over and wraps Regulus in a hug and Regulus’ arms instinctively wrap around James’ neck. When they pull back slightly, James smiles and tucks that stubborn curl back behind Regulus’ ear. Regulus rolls his eyes because that thing will never stay in place.

“James, I love you, but I’m not doing this.” Regulus tells him. James opens his mouth but Regulus cuts him off. “I look ridiculous in pictures like this. I always look stiff, and my smile looks fake and they never turn out good. Let’s just send the cards with the snowmen on them. You liked those!” Regulus tries to reason.

James’ bottom lip turns into an exaggerated pout and Regulus’ eyes are pleading for him to understand. They hold eye contact for several moments having a silence conversation before James eventually sighs.

“Okay.” James pouts. “Marls, Reg and I aren’t going to do pictures.” James tells Marlene, who Regulus didn’t even realize was in the room.

“Oh, I already got yours.” She tells them.

“What?” Regulus and James say at the same time.

“Here.” Marlene holds her camera out for them to look at the pictures. “This one’s probably my favorite.” She shows them a picture of James tucking that damn curl behind Regulus’ ear. James has a sweet smile and even though Regulus is rolling his eyes, he still looks fond as he leans towards James. It’s sort of perfectly… them.  

Regulus and James share a look then glance back at the picture. James’ eyes are practically twinkling with excitement when he turns to look pleadingly at Regulus. Regulus wouldn’t be able to say ‘no’ to those eyes even if he tried. And he has to admit, it’s a pretty good picture that he wouldn’t mind seeing on a Christmas card.

“Okay.” He smiles and rolls his eyes and quickly finds himself wrapped in James’ arms again.

[bondwithme-murderstyle]

End of Session spencer reid x fem!therapist!reader

wc: 4.7k

Summary: Spencer Reid regularly attends therapy sessions and although his therapist picks his mind apart during their time together, she doesn't quite seem to consider that he's been doing it back to her all along

warnings: +18, mdni!! therapy setting, explicit descriptions, oral (f receiving) fingering, no kissing, porn without plot, unprotected p in v (do as I say, not as I do), no y/n, reader is described as wearing a bra and panties, overstimulation, cockwarming/soaking if you turn around and squint, Spencer edges reader, not as soft!dom as I planned oooops

an: ahhh! my first one-shot ever! i hope y'all like it! i got right to work on it for you! therapy!spencer we love you <3

Smut below the cut!

Spencer Reid had been a client of yours for some years. From the loss of his friend Elle when he was just a young man finding his feet in the world, to the passing and resurrection of Emily Prentiss when you watched his clipped wings start to ruffle and break free one feather at a time, and since the death of his fleeting romance, Maeve, you had watched him grow. A kind man. A nervous man at times depending on what was on his mind. But all the same, a good man.

There were sessions where he wouldn’t stop talking, his mouth going a million-miles-a-minute and there were sessions where he would sit quietly and only answer questions when prompted. Often, in these silent kinds of sessions, his arms would rest on the chair and his fingers would tap and tug at the stitching of the armrest, his long, slender fingers meticulously tracing the thread that held the chair together. 

It was an easy bet that Spencer was one of your favourite patients despite the irregularity of his appointments due to his career. He never brought trouble to your door. He never turned down your offer of coffee or water, he was always kind when he spoke. “Yes, please.” or “Not today, thank you.” And he always, at the end of every session, asked how you were as he gathered his belongings and made his way for the door. 

You had him penciled that evening. 6:30pm. Your final session of the day. 

Since watching Spencer mature and bloom into the man he was today, you knew how inappropriate thoughts could be if they remained untethered. Having known him for so long in the most intricate of ways, your relationship had become somewhat of a relaxed professional friendship that he paid you for. But with that, came the leniency of your mind that sometimes would wander when with other clients. Spencer was far more intriguing. 

And you often took your sessions home with you. It wasn’t the topic of the session you focused on when alone at night reading your books or taking a soak with a glass of wine; instead, it was the feelings he had expressed, it was the deep timbre of his voice and the purse of his lips when he listened intently to your advice. Oh, how closely he listened as though hanging on every word like you were the woman with all the answers to the universe when you sat opposite him. Those thoughts were proving dangerous but it was a far too delicious treat to deny yourself. 

It had become almost a ritual before his sessions, to look at yourself in the bathroom mirror and give yourself a talking to. Should your mind continue to wonder, images growing more detailed and salacious, you would need to consider referring him to another therapist in the building in order to maintain the standard both of you expected. When his hair had started to grow long and he hobbled in to your office with crutches and then a cane some weeks later, it made your throat run dry for the first time. Of course, before that, in your natural human way- you observed a cute and smart man who just needed an ear to vent to. It was small at first, those mindless and fleeting ideals. When he picked at the edge of the chair, the bony structure of his fingers stirred and the thoughts started to linger for longer. Little moments, little mannerisms took root deep in your mind, eagerly awaiting the call from him to arrange his next appointment. You always made a point of taking his call personally, mainly to gauge a rough understanding of his reasoning for making the appointment but also to hear his voice and you even went to the lengths of sharing your direct office line. 

That evening when he arrived, you could tell it was a quiet session. You still asked if he consented to having his sessions recorded but this time, he refused. Respectively, you noted the change and decided to leave your recorder in your desk drawer for the night. Spencer didn’t take his regular seat opposite your own. He had a mystery about him tonight. His hands rested in his pockets and he ventured to the window of your office, head slowly tilting as he observed the street below. “Can I get you water, or coffee before we start?” You asked and closed the door. “Not tonight.” There was an edge. A clip in his tone. Something played on his mind and you tried to work out what it could be as you took your seat and crossed your legs. Your notebook was opened and you clocked the time. 6:34pm. “Okay.” You sighed and smiled, waiting for him to turn around, “Let’s get started.” “Let’s.” Spencer said but remained with his back towards you. He hadn’t brought any of his usual belongings. There was no satchel that always took its place next to his seat. He had no jacket or sweater, only a crisp white shirt covering his back. You maneuvered your pen between your fingers, waiting for him to begin. You noticed the difference in the atmosphere. Mellow and subdued but you could smell the electricity, like the thickness in the air before a storm. Brewing, looming, ready to crack at any moment. It was difficult to concentrate in the silent space, your eyes studying the structure of his stature. He was no meek creature anymore. There was a broadness to his shoulders, a subtle- “Can I ask you a question?” Spencer spoke up but didn’t turn around. “Of course.” You answered him and readied your pen against the paper. “Do you believe in physiological profiling?” “Studying body language?” You questioned, “I do. It’s a marginal part of what I do.” “It’s what I do everyday.” He responded and now turned to look at you. Your eyes caught his. They were burning and dark, a sternness shrouded his face as he awaited your retort. Your lips rolled together in thought, attempting to pinpoint the root of the question. “You do it too. Every client. You read them.”

“I try to focus on their mind, Spencer.” You smile politely.

“Try to?” His ears pricked up and he took a step closer. “You don’t intend to study them?”

“I don’t. I observe what my clients give. I don’t look much deeper than that.”

“You’ve been studying me.” Spencer approached, reminiscent of a pack-animal stalking close to its prey. 

“I’ve been working with you for a long time, now, Spencer. That’s why I record our sessions. I study your words, your cadence, your tone- it tells me more about you than your body-language could.” Your words made him stop and fix himself to the corner of the rug by your desk. His eyes narrowed slightly before he licked his lips and tugged a hand from his pocket to pull at his bottom lip. You tilted your head and watched him. Ever a stoic man, Spencer smiled and nodded after a moment before his hand dropped from his mouth. “Spencer, what brings you here tonight?”

“You do.” His other hand freed itself from his pocket and he gestured to the end-table by your chair, “Put it down.” He instructed and stalked that little bit closer. His command made you scoff lightly and you closed your notebook over on itself, placing it aside.

“Spencer,” You teased, “I have to make notes if you won’t consent to recordings. Completely confidential, I assure you every time you come here.”

“You don’t need notes, doctor. You know enough.” The words cut you to the quick, the quickening beat of your heart caused a flush of heat into your palms, your cheeks. “Do you know what I do when I’m here? Aside from the obvious?” Spencer asked and licked his lips a second time, the pink tip of his tongue dragging slowly back into his mouth over his bottom lip before closing again, waiting for an answer. You weren’t sure where he was going, you weren’t sure how you felt other than incredibly warm and in need of some water. His eyes remained on you, inescapable and fixed. 

“What do you do, Spencer? Aside from the obvious.” You echoed and he seemed to like that, bringing his steps closer once more until he stood by your chair, your table. “I don’t play guessing games. You know I’m not very good at them!” You try to joke and find your hands clasped now between your thighs in place of the notebook, “You should tell me.” 

This was the moment where his hand came to rest on the arm of your own chair, crouching at first and then kneeling. “Open.” He instructed carefully. At first your lips parted, speechless and you were aware in your rational mind that this was close to bordering on inappropriate. Secondly, your legs uncrossed and once more, this seemed to please him. “Do you know what I do when I’m here?” He repeated the question, moving himself to the front of your legs with a gaze that only encouraged you to open up a little bit more. Your heart was in your mouth, your clustered hands beginning to perspire and a heat built as a result. You shook your head, completely transfixed by the look in his eyes. The dark look that flit back and forth on your face and stole your ability to breathe. “I,” Spencer began, his free hand pushing one knee out of the way, “like to think,” the other knee. A space just large enough for him to push into, “about what you think.”

“W-What I think?” Your voice is barely a whisper. His hand remained on your knee and started to move down over your calf, tracing the definition and giving a soft squeeze before moving back up to the part of your thigh that joins to your knee. 

“I think,” Spencer said rather knowingly, his thumb and fingers pressing gently at the soft, malleable skin beneath your pants, “you think about me.” This made you hold your breath. Damn it all to hell, what was he doing?

“Spencer, this is becoming unprofessional.”

