#my summaries are still lacking but I finally did it... I finally wrote something sweet for this ship! MY LEGACY ISN'T ALL ANGST!!! ;;3;;

[crazy-grrrl-on-the-computer]

Stay Cool (It's Just A Kiss) - Chapter 1 - Girly411 - 美男高校地球防衛部LOVE! | Binan Koukou Chikyuu Bouei-bu LOVE! [Archive of Our Own]

Pairing: Itsumo Ichiban/Zaou Ryuu

Rating: G

Summary: The lingering effects of the Screw Monster incident have taken a toll on Ichiban. Namely, his infatuation with Zaou.

As for Ryuu… well, he had always been a romantic at heart. If only they would both stop thinking so much and learn to enjoy the moment.

Read on AO3.

First Kiss prompt for @rarepair-week

[drunk-on-dk]

With Somebody Else | Kim Mingyu (m)

✦pairing: fwb!Mingyu x fem!reader

✦genre: SMUT (minors DNI) fluff? angst? fwb feels yenno

✦wc: ~3.0 and some change

✦summary: No longer being able to go back and forth with Mingyu, you decide to seek out somebody else.

NSFW warnings under the cut, minors do not read, 18+ only

✦warnings: no specific pronouns used, but reader has female anatomy; pet names (baby); switch?Mingyu; switch?reader; unprotected sex (safety first pls); gyu has a big dick; grinding; mingyu loves praise; a bit of tears; mentions of alcohol

✦a/n: this was a quick lil thing i wrote up because somebody else by the 1975 has resurfaced in my life and that song is what led me to this. I hope you all enjoy! I tried a lil bit of a different writing style, so I'm hoping it still paces ok. As always I appreciate all feedback, likes, comments, and reblogs <3

Mingyu should have been relieved when he found out you were seeing somebody else for the first time. In fact, he thought it was a lie when Seungcheol filled him in on the details that you’ve been dating someone for the past couple of weeks. However, something ached deep down in Mingyu’s chest upon hearing the news, a fake smile falling onto his features and watching the amber liquid swirl around half-melted ice cubes.

Seungcheol’s knowing gaze was enough to break down Mingyu’s walls. “I just can’t picture Y/N with somebody else.”

Meanwhile, you were desperate to break the string that tied you to Mingyu like a tetherball. Unfortunately, it was like a slow tear, with you fraying away at the other end of the string, and finally cutting yourself loose. It was too complicated, Mingyu didn’t want to pursue dating for fear that it would ruin the dynamic of the friend group, but you honestly couldn’t handle anything less than dating at this point. Mingyu was a kind, loving guy, but his lack of commitment frightened you, thus leading you to finally cut your ties as friends with benefits.

It was difficult, at least to say, as you were stuck with Mingyu regardless of how hard you tried to distance yourself. You saw him at Seungcheol’s pre-games, heard about how he made the final kill shot on the video game Seokmin was playing, scrolled past his recent Instagram post, and he just generally clouded your mind, remembering sweet things he’s done for you all these years as a friend.

You knew what you had to do, you had to start seeing other people, and you could no longer go to Mingyu with wishful thinking that you both were something more than just friends with benefits.

Mingyu didn’t believe you when you declared that you couldn’t see him like this again for the first time. He didn’t believe you when you said you two could only be friends. Not when he had you like this, legs wrapped tightly around his waist and cock nuzzled deep inside you.

He refused to believe you, not at all, continuing to thrust slowly into you and nibbling on your tender skin. “You don’t mean that one bit, baby. I know you love this cock.”

You weren’t sure you believed your words either, but Mingyu’s words hit you right where it hurts. You did love his cock, but you weren’t sure that was just it. Suddenly, friends with benefits became way too complicated and overwhelming for you. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks, Mingyu being sure to kiss them away as he repeatedly hit that one spot deep inside of you that had you clenching tightly around him.

“Fuck, I do love your cock,” you moan out, admitting the very least for now, and trying to make the best of what you assume will be the last.

Mingyu’s lips capture yours, tasting slightly salty from the way he picked up your tears with gentle kisses. Mingyu groans into you as your nails dig into his skin, losing himself in the way your walls throb around him as he picks up his pace. He can’t stop kissing you, relentlessly fucking into you as your walls suck him in deeper, loving the way you whimper and moan into his mouth.

He knows you’re close, he knows your body better than anyone else does or ever will, and he’s confident of that. This is exactly why he doesn’t believe you, not believing that you two could ever go back to just being friends. Not when you both make each other feel this good.

Mingyu is calculated, a large hand running down your body until it finds its way to your clit and his rough thumb rubbing at your swollen clit. He knows you’ll finish like this, pulling away from the kiss to watch your face twist in pleasure, taking note of your slightly raw cheeks from your crying. You're still so beautiful, even when you're a mess beneath him.

He’s correct that you were nearing your finish, watching you come undone underneath him as he follows suit, releasing his hot cum inside of you as you both moan and groan in ecstasy.

You both fell asleep in each other’s arms that night, but Mingyu didn’t wake up with you beside him in the morning like he normally does. Maybe there was some truth in your words, but Mingyu didn’t believe you had it in you to hold out for long. Mingyu knew you’d come back to him eventually.

It was annoying – infuriating actually – how you hadn’t looked up once from your phone, Mingyu wanted to wipe that stupid, cute smile off your face. He wondered if it annoyed your friends as well, how immersed you were with your phone that you couldn’t even enjoy the conversations taking place around you.

He realized it didn’t bother anyone except him, especially when Seokmin cooed upon noticing how flustered you seemed from a text message, “Looks like Y/N has the hots for someone finally.”

Mingyu had to suppress the jealously that bubbled up from deep down inside of him, hating the way his heart stammered at the adorable blush and shy smile that adorned your features.

Why couldn’t he do that? Why didn’t he make you that flustered? Why were you sticking to your words? Why were you seeing other people? And why is he just a friend to you again? Was it that simple for you?

Mingyu found himself kicking you gently underneath the table, yearning to touch you somehow as he has been missing it for quite some time now. You looked up from your phone for the first time in a while, your sparkling eyes catching his with a small smile that slowly became a scowl.

“What do you want, Gyu?” You mouthed from across the table, stubbornly taking a sip of your drink to avoid his gaze and knowing that you need to avoid him at all costs.

“Come get some air outside with me,” he’s pouting, and you can’t help but oblige. Even though you’re weak for him, you can’t ignore him since he is still technically one of your best friends.

You should have known that following him outside would have been a bad idea. The second Mingyu had you pressed up against the cool brick wall, whispering sweet nothings with his gentle tone should have had you running back inside the bar to your friends.

“Mingyu,” you pant out, his hot breath leaving a trail of goosebumps down your neck and his hands begin to gently roam your waist. “We can’t do this, I told you we can’t be anything more than friends.”

“You know that’s not true,” he breathes out after pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. “You can’t tell me you don’t want me as bad as I want you.”

He’s right, you can’t deny the way your hips keen into his, but you also can’t deny that your date is supposed to be picking you up from this bar any minute now. “Mingyu, I can’t, the person I’ve been seeing is on their way to come to get me, and you just have to respect my choices.”

Mingyu is like a kicked puppy, pulling away from you instantly with a look of betrayal, “You’re seriously seeing somebody else?”

“Yes, Gyu,” you sigh out, running a hand through your hair, not feeling prepared at all to have another conversation about lacking the commitment you need from him. “You know exactly why I’m seeing someone else.”

Those words stung Mingyu for the rest of the night. He did know why; he hated that he couldn’t give you what you wanted in the first place and hated that he couldn’t give you the sense of security that you needed. Mingyu didn’t understand why he couldn’t in the first place, he’d love to date you and would love to treat you the way you deserve. Nothing stung more than your words than watching you leave the bar after bidding everyone goodbye, giddy to be picked up by your date. Mingyu couldn’t help the way his hand lingered on your waist a little too long, and you yourself seemed a bit hesitant to leave Mingyu’s grasp as you left.

Mingyu absolutely disliked seeing you around with your new fling. He hated when you’d bring them with to game nights or when you’d simply post a story at a café with them.

He absolutely despised when he had to sit around you two, listening to your melodious giggles and watching you lean in to whisper in their ear. Mingyu just wished he could tell you to never bring them around again because seriously, in comparison to him, he could 100% treat you better and he’d prove it if he could now.

Mingyu would attempt to sneak you away, his charm always winning you over, and he was usually successful in his attempts. He didn’t care if he looked like a dick to your date, he only cared about having you alone and being the one who made you smile.

Sometimes things would feel like they were back to normal, and you two would end up shamelessly flirting, which was always in the background of your friendship even before you two started hooking up. He’d find himself leaning into you, and he could swear that you’d lean towards him too, your lips almost like magnets as you’re pulled towards one another.

However, that moment would be ruined when you’d be swept away by your date once again. All Mingyu could do was watch you disappear into the crowd, feeling like he’s lost all chances at ever truly having you.

Mingyu wasn’t sure what he was expecting when you showed up at his door late one night, storming right past him and welcoming yourself into his apartment before he could even question why you were there.

He couldn’t even get a word out, your hands had already grabbed the sides of his face and you wasted no time pulling him into a hungry kiss, full of passion and desire that you’d been suppressing for God knows how long.

No one fucked you the way Mingyu could. No one knew you the way Mingyu could. No one treated you the way Mingyu could.

Mingyu melted into you, arms wrapping greedily around you as if he never wanted to let you go ever again. In all honesty, he had started losing hope, truly starting to believe that you would stay true to your word of staying just friends.

However, tonight proved him none the wiser, you seemed desperate for him, pushing his tall frame that towered over you all the way to his bedroom. Frantically undressing yourself, Mingyu followed along and pulled off his own clothing as you stripped down to the bare minimum.

Mingyu released a sigh at seeing you in your full glory again, hands reaching out to caress your curves, but pouting when you shove his hands away.

“You’re going to take what I give you,” you command, pinning down his hands and straddling his thighs on his bed, “and you’re not going to complain once, or I’ll take my ass to someone else.”

Mingyu nods desperately, hips grinding up so that his erection can rub against your hot cunt. He almost lets out a whine, immediately noticing how wet you are already, and needing to feel the inside of you as soon as possible, or else he might burst. Tsking at him, you rise slightly as if to warn him, but you quickly drop back down on him, running his length through your folds and letting out a moan from the pleasure of having him this close to you again.

“God, Gyu,” you coo, holding his hands above his head and feeling dizzy at the way he bites down on his lip, your slick gliding against him as you grind down on his length, jumping slightly as the tip of his head brushes your clit. “You were right, I fucking love your cock, and I need it so bad.”

“You can have it, baby,” Mingyu groans, muscles tensing as you restrain him and needily grind against him. He could easily overpower you, but he loves when you lead like this. “Use me, make yourself cum on my cock.”

Your body shivers on top of him, and Mingyu can’t restrain himself from latching his lips on your pebbled nipples, basking in the way you writhe above him, and how your wetness makes you glide so easily over him.

You can’t wait any longer, one hand reaching down as another hand travels to his chest to balance yourself. You guide his length into your folds, your walls taking in his familiar length, even though he’s still too big to take in one go.

Mingyu lets you take your time, his hands tightly grip your hips, loving the way the plump flesh ripples from how harshly his fingers dig into your skin.  Simultaneously, you both let out a moan when you take him in completely, the tip of his head nuzzled deep inside of you as your walls pulse around him.

He attempts to buck up into you, but you hold him down, reminding him what you said earlier, “you’ll take what I give you, Gyu.”

Mingyu obeys, even when you begin to tease him with your hands running up his chest, cheeky fingers pinching at his nipples, and your tongue leaving a hot trail up to his neck. You do all this while rolling your hips against him, letting your walls adjust to his size as you nip and kiss at his skin until your lips finally reattach to his.

Mingyu can no longer keep his hands to himself, taking fistfuls of your ass, squeezing the muscle, and guiding you as you ride him. As much as you’d like to stay in control, you love the slight twinge of pain from his tight grip on you, and the pleasure that comes along with the friction of his length moving in and out of your tight pussy.

The kiss is messy as you continue to ride him, his teeth biting at your bottom lip and moaning when he grazes that spot inside of you that only he can reach. “Fuck, only you can fuck me like this, love everything about you.”

It’s a slight confession that you’ll regret in hindsight, but you don’t miss the way he matches your movements as you ride him, starry eyes staring up at you as you begin to lean back. Mingyu is convinced he’s in love himself, but he couldn’t admit that just now. In the meantime, he soaks in the way you lean back, chest on display for him as you hold onto his knees and continue to ride him expertly.

He swears you’re beautiful just like this (even though you’re beautiful all the time, admittedly). He would have never imagined that his best friend could take him so well, fuck him so well, and make his stomach flutter and head rush like how you do.

Mingyu almost loses it when you pull his body up to yours, the push of your chest against his and the feeling of your skin making him impossibly harder inside of you. You use his shoulders as support, bouncing up and down on his cock and letting his lips work at your skin.

You can tell he’s close, from the bead of sweat that runs down his chest, from the way he throbs inside of you, and from the pathetic whiney moan that escapes his lips. His hands become desperate, palming at your skin wherever he can grab and make you moan. You continue to breathe out praises to him, letting him know that you couldn’t ever get enough of his cock, that it’s perfect for you, and that he’s such a good toy.

Mingyu cums inside of you from all the praise, unable to hold back the hot ropes that fill you as your walls clench impossibly tighter around him. Watching and hearing him lose himself so pathetically beneath you has you finishing with him, your body shaking with his as he fills you deep inside. You both shiver upon lifting from him, watching the cum drip from your folds as you hold yourself above him, Mingyu dropping a finger down to your core to collect himself and pump it back in between your swollen folds.

Mingyu doesn’t let you go that night, hands roaming your body and lips constantly reconnecting with yours until you both fall asleep in each other’s arms.

That next morning Mingyu was relieved to find you next to him. Mingyu couldn’t hide the smirk on his face when you rolled over to cuddle closer to him, knowing that you couldn’t ever hold out from him no matter what.

Seungcheol had kept a close eye on you two these past couple of months, knowing exactly when you and Mingyu had started hooking up, knowing exactly when things got weird (hence the dating), and exactly when you two were back at it. He was sick of you two skirting around everyone, eyeing you both suspiciously as Mingyu shyly flirted with you at the bar.

Seungcheol almost felt bad for the poor guy, knowing he just needed the push to ask you out for real, and knowing that Mingyu was helplessly head over heels for you. Mingyu was alarmed when Seungcheol firmly placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from you for the first time that night.

Leaning toward Mingyu, Seungcheol whispered a warning in his ear, “I swear to god, if you don’t ask Y/N out by next weekend, I’ll beat your ass for making it weird for all of us here.”

Mingyu couldn’t stop the toothy smile that took over his features, sending a wink Seungcheol’s way, “believe me, I’m working on it. There will be no more ‘somebody else’ by next weekend.”

Making sure to stick to his word, Mingyu no longer let anybody else into your heart other than him.

[dilutedconfusion]

A Moth to a Flame

Eustass Kid x F!Reader (Part 3)

UMMM SOOOO YA’LL ARE LIKE THE NICEST PEOPLE EVER. Kisses and hugs to everyone who gives a semi-shit about what I write. I wrote this BEHEMOTH of a chapter and I personally think plot wise its my best yet. So get out your forks and knifes cause we eatin good today!

Summary: Having just found out Kid is a super big time murder machine Y/N is left in shock whilst sitting at the bar. Kid and Y/N finally have a coherent and tangible conversation. Emotions arise but Kid is still a total grump. In a fit of stupidity and some grief Y/N does something that I would not advise doing if you’re not like a professional idiot or something.

Warnings: Gore, NSFW (nothing actually happen theres just some sweet innuendos and mentions of NSFW related things)

Word Count: 6.3K

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Tags: @st4rfevrr @archangelshavethetardis @likeeliterallywtf @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @tulipps-maehem (At this point, if you comment something I’m smacking ya right in the tag lists. If you don’t want that just tell me! I’m totes fine with it.)

Kid took a sip of his rum. The cool yet bitter liquid burned his throat and swirled in the deep parts of his gut. Leaning back against the pleather booth he let out a little sigh. His arm was still throbbing like a bitch. Another sign that a strong wave of phantom pain would soon be coming on. But he tried not to think about it. Hoping his brain would stop the onslaught of pain if he got it drunk enough.

Killer was sitting across from him. Using a straw to take periodic sips of his beer. They had been sitting here for a good bit but hadn’t talked too much. A comfortable silence sat between them as it usually did. Kid’s stump randomly twitching now and then though he kept his eyes closed as he tried oh-so desperately to relax.

Watching him quietly Killer noticed the small twitching movement of his partners arm. “Is it hurting again?” He asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible despite his worry.

Trying to hold himself back from being a total asshole, Kid spoke. Opening one eye and letting out a dry sigh. “I lost a fucking arm. What do you think?”

Was that the nicest reply? No. But if anyone other than Killer would have asked that question Kid would’ve just punched them. So he was getting off easy in Kid's terms.

Killer stayed quiet for a moment, grimacing under the space of his mask. “Well, you look a little strained. Is the liquor helping or making it worse?”

Kid finally opened both his eyes, leaning forward and putting an elbow up on the table in front of him. “Helping. Now quit pestering me about this shit.” Kid grabbed his glass and took another long chug of his rum. Finishing out the last bottle he had asked the bartender to make him.

Letting out a hearty burp he felt his torso sway a bit as he sat. He wasn’t drunk but he could feel that warm goopy feeling building up in his brain. Staring blankly at the rest of the vacant and dimly lit room. Listening quietly to the sounds of people in the front room of the bar. The waiter who had taken his order was working the bar itself so he knew she was going to take a while to make an extra round.

“Want me to go get ya some more? I’ll order some food so you don’t crash as hard later.” Killer murmured out, already slightly sliding to the left to get on his feet.

That made Kid's red-painted lips scrunch up, waving his hand at Killer to stop. “Get your ass back on that seat. I got it.” Kid let out a grunt and started sliding off the booth to a stand. His body swayed just slightly but he stood up normally. His huge fur coat lay discarded on the booth seat.

Kid turned towards it and picked it up. His body felt stiff like an old piece of wood. Nearly groaning at even the slightest movement and it annoyed the shit out of him. Feeling light-headed he swung his coat over his shoulders. It was a bit difficult considering the lack of an arm but Kid has since gotten used to it. Making sure that his stump was at least halfway hidden by the fur of his coat. The bandages and torn scars running along his chest were mostly hidden, though he couldn’t hide the fresh scars on his face.

“Ya know…you don’t need to hide it. They are proof that you made it through something shitty after all.” Killer whispered to Kid, knowing it was a sensitive spot on his poor Captain's mind.

Kid’s face stayed sharp and demeaning but Killer's words had gotten to him even if just a little. Letting out a huff of air he responded, “Ya don’t think I know that? I just want everything to heal a bit more. Then I’ll show it off.” With that Kid started walking away from the table, leaving Killer in his lonesome.

He bounded past the other booths. His boots hitting the wooden floor below loudly as he made his way to the other part of the building. The sounds of casual conversation floating towards him along with the satisfying sound of taps being drawn while the bartender siphoned out beer.

Walking up the two small steps that separated the rooms he could feel the air around him get just a tiny bit warmer. The low crackling fire tracing the room with a rich wooden scent and faint smoke. Walking up to the bar he paid no mind to those around him. Leaning up against the wood as another much stronger wave of pain shot up through his stump.

Shit. He thought, gritting his teeth. He would give anything to start rubbing his arm. Soothing the muscles trying to avert whatever pain would come next. But as that same waiter came up to him he had no choice but to deal with it.

She had that same polite smile on her face. Standing on the other side of the bar, her hands filling up beer glasses as she talked. “Run out? Sorry, I didn’t make a round back there. We’re pretty short-staffed right now. What can I get ya?”

“More of the same. And…some fried chicken.” Kid mumbled out, settling down onto the barstool nearest to him. The woman looked him over for a moment. Glancing at his stump and bandages for only a second. Her face turned a bit contorted in what Kid could only assume was disgust before brightening up once again.

Never seen a guy with some wounds eh? Kid thought, almost wanting to say that out loud. If he wasn’t so tired and beat up he would’ve.

Well in truth if he wasn’t in pain he'd be drinking his ass off and winning bar fights. But he was in pain, his throbbing stump a reminder of that.

“Sounds good. I can walk it back there when it’s ready.” She said in that same sweet customer service tone.

Kid just rolled his eyes at her. “I sat down. I’ll stay here and wait. Can’t go back expecting you to remember to bring the damn food.”

The bartender cringed a bit at that but remained neutral regardless. “Sounds good. Let me go get that started for you.” She said awkwardly. Walking away from Kid in a bit of a rush and heading towards what he supposed was the kitchen door.

Kid eyes watched her as she disappeared, letting out a soft tongue click in annoyance. Eventually, his eyes just started drifting. His right hand once again itching to rub his poor stump but he held back. He looked down the line of the barstools absentmindedly to take note of the few people littering the room.

However, something made his eyes pause. They hovered over a girl. She was sitting at the other end of the bar, holding up a newspaper and looking it over as if it were the most important thing in the world.

Wait a fucking minute. I’ve seen her before.

It’s not like he didn’t expect it to some extent but a part of him had already forgotten what a weird little stalker you were. He glanced over your body, seeing the same clothes, jacket, and satchel he’d seen earlier.

Damn, it is the same chick.

He just kept staring at you wondering exactly when you were going to notice him. Your eyes were so glued to the newspaper your damn nose was nearly shoved in it. Even though Kid didn’t want to talk to anyone right now, he couldn’t help but rub your face in your obvious fuck-up.

“So you really-”

“WAH!” Your body jerked randomly hearing that deep voice once again. The newspaper crinkled as your fingers dug into it. Your whole body turned towards Kid at the other end of the bar but leaned away as if he was diseased. “Goddamn it! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“What the fuck?” Kid mumbled out, brow furrowed in confusion as he stared at your beet-red face. Soft eyelashes blinking over and over at him again as if you couldn’t tell if he was real or not.

“What do you mean what the fuck? You snuck up on me!” You yelled, voice faltering a tiny bit as you realized just how LOUD you were being. Covering your mouth with one hand to almost suppress the sheer adrenaline running through your veins.

You hadn’t expected to be talking to him, especially since he was the one to initiate it. The mortifying news about him on the paper mixed with his sudden appearance and this lunging feeling in your gut was a lot to handle.

Kid narrowed his eyes at you, face more bemused than annoyed by what an idiot you were being. “I didn’t fucking sneak up on you. I’ve been sitting here for like 5 minutes just starin’ at your ugly ass and you didn’t even notice me.” He turned the barstool a bit more towards you, leaning his good arm against the bar gingerly.

Taking your hand off your mouth you leaned forward towards him. The multiple chairs between the two of you made the distance of the conversation a bit awkward but that wasn’t going to stop you from being an asshole. “Well if my ass is so ugly, why were you staring?”

Kid's lip twitched at that, his cheeks almost daring to blush red but he held it back. He didn’t like that you had taken his insult in that way. But before he could let it affect him he let the first thing he thought of slip past his tongue.“Cause it's so damn horrific I couldn’t look away. Plus you might as well have been licking that newspaper by the way you were holding it. Following my order like a good little puppy eh?”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, still holding onto the newspaper rather tightly in one hand. Looking down at it for a moment like you should be ashamed before frowning at him. Kid watched and bathed in your reaction, a condescending smile on his lips. It made you reel with anger. Wanting to slap that shit-eating grin off him until he was black and blue.

“I ain’t looking at this 'cause you told me to! I wanted to do this because you wouldn’t tell me who you are. Just so happens that I know who you are now and if my calculations are correct, you’re a total asshole and a lunatic. Though I probably didn’t need the newspaper to figure that first one out.” You told him, voice quiet enough so the whole bar didn’t hear but your tone was condescendingly lethal.

Again Kid just stared at you for a moment. If anyone else would’ve given him even one-quarter of a verbal punch that you just gave him they would’ve been dead on the ground. But he was tired and though he would never admit it, your comeback was good. Letting out a strong puff of air through his sharp nose to calm his urges he decided to take the argument in a different route. One that would give him the advantage over someone who had just a tiny bit of bite to them.

“I get it, sweetcheeks. You’re desperate to know me. To get my attention. Thought you could read up on me so you could handle the real thing easier but clearly you can’t.” Kid said, raising his hand in the air so ‘matter of factly’ though his tone was anything but serious. The glint of his teeth as he smiled and the way his low voice rumbled just made you angrier by the second.

A small tint of red rising on your cheeks out of pure embarrassment. Making mouth go agape for just a moment before you concocted a comeback.

“Q-Quit acting like you're the shit, you glorified puffball. I figured out who you are and if you’re anything like how this newspaper is portraying you in real life, then I should go get a pitchfork and a torch to exile your ass.” You flipped open the newspaper and pointed it towards him. Showing him the two pictures of him committing crimes aplenty.

Hearing you call him a puffball made Kids lack of eyebrows raise in confusion, wondering why in the hell you thought he looked like a puffball. You could see the gears in his head turning as he looked down at his chest to notice the large fur coat he was wearing. Yet still, after another second of mental debriefing, he put two and two together.

“Hey don’t fucking call me a puffball!” Kid said in a slight snarl, a tiny bit of red gracing his cheeks at your comparison. Leaning forward he eye’d the pictures you were holding up. “And I look great there so I don’t know what you’re getting at. They got all my best angles. Even a good picture of me back in my start-up.”

This time it was your turn to be confused, pointing sharply at the pictures of him and even raising out your arm so he could see it better. “So we're just going to ignore all the murder. Ya know, like right here and here and here.” You pointed at the dead crucified bodies hanging limply on their crosses. Blood and splattered guts dripped out of the slightly blue and cold-looking bodies.

Kid rolled his eyes, looking at you as if you’d just said the earth was flat. He rubbed his chin almost to feign boredom as he spoke. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

And with that, you smacked yourself in the face with your palm. Rubbing a hand over your temple and scrunching your face in a mesh of lines that represented pure annoyed disbelief. Taking a deep breath you responded, “Look, I ain’t your mommy and I ain’t going to tell you what you can and cannot do. But, this is my island. You do this shit here and don’t think you’ll be leaving with all your vital organs intact.”

“Well by the sounds of it maybe I should do just that. Give me some entertainment with a good little fight.” Kid immediately quipped back, his face returning to that patronizing smile you oh-so hated.

At this point, it felt like maybe you were talking to a wall. One that was so caught up in having an argument with you he didn’t want to take you seriously. “You are just a complete fucking menace aren’t you?” That was all you could say, almost dumbfounded by his stupidity.

“I am and the people dig it. Can’t say a little danger doesn’t get ‘em all hot and bothered.” He remarked, his shit-eating grin growing even wider as he tilted his head and leaned towards you a bit more. Your face just went completely flat. Void of all emotion except annoyance and the painstaking wish he had said anything but that.

“I love it when people lie through their teeth to my face.” You said so flat and lifeless a robot might as well have said it.

Kid's eyebrows scrunched up a tiny bit, not at all pleased he didn’t get the reaction out of you he wanted. He wasn’t flirting with you, or at least that's what he thought when he said it. In all honesty, Kid has the same flirting skills as goldfish. Just making bubbles and floating by expecting someone to get drawn in by how shiny his scales were. So when he said that he actually just wanted to see you embarrassed like you had made him feel. Little to say it was the first time he felt genuinely peeved by you.

“I ain’t lyin'. I’m a big-time pirate that’s big in more places than one. What more could someone want?” He clamored out, trying to lean into his more cocky attitude. Again his innuendo is less about stroking his ego and more about getting a reaction out of you. He didn’t need confirmation that his dick was big. But he wanted you to blush because he told you.

Your eyes twitched a bit when he said that. Not knowing exactly how to interpret why he was bragging to you and most definitely not taking it as flirting at all.

As if a cocky asshole like him would ever flirt with me, he just wants me to feel small and worthless doesn’t he?

Giving him a blank dead stare you spoke, “What more could a person want? Well…I don’t know, maybe literally anyone but you.”

Kid would never in a million fucking years admit it but that shit stung. He usually never lets people's opinions cloud his view of himself. They were nobody to him so why care?

Then why the fuck am I taking what she said seriously? He mulled over this thought for a moment feeling almost ashamed that he let anything you say get through his impenetrable skin.

But he beat himself out of that thought, scowling harder than ever before and clenching his one good hand until his knuckles turned white.

You noticed this despite the multiple barstools that took up the space between the two of you. Face once dead of emotion now alight in a wave of slight nervousness and even a bit of regret.

Why the fuck did I say that? To a murderer of all people? Do I want to get killed that badly?

Kid felt his stump throb in pain once again like a hammer cast in flames slamming into every single nerve. He grits his teeth hoping you didn’t notice before responding. “Like your opinion of me matters. Quit acting like you know me. You’re nothing compared to what I am.”

You watched him carefully, eyeing the way his muscles uncomfortably tensed underneath his fur coat. The slight sheen of sweat on his brow became a bit more noticeable in the low light. It made a strange feeling of guilt swirl deep in your core seeing him like that. He was a total douchebag but it felt wrong kicking him when he was down.

“I don’t know you but I’ve met people like you. More than I’d like to admit.” Your tone was soft as you spoke, not looking him in the eye as you held on to the newspaper in an almost delicate way. “I’m just saying I don’t trust you. And…if I’m right then I have every reason to be cautious. Reading this newspaper gives you a ‘I’ll kill everyone’ air.”

Kid watched you as you spoke. His amber eyes were sharp and clear as he noticed the change in tone. It didn’t bother him but in his opinion, it sounded like the most truthful thing you’ve said so far. “I don’t just kill everybody. I have some restraint ya know.”

“Well according to this newspaper, you kill pretty much anyone all the time. To the point that it's what you are known for. I mean, look at this headline, it says slaughtering right there.” You pointed to the headline once more, laying the newspaper flat on the bar before picking up your glass. The sight of rotting flesh in the pictures forcing your heart to lurch each time you even glance at it.

“Well, all of the people I kill fucking deserve it. Do you think I hand out mercy out of sympathy for worthless people? The motherfuckers get in my way so they deserve to be in the ground.”