“Your thoughts about me are unprofessional.” He quipped and pushed his hand higher. “How long have you had them?” He asked and gave another firmer squeeze to the middle of your thigh. You could feel your breathing grow deeper, quivering in your chest as you attempted to keep your mind reeling over and over your code of conduct. Your silence must have been too long for his liking. “I said, how long have you had them?”

“Not long.”

“You’re lying to me, doctor.” 

“I-I’m not.” You defended and swallowed harshly, your hands coming apart to straighten yourself up in your chair. Your movement made him surge towards you, stopping just inches from your chest, both hands now on either of your thighs. “Spencer, is something going on? You’re not acting like yourself.” You tried again to keep your mind on an even-keel and remain the authoritative figure. 

“I am acting like myself. The part you don’t see,” His breath ghosted over you, “the part you think about when you know you really shouldn’t.”

How did he know? You had been so careful to remain professional and upright in his company. Whatever he had known, he gave nothing away until now. “You’re going to stand up for me and we are going to switch places, doctor.” Spencer said and his hands pushed further into your thighs, moving with a pressure so close to the heat that bubbled and swirled. There was nothing you could do except comply. When you tried to move forward, his force on your legs kept you down, “I didn’t say right now.”

“Spencer, w-what are you doing?” You asked with a hot anticipation, itching for the thumbs on the insides of your thighs to venture where you know they shouldn’t. Just a skim. Just a taste. His influence on you and control of the situation was melting your mind. 

“I’m doing what I want. What you want.” He looked up at you and took a firm hold of your legs, pulling your body closer to the edge of the chair. It made you gasp and his fingers felt now against your ass, deliciously sandwiched between the soft leather and the polyester of your tailored pants. “And you want to take these off.” He said as his fingers deliberately pushed into the seat of the pants. Without thinking, without arguing, you looked down at him, lips still parted and short breaths coming in and out of your mouth as your fingers unfastened the clip, the zip. He helped you to stand but didn’t move to his feet. Instead, Spencer fell back on his knees, only moving back just enough to remain faced with your panties as the black pants were pushed down your thighs, caught by him and ripped the rest of the way down with a fervour that took your breath away. When you sat back down, you kicked them off of your feet, Spencer’s hand feeling over the soft skin of your calf once more, his other hand unbuckling his leather belt.

“This isn’t-” he stole your words amidst the jingle of his buckle and the heat of his lips on your skin, “Oh-!” You could feel yourself grow hot, your hands remaining by your sides and holding onto your legs as he kissed and traced featherlight against you, edging closer to where you desperately needed him the most. 

“Do you always do as you’re told by a client?” Spencer breathed warmly against you, tricking into your core and you had no choice but to lean back and take a deeper breath. As you tried any attempt to cool yourself down, you felt his teeth graze closer, nipping the sensitively thin skin. “I asked you a question, doctor.” He spoke low enough to feel the vibrations ripple through your muscles, tantalising you further. 

“C-Clients don’t tell me what to do.” You managed to stagger the words out as his hands were placed at the bottom of your back, further edging you closer like a hungry child pulling their plate closer to the edge of the table. His eyes glanced upwards to you, an eyebrow raised and scanned down your neck, settling on your chest and you knew immediately what he was asking you to do without saying any word at all. You heed his instruction and unbutton your blouse with shaking fingers, his arms pressing against the spaces yours left behind and his hold was firm, head dipping back to your thighs and lips ghosting dangerously close. 

“Can you guess what I’m considering now?” He questioned  and placed a soft kiss to the hem of your panties before pulling your legs further apart from a simple tug of his fingers that slipped down beneath you. Spencer’s breath was hot and he licked a thick strip up and over your clothed cunt, relishing with a smack of his lips. You writhed and sighed, fingers hesitant to undo the last few buttons. 

“Please.” Your voice was quiet and you felt the air of his chuckle swirl around your core. 

“Can you guess what I’m considering now, doctor?” Spencer repeated himself again with an exaggerated punctuation and you nodded deftly, the only thing your body could think to do other than ooze with arousal. You let your head rest back on the chair, the task of your buttons completed and your hands rested over your stomach. You heard the snapping of his fingers, the absence of his hands on your skin but instead tugging your panties down instead of touching you. The snapping made you look down at him where he was already watching you on his knees and with almost no readable expression on his face. “I want you to look at me and compare this to your thoughts.” 

You weren’t sure when your panties were completely removed but they were and you were now laid mostly bare, your client placing one of your legs over his shoulder and kitten-licking his way around you. “You can look at me, can’t you?”

“Y-Yes. Mmmhmm.” You nodded and used your elbows to keep your view clear, your vision trained on him as his licks became shorter, slower and eventually right where you wanted them. 

“Clever girl.” His voice was muffled as he licked his way through your folds, brandishing your click with the flare of his tongue and making you whine each time. “I’ll know if you don’t look, doctor.” He warned before digging in. Spencer licked deep enough that you could feel it, your head spinning each time his nose brushed against the most pleasurable point of your body. The noises he made sent you reeling and panting. He was enjoying it, lapping you up with enthusiasm. Each groan drove deep into your body, into your bones and made your skin prickle. 

“Spencer-!” Your voice caught as he worked intrinsically against you, the hold of his hand sliding down the leg that now rested on his shoulder, fingers trailing from the front to the back and one slender digit found its way inside and you cried out a strangled moan at the intrusion. 

“You can take more.” He informed, another finger joining in the warmth. “You’re so fucking wet, doctor!” Spencer said quietly before tonguing and sucking at your clit as though you were melting right in front of him. “This all for me?” He asked between laps. His fingers curled within you, moving slowly back and forth in a fashion you could only describe as leisurely. The smacks of his lips and tongue only furthered your pleasure and you felt sure that your elbows would give out. As Spencer worked with devotion, your leg on his shoulder pinned him closer to you, your hips grinding slightly against his face and your fingers gripped at the leather they rested atop. With his fingers building a rhythm, his mouth slurping and canting at your core, you couldn’t help but notice the lack of contact from his other hand. It was nowhere to be found until you managed to tear our eyes away from the flashes of tongue. Spencer was touching himself whilst touching you and the sight had you insatiable. A particular moan that came from him had you sobbing quietly, 

“Spencer, plea-ah! Fuck, keep going-” You mewled. 

“You’ll finish when I finish.” Spencer said but continued to pump his fingers at a growing pace, tongue flickering and his hand working steadily on himself. You can’t contain the moans, you can feel your core tightening, your legs prepared to clench around his head like a vice. 

“Don’t stop!” You breathe, your hips bucking and you could feel the distinct shift of his mouth. A grin. It sent you so very close. His fingers were dripping, you could feel the never-ending flow of your slick teamed with his mouth and Spencer let out a jarring grunt, “Spencer, fuck- I’m close!” 

The words made him stop, violently removing his fingers and leaving you hollow, throbbing and desperate for more. His mouth gave one final suck of your clit and he pushed back from between your legs to stand and drop his own pants. “Move.” He commanded and you did just that. When you stood up, your legs were weak, you resented him partially for leaving you so close and he knew that. As though in a dance, you traded places, your eyes never leaving his, heady with desire for the rest of him. When he took the seat, his fist continued to pump at his cock, the pleasure evident from his own parted and glazed lips and you weren’t quite sure you were prepared. With his wet fingers, he beckoned to you. “Let’s go.” Spencer encouraged as though on a time-constraint and you did just as he asked.

With your legs on either side of him, your breasts pressed against his body, he removed his hand from himself in order to palm at your breasts, teasingly at first and then toughening after you were instructed to “open” once more. There was nothing else you could do than comply and your lips opened slowly. Too slowly. His wet fingers dragged over your lips before pushing their way in and resting at the second knuckle and your mouth enclosed on his fingers. “Thatt’a girl.” He mused and teased at your nipple with his thumb. It made your eyes close, the electric-pleasure halting you in your tracks and your suckling at his fingers ceased. You could feel the tip of him brush against your cunt, eagerly awaiting his next instruction. You tried to hold back but ended up slowly and surely lowering yourself just enough to gain the friction you required. “So, you do think about me?” Spencer asked and with his fingers in your mouth and your cheeks hollow, you nodded. His hand tugged down from your bra, fingers catching at the rim of the cup and snapping back against your skin and making you freeze. You felt the trail of him down over your ribs, destined to touch you. “Hop on, doctor.” He said breathily. 

You were nothing if not obedient by now and you teased yourself a little more to make up for the loss of your orgasm. Your eyes opened and you watched him- Spencer was enamoured by the way your mouth worked on his fingers, tasting the sweetness of yourself and you started to move down slowly, his tip stretching just enough for you to hold his fingers in your teeth and pant. His lips fell open more, allowing you the time to adjust and take him inch by inch. The hot stretch was intoxicating and you settled on top of him with a whine. Spencer removed his fingers from your mouth and his hands held you tightly. You were aware of how full you were, of how much he would knock against you when you decided to move. “You can take me.” He reassured you. 

Steadily, with your forehead clocking onto his, your hips started to move. Slow at first, finding your centre and reveling in the thickness and fullness that made you gasp with each fragment of movement. You lifted yourself and dropped yourself carefully, his tip pushing deep against your cervix and you felt him start to work on your clit. Fingers unable to gain any purchase due to the sheer wetness you had created. “Fuck, you’re so tight f’me!” Spencer groaned but you retorted, “You’re bigger than I’m used to, Spencer!” With a squeal, you settled against him, moving back and forth instead of up and down where he could hit that mouth-watering spot over and over. Your cries made him moan, his hand on your hip so tight and sharp but it only added to the experience. The grip he had on your skin gestured for you to move more, tugging up, signalling he wanted to feel you rise and fall. The feeling of being stretched and played with in tandem had you incredibly close, oh, so incredibly quickly. Paired with his hot breath that skated down your chest and over your breasts, the only thing you managed to do was weakly grind up and down. “That’s it.” Spencer nodded, his lips now deftly open and the odd groan came from deep within his throat. “Ohhh, good-girl! More.” He instructed, helping lift and drop you with the hold on your skin. 

After a while of finding your feet, the cacophony of pleasure rang through your office. Once certain you knew exactly how he wanted you to move, Spencer’s hand felt its way across your back, grappling with the touch of you and you bounced steadily. His curses were music to your ears, his fingers increasing quickly against you and you were fit to burst. You could feel yourself throb and twitch, the hot coil grinding tighter and tighter as Spencer relentlessly fucked over your clit with his fingers. Your hand tugged at his hair for leverage, squealing and whining as he helped in fucking up into you with even more wonderful moans. “Oh, fuck!” You whimpered at the speed he had chosen, the friction he was causing and you were close. So fucking close you could taste it. 

“You want to cum?” Spencer asked and took one hand from his hair, guiding it down between your bodies before completely enveloping you in his hold, “Work for it.” 

You had to. Your fingers replaced his, his arms around your body tight enough to crush as he moved up into you feverishly. “I’m want to cum, fuck-!” You panted into him, “l-let me cum!” You winced and sent him off on another long groan, “Cum. I want to feel you fucking cum on my cock, doctor!” He commanded and with your fingers moving quickly, a heavy sigh from him sent you over. You spasmed, moaning and wailing his name but your fingers pushing you through it, his cock forcing into you as you clenched with a shudder and your head fell into the crook of his neck with sobs spilling down onto his shirt. Spencer’s thrusts never faltered, however. “You can take another!” He decided and unwrapped one arm to bring your face to his, pleasure taking over his lips, his eyes, everywhere, he looked completely bewitched. “One more, my clever-girl. Just one more.” “I can’t-” You choked with your hand going slack between you. 

You weren’t sure how, but he managed to take you to the desk, landing you down with a slow and achingly long drive into you. When did he get rid of his pants? You didn’t remember. Spencer pulled himself from you with abandon and stood you up, “Move.” He commanded and turned you with a flick of your shoulder and with your back to him and stars in your eyes, you felt the stiff wetness of his cock tease between your folds as his hand easily bent you over. You were jelly at this point, prepared to go wherever and however he wanted. Spencer didn’t give any time for adjustments on this go-around. He was quick to slam deep into you, your hands grasping whatever they could on your desk to steady yourself as he pounded deep and quickly with his hands grabbing at your hips and giving him stability. “You’re taking me so well!” He panted against you, everything becoming too much but somehow not enough. Your breasts brushed over pens and papers and your hand finally grappled on to the edge of the desk as Spencer laid you out, “So fucking good!” He moaned and with each snap of his hips, he dragged you closer and closer to that deliciously familiar edge. You gagged and choked and moaned and whined each time his tip burgeoned against you until his thrusts became erratic, infrequent, “Cum on my cock, doctor! Fuck, I-” Spencer panted and he gave three deep and bruising thrusts before stilling and grunting a weak attempt of your name. He was white-knuckling your hips and as he spilled hotly into you, and you cried out once more, a final strained cry and you started to drip down your thigh. As you moved wave after wave through your climax, you felt the throb of Spencer, deep and hot against that perfect spot that had your knees buckling and shaking. For good measure, he continued to pull out and drive back in, all the while he muttered “you did so fucking good!” and variations of “good-girl, clever-girl!” in much softer, breathier tones. With each drawback, he spilled a little bit more down your thighs, dripping and mingling with your own fluids until eventually, he was gone entirely. 

You tried to piece yourself back together, exposed and weak but completely high on the feeling of your client. The clarity dawned on you. You listened to the ruffle of clothing, the jangle of a belt  and quick-snap of a zipper. “I won’t pay you.” Spencer spoke as he placed your panties that had been cast aside now on your desk by your hand, “That’s prostitution.”

Your voice trembled, body close to convulsing from everything that happened. “Spencer-”

“This will be our last session, doctor.” He said, his hand leaving the panties to gently lift your chin before he pulled away and headed for the door. “Our time ran over. Sorry to keep you.” Spencer informed in a polite voice before closing the office door behind him.

[writtenbyan-aries]

pt 2 of mafia chris when😫😫 that was hot.

∶ if you haven’t read part one, I suggest you do so!

∶ Warnings: smut, strong language, angsty, enemies to lovers, alcohol, weapons, killing/death, injuries/blood, kissing, other [fanfic] mafia themes

∶ Word Count: 5.5k

──⋅── 𝕊 ──⋅──

You clenched your jaw as you stood face to face with the man named your father.

“Y/n..” he sighs, “Look at you, you’re all grown up.”

You raise your brows, “That’s what happens when you disappear for years on end.” You give Nick a smile as he brings you a full glass of wine, “Thank you.”

He nods, moving to stand back next to Matt, and your smile fades as you bring it to your lips, taking a sip.

“I don’t know what to say, y/n, but I’m hoping you’ll understand now that you’re a part of it all.” He shrugs, “All I can say right now is that I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” You scoff, “After not seeing me for half of my life, that’s all you have to say?” Chris lays a hand on your waist, “Maybe we should-“

Your father cuts Chris off, “Maybe this a conversation between me and my daughter.” You tilt your head slightly, “Don’t speak to him that way, and don’t call me that. You lost that right when you left me to fend for myself.”

“You seemed to turn out quite alright, y/n.”

“Yeah, with absolutely no thanks to you, so if you don’t mind, the exit is right down those steps to the left.” You turn to Chris, “Let’s go.” He nods, wrapping his arm around your waist as you turn to walk away.

“I don’t think you want to do that just yet.”

You stop, glancing back, “If you have something to say, just say it.”

“I have a list.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a little black book, “A list that Chris might be very interested in.”

“What’s in the book?” Matt steps forward, and your father pulls it away as he reaches for it, “Christopher, why don’t we go and have a chat, just the two of us?”

Chris clenches his jaw and looks down at you. You furrow your brows, giving him a small nod, “Do whatever you need to do.”

He nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Stay with Nick and Matt, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He steps back and the two he named take his place, one of each side.

Your eyes track your father as he walks past you, moving down the hall with Chris, “What do you think they’re talking about?” You ask lowly, and Matt shrugs, “It could be about anything.”

“Come on. Let’s move up a floor.” Nick motions, “Since it could be anything, I don’t want to take any risks.”

──⋅── 𝕊 ──⋅──

Four glasses of wine later, you finally see Chris walk up the steps towards you. You get up, Nick and Matt on your tail as you walk quickly to meet him, “What happened?”

Your eyes fixate on his busted lip and you clench your jaw, “He did this?” You reach up, swiping your thumb gently over the cut, “I’m going to kill him.”

Chris smirks, “No need.” He licks the blood from his lip and looks at Matt, “Go help Kev.” Matt nods and departs down the steps.

“What happened?” You and Nick ask at the same time and Chris shakes his head, “Well first off.” He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out the little black book, “This is definitely something I’m very interested in.” He hands it to Nick, “That’s all the current information on the people that vanished without paying their debts.”

Chris looks down at you, “And second, your dad called you a fatuous bitch so I shot him in the leg.”

You raise your brows, “You didn’t kill him?”

“oh baby, I wanted to.” Chris nods as he looks around, “After he called you that, I rocked his shit. Fucker got one punch in and I thought, you know what, that’s enough, so, I pulled my gun out.”

You smirk, “Thank you.” You lay your hands on his sides, “So why didn’t you kill him?”

He points to the book Nick is flipping through, “That. If we have any questions, or run into some trouble, I’m sure he’ll know more because he’s the one who gave it to us.”

“This..” Nick sighs as he looks up at Chris, “This is big, Chris.”

“I know.” He nods, “But..” he takes the book from Nick, tucking it back into his suit jacket, “I think it’s time for a toast now, don’t you think? Just as soon as Matt and Kev get back.”

Chris pulls you into him, pressing his lips to yours, “Come on, I think it’s time you’ve met the rest of the family.”

He wraps his arm around you, leading you and Nick down the steps. After an hour or so, you’re standing in front of everyone with Chris, a smile on your face as he speaks, “Thank you for coming tonight. This night of the year means the absolute world to me. Standing here and looking out at all of you just reminds me of what we built and I cannot thank you all enough.”

Everyone claps and Chris smiles as he glances at you, “I want everyone to also put a hand together for the honorable men that give us that sense of safety.” He motions to the men lining the sides of the small stage, “There’s a lot we couldn’t do without them.”

You clap along side the crowd, and Chris sighs, “My brothers. Matt, and Nick.” Chris shakes his head, “We’ve had our fair share of falling outs, but there’s absolutely no one I’d rather spend my time fighting with. You guys are the true definition of what a brother should be, and without you guys, I probably would be here today.”

Matt and Nick smile at him and just when you through Chris was done, he reaches back, offering you his hand, “And last but not least, my beautiful girl.” He looks at you, “You came into my life at just the right time and I will forever be amazed at just how incredible you are. I love you.”

You smile as your cheeks get coated with a dark pink, “I love you.” You lean in, pressing your lips to his the crowd applauds loudly.

“So with that, thank you to everyone who is here, I hope you enjoy the night.” Chris raises his glass, “To us.”

“To us.” Everyone raises their glass and moves them to take a sip. You bring your glass to your lips and look up at Chris, “That’s the first time we’ve said that.”

He gives you a nod, “It felt right, you know?”

You nod, smiling as you lean into him, “I do know.”

Matt walks up to you and Chris, “Nick told me what the book was.” He looks around, “So where do we go from here?”

Chris runs his hand up and down your back, “Right now, just take a break, enjoy the night, because after this, we have a lot to talk about.”

──⋅── 𝕊 ──⋅──

𝙰 𝙵𝙴𝚆 𝙼𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙷𝚂 𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚁

“You ready?”

You look over at Chris, “I’m ready.”

“Pulling up now.” The driver glances back in the mirror and you give him a nod. Chris leans in, planting a kiss to your lips, “I’m so exited to see you in action.”