Kid’s voice was harsh with conviction as he spoke. As if he's said this same thing nearly a thousand times. You took another quick sip of your daiquiri. Licking the sugar off your lips with a quick swipe before glancing back over at him.

“So…are you going to do that here? On this island? String me up by my belly and let my intestines slip out?” You asked him quietly, eyes boring into him with an intensity he hadn’t seen from you before. It felt raw and almost threatening. Like you were daring him to try because you knew he would lose.

He wanted to be annoyed and he wanted to punch you right in the jaw. Snap you out of whatever diluted sense of power you seemed to be feeling. But his stump was still soaring with pain. He was managing it sure but he knew if he started moving around too much he’d topple over. So instead he resorted to using his words, which was his least favorite thing to do. “Well…I’m thinking about it but…I’m not in the mood. It's too worthless to kill someone so weak. I have bigger fish to fry.”

Your eyes narrowed, reading into him for even a sliver of deception. You didn’t know what kind of man he was. Supposing he was a liar and cheat like most of the men who traveled the sea were. So you prodded him deeper, trying to find the root of his honesty. “Could your lack of motivation to kill me…have anything to do with those injuries of yours?”

You glanced at his stump and bandages running across his chest. The scabbed-over and healing scars on his face were still red and puffy from their recent affliction. Kid's eyes widened and he leaned back away from you ever so slightly. Hating the fact that you dare mention his injuries. Hating the fact that you thought they were making him weak. That they were holding him back.

That rage he had been holding in ever since it happened started to bubble up. The same rage that he felt for his crew members when they pitied him. The same rage he felt for himself. He had to look away, trying to regain himself. Control his overwhelming urges to not only split your face open but break every piece of furniture within ten feet of him.

He finally looked back at you, ready to scream his head off, “Don’t you dare-”, but he paused.

It was surprising to see your face like that.

It stopped him dead in his tracks, his once boiling rage now a soft simmer within only a second.

Kid didn’t know how to describe it. It was like you weren’t looking at him for who he was. For the scars he held. Those eyes of yours were looking at him for what he is. Deep somber orbs filled with nothing but…empathy?

No…that’s not the right word. It doesn’t feel…like it’s meant to be helpful or caring. Not an ounce of pity.

Familiarity. She knows how I feel.

Kid wasn’t good at reading people's emotions. He could barely understand his own emotions most of the time. So it was strange how he met you in the middle with just a glance.

Even though it didn’t last more than a few seconds.

“I have another pitcher of beer, a tall glass of rum, and that chicken you ordered.” Came the voice of the waiter. Walking through the swinging door with a large tray in hand carrying all the contents she mentioned.

Your face contorted to embarrassment as you watched the waiter stride up towards Kid. He had to force himself to look away from you, wanting to continue the conversation with you despite himself.

What the fuck has gotten into me?

Kid nearly rolled his eyes at himself. Feeling a pang of heat cross his cheeks he let out a grumbling cough to mask it. The waiter placed the tray carefully in front of Kid at the bar.

“Sorry for the wait but does everything look good?” She asked, sliding her body behind the bar and eyeing both Kid and you. Her eyes were bouncing between the two of you a bit, clearly wondering the origins of the tension floating in the air.

Oh god. She even knows I was researching him. You thought to yourself. Feeling like you’d been caught in the act of doing something reckless and stupid.

Kid stared down at the tray, his jaw tight as he let out a deep breath of air he’d been holding in. “It’s fine.” He grumbled, again that ache in his stump making his eye twitch.

Sliding his weight down onto the floor he stood up. His back cracked a bit as he rolled his shoulders trying to subside the ache. You watched him silently. Gliding your eyes gently across his wide shoulders. How the strong muscles there tensed and rolled as he moved. His smooth pale mounds of warm skin with bandages on every other inch lingering in your mind. His height was just as demeaning as you remember it though you still were a good ten feet away.

Always close enough to talk but not close enough to be considered next to him.

His hand tugged his coat around his shoulders a bit more, before he haphazardly tried to pick up the tray. His thick and lacquer-covered fingertips tried to dig under the tray without spilling anything. His one-handed skills at doing pretty much anything got in the way of even the simplest tasks of his life.

“You sure…you don’t need a little help?” The waiter softly asked. Watching Kid as she cleaned off the countertops with a rag.

“Say that again and don’t expect to be going home tonight with a tongue.” Kid spat back, his voice dripping with venom.

The waiter again nearly clammed up but backed off almost immediately. She was used to dealing with pirates but…this man was on a whole other level. Staying quiet and walking over towards your side of the bar instead.

She glanced at you but you didn’t pay much attention. Instead, you were trying to slyly watch as Kid finally wound his large hand underneath the tray. Holding it up easily on his palm at shoulder level before starting to walk away. Disappearing through a doorway without even a second glance towards you.

You let out a small displeased huff of air. At least expecting a glance or chance to continue that conversation. You felt like you were getting somewhere with that. Getting to know him a bit better. It was interesting beyond belief and if someone asked you if you’d rather stay at home in safety or talk to a scary pirate. Well…you would choose a scary pirate every time.

It felt nostalgic and it made your boring life more lively. That is until the waiter got in the way.

“You okay hun? He didn’t threaten you right?” She asked softly, giving you a sympathetic smile as she continued to wipe the bar.

You gave her a little quirk of a smile purely just for show. Not willing to give her a hard time for breaking up your conversation with that man. “Yeah, I’m fine. He did nothing wrong.”

“Well that I don’t believe. Seems to me like he's nothing but a walking pile of wrong.”

You stayed silent at first. Fiddling with your glass a tiny bit before finally picking it up to your lips and finishing the last of it off. Gulping it down and feeling the smooth taste of it run down to swirl in your gut.

“Well sometimes…a whole lotta wrong is just right.”

__________

No matter how much you wanted to, you couldn’t force yourself to stand up and walk into the back room of the bar. To go face that redhead again and his masked friend.

His name is not redhead, it's Kid. Eustass ‘Captain’ Kid. That thought dawned upon you as you thought over your conversation with him. You knew his name but hadn’t spoken it out loud even once. Even now his name stays within the confines of your mind. You had learned it while reading the newspaper along with the aforementioned Massacre Soldier, that blondie that’s with him.

Mulling over the idea of going and talking to them you tried to hype yourself up multiple times to gain the courage.

Come up with a catchy one-liner that would make you just a bit more likable. Maybe say nothing and sit down next to one of them like you own the place.

Assert dominance. Yeah….no.

You had no reason that wasn’t deathly embarrassing when explaining WHY you wanted to sit with them.

I’m just…bored, which would lead them to joke about my small, stupid, and uninteresting life. Maybe even lead Kid into bragging about how ‘important’ and ‘amazing’ he is compared to me.

Even thinking about that made your face sour. Rolling your eyes at nothing like you had just heard the worst joke imaginable.

I could…tell them that I have this strong gut feeling and it's dragging me towards them like a fish on a hook, which would lead to them being confused, taking it as flirting or calling me…ugh desperate.

That word crawled on your skin and sunk into your flesh. Like a tick taking root so one way or another you’d end up with Lyme disease or even worse, a bruised self-image.

You weren’t about to let that happen but this longing in your gut was almost incurable.

You even tried to calm down and look at your situation in a simpler light.

It’s just two men. Two pirates. You’ve dealt with pirates. You know how they work. You told yourself, hands feeling clammy as they gripped the edge of the bar. I already talked to one of them and it went…okay. Or maybe I’m just lying to myself and it went horribly.

You slouched in your chair and frowned. Nearly slamming your head down on the bar but you held back. Remembering you were indeed, still in public and if you wanted to wallow in your self-loathing you needed to go home for that.

I don’t need more people thinking I’m crazy.

You eventually stood up, walking to the point where you were just at the precipice of the doorway before panic struck you and you turned around just to walk straight out of the bar.

Red as a tomato and filled with shame you retreated into the night.

Did I even tell him my name?

You chewed your lips, the pleasant sounds of raindrops hitting the hood of your jacket and filling up your ears. It was a dark walk home. One that felt unmotivated to return home. You’d rather be out here, at night. The barren surroundings, whirring trees in the wind, and the rain pleasant yet cold. So you started meandering, walking as slow as you could despite the late hours.

Now and then the moon would peek through the clouds as if to say hello. A far-off lantern leaving a cool milky glow on your surroundings before being swallowed up by darkness once again.

Thank god my jacket is waterproof. You thought, watching the raindrops slip off the edge of your hood and in front of your face. It wasn’t a downpour just yet but it was not the best walking weather in most people's minds.

Yet even so you started making a detour.

What the fuck am I even doing?

At some point, while walking along the slightly muddy but managing trail to your home you made a hard 90-degree turn. Walking away from the direction of the little cabin your father had built when you were born, deep on the west side of the island.

It took about a half hour to walk through those woods to your house. Strong iron lanterns hung up on a few trees so you didn't get lost in the night. The animals are far too afraid to even step foot near your trail ever since your father claimed this portion of land.

So you were safe thankfully but what you weren’t safe from was yourself.

The trail you turned off onto led straight to the ocean. It was a bit muddier and more overgrown with thick roots and ferns but you have walked on this trial nearly half of your life. You knew it better than anyone because you were the one who made it.

Now and then you could hear the low rumble of lightning in the distance. Not too close but not entirely far off. The evergreens, birch and a few sparing oaks protecting you from the onslaught of the wind. As the wind cascaded through their branches it sounded like the raw howl of banshee. It creeped you out a bit but it was something you’ve heard before. This forest home even in the looming hours of the night.

Eventually, you breached the forest and reached the shoreline. The rain had died down a little, just a light pitter-patter against your jacket. The sand was wet but solid as you stepped down onto it. Your feet sunk in just a bit held against your weight regardless.

Looking out you noticed the ocean was in havoc. Waves nearly half your height would roll in and crash down like a bomb along the shore. The ocean tugged the water back in a greedy fashion as if it wanted to consume the land. Tall white-tipped waves stretching far out into the bay. The scent of salt, seaweed, and something oh-so comforting gliding in the space between you and the water.

Gosh if it's this bad here, I wonder what it’s like out on the open sea right now.

You looked down the shoreline, spotting the docks more towards the middle of the bay off to your left. There lay a few fishing ships, all bobbing up and down like pelicans in the water. But of course those weren’t the boats your eyes stayed glued to.

The contrast between those boats and the absolute behemoth that was the Kid Pirates ship was amazing. It was a good distance away, much bigger looking than it had originally been when you first spotted it. Squinting your eyes you could still make out a few shadows of people walking along its deck.

Your memory started floating into the forefront of your mind. Days on a deck like that. Nights spent harboring the seas as you tossed and turned in your bed. It felt like ages ago. That part of your life was now foreign to you the second the incident happened.

I wonder what he would’ve wanted for me.

Grief sunk deep into the root of your being. Covering the very base of who you are in a thick, oily, and dark substance. One that no matter how many times you tried to wash it off, it just wouldn’t go away.

“Goddamn it,” You muttered, trying to will yourself out of the feelings you held. You looked over at the sea once again, eyes trailing off towards your right. A long line of huge boulders stretched out into the waters. Built to elongate the bay and protect the land from bigger waves.

Without a thought, you walked towards it. The jetty calling your name as it has done a million times.

Climbing up onto the slick boulders you made sure to stay towards the shoreline side. The other side of the boulders, facing towards the open ocean, getting berated with large waves. You could barely hear yourself think with how loud it was. The light spritz of water landed on you periodically as you slowly and carefully traversed the boulders. Algae, kelp, starfish, and mussels littered around you. Wanting to trip you up whenever they could.

This is stupid, I can’t see shit. You thought, using your hands to steady yourself on any taller outcroppings of rock as your feet trembled underneath you. It wasn’t out of fear though, it was excitement. Excitement to do something dangerous. Excitement to try something so stupid.

Why am I like this? It’s cold and wet and I could fall into the ocean, get thrashed, and drown.

But you knew why you were like this. You knew exactly why and yet you still didn’t understand yourself. Feet moving without a thought. Your brain so focused on feeling something more than yourself that you don't care to stop.

At first, you didn’t even notice them. The pair of eyes watching you from a distance. Red-painted lips frowned in confusion as they eyed the familiar image of a girl seemingly trying to get herself killed.

In the cacophony of the waves and how they thrashed you heard another noise. A low deep whine of something in the distance. Your head perked up, blinking as if you had heard a ghost. As if the wind and waves were trying to talk to you. Thinking it was nothing you continued along until a second later you heard it again.

You looked out onto the sea towards your left, swallowing hard as you stared at the rocking waves just a few feet below you. You pressed your back up against a flat boulder at your side. Gripping onto it to keep your balance you finally glanced back at the shore.

What the-

An image of a man, a puffball-shaped man to be exact, standing at the edge of the shore right next to the jetty. You couldn’t make out his features but there was no denying who it was. His one intact arm waving and pointing toward something in your vicinity.

What the fuck?

The second you finished this thought something hit you.

Something dangerously cold and heavy enveloping you. Starting from the top of your head down to your toes. It burned your eyes as the cold sunk deep into your marrow.

Scraping your hands against the rock as you tried to stay upright, though the second it broke skin you were forced to let go. Your knees caving in under the insurmountable weight thrashed upon you.

One second you were standing and in the next you were getting sucked into the dark and desolate ocean below.

A/N: SHIT IS GETTING REAL YA’LL. BAD THINGS ARE HAPPENING. I wrote this with my eyes comically wide the whole time. Sorry to leave ya’ll on like a cliffhanger but it makes for good story telling so have fun suffering. Quirky reminder but Kid can’t swim. So like….yeah shes fucked. I mean she did it to herself but still. RIP Y/N 🙏 or a least RIP until the next chapter.

[chaoticspeedrun]

Brighter to my eyes 7

Summary: Leo is good at reading people, it's what makes him a good strategist, but those blue hues of hers elude his sharp intuition.

Perhaps if they didn't he'd realize he didn't have to change himself for her to see him like he wants her to.

A.N. I wrote this fanfic over an idea of Rise! Leo using a cloacking brooch to hide his true self but it evolved into something way bigger, this fic will takes place in ROTTMNT after "Newsworthy" but April is 18 starting college instead of in High School, while the MC and Raph are 17, the twins 16 and Mikey 15.

Pairing: Rise! Leo x OC, Leo x reader

Warnings: Angst, FLUFF, Sibling shenanigans, MC is a nerd, but a mean nerd in leather.

PREV • MASTERLIST • NEXT

Troya: Hey Tello

Purple rain: Yes, my magnanimous friend?

Troya: How much would your plans for the tank improve if you added control from your phone or wristband to your augmented reality dashboards, like a remote-control ignition key?

Purple rain: I knew there was a reason I decided to share the process of this beautiful project with you!

“Ooh, is it the drill?” Leo asked and you leaned a bit closer to Donnie asking ‘drill?’ in a quiet voice before Leo continued “Is it that drill you made when we were fighting those silverfish.”

“Brethren,” Donnie spoke to his siblings in front of a dramatic curtain while you stood right beside him “alongside my sponsor I am proud to present my masterpiece, the culmination of my merit skills united in one glorious enterprise. Gentlemen behold the—”

“Uh, no, no, that- that’s still in beta.”

“Lame!” Raph exclaimed.

“But this is better! Much much better, I give you the—”

“Is it gonna be a cooler even bigger drill?” Mikey asked grinning and Donnie frowned.

“No, not a drill!” He pointed, making a final gesture with his arm before Leo interrupted again.

“Wait, sponsor? Why is Vic sponsoring your projects now?” he asked with an eyebrow raised.

“It’s an investment in Donnie’s genius that I expect to pay me back greatly in the long run” Vic nodded confidently to which Donnie’s smile returned as he nodded too.

“Yes, yes, now, THIS is the big surprise!” Donnie finally pulled the rope on the curtain, exposing to everyone an empty sewer much to Vic and Donnie’s ignorance since they were looking at the rest of Donnie’s siblings “Tah-stinking-dah!”

“Yay! A sewer tube full of nothing!” Donnie ‘Ah?!’ed in confusion when Mikey said that, both him and Vic turning around fast to look at the lack of tank behind them “I’m so proud of you.”

 The five of them were now on top of a rooftop looking down at the city streets in search of the turtle tank.

“Hey this is a real problem Donnie” Raph stated, “Not only did they steal your tank thing—”

“Now you can finish the drill!” Mikey noted happily.

“What? Where did it go?!” Donnie asked, “I built us an amazing vehicle out of the moon buggy!” He exclaimed hitting the floor on his knees with Vic reaching down to pat his battle shell, still looking around as if the tank would appear again where they had left it “Who stole our turtle tank?!”

“But they also must know where our lair is” Raph continued “It must be somebody who penetrated our inner circle.

 Victoire tried to stop them once they had all reached April’s apartment but the turtles were faster and she face-palmed as they broke down the door to her apartment “Couldn’t we just KNOCK guys?!” She asked exasperated but Donnie spoke right after making his entrance.

“Maybe even someone we’ve known for years” Donnie said with a frown full of suspicion on his face.

“Hi Donnie” April’s calm grin and sickly-sweet tone was worrying “You have nine seconds to explain why you just broke down my door.”

“Someone stole Donnie’s turtle tank” Leo explained from behind and Vic started to back up as she saw April’s expression, she didn’t want to be in her line of fire.

“Alright you! Where’s our turtle tank?!”

“She gets it” Mikey said.

“Ah hohoh, I see, so as your best friend you naturally suspect me?” April asked with the fakest grin, Victoire was out the door by now.

“Oh hoh, don’t get me that, you’re the only one who could’ve taken it.”

“You what?” April asked glaring at Vic who stepped backward again with a wide innocent grin.

“April, I swear I told them it was ridiculous, the only reason they don’t suspect me is because I was there with Tello and sponsored the thing” Vic exclaimed.

The screams of pain from the guys could be heard through the whole neighborhood and Vic winced before looking out the window where they had been thrown from, she could hear Donnie speaking about their inner circle being secured and Mikey yelled out an apology to April “Movie night later?” He asked.

“Your treat” April agreed, blowing them a kiss before closing the window and turning to Vic, the latter was about to say goodbye but the expression on April’s face screamed ‘really?’ and Vic groaned “I thought we’d talked about buying them things?”

Vic thought those were Donnie’s last words, because April stood up then, baseball bat on her hands and a warning on her tongue “3, 2, 1…”

“Look, Aps, I know it’s just that Donnie’s project was so cool and by this point, it was more of an investment? I get my own seat on the tank and made some suggestions too, it wasn’t just giving him the stuff out of nowhere” Vic defended herself and April sighed nodding, Vic mentally celebrated having convinced her before she said goodbye to go meet the guys back in the street.

Once she reached the alley where they’d fallen she heard the last of their conversation “It’s gotta be another mutant, and I know where we can find a mutant, the mutant pizza place!” Leo said.

“I’m sorry, what? A mutant pizza place?” Vic questioned quickly “Well how many people can have been mutated? I thought that was like, a recent thing? With the oozequitoes and that?” Her voice dripped with confusion and Leo’s arm was suddenly around her shoulders.

 They all ended up at a different alley, Leo helped her down as they all had been parkouring from the rooftops, it was good that she had a good physical condition but she still needed to rely on one of them when doing that, it was insane how resistant the four were “Stand back” Raph said, once you’d reached it, saying he had this before making a gesture with his hands and suddenly Vic’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ as she saw a magical entrance form through the graffiti on the wall.

“Oh my dear human friend, there is so much you don’t know about us yet, but don’t worry! We’re gonna show you all you’ve been missing, Leo’s got you!” He said with his thumb pointing to himself.

“Say, bone-man! Yo, you seem like you have your ear holed to the ground, what do you know about a certain missing turtle tank?” Leo asked dropping a paper on the skeleton’s hands, it turned out to be a teddy bear town voucher.

“Ah, the old smooth urban cop digging for info in a restaurant routine. Watch and learn baby” He winked at Vic who didn’t really notice since she was still looking at the pizzeria and the customers in awe, Donnie did seem to notice though, and rolled his eyes while Leo made his way to the owner.

Vic ran her hands down her cheeks in dismay as she realized this.

“Okay Leo, do your thing” Raph said and Leo separated himself from Vic, clearly trying to show off.

“Enough with your stupid routine, Leo!” Donnie exclaimed exasperated pushing past him.

Vic noticed the small shift on Leo’s expression and her step stuttered immediately, Leo was always so bright, it was weird to see him lack confidence like that, she decided to settle herself at his side, bumping her arm with his and hoping it would make him feel better, she felt him stiffen before looking down at her in surprise.

Leo kept going through different people before a baby with a really big set of teeth growled in his face “Oh come on!” He backed up.

“I’m finding out which of you wise guys took our tank or I’m smashing everything in this dump!” Donnie stated loudly making some people in the establishment look worried, he tried to lift a table to throw it but was struggling with it, the bone-mas lifted a hand to stop him.

“Eh, hey, Pepino…” Vic almost snorted at the nickname but managed to stop herself in time “Your bad cop routine leaves something to be desired.”

“Oh, no, nonono, hahah! We’re not the police” Mikey spoke, Vic wondered why she’d stayed silent throughout the whole endeavor because right after they were kicked out and this time she was thrown into the alley with them, thankfully landing on Mikey’s legs instead of the garbage or his plastron.

“Oh man,” Leo was rubbing his back “Why can’t anyone throw us into a nice soft pile of trash?”

“Ugh, hey Donnie” Raph lifted himself up “Why didn’t you just put a tracking device in the turtle tank? You put a tracker device in salami paper” Victoire mumbled a small ‘Do I really want to know?’ while sliding off Mikey’s legs.

 “Okay, we should find the tank if we just track the perimeter of the shopping cart protocol’s limit” Donnie explained glancing at the image on his tech bo.

“Oh I was getting to that” Donnie explained “But then he realized he did install the shopping cart protocol! Hah hah!” When Donnie narrated his life like that it made Vic look at everything more dramatically, any day now she’ll start hearing Donnie’s voice narrate the most mundane things of her life and will be unable to stop it, his brothers looked less amused.

“Woah! Are we gonna need a protractor?” Mikey asked.

“No.”

“Guys? Look!” Vic interrupted them pointing down to where the tank was parked, the guys all looked amazed.

“Woah! Donnie, nice work”

“An abacus?”

“She’s big AND beautiful” Raph joined in.

“We are gonna get a lot of parking tickets in that thing” Leo grinned before making a double take “Uh, hey guys? What’s dad doing down there?”

“Oooh, I SHOULD have known HE took it” Donnie groaned “You just can’t trust adults these days. You leave the keys to your brainchild lying around and the next thing you know—”

“Meat Sweats? Oh that’s bad news” Raph grunted “Hey, we gotta move or dad’ll be toast to spread on toast, let’s go”

They started following but Splinter and Meat Sweats were driving fast down the street “They’re getting away!” Raph yelled.

Vic looked confused “Who’s Meat Sweats?” She asked no one in particular, but snickered at the ‘toast to spread on toast’ comment and Leo pouted at her while Mikey explained it was Rupert Swagger whom she’d seen transform on live TV.

“Oh come on, I’ve said funnier things.” He moaned.

Donnie turned around with a grin “Turtle tank time!”

They all got in the tank and Donnie immediately started following Meat Sweats “Now that autopilot is engaged” He said walking away from the controls “Allow me to show you around my state of the art Turtle Tank! Over there is navigation, down here is a, wait for it: Bowling ball launcher, strike! And there is the—”

“Ooh, good one, rainbow and chocolate” they all grunted as they hit a wall but the tank kept going without issue.

“Donnie, watch the road!” Raph glared.

“Soft serve ice cream machine?!” Mikey asked with sparkly eyes “Tell me there’s a sprinkles cannon?”

“I wouldn’t need to if you would just take your seat” Donnie smugly pointed out to a seat that came from the ceiling “It’s the giant red one with your name and your exact lumbar settings!”

“It’s beautiful” Raph said with excitement as Donnie patted his back.

“Captain, the con is yours.” They both shared a fist bump and Raph took over the driving stick.

Victoire strode right next to Leo who looked at her curiously while she expertly pulled down on a lever, a door opened beneath and a new seat appeared right there, Vic taking it happily while Leo looked in wonder.

“Wait, how much did you actually work on this thing?” he asked curiously and Vic shrugged.

“I mostly just hung around while Donnie explained or asked me for help with simple things, told me how to do some small tasks or had me pass over tools” If he was being honest with himself, which Leo hadn’t been much since meeting Victoire, Leo would have probably considered the bitterness he felt at realizing she had been hanging out at the lair with Donnie for a while without him even knowing, but since he WASN’T being honest he just grinned at her at that.

“I know you’re in there Dad! I can see your tail!” Donnie yelled from a window “Oh papa~! If you surrender now there shan’t be any consequences!”

“You’re with a very dangerous mutant pops! Meat Sweats just wants to eat you!”

The truck hit them a couple times and Vic finally put on her seat belt “We gotta stop that truck!” Raph exclaimed.

“I’ll blast it with the boom cannon!” Donnie said happily and Vic looked at Leo with worry.

“Uh, burnt to a crisp isn’t the way I was planning on meeting your father” She said while Leo used his control panel to talk to Donnie.

“Donnie, dad’s in that thing” He glared at his brother through the screen.

“Can I at least go semi-lethal?” Donnie asked and the figures of his brothers on his screen grunted while Victoire shook her head “You never let me shine!” he complained sadly “Harpoon hooks it is” he finished and Vic took it as her cue, pulling out the controls for the harpoon and pointing at the truck, they stuck tight for Leo and Mikey to climb over the chains.

“Okay Sweaty Spaghetti, give us our dad back!” Mikey said.

“Yeah, hand over the fugitive” Donnie agreed with a mean grin.

Vic watched as Meat Sweat’s truck opened up showing him and a lot of mutants in cages, but she couldn’t hear what he was threatening them with, she COULD have started the outside audio from her screen but decided she was already grossed out enough just watching the pig use his powers on that cobra.

“Hey watch out! It’s a spitting cobra!” Raph yelled and Donnie barked “Hey! Watch the paint bucko!”

“Donnie, what else you got in this thing?” At Raph’s question, Donnie got excited to use the bowling balls, it didn’t take long after that for Mikey and Leo to bother Meat Sweats enough for him to be done with trying to eat Splinter, at one point Vic got worried for them both since they were just um, HANGING FROM A CHAIN but Okay, they did it and now Splinter sat in front of them on the street, an angry Donnie glaring down at his father.

“You, you reckless, irresponsible! You are watching the science of chairs channel for a month young man! Followed by the long division channel and the memorizing Pi channel! Spoiler alert, the 99th digit is seven!” Donnie kept berating his father and Vic whistled from behind just watching, if she EVER spoke to either of her parents like that, she would have been kissing her freedom bye-bye.

It was only after Donnie finished his rant that Splinter’s eyes stumbled upon her and Victoire suddenly had returned to her most popular grin, the one Leo had mostly seen on her Instagram pics, it kind of weirded him out, he’d gotten used to her casual small upturn of lips which wasn’t quite a smile but felt more real than whatever she was doing right now, she looked like a doll.

“Hello, sir! I’m Victoire Blanchet, a friend of your sons, it’s nice to finally meet you regardless of circumstances” she extended her hand to the man/rat for a firm handshake which he took, his pout from before suddenly gone as he looked at her.

“Ah yes, I did hear a bit about you, I apologize for my son’s manners, they should have introduced us before” Donnie crossed his arms “and you may call me Splinter, it’s a pleasure to meet you” he smiled gently at her, Victoire blinked, her face didn’t twitch in the slightest but she felt like the glint in his eye looked at her knowingly.

They all went back inside the tank to go to the lair, Mikey having invited Victoire back to watch movies like he’d done with April which she agreed to, Leo started rambling to her about how there was no way she hadn’t seen Jupiter Jim’s last trip to the moon 32.

“We can watch that, but I have read the comic” she said proudly when Leo’s eyes sparkled.

“No way! I couldn’t even find it, it was a limited print!” He jumped on the edge of his seat while she nodded at him.

“If you want you can come over to my apartment tomorrow” she said and Leo’s cheeks darkened at the idea “then I can finally show you around and you can check out my collection”

He was about to agree in a burst of excitement when Mikey jumped in between the both of them “Oh really!? We’d love to go over Vic! I’m so excited to see your place, then we can visit you when you can’t come down to the lair!”

Vic looked at Mikey in surprise but chuckled and nodded telling him they were all welcome while Leo bristled behind his brother.

From one turn after the other Leo was starting to crave more time with Vic and he promised himself he would get it soon without his siblings.

He still refused to acknowledge the reasons for why he wanted this.

Taglist: @saspas-corner @mysstical-siren

[im-just-a-mississippi-girl]

I’ve Got Your Back Like You’ve Got Mine

Pairing: Ricky Starks x female wrestler!reader

Category: Fluff

Word count: 460

Summary: You always have your boyfriend Ricky Starks’ back, but this time it’s his turn to have yours. 

Warnings: none, unless you count two swear words. Also, I wrote this picturing the reader as a female, but there’s no description of reader.

Masterlist

Taglist

“Hey! There’s my extremely handsome and super sexy man.” You smiled somewhat nervously, not expecting to come across him backstage so soon. 

Ricky looked at you with an eyebrow raised, “What did you do now?” He learned a few months after the two of you began dating that you being overly sweet and complimentary was a huge sign that something was up. 

“Nothing! Wh-why would ask that?” You stammered, trying to keep your voice casual. 

“You’re acting suspicious so spill. What did you do? No, better yet what did you say? And don’t try to beat around the bush or sugar coat it.” His stern voice told you not to try your luck by changing the subject. 

You let out a sigh and nodded, still slightly nervous regarding what reaction you’ll get from him after you tell him what went down moments ago. “I may have told Britt that her and Adam can’t hold a candle to me and you in the ring and….” You trailed off with your head down not really sure if you should continue. 

Ricky ran a hand over his face, letting out a sigh as he did so. “I swear that mouth gets you into more trouble than mine does. Let me guess Britt challenged you and ran her mouth so you decided to run yours too. What’s the result of the war of words between you two?”

Ricky wasn’t mad at you. He knows good and well that you never intentionally start these kinds of things, but he also knows good and well that you damn sure can finish them. If anything, between the two of you, Ricky is more likely to start something with the way his confidence can come off as cockiness and arrogance. Whenever Ricky would find himself in the middle of feud, regardless of who it was with, he knew he could count on you to have his back and be there to help him finish what he started. This time the roles were reversed, and he sure as hell was gonna be there for you. 

“Tony Khan heard about what happened and decided to have a mixed tag match this Friday on Rampage. A couple versus couple type thing.” You finally looked up at him to see those gorgeous eyes staring right back into your own. 

A grin followed by a chuckle fell from his lips. “Alright. Let’s show ‘em who the best is. In the ring and on the mic.” He smirks, throwing you a wink that makes your knees weak and throat run dry all while slinging his arm over your shoulders and bringing you into his side. He knows all the little things that make you melt and boy does he take advantage of it. 

A/N: So I’ve been wanting to get back into writing after probably a 10+ year hiatus (life, lack of ideas, lack of motivation, lack of time, etc.) so here’s me attempting to ease back into it. Hope you enjoyed! 

[missskzbiased]

The Things We Don’t Tell

Summary: You were sure your life was written and directed to fit a sketchy Rom-Com and nobody could convince you otherwise. First, your boss was too hot to be true, and burning with desire didn’t even begin to explain the tingling sensations he left on you. Second, your coworker (a.k.a. Ex-About-to-be-FWB) insisted in turning your life into a living hell, which wasn’t the exact kind of hotness you were into. And if having these two hot men around you every single day of your life wasn’t enough to prove it, maybe the threat of your slutty secret identity about to be busted would be… But you couldn’t let this happen.

WC: 7,5 K

Genre: Smut, Humor (?)

AUs: Office, Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin X Fem!Reader X Bang Chan  

(Not really a love triangle as Hyunjin is the Lead. However, Reader wants to Bang Chan)

Rebloggable Masterlist    //   Main Masterlist   //   Tag List

Warnings: Language, Thigh riding, Public space (Office), Exhibitionism, Possessiveness, Pet Name (Baby girl), Sir Kink  

[If I forgot anything, please let me know! I’m kinda sleepy right now]

Notes: There will be at least one more chapter but I won’t do a tag list post for now, only if someone wants it, cuz I’m too lazy to think about doing it right now. This fic is an attempt to experiment with some writing style things that I’ve been wanting to try. I don’t think it worked, tho SUHAHUSAUHSUHA But that’s life

- I’ll quite possibly change the title in the future-

                                                            ///

  You are a superhero.

    Okay! To be honest, you may be exaggerating a little bit ─ a tiny harmless little bit ─ but that was how you felt every single day of your life, alright? You had this glorious and mysterious side of yours that you hid from everyone else in the world… That mask that you couldn’t let come to the ground and would fight for dear life to protect… That side to your persona that no one was allowed to meet… The fierce, bold, and dark aspects of your soul that—

    “Y/N! I want those papers on my table!”

    “Yes, sir!” You shrieked in an embarrassing (not even slightly bold) way.

    — That you couldn’t show at your work.

    Yeah… So maybe no one actually thought of you as a superhero, but you really believed someone should start to. Was there something that different between your life and those low-budget TV shows people seem to enjoy so much? You didn’t think so.

  To be fair, sometimes you felt like someone wrote a questionable script and poorly directed your life to fit you as the leading lady of a sketchy rom-com. As if they just focused on checking out every point on a bullet list made up with rules for a successful superhero office drama that wasn’t even that good…

    … And speaking of which…

    Rule Number One: The stern (maybe kinda attractive) boss!

    If you had to define Bang Chan with a couple of adjectives, you would choose undeniably beautiful ─ extremely professional of you because the right words to describe him were fucking hot ─ and committed. Fortunately, it wasn’t an “I have someone waiting for me at home and a bunch of kids I must put to sleep” kind of commitment, which would destroy your hopes of having this man one day. Unfortunately, it was an “I’m better than the header and gonna run this company by tomorrow night” kind of commitment, which destroys your hopes of a peaceful day at work.

    Now, it’s not like you don’t want to do your job! It’s just that you didn’t sign up to be Bang Chan’s perfect little toy ─ definitely not the better words to describe it ─ and you didn’t expect to be joined by the hips ─ really? ─ with him or any of your coworkers. The thing is that Bang Chan wants to be on top ─ someone has to stop you ─ and he believes the only way to get there is to work as a team and be as perfect as one can be. In other words, Bang Chan wants absolutely everything and everyone to be neat, tight, and ready to be used ─ again… Not the better way to put your thoughts into words ─, but this just wasn’t who you were.  

    It also wasn’t the point right now.

    The point right now should be the fact that Bang Chan was striding to his office looking like he owned the whole damn place… If this was a movie, the camera would be focusing on his expensive, black leather shoes before scanning all the way up to his waist in slow motion. The scene would zoom in on his fine ass only to go a little bit up and catch the shiny, black belt wrapping around his figure. The outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination, but you had a hell of a productive mind… You could think of a few things you shouldn’t really be thinking about right now.

    Bang Chan didn’t seem to understand he was at work either.

    He rolled his sleeve up in a sexy motion that should be illegal. It isn’t. You can tell by the way there are no cops bursting inside the building and arresting this gorgeous son of a bitch.

    The lack of any authorities to stop this atrocious moment had you lowering your gaze to your desk ─ a vain attempt to ignore the way his forearms flexed as he gestured and ordered people around. If you were a little bit less professional, you would have some ideas of how he could do it in bed. With you. But you weren’t some kind of creepy perv who would be fantasizing about riding your own boss from dusk till dawn.

    Not at all.

    “Do you need me, Sir?” His secretary asks politely.

  A question that you would love to ask him too… In a totally and strictly professional way, of course.

    Rule Number Two: The (extremely unnecessary) nemesis!

    The shiver running down your spine could mean only one thing: Hwang Hyunjin ─ your obnoxious coworker ─ was standing right behind you, just like a bloody damn ghost. There was no need to turn around. You knew he had his mocking eyes glued on Bang Chan’s figure, and you could feel the air shifting as he tilted his head in a silent sneer before leaning on your desk.

    You refused to turn around and acknowledge his presence; painfully aware that he would flash a wide grin while looking at you with a knowing glint in his eyes. You wouldn’t give him the taste of seeing in your face that he was right; that you were staring at your boss as if you were a starving vulture. So you did the only thing you could do in this situation: You started to work. The sheets scattered over your desk wouldn’t walk by themselves to Bang Chan’s room, right?

    And neither would you if it depended on Hyunjin.

    The attempts to swipe the papers in your direction and gather everything you needed ─ to finally get rid of Hyunjin ─ proved to be vain as his hand took root on the desk. You pursed your lips in annoyance while glancing at his prominent knuckles and slender fingers; wondering if he would be so collected if he knew you wanted to crunch them. Probably not. But he gets off so fucking much on upsetting you that he might just want to take the risk anyway.

    “What do you want, asshole?” You hissed; stopping your motions before turning around to stare blankly at him.

    The face of an angel was the most accurate way to describe the sight in front of you. Plump, pink lips molded into a sweet smile and dark brown eyes morphed into cute crescents. None of those features fit his true self, though. Underneath the angelic façade, there was a demon called Hwang Hyunjin ─ who was resting his free hand on your shoulder for no reason besides driving you crazy.

    It would be easier if he was just a pretty face, but Hyunjin had a good body too. The guy looked just like a model ─ slim, tall, and classy ─, and even though only his collarbones peeked out from down his shirt, you knew that there was much more than the eyes could see.

    Well, you never saw it, but you had felt it.

    As far as you could remember, each curve on Hyunjin’s abs was craft by God himself. The way his chest was built for you to caress would be forever craved on your mind. You might never forget how soft his lips were in contrast to his lap… How his thighs flexed just right when you pulled his hair… How reactive he was… How his moans sounded… And how he put everything to waste.

    “Oh, nothing” He shrugged. As usual, his voice was just like sweet, hot honey; still, you could wipe the poison dripping down his chin, “I was just wondering if you had enough time to do your job while fucking your boss inside your head” He clarified sarcastically, cracking you a smile.

    Sometimes you regretted not putting his mouth to good use… He really needed to learn how to shut up for a while and stop being so… Unbearable. The silence he met had him scoffing; body leaning even closer to the point his face was practically hovering over yours ─ smugness plastered all over it. You held his gaze to confront him; breathe mingling with his in a heated mix that matched the anger under your eyes.

    Was he licking his lips as he stared at yours? Oh boy… He definitely wanted to get laid. It was your time to scoff as the frown on your lips turned into a smirk; eyes twinkling mischievously as you looked into his in a silent teasing. As if sensing that he was in trouble, Hyunjin tilted his head to look even more obnoxious than he was; face coming closer to yours to defy your newfound confidence.

     “You know what? If you stared at him any longer, I think his balls might have fallen off…” He whispered in a tone loud enough for just you to hear “Unless he saw the way you were looking at him… Then I guess his dick would go straight up” He assured you with a ‘friendly’ pat on your shoulder as he finally let go of your papers and straightened his back.

    “Are you saying it from experience?” You sneered; grimacing at him.

    “Are you telling me that you want me to fuck you too?” He retorted gibingly; not even thinking twice about it.

    “No” You tilted your head, trying to stay composed, “I’m reminding you that you couldn’t even kiss me without getting a boner… Just like a teenage boy�� He arched a brow at your statement; pursing his lips as he hummed in wonder “I’m surprised you never came in your pants like the pathetic thing you are” He laughed; poking his cheek with his tongue before squeezing your shoulder in a silent warning.

    “I must have been quite a sight if you can remember it so vividly” You pretended not to notice the way he sniggered, pushing away the urge to punch his face.

  Nemesis was just a classy way to call him a pain in the ass.

  Rule Number Three: The (plain and uninteresting) secret identity!

  It would be impossible to miss the moment Hyunjin’s devilish smirk morphed into a bright, friendly smile. The snarky comment on the tip of your tongue was swallowed back in a bit; grimace dissolving into a wide grin as if you weren’t about to throw your fists at him. He giggled as his arms spread open before snaking around your body to pull you into a tight hug; holding you close and rocking your body side to side as a soft huff fell from your lips.

    If you didn’t know any better, your knee would be buried between his legs.

  “Way to go, Y/N!” He chirped, loosening his grip to take a better look at your face; eyes smiling as if the both of you were the bestest of friends in the entire world, “You’re awesome! I’m so proud… I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you as my teammate” He pursed his lips; dimples showing as he offered you nothing but affection in his gaze.

    You did know better, though, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out who was standing behind your back as you opened your mouth to answer him: “There’s no one I’d rather be with!” You reassured Hyunjin in a sweet, mirthful tone; tilting your head to return the fondness in his look in an act worthy of an Oscar “We’re a team, you know? You can’t get rid of me so easily” He laughed wholeheartedly at that; ruffling your hair before leaning closer to you again, resuming the hug.

    “We’ll see about that” He whispered in your ear, making you scoff.

    “What are you gonna do? Cry to Daddy so you won’t work with me anymore?” You hissed back; breaking away from his hug with a tight grin before turning around to meet Chan’s gaze.

    The surprise plastered over your face was millimetrically calculated; just like the way you pretended to be flustered as you stared into your boss’ eyes to see the pride shining on them. You brought the papers closer to your chest in what was meant to be an innocent, coy way ─ a technique mastered over the months you worked for him ─, and Chan seemed to fall for it as he giggled in delight. The poor guy had no clue all of this was as fake as your camaraderie towards Hyunjin, and he wasn’t about to discover it anytime soon if it depended on you.

    Luckily, it did! You had taken some acting classes; just enough for your next words to be naturally convincing: “I’m so sorry, Sir! We’re just so happy that –” The words were deliberately drawled to give him enough time to interrupt you. Just like you knew he would. And it was a good thing that he did because you had no idea of how you were supposed to finish that sentence anyway.

    You were a good actress, not a professional improviser.

    “Don’t mention it” He cut you off giggly; detaching himself from the doorframe he leaned on as he watched the friendly scene taking place.

    The amount of cuteness this man could deliver in his smile wasn’t fair, and it didn’t match the sensuality a simple gesture of his overflowed with, enchanting you. You gulped down as he gave both of you a silent order to follow him into his room, wondering if the duality he had in the office was remotely similar to what he could do in bed ─ a thought that shouldn’t be having a place in your mind right now.

    Hyunjin seemed to pick up on it pretty quickly too, and as soon as Chan turned around to head to his office, he bumped his shoulder onto yours. The obnoxious action was followed by your elbow diving into his ribs; a retaliation that took you less than a second and, luckily, Chan ─ or any of your coworkers ─ didn’t seem to notice. Neither of you gave away your silent quarrel as Hyunjin closed the door behind him, smiling at you when Chan finally took his seat.

     “It’s good to see that you guys have such chemistry” He confessed, and you had to suppress a scoff when you looked into his eyes. He had no idea… The chemistry between you two was enough to make you want to blow each other, “You know what I always say, right?” He boasted on a sing-song; much more at ease than he seemed to be earlier.

    You weren’t about to put that on the line, though.

    “You can’t have teamwork if you don’t have a team!” You warbled in unison.

    “That’s the spirit!” Chan gurgled, heading to his desk in a visibly good mood.

    What was going on? He wouldn’t be so happy just because you and Hyunjin were being friendly… Were you missing something? He didn’t seem in such a peaceful state of mind when he came in… It had to be something that happened after that. Perhaps he got some good news from his secretary? Or maybe… You narrowed your eyes as you caught a glimpse of Hyunjin’s hands fidgeting in front of him; his foot tapping the ground rapidly but quietly before moving slightly to step on your toe.

     Or maybe Hyunjin had something to do with it…

    “As I said in the email, Sir, I happened to hear some stuff around and… KQ managed to get an exclusive with Han Jisung” The sentence sounded just like a normal introduction to a report, but you knew it wasn’t. Hyunjin’s eyes darted to meet yours, glinting with anxiety and despair. He was informing you of what was going on, not Chan, “And as we all know, Jisung is a rising producer star, which is bound to raise their sales and might get in the way of ours…” He continued, swallowing dryly and widening his eyes ever so slightly.

    He was definitely trying to warn you of something.

    “Yes, I read the e-mail, Hyunjin” Chan agreed sternly; smile disappearing as his fingers intertwined to serve as a support for his chin. He looked classy and incredibly sexy, but your mind couldn’t afford to focus on it right now. You had to figure out what the hell Hyunjin suggested to Chan before blowing everything up, “You also said that Y/N might have the solution for this…” Oh, so that was it, you thought when Chan arched his brow; eyes connecting to yours.

    And now what?

    “So?” He encouraged you, detaching his chin from his hands so he could rest them on his desk “I’m waiting” He smiled gently; a closed-mouth smile that was supposed to calm your nerves, even though you could see how tumultuous his gaze was right now.

    It was practically a silent threat.

    In a normal situation, the predatory way he was looking at you ─ resembling a wolf when you were nothing but a sheep under his radar ─ would get you… Thinking.

    Your job wouldn’t be at stake in a normal situation, though.

    The pressure on your toes increased; the subtle way Hyunjin found to snap you out of your mind, despite your silence hanging in there for just a few seconds. It was obvious that he was freaking out just as much as you were, and you couldn’t help but blame him for this. Couldn’t he have told you about it earlier? What the hell was going on inside his mind?! Instead of taunting you about wanting to fuck Bang Chan, he should have warned you about that shit!

    That’s not the time for this, Y/N.

    The muscles on your face tensed as you tried to not give away everything going through your mind; lips twisting in a tight smile as you looked at Hyunjin: “Yeah, he was right” You answered calmly, even though your stomach was settled on becoming an Olympic athlete right now, “As I was telling him before coming here, Sir, I have someone in mind…” The relief washed over Hyunjin’s face; a genuine smile adorning his features as he withheld a sigh, “I happen to know I.N, and I think I can get us an exclusive” You confessed, shifting your gaze from Hyunjin to Chan.

    “The writer?” He blurted out, astonishment plastered all over his face.

    “Yeah… They’re a friend of mine…” You trailed off, embarrassed to say it out loud “They’re in the top trending now since their novel will become a drama and…” You cleared your throat, lowering your head to avoid his gaze. There was just so much of acting you could handle for a day, “I mean- It’s… Adult stuff, right? But they never—”

    “I know! That’s perfect!” He beamed, getting up from his chair to walk your way “They’ve never been seen! Nobody knows anything about them, Y/N” He laughed ─ he genuinely laughed ─ while clasping his hands together “Han Jisung is good, but I.N is better! This is hot news… FrontPage… How come you never told me about that?” He chuckled, placing his hand on your shoulder “Rest assured that when I get my promotion, I’m gonna have you right here in this room” He promised you in such a serious tone that a shiver ran down your spine.

    Rule Number Four: The (kinda horny) true self!

    There was not a single soul in the office as you made your way down the hall; eyes focused on the mesmerizing view outside. The sky was colored in purple shades, so deep that you would have mistaken them for black if it weren’t for the dazzling, sleepless city and its dozens of skyscrapers lighting everything up. Not even the full moon would be able to compete with such a beautiful brilliance, but it wouldn’t be necessary either as your gaze was abruptly torn away from the night.

    The darkness surrounding you didn’t allow your brain to connect the dots immediately, and you couldn’t help but wonder what happened when you bumped into something. The surface was much softer than a wall, yet firm enough to have you wincing for the impact; eyes snapping to meet the unlucky bastard that stayed until so late. The moonlight kissed his skin just enough for you to recognize the sharp features of your boss; clenched jaw revealing popping veins that distracted you for a fraction of a second.

     Your eyes trailed the path from his jaw to his neck, and you couldn’t help but wonder how it tasted like; if you could savor it like the sins you wanted to commit with him. The closeness didn’t work in your favor, and the hint of his scent intoxicated your senses as you connected your gazes. Something must have given you off ─ maybe your hesitation, maybe the lust glinting in your eyes ─ because the next second, Cristopher had his hand placed on your lower back.

   The warm sensation grew to a burning feeling as his eyes darkened while diving into yours; his stern, cold gaze contrasting to the feeling of his touch and sending a shiver down your spine. Could he have noticed the way your legs trembled as his grip tightened around you? The look on his face was indecipherable, and the intensity of his gaze made you feel too exposed and vulnerable to keep looking for an answer, so you averted your eyes away from him.

    “Weren’t you supposed to come as soon as you got his answer?” The way his voice made its way to your senses had the embarrassment washing over you. The huskiness in his tone made you gulp down ─ throat dry from thirsting over him ─ and the calmness in his sentence alarmed you as it didn’t match the disapproval in his eyes “It’s so late that there is no one else here anymore” He added nonchalantly; mixed signals getting you confused to what he meant by it.

    Was it just a way to scold you or was it an invitation?

    “I’m sorry, Sir” Despite not having anyone around, you whispered the words as if you could be caught at any moment now, “It took me longer than expected, but we—”

    “We?” His eyes were sharp enough to cut you off but the real reason why you couldn’t manage to finish your thoughts was the way he pulled your body impossibly closer to his “Were you with him this whole time?” He hissed right into your ear, letting his hot breath fan over your cold, sensitive skin in a silent threat.

    “Working” You corrected, even though he didn’t say anything.

    “Working” He hummed in agreement; hand going to tuck your hair behind your ear “As in how we work late at night?” He sneered, manhandling you to press your back against the cold surface of the glass wall that separated his office from the rest of the place “Or is it as in how he wants to work you on his desk?” He scoffed; soft huff almost as degrading as the way he held your cheeks with one hand and guided your eyes to his.

    “Neither” You guaranteed breathlessly; voice quivering in excitement.

    “Are you going to pretend that you didn’t notice his looks?” He narrowed his eyes at you; his knee making its way to the gap between yours before slowly rising to your thighs, “That you don’t know how much he wants to fuck you?” He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head in disbelief, “You better not, ‘cause I know you love it” He warned as he kicked your legs apart.

    “He could never fuck me as you do” There was such seriousness in your tone that it had him chuckling, and he nodded in approval before burying his nose in your neck, “I-I’m yours only, Sir… I know my place” You promised quietly, trying not to give away how aroused his jealousy made you feel.

    “Yeah…” His raspy laughter tickled your skin, and you muffled a whine as he grazed his teeth over your neck teasingly “But you like being reminded of it, don’t you?” He taunted, taking in your scent in a way that made you feel too small and helpless. He groaned as soon as you let a whimper fall from your lips, and you couldn’t help but struggle to stay still while knowing what was about to come, “Do I have to spell it for you, baby girl?” He snickered before sucking on the tender spot of your skin that he knew too well at this point.

    “N-No” Somewhere inside your head, you acknowledged that your reaction was insanely humiliating. He just needed a couple of words spoken in a sultry tone and you couldn’t even form a proper sentence. That was the power he had on you. And you loved it. “Only yours” The rushed tone made him smirk against your neck, stopping his path of kisses for a second to look into your eyes “Sir” You panted; returning his gaze with just as much intensity as he had on his.

    “Claim your place” His order was so tantalizing that you didn’t even blink before you finally let your knees give away, losing the support of your legs to earn the support of his thigh, “That’s right… You do remember your place” Somehow, this sounded like the best praise he could ever offer you, even under his amused tone, “But you have been such a bad girl lately…” He pouted as he caressed your cheek; hand stopping to grab your chin gently “And I don’t like bad girls… You know that, right?” He let his thumb reach for your lower lip, fiercely staring at it before grazing his finger on your teeth.

    Your answer was as silent as his request; tongue welcoming his thumb before you sucked on his digit. He hummed in appreciation, pushing it inside your mouth as you looked at him with big doe eyes to show a coyness that wasn’t really there within you. The action was followed by a swirl around the tip of his finger; as if to leave in his mouth the taste of what he was missing and prompt him to give you what you really wanted: Him.

    If he picked up on your plans, he showed it by giving like for like.

   He didn’t say a word as he pressed his thigh against your heat; leaning closer to let his breath fan over your neck once more. He stood like that for what could have been seconds, maybe minutes, but nonetheless time enough for his warmth to creep into your senses. He was like a poison to you; the intoxicating presence clouding your better judgment and destroying any will you had to have him losing control. You didn’t even mind the way he scoffed as you started to grind his leg; brows twisting to shout out a needy plea for release.

    “That’s a good girl” He approved, catching your earlobe between his teeth. The moan that fell from your lips was muffled by his finger and he didn’t seem to appreciate it, “I don’t hear you, baby girl” He complained, moving on to your jaw with a path of open-mouthed kisses that weren’t enough to distract you from his other hand “There’s no one here… Be loud for me” He allured you as his hand found its way under your shirt.

      The temptation was great… Scream his name as he fucked you senseless in the office... No risk of being caught… Just you, and him, and your dirty little secret…

    Your thoughts were all around the place, and you had no hopes of grasping them back as his cold hand brushed your side, contrasting to the warmth under your clothes. The way he touched you made shivers run down your spine; his slow, delicate motion enhancing your senses to every single second of his caresses. You held your breath when his finger finally managed to reach its destination; grazing over your nipple to have you succumbing to his wishes.

    You fought it as you could, but you were never much of a fighter.

    It was too easy for him to have you under his control, and he knew it. You could tell it by the way he chuckled as soon as you gave away how lost you were at this point. The moan that left your lips came all the way up from your chest, sounding crystal clear in the room as you let your mouth fall agape. Sucking on his finger and following his orders were the last concern you would have for this moment. The only thing worthy of your attention right now was the fact that you couldn’t get as much friction as you needed, and you had to do something about it.

    So you grind on his leg for dear life.

    “You’re so needy” The mockery didn’t have much effect on your mind anymore, so you just kept sliding up and down his thigh as if that was the only thing that could keep you going “You’re not even listening to me, are you?” He huffed in disbelief; thumb leaving your mouth so he could cup your face “That’s all you can understand, right?” He taunted, pinching your nipple to get your attention again, “Are you still there, baby girl?” He leaned closer to whisper in your ear.

      “F-Fuck me” Was the only answer he would get.

      “Manners” He warned; licking the sweet spot next to your jaw.

      “Fuck me, Sir” You corrected yourself; wrapping your arms around his shoulders to look for some support as you practically bounced on his leg, “Please, fuck me, Sir” You repeated, forehead resting on the crook of his neck as you clawed his back, trying to bring him as close as possible to you.

      “Louder” He demanded, and you didn’t need to look at his face to know that he was grinning, “Louder…” He instructed in a tone so low that you could barely hear him over the rustling sounds of fabric against fabric. Your breath hitched as his hand gently caressed your hair; moving some strands away from your face to take a better look at you. However, he didn’t get to see your teary eyes, “Come on, baby… Look at me” He asked in a tantalizing tone, alluring you to try and meet his gaze.

    There wasn’t much you could see through your hooded eyes; vision too blurry for you to grasp what was going on inside his mind. You could tell he enjoyed it, though. He always did. That moment when he could pinpoint you had given up on your control, that you weren’t yourself anymore and would be willing to do whatever he asked… He lived for it, for that rebellious flame of self-control extinguishing from your eyes.

     For who you become when lust overcomes you.        

    The grip on his hair wasn’t unexpected, and Cristopher offered you a small, wicked smile before you connected your lips. The kiss was messy and hurried; tongues exploring every corner they could find while your hands were occupied on getting rid of your clothes. Neither of you cared about anything else but feeling each other’s bodies as you ripped your shirts. The cold breeze hitting your bare skin wasn’t enough to cool down the heat consuming you, but it was enough to have you squirming and whining.

      “Beautiful” Was the only thing he said before pushing your back against the glass and adjusting his grip to take your nipple between his teeth. The groan that escaped your lips was almost animalistic, prompting him to answer with a grunt of his own as he sucked on your skin. The vibrations ran from your flesh to your core, enticing another moan that seemed to fall into deaf ears, “Louder, baby… I want him to hear you…” He pleaded, letting go of your breast just to grope it and give you a kitten lick on the next second “To know who made you like this…” He added before sucking on it again.

    Perhaps it was the fact that he thrust on you, just to tease your senses and make you thirstier. Perhaps it was the fact you had to support yourself on just one leg as he pushed his hips against yours and you tried to seek for your balance by involving his leg with yours. Perhaps it was his hand sliding to meet your clothed core; finger pressing against your clit to add a delicious, needed stimulus for your orgasm.

    Perhaps it was the words that slipped through his lips.

    “W-What did you say?” You panted; hips faltering as you tried to keep riding him, but steading their pace as his finger circled your clit to goad you “M-Mhm… S-Sir” You cried; hand burying in his hair to pull it and translate the utter bliss waving down your body. The string of mewls and urgent pleas spilled from you like a chant, getting him more eager than before, “P-Please” You whined, even though you weren’t sure what you were asking for.

      “Hold it” He ordered; straightening his back to look right into your eyes, but failing as yours rolled back to your head. His hand made its way to squeeze your cheeks, forcing you to look at him with a soft shake to catch your attention “Look at me” It sounded like a warning; stern enough for you to try your best to focus on him, “You’ll only cum when he walks right through that door… Do you understand?” He searched for any signs of stubbornness in your eyes, but his smile showed he didn’t found any.

    “W-Who?” You managed to ask; body trembling as you tried to hold every single string inside your mind in place, even though each one of them was ready to snap and unravel the crashing pleasure that was building up.

    “Why does it matter?” He scoffed, quickening his pace as the unmistakable ring of the elevator sounded on the room “You love being seen, don’t you?” He chuckled, watching as your body shook violently and your knees started to give away to the sensations running down your body.

      “Y-Yes, Sir” You could bet your voice echoed inside the building, and Christopher seemed to agree with you as he grinned in approval.

    “So look at your guest, baby… And scream my name” He instructed, pushing your face to the side. The doors opened slowly, revealing the lights inside the small cubicle right in front of your eyes “Let him know who you belong to” He whispered in your ear; hand pushing your underwear aside so his finger could come in contact with your core.

    The mysterious figure detached from the corners of the metallic walls to finally reveal himself. You met his eyes for a half of a second; enough time for you to recognize the one who worked with you every single day of your life. For the past few years. Someone who would be your partner for years to come, and who would witness and engrave your face in your most vulnerable moment.

    You came hard; probably the most overwhelming orgasm you had ever had in your life. It was impossible to hold back your voice, and you couldn’t help but howl his name; legs shaking and body collapsing into your boss’ arms. You squirmed and whimpered as you tried to recompose yourself; letting him help you ride you out of your orgasm and occupying yourself by staring into your coworker’s shocked eyes.

    “Thank you, Sir…” You breathed out, gripping his arms for dear life while the shame sank into your soul.

    Rule Number Five: The (grateful and satisfied) fans!

    And… Post.

    Oh, well… You did it. Again. There was something about displaying your deepest fantasies for anyone to see that was kinda thrilling to you. Your heart raced inside your chest just like a drum ─ well, if a goddamn drummer decided to do a solo but was too offbeat, to begin with ─ and you couldn’t help but stare blankly at the page without a clue of what to do now. It was out there… Why didn’t anyone say anything yet? Was it that bad? Should you delete it?

    Well… People have to read it before commenting, you know?

    Yeah, right… You just posted it.

    Chill.

    You licked your lips before biting them; feeling the rush that was posting about your boss online when no one else knew about it. If you were being honest, the best part of this wasn’t having the chance to live your fantasies throughout your writing. No. The best part was knowing that only you knew the true identity of Christopher… Or what you really wanted to do to him while he walked down the hallway. The best part was that no one would ever figure out that you were the author of the bestselling novel of the moment… That this steamy romance between boss and employee was nothing but your rawest desire.

     Who would think that the boring, shy girl from the office would be a smut writer? Who would think that you would have a horny, interesting secret identity? No one else but you.

      And this was priceless.

     Or maybe… It was priceless.

    As far as you knew, every single thing you cherished about being a secretive horny bitch could go down the drain tomorrow. It would be all fine if it was just a… Well, actually everything would suck. How would you look at Chan’s face if he knew you were writing about having sex with your boss while he was your boss? What would you do if they decided to fire you because of it? What would you do with your life from now on?!

     Don’t panic, Y/N.