You smirk, “After a few months off, I’m ready to get back to it.” He smiles and nods, “I’m so glad you offered to help, I was hoping you would, but I didn’t want to push you.”

“Thank you for respecting me.” You tilt your head, reaching your to fix his collar, “I love you.”

He smiles, leaning in to peck your lips, “And I love you.”

He moves to open his door and get out. He turns, guarding it as you step out, immediately taking your hand and leading in through the back entry way.

Your heels click against the tiles as you make your way down the hall to the security room. Nick pushes the door open and Matt wraps his arm around you as he walks you in, “Talk to me.”

“He’s here, currently losing at the blackjack table.”

Chris walks up to the monitors, his eyes scanning over them, “Figures.” He scoffs, “Can’t pay us back, but can blow some more on gambling.”

“Hey, boss.” Wes steps forward, “May I have a word with you?”

Chris turns around, crossing his arms in front of him, “What do you need to say, Wes?”

Your eyes move to the guy as he hesitates to speak, “It’s..just, do you think..” Chris groans, “C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“Do you think she’s ready?”

Your eyes move to Chris and he laughs, “Are you questioning my judgment?” Wes shakes his head, “No, no. Not at all, sir. I just-“

You cut him off, “Charlie Redrick. Ex con man who came to the Sturniolo’s three years ago looking for a loan of about, five grand? Six two, black hair, green eyes. He has a tattoo of a scorpion on his left shoulder that peaks out when his shirt moves slightly. A month after his due date, he vanished. Been off the radar for a year and three months and he hasn’t been detected until, well. Now. My goal, tonight, is to get him to follow me up to room 376. Top floor. Last room on the right.”

Chris smirks, his eyes moving from you back to Wes, “She knows the rules of the game, alright?” He steps forward, “You ever ask anything like that again, and you’re done.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir.”

You fight back a smirk as Chris walks over to you. He smirks, pulling you in, “You got this, baby. I have full faith in you.”

You take a deep breath, “I appreciate that.” You move your hair as Nick works on setting you up with a wire, “Well be watching and Listening.”

You look at Nick, nodding as he fixes your hair, “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” You smile and look at Chris, “Can you guys hear me?” You look over at Matt and he gives a thumbs up, “We’re good. Whenever you are.”

“Okay. I’m going now. Where is he at?” You walk up to the monitors and Nick points, “moving to the Roulette table.”

“Got it. Give me ten minutes.” You smirk, dragging your hand over Chris’ abdomen as you walk towards the door. Wes opens it, and you walk out.

You made your way to the floor, looking around before walking towards the casino cage. You exchange cash for chips, then make your way to the roulette table, “Eyes on the target.” You glance up at the camera that’s pointing in your direction and you smirk.

You walk up to the table, giving the dealer a smile. You act like you don’t see Charlie staring at you, “I’ll place a hundred on.. let’s go with seven.”

“A hundred on seven.” The dealer nods, and you place your chips in the box. You hum lowly to yourself, glancing up and giving Charlie a small smile.

He smirks and nods his head, “Good luck, gorgeous.”

You laugh, “Thanks.”

The dealer calls out what won and you sigh, “Bummer.” You tap the table and nod to the dealer, “Thanks.” You go to walk away and Charlie quickly moves to catch up to you, “Sorry you didn’t win.”

You look at him, “Oh, that’s okay.” You smile, “There’s more to play than just that.” He laughs, “Well, whatever you do, don’t go to the blackjack table. I swear it’s rigged.” He holds his hand out, “Charlie.”

“Cassie.” You shake his hand, “How much did you lose?” You tilt your head and he laughs, “You don’t even want to know, listen, can I get you a drink?”

“I was actually just leaving. I’m in the penthouse suite, room 376 if you want to come up for a drink there?”

He raises his brows, “Wow, okay. Didn’t really think that this would be so easy.”

“Are you calling me easy, Charlie?” You tilt your head and he sighs, laughing ensuing quickly, “No. not at all. You just.. surprised me is all. Most of the girls that come here are stuck up bitches.”

“Mm. I see. Well, follow me.” You walk away, glancing at the camera as you move towards where you entered.

He rushes forward, pressing the elevator button before you can and he motions as the doors open, “After you.”

“Thank you.” You walk in, “penthouse floor.”

“Ah, yes. I remember.” He presses the tip button and turns, “So, have you been coming to this casino long?”

You shrug, letting out a sigh, “First time actually.” He raises his brows, a smirk, “Oh, casino virgin, huh? Well, I guess not anymore.”

“Yeah, right. Not anymore.” You tried not to sound annoyed, but it was hard, “Oh, here we go.” You walk off the elevator and he keeps talking the whole way down, but you ignore him, knocking on the door, “I forgot my key, the girl I’m with should be here.”

“Two of you, huh? Can’t say that’s a first for me.” He walks up behind you and slides his hands over your waist.

You spin around, grabbing his arm and bending it behind his back. He groans as you slam him against the door, “What the fuck?!”

The door opens and you walk him in, pushing him towards Kev. He looks back at you, a shocked expression on his face, “The fuck is this?”

Charlie’s face drops as Chris, Nick, and Matt walk out to stand behind you. Chris steps up, wrapping his arm around your waist, “Good job, baby.”

“Thank you, he got a little handsy in the hallway, though.” You look at Charlie and he immediately goes into the mode of begging for his life, “Now, listen. I didn’t- I didn’t know she was your girl, Chris please. Listen. I have your money okay, I’m sorry!”

“All of it?” Chris asks and Charlie sighs, “Okay, look. Look. I can get all of it, okay, I-I have a guy, alright?”

“Get him in the chair.” Chris motions and Kev drags him over to a chair that’s resting on plastic sheets. Three other guys help get him cuffed to it, and that’s when he really kicks it into overdrive.

“No, no please. I have the money, okay. I have it.”

“Please, don’t do this. Please. I have it. I have it! I have it!”

Chris shrugs his jacket off and hands it to you. You lay it over your arm as you watch him slowly roll up his sleeves as he walks over, “Oh yeah? Where is it then, in the blackjack table of the roulette table?”

Charlie sighs, “Fuck, Chris. Please don’t do this.”

Chris bends down, his palms pressing onto each of the arm rests, “You were late on payment. You vanished for over a year, and, most importantly, you touched my girl. No one ever touches my girl.” He stares at Charlie, “What did you think was going to happen? That we’d give you a slap on the wrists, say bad boy and let you walk out of your debt?” He scoffs, leaning up, “You’re more stupid than I remember.”

He cocks back, cracking him across the face and Charlie groans, “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t get us our money back.” He repeats his action, “Telling us where it is, does.” He cocks back a third and Charlie spits blood, “Room-room 285.”

“How much is there?” Chris asks and Charlie shakes his head, “More than what I owe you.” He looks up at him, “P-please, don’t take it all. I have to pay another guy.”

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll make it easier on you then.” Chris turns around and Charlie starts to praise him, “Thank you, thank you. I’m sorry you won’t regret this, Chris. I’m so sorry.”

Chris motions to Kev and he hands Chris a pistol with a silencer on the end. He walks up to Charlie, pointing the gun at the side of his head, zero hesitation with pulling the trigger.

Chris drops his hand, handing the gun back to Kev, “I’ll take Nick and a few guys to go get the money. You guys clean this up.” He takes the key card out of Charlie’s coat pocket and walks to you, taking his jacket, “Come with me.”

He takes your hand and leads you to the elevator, Nick and three others following behind. As soon as you get on, Nick walks up and starts wiping the small bit of blood splattered from Chris’ face, “You can’t be walking around with that all over your face.”

Chris shrugs and closes his eyes as Nick wipes over it, “There. Just-“ he takes his jacket from under his arm, “Put this on and keep it closed.”

You smirk as Chris sighs, putting on his jacket.

“You know I don’t like being told what to do, right?” Chris jabs and Nick rolls his eyes, “Shut up, and do what I say, please.”

Chris chuckles as he buttons up his jacket, and he takes your hand as soon as doors open. You walk down the hall, stopping as you come to the room labeled 285.

Chris swipes the key card and pushes the door open.

“Asshole wasn’t lying.” Nick says as he comes to a stop, looking over at Chris. Chris nods, “Yeah, he sure wasn’t.” He walks over to the big pile of money neatly stacked in a square, “There’s gotta be at least ten grand here.”

His eyes move to you, smirking as he sees you already staring at him, “What?”

You shake your head, looking at Nick and the others, “Nothing. Just.. having some thoughts right now.” You tilt your head and Chris tilts his head, “Mm, I see. Uh, guys. Give us like five minutes.”

Nick sighs, “Please make it quick.” He leads the guys out and you were on Chris before the door even shut.

Your lips moving with his, “You’re so fucking hot when you take action like that.” You slide your hand up, tangling it in his hair as he kisses down your neck. He groans as you pull, “you like that, huh?”

He spins you around, lifting you to set you up on the stack of bills, and you nod, “Uh huh.” You pull him back in, sliding your hands down to undo the belt on his pants, then popping the button.

He groans as you palm over his cock, “C’mon, ma. We gotta be quick, boss’ orders.” He chuckles as he slides a hand between your thighs, pulling your panties to the side, “I’d be longer if we could.”

“I know.” You smirk, looking down to watch his cock slip into you. You tilt your head back, moaning out as he thrust into you. His one hand grips your waist while the other tangles in your hair, holding your head, “Look at me, baby.”

You open your eyes, brows furrowing as your cunt clenches around him, “F-fuck.”

He groans lowly, leaning in to press his lips to yours, “Mine. Only fucking mine.”

You whimper against his lips, “Yours, forever yours.”

His grip tightens on your body, “M’close baby.” He mumbles, “You gonna come with me?” You whimper, “Y-yes, a-“ you breathe out, “Almost there.” Your grip his jacket, squeezing it in your fists tight as he works you closer and closer to breaking.

Your thighs twitch around his waist, moans flowing from your lips as he guides you through your high. His thrusts turn sloppy, his hips shuttering as he twitches inside of you.

“Fuck, baby.” He kisses your lips, pulling out and quickly pulling your panties back over your soaked cunt, “Just gets better and better.” He quickly fixes himself before sliding you down off of the bill stack.

He bends down to fix your dress before taking your hand into his. He kisses your knuckles before walking over to the door.

“We’re done.” He informs Nick, “Let’s get this cash and go.” He walks back over to you, pulling you against his side, “Do you know if they moved his body yet?”

“Yeah, Matt texted and said that he’s ready to go whenever we are.”

Chris nods, “Perfect.” He presses a kiss to your cheek and walks over to help put the money into the bags, and soon enough you’re making your way back down to the entrance you came in at.

“We good?” He asks his one man, and he nods, “Yes, sir. They’re scrubbing away any footage of us now. We were never here.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Chris smiles and looks at you, pulling you closer as you walk to the exit. You get in the car, Chris sliding in after you and he immediately goes in for a kiss, “You were perfect in there.”

“I told you I was good at what I do.” You laugh, pressing another kiss to his lips. He smirks and looks forward, “Airport.”

“Are we going after Xavier Phillips now? He’s in New York, right?”

Chris smirks, “That we are, sweetheart. I don’t think you’ll need to do anything for this one. He should be a quick one to take out.”

“If my services are needed, you know where to find me.” You smirk as he leans in, “I’m sure you’ll get a call for something.” He presses kisses to your neck and you giggle, “Chris.”

“What? I just can’t get enough of you.” He leans back with a sigh, “you’re just so pretty.”

You smile, reaching over to take his hand, “Yeah, yeah. So are you.” He laughs and shakes his head.

──⋅── 𝕊 ──⋅──

The hour and a half flight from Boston to New York was spent talking about the next job. Well, Chris and the guys talked, you fell asleep on Chris’ shoulder the entire flight.

“Hey.” Chris gently wakes you, “We’re here.”

You lift your head, your eyes staring at the drool spot on his sweatshirt, “Oh I’m so-“

He raises his brows, a smirk playing with his lips, “What have I told you?” You laugh, wiping off the corner of your mouth, “Not to be sorry.”

He kisses your head, “That’s right. Now, come on.” He stands up, holding out his hand and you take it, making sure you have everything before getting off of the jet.

“Good evening, Mr. Sturniolo.” The driver greets Chris, “Just to confirm, you’ll be heading to the Triple S correct?”

“That’s right.” Chris nods as he watches you get straight into the car, “They have the whole top floor open for us right?”

The driver nods, “I do believe they do.”

“Perfect.” Chris gets in and his phone starts ringing. He pulls it out and answers it, “Yeah?” He nods and glances over at you, “Okay. If you, Nick, and some others want to head over there now, I’ll meet you there in a little, just get him to the back.”

“Yeah, that works. Mm.” He hangs up and looks at you, “Phillips is at a club on 28th. What a dumb mother fucker.”

“Don’t you own a club on 28th?” You smirk and Chris laughs, “Yep. That’s why he’s dumb, it’s our club he’s at.”

“Are we going there now or-“

“I figured you’d want to go to the hotel, relax a little bit before we leave again?” He raises his brows, “Unless you don’t want that.”

“I go where you go, remember.” You smirk and he smiles, “That works for me.” He leans forward, “Hey, Ted. We’re changing plans, we’re heading to the warehouse instead.”

“Got it.”

Chris pulls his phone out, calling Matt, “Hey. We’re headed to the warehouse, get him and bring him there.”

“Yeah, yeah. As soon as he sees you, he’ll probably run, but I know you got him. If you need to, shoot to wound, not to kill.”

He hands up and lets out a sigh, “This one is going to be fun. I hope you’re ready.” Chris squeezes your hand and you shrug, “I’m just excited to see you in action.”

“Uh. That’s my line.” He smirks, “But I’ll let it slide.”

As you arrive to the to the ware house, a car pulls up, one that isn’t one of yours, “Who is that?” You lay your hand on Chris arm and he sighs, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

A women gets out of the drivers seat and starts walking up.

“That’s his fucking sister. She’s just as bad as he is.” Chris mumbles and you keep your eyes on her, watching as she gets stopped by nick, “No, you just- please let me talk to him.”

She tries pushing past Nick and Matt walks up. As soon as she sees him, she huffs, “Just let me talk to Chris.”

“What do you think she wants?” You look up at Chris and he looks down at you, “No clue, probably to offer herself as collateral.” He snorts, “It didn’t work last time, it won’t work this time.” He clears his throat, “The fuck you want, Mara?”

You hear her sigh, “Can you call off your mutts, I need to talk to you.”

You scoff, “Talk about them like that again and you won’t get another word out. What do you want?”

Chris laughs quietly as he squeezes your hand, “Good girl.”

You tilt your head, nudging his leg with your hand, “Do I need do repeat myself? Fair warning, I don’t like doing that.”

“Who the fuck is she?” She looks at Nick and Matt speaks up, “Not someone you want to mess with, they can hear you from here.”

She sighs, “Look, I know you’re going after Xav. I saw your cars there. Please, please don’t hurt him.” Chris shakes his head, looking around as he sighs, “We already have him, there’s nothing more you can do, unless you happen to have both his and the money you owe.”

“Im still working on mine, and I can get his. You know I can.” She pleads, “Just, let me see him.”

“No.” Chris states, “That isn’t going to happen.”

“Please.”

“Let her go.” Chris orders, and Matt and Nick move out of the way, allowing her to walk up to you. She reaches out, grabbing onto his arm and you immediately move in front of him, swiping her hand away, “Uh uh. We are not doing that.”

“I’m talking to Chris, not you.” She huffs, “Now move.”

Chris slides his hand onto your waist before stepping back. She goes to move around you but you step in front of her, “Touch him again, and I will fucking kill you where you stand. He’s mine, nobody touches him but me.”

She stares at you, “Chris, you better-“

“Don’t even say his name.” You shake your head, stare holding steady, “If you have a problem, you can talk to me. I’m very capable of controlling myself.”

“I just want to see my bother.”

“We already established that isn’t happening.” You frown, “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.” She scoffs, “Fuck you, fuck all of you. I know what you’re going to do, you’re going to kill him, all because he was late with his payment? You know he can get it.”

“No, I believe they gave him the benefit of the doubt, helping someone who gave them and unbelievable sob story, but he only proved himself wrong when he decided to skip down, attempt to vanish, but he’s pretty stupid isn’t he? Going into a club that the people he borrowed from owns? More than once I must add.”

She pushes you backwards and Chris is simultaneously wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling his gun from his holster, “Now you fucked up.”

Matt and Nick walks up, moving to stand on either side of you and Chris, their guns drawn.

A few more guys come out of the warehouse and she looks around, scoffing as she shakes her head, “You know, none of this would be happing if you just let me see Xavier.”

“No, no.” Chris shakes his head, “None of this would be happening if you just kept your ass out of it.”

She pushes her luck, reaching up towards his hand, “Chris, please. You know me. I’ve always been on time with my pay-“

“Touch him. And you fucking. Die.” You step up and she rolls her eyes, “If you’re going to threaten me, you better follow through because-“

You take Matt’s gun with a sigh and pull the trigger, watching her drop to the ground. You hand Matt his gun back and you look at Chris, “Did I not warn her?”

He nods with a laugh, “You did baby.” He pulls you in, pressing a kiss to your head, “You sure did. Alright, while that’s being taken care of..” he looks over and nods to the body on the ground, and the guys immediately snap into action, “We have a more important client to deal with.”

He walks you info the warehouse with him, letting out a sigh as he sees Xavier strapped to the chair, “What’s up, buddy? I heard you were trying to slip out on us.”

“Go to hell, Sturniolo.” He snaps, “You and your fucking brothers.”

“Don’t rush us, we aren’t ready to go just yet.” Chris laughs, glancing over at you before walking up to him, “So, let me just cut to the chase and ask you the big things we’re all wondering..” he crouches down in front of him, “Where’s our money?”

“Do I look like I have three grand sitting around? Stuffed into my pockets?” Xavier scoffs, “Fucking hell.”

“Then how’d you pay to get into our club? How’d you pay for the alcohol at the bar?” Chris tilts his head, giving him a second but he doesn’t answer, “Alright, alright. Let’s just cut to the chase.” Chris stands up and quickly delivers a punch, “Do you want to talk yet?”

He shakes his head and Chris sighs, “Okay.” He delivers two punches, “They’re just going to keep adding up.”

“Fuck. You.”

“Alright.” Chris delivers three, “I’m not going to kill you because that’s clearly what you want, right?” Xavier laughs and Chris laughs right along with him, “I know, I’m hilarious.”

He clenches his jaw, delivering four punches, “Where. Is. Our. Money?”

“I don’t know because I don’t have it yet.” He looks up, face broken and bloodied, “If you just-“

“No. You’re out of time, buddy.” Chris tsks his tongue, “You had.” He pauses, “How long has it been, baby?”

You lift your head, “eleven months.”

“Eleven months, to get it, and yet.. here we are.” Chris sighs, “Listen, I really don’t want to bust open my knuckles, and I really don’t want to kill you, so what will it take for you to be motivated enough to get our money?”

He doesn’t say anything, but what Chris says catches his attention, “Oh I know. Mara? Yeah.” Chris laughs, “She showed up here, begging to see you.”

“W-where is she?” He looks around and Chris shrugs, “You tell me, and I’ll tell you.” Chris holds his stare as Xavier yells, “You better not have fucking touched her. Mara! Mara! Where the fuck is she you bastard!?” He takes a deep breath, “Mara!?”

“Tell me where the money is and I’ll have my girl here tell you where she is.” Chris motions to you and you step forward.

“Fucking bitch, if you did anything to her I’m going to kill you.”

“Whoa whoa, hey now. Threatening her, isn’t getting you any good marks, Xav.” Chris shakes his head, “Just ask your sister. Oh. Wait.” He looks back at you, “Baby. Tell him what happened when Mara disrespected you, please.”