    You had everything under control… Tomorrow morning you would be going to Jeongin’s house and interview him as if he were you. No one would ever suspect you after that. You would save your ass, Hyunjin’s ass, and Chan’s ass. And that was it. The perfect plan. Nothing to worry about. Just trust Jeongin to follow your script and make sure everything would go as planned.

    Flawless. Totally safe. Perfect.

    That’s right…

    You just need to take a deep breath and rela—

    The sudden sound caught you off guard; eyes focusing on the screen once again so you could understand what was going on. All of your worries vanished away as soon as you saw the notification on the top of it; announcing that you had just got a message from a fan.

     Finally!    

    The weasel icon was so familiar that you chuckled while opening the message; a smile plastering over your face as you let your eyes wander around the words. There was nothing more fulfilling to your writer ass than seeing the way Weasel always had something to say about your story. Sometimes, he’d give you some feedback on your style. Other times, he’d freak out about how much he wanted to “try those things out”, as he usually said. There were also times when he’d just get excited over the characters and their conflicts, which always got you laughing.

    It was fun to talk to Weasel.

    He was just as mysterious as you… There was no name to his face, and also no face to his icon, but both of you were friends anyway. He had been keeping up with your stuff from such an early stage that it felt natural to have him around and getting his feedback. It was so comfortable, that you didn’t even mind when he slid in your DMs, embarrassed to let anyone else know that your smut made him… Feel things. There was no need to elaborate on what he did about those feelings or those things. But it was kinda hot to know he enjoyed himself throughout your fantasies.

      His fantasies.

    Well… For the number of times that you used them to write your stories, it was some sort of shared fantasies by now. As a matter of fact, you never intended to make Christopher a jealous character but Weasel made the idea seem too hot for you to ignore. Sometimes, he’d open up about that girl from his work that he really liked and how jealous he was of the guy she liked and then… Well, it felt… Interesting.

    The thought of being desirable to the point a guy would want to claim you as his like this? Not that Weasel did it. He actually just mentioned that he hoped she was into this as a kink. You couldn’t help but picture the way he would touch her in such a greedy way… The possessiveness blinding him for a second… The grip tightening… The mean words and the humiliation… Oh, the sweet humiliation that would crush you as he whispered how much you would cum for him… How he was the only one who could make you like that… How he would ask you to say his name… To tell him that you were his…

    You could drink holy water and still be shaking just by picturing it.

    “That was such a good chapter… I didn’t expect you to use her friend like that. I thought it was a given that she’d end up with Chris” You read out loud, chuckling when he reached for your DMs to talk to you “Will we get a threesome or something, miss? 😏” He joked on the next line and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at this “I’m waiting for it”

    “You’re just a horny bitch, aren’t you?” You typed, smirking as you stared at his messages “No spoilers for you, though, baby boy… You’ll have to wait like everybody else” Teasing him was always funny, and he never failed to amuse you.

      “I’m not the one writing porn online” He pointed out, and before he could write anything else you shot him.

    “Yeah but you’re the one getting off to it” You retorted, getting a whole set of gasping and shocked emotes that had you laughing.

    “I have no words to express how offended I am” You chortled, shaking your head in disbelief.

     “Alright, Drama Llama” Why was it so fun to mock him? You wished you could actually meet him offline and banter like this in real life “To fill your horny ass, I might write a dom!reader next time… I was thinking about torturing the 2nd lead a bit”

    “First of all… I don’t think I want my ass filled, thank you for offering tho” Why was he like this? “And I was just joking” You frowned at that, confused by what he meant “Don’t you think that a threesome doesn’t go along with the characters? Her friend likes her a lot and Christopher is just a kinky son of a bitch… I thought he’d just show him that she was his and be an ass as usual”

    “What do you have against Chris, dude?” You rolled your eyes, although he wouldn’t be able to see it, “He’s way better than her friend! At least, he does something about her”

    “I have the 2nd male lead syndrome! You know that!” You chortled, very aware of this, “And isn’t that the perfect opportunity for him to do something about it?! I mean… I don’t want to be nosey but having a threesome is way out of character for them” He pointed out, and you had to admit he was right.

    “No, you’re not nosey…” You sighed; shoulders dropping for a second “It’s just that I’m upset about something that happened at work today and you know that projecting my problems on those characters is my thing” You pursed your lips, staring at the keyboard for a few seconds before deciding to continue “Besides, I’m about to spend an entire day with a guy that kinda inspired the 2nd lead and… I don’t really want to think about a sex scene with him, you know?” You confessed.

    “But thinking about torturing and having a threesome with him is easy” He mocked you.

      “That’s because that threesome would never happen” You sent it before you could think about what you had just written.

    “Ooohhhh!” Holy shit… The amount of emotes he had just dumped on that chat couldn’t be a good sign, “So having sex with this guy is something you want?! And that could happen?! ” Great, now you would have a Drama Llama-Weasel trying to get some juicy gossip about your inexistent sex life… WORSE! Your sex life with your nemesis! “Why don’t you go for it? I’m sure he’s into you if he’s anything like his character” Poor thing… He had no idea.

    “Shut up, it’s not like that” You brushed it off.

    “If you say so” You could almost hear him snickering, even though you didn’t know how his voice sounded like “I’ll just have you regretting this for the rest of the night” You snorted, shaking your head in disbelief. He was unbearable! “I have work early tomorrow but I’m gonna come back with questions, Miss… Wait for me”

    “What I meant is that it’d be easier to happen than having a threesome, not that I want it to happen, moron” You defended yourself but he didn’t even get to read it as he logged off right away.

      Great… He would never let you live it down.

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Rebloggable Masterlist    //   Main Masterlist   //   Tag List

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[the-bau-quinjet]

Trending

Summary: Steve thinks you’re too young to like him despite the obvious hints you’re dropping.

Warnings: unspecified age gap

Word count: 2246

a/n: I’ve clearly spent too much time on TikTok recently, but inspired me to write something so that's good. It was loosely based on a request for a young reader x Steve, but I forgot part of the request so I'm gonna write something else for that one! Also, I wrote this on my phone so please excuse any typos I missed when trying to edit it lol

Masterlist

Messing with Steve is one of your favorite things to do. Tiny pranks, over the top flirting, poking fun at his lack of understanding of technology. Anything you can do to get him to roll his eyes and chuckle.

Nat would say it’s because of your feelings for him. She would be correct. Not that you’d ever admit that to anyone. Nope. So instead, you have your fun, and enjoy the way his eyes crinkle and his cheeks redden.

Your newest method of hearing the sweet sound of Steve’s laugh? TikTok. It’s a double whammy. One because he doesn’t understand the app and two because a lot of the trends make him blush.

It started as a fun way to blow off steam. Sometimes, being one of the younger and newer team members made you feel like an outsider. Of course, Peter was younger than you, but he had his own friends outside of the team. You didn’t have anyone else. When Tony found you and invited you to join, it was you against the world. Now you have this makeshift family.

Having your account on TikTok helped you when you hadn’t really become a part of the group yet. You bonded with Peter because of his account, and you found a new way to make Steve blush.

Anyway, you’ve learned way more TikTok dances than you ever would have thought just to see his pink cheeks. It’s not even always over the top dances that have him chuckling. The last trend you did had him laughing the entire day. It was that sound about Wednesday Adams having one thing on her mind. Only when it said homicide, instead of a deadpan expression you panned the camera to show Bucky and Sam arguing over who got the last donut.

Of course, you knew when you made the video it would appeal to Steve’s sense of humor. Sam and Bucky feature in a lot of your videos for that exact reason.

In general, you make a lot of videos featuring the Avengers just to keep Tony happy. He likes to be the center of attention, plus the only way he would approve of your account was if it could also feature as PR for the team. You agreed, as long as you had final say over what you posted. There’s nothing scripted or designed for a specific reason, you just feature the team sometimes.

Like when that sound from the Big Bang theory was popular amongst Avengers fans, you made a video confessing to Pepper that you’d been thinking about the Avengers, panning to show the team during training.

Of course, the text on the screen said “you are an Avenger” instead of “I believe that”, allowing you to play off the joke. But still, it was fun to include the team.

One of your favorite videos features none other than Scott Lang, mostly because nobody else would do it. Scott thought it was hilarious though.

Using the sound from New Girl, Scott played Schmidt and you Jess. The text on the screen read as follows:

Scott: You just walk around all day thinking about America’s Ass?

You: Yeah, don’t you?

Scott: No! How do you get anything done?

You: It’s hard…

Steve blushed like crazy when everyone cornered him to watch it. Bucky, Sam, and Tony wouldn’t stop bringing it up for at least a month. A part of you hoped he might make a move after that video, seeing as you put yourself out there, but he just assumed it was a joke and laughed it off.

Honestly, you were running out of trends that you could use to get him to understand your feelings. You only had two ideas left, and one of them would be mortifying if it didn’t work out…

-

“Steve. You’ve got to be kidding me.” Bucky sighed, exasperated with Steve for the umpteenth time that month. “You’ve been pining for forever, just make a move!” he whisper yelled, doing his best not to throttle his lifelong friend.

Steve rolled his eyes, purposefully ignoring Bucky’s pointed glare. The two men had spent the last hour looking through your TikTok account. Bucky was adamant that you liked Steve, but the blonde didn’t believe it, despite the so called proof Bucky kept forcing him to watch.

“Buck, would you please just back off? We’re friends. She’s too young to want to be with me like that.” Steve blushed, thinking about the context of his words.

Before Bucky could say anything about how repressing his feelings is bad for him, a new video popped up on your account. Bucky smirked when he saw the thumbnail was once again a picture of Steve, this time with a beard. Steve took the silence as an opportunity to escape, walking into his closet to change.

The video opened with a video of you and Natasha just hanging out, you lip syncing to the words “I like you have a cupcake.” You repeated the words as the video cut to you and Tony.

Bucky nearly dropped the phone when “smack my ass like a drum” blared from the speaker. He cackled bending over in a fit of laughter when he realized that’s what Steve’s picture was used for- and one where he had a beard to boot.

“What is it now, jerk?” Steve emerged from his closet, having changed into loungewear. The sight of Bucky fully cackling had him nervous.

Bucky tossed him the phone, doing his best to stop laughing long enough to tell him to watch the most recent video. With a hesitant sigh, Steve obliged.

Again, Bucky rolled his eyes at how obvious Steve’s feelings were. The second he saw you on the screen, he smiled. And not one of those half hearted polite smiles, a full on happy smile.

Steve’s eyes widened, nearly bulging out of his head when he got to the end of the video.

“‘She doesn’t want to be with me like that.’” Bucky mocked his friends earlier words, grabbing his phone back. “Punk, I don’t know how much more obvious she could be.”

With one more glare in Steve’s direction, Bucky finally left him to his own thoughts. Okay, so you made a lot of videos about how you find him attractive. That doesn’t necessarily mean you’d want to be in a relationship with him. Leave it to Steve to talk himself out of everything Bucky had spent so long trying to convince him of.

-

You were desperate at this point. You honestly thought the cupcake one would send him over the edge, but it didn’t work either. It has been three days, and you know Steve’s seen the video because everyone likes to tease him about it.

“Naaaaaat, it’s not working,” you whined, dramatically throwing yourself onto her bed. She laughed at your antics, briefly looking up at you before deciding to stop what she was going and give you her full attention.

“Look, not only is Steve one of the most clueless people I’ve ever met when it comes to women, but he can also talk himself out of believing someone’s interested in him. Especially you.” Nat watched as you lifted your head from her comforter, slowly turning to stare at her with narrowed eyes.

“Especially me?” you questioned. Why would you have a different standard?

“Y/N, Steve’s from the 40s. He’s super old fashioned. You're a hot young thing, super up to date on modern trends. He thinks you're just messing around as friends because he doesn’t believe someone as young as you would be interested in actually having a relationship with him,” she spelt it out for you, sick of trying to get you to figure it out on your own.

You took a minute to fully understand what she was saying, but then sat up when a new idea struck. “So you’re saying I need to be more direct?”

Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded nonetheless.

“I’ve got an idea. Thanks Nat!” you ran from the room before she could question your newest plan, instead checking to make sure her notifications were on for posts from your TikTok account.

-

“Steve!” you shouted when you saw him down the hall, about to turn a corner. He immediately stopped, turning back to see you running at him. “I need your help!”

You pulled him into the gym, briefly glancing around the room to make sure it was empty. Confirming nobody else was present, you set up your phone on one of the weight racks to record the two of you. It was already open to the recording section of TikTok, the sound you needed queued and ready to begin.

“What’s going on?” Steve looked between you and the phone, nerves heightening as he realized what you were doing. All of your videos about him thus far hasn’t actually involved him filming anything.

“I just need you to react to this trend, okay? It’s kind of old, but that doesn’t really matter,” you spoke quickly, trying to start the video before he could decline.

The music started playing instantly, with Steve awkwardly looking between the screen and you. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was reacting to, and it had him on edge. Just as the song reached the chorus, you turned and grabbed his face. Throwing caution to the wind, you followed through with your plan before you could back out, kissing him with all the passion and emotion you’d been holding back.

Steve froze, clearly surprised by your actions. Before you could pull away, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer. He kissed you with equal passion and emotion, no longer paying attention to your phone recording the moment.

Neither of you noticed when the music cut off, too wrapped up in each other. When the need for air overpowered the desire to keep kissing him, you pulled back to gasp in a few breaths. Steve leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closed and breathing erratic.

The two do you spent the next few moments just breathing, trying to come to terms with what just happened. You gasped when his hands moved, one resting on your waist and the other cupping your cheek. His eyes were still closed when you chanced a glance at him.

“What was the trend?” he breathily whispered the words, still coming down from the high of kissing you.

“Huh?” you mumbled, unable to comprehend the question when he was still touching you like this.

“The TikTok trend? What was it?” his grip on your hip tightened, but his hand framing your face remained gentle.

“Oh, uh, it was- it was kissing your best friend/crush.” You whispered, heart still racing from his proximity. Your nerves had never been greater. Yeah, Nat always tells you that Steve has feelings for you, but what if he was just being polite? Maybe he didn’t know how to reject you when you kissed him out of nowhere, and now he’s trying to find a way to turn you down gently. What if-

“Was my reaction good enough to post?” he broke your train of thought with another question. You took a minute to think about the question, your brain still moving like molasses

“Um, that depends…” you froze when his eyes opened and stared into yours.

“On?” he prompted you to continue.

“Which caption I can use.” you finished the thought, finally remembering the two most common outcomes of the trend.

“What are the choices?” Steve smirked when you looked flustered, clearly not expecting this conversation.

“Uh, the two-” he began rubbing small circles into your hip with his thumb, effectively cutting off your train of thought again. It wasn’t until he lightly squeezed your hip again that you remember you were answering his question.

“Right! The two most common captions are some variation of ‘this was so awkward’ or ‘we’re dating now’,” you managed to blurt out the choices, blushing when he smiled at you.

“Well, I know which I prefer…” you waited with bated breath as he prolonged the silence, enjoying seeing you so on edge. You nearly whined when he let you go, moving to pick up your phone from the weight rack.

You watched in silence as he typed out a caption, tapping each letter with his pointer finger. A small smile formed on your lips at his adorable old man behavior. He then managed to find the post button, adding the video to your account before handing you the phone to see what he chose.

Your smile only grew after you read the caption, dropping the phone and immediately kissing him again.

-

Meanwhile, Nat had gathered the rest of the team that happened to be around to wait for whatever video you had planned to be posted.

Tony, Sam, Bucky, Wanda, Vision, Peter, and Clint all watched as the new video popped up on the screen. Peter bounced with excitement when he heard the song, instantly recognizing the trend. The rest of the group watched as you kissed Steve, mouths gaping open when he actually kissed you back.

Fans were already commenting about how long it took for the two of you to get together, but the team was too focused on laughing at the caption to pay any mind to the comments.

She said the trend was kind of old, but that fits because I’ve got a habit of waiting too long anyways.

Permanent taglist: @averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @strawberryspence @sebastnstn @jswessie187 @ellobruv

Marvel: @leyannrae @livstilinski @oceaniamaddness @justreadingficsdontmindme

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

It's A Love Story, Baby

Summary: Secret relationships can be fun, but sometimes the love runs so deep that it’s just begging to get the spotlight. Love like that is difficult, but it’s the realest thing Spencer and Y/N have ever felt.

Pairing: Spencer Reid X GN Reader (this is my first time writing GN, so if anything seems to be gendered, PLEASE tell me)

Content Warning: Brief innuendo (like barely PG-13) but it's there if you think about it. Kissing...

I’m so so dumb. I forgot about the shower scene when I was writing the content warnings. I wrote 2 versions. So ugh. There’s a shower scene but it’s intimate and romantic rather than sexual.

Author’s Note: I don’t particularly like writing from a second person point of view, but please let me know what you think. I’m still learning & appreciate feedback.

Also..... this is my fic for @willowrose99 anniversary! so congrats!!

Word Count: 2.6

It's a Love Story, Baby

It was in the quiet moments in the early morning that always remind you of how much you love Spencer Reid. The morning light seemed to make him look even more beautiful than anyone could possibly be. You always marvel at how young he looks while he sleeps. His face isn’t contorted into a perplexed frown and his mind is at ease. You love every iteration of Spencer, but sleeping Spencer has to be your favorite.

It’s impossible, you know that, but still. You’ll tell yourself all these lies and will yourself to believe that it’s a Saturday. Any excuse to stay tangled in between the sheets with your chest pressed up to Spencer’s back and your arms hugging around his waist.

Reality, however, seems to have it out for the pair of you. The blaring alarm wakes you from your clandestine fairytale. It’s a signal that calls you and Spencer back to Earth. Even though it happens every morning, the crash from Paradise stings.

Spencer, his brown hair tousled and messy, groans as he puts his pillow over his head. You twist your body to turn off the alarm. For whatever reason, Spencer insisted that you use an old fashioned alarm clock; the kind that’s jarring and ridiculously loud.

“Y/N,” Spencer mumbles, his voice groggy and low. If you weren’t pressed for time, you’re sure that considering the way your name sounds from Spencer’s lips, you’d be spending more time in bed and less time sleeping.

“Spencer,” You tease back, dragging your hands under his pajama top. Spencer Reid has a lot of quirks, like the alarm clock, but the one you find most endearing is his affinity for matching pajama sets.

“Just stay a little longer, please. I can’t stand when you leave,” Spencer says, turning his head to look at you. You lay there in his bed, tempted to give into him. Tempted to stay in this little paradise that you carved out for yourselves.

“You know I’d love that more than anything,” You say, trying not to get swept up in the starry way Spencer gazes up at you, “but you promised me a picnic, Romeo and I want a picnic with my favorite person,”

“You brush your fingers across his face, committing him to memory for the days to come. Those sleepless nights where the only thing you want is to be in Spencer’s arms. Those dark moments on a case where you need to touch him, to touch something that’s so pure and good and kind. Those silent stares can only keep you at bay for so long.

He simply closes his eyes and swallows his words. Silently, he places a kiss on your forehead. It’s a light peck, but those are the ones that seem to be just dripping with love. But instead of his kiss leaving needing more, all you feel is guilt. Spencer doesn’t deserve to be loved in the shadows, but there you were kissing him with the guise of secrecy.

But maybe today was going to change that. Maybe you’ll be able to kiss Spencer in public and hold his hand. Or even stroke his hair as his head rests in your lap while he reads to you. All those normal couple activities were always just a grasp and a leap away. But the menacing foe of the FBI relationship rules proved to be a looming enemy.

“I’m going to shower,” Spencer says. His voice trails off, like he expects you to finish his sentence for him.

“Care if I join?” You ask, hoping that it’s what he wants too. His devilish grin is enough for you to stretch your back and scamper on into the bathroom with Spencer at your heels.

He likes undressing you more than any other man you’ve been with. He takes his time unbuttoning your pajama top. His fingers, though they look like they’d be rough and coarse, are soft and slip down to your hip bone, just grazing the skin. Spencer lets his fingers press a little harder, urging you to spin around so your back is up against his chest. He places wet kisses along the exposed skin of your shoulders; he’s more adventurous this morning. Spencer’s kisses are usually sweet, almost chaste. Usually the opposite of how his hands rank over your body or how his eyes look at you when you smile and writhe from his touch.

“I love when you steal my clothes, Y/N,” He says, his voice still a little husky and you don’t think it’s from the lack of sleep.

You close your eyes, as if eliminating one of your senses would heighten to ones that Spencer is letting on fire. Suddenly, his touch is gone and you feel a lot colder. He turns the water on in the shower and you take the opportunity to pay attention to him. He, much your disdain, dodges your kisses by getting under the warm water.

Spencer, gesturing for you to join him, lets his hands hover over your hips and up your arms. There’s isn’t a spot on your body that he hasn’t touched. Every piece of your being is open to Spencer’s love, but only in the quiet privacy of your apartments.

It’s hard to think about that, as he holds you in his arms. The warm water mixes with the way his chest presses up your back.

“What smell do you want?,” He asks, referring to the many bottles of shampoos, conditioners, and body washes. The citrus scents are yours while Spencer prefers this ridiculously expensive coconut and cinnonmen shampoo.

“Hmm, Meyer Lemon,” You day and Spencer grabs the shampoo and matching conditioner from the shower rack.

He squirts some shampoo on his hands and lathers it up before massaging it into your scalp. Spencer, if the BAU doesn’t pan out, should go into professional hair care. He’s got these long fingers that reach across the expanse of your scalp and come down to place pressure on your temples. You lay your head back, leaning against Spencer’s upper chest. You still marvel at how your head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck. It’s hard to feel bad for forcing him to love in private when his hands are all over your body, silently spilling his affections and feelings with every stroke against your back and every tender graze against your shoulder.

“Lean back to rinse,” He says quietly. Faithfully, you lean back and rinse your hair. Spencer’s fingers come to undo the knot and snags, his gentleness is indiscernible from his love.

Finally clean, you turn around to face Spencer. The water slaps against your back, it’s hot and stings but you don’t care. Spencer, so used to having to swallow his affection, tends to go a little overboard when he gets the chance to touch you and kiss you as you and him please. It’s like he’s making up for all the times when he wants to kiss you in the middle of the bullpen, but Emily's door is left open and she can hear everything from a mile away.

“Your turn, my dear,” you say, taking the opportunity to kiss Spencer's collarbones, up his neck, and over his jaw line. It’s a little absurd how pretty he is and totally unfair.

Spencer, not wanting to sacrifice a chance to kiss you, places needy kisses all over your face, except your lips. His goofy kisses send you into a fit of laughter. He seems so free like this, so unafraid to love.

Spencer turns around and crouches slightly, giving you full access to his hair. You lather up his shampoo and mirroring his actions, you massage the shampoo into his scalp. Early into your relationship, you found out that Spencer loves showers. It’s not surprising, he’s the cleanest person you know. But Spencer loves showering with you. There’s nothing sexual about it, even though the way his fingers dance around your naked body leave you wanting more. Showering with Spencer lets loose all those bottled up emotions from the cases. Your clandestine showering meetings are an intimate exercise where you remind each other that you're alive, you’re still breathing and still hanging on.

Maybe it could be like this all the time, only if you’re brave enough to say “yes”

You stand back as Spencer washes off the final suds that collected on his back. He shuts off the water and climbs out of the shower. You follow, but reach for two towels. Spencer wraps his towel around his waist and squeezes the water out of his hair into the bathtub. Drying yourself off, you sit on the bathroom counter and rub lotion on your legs.

The quiet moments of domesticity almost make you believe that this is your life with Spencer. It seems so real that at times you let yourself wonder what it’s like to love Spencer in public.

As it turns out, your little bliss is short-lived when a loud knock disrupts your quiet morning.

You shoot Spencer a terrified look; both of you can recognize that knock anywhere. Luke Alvez is here, and unfortunately you are too, but naked in your co-work/secret lover’s bathroom.

“Spencer! What the hell is he doing here?” You say, your voice raising with your fear of being caught.

“I don’t know Y/N. He was telling me the other day that he wants to take me out to you know,” Spencer says, letting his voice trail off.

“To what, Spencer?” You ask, growing annoyed at Luke’s unexpected arrival.

“To get me laid,” Spencer mumbles under his breath. His hands come up to hide his blush at the uncomfortable conversation that he remembers word for word with Luke.

“What? God. Did you tell him that, that um covered?” You say, hoping that Spencer would catch your meaning, but he shakes his head.

“Oh my God, Spencer. You need to go out there and fix this. Okay, I’m going to look for clothes,” You tell him, throwing a sweatshirt and a pair of boxers at him.

He puts on the boxers before opening the bathroom door. Luke’s loud knocking gets more insistent and Spencer manages to get his sweatshirt on before he swings the door open.

“Took you long enough,” Luke says, standing in the doorway.

“Yeah. Some of us like to sleep on days off. You should try it sometime,” Spencer responds, getting ready to shut the door in Luke’s face and return to Y/N in the bathroom.

“You’re hiding something, Reid,” Luke says, strong-arming his way into Spencer’s apartment.

“I have no clue what you're talking about, Luke. Everything is fine, I’m fine,” Spencer says. You listen from the bathroom with the door slightly ajar.

“You said you were sleeping?” Luke asks, and you internally cringe at what you know is to come.

“Yeah. Work has been exhausting and this is our only time to catch up on sleep. Actually, I was reading this study—”

“Reid. Don’t change the subject. Your hair is wet. And you’re wearing a sweatshirt to a college that you didn’t go to,” Luke surmises. Shit, you think. Luke Alvez, through all his brawn and muscle, is the most perceptive profiler, especially when it comes to Spencer.

“I just washed my hair and —” Spencer starts, but is silenced by Luke’s hand.

“If I remember correctly, Y/N went to Auburn,”

You can’t hear what Spencer says, but you only imagine him out there in his boxers in your college sweatshirt standing awkwardly in front of Luke Alvez. He picks at the embroidered scarlet “A” that’s sewn into the sweatshirt.

“You’re still holding out on that happening, aren’t you?” Luke asks.

“Um, I guess,” Spencer says, “you know I really do love Y/N. It’s not like it’s just a work crush or anything. Y/N is it for me. Even if I’m not it for Y/N,” Spencer says, and for some reason you think that his words aren’t for Luke.

“Come on dude, just let me get you laid. I know you’re hung up on Y/N but it seems like that is sailed. Spence, Y/N is seeing someone and it’s really serious. Penelope was telling me that Y/N mentioned something to her about this guy. I’m sorry, Spencer. But I don’t think that’s going to work out,” Luke says calmly.

“Oh yeah," Spencer says, trying to mask his smile at being Y/N's mystery man that Penelope gossips about, "but, really, uh. Luke, I’m not looking to uh get. I’m not in business of, uh?— ”

Unable to take it any longer, you swing open the bathroom door...

“I think what Spencer is trying to say, Luke is that uh, he, well really we got it covered,” You say, unable to watch the way that Spencer is utterly crumbling under Luke’s stare.

You pop out from the bathroom dressed in Spencer’s robe. Luke looks from Spencer to you and back to Spencer. You can see the cogs in his brain turning, trying to figure out if his friends are playing an elaborate practical joke that’s years in the making or if their longing stares and hidden smiles were evidence of something more.

“Y/N the guy you’re seeing is Spencer?” Luke asks, not fully believing his eyes.

“Yes, uh. You know we just wanted to keep things secret for a little bit because of Emily and the rules,” You answer, hoping he'd understand why you and Spencer were a secret.

“Huh, damn,” Luke says, still shocked that he missed all those obvious signs.

“Yes and I’d appreciate it if you stop insisting that Spencer get laid. I can assure you that that is taken care of. Thoroughly,” You say, sitting down next to Spencer on the couch.

“Oh my God, Y/N,” Spencer says, appalled that his partner is giving his friend very innocent details about his quite active sex life.

“What, Spence. I’ve decided that the team should know you're a genius in more ways than one. Besides, the cat has been let out the bag,” You reason, liking the way Spencer’s blush returns to the top of his nose and down his cheeks.

“I’ve heard enough, um. But don’t be surprised when your uh extracurricular activities are interrupted by Penny,” Luke says before dashing out the door, already getting Penelope on speed dial.

Spencer, still sitting on the edge of the couch, turns to face you. His face is contorted, like he’s trying, but struggling to read the emotions of the room.

“You’re okay, Y/N. With everyone knowing?” Spencer asks, his voice full of trepidation. He sounds so scared, like he feels guilty for you wanting to keep your relationship a secret.

“Spencer, look at me please,” You say, scooting a little closer on the couch so your knees touch. He refused to make eye contact with you, until you place your fingertips under his chin, directing his attention at you.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry. I messed this up, I --” Spencer went on. His lips could hardly keep up with how fast his brain seems to work.

“Spence, hon. Please relax. I’m not upset. We’ll make it out of this mess. This love might be difficult, sweetheart, but it’s the realest thing I’ve ever felt,” You tell him. Your fingers haven’t left his chin, but you do move them down towards the back of his neck.

“The best love stories were never easy,” Spencer says, enjoying the way your nimble fingers tangle themselves in his hair, tugging his head closer to yours.

You close the gap, and even though you’ve done this countless times, Spencer can still make your heart skip a beat or two.

“You still owe me a picnic, Romeo,"

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Thank you for reading! I hope that you enjoyed this and again happy one year to will!

I appreciate and love every single reblog, comment and like ❤️❤️

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Taglist (Comment to be added)

@shemarmooresfedora

@calm-and-doctor

@willowrose99

@nomajdetective

[kyovtani]

𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 | 𝒌𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒖

✗ pairing: kuroo tetsurou x female reader

✗ genre: smut, like just smut, lit nothing but smut; absolute filth but still classy so it's fílth anyway; established relationship!AU

✗ word count: 4.1k+

✗ warnings: swearing, heavy dumbification and degradation, mean/hard (to soft) dom!kuroo, DD/LG (d*ddy dom / little girl), mentions of jealousy and slight possessive behavior, orgasm denial, p*ssy slapping, some spanking, praising, ch*king, impregnation, some c*m play, car s*x, (a little bit of) cute aftercare

– A/N: Happiest Birthday to my fave scorpio boy in HQ!! This is an old fic of mine which I wrote about a year ago and as I thought about it, Kuroo does fit the concept really well and since I’m a little busy writing smth new, I thought why not reuse this big boy! I hope you guys enjoy this one and please feel free to leave feedback of any kind if you did!!

x all the love, zade.

✗ summary: your boyfriend is sweet, caring and oh so soft, so you decide it’s time to make him lose his composure...

It takes a lot to make Kuroo switch from his soft, caring demeanor to his hard dom persona because after everything, he remains a patient man.

He puts your pleasure above anything else; your body a temple for him to worship and take care of with every part of his being.

However, sometimes, no matter how much you love your sweet, loving boyfriend, you find yourself growing a little bored of his constant softness; your desires going further than just being choked and called kitten.

You want Kuroo to absolutely destroy you, to put it as simple as possible. The guttural desire to have him use you for his own pleasure, claim you in the most intimate ways possible and every now and then your body craves this certain type of pleasure; the one which lays pretty close to pure pain.

Led by your body’s deep desire, you find yourself seeking methods which might not be the morally right ones but at this point you struggle to care the slightest bit about morality.

You set Kuroo losing his composure as your goal, trying your very best without even overthinking the possible consequences and if that means that you have to let a random man flirt the living hell out of you right in front of your boyfriend (who happens to have slight possessive tendencies) during your weekly grocery shopping, then so be it.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Kuroo watches the blood boiling scene in front of him with his brows furrowed in pure anger; annoyance flooding his usually so soft and calm features and the more time passes, the angrier he gets.

However, Kuroo’s not a dom for nothing.

He keeps his cool, even lets you take the guy's number as he causally ignores the way that stupid fucker lookes at your ass like a fucking pervert, before the two of you eventually finish the shopping without Kuroo commenting on any of it.

At this point you’re just frustrated. Anger and irritation rush through your body at such a fast pace, you feel your head spinning the closer you get to the car and if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re currently in a public parking lot, you would have thrown a fit already.

Tired of Kuroo’s oblivion, you finally get yourself to gather every bit of composure you have left and turn around to just tell him about what the fuck you want when he suddenly pushes you against the car door, pressing his strong body into your back.

"What the fuck was that little scene supposed to be, hm, doll?", he hisses into your ear, his hot breath fanning your neck and just as usual you love the way his deep and almost unrecognizably raspy voice sends jolts of arousal through your whole body right into your core.

In an instant, you feel your cunt clenching in despair, drenching the fabric of your panties just like that and even though you’re very much aware of your surroundings, you can’t bring yourself to actually give a fuck.

"Good fuck dolls answer when they are being talked to", Kuroo grunts and pulls the lobe of your ear between his teeth, easily eliciting a sweet moan from you before he suddenly wraps his strong fingers around your throat. The cold metal of his rings builds the perfect contrast to the hotness of your skin and with another soft whine, you press your thighs together.

And then, as you gently throw your head back against his shoulder, Kuroo’s hand finds its way around your breast, quickly and incredibly harshly pinching your sensitive nipple between his fingertips to remind you of his – still unanswered – question.

"T-Tetsu, I just-", he doesn’t give you the opportunity to finish your sentence, casually tightening his grip around your throat and cutting off your air supply in one go.

"How the fuck dare you call me by my name right fucking now, you cockhrungy little slut?”, Kuroo’s voice is cold and distant; the anger and disappointment evident in every single one of his words and you can’t believe just how much your pussy starts spasming in response.

“You better address me correctly or last night was the last time you got to cum, did you fucking hear me?", he’s quick to add, the lack of oxygen in your body sending you even deeper into the beautiful haze of pleasure. You barely notice the way you start gasping gasping for air, your lids fluttering shut as you press your thighs even tighter together to get some kind of relief from the heavy pressure on your throbbing cunt.

"Y-Yes, Daddy", you whimper and push your forehead against the cold surface of the door, your body slowly but surely growing overwhelmed by the arousal heating you up.

And in the middle of it all, you’re still incredibly grateful for the lack of company due to the late time of the day because even though you enjoy this with every single pore in your body, you don’t want anyone else to see you like this.

Kuroo lets go of your throat, his hand wandering in between your legs and underneath the waistband of your shorts, just to suddenly cup your cunt. The feeling of his fingers pressing against the drenched fabric of your panties, his rough digits rubbing your needy  clit makes you let out a loud, throaty moan.

"Fucking whore", Kuroo curses, his lips so close to your ear, you feel yourself literally melting into a puddle of despair underneath his tall figure, "I can't believe you let that bastard flirt with you right in front of my eyes", he continues and sucks the skin of your neck into his mouth, sucking harshly before he harshly pulls it in between his teeth.

You whine again, constant mewls of frustration leaving your lips as you try your best to move your hips against his big hand, yet fail miserably.

"I should have fucked you right then and there just to show him who this slutty cunt belongs to", Tetsu groans, rubbing his hard erection against your ass but refusing to to move his fingers on your clit. His words and the pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves has you moaning and without even trying to calm yourself down, you reach back to take a hold of Kuroo’s thick hair.

"You would have liked that, am I right, kitty cat? No, wait – you would have loved it. You're literally getting wetter and wetter just at the thought being fucked like a stupid whore", Kuroo scoffs, a hint of disbelief wavering in his voice and without missing a beat, you let out a sound of approval in response.

"I'm not even surprised", he hisses and suddenly, pulling his hand out of your shorts, "at the end of the day, you're nothing but a pathetic whore who thinks with her stupid cunt and nothing but her stupid cunt", and then he lets go of you.

His sudden absence leaves you tumbling against the door with a soft whimper and it's then that you notice the way your whole body is shivering from the overwhelming amount of arousal rushing through your system.

"D-Daddy, please", you whisper helplessly, using every single bit of your energy left to turn around and face him, "I need you", you add and can’t help the soft sob falling past your lips; two tears finding their way down your cheeks as you look into the beautiful face of your lover.

The strictness and distance in his features makes you gulp harshly, his usually so soft and calming eyes filled with nothing but hunger and anger and you let yourself devour this rare sight.

"Oh, look at that", Kuroo pushes his bottom lip into a fake pout with amusement sparkling in the pretty brown around his iris, "my little, cockcrazy whore thinks she has the right to even think about my cock after pulling a show like that”, he lets out a loud, empty chuckle, “how cute and oh, so pathetic, kitty.”

Kuroo takes your chin in between his fingers before he straightens his face and pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

"Backseat", is all he grunts, "I guess I’ve been a bit too good to you. I haven't fucked some manners into you in some time, have I, pretty kitty?”, you look at him with big, teary eyes and your lips parted before you bring yourself to nod in response to his question.

“Is that why you keep acting up like some needy, filthy little whore? Do you want Daddy to treat you like this, hm? Because you know how much I hate disobedient kittens who flirt with other men, yet choose to do it anyway. Right in front of me, too."

His words stir something deep inside of you, your pussy clenching even harder around nothing as a strong jolt of arousal finds its way right into the pit of your stomach.

You have never been more turned on by anyone or anything and at this point you’ve completely forgotten your surroundings; Kuroo and his huge cock the only thing on your mind as you pull open the door to the backseat of his car.

Kuroo watches you carefully, his eyes roaming the sight of your shaky thighs and the damp spot on the grey material of your shorts before he gets himself to tear his gaze away from you, lifting his head and checking the mostly empty parking lot to make sure nobody is watching the two of you.

He doesn’t like doing it in public; the thought of being caught or watched is definitely alluring and tempting but usually followed by the image of it actually happening and a jolt of slight disgust washing over him.

However this time Kuroo is absolutely ready to make an exception because after remaining patient with you for so long, he knows he won’t be able to keep it up for the entire drive back home.

After making sure nobody is around – his habit of parking all the way at the very end of the parking lot no matter what coming as an advantage – Kuroo also makes his way into the backseat, his gaze instantly finding your glossy eyes before he takes in the oddly satisfying sight of your tear stained cheeks and pouty lips.

You look so vulnerable, so helpless, so pathetic – the thought of completely destroying you in every way possible quickly clouding his mind and the longer he looks at you, the more he just wants to fuck you into oblivion.

But again, Kuroo isn’t a dom for nothing.

With hooded eyes, he silently motions you to turn around, the urge to press your face into the seat taking over every bit of his brain.

You don’t hesitate and obediently move onto your stomach, pulling yourself up onto your knees as your eyes nervously roam the inside of his car.

Your heart is hammering against your rib cage at an unhealthy pace, adrenaline and arousal thrumming inside your ears and clouding your mind in the best way possible.

Oh how you love the effect he has on you.

"Take off your shorts and then finger yourself", Kuroo hisses, casually pushing his sweats as well as boxers briefs down his muscular thigh, exposing his thick, rockhard cock to the cold  yet tensed air in the car and letting out a soft hiss, "I want you to stretch that little cunt of yours", he adds and without even trying to hide it, you turn your head to watch the way Kuroo spits into his palm and then wraps his fingers around his cock.

You let out a loud, desperate moan at the sight of his huge length; the tip red and angry, already leaking so much precum, you feel your mouth watering at the memory of his taste coating your tongue. You gulp harshly the longer you watch him stroke his length like that, your pussy clenching in despair at the mere thought of how good he fills you up.

You hear the loud sound of skin meating skin before a harsh pain starting from your inner thigh rushes through you; a choked out whimper leaving your lips before you can literally feel your ears perking up at the sound of Kuroo’s voice.

"If I have to repeat myself one more fucking time, I swear to God, I won't let you cum for a whole month, kitty", Tetsurou growls, an almost inaudbile moan following his threat and after mumbling a soft apology, you're quick to get rid of your shorts and underwear just as you were told.

You bend your body down and spread your legs, only to feel waves of embarrassment and shame in combination with heavy, hot arousal overwhelming you.

Kuroo has the perfect view on your spasming cunt and you know he is basically devouring you with his eyes, your head spinning at the thought.

"Oh, kitty", he sighs and picks up the pace of his hand, focusing on his tip every now and then to slightly edge himself because even though he usually manages to hide it really well, this whole situation has him a lot more worked up than he had expected.

And now that he actually got to see how much his change in demeanor and choice of words have gotten to you, he is more than just  struggling to keep his cool composure.

Kuroo can’t help but think of the way your slick arousal tastes and feels on his tongue, your sweet moans filling his ears as you part those pretty lips of yours in pleasure.

Kuroo watches the way you slide two of your fingers through your glistening folds, collecting your own juice before aiming for your sensitive, hardened little clit and as soon as you press the tips of your digits against the bundle of nerves, both of you let out a loud moan.

"Don't forget about that tight hole of yours, baby", Tetsurou grunts, throwing his head back as he curses himself for slipping out of his persona even if it wasn't for longer than a second.

You whimper at the sound of your favorite pet name falling past those pretty, swollen lips and choke on that exact whimper when you insert both of your fingers into the warm walls of your cunt.

"That's right, just like that, you little slut", Kuroo’s quick to comment, his other hand pushing the material of your (his) oversized shirt up to reveal the soft flesh of your ass before spanking you softly and then digging his fingers into your skin, "even though your fingers are nothing compared to my cock, we don't want you to to get hurt, right?", and again, he finds himself quickly regretting his choice of words and lack of authority.

But he can't help it. You’re his perfect, sweet faced little angel girl after all; there’s no way he can completely abandon his soft, caring side no matter how bratty you become. Not even thinking about giving you a chance to respond, he reaches out and plants another harsh spank on your slightly sore ass.

You muffle a loud whimper, burying your face in your arm as you try to keep your noises down in hopes of getting to hear the sinful moans of your Daddy; however, Kuroo is quick to notice your little plan.

"You're really trying it tonight, huh, you fucking cumslut? You better start moaning or I'm about to get really, really mad and believe me, you do not want that", Kuroo scolds you, his hand leaving your ass and wrapping around the one buried between your legs before he starts helping you thrust your fingers into your wet pussy.

Kuroo watches the way you clench around your digits with his lips parted in pleasure and arousal tingling at the bottom of his spine and if it wasn't for the punishment he has in mind, he would have fucked your pretty pussy.

Your loud moans, high pitched whimpers and desperate whines start filling the small space of his expensive car, making it even harder for him to stay collected and as he slowly observes the way your thighs slowly start shaking, he pulls your hand away from your drenched cunt with a deep grunt.

"Let's go over the rules really quick, kitty", Kuroo sighs and pulls you to stand on your knees, making sure you don't hit your head  before he pushes you against the back of the passenger seat.

Your head is spinning at an inhumane space and you don’t even know if you can form proper sentences especially at the feeling of Kuroo’'s hot tip prodging at your entrance. However the slap against your sensitive pussy manages to pull you back to reality rather in an instant.

"Green means good, o-orange stands for okay, slightly uncomfortable and r-red is the signal for you to stop, Daddy", you whisper, burying your face in back of the passenger seat’s head part as Kuroo slowly starts pulling you down onto his lap, making you sick onto his big cock painfully slowly.

"Keep it going, you're not done yet, kitty. Come the fuck on, stop disappointing me like this", he groans and throws his head back, the sudden urge to feel your lips on his and your tongue in his mouth making his mind go absolutely empty.

His words ring in your head, your mind foggy and sight slightly blurry as he finally bottoms out and knocks the breath out of your lungs just like that.

You try to stay focused, knowing and very well aware of his order but the feeling of his pulsing cock inside of your tight pussy, tip right against the entrance of your womb has you going mad crazy.

"One tap, if I can't breathe, a pinch if it hurts and two if I want you to stop", you finally manage to mumble and  the moan that leaves your lips when Kuroo slowly starts pulling out of you at those words – is almost animalistic.

"I'd love to praise you but you did make me wait and you actually have the pleasure to feel my cock even after all that shit, so", Kuroo’s voice is slightly strained, your tight walls gripping his huge cock like a vice and no matter how many times he got to experience this feeling, he knows he’s never going to get used to it.

You start moaning shamelessly, not even able to close your mouth as Kuroo rams himself back into you and then finally picks up a steady rhythm. Your fingers dig into the fabric of the seat, face buried in the headrest as you let him use you like a doll.

You love the way Kuroo’s grunts grow louder, his thrusts more impatient and the grip in your hips painfully tight; you love the fact that he is enjoying this as much as you were.

But then, out of nowhere, you realize how quiet he has been ever since he has started fucking you.

Dirty talk is something Kuroo has alway been really into, the lewd words falling past his lips so easily and managing to rile you up every time, that you haven’t even noticed how much you miss it.

"D-Daddy", you moan and gulp harshly, your hand reaching behind you to wrap your fingers around his, "t-talk to me, please", you ask softly and spare a quick glance at your lover; his astonishing beauty sending jolts of warmth through your chest.

Kuroo tsks, a loud scoff leaving his lips before he rolls his eyes and keeps thrusting into you. He is absolutely obsessed with the way your cunt spasmed around his cock, the sight of his huge length disappearing inside of your tight hole edging him more and more.

"P-Please, Daddy", tears flood your eyes rather quickly, the pleasure making you incredibly emotional and the tight feeling in your chest looking for relief as you softly sob into your arm, "I need you to talk to me, please; I'm sorry for acting like a whore", you cry and throw your head back, a choked out sob-moan leaving your throat and even though Kuroo does enjoy the way you are literally falling apart on his cock, he hates seeing you cry like that.

"P-Please call me your pretty girl and t-tell me how much you – fuck – love my cunt, please", you beg shameslessly, the tears streaming down your cheeks and leaving hot trails behind and despite the guilt inside your chest, you slowly start coming closer to your relief; the taste of your upcoming high coating your tongue in the sweetest way possible.

"Ssh, baby", Kuroo finally lets go of his hard mask, his chest tightening with every one of your soft cries and even though he knew he'd break at some point, he still had hoped to keep it up a little longer than usual, "it's okay pretty girl, I got you. I'm here, kitten", he whispers and as his soft voice fills your ears, a loud sob leaves you, followed by a tiny moan when his fingers start drawing circles into your neglected clit.

"Come on, angel, I want you to cum", he places a soft kiss on the back of your hand before he starts thrusting into you even harder, "show me who this sweet cunt belongs to", your lover's oddly assuring words are the last straw and without another second passing by, you let go and feel the coil in your core snap; shoving you head first into your high.

Several waves of pleasure hit you, your orgasm literally ruining you to a point where you struggle to take proper breaths.

Kuroo helps you ride out your high by slowing down the movements of his hands and hips, his breath getting stuck in his throat as he tries to handle your constant clenching.

"Cum inside of me, Daddy", you whisper, exhaustion dripping from every single one of your words yet you still let out soft little whimpers to encourage your pretty faced boyfriend, "want you to fuck your baby into my belly", you add quickly and the way literal innocence is coating your voice is what throws Kuroo over the edge.

Your cunt continues to spasm around him, making sure he cums as hard as you did and then, after his whole body halts its movements, he cums inside of you; painting your warm walls in several shades of white.

Kuroo quickly pulls out of you, the loss of contact and sudden feeling of emptiness has you whimpering slowly but you instantly go silent when he pulls you into his arms, pushing your face into the sweaty crook of his neck before he slowly starts caressing your naked thighs and massages your scalp.

A couple of minutes pass by, the exhaustion overcoming the two of you and when Kuroo notices the way your lips grow heavier by the minute, he presses his lips against yours and pulls you into a passionate kiss. A lazy clash of teeth, your tongue slowly entering his mouth and of course he is quick to swallow your spit, making you whimper into his mouth.

"Please don't ever do that again, my love", he whispers against your parted lips, his thumb grazing your cheeks and then your neck, "if you want me to be hard on you, there's no need to flirt with other guys, you just have to tell me, okay? You know I will do anything to make you happy", he mumbles and you quickly reply with a soft hum of approval.

"I love you, Daddy", you sigh, burying your face in his chest as your lips stretch into a big smile when you hear him mumble, "I love you, too, pretty girl."

[tyonfs]

game on.

❝ you play your games, and i’ll play mine. ❞

PAIRING ▸ liu yangyang x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, friends to lovers, some fluff and crack

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, hendery being oblivious as fuck, dirty talk, smut, oral sex, some aftercare

SUMMARY ▸ the lines have always been blurred between you and yangyang. you, fed up with your best friend being an absolute boy and gaming away his problems, decided to take matters into your own hands.

WORD COUNT ▸ 3238 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello! i impulsively wrote this so consider this my contribution for yangyang day ♡ i hope you guys enjoy !!

YOU WERE PISSED.

It wasn’t like you were expecting much. You just wanted to spend the evening with your best friend on the one day you both had time to hang out, but he clearly had other plans. YangYang had been playing video games all day while you were just sitting on his bed and watching him like an idiot. You rolled your eyes, going through your phone for about the umpteenth time as you listened to him yell commands at Hendery.

“Go mid, go mid!” he shouted into his mic, furiously clicking his mouse and tapping keys in tune with his command.

You finally gave up and walked over to him, tapping his shoulder to get his attention. “YangYang,” you called with a frown. “We were supposed to watch a movie tonight.”

YangYang, startled, took off his headphones for a moment to peer up at you. “What did you say? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”

You despised the gentleness of his tone. YangYang was definitely sweet by nature and had good intentions (save for his wild streak), but sometimes he was simply insensitive and ignorant of his actions. You wondered if he knew how annoying it was for you to have to sit on his bed for over an hour just to be ignored. It didn’t exactly help that you had the biggest crush on him and overanalyzed every single word and action.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Fine, YangYang. Keep playing your silly game,” you snapped and went back to his bed with a scowl. “I’ll just sit here and do nothing.”

YangYang seemed to realize that he had been neglecting you, so he mumbled a curt apology to Hendery into his mic and paused his game. It sounded as if Hendery was whining, but YangYang turned off his mic and put his headset down. He got up and walked over to you, sitting at the edge of his bed where you were curled up.

He raised a brow at you. “Happy?”

That tone of his just pissed you off even more.

“You can go back to playing your game if that’s what you want,” you mumbled, clearly jealous that he was prioritizing his game over you.

“I want to spend time with you.” YangYang slid his hand over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry for gaming while you were over.”

You let yourself be vulnerable and crumble for a moment, but then you ducked your head so he couldn’t see, mumbling, “I’ve been waiting here like an idiot.”

“Hug?” he offered, hoping it would make up for his wrongdoings.

You pursed your lips. You refused to give in so easily, especially when it came to Liu YangYang. He had a knack for getting what he wanted with a simple flash of that dazzling grin. In short, you were tired of having to wait for him.

You weren’t sure if that meant wait for him to hang out with you or notice your feelings for him, but both answers seemed to align well.

The lines had always been blurred between you two. It had gotten to the point where even his friends didn’t believe him when he would say he wasn’t dating you. Maybe what gave it away was the way you both would hug for a little too long, or the lingering stares, or maybe even the way he’d hold your hand when he didn’t have to.

However, whenever the topic of dating arose, you’d either shy away from the conversation or change the topic quickly.

“No.” You stood up, dragging him up by the arm and over to his gaming setup. You sat him down in his chair and slung a leg around his thigh, sliding onto his lap. “You keep playing.”

YangYang seemed to stiffen up as you straddled him, tucking your head into his shoulder. He kept you close to him, though, and placed a hesitant hand on the small of your back. You could hear him swallow thickly as he put his headphones back on and rejoined his game. He didn’t question your command, but you could tell he was much more jittery.

You turned your head a little. You could see the blush on his face and the tension in his jaw.

You scooted up further into his lap, noting how he froze as you did. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and although the two of you were practically cuddling, it felt odd with Hendery’s voice coming from YangYang’s headphones.

“Dude, where were you?” Hendery asked. “The enemy team nearly got your turret.”

“Sorry about that,” YangYang apologized, looking like a bundle of nerves, which was something you hadn’t seen before. You shifted slightly and YangYang quickly turned off his mic before cursing under his breath. “D-don’t do that.”

You stilled. YangYang just stammered, and you swore you could hear his breath hitch. A devious part of you wanted to take this further and see where it would go.

“Don’t do what?” you asked innocently, adjusting your position subtly.

There it was.

YangYang’s hard-on pressing into your thigh. The bulge from his grey sweatpants was so obvious, and it sent butterflies to your stomach. You couldn’t stop yourself from exhaling sharply into YangYang’s neck, making his erection grow and your head spin.

“That,” he grunted out, hand coming back from the keyboard to hold your lower back again.

“You seem to be enjoying it,” you observed, biting your lip as you felt him twitch under you.

Your best friend clearly didn’t want to push you, but he was enticed, and it made your heart race. “You mean… you want to?” he asked slowly.

“Yeah,” you said, hiding your face so you didn’t have to meet his eyes. This was all you’ve ever wanted, of course, but you still wanted pay-back for being neglected. “Keep playing your game.”

YangYang continued playing, although you noticed the slight shift. There was a tremor in his hands and he was very unsure about his hand placement every time he came back to hold your back. Although, you underestimated his confidence because when you were least expecting it, he bucked his hips up against yours.

You bit back a mewl, one hand gripping his shoulder tightly as his movements became repetitive. You weren’t looking at him but you knew YangYang was smug, trying to get a response out of you. You arched your hips off of his lap and he grabbed your waist, pushing you back down, right onto his rock-hard boner.

YangYang bit your earlobe as his hot breath fanned the side of your neck. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep quiet, but it was impossible when he was rolling hips up against yours. You could almost picture the smirk on his face.

You whimpered out softly, dangerously close to his mic. Initially, you didn’t mind, only thinking about his reaction to your sounds, until you realized the worst had happened. Fear shot down your spine as you straightened up quickly.

His mic was on.

“What was that?” you heard Hendery ask.

“Louis,” YangYang replied smoothly.

“Louis? He’s at my place.”

“Um…” YangYang trailed off. “Anyways, let’s push bot since we’re at their base.” He turned off his mic again and pulled you back to him, nibbling at the base of your neck. “Panties off,” he murmured, sliding his sweats and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free.

YangYang had, once again, gotten his way.

Your breath hitched at the sight of his throbbing cock. Desire coiled in your gut, making your entire body flush. You got off of his lap to do as he said, looping your fingers in your belt loops to tease your shorts down.

YangYang did a double take, finding it hard to focus on the game and on you at the same time. His eyes briefly met yours before they trained on your lower body, lust clouding them. Before you could take off your panties, however, YangYang was slain in the game, and had to turn on his mic as Hendery started complaining.

“That jungler is a pain in the ass!” Hendery whined. “But, dude, you’ve only got five kills so far. You good?”

“Yeah, um, I’m not doing so hot this game,” YangYang replied, shooting you a glance and leaning back in his chair as he waited out the cooldown. “The heat’s getting to me, I guess.”

“YangYang, it’s winter,” Hendery replied. YangYang closed his eyes for a moment, opening his mouth to retort, but Hendery continued, “Shit, okay, come mid with me.”

YangYang hummed in agreement and turned his mic off, a darker look in his eyes when he turned to you. “Suck me off, baby,” he said in a low voice, adding, “please.”

“But we were supposed to—”

You stopped yourself as a flush of heat crept up your neck. YangYang looked amused as you bit your lip and got to your knees, crawling toward him so that you were between his legs. When you looked up at him, he looked as if he was at his limit.

YangYang ran his thumb along your lower lip, hand cradling your chin. “I’ll make you feel good after this game, baby,” he reassured.

You nodded, pouting at how flustered he was making you feel. Getting distracted again, YangYang moved his attention to his game again, tapping keys repeatedly. You narrowed your eyes, displeased at the lack of attention.

You play your games, and I’ll play mine, you thought bitterly.

This was an unpredictable jump in your relationship with him, and you were just realizing it as you took ahold of his cock, loving how it twitched in your grip. Your lips grazed the soft skin, causing him to hiss through his teeth, squirming a bit in his seat.

YangYang’s breathing was growing ragged and uneven.

You closed your eyes and took the head of his cock into your mouth, hesitating before sucking lightly on it. You looked up at him through your lashes and smiled at how a vein appeared on his neck. YangYang unmuted his mic to reply to Hendery’s commands, removing his hand from the keyboard to grab your hair in a fistful and push you down on his cock.

A loud whimper escaped you as the head of his cock hit the back of your throat. Finding a balance between teasing and careful, you bobbed your head, relishing how the thick veins along his length pulsated against your tongue. YangYang had to mute again, letting out a low and guttural groan when you started building up a faster rhythm.

He died again in the game.

Loser, you thought childishly.

But now, YangYang could focus on you while he was on cooldown. He tugged at your hair, whining when you pulled off of him. You met his eyes and lapped at his slit that was leaking with precum. YangYang’s eyes darkened and he thrusted back into your mouth, making you whimper as you suddenly took him in your throat. You moaned against his cock and let him fuck your throat, digging your nails into his thighs.

You were startled when he seized up, grunting as his hot seed shot down your throat. You swallowed it and pulled off of him, wiping your mouth with a proud glint dancing in your eyes.

YangYang let out a pleased little sigh. “Sit on my lap, baby.”

His cooldown was over.

You got up from your spot on the floor and straddled his lap again, but YangYang was wrecked. He saw your eager expression and chuckled, bemused. He unmuted his mic to speak to Hendery but let his fingers dip into your panties, rubbing his slender fingers against your clit in slow circles.

“P-please,” you breathed out, hands gripping his shoulders for leverage.

“Patience, baby,” YangYang cooed in your ear.

“What did you just call me?” Hendery’s dumbfounded voice resounded from the speakers. “Did you say baby?”

“You’re hearing things,” YangYang brushed off while you wanted to die of embarrassment.

“Yo, we did it!” Hendery cheered a minute later while YangYang was still working on your clit. The words victory flashed across the screen in bright blue. “Dude, you wanna play TFT to celebrate?”

“Yeah, no,” YangYang said bluntly, ending the call and tossing his headphones onto his desk so he could turn his attention to you. He ghosted his hands along your sides. “I have my prize right here.”

“YangYang,” you whined out since he left your clit alone before you could finish.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you,” he mumbled, kissing down the column of your neck. “Let me make it up to you.”

YangYang rubbed your hips in slow circles before removing your shirt carefully, examining your body with hungry eyes. He leaned forward to press kisses from your stomach to your chest, making your heart thunder in your chest. When he reached your chest, his hands slid to the back to unhook your bra. With an easy snap, he unhooked the undergarment and slid the straps down, biting his lip at the sight of you in full glory.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, peppering kisses around your nipple and then sucking lightly on the bud.

“YangYang,” you cried out softly.

Your best friend broke away for a moment to open his drawer behind you pulling out a little silver packet. You watched him tear it open and slide the latex around his throbbing cock. How he managed to get it up again was beyond your understanding. After all, horny boys will be horny boys.

He leaned back in his seat, smirking up at you. “Go ahead, baby, fuck yourself on my cock,” he instructed, grabbing his shirt by the nape so he could slide it off, revealing his v-cut abs.

You swallowed hard.

First of all, YangYang was absolutely hung.

Second of all, you had no experience in this field of sexual activity. This was feeling more like paranormal activity because you had no idea how his massive cock was going to fit inside you without rearranging your guts.

“But you’re so… big,” you whispered, looking at his length as he gave it a few pumps.

A soft look crossed YangYang’s face. He picked you up easily, hands gripping your thighs as he laid you on his bed. There was so much care and softness to his touch as he got over you and lined himself with your entrance. The way he looked down at you was full of pure adoration and it made your breath get caught in your throat.

“Ready?” he asked, moving your hair out of your face.

You bit your lip and nodded, bracing yourself by holding onto his shoulders.

You thought he would start, but to your surprise, he pressed his lips to yours, one hand gently cupping your face. You kissed him back fervently, wrapping your arms around his neck. Lost in the taste of his lips, YangYang slowly pushed himself into you, a strangled groan tearing past his lips at how tight you were. You broke from the kiss to tuck your face into his shoulder, crying out as you were stuck in the crossroads of pain and pleasure.

YangYang’s grip on your waist tightened. “Fuck, babygirl.”

“You’re so big,” you replied with a pleased sigh, your hand sliding up the nape of his neck to curl into his hair. Your hips shifted a little as your walls adjusted around him.

“Damn right I am,” YangYang replied smugly, starting to thrust in you at a leisurely pace. He slid a hand into your hair and groaned as your walls squeezed around him. “God, your cunt’s so fucking tight.”