You smirk, walking up to stand next to Chris, “Let’s just say..” you smile at Chris as he wraps his arm around your waist, “she can’t hear anything from inside a body bag.”

Xavier throws himself around in the chair, yelling and trying to fight. Matt walks up to Chris, whispering something in his ear, causing Chris to nod, “Yeah, you’re right. Go ahead.”

Chris leans in to whisper into your ear, “He said it’s not worth it.” You nod, watching as Matt walks up to Xavier, cracking the gun over his face before grabbing his chin, “Last chance.”

“If you don’t kill me now, I’m coming back to kill that bitch standing next to your asshole brother.”

Matt looks at Chris and Chris nods, “End him.”

Matt lifts the gun to his head, pressing it in hard before squeezing the trigger. Chris takes a deep breath, letting out a sigh, “Alright. Top floor of the Triple, meet us there when you’re done here.”

He turns, pulling you with him, “Come on, baby. I think we, ourselves, have some unfinished business to attend to.” He gives you a smirk and you smile, nodding your head once, “I do believe we do, baby..”

──⋅── 𝕊 ──⋅──

I hope you enjoyed part two! I love you all so much’ thank you for reading! Catch you in the next part ;)

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[kimmie2me]

HEYYY I LUV UR POSTS LIKE HELLO?!?! also im sure u know abt the bakugo hc with him with him having hearing aids and is it ok of u make like a fic with him signing nasty stuff to reader cuz he can and nobody around them fully learned sign language yet? PLS AND THANK U!!! 💕💕💕

first of all, THANK YOU!! ILYSM!! second, i am BACK!!!! exams went well, i guess. i didnt PASS or FAIL, but whatever.. third, I LOVE THIS IDEA HAHAHHA!!! here is, what I think, a great welcoming back gift to give u all ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ (ignore that Kaminari's text is blue..there's no yellow. ALSO, mina is NAWT taking pink. thats OUR color now.)

Of Silence and Secrets

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Pro Hero!Bakugou x AFAB!Pro Hero!Reader

…..

Bakugou Katsuki hated his hearing aids.

Hated how they fit, hated how they felt, and most of all, hated what they represented. Weakness. A crack in the armor he’d spent his entire life forging. When the ringing in his ears started as a brat in middle school, he didn’t think much of it. Just the fallout from a quirk-boosted explosion, nothing he couldn’t handle.

Years passed. The ringing grew into dull hums, muffled voices, and missed sounds. A villain’s retreating taunt he couldn’t catch. The screech of a car he didn’t hear. Kirishima shouting his name three times before Bakugou finally turned around, snarling, “What the hell do you want!?” while Kirishima just looked… worried.

His hearing aids were a damn nuisance. At least, that’s what he told himself every single day.

They whined if someone got too close, buzzed when he adjusted them wrong, and gods forbid he so much as grazed them during a fight—one hard knock, and they’d go flying. He could hear again, sure, but better hearing came at a price: realizing just how insufferably loud the world actually was. Katsuki had spent months in denial, refusing to accept that his ears, like the rest of his high-octane life, couldn’t keep up with him.

The ringing had started in his late teens, growing louder until it followed him everywhere. He blamed it on the explosions, the debris, the constant yelling—but really, he knew. His mom did too, though she’d spared him the lecture until the day Kirishima cornered him in his agency office with a sheepish grin and her voice on speakerphone.

“Katsuki.” The way she said his name—sharp, biting, and so unlike her usual bark of “Oi, you brat!”—made his stomach drop. “What if somethin’ happens? What if you miss an evac order or—hell—a cry for help? Hah? What then?”

“… Tch.” He had scowled so hard it hurt. “Fine. I’ll get the damn things.”

The intervention was humiliating, but the worst part? She was right. He hated that more than anything.

That was the first night he slept with the hearing aids sitting on the nightstand. He’d finally picked them up after a year of constant badgering—from his mom, Kirishima, hell, even that damn Deku. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hear better—it was the admission that killed him.

But now? Now the stupid things were glued to him. Mostly.

The tech was incredible, of course. Damn nerds at Hero Support had outdone themselves. The hearing aids didn’t just amplify sound; they filtered it, isolating voices during chaos and syncing with comm units. They were waterproof, explosion-proof—Bakugou-proof. Allegedly.

But they weren’t indestructible. He’d broken five pairs in six months. Kaminari had nicknamed him “Break-aid” after the third replacement. Bakugou threatened to shove them where the sun didn’t shine.

And yet… they worked. Too well.

He could hear the scratch of pens during hero conferences, the obnoxious tapping of Kaminari’s foot against the table, the quiet sigh of his own breath. The worst part? The incessant talking. It was everywhere. Fans, reporters, civilians—people who thought their every word needed an audience.

Thankfully, he’d discovered the mute button.

The first time he used it, Kaminari was midway through a rant about his latest gadget. Bakugou, in a rare moment of self-control, didn’t yell. He just flicked the switch, leaned back in his chair, and smirked as Kaminari kept babbling. No explosions, no shouting, just blissful silence.

But there were downsides.

Combat was a nightmare when they broke. Shouting “HUH!?” every five seconds wasn’t exactly strategic. That’s when he decided to learn sign language. Not because anyone suggested it—hell no. But because he’d be damned if he relied on a gadget to do his job.

The process was… frustrating. Hands clumsy, movements stiff. Kirishima tried to help, but his signs were barely legible. Kaminari? Useless. Sero was too busy laughing to be much better or resorted to typing in the Notes app on his phone when it was pretty serious. Deku? That nerd had picked it up in a week, naturally.

But you? You made it bearable.

“Like this,” you’d said, your fingers forming a perfect sign. “Thumb tucked in.”

Bakugou grumbled, but copied you.

“Good. See? That wasn’t so bad, was it, ’Suki?”

Your patience annoyed him almost as much as it calmed him. And somehow, over weeks of practice, his stiff movements turned fluid. He’d never admit it, but he liked having this… language, this connection, with you.

And then he realized something else.

You understood him. Not just the signs, but him. The sharpness he couldn’t quite soften, the quiet gratitude he couldn’t voice. And better yet? No one else around him could understand a damn thing he was saying.

It started innocently enough—well, innocent by his standards.

“Bored out of my goddamn mind,” he’d signed at you during a hero conference.

You’d smirked and replied, “Same.”

But then, Bakugou being Bakugou, had an epiphany: he could sign anything.

The first time he tried it, you were sitting across from him at a formal hero banquet. The room was filled with pro heroes, reporters, and politicians. Everyone was dressed to the nines, sipping champagne and pretending the world wasn’t on fire outside.

Bakugou caught your eye and, with the most deadpan expression, signed: Wanna fuck?

Your head snapped up so fast you nearly knocked your glass over. You choked, coughing into your hand, and when someone asked if you were okay, you waved them off, avoiding his gaze.

He smirked, sipping his water like he hadn’t just propositioned you in a room full of Japan’s elite.

…..

It got worse.

During a meeting with the Hero Public Safety Commission, while a bureaucrat droned on about policy changes, Bakugou’s hands moved under the table. He made sure you were looking before signing: I’d rather have you ride me than sit here with these extras.

You froze mid-note, the pen slipping from your fingers. Your face burned as you ducked your head, pretending to scribble something in your notebook. Across the room, Kirishima noticed your sudden movement.

“Hey, you good?” he whispered.

“Fine!” you squeaked, glaring at Bakugou.

He tilted his head, feigning confusion, then casually leaned back in his chair. He looked so smug you wanted to scream.

At a press conference, surrounded by the press corps, TV cameras, and the elite of the hero world, Bakugou stood stiffly at the podium, bored out of his skull. Beside him, you shuffled the note cards you’d prepared, doing your best to stay focused on Midoriya’s answer to a question about villain reform strategies.

Bakugou glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, smirking at how focused you looked. That only made the idea pop into his head faster. He adjusted his stance, one hand casually coming up to rub his neck as the other signed with precision:

I’d fuck you so hard over this podium, the microphones would short out.

Your brain stalled like a computer blue-screening. The cards slipped from your hands, scattering onto the stage floor. You froze in horror as a sea of reporters looked up from their notebooks.

Midoriya, ever the anxious public speaker, stopped mid-sentence. “Uh, are you okay?” he asked.

“Y-yeah! Just... clumsy!” you stammered, dropping to your knees to collect the cards. You didn’t dare look at Bakugou, whose hand came up to his mouth as though stifling a yawn—but you knew he was hiding a smirk.

To make things worse, while you scrambled on the floor, he signed again, deliberately slower so you couldn’t miss it:

Would’ve pulled your hair too, just to hear you scream.

Your face burned so hot you were sure you’d melt through the stage.

It didn’t stop there.

At the next agency-wide meeting, Bakugou sat across from you in the conference room, arms crossed as a pro-hero you couldn't bother to listen to went on and on about new combat protocols. The room was packed with pro heroes, all seated shoulder-to-shoulder.

Bakugou, who’d already tuned out after the first ten minutes, caught your gaze and raised an eyebrow. Before you could react, his hands moved subtly under the table:

I’d eat you out on this table, right in front of everyone, and make sure you couldn’t stay quiet.

The coffee cup in your hand slipped, splashing onto your notes. You cursed under your breath, grabbing napkins to clean the mess.

Kirishima, sitting beside you, leaned over. “Whoa, you okay? You’ve been jumpy lately.”

You forced a smile, not daring to look at Bakugou, whose expression remained infuriatingly neutral. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

It became a game to him.

While Kirishima nodded and went back to his notes, Bakugou adjusted in his chair and signed again:

Bet you’d cry if I used my mouth the way I’m thinking. Probably beg me to stop—but you wouldn’t really mean it.

You slammed your pen down so hard it startled Kaminari, who glanced over with a confused look.

“You good?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” you snapped, refusing to look up.

Across the table, Bakugou leaned back, feigning boredom, but his eyes glinted with amusement.

It escalated during a casual outing with the crew.

Everyone had gathered at a bustling ramen joint after a long patrol, crowding into a booth that was way too small for so many people. Bakugou sat to your right, thigh pressed against yours under the table. As the conversation flowed around him, he picked up a pair of chopsticks and casually started eating.

Then, as Mina told a story about her latest villain takedown, he turned his head slightly toward you and signed with one hand:

The things I’d do to you under this table would make you scream so loud they’d kick us out.

You froze, chopsticks hovering mid-air. He didn’t even blink, slurping his noodles like he hadn’t just dropped a verbal nuke into your lap.

“What’s wrong?” Mina asked, noticing your deer-in-headlights expression.

“Uh… spicy broth,” you choked out, grabbing your water and gulping it down.

Bakugou, still chewing, glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and added another one for good measure:

Bet I could make you cum without anyone noticing. Wanna test that theory?

You almost choked on your drink, coughing so hard Kirishima patted your back in concern.

At a charity event, he raised the bar again.

The ballroom was filled with reporters, politicians, and wealthy donors, all eager to mingle with Japan’s most famous heroes. Bakugou hated these events with a burning passion, but at least you were there to make it tolerable.

You stood beside him, chatting politely with a group of businessmen, when you felt his gaze on you. Slowly, you turned your head, already dreading what was coming.

He didn’t disappoint. With the straightest face you’d ever seen, he signed:

You’d look so much better on your knees, with my cock down your throat, than in that dress.

Your hand shot out, nearly spilling your champagne as you fumbled to keep your composure. The Pro Hero you were speaking to paused mid-sentence, giving you a concerned look.

“Are you alright, ma’am?”

“I—I’m fine,” you stuttered, setting the glass down before you could break it.

Bakugou tilted his head innocently, signing again:

Bet you’d love it if I bent you over that balcony upstairs. Bet you’d be dripping by the time I was done.

Your jaw dropped, and you 'accidentally' kicked his shin under the table. He didn’t even flinch.

It wasn’t just formal settings, either. Bakugou would strike anywhere.

During a team training session, you were sparring with Kaminari while Bakugou watched from the sidelines. When you finally landed a clean hit, knocking Kaminari flat on his ass, Bakugou clapped slowly, catching your attention.

Wanna know what else you could knock flat? Me. On my back. With you riding me till I forget my own goddamn name.

Your sparring stance faltered, and Kaminari took the opportunity to trip you.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked, offering a hand to help you up.

“I’m fine!” you snapped, shooting a glare at Bakugou, who was grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

The worst of all came during a live broadcast.

The Hero Public Safety Commission had organized a televised Q&A with Japan’s top heroes. You sat between Bakugou and Midoriya, fielding questions from both the moderator and the live audience. Bakugou had been unusually quiet for most of the event, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded.

But then, while the moderator addressed Midoriya, Bakugou caught your attention.

His hands moved lazily, almost imperceptibly, as he signed:

After this, I’m gonna pin you to the wall in the dressing room and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk out of here straight.

Your eyes widened, and you immediately looked away, heart hammering in your chest.

“And what about you?” the moderator asked, pulling your attention back to the present.

“I—I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?” you stammered, cheeks flaming.

Beside you, Bakugou leaned back in his chair, smirking as the moderator repeated the question. His hands shifted again, just enough for you to catch his next message:

If you blush any harder, they’re gonna think you’re into this.

You resisted the urge to scream.

Because, for Bakugou, nothing was funnier than watching you squirm. And knowing you were the only one who could decode his filthy little secrets? That was just the icing on the cake.

…..

Over time, the signing became a secret game. A language only the two of you shared, even if it was insanely one sided. In battle, it was strategic—efficient, silent communication when words couldn’t cut through the noise. Off the field? It was something else entirely.

After a particularly grueling patrol, Bakugou flopped onto the couch beside you, tugging his hearing aids out and tossing them onto the table.

“Another shitty day,” he muttered.

You hummed in agreement, leaning against him.

Without thinking, he signed: You’re the only thing that doesn’t piss me off.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Nothin’, Cupcake. Just watch the TV..”

And for once, you didn’t press.

Because sometimes, silence said enough.

[itsrheasgirl]

𝖬𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ✩

𝖶𝖾𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗒 𝖱𝗁𝖾𝖺 𝖱𝗂𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖧𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌, 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌’ 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗌. 𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖨𝗇 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖥𝗈𝗋𝖻𝗂𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝖫𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖲𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖮𝗇 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖱𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝖲𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽. 𝖨𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗃𝖺𝗆, 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗉.

𝖱𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌

𝖢𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝖦𝖾𝗍 𝖢𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖦𝗂𝗋𝗅 𝖨𝗌 𝖬𝗂𝗇𝖾

𝖧𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗒 (𝖭)𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖠𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖥𝗈𝗋𝖻𝗂𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝖫𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖲𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 1: 𝖥𝗈𝗋𝖻𝗂𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝖫𝗈𝗏𝖾

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 2: 𝖠𝗇 𝖴𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖦𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 3: 𝖮𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖫𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖢𝖺𝗇 𝖧𝗎𝗋𝗍 𝖫𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌

𝖮𝗇 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖱𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝖲𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌

𝖳𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗋

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 1

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 2

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 3

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 4

𝖶𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖫𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖬𝖾 𝖳𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝖲𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 1

𝖮𝗇𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗌

𝖮𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 (𝖵𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾!𝖱𝗁𝖾𝖺)

𝖥𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝖭𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖡𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗌 (𝖵𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾!𝖱𝗁𝖾𝖺)

𝖬𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖬𝖾 𝖲𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆 (𝖦𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾!𝖱𝗁𝖾𝖺)

[purplecoffee13]

Nemesis with Benefits - Part 1

Summary: “You got cheated on, and Harry is the one your ex cheated with. You hate him, he hates you, and the universe seems to hate the both of you, because you keep being thrown into the same spaces.”

Wc: 3.3k

Tropes: enemies to lovers

Warning: mentions of cheating, foul language

A/N: Hey guys! I’m going to see Taylor this weekend, but I wanted to give you the first part of my new series before I log off for the weekend. I know Harry is sounding quite unlikable, because he is, but it is a slow burn so give it some time and let him explain!!!!! Enjoy xxx

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 2 is up!!!

It has been almost three weeks since you and your ex-boyfriend Dylan have broken up. You were heartbroken when you found out he cheated on you, and you still aren't over it in even the slightest. It was just unfathomable to you. How could he cheat on you and just step from one relationship into another?

Yes, that's right, Dylan immediately started dating the guy he cheated on you with. You couldn't believe when you first heard who it was, but it also didn't surprise you much.

Harry has had it out for you from the moment you and Dylan first started dating. You had no idea why, but now that those two are together, you finally understand. He was jealous of you. He wanted Dylan all to himself and— well, he succeeded. The fucking prick.

You had been trying to get over the humiliation and sadness, but it proved to be very hard. You had been in love with Dylan for so long, long before the two of you even started dating, and it was your first real relationship. You couldn't just move on that quickly.

But you were done. Done with crying and whining and bitching about it. It was like some sort of switch had turned, like the first stage of the moving on process had worn out. It was time to try some other methods of getting over Dylan. You finally took the advice from your friends, and tonight was your first date since the break-up.

You had downloaded tinder, and found yourself multiple matches. One guy named Brady, asked you out for drinks tonight, and you said yes. And so, the second stage of moving on commenced.

Now you're in one of the bar's booths, waiting for Brady to show up. He was handsome in his pictures, and he seems like a nice guy. You fiddle with your hands as you wait. You know that if something is going to happen between the two of you, it won't be serious or permanent, but you can't help but be nervous anyway.

You agreed to meet up at nine, and right now it's ten minutes past nine. A pit grows in your stomach as you sip on your beer. He wouldn't be standing you up, would he?

You wait and wait until it's a quarter to ten, and tears prickle in your eyes. What a disaster. How could you even think that this was a good idea?

You flag down a waitress and pay for the beers you drank as you waited. It isn't until you stand up that you realize how many it were. You are quite the lightweight, so five beers on a stomach filled with only a salad for dinner wasn't the best idea.

You walk out of the bar, and grab your phone to order an Uber. That is when you spot someone sitting on the bench in front of the bar, and you groan aloud.

Sitting on the stupid bench is stupid Harry, the guy which Dylan cheated on you with. Out of all people, you just had to run into him. He looks up upon hearing you groan, and the distaste on his face at the sight of you almost makes it look like you're the one Dylan cheated with on him.

"What the fuck do you want?" Harry asks, putting a cigarette to his mouth, and holding a lighter to it to turn it on.

"To ruin your relationship with your boyfriend— Oh no wait, that was you! Asshole..." You mutter as you roll your eyes. You turn around, almost falling over at the speed with which you did, but you are quick to steady yourself. You squint at your screen as you search for the Uber app in your phone.

"Fuck you." Harry murmurs under his breath, and you flip him off without turning around. You don't want to be around this guy, so you start walking away from him. Might as well warm yourself up as you wait for your Uber to arrive. If you can find the damn app...

Then a car honks and before you have time to look up, you are pulled into someone's arms. You look up from your phone and see a white car driving by, still honking at you, and when you turn around to see who is holding you, Harry's eyes meet yours. Once having regained your senses, you push him away.

"Get off of me!" You growl at him, dropping your phone accidentally.

"Are you stupid?! How fucking pissed are you to not notice a car coming straight at you—" Harry barks back at you as he picks up your phone, and hands it to you. You snatch it away, disgusted with the fact that he is touching your stuff.

"Shut up!" You shout at him with a wavering voice, too overwhelmed by everything. You are on the brink of crying. He seems to notice and quiets down.

"I'll bring you home." He mumbles softly, after you had time to breathe for a second and steady yourself. You frown at him, looking for even the slightest hint of deception—because what else is there to the guy who your boyfriend cheated on you with—but you can't find it.

"You are the last person I would ever step into a car with." You glare at him, crossing your arms. Harry rolls his eyes.

"You think you're my number one choice? No, but I'm not gonna let your drunk ass get run over." He argues back, seeming to be equally as irritated with you as you are with him.