“Oh, shut up,” you huffed, flustered by his comment. A moan escaped your lips when he hit a certain spot in you that set you on fire. “R-right there!”

“Nice and vocal,” he cooed, slowing down his pace in favor of deeper thrusts, “just how I like it.” A groan tore past his lips as he fucked you into the mattress. “I want to feel this,” he growled. “I want to feel you.”

Waves of pleasure hit you with each thrust, overwhelming you to the point of tears streaming down your face. He was so big and you could feel him in your lower abdomen, but the pain eased away and you could only feel yourself on the edge of euphoria.

“Shit, YangYang, it feels so good,” you mewled out weakly. “H-harder.”

YangYang grabbed ahold of your legs and moved them over his shoulders while he pinned your hips down. He let out a shaky breath and slammed into you harder, making sure to linger whenever he went as deep as he could. You were a moaning mess by now, holding onto him for dear life as he pounded inside of you.

You were already so close, pre-stimulated from him fingering your clit earlier, and his powerful thrusts were making you lose your grip.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

You nodded weakly, meeting his intense gaze. “I think I’m close,” you told him in a breath.

“Cum for me, angel,” YangYang urged, moving his hand down to rub your clit again as he quickened his pace. “I want to hear you say my name. Who’s making you cum?”

“Y-you, YangYang,” you sobbed, digging your nails into his back. “F-fuck—”

You couldn’t even finish what you were saying, nor did you remember what you were going to say because you fell off the edge first. You broke apart in front of him, crying out in pure bliss as you released against his cock. The pleasure in your gut that was building up had now flooded your body, but YangYang still fucked you through your orgasm until he, too, fell apart.

Sweat beaded your flushed skin, but you only noticed it when YangYang’s forehead was against yours, his breathing slow and heavy. He pulled out of you, using up the little energy he had to toss the used condom in the trash before he trudged back to his bed. He got in next to you and pulled you to his body, enveloping you into his warmth.

“I’m sorry if I was too rough,” he mumbled against your skin.

You were still catching your breath, still winded from your orgasm. Now, YangYang was so tender, so gentle, that you were at a loss for words. It was almost laughable compared to the filthy words that were coming from his mouth early.

You cuddled close to him, wrapping a leg around his hip. “Don’t be,” you said with a smile. “It felt really good.”

YangYang grinned and kissed your forehead, your cheeks, then pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. You scrunched up your nose at the contact but he just kissed all over your face.

“I’m glad you felt the same way,” he murmured. “I was starting to get scared that we would just have perpetual tension between us forever.”

“Of course not,” you said with a laugh. “Xiaojun would’ve beat you up if you kept denying anything between us.”

“Well, now I can stop denying it, at least,” he mused, holding up your hand to his lips so he could kiss your knuckles.

“I still can’t believe we did that.”

“I mean,” YangYang started, plastering an easy smile on his face, “I’m always good to go again.”

Needless to say, you ended up taking him up on that offer for a few more rounds.

[songbirdstyles]

white wedding.

summary: your estranged aunt leaves you her estate in her will with the stipulation that you have to be married to receive your inheritance. luckily, harry is more than willing to help.

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, smut, angst if you squint.

song inspo.: white wedding - billy idol

word count: 13.4k

You weren’t too close to your Aunt Alice for the entirety of your life - there’s a picture, you think, hung in your parents’ house of her and some of your other family members, crowding around your bassinet when you were just a baby, her face turned up into a scowl amid everyone else’s gleaming grins, and it was a lovely foreshadow into your relationship with her. She sent you $10 on your birthdays and Christmas (an amount that your father had always scoffed at when he thought you weren’t listening - ‘she’s a goddamn millionaire,’ he’d hiss to your mother, ‘and the most she can spare her only niece is $10?’)  and you could remember, when you were 9, seeing her at a family reunion where she sat at a table pressed into a back corner and nursed glasses of wine during the entire event.

It goes without saying, you suppose, that she wasn’t the kindest lady. Your mother had told you how Aunt Alice cut off your father for some reason nobody could quite discern and, so, she never held a much larger place in your life than a mere branch on your second grade family tree project -

But, still. It’s rather difficult to regard the dead in such a negative manner so you try and focus on the good parts of your late aunt. Twice, she wrote ‘love u’ in your Christmas card. And, at said family reunion, when you walked over to her table to say goodbye before you left, she delivered a sloppy, strangely wet kiss to the side of your face that smelled distinctly of chardonnay (a scent you hadn’t quite been able to place until years later.) And - 

“Are you alright?”

Harry’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, gazing out the rain-streaked car window at the night sky with an odd air of sadness surrounding you. You had been trying to hide the slight dash of sadness you feel at the memory of your aunt by disguising it with a mask of sleepiness that has you leaning your forehead against the cold window, eyes squeezed shut. But Harry can read you like a goddamn book - like the back of his hand. It’s what best friends are for, you suppose.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, tilting your head away from the window to glance at him in the driver’s seat. And, the truth is, you are fine. It’s not as though you’re entirely too saddened with the news of Aunt Alice’s passing. She’d always had health issues, according to your parents, and you’re not sure what, exactly, has sealed her fate - you’re simply more confused by it all. “Well - when we were leaving the movies, I got a call from my dad. My aunt died.”

You can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath and there’s a brief hesitation where you know he’s trying to gauge how you feel about it. “Oh,” he settles on, turning to look at you in the eye when the car rolls to a stop at a red light. “M’sorry, love.”

You shrug, glancing down to squint at your fingernails in the darkness of Harry’s car. You’d begun to pick at the baby blue nail polish he’d delicately applied the night before (they matched his, naturally) and it really is a nervous habit you should work on, but you can’t be bothered right now. “We weren’t close,” you admit, leaning back against the headrest. “It’s just weird, is all.”

“Are y’sad about it?”

“Not quite,” and it’s the truth. “She was wealthy, though. I think she wrote novels or plays or something - I’m not sure. And I was, apparently, her closest living relative that she didn’t despise.”

He clicks his tongue softly, making a left when the light finally switches to green, and his eyes shift back towards the road. “Left y’somethin’ in her will, did she?”

“Her countryside estate,” you confess, voice soft - it’s not the climax of your story but it certainly sounds like it should be, and you can see the confused crease in Harry’s eyebrows when you look up at him. “I looked the address up online, Har - it’s gorgeous, 6 beds and 7 bathrooms. I guess we had similar tastes in that regard.”

“Y’don’t sound too thrilled, for someone who jus’ got their dream house handed to ‘em on a platter.”

“There’s a stipulation in the will.”

“Ah.”

You smile tightly. “I’ll only inherit the house if I’m married.”

It’s something you’ll never understand. Aunt Alice never married and lived in that grand old house (your dream house) all by herself, and if you’d known about your role in her will perhaps you’d have argued it with her in person - the hypocrisy of it all, how goddamn unfair it was. And it’ll kill you - truly kill you - to see that house go to whoever her next closest living relative is who she doesn’t hate. Probably some third cousin twice removed, considering how great she was at cutting people off.

And Harry sits for a moment in silence, considering it. “Seems very - very - can’t think of the word.”

“Sexist? Unfair? Dumb?”

“All true,” he agrees, giving you a sympathetic smile, and it makes you feel the tiniest bit better, even if it’s just for a moment. “Barbaric, maybe.”

“I hate her,” you declare, crossing your arms over your hoodie-clad chest, and you most certainly don’t, but you’re angry enough to mean it in the moment. When your father had told you, you hadn’t thought about it too much - besides being confused by the entire thing, being left a house by a relative you hardly knew - but saying it out loud makes you angrier, squeezing your eyes shut. “Would you know she never married? How does that make sense?” “It doesn’t,” Harry repeats, and you glance out the window, lifting your palm to wipe at the cloudy stain your forehead had made against the glass - you’re just less a minute away from your apartment building, and you rip your phone from Harry’s charger and shove it into the pocket of your hoodie. “She left you time, right? T’get married? Tha’ seems only fair.”

You snort, ignoring the way his lips turn up into a smile at the noise. “She gave me a year. I mean, I’m 23 - I wasn’t intending on settling down for another couple of years.”

If you were less distracted, perhaps you’d see his responding silence for what it is - time to think, gears grinding in his head, as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building and leans over the center console to wrap you in a hug. Harry’s a talkative person and he’s only really quiet when he’s got something on his mind, but you’ve got something on yours too (probably more than he does) so you ignore it. And his soft murmur into your hair of ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow for breakfast’ sounds every bit as distracted as you feel so you simply pay it no mind.

It’s easier that way, for now.

 --

 “I’ve been thinkin’ about your situation.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, bent over his plate of French toast as though he hadn’t spoken at all. His sunglasses are perched at the end of his nose so you can see his eyes - which, in your opinion, defeats the purpose of even wearing the stupid things in public. But, whenever you two go out together, he insists on wearing them, along with a grey beanie protecting his infamous head of curls from any wandering eyes, and the bizarre attempt at a disguise always makes you feel like you’re having breakfast with a burglar. 

“Not much to think about,” you shrug, popping a forkful of omelet into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I was just mad about it last night, you know. Heat of the moment, sort of thing.”

“I’d be mad, too,” Harry tells you, and it’s getting more difficult to ignore the way his words send heat creeping up your neck, and you glance down at your plate of eggs with a small smile gracing your face. “Not jus’ heat of the moment, either. Really mad. S’bullshit.”

A second of silence passes, and you let his reassurance settle over you - simply having him agree with you on the stupidity of the entire situation makes you feel a thousand times better. Even if you don’t get the house (and you’ve already progressed into the last stage of grief over almost certainly losing it - acceptance) at least you’ll always have Harry, and maybe that’s enough.

But the house would be nice, too.

“What were you thinking about?” You question, lifting your eyes back up to meet his through his tinted glasses, and if there wasn’t the barrier between your gazes you’d be able to note the nearly shameful glint in his eyes as he digs into his stack of sugary sweet toast, doused with maple syrup and towered high with fruit. “About the situation, I mean.”

Harry begins to speak once more just as you reach over with your fork to nab a piece of banana, and he swats at your wrist as you pop the slice of fruit into your mouth. “Don’ steal my banana, babe,” he tells you, eyes narrowing in mock anger, and you roll your eyes at the name. “Anyway. S’not totally crazy, that you could get married in less than a year.”

Yes, it is, you want to reply back, but you can tell he’s ramping up to something important, so you rest your fork on your plate and furrow your eyebrows at him pointedly. Truthfully, even if the love of your life happened to be sitting in front of you, you’re not sure you could go through with marrying them, anyway. It’s such a heavy commitment and, God, you thought you’d have more time. Time to explore and experiment and not settle down (in your dream house) just for the sake of it.

“What if we got married?”

And that - is not what you were expecting him to say.

You’re not sure if he’s kidding or not so you give it a minute before responding in any capacity. Just stare at him, and he makes a point of hooking his pinkie in the center of his sunglasses and tugging them down his nose just a bit so you can see the absolute lack of amusement in his eyes. He’s all business, goddammit, as if he hadn’t just basically proposed to you in the middle of eating your fucking omelet.

But you can’t be sure he’s serious, and you also can’t be sure that the way your stomach flipped wasn’t because of a particularly egregious sip of chocolate milk and not the prospect of marrying your best friend. So you lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you kidding?”

Harry just shakes his head, grey beanie sliding up just a bit for one chocolate coloured lock of hair to escape the confines of the dumb hat. “M’being dead serious, babe. I’ll get down on one knee an’ prove it, too.”

“Don’t do that,” you beg him, reaching out to grab at his wrist when he makes to push himself out of his chair, and his wide grin only sends your stomach into another set of somersaults. “Jesus, Har.”

“Horrible idea?”

You don’t respond right away, grabbing your glass of chocolate milk and wrapping your lips around the straw. It’s a few seconds to process the request in all its glory - marrying your best friend, even if it’s just for show, is a lot. Sure, all you’d really have to do is head down to a courthouse (you could do it today, even - if you wanted to, and you’re not sure you do.) It’d be easier than searching hopelessly for the love of your life and arrange a wedding in less than a year, and you’d be able to walk the halls of your aunt’s gorgeous estate, decorate it how you please, and - ideally - your relationship with Harry wouldn’t quiver in the slightest.

Well, maybe that’s why you’re hesitant to begin with. Because it would quiver - or because it wouldn’t - or because it’s plain weird to marry your best friend. Even if it’s for a good cause (your dream home) and even if he suggested it in the first place, because he cares about you and wants you to be happy.

That’s sweet.

Maybe it would be a glorious fuck you to Aunt Alice in death. It isn’t as though anyone would know about the inauthenticity of the union but you would, and that’s all the revenge you need for her adding such a silly stipulation to her will, anyway. A marriage born not out of love, but out of need - sure, it’s not exactly how you wanted your life to go, but it’s better than watching the estate go to someone you’d never met before. You could get married and get divorced in the time frame she’d given you to find love in the first place and it would hardly be a blip in your life plans, and certainly not in Harry’s. It isn’t as though he’d suggest it if the marriage would ruin anything for him. 

Sure, you’d prance around family parties with him on your arm to sell your faux romance to your family. Only one or two, though, his arm around your waist, and it wasn’t as if your parents hadn’t already begun to question whether your close friendship with Harry ventured into something further. And, when it’s all said and done, when the house is officially in your name and you can begin shopping for furniture to make it your own, it’ll be easy to sell the divorce - he’s touring, you’d tearfully proclaim, and the stress was just too much on our relationship. And then you’d both be happy, right? For the most part, anyway. Still best friends with no hassle at all, and you get your house and he gets the popstar life without the settling down part.

When you’ve swallowed your gulp of chocolate milk, it’s nearly worrying how much you’ve thought about the proposal.

“It’s not a horrible idea,” you begin, eyes diverting downward to where Harry’s fingers are fiddling with a straw wrapper. “I mean, it could be pretty easy.”

“Very easy.”

“We just elope -”

“Could do it today, even -”

“I haven’t agreed yet, Mr. Styles - but we would elope, and then I’d get the house, and maybe I’d bring you to a family reunion, just to sell it, and then we’re divorced.”

He raises his eyebrows, glasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose until their purpose has been completely obliterated, and his eyes are on display for the goddamn world to see. “Unless we fall in love an’ live happily ever after - no divorce necessary, m’love.”

Bastard. Your stomach flips again but you just roll your eyes, picking up your fork and lifting a shaky bite of eggs up to your mouth. “Shut up.”

You’re almost certain you’ve made up your mind but you still make a show of thinking about it, slowly chewing on your omelet and focusing your gaze on a paper napkin resting on the ground beside Harry’s chair. It’s almost too easy, the entire process, and maybe that should make you nervous, just a little bit, that the idea of marrying him feels so relaxing. But - well - if you had to choose anyone in the world to marry in order to fulfill a stipulation in your aunt’s will, it would have to be Harry.

He’s looking at you eagerly when you look back up at him, and you’re not sure why he’s so excited about it - not like there’s anything in it for him - but it’s something you’ll think about later.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” you tell him, watching the way his grin spreads across his face like wildfire, and you can’t help yourself from smiling, too, “but I am.”

In seconds, Harry’s reaching across the table, grabbing your hand in his larger one, and just the way your heart jumps at the feeling of your palms pressed together should certainly have you rethinking your enthusiastic yes. But then he’s picking up the straw wrapper he’d been fiddling with, and it’s twisted into a makeshift wedding ring, and he’s sliding it onto your ring finger with a wide smile like a fucking puppy -

God. You’re in too deep already, and you’ve only just agreed.

 --

 For the record, you’d rethought your decision many, many times since agreeing.

You’d drafted out the text for Harry for when you inevitably will change your mind - a block of words confessing to him that you’d reacted too quickly and you think it would be best if you simply forfeit your inheritance, but you can never quite gather the guts to do it. And every time you copy and paste the note from your notes to your text thread with your best friend, something always stops you -

The photos of the house from the real estate website you’d seen it on.

Harry’s wide grin as you accepted his offer.

FIngers delicately sliding on an engagement ring made of a paper straw wrapper, and the next day when he’d shown up at your door with an actual, real engagement ring.

Naturally, you hadn’t sent it. You’d deleted the note entirely, too, embarrassed with even looking at your words of defeat sprawled on your phone screen. Sometimes, though, you wish you had fucking sent it. Nearly two weeks after accepting the proposal that still hasn’t progressed from feeling like an absolute fever dream, you’re sitting with Harry at Aunt Alice’s funeral, his arm hooked around the back of your chair and the other clutching a glass of wine that he’s hardly taken two sips of.

You’re on your second glass already, and it’s barely been an hour. You’d signed the guestbook and hooked your arm with Harry’s and introduced him as your fiance to exactly one of your great-aunts, and you’d been so nervous that Aunt Shirley could see right through your faux-engagement that you’d practically downed your glass the second her back turned. 

“This is so weird,” you confess to Harry, shifting closer to him so no one else around you can hear. Not that there is, per se, anyone else around you - not many other people are sitting down, but you and Harry were one of the first people to arrive, so you’ve given yourselves a pass to sit down for a while. “Isn’t it weird, Har?”

“S’only weird if you make it weird,” he murmurs back, and you would roll your eyes at how maddeningly calm he is if you weren’t desperate to keep up your pretense as loving fiance to the funeral goers whose wandering eyes may turn to you two. “And, babe, you’re makin’ it weird.”

Your lips spread into a smile and you lift your glass of wine to your lips, taking a small sip before bringing it back down to your lap. No matter how many times you scream at yourself, internally, that nobody knows you’re not engaged and to calm the fuck down, you can’t stop your leg from bouncing up and down, showcasing your nerves in the most outward way you possibly could. “Wonder when my parents are getting here - should’ve texted them and told them separately. Did you tell your mum?”

“Told her the truth,” Harry tells you, tilting his head into yours in a way that feels so natural you swear you could stay this way forever. “You’re not tellin’ your parents the truth?”

“Bless my mum,” you sigh, “but she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Harry exhales a soft laugh, eyes darting around the room full of people before landing back on yours, and your gazes lock for just the briefest of seconds before he’s glancing down at your lap. “Y’don’t have t’do this if you’re uncomfortable, y’know. We can jus’ say - the pressure of m’job was too much.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you tell him, which is true. You’re nervous, for sure, but he could never make you uncomfortable. “And, ironically enough, that’s my excuse for when we divorce.”

Your voice drops to a near breath on the last word and Harry’s head drops back with a bark of laughter that’s entirely too loud for the setting you’re at but you can’t bring yourself to reprimand him. “Always talkin’ ‘bout our divorce,” Harry breathes, tilting his head closer to yours so his mouth is close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath, hot against your skin. “What if we fall in love, babe? No divorce then. Don’ y’want us t’live happily ever after?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you roll your eyes, even if you’re almost positive you will (or already have) and shake your head at Harry’s resulting chuckle. “Been best friends for nearly five years, haven’t we? If we were going to fall in love, I reckon it would’ve happened already, Har.” 

“You’re right,” he agrees, voice oddly soft and sounding just sentimental enough for you to narrow your eyes suspiciously at him - but before you can question him further, his eyes dart down to where your leg is still frantically bouncing up and down. “Bloody hell, love - bouncin’ your leg so much. Y’look like a nervous wreck.”

“Thanks,” you begin, and whatever else you’d been meaning to say dies in your throat as Harry’s arm shifts from around the back of your chair and his hand comes down firm on your leg. His fingertips brush your knee and his palm lays soft against your thigh, just high enough to gently brush the end of your black dress and you wish you could control the way your stomach flips again and again like a fucking gymnast.

It’s to keep up appearances, you tell yourself. So people don’t think I’m so nervous. But it feels so nice, so natural in a way you hadn’t expected, feeling his hand resting on your thigh like it belongs there, fingertips drumming against your knee which most certainly isn’t bouncing anymore.

Your eyes flit up to his, narrowing them ever so slightly as if to sniff out his intentions, and out of the corner of your eye you can see two familiar figures walking in the high arched doors of Aunt Alice’s service. Your parents break off from each other nearly the second they enter, your father skirting off to greet some of his cousins and your mother’s eyes scan the room filled with relatives before landing on you and Harry.

“Mum’s here,” you tell Harry, pushing yourself to stand, and the feeling of his hand dropping off your thigh is a sensation you absolutely despise. He stands soon after you, adjusting the cuffs of his black button down shirt, and for the first time since the funeral began, you can see the beginnings of nervousness creeping upon him. A light pink flush works its way up his neck to his cheeks and he brings his hand up to run through his hair, inhaling a shaky breath. “You look nervous, Har. You’ve met my mum before.”

“S’different. Now we’re engaged.”

“Not too different.” You hook your arm with Harry’s, patting his hand with yours, and he gives you one grateful fleeting grin before you begin walking over to your mother. She’s bent over the guestbook, scribbling her name with the feather pen resting beside the log. You stop walking when you’re just a couple paces behind her, waiting for her to turn around and see you two - and your voice drops to a hushed tone as you reassure Harry. “I think she already sort of thought we were dating anyway - so she won’t care too much.”

“Wait - she did?”

“Hey, mum!”

 --

 You’re getting married in a week.

And, sure, you’d known that the entire process would move quicker than you could imagine but it still feels surreal and you still reckon you haven’t thought it through enough. It’s worsened (or, in some way, bettered) by the absolute adoration your family had immediately adopted towards Harry after meeting him just a few days ago, your aunts pulling you aside at the funeral and the repast that occurred after and whispering in your ear about what a handsome man he is! 

Well, they’ll certainly be disappointed when, in a month or two, you pop in to the next family gathering and announce that you two had gotten divorced as quickly as you’d been wed. Harry will be your ex husband and, at that point, surely people would be suspicious at the speed of which everything had happened but - hey - you’ll have your house and your best friend and that’s all you really need, isn’t it.

Yeah.

Slowly but surely, you’re coming to peace with it, and Harry’s certainly making it easier by being so zen about it all. His nerves at the funeral had been just about eradicated because your mum loves him, which you knew, and your father had seemed positively overjoyed at the news of your engagement, but they’d both seemed rather disappointed at your decision to elope instead of spending the time planning a big white wedding. And you’d expected that, but you figure that, by the time your second marriage inevitably rolls around, it’ll be real (realer than whatever you’re feeling for Harry, because you’re still not sure) and your father will walk you down the aisle and you’ll be able to go shopping for a big gorgeous wedding dress like you’d always dreamt of wearing.

You haven't even bought a dress. The one you’re wearing now, staring at yourself in the floor length mirror propped against your bedroom wall, is one you’d purchased for your college graduation to wear beneath your gown - simple and flowy, falling to just about your mid-thigh, and the only redeeming quality for even being considered a wedding dress is its white color. Still - it isn’t as though it’s a real wedding, in the traditional sense, so it doesn’t make sense for you to spend too much on a gown you’ll don for a trip to the courthouse and then get sad whenever you look at it again, post-divorce.

No, you don’t think you like it. You’d liked it for your graduation but for a wedding (your wedding) you wish you had something just a bit nicer, and you want to strip out of it and change back into your jeans but Harry’s sitting in your living room, waiting for you to model the stupid thing for him, and you’d hate to disappoint him. So you inhale softly, run your hand down the fabric, soft beneath your fingers, and reach for the door.

Harry’s on his phone when you step out of your bedroom, slowly shutting the door behind you, his body looking strangely large where he’s perched on the small loveseat in your living room. Everything in your apartment seems too small for him - or just too small in general - and it’ll be a nice change to live in a house where you can hold gatherings of more than 5 people without feeling like sardines in a can.

“Har,” you call, reaching down to tug the ends of your dress just a bit further down your thighs as you step further into the living room, bare feet padding against the plush rug your parents had gotten you as a Christmas gift the year prior. “What do you think of the dress?” You can hear the click of his phone as he turns it off, dropping it on the cushion beside him, and heat creeps up your cheeks as his gaze turns to you - you should feel self conscious, the way his eyes roll up and down your body, drinking in every bit of your dress, but you fucking love it. Love the way his lips part into a small o and upturn into a grin, how he pushes himself to stand and close the distance between you two until he’s hardly two inches away from you, how he reaches down to pick up the end of your dress as though examining the fabric.

“Do you like it?” You question as Harry drops your dress, letting the fabric fall back down around your thighs. “Wasn’t sure if I did.”

“I love it,” he tells you, immediate and forceful and you can tell he means it with his whole chest - maybe you love it, too. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You don’t think it’s too simple, do you?” Maybe you’re fishing for more compliments but you allow yourself to do it shamelessly. “It was my graduation dress - remember?”

“I do remember,” Harry grins, tugging at the bottom of your dress, and keeping his hands busy is a nervous habit of his that you’ve grown to recognize from a hundred miles away, but you can’t think of why, exactly, he’d be nervous now. “Looked so pretty, walkin’ across tha’ stage. I was so proud.”

You smile, gaze dropping down to where his fingers are fiddling with the skirt of your dress, and you think you’ll wear this dress every single goddamn day if he reacts as positively to it as he is now. “You sound like my dad.”

His nose scrunches when you look back up at him, and your heart twists inside your chest. “Don’ make it gross.” You simply shrug, bringing your fingers up to drum against his shoulders through the fabric of his Fleetwood Mac shirt, his muscles flexing ever so slightly beneath your touch. “M’being serious, though. I love the dress. Y’make the prettiest bride on the planet - m’a lucky man, aren’t I.”

From the moment you walked out of your room you’ve been feeling heat burning your cheeks but it doesn’t stop you from gently smacking his shoulder. “Stop it - you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Looks like y’already are, Mrs. Styles.”

Should that name make your stomach as topsy-turvy as it does? 

You shake your head, smoothing your palms over the front of your dress to both eradicate the wrinkles that adorn the fabric and to wipe off the sweat cropping up on your hands. You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous around Harry before and you can’t quite place your finger on why, but it’s getting more difficult to look him in the eye with your heart pounding as fast as it is. “I’m not gonna be Mrs. Styles for another week.” 

Harry exhales softly, fingertips tapping against your hip and you hadn’t even realized how close his hands were to that spot of your body - but it feels comforting, his touch on an oddly intimate part of you. “I can’t wait,” he says, and you can’t, either. “Makin’ me a very lucky groom, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe could make you go crazy if you focus on it for too long, so you don’t - and it’s hard to focus on much other than Harry himself as his head drops down, forehead pressed to yours, and oh God you can smell his fucking gum, and if you tilt your head up ever so slightly -

Is he going to kiss you? You think your heart will explode but you’ve never wanted anything more so you tilt your head up, just a bit, grip tightening on his shoulder, and you can feel his breath growing warmer against your face -

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing in his pocket snaps you out of your haze.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands dropping off your hips, and your head drops downwards with a soft groan. It was so close. You could feel his breath against your face and how did that fucking opportunity pass you by? - “S’my mum. Fuck - m’sorry.” And you’re not sure if he’s apologizing for the call or what had (or, rather, had not) happened but it doesn’t matter.

One glance at the phone he’s tugged out of his pocket shows that he’s right - Anne’s contact photo smiles up at you and you give Harry a small nod, faking the smile you’re not feeling, before taking a step back against your plush carpet as he turns around, back to you, phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m gonna change,” you whisper to no one in particular. Harry’s head turns just a bit so you can catch the apologetic look on his face before he’s loudly greeting Anne, and you’ve never liked eavesdropping on their calls. So you turn and head to your bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you and turning to stare at yourself, wide-eyed, in your mirror.

He almost kissed you.

He didn’t - but would he have? If Anne hadn’t rung him - would he have leaned down, breathing shaky, like how it always is when he’s nervous, and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours? And you would’ve known exactly how it feels to be kissed by him, whether it would be as dream-like as all the times you’ve dreamt of it. His hands on your hips, yours on his shoulders, bodies slotted together until your hands are roaming and you’re pushing him on to the couch, sliding into his lap and his hands would roam to your thighs -

It doesn’t do well to think about it now. You don’t want to get yourself too worked up about it - that doesn’t do anyone much good - and you don’t want to take too long to change. So you inhale a soft breath, smooth your clammy palms back over the front of your wedding dress, and you allow yourself one final glance in the mirror at the attire you’ll be donning in a week’s time before reaching around to your back, fiddling with the zipper until you can begin to tug it down.

 --

 You and Harry haven’t talked too much since you showed him your dress, and it’s probably not very great etiquette for an engaged couple, but you two have never been normal anyway.

He sent you a picture of the suit he’s wearing and it’s as every bit unconventional as your excuse of a wedding dress, and you told him that - how you would be a pair for the books, the opposite of what a regular married couple looks like. And you texted him just yesterday and asked if he would make you two a reservation at your favourite restaurant for dinner after the elopement (he always tended to get the nicer tables, and you don’t pretend not to know why) and he sent you back two thumbs-up emojis in response.

You’re getting married in three days, though. It would probably be best to talk about it with him before you cross that bridge but it’s never been one of your stronger areas, so you leave it be for now.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questions, tilting her head in so you can hear her against the thumping music of the club. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out for a bachelorette party the second they hard of your engagement and it would be out of character for you to refuse a night of drinks on them - even if you’d rather stay home and think about Harry and all the things you should’ve done when he was at your apartment. Getting drunk out of your mind does seem preferable to wallowing, though, now that you’re out and about and well on your way to getting smashed - so you turn to Olivia and nod once, a simple jerk of your head.

“I’m fine,” you tell her, reaching over to grab the cocktail Amy had gotten for you and bringing the straw to your lips. “Just thinking about Harry.”

Amy snorts from her spot across the booth, dipping her finger into her empty shot glass and licking up the droplet she collected. “Can’t believe it took you two so long to get together.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” interjects Olivia, reaching over to grab your glass out of your hand and taking a sip of your drink. “How long have you two been together again?”

Fuck. You’re in the grey area between being tipsy and being drunk and you can’t remember how long you and Harry had claimed to be together. Was it a year or two years? You think it’s a year - you’d wanted to go as low as possible with your answer. Did we say six months? That seems too low. “I’ve liked him since I’ve known him,” you answer instead, which is absolutely the truth, and Amy and Olivia are both too drunk to ponder about your evasion of the question. “Loved him, even.”