"Yeah, because you're the picture of decency and chivalry." You cross your arms. The nerve of this guy! Trying to be all gentleman like when you know that he is nothing more than a pig.

Harry clenches his jaw, and you can tell he is ready to snap at you. You are waiting for him to start cussing you out—and there is a clear hesitation in his eyes—but he doesn't follow through. He merely sighs.

"Look, I'm not going to force you into my car. Because contrary to what you might believe, I do have some common decency, but I am not going to leave you outside a pub, drunk and alone." Harry explains, trying to catch your eyes as best as he can but you are avoiding his stare, afraid to see the sincerity behind them. "So, I either bring you home, or wait for an Uber with you."

You think it over for a few seconds, but your train of thought is interrupted when your name is shouted from a distance. You look in the way where the sound came from, and see Rebecca—a friend from class—wave at you with a big smile on her face. You wave, then turn back to Harry.

"Fuck. you."

You articulate the words slowly, hoping they marinate in his head, as you glare him down with the genuine spite you have felt from the moment you were made aware of the betrayal. You don't give him the chance to respond or even process what you just said, you just walk away.

You don't look back at Harry either, because you are sure that the hint of guilt that presses down on your chest is translating to your face, but you don't want to give in to it. Dylan betrayed you, and while he is the more culpable one in the situation, Harry did this too. He knew you and Dylan were together, and he still did what he did. The guilt transforms into a sadness as your mind wonders, how much did he have to hate you to do this to you?

You shake off the thought and paint a smile on your face as you reach Rebecca. She pulls you into an embrace and asks you how you are doing, and you answer that you're doing well.

"Was that... Harry?" She asks, whispering his name as if it would be a crime to say it out loud. The corner of your mouth tugs up.

"Yup." You nod.

"What did he want from you?" She glares at the place where Harry stands— or stood, because by the time you turn around, he is gone. You stare at the pavement, your body trying to push away that wave of emotional pain that seeing Harry instigated.

"I have no idea."

*************** *************** ***************

Few days later

You stare at yourself in the mirror of your vanity desk. Lipstick still in hand, you analyze your own face. Your make-up sits pretty on your face, painting the image of a woman who has her life together. But the truth couldn't be further from that.

Tonight, you're attending a birthday dinner of one of your friends, Benjamin, in a restaurant in the city. You truly were looking forward to it, but now that you and Dylan aren't together anymore, the fun event has turned into something you have been dreading.

You got to know Dylan through Benjamin. Benjamin was in your first project group ever at Uni. The two of you bonded and have been very close ever since. Benjamin is the type of person that knows a lot of people, and Harry is one of those people

Harry and Benjamin went to high school together. At least, that's what Benjamin told you when he introduced you to Harry at that one party all those years ago. It was at a random fraternity party on campus at the end of the first year, and it is where you met Dylan. Harry and him were roommates, so they had come together.

It was a cobweb of connections, and you have met a lot of people through Benjamin, but you really clicked with Dylan that night. Of course, now that doesn't seem to hold any value anymore, but you can't change the night you met Dylan into a rotten memory. It is sealed with some kind of glass that will always keep it pretty, innocent, sweet, and— well, just lovely.

It's what is going to make it extra hard to see Dylan with Harry tonight. You were happy to celebrate the birthday of your friend, of course, but you definitely weren't looking forward to seeing your ex and the guy he cheated on you with be together, as like— a couple.

You were aware that things like this would happen eventually—because that's what happened when you date someone in the friend group—but that doesn't make it easier. Luckily, a lot of your other friends will be there too.

Rebecca picks you up a good half hour before the dinner starts, and you drive into the city with music blasting through the speakers. You try to clear your head by letting the music take over every part of your brain, but the anxious pit in your stomach can't seem to be contained.

After parking the car a bit further down the street, you and Rebecca make your way to the Italian restaurant. You're about five minutes late—the traffic was worse than expected—so you both hurry over to the corner where the others are already sitting and chatting.

Benjamin gasps when he sees you and pulls you in for a big hug. You smile and congratulate him before handing him the bag which contains his gift. While he turns around and places it on the table, you take the opportunity to scan the room. It doesn't take long to spot Harry—you had felt his presence since you got here—but your eyes can't seem to find Dylan.

You don't allow yourself to feel any relief, as there might be a chance he is still in the bathroom. But when Benjamin tells everyone to sit down, placing you on his left and Harry on his right, you see that all the chairs are filled. Apparently Benjamin senses your confusion, because he leans in and whispers in your ear:

"He didn't come."

The words grant an overwhelming release of emotions that were making you feel like shit, and you start feeling like maybe you can enjoy tonight after all. Partly, at least. You frown; It is weird that Dylan wouldn't come to Benjamin's birthday. He was invited; you were next to him when he got the text.

You take a deep breath and decide that this isn't something you should be focusing on tonight. Alas, you are freed from the fucker for now. You should least enjoy it while you can.

You are seated next to Benjamin, on his left side. Harry is seated on his right side, keeping you apart. Since you are both important to Benjamin, he wants the two of you close to him, but not to each other.

The first course comes around pretty fast, and along with the two glasses of wine you down in record time, everything seems to be going quite smoothly. You avoid any contact whatsoever with Harry, and try to be as invested in Benjamin as you can.

After the main course, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, and sneak away from the watchful eyes of the others. Instead of going to the bathroom, you go outside and light up a cigarette. It is an unfortunate habit you have began succumbing to since everything that happened. The smoking takes your mind off the stress for a couple of minutes, and it is the only thing that has kept you from going insane.

"Are you smoking?" A voice filled with disbelief asks from behind you. You freeze when you recognize the depth of it, along with the unmistakable accent. Well, there goes the cathartic part of smoking that cigarette.

You don't turn around, and so Harry walks up to you in order to check whether it is really you. He frowns at the sight of you with cigarette.

"Thought you hated smoking." He throws in the comment like it's nothing. But it isn't. You hear the resentment hidden in every word that comes out of his mouth. The grudge that he has held against you from the moment you two met is something you think needs to be studied. To this day, you have no idea what you did to make him so mad at you. But instead of worrying about it like you used to do, you are getting annoyed by it.

"Shitty times call for shitty measures." You take another drag from the cigarette before putting out the bud and throwing it in the bin. You are about to go back inside when a collection of bravely morbid words leave Harry's mouth.

"You don't have to act like I murdered your entire family." Harry growls, clenching his jaw as he reaches for his own cigarettes in his pocket. You turn around to him, thunder written all over your face.

"What did you say to me?" You ask slowly, taking a few steps towards him. Harry doesn't see it, as he is also searching for his lighter.

"Look, I know I did a shitty thing but..." His words come to a halt when he sees how much closer you are to him than before, and you don't miss the hint of shock in his eyes.

"But what, hmm? But it's not that bad? But I don't have to be such a bitch about it? But I shouldn't let it influence my behavior towards you? Is that what you were gonna say?" You ask him as you push against his chest a bit, urging him to answer you.

"I was gonna say—"

"I don't give a shit about what you think about my behavior. You didn't give a shit your behavior when you went behind my back and fucked my boyfriend, now did you?" You pose the question, rhetorically. Harry just sighs. "Yeah, I thought so... I can't believe you have the nerve to try and tell me how I should handle you and your new boyfriend fucking me over. Don't do shitty things if you're gonna cry about the consequences. And especially don't go crying to me about."

Harry doesn't look at you, but the tension in his jaw makes you brace yourself for an outburst of some kind. You did pretty much still him to the ground just now. But nothing of the sort happens. Instead, Harry says something unexpected.

"He's not my boyfriend."

You physically take a step back, genuine confusion on your face. What? You were certain that Dylan and Harry were together. It had been all over campus after you first broke up.

"He— he cheated on me. Broke up with me a couple days ago." Harry confessed, still not meeting your eyes. A whole lot of nothingness fills your organs as you stare at him. You have no idea what you are supposed to feel right now. The overwhelming amount of emotions has turned into one empty space that leaves room for nothing but a blank stare.

You feel like you're supposed to laugh at him—in your head at least—and tell him that he had it coming. He did, of course, but you just didn't expect it to happen so soon. You had no idea that Dylan was such a loose canon. At least you are rid of him, that is one positive thing about this whole messed up situation.

Nevertheless, anything that you think you are supposed to feel, is not there. There is no relief, or joy, or lightness that brings a cocky smile to your face as you soak in the karma that was clearly on your side here. No, you are filled with a dull ache that you recognize to be faint sadness. It's too distant to drown in but the familiarity of it still manages to make it sting a little bit.

Harry takes a deep breath, waiting for whatever you are going to say. You can tell that he mentally preparing himself for the humiliation to come, and as much as you'd like to give it to him, you can't find it in yourself to do so.

"That sucks. I'm sorry."

"Th— thanks..." Harry responds slowly, not sure how serious to take your words. You know he was expecting an entirely different reaction.

"I know I had it coming." He adds with a a hint of frustration that makes it seem like you already told him that. Of course, you had the comment in your back pocket already.

"I mean... I wasn't gonna say it so soon, but—"

"Yeah, I thought we would get it out of the way." Harry interrupts you with an annoyed smile. Your previously sad face had turned into more of a smug one and it was more than he could bear, so he just had to say it before you did. He didn't want you to rub it in his face.

Silence creeps upon the two of you. Awkwardly, you stare into the distance as you ponder the new information. It made Dylan even more of a dick than you already thought him to be.

At first, you had thought that Dylan cheated on you because he was in love with someone else— Harry. And while it is still unacceptable, it seems less heartless than cheating with no other intention but sexual pleasure. You could see in Harry's eyes that he didn't expect Dylan to cheat on him, so he must've thought it was love. But it wasn't. That just makes it more shitty than it already was. You find the stinging feeling of sympathy entering your chest when you think of Harry, but you don't want to feel that about him, so you squint at him.

"I still hate you, you know." You say to him.

"Right back at ya, sweetheart."