Your fingers brush against your phone, sitting on the table face down, as your friends playfully swoon - the last time you’d texted Harry was to tell him you were going to the club, and you hadn’t checked to see if he responded. It’s always been a habit between the two of you to text where you’re going, in case something happens, which seems oddly barbaric at times but you’ve always appreciated it.

“You’re so lucky,” Amy informs you, reaching across the booth to intertwine your fingers. She gets sappy when she’s drunk and you can tell from the distinct crack in her voice that she’s mere seconds away from bursting into tears and professing how much she loves you and Olivia - you don’t ever quite enjoy being around to see that. “I mean, really. You and Harry - we always knew it would happen -”

“I should call him real quick,” you mumble, watching as her eyes water over, and Olivia rolls her eyes with a grin as she scoots around the other side of the booth so Amy can throw her arms around her. You grab your phone and push yourself out of the booth, maneuvering through the crowd of people until you’ve reached the bathroom.

It's a single stall and the club is small enough that you only have to wait a minute or two before a thoroughly shitfaced woman stumbles out of the bathroom, a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoes, but she’s gone before you can point it out to her. You brush it off with a shrug and shut the door behind you once you’re inside the bathroom - it smells like Febreze and mint soap, and the scent of the mint reminds you of Harry’s breath and you really need to call him, don’t you.

You’re scrolling through your call log before you can wonder if calling your best friend who you’re in love with while you may be quite drunk is a bad idea - the phone is ringing just as you begin to - and he’s picked it up just when you realize you’ve made a mistake.

“Hey, babe,” Harry says from the other end, voice crackling with the poor reception in the club. He sounds groggy and raspy and you can tell you’ve either woken him up or he’s trying to go to sleep, and you don’t actually know what time it is, you realize. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m at a club,” you tell him, and you can hear his soft exhale of air and you can practically picture the slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’m out with Amy and Olivia - they wanted to take me out for a bachelorette party or something - s’kinda dumb, I dunno -”

“Are y’drunk? S’just, you’re slurrin’ a lot -”

“I’m tipsy,” as you sit back on the closed toilet seat, fingernails digging into your thigh. You don’t actually know what you’d called him to say but four days without talking to Harry seems like it’s setting some sort of record and you hate it. “Just wanted to call because - um - well, I miss you.”

For a second you think the call may have broken up - you can’t hear much beside his soft breathing, and you pull the phone away to check if it’s still connected. But then he sighs softly, and you’re quick to press your phone back to your ear. “I miss y’too, m’love - ‘course I do.”

“That’s sweet.” You hum softly, kicking your toes against the tiled bathroom floor. “I thought you might be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “That’s why I was confused. But you haven’t texted me much.”

You can fucking sense him rolling his eyes. “Well, y’didn’t text me either. I thought you were mad at me -”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what happened the other day,” you interject, and you know you wouldn’t be telling him this if you weren’t teetering more towards being drunk instead of tipsy, “and I really wanted to kiss you, you know. I mean, I thought you were going to - and then it didn’t happen.”

“Well, m’mum called.”

“Would you have done it if she didn’t?”

There’s a pause for only the briefest of seconds before Harry says, “‘Course I would have.”

Your heart flutters inside your chest and you lean your head back against the wall, nails digging further into your thigh and it’s difficult to hold back the grin that threatens to split your goddamn face in two. God, he would have. He would have kissed you - does he love you like how you love him? It seems fucking unreal, like something you’d dream up in your deepest sleep. You’d never thought Harry would ever feel the same way, even as you got a fucking marriage license together and planned out the dinner you’d eat after your elopement and -

You can’t think of a single other one of your friends who would fucking marry you for any reason, house or no house, life or death. And who would you do it for? Not Amy, not Olivia, even if they asked you nicely. It’s a commitment - a huge one - one that you wouldn’t be willing to do for anyone.

But you’d do it for Harry, in a heartbeat. You know you would. You’d have the fucking dress on before he could finish asking, and isn’t that what you had done, really? He hadn’t had to convince you much at all. You’d been willing from the get-go.

“Really?” Your voice is barely a breath, a soft exhale of air, reeking of the giddy joy you’re feeling at his proclamation. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Y’know I never lie to you.” Harry sounds nearly offended at the mere idea. “You are m’fiance. Comes with a code of conduct.”

You roll your eyes, and just then there’s a loud knock against the door - you jump violently, phone nearly slipping from your grasp. For a minute you’d forgotten you’re in a club bathroom and you know you’ve been here far too long to be appropriate - you’ll give yourself just one more minute to talk to Harry. “What about when we get divorced? Gonna lie to me then?”

“Always talkin’ about the divorce,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds so full of adoration that you’re nearly overwhelmed by it. “D’you have such little confidence about the strength of our relationship?”

If it were up to you, you’d be with Harry forever - but you can’t tell him that, not yet. “It’s not as though it’s a traditional relationship, you know. I don’t think most marriages that began for the sake of a house inheritance last too long,” you smile, feeling heat burning up your face even if he can’t see you. “Just generally speaking.”

“Hope y’got the statistics t’back that one up -”

Another louder knock shakes you again, and you jump up as though someone had set you aflame. Your phone nearly slips out of your clammy grasp once more and you clear your throat, lowering the device to your shoulder and calling, “Just a second!” to whoever’s waiting impatiently outside. You raise your phone back to your ear and clear your throat again. “I’ve gotta go, Har. I’m in the bathroom at the club - been in here a bit too long.”

“Aright,” Harry says, and you can hear soft shuffling from the other end, audio still crackled by the reception. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, scrunching your nose up before remembering he can’t see you. “I think it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re a stickler for tradition?”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse, Har,” you tell him, before pulling the phone from your ear and hanging up. For a second you can’t move, staring down at Harry’s contact in your phone with a giddy grin that surely makes you look like some child in a candy store - and, in a way, you are - and it’s only a third knock at the bathroom door that has you scrambling out the door, giving an apologetic grin to the girl waiting impatiently.

 --

 Being married - for the record - doesn’t feel too much different than before.

There’s a shiny ring on your finger that Harry had bought, and when you glance across the table where he’s sitting, clutching his menu, you can see the similar wedding ring on his left hand - it’s simplistic and small and contrasts with the rest of his clunky rings and it makes you feel strangely warm inside when you spend too long looking at it. And, even after you and Harry had talked at the club, your ‘post-elopement’ dinner doesn’t feel entirely different than all of the other dinner dates you’d shared before the entire situation began. It’s familiar and sweet and his ankle is hooked around yours under the table, forcing a permanent heat onto your cheeks.

Harry rests his menu on the table, fingertips drumming against the laminated paper, and you similarly drop yours to look at him. “Think m’gonna get the spaghetti.”

It’s a testament to the slight air of awkwardness surrounding you both that the only thing he can think to talk about is the food he’s getting - but you’ll play along. “I like the raviolis,” you tell him. “Think I’ll get those.”

He hums softly, pushing his menu further into the table. “Can y’believe tha’ we’re married? I can’t. Seems so weird.”

“Doesn’t feel that different,” you disagree, toes tapping against his ankle beneath the table. “It’s not like we didn’t go out for dinner together before we got hitched.”

“We’re playin’ footsies under the table, babe.”

You grin down at your napkin, resting on your lap on top of your wedding dress. “Be careful or I’ll kick you, Har.”

His ankle tightens just a bit around yours beneath the table and you could watch that small smile spreading across his face for the rest of your life. “Y’wouldn’t dare - don’t y’love me?”

Yes, you do, so you resist the urge to unhook your ankle from around his and deliver a swift kick to his calf - just rest your palms on the table, scratching lightly at the rustic wood of the table. It’s hard for you to even pretend to be mad at him when all you can think about is how much you want to climb over the table and straddle him - as his wife you suppose it isn’t an insane thought, and you’re nearly certain he’s feeling the same way. Hadn’t he told you he would have kissed you if he hadn’t been called by Anne? Maybe you’ll get a chance to do it again - later. You’ll never give up the opportunity again.

“When d’you get t’move into the house?” Harry questions, leaning in just a bit in his seat. 

“A few months, I think.” You shrug. “Reckon I’ll start redecorating before then, though. I’m already looking at furniture - I’ve gotta save up for most of it, though. Might sell my apartment before then.” There’s a pause, and then you shrug once more, picking at a crack in the table. “I’ll probably move back in with my parents.”

Harry’s eyebrows are raised when you glance up at him, fingers paused in their drumming on the menu. “Are y’kidding? We’re married. You can move in wit’ me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that -”

“Not asking, are you? Even if we didn’t just elope at a courthouse, you’re still m’best friend. Can’t have you moving in t’your mum’s basement.”

You smile softly, flattening your palms against the table and craning your neck to examine the ring - proof that it had really happened, that you’re really married. It still doesn’t feel quite real, no matter how many times you and Harry casually talk about it. “Was gonna live in her attic, actually.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay f’the furniture, too. Don’t look at me like tha’ - s’our house. Needs t’be ready f’when we move in.”

You hesitate, trying poorly to conceal the way your grin is arching further upwards at the mere prospect of what he’s hinting at. Living with Harry? Jesus, even if you weren’t in love with him, living with him sounds like an absolute dream, only made better by your feelings for him. And picturing walking through an Ikea, searching for furniture, feeling his arm around your shoulders as you two look online for decorations - if heaven were a place on Earth, it would be your Aunt Alice’s estate, soon inhabited by you and your husband. “Well, we’ll talk about it, alright?” you land on as your response. 

For a moment, neither of you say anything, and the silence isn’t as stifling with awkwardness as it had been before. Then Harry reaches over, resting his hand overtop of yours, fingers instinctively intertwining, and your heart nearly splits itself in two - he initiated it, holding your hand, and maybe you shouldn’t feel so surprised but you can’t fucking help it. Your scalp is tingling and you swear your eyes are going to bubble over and his hand feels just as soft and beautiful as you’d expected - as you’d always dreamed of.

You’re not sure when, exactly, there would ever be a better time to tell him than now, so you clear your throat and squeeze his hand and confess, “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Har.”

Sharing your feelings isn’t necessarily your strongest spot but you’re feeling egged on by absolutely everything, and the way Harry brushes his thumb against your palm encourages you to continue. “I mean - since we met, basically - but I never told you. Never thought you would like me back.”

“I did,” he interjects, and you look up at him with furrowed brows. “Liked you back, I mean. Clearly - hope y’didn’t think I’d run off an’ marry anybody this fast.”

“I just thought you were being nice.”

“You’re silly, then.”

“A real idiot,” you proclaim, rubbing soft circles into the back of Harry’s hand, and you swear you’ll never let go unless someone fucking rips you away. “Guess I should’ve figured it out, then - seems like we did everything in the wrong order, right?”

Harry snorts, a noise that draws the slightest attention from an older couple sitting at a table beside you, but neither of you pay them any attention. “Get married first, fall in love second.”

“I was already in love,” and you’re not sure why, exactly, you had said that but it feels right and true falling off your tongue so you decide, pointedly, not to regret it.

There’s no hesitation when Harry responds, voice laced with the authenticity you’re so desperately craving - “Reckon I was, too.” You barely get a minute to process that and how it’s making your stomach do flips and turns like an Olympic medalist before he’s standing up, fingers still interlocked with yours to pull you up with him. “How d’you feel ‘bout a sleepover tonight?”

“A sleepover?”

He barely looks at you as he fishes through the pocket of his dress pants to pull out his wallet. “Not like we haven’t had them before.”

That’s true - you’ve slept over at Harry’s house so many times, it’s like a second home to you - but you have a distinct idea that, based off of your previous conversation and the wedding rings shining on both of your fingers, this sleepover will be just a bit different. 

“Skipping out on the reservation, then?” you question, squeezing Harry’s hand as he tosses a $50 onto the table - a significant overkill for your lemonade and his Coke but you suppose he’s feeling rather generous today. “I am rather hungry.”

“We’ll eat at my house,” he insists, leading you through the maze of tables with a grip that’s so tight, you wonder if he’s having the same qualms as you are about never letting go. “Y’like pizza, don’t you?”

 --

 You’ve been in Harry’s house more times than you can count, but it’s never been like this.

His hand is still firm in yours and it’s a feeling you adore - even if his palm has gotten clammier with every second, every step you took closer to his front door, and you can practically smell the nervousness rolling off of him. It’s not unlike the worry that’s overtaken you because you’re not quite sure what he’s expecting - only know what you want to happen and you pray to any god above that your desires align with his.

The sound of Harry shutting the door is the only crack of noise burning through the otherwise thick silence surrounding you. Neither of you had known what to say and the car ride was taken in comfortable silence, hands clasped and heads bobbing to soft music playing on the radio, but being in his house is different - there’s no music, no excuse for Harry to keep his eyes off of you, nowhere to lean your head and pretend to be resting your eyes while your heart uncontrollably thumps against your chest.

In ways, it’s better. Most ways, in fact.

Slowly, you turn to face Harry, fingers drumming against the back of his hand. His breathing is heavy and his eyes never leave yours, and you’re reminded remarkably of trying on your dress for the first time in front of him and your position hadn’t been too unlike this one - maybe now you can do it right.

It feels entirely natural, tilting your head up until you can easily slot your lips to Harry’s. They’re soft and plump and he kisses you back with a vigor you hadn’t quite expected - deepening it before you have the chance to react, his free hand that’s not clutching yours roaming to your neck and you can’t ignore the way your stomach flips at the feeling of his hand on your throat. But then his hand keeps moving up, palm pressing to your cheek in such a sweet gesture that doesn’t at all match the intensity with which he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth - your hand lands on his waist, gripping the flowy material of his dress shirt, pulling his body as close to yours as you can get.

You only pull away to catch your breath, grip tightening on his shirt to ensure he won’t move away - you need him close to you, need to feel his body against yours - the bulge near his thigh that you can feel against your pelvis, hardening with every second that passes.

“Why’d you move?” Harry questions, voice soft and vulnerable and you can’t help but lean up and land another kiss to his mouth. 

“Had to breathe, Har,” you murmur, smoothing your hands against his waist and the wrinkles you’ve surely created in the fabric. His fingers brush the edge of your jawline and you can feel your skin growing goosebumps beneath his touch.

He simply hums in response, ducking his head down to kiss you again. It’s sweeter this time, soft and fluffy but you don’t want that now - God, you want his hand around your neck and his knee between your thighs but perhaps that’ll have to wait for another time. You’re needy for just about anything you can get and if that’s sugary sweet kisses, a touch so gentle you could trick yourself into believing it isn’t there, then you’re more than grateful.

Harry’s teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to have you moaning into his mouth and your nails dig into his through his shirt - the resulting whine into your mouth has you smirking against his lips, pushing your hips further into his. It’s the clearest way you can think of to tell him that you need him beyond kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” he breathes and you can feel his cock, twitching against your thigh and it’s a sensation you never thought you’d be able to experience outside of your deepest dreams - it feels twice as good as you’d imagined. “Gonna make me go crazy, babe.”

That’s exactly what you want.

“Hey,” and you pull away from him, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath still hot on your face, “don’t we have to fulfill the tradition of consummating the marriage?”

He laughs, a loud exhalation of air rather than his true barking laugh, but you smile anyway at the sound. “S’not the middle ages - no one’s expecting us to, if y’don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Harry’s hand slides backwards into your hair, pulling the strands into a ponytail and tugging and your resulting moan has him smirking like a smug bastard against your lips. “God, Har. I really want to.”

It seems that that was the exact response he’d wanted - you get one last lingering kiss to your lips before Harry’s pulling away, hand falling away from your hair and other still interlocked with your own. You don’t have a second to question where, exactly, he’s leading you but then he’s tugging you through the foyer and down the halls and up the staircase you’ve grown to know so well - the trek to his bedroom has never seemed so viciously long until now, but by the time Harry swings open the door, you feel as though you’ve been walking for hours instead of barely a minute.

“On the bed, babe,” he directs you, all raspy tone and dominance lacing every last syllable and you can’t ignore the gush of arousal you can feel rushing straight to your core. It’s the stuff that makes up dreams, really, his fucking voice, and you know just the four simple words would be enough to get you off for years from now. “C’mon.”

You wouldn’t dream of disobeying - your footsteps are nearly completely silent on the carpet as you walk over to the end of Harry’s bed, pushing yourself up to sit on the plush duvet, sinking into the mattress that feels like an absolute cloud compared to the rock you’re used to sleeping on. For a brief second, he doesn’t move - just stands and stares at you, chest heaving through the baby blue dress shirt that your needy grasp had wrinkled. Then he moves, shutting the door with a barely perceptible click before making his way over to you, gazing up at him with heat blazing in your eyes.

Perhaps you’re expecting him to push you onto the bed, to fulfill the dominant tone he’d held before, so it is a bit of a surprise to see your best friend (your husband) dropping to his knees before you, fingertips ever so gently trailing up and down your calves.

The bedroom is so silent, save for your panting breaths and Harry’s shaky ones and you reckon he may be more nervous than you are - you’d expected him to handle all of the confidence between you two but his fingers are shaking as he pulls off your heels, resting them side by side on the carpet at the end of the bed. Chills crop up over your skin as his gentle touch roams up your legs, landing on your knee, and your breath hitches in your throat as the man you’ve loved for nearly 5 years leans in, lips landing a soft kiss to the top of your calf.

This isn’t what you had expected - him fucking worshipping you, on his knees - you’d never pictured it in a million years. And maybe it’s proof of the difference between him and the other guys you’d been with - your ex-boyfriends and flings had always been worried about their pleasure, never paying you any attention, and Harry couldn’t be closer to the end of the spectrum. Your entire body feels warm beneath his watchful gaze and touch, how he brings one hand up to snap firmly when your eyes flutter shut. 

“Look at me,” Harry directs, and despite the slight strain in his actions, his words still hold a never-faltering dominance that he’d had before. “C’mon, babe. I don’ want you to look away from me - can y’do that?”

It’s a task that’s easier said than done, but you nod anyway, swallowing thickly as Harry redirects his attention back to your legs. His hand, resting delicately on your left knee as though you’d break if he put too much pressure, slides down the length of your leg until he’s grasping your ankle, kneading the soft skin in his grasp while his lips linger at the top of your knee.

Using his grip on your ankle, Harry hoists your leg up onto the bed without warning, your toes digging into the end of the bed - uses his other hand to push your thigh outward so you’re on display for him like a goddamn feast and his smug grin proves that he can see just how wet you are, soaking through the white lace panties you’d chosen for the occasion. Heat blooms up your cheeks as he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing your soft skin, and then he gives a dramatic inhale and - that’s -

You reach down, bracing both palms on the side of his face and forcing your husband (husband!) to look at you in the eye. He looks confused by your interjection and apologetic and that isn’t what you were going for but you hadn’t expected him to want to eat you out - most guys didn’t.

“You don’t have to do that, Har,” you murmur, giving a pointed glance to your lap that he’s been eyeing like it’s his dessert. “I won’t be mad.”

And Harry looks almost offended by the prospect of not wanting to, like you’d insulted him - “I want to. D’you not want me to?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice hardly above a breath, and when he begins to pull away you continue. “No! I mean - yes, I want you to.”

He grins, wide and toothy and reminding you of exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place, and you settle back into your spot on the bed with your nerves almost completely eradicated. He wants to - he’s not doing it because he feels obligated - it’s already a step up from any other guy you’d ever been with.

Fingers trail up your thighs as Harry’s lips close around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, cheeks hollowing as he sucks a deep purple hickey, and you lift your hips just a bit so he can hook his fingers in the waistband of your panties and begin to tug them down. The crotch area is practically dripping with your arousal and it takes a bit more force to tug it away from your cunt but once they’re gone, Harry grabs your ankle again and straightens out your leg, making it easier for him to tug the offending material down your body and toss them away from the bed before resting your foot back on the edge.

You can hear his shaky breathing as he pulls his lips away from your thigh, thumb smoothing over the mark he’d left as if to prove it exists. You’d get it fucking tattooed if you could - to forever commemorate this experience - his mark in such a secretive place, just a breath away from where you need him most.

“Jus’ - jus’ tell me if y’want me t’stop,” Harry tells you, eyes interlocking with yours once more, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Lean back f’me, then - not too far, jus’ a bit - still need t’see you.”

So you lean back, propping yourself up on your arms, a barely reclined position from how you’d been sitting before. It’s easier to see him as he grabs the hem of your dress, tugs it up just a bit, but when you lift your hips so he can pull it out from under your ass he doesn’t comply - well, perhaps he has other plans with it, doesn’t want the dress to come off just yet, and you can respect that.

The time it takes for Harry to duck his head beneath your dress, tongue flicking against your overly sensitive folds, seems like fucking years even if it’s hardly a second, but when he does your hips instinctively jerk forward into his mouth. His eyes are flashing when he looks up at you and you breathe out a stream of apologies, heart thumping in your chest, fingernails digging into the comforter beneath you. “Don’ move,” he directs, and you nod again and again and you don’t stop until his lips close in around your clit.

Your head drops back with a low moan as Harry’s teeth graze your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the sensitive nub like it’s what he was born to do. The bottom of your dress covers the top of his head so you can’t see what he’s doing - you have no idea what his next move is and it makes the pleasure rolling through your body that much better.

“Fuck - fuck, Har -” the only two words you can think to moan roll off your tongue like a mantra, your back arching upwards despite his warning not to move but he doesn’t mention it - just drags one hand up, fingertips light and dancing on your thighs until he can splay his forearm across your lower stomach, effectively pinning you to the bed. Your hand moves from digging into the sheets to digging into his scalp, tugging at the loose strands of hair that smell ever so slightly of gel and it makes your heart swell to imagine him putting product in his hair for the elopement - but before you have time to dwell on the sweetness of the sentiment, that talented tongue is licking a thin stripe up your folds before flicking your clit and you’re brought back to reality. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Harry mumbles, muffled where his face is pressed firm to your pussy and the vibrations of his words reverberate against your clit, sending a chill up your spine, and you let out a low whine at the sensation. 

“Yes,” you breathe in return, tugging at his hair just a bit, the strands forming a makeshift ponytail like he’d done to you before. “Feels so good, Harry, god -”

His head pulls back just a bit, hem of your dress dropping to just the tip of his nose so you can see his eyes - smug and glinting and you’re sure that, if you could see his mouth, those lips would be upturned into a smirk and practically dripping with your arousal - but he goes back in just as soon as he’d pulled out, burying his face in the apex of your thighs and you collapse back against the bed with a shout.

Whatever order he’d given you to maintain eye contact disappears. It isn’t as though you can see his eyes anyway, and you couldn’t stop yours from rolling back into your head if you tried. Ecstasy rolls through your body and, God, you know you’re close already, thighs tensing under where Harry’s palm kneads the soft skin, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll see bruises tomorrow. Your cunt clenches and flutters around the emptiness you’re yearning to get rid of and your back arches up again, Harry’s restraint on your torso not enough to stop it now, and you’re so fucking close.

“Harry -” you moan, digging your fingernails into Harry’s scalp and relishing in his responding moan to your clit - “gonna cum, Har -”

He doesn’t say anything - but you can feel his tongue continuing its work, up and down your folds and circling your clit and that’s response enough. Your hips jerk into his face, back arching as you grasp his hair tight enough that it has to fucking hurt but then you’re cumming and -

“Oh, fuck!”

Your voice is high pitched, cracked with a desperate sob right in the middle of your words before you’re holding Harry’s head to your pussy, his tongue working your clit like he was born for it, his low moans muffled against you. The hand previously holding down your torso slides up your body until he can shove his hand into the top of your dress, tugging it down so your chest is. He plucks at your nipple before grasping your tit, full in his palm, and the added stimulation prolongs your orgasm, hips rolling against Harry’s working mouth.

You can’t see straight when Harry pulls his head out from the bottom of your chest but when your vision focuses you’re beyond thankful. His chin is glistening with your arousal, tongue poking out to lap at the moisture on his lips and he dons that shit-eating grin you’ve grown to know so well. You usually see it when he wins a board game or when you’re celebrating something - seeing it on his face after he’s finished giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever gotten is certainly different but not unwelcome by anyone’s standards.

There’s a second where all you do is lie back and catch your breath - staring up at the ceiling above you, chest heaving as the aftershocks race through your body. Harry, meanwhile, pushes himself to his feet, muttering a small groan about God, m’fuckin knees and gettin’ too old for this, aren’t I?

Lazily you hold your hand out towards him, wiggling your fingers, and he reaches out to interlock your fingers again. “How was that?” he questions, voice soft and almost insecure and it’s a sharp contrast from the dominance he held before, but you know it’ll come back.

“I think you’re a natural at that, Mr. Styles,” you tell him, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you pull him closer to you until his knees hit the bed and he’s forced to collapse on top of you, grin cracking onto his face. “Gonna undress me?”

“‘Course,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to place a brief kiss to your lips, but before you can lift your head to deepen it he’s rolling off of you, shifting onto his side and shuffling upwards so his head rests on the stack of pillows. You raise your eyebrows at him - it isn’t as though he can take your dress off from that position - but, as though he can read your mind, he raises his hand and pats his lower stomach pointedly. “Climb up, babe.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, you can feel heat pulsing in your cheeks but you hope it doesn’t show - just sit up, swing your legs around so you’re straddling Harry, hands on his chest and gazing down at him like the God he seems to be. His hair is splayed out on the pillows beneath him, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and you can’t help yourself - lean down to land your lips to his again, and this time both of you allow it to deepen. His hand starts at your cheek like it had before but you reach for it, fingers wrapping around his wrist and maneuvering it downwards until his palm is wrapped around the column of your throat, and he squeezes once experimentally.

You moan softly, hips rolling against the pointed bulge in his dress pants, and Harry’s eyebrows raise. “No fuckin’ way,” he breathes, squeezing again just to hear the way your breath catches. “Gonna be th’fuckin’ death f’me.”

You’re fine with that, and you reckon he is too.

You reach behind you, tapping along your back until you can reach the zipper. You’ve only tugged it down an inch or two before Harry’s free hand replaces yours, dragging the zipper down as far as it can go before reaching for the bottom of the dress. It’s gone in an instant - tossed off the edge of the bed, to be worried about later - and you can feel his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra before it comes undone, and then you’re naked.

You’d expected yourself to feel more embarrassed, or perhaps just nervous, and maybe it’s the effects of your previous orgasm but you’re feeling surprisingly calm - or maybe it’s how Harry looks up at you like you’re some sort of goddess sent from above, as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

It does wonders for your self esteem, truthfully.

“Gonna undress me, then?” Harry questions, hands smoothing up and down your thighs, eyes drinking in every bit of your exposed body on top of him.

You hum softly, pinching at the soft material of his shirt. “I don’t think so - want you to fuck me in your fancy clothes.”

“Well, if I’d known tha’ was an option -”

“Do you want me to put the dress back on?”

“No!”

You grin down at him before rolling your hips over his again, and it’s the last thing you manage to do before his grip lands on your hips and he’s flipping you over - your head lands dangerously close to hitting the headboard but it’s worth it, seeing him above you, fully clothed, pupils lust-blown and wide.

It hardly takes a second for Harry to undo the button to his pants and the sound of the zipper being undone is like music to your fucking ears - you spread your legs, letting him slot his body between them and oh, you can feel the tip of his fucking cock it’s right there and -

The first movement, Harry pushing himself inside of you, has you throwing your head back against the pillow, the moan coming from your throat mixing with a cry. He’s big - certainly bigger than you’d ever expected and bigger than any guy you’d been with - feels like he could split you in half if he wanted to but he stops, hands smoothing up and down your body, and you make a point of reaching for his hand and interlocking your fingers.

You’ll never grow tired of holding his hand, you think. Not for a while, anyway.

“How’re you doin’?” he questions, voice strained, and when your eyes shift back to him you can see the droplets of sweat beaded on his face. “Jus’ - jus’ tell me when, alright?”

“When,” you breathe almost immediately. You hadn’t needed too much time to adjust but you need him to move - you’re so pent up and you know it won’t take long to take you to your second orgasm but, God, he needs to fucking move. “Please, Har - please, fuck me.”

It doesn’t seem he needed much more encouragement than that. With one final move of wrapping his free hand firm around your neck and giving another small squeeze, Harry pulls out agonizingly slowly until just the tip of his cock remains in your heat. Just as you open your mouth to beg him to move again he slams back in with a force you hadn’t anticipated, your body rocking backwards of its own accord with the weight behind the thrust.

It’s exactly what you’d needed, though - fast and rough and his hand, cutting off your airflow just a bit, just enough to have you quivering beneath him. The low groan that rips out of his throat, reverberating through the humid bedroom has you pushing your hips up to his, trying to deepen where he’s buried inside of you to the hilt but you’re not sure how much deeper he could get. Feels like he could split you in half with every desperate thrust, every rut of his hips into yours and yours back into his.

“Oh - god - m’fuckin’ good girl, so tight around m’cock -”

Another rush of arousal gushes straight to your core with his filthy words and your head falls back into the pillow with a high whine, nails digging into the back of his hand as his other one tightens grip around your neck. It makes every desperate moan and cry that much airier and you can tell Harry likes it, staring down at you as his hips pound yours with absolutely no mercy and you don’t want any, anyway. It’s the subject of every single fantasy you’ve ever had about him, rough and hard and the sound of skin slapping skin overpowering your needy noises.

You’d never dreamt it would feel so good.

“Oh god, Harry!” Your eyes are rolling back into your head as your free hand trails down your stomach, shaking fingers focusing on your ignored clit and beginning tight circles around the nub. The jolts of pleasure that run through your body are - god, fucking amazing and you know you’re close, hardly need anything else to tip you over the edge. “Gonna - gonna cum, Har -”

It’s a testament to, perhaps, the long-growing tension between the two of you that his head drops backwards with a cry of me, too in a tone that’s so desperately vulnerable and it’s exactly what you’d needed - the reminder, in the midst of the rough thrusts and desperate moans, that this isn’t a one time thing. If you both allow it, it’s the rest of your life, just like this - and, God, you’ll allow it.

Your cunt clenches around your cock as you cum, eyes rolling back into your head and body spasming beneath him. In the midst of it Harry pulls out and you don’t get a second to question the sudden emptiness before you feel a familiar warmth hitting your lower stomach, and you open your eyes in time to see your husband, hand working at his cock as ribbons of cum spurt onto your stomach.

(You think you could cum again just from the sight but - well, you’ll hold back.)

His breathing is choppy and desperate, broken occasionally by a needy moan until he’s finished and he collapses on his back beside you, hands still intertwined with no intention of letting go. Nothing needs to be said - not yet - not for a little while, where you’ll talk about it more. 

A little while ends up merely being a minute or two before Harry swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hand still clasped in yours, and makes to stand up - it’s only your tightening grasp on his hand that forces him to stop, glancing behind him to look at you.

“Don’t,” you plead, throat already feeling sore and voice raspy. “Just - another minute, alright? Then clean up.”

He hums softly but you know he won’t resist the prospect of just a brief cuddle - one of the few things you hadn’t done often when you were just friends, because you knew that, if Harry held you as close to him as he is now, lips pressed to your forehead, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling him how you felt about him.

Doesn’t matter now, though. And his arms feel so warm around you, clammy palm still pressed to yours like a fucking couple in middle school but you wouldn’t dream of letting go. It’s all so - so peaceful, lying with him and listening to his heartbeat as you rest your head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat thumping as fast and hard as yours is.

And - well. Barely a month ago you were convinced your Aunt Alice was the worst woman in the world - a hypocrite and an asshole, set out to taunt you by lording your dream home over you and snatching it away when you couldn’t find a husband in time. But now? Feeling Harry, landing soft kisses again and again to your forehead, you figure she’s not so bad, after all.

[holden-caulfield]

For a Draco x reader, I don’t know if this plot is good or not. But it is just an idea that I have and if you feel like writing it I would be very happy because I really do like your work. So maybe something like Draco and reader started to slowly become friends and then hang out more and more. Draco feels happy with her and fall for her. He writes a letter to his mother telling all about a girl he met and how happy she makes him. Then Narcissa writes a letter to the reader and thanking her for making her son happy and she really hope to meet her soon. Reader is just confused and then go and look for Draco. He later then just confess his feeling for her and she feels the same. Would love to if you also wrote when the reader actually met Draco’s family and they all liked her a lot.

I'm honored to know you like my work, thank you sweetheart! Hope you'll like this one too!! I'm not sure this is what you wanted but i liked the concept of the flashbacks so i went with that :)

Perfect For Each Other

↪︎ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

SUMMARY: reader is about to meet draco's parents while recalling how she ended up there in the first place.

WARNINGS: i'm pretty sure there's none, flashbacks are in cursive. also, i'm actually quite proud of this one?? yeah.

WORD COUNT: 1378

//

How it all started. You would have never expected it honestly, to find yourself in front of Malfoy Manor, wearing your best dress to make a good impression, waiting to finally meet the mysterious parents of your boyfriend.

Draco had talked about them countless times, but you hadn't met them yet. Perhaps it was the lack of time, perhaps it was the fear that made you decline invite after invite, but Draco wanted you to be sure and waited. For you.

He always did, he always waited for you. That's one of the things you loved about him.

He always waited for you after class, when everyone else had already run towards the great hall to eat. He stood near the entrance, lazily leaning on the wall outside with his bag hanging over his shoulder. A small grin always spreading on his face whenever you would join him to go to lunch together.

He hadn't always been like this however, it took sometime, but oh boy was it worth it. He slowly opened up to you until you knew more about him than himself. You started hanging out together after class and during, which wasn't very appreciated by all the professors who constantly reprimanded the both of you.

But you couldn't care less, not when you loved him so much. Love, how weird. Were you really in love with your friend? Or was it just friendship, a really strong and fierce friendship?

You knocked on the door of the great mansion, Draco beside you hugging your side gently, squeezing lightly to relieve your nerves. You appreciated the gesture, but it wasn't enough sadly.

The door revealed a beautiful woman, her eyes matching Draco's perfectly, displaying a certain affection you would have never expected from a stranger.

Draco wasn't known to be very open with anyone; he only spoke with you, but only when he deemed it utterly necessary. Only with you and that made you feel special, or so you thought.

You slackly woke up and took your sweet time getting ready, it was saturday after all and that meant only one thing: relax.

You descended the stairs to the common room, finding it unsurprisingly empty. Even if you slept in, you were one of the first to wake up. You made your way to the great hall and made yourself comfortable at your usual seat.

The morning post arrived and, even though you hadn't expected anything, you saw a big elegant owl approaching you with a white envelope in its beak.

You took it carefully and let the owl take some of your breakfast from your plate before taking off again. As you opened it, you noticed the refined lining and the faint smell of vanilla it emanated.

Dear y/n,

my dear Draco has told me a lot about you, my name is Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother. I'm so glad to know there is someone there so close to him, that can guide him and be there whenever he needs.

I want to formerly thank you and wish you two the best, hopefully Draco won't annoy you too much. I know how he can be at times, but from what i've heard, i know you two will be perfect for each other.

Please take care and take care of him for me,

Narcissa Malfoy

You read the tiny sophisticated handwriting with an ever-growing smile on your lips, until a thought dawned on you: 'perfect for each other'.

What did she mean by that? What had Draco told her that he hadn't told you? Too many thoughts were running freely in your head to notice the hall slowly filling up.

"Hey, good morning. What do you have there?" a voice suddenly brought you out of your trance and, almost instinctively, you folded the letter in your hands.

"Nothing, just mail." you said innocently. You weren't sure whether you should have told him or not. If he really did feel something for you other than friendly affection, he should have told you. When he was ready.

Maybe you had just misinterpreted it, or maybe Narcissa did, nevertheless you wouldn't certainly have told him anything about it.

He eyed the letter, unconvinced, but sat down next to you nevertheless. As he did that, you immediately sprang up, startling him and everyone else at the table.

"I'd better go, many things to do!" you excused yourself and walked, rather quickly, out of the hall, trying to block out all of the confused gazes on you.

Your feet kept a steady pace as you reached the grounds, looking for a silent spot where to really think about the letter you had just received.

You re-read the letter, your eyes always freezing on the same spot: 'perfect for each other'. You started pacing back and forth until you got interrupted, once more.

"Has something happened, y/n?"

Narcissa greeted you cheerily, a polite smile imprinted on her face as she hugged Draco and then you, with such warmth you felt instantly at home.

"It's such a pleasure to finally meet you, y/n. Last time I had heard of you was so long ago, although Draco still tells me everything about you." Draco smiled bashfully as Narcissa led the two of you in the living room, "Maybe i should have just written you, but after last time, I wasn't sure..."

You shook your head quickly as you gazed into his grey eyes, worry etched into them.

"What is that?" Draco pointed to the letter again and you hid it behind your back, keeping your eyes on him. "You can tell me, y/n, you know you can."

You weighed your choices and decided it was better to tell him the truth, whatever the consequences.

"It's... it's your mother, she has sent me a letter..." Draco's usually light eyes darkened as something you couldn't quite place took over in his face.

"What did she say? Did she threaten you? That doesn't sound like mother but-"

"What?! No! No, nothing of that sort!" you quickly reassured him, "It's... she said you told her about... me."

Draco relaxed immediately only to tense up again a second after.

"And what did she say?"

"I need to ask you something, Draco." Draco gulped but didn't stop looking at you, nodding for you to go on, "What are we?"

Draco furrowed his brows at the question, letting a small nervous chuckle escape his lips, "Friends, aren't we?"

"And what would you like us to be?"

He stiffened even more, not sure what his answer should have been, truthful and potentially fatal or a lie.

"I think- I know I love you, y/n. Possibly more than a friend." you tried to stifle a smile but it was impossible and ran into his arms, startling him for the second time that day.

He hugged you back almost instantly, happiness flooding his senses at your unexpected reaction.

"Thank merlin, because i think i do too, you know?"

That was the start of it all, everything thanks to Narcissa, the woman you were now following through the huge halls of the manor.

You now knew Draco loved you, but meeting his parents, knowing they could have disapproved, still made your heart beat faster than usual and your hands clench around Draco's.

You reached an enormous room, with an expensive-looking couch in the middle and a few armchairs surrounding it. One of them was occupied by a blond man, uncannily similar to the man whose hand you were currently holding onto for dear life.

"Good morning, you must be y/n." he greeted, standing up from the chair and taking a few steps forward, extending the hand that wasn't holding his cane.

"Good morning, it's a pleasure meeting you mr Malfoy!" you shook his hand, trying to hide your excitement and, most of all, your fear.

"Draco told us about you, i must say you are quite different from how he pictured you." Draco squeezed your hand and you felt slightly better despite the horrible first impression you had just made with his father, "You are certainly prettier than what he told us."

You giggled lightly as Narcissa offered to take the conversation to the dining room. Draco hugged your shoulders while making your way towards the table and one of the nicest evening you ever had.

Narcissa was indeed right, you were perfect for each other.

//

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[the-widow-sisters]

Anniversary of A Nightmare

Summary: When Yelena wakes up one morning when Natasha has left early to the compound for a little while, Yelena turns on the TV and starts to prepare her breakfast that morning. However, when she hears the TV announcing the anniversary of the worst day of her life, she shuts down completely. 

Word Count: 4450

A/N: Thank you so much to my wonderful friend @bambinella for this absolutely incredible request! I hope you enjoy this one! I know I absolutely adored writing it for you 💖💖💖

Also, thank you to Chargedlion from AO3 for allowing me to use this idea! This one was super similar to a fanfic that she wrote called “That Was Fun” (which was an absolutely incredible fic that I adore so much 😍). I did my best to write this one differently from hers, and I hope I succeeded! 💗

I hope you all enjoy this fic! 🥰

Warnings: Blood and Injury and Knife Wounds.

  Yelena got out of bed, immediately noting the lack of Natasha’s presence. She furrowed her brow a little, wondering where her big sister had gone to. She stumbled somewhat uncoordinatedly over to Natasha’s bedroom door, opening it as she headed to the kitchen. She knew that Natasha was likely in there cooking breakfast for the both of them as she did many mornings that she did not remain in bed cuddling with Yelena.

  However, as she got in there, she quickly realized that Natasha was not even in the house. She came over to the counter next to the sink, realizing that cereal and a bowl with a spoon in it was resting there. As she grew nearer, she quickly realized that Natasha had left her a note.

  She came over, plucking the small piece of paper from the counter.

  “Gone to the compound. I love you and don’t eat mac and cheese for breakfast. I got out the cereal for you and everything,” it read. Yelena smiled just a little as she noticed that her big sister very poorly scribbled a doodle of a checkmark next to a bowl of cereal and a big X over what looked to be macaroni and cheese. Natasha’s drawing skills were not too great, but Yelena still found it adorable that her seemingly tough big sister was so sweet like this.

  Yelena finally just rolled her eyes with a sleepy smirk, immediately knowing what she was going to eat for breakfast. After all, Natasha had suggested it to her so wonderfully. Yelena tucked the note in the pocket of her sleep-shorts that she had on currently and she headed over to the television, just turning it on so that she could listen to something while she prepared some mac and cheese.

  She headed into the kitchen, realizing that it was the news playing. She groaned a little but did not bother going back in the other room to change the channel despite the fact that she would honestly rather be playing cartoons or some sitcom. Yelena pulled out a knife from a nearby drawer, experimentally placing her thumbpad on it to test its sharpness.

  She was soon satisfied with the sharpness of the blade, and she let out a gentle sigh as she started to cut open the box and listen to the television. They were talking something about the Avengers, which in itself was not unusual, but it was odd that there was a story about them that early in the morning and with no new happenings with them. Or at least happenings that were known to the public.

  “And as we all know, today marks the official anniversary of the Black Widow’s death and—”

  Yelena immediately jerked as if she had been shot, her eyes going wide as she immediately became alert and awake. The knife sliced into her hand, and she dropped the mac and cheese box. The knife quickly followed after, falling onto the counter before her.

  Yelena let out a ragged breath, feeling pain start to blossom in her chest as she took in the words and remembered what she had been doing her best to ignore all week since she had accidentally thought of it several days ago.

  She had been doing her best not to think of it for so long, and she had been doing well about distracting herself the past few days. Natasha had not even thought about it despite the fact that Yelena had caught the redhead’s slightly concerned gaze upon her occasionally. However, she had hidden it well enough that Natasha had not felt the need to ask about it just yet, though.

  But now it was obvious to anyone who looked in on the situation. Yelena was breathing heavily, trying to get control of herself. She reached out to grip the edges of the countertop for the counter island. She was almost at the point of hyperventilating and her eyes were locked onto the knife before her as the words played over and over in her head.

  Blood droplets were peppered artfully across the countertop, and some subconscious part of her knew that a nice puddle of blood was likely drenching the edge of the counter where she was gripping it so tightly.

  All she could hear was the television uttering that same phrase.

  The official anniversary of the Black Widow’s death.

  Some part of her knew that the words “resurrection” had quickly followed that statement somewhere afterward in the newsman’s report, but she was so worked up at this point that she could not get her mind off of the first part of that sentence.

  Her sister was gone. She was still gone and always would be gone. She died. She jumped off of that cliff and she left Yelena for good this time.

  But she was not gone, a small part of Yelena’s mind argued against the intrusive thoughts that continued to attack her consciousness. Natasha had left a note for Yelena that very day. Yelena even had it in her pocket. She had gone out to the compound early in the day before Yelena woke up and was coming back a little later. She told Yelena not to eat mac and cheese and that was why Yelena had gotten out the box and was going to eat it in the first place.

  Yelena knew that. But some piece of her was overwhelmed so strongly with the doubts plaguing her that she almost felt like screaming, crying, or some combination of the two.

  Yelena’s bleeding hand shook as she uncertainly reached down to her pocket. She absently registered the burn of her cut against her shorts as she fumbled in her pocket for the paper. Her trembling was making it way too difficult to pull out the note.

  Once she was able to finally latch onto it, she grabbed it tightly between her fingers, her cut protesting painfully as she withdrew her hand. The note was partially bloodied, and the red liquid just happened to be staining the part where Natasha had signed her name as Natashka, and Yelena almost felt as if she could not breathe.

  She stumbled backward, grabbing at anything that she could to keep herself grounded. Her bloodied hand made contact with the wall, and she grabbed on tightly as she tried to remain on her feet. She shuddered as she noted the bloodied handprint on the wall.

  Her memories were getting muddled. Her sister was dead but that did not quite feel right. She left a note, though, but there was blood on her name which told Yelena that Natasha was dead, her body crumpled and bloodied at the bottom of a cliff. And now there was a bloody handprint of the wall that Yelena knew was her own but could not shake the feeling that it was somehow Natasha’s.

  Yelena’s eyes scanned the room, trying to find something to settle on as she grew increasingly panicked and realized that there was no real sign of Natasha anywhere. Her eyes searched and she finally settled upon the sight of the phone not too far from her.

  Despite the fact that she knew that the logical thing to do would be to call Natasha on her phone, Yelena still could not bring herself to do it. She was honestly scared of the answer she would receive. Or perhaps the lack of one.

  Yelena let herself sink against the wall to the floor in the corner. She was alone. Completely alone. Somewhere in the background, she could hear Fanny whining and yipping from her cage that the dog slept in at night, but at this point, she was so far gone that she almost could not register anything except the fact that the only person in her world that had loved her unconditionally and truly for all of her life was gone to never return.

  Yelena shut her eyes tightly, grabbing at her head as she clung onto herself tightly, her nails digging in a little. However, she could not really bring herself to care about the pain even as her hand continued to ooze, the redness staining the side of her face as she remained in a crumpled ball in the corner.

  She shook, she sobbed, and she whimpered, but there were no arms there to comfort her. There was no one around. Not a single soul there for her.

  She was so far gone in her episode that she was hardly even aware as the door opened and a loud thud resounded. She barely opened her eyes, blearily glancing in the direction of the sound.

  She hiccupped hard, her eyes widening as she caught sight of that telltale red before someone was immediately right before her. To Yelena’s pure surprise, she was met with the painfully familiar, loving eyes of her big sister that she was absolutely sure was dead and gone to the world. Yelena’s mouth fell open just a little as she stared, seeing the pure fear and panic in those light greens that she adored so much.

  But she knew it was not real. Natasha was dead. Yelena heard it on the news. It was the anniversary of the worst day of Yelena’s life.

  “Baby girl, are you okay?! Hey, stop, move your hands, okay? Listen to me, c’mon,” Natasha told her, and she was shocked out of her mind, unable to really fight the redhead as she grabbed at Yelena’s wrists and pulled them away from her head. Natasha froze, her eyes wide as she locked onto Yelena’s bloodstained hand. Her gaze quickly shifted upward as she no doubt took in all of the blood all over Yelena’s head where her bloodied hand had been.

  Yelena just gaped at Natasha, completely unable to move. Natasha grabbed at her face tenderly, looking her over as she gently ran her hand over the side of Yelena’s face. As she did it, she quickly relaxed just a tiny bit with what appeared to be relief. However, there was still quite a bit of fear within her as she shifted her gaze back to Yelena’s eyes.

  “Baby, it’s okay, c’mon, let’s get up. We’ve got to wrap this, okay?” Natasha urged, her voice almost trembling as she grabbed hold of Yelena. Yelena was unable to really react from her state of almost complete shock, and Natasha wrapped her arms around her tightly, gently yet firmly pulling her to her feet.

  Somehow, during the interim of that motion, it hit Yelena that even if this was not real, she needed to take every shred of it and anything that she could get before this apparition disappeared from her grasp.

  She grabbed onto this thing that resembled her sister, her hands locking onto her the best that she could, and she let out a whine as she stuffed her nose in her neck. This beautiful gift of a hallucination even smelled like Natasha. It had that clear scent of vanilla, but it was tainted with fear as well as slight sweat.

  “Come on, I’ve got you,” Natasha whispered to her, reaching around her and picking her up into her arms. Yelena wasted no time in wrapping her legs around Natasha’s waist and curling around her as the redhead lifted her up and walked through the house. Yelena grasped at the black hoodie, not even thinking about the fact that her hand was bleeding and that she was likely staining the shirt. She just fisted the material in her hands, relishing how real it felt and wishing that it would not go away as it inevitably would.

  Natasha suddenly started to lower her down, and Yelena let out a noise of panic, knowing that this was likely where the hallucination stopped. In the weeks after Natasha’s death, Yelena would always have these sorts of dreams where Natasha would come to her like this. Every time that they separated from a hug, a cuddle, or some manner of contact, Yelena would wake up to see that none of it was real.

  And Yelena was not ready to wake up yet. She needed this. She needed Natasha to stay this time.

  “Please don’t leave. Don’t go. I need you,” Yelena whimpered, the words barely coherent in the midst of the tears and the thickening of her accent.

  “Sweet girl, I’m not going anywhere. I’m just going to fix your hand, okay?”

  “No, please, this is the part where you always go. You always disappear and I wake up alone,” Yelena blubbered, and Natasha shook her head against her. Yelena almost sobbed as she took in just how realistic this felt and how that meant it was going to hurt so much more than past dreams had.

  “I’m not disappearing anywhere, little one. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. This is real,” Natasha whispered to her, and Yelena so badly wanted to believe her and let go enough to see the beautiful, kind, loving face of her big sister. But she knew that if she let go, the apparition would disappear.

  “You’re gone. You’re dead and you left me. Please don’t leave me now. I need you. Get me through today, please. Please, today was the worst day of my life and I can’t do this,” Yelena confessed, her voice shaking as she begged this gift to stay with her.

  There was silence for just a moment, Natasha just hanging onto her quietly and wordlessly as Yelena clung to her.

  “Yelena, I’m alive. I came home. I came back to you. I live for you,” Natasha whispered to her gently, and Yelena sobbed roughly, every piece of her body aching with pain as she tried her best to remain locked around the older woman despite the fact that her behind was on the toilet seat and her legs and arms were fighting to keep hold of the redhead.

  “Let me go, Yelena. It’s okay,” Natasha whispered to her, and Yelena shook her head quickly, panic gripping her as she thought of letting Natasha go and of precisely how her sister died.

  “No, never, I’m never going to let you go. I won’t let you go like he did,” Yelena desperately insisted, her voice a constant tremor as she refused to loosen her grip.

  “Yelena, trust me… Let me go. I promise I’m going to be here when you let go of me, okay?” Natasha told her, her voice trembling a little and reflecting Yelena’s sound. Yelena froze, not knowing what to do. She trusted Natasha with all of her heart, but she was not sure if she trusted the dream version of her. But of course, the dream version of her had never spoken to Yelena for Yelena not to trust her. She had never uttered a single word of falsehood or truth.

  But this Natasha was talking to her and responding to her which had to count for something.

  So, putting all the hope, love, and trust that she had into the gesture, she very tentatively let go, allowing her legs to unlock from around her and her feet to touch the floor. She very hesitantly released her hands from Natasha’s hoodie, letting her head fall to face her lap as she closed her eyes tightly. She was terrified that Natasha was not going to be there when she opened them. She was terrified that there would be no sign of her and that her fears were right.

  However, she suddenly felt gentle caresses to the sides of her face and a careful hold tilting her head upward. Yelena swallowed hard before slowly opening her eyes. To her shock, her Natasha was still there. Natasha was there with her, and the apparition had not disappeared like Yelena was so afraid that she would.

  “I’m here,” Natasha whispered to her, the voice and the tears dripping down her face very real as she gazed at Yelena. Yelena let out a shaking breath, leaning forward and pressing her head against Natasha’s torso. Natasha straightened and shifted her grip to the back of Yelena’s head as she pulled her against her stomach, gently scratching the back of her neck. Yelena raised her arms, grabbing Natasha around the middle.

  “Are you real?” Yelena questioned very tentatively and softly against Natasha’s stomach, terrified of the answer she would receive. The hands on the back of her head tightened a little.

  “Yes. I’m real,” Natasha whispered back to her. Yelena whined under her breath, actually starting to believe the words as she held her tightly.

  Natasha stood there for a painfully long time just holding Yelena against her and stroking her head as she ran her blunt nails through Yelena’s hair. Yelena pressed her forehead against Natasha harder, closing her eyes tightly as she grabbed the hoodie in her hands.

  However, as she grew steadily calmer, she soon realized how much her hand was stinging and how her head had small prickles of sharp pain in the scalp. Natasha ran her hand over Yelena’s head gently.

  “My sunshine, can I look at your hand now?” Natasha asked her gently, and Yelena stayed still for a moment, relishing the way Natasha’s fingers gently tugged at the less sensitive baby hairs at the base of her scalp. She finally nodded just a little and pulled back from the redhead.

  Natasha turned to look in the cabinet under the sink for the first aid kit, and Yelena had to fight the urge to reach out to her, knowing that Natasha needed a moment to get the things out of the kit to tend to Yelena’s hand. Yelena examined her hand, looking it over as she took in the size of the cut. It was an ugly one, but it was not near the worst that she had ever had. However, this one would likely end up scarring.

  Natasha turned back to face her with the alcohol wipes in her hand. Natasha stepped in between Yelena’s legs, reaching out for Yelena’s injured hand. Yelena offered it to her, and almost felt that she could cry when Natasha gently took it and started to wipe at it with the wipes. It was not even tears from the pain. It was tears for the fact that Natasha was actually here and alive and caring for her.

  Once Natasha finished wiping it clean, she reached over for the numbing agent, wiping it around the cut carefully. She then started to deftly stitch the wound together. Yelena just kept her head pressed into Natasha as she held up her hand. It was an uncomfortable position, but Yelena would sacrifice anything just to feel Natasha against her right now.

  Natasha then wiped the antibiotic cream onto the wound and started to wrap Yelena’s hand. Yelena closed her eyes, treasuring the softness of the gesture as she remained silent and allowed Natasha to do what she needed to with her hand. Natasha then released her hand, grabbing an alcohol wipe and hooking her fingers underneath Yelena’s chin to guide her away from her.

  “It’s going to burn,” Natasha whispered, and Yelena nodded a little. She closed her eyes, hissing softly as Natasha made contact with the small cuts hidden by her hair as she worked at disinfecting them. Natasha murmured an apology, and once she had finished wiping the marks, she gently cleaned the blood from Yelena’s face.

  Yelena just looked at Natasha’s eyes as the older woman worked. Yelena could still see the smallest presence of tears in her eyes and from the clenching of her jaw, Yelena knew that the redhead was still struggling with her feelings of fear and panic that had been no doubt brought about as a result of Yelena’s condition. Yelena almost felt ashamed for freaking Natasha out so much, but she could hardly focus on the guilt because her entire being was focused on the touches to her face.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Natasha offered, her voice barely audible as she finally threw away the wipe and just looked down at Yelena. Yelena sucked in a small breath, not really wanting to talk about it, but deciding ultimately that Natasha deserved to know what was going on. Plus, the way that Natasha was cradling her face at the moment was so inviting and so comforting.

  “I woke up and found your note… And when I started breakfast, I overheard the news talking about,” Yelena trailed off, not particularly wanting to actually say those last words that were at the tip of her tongue. However, Natasha seemed to understand, her eyes turning somehow even softer as those light greens scanned Yelena’s own gaze.

  “Sweet girl, I am so sorry I left earlier. I didn’t know today was that day,” Natasha regretfully admitted, her voice raw and pained as she addressed the blonde. Yelena shook her head in Natasha’s grasp, her cheeks squishing a bit in Natasha’s hands.

  “It’s okay. You didn’t mean to.”

  “No, lapochka, listen… I should’ve realized what today was. I know you’ve been off the past few days, but I couldn’t think of why. I just wish I would’ve known,” Natasha told her, and Yelena looked up at her big sister, love swelling her heart.

  “Natashka, it’s not your fault. I should’ve said something,” Yelena argued, and Natasha just sighed deeply, shaking her head. Yelena knew that there was nothing that she was going to be able to say that would dissuade Natasha from thinking that this was all her fault.

  However, as Yelena opened her mouth to speak again and to try to dispute it further despite the fact that she knew it was a losing battle, Natasha suddenly looked at her with so much pain and softness.

  “I’m going to be here for the entire rest of the day with you, and I want you to choose whatever you want us to do. I won’t be working, there won’t be any distractions. Just me and you and whatever you feel like doing,” Natasha told her, her voice firm, and Yelena knew that there was no way that Yelena was going to persuade her otherwise. However, Yelena was not so sure that she had the strength to even pretend that she wanted otherwise even for Natasha’s sake.

  Yelena just moved her head forward to press her forehead against Natasha’s stomach. Natasha’s hands shifted away from her face yet again to tangle in the hair that was not captured in a French braid.

  “Can you just… Can we just be together?” Yelena questioned, suddenly feeling rather bashful about asking for cuddles even though it was something that Yelena almost always demanded. Natasha’s hand tightened a little, squeezing the back of Yelena’s neck softly.

  “Of course, sweet girl,” Natasha replied gently, and Yelena melted into her further. Natasha tentatively moved away from Yelena just barely after a moment, extending her hand and offering it to help Yelena up. Yelena grabbed her hand, and Natasha pulled her to her feet. Yelena kept a firm hold on Natasha’s hand, allowing the older woman to guide her to the couch.

  Soon enough, Natasha had taken a seat on the couch. Yelena wasted no time in just crawling into her lap, straddling her as she just rested fully against the redhead’s torso. Her chin rested on top of Natasha’s shoulder as she turned her face into the redhead’s neck and took in a deep breath.

  Natasha just held her in her arms, trailing her fingers underneath Yelena’s tank top as she traced patterns along the blonde’s back. Yelena practically melted against her, feeling almost as if she were just sinking into Natasha’s frame. Natasha pressed soft kisses to the side of her head as she just held her gently.

  They remained in that position for a long time, Yelena’s back slightly hunched as she curled into Natasha.

  However, at some point, Yelena’s back started to hurt a little, and she began to shift somewhat uncomfortably against the redhead. A few moments passed before Natasha patted Yelena’s back softly with her hand.

  “Lay down on my lap,” Natasha encouraged, and after a moment of hesitation, Yelena finally moved so that she was on the couch cushions next to Natasha. She then flopped onto her back, laying her head on Natasha’s lap so that she could look up at her big sister. Natasha rested one hand on Yelena’s stomach and ran the other one through Yelena’s hair on the top of her head. Yelena immediately felt the urge to close her eyes with the sensations, her entire body relaxing fully with the attention.

  However, Yelena fought to keep them open, wanting to just look at her big sister and take her in, endless gratitude flooding her as she gazed at the one person in the world that made her life worth living. Her favorite person ever and the only one that could simultaneously ruin and enrich her life like no other.

  Natasha just gazed down at her, her thumb gently rubbing soft circles on Yelena’s stomach as she raked the nails on her other hand through Yelena’s hair.

  “Do you believe I’m real yet?” Natasha ventured softly after a few moments, the tentativeness in her voice prevalent despite the fact that she was looking down at Yelena with all of the love in the universe.

  Yelena considered the words for a moment. Now that she was thinking logically and was not in the thick of the episode she had earlier, she knew Natasha was real. She had to be because no dream that she had during that time Natasha had been gone had been this real. It had been vivid but not like this.

  However, hoping for some manner of affection and attention to be earned, she shook her head with a small grin. She almost felt shy in nonverbally and indirectly asking for more attention when Natasha was already giving her so much.

  “Oh, yeah? Well, how about now?” Natasha asked as she raised an eyebrow playfully before taking the hand that was resting on Yelena’s stomach and slipping it underneath her shirt, gently running her fingers along the bare skin of the blonde’s stomach. Yelena immediately giggled a little, halfheartedly smacking the hand underneath her shirt. Natasha laughed gently as she gazed at the blonde with only the most affection in her eyes.

  Natasha let up easily, just resting her hand on the bare skin of Yelena’s stomach as she gently brushed stray hairs back and away from Yelena’s face. Yelena swallowed as she looked up at her big sister, her heart thrumming with adoration for Natasha.

  “Ya tak tebya lyublyu. Pozhaluysta, ne ostavlyay menya.”1

  “Nikogda bol'she.”2

(1) “I love you so much. Please don’t leave me again.”

(2) “Never again.”

[bestintheparsec]

As Does the Snow

Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You and your neighbor, Frankie, get snowed in together. 

A/N: I wrote this down when the power was out while I was—you guessed it—snowed in. Nothing too deep/angsty in this (for once), just softness. Thank you for reading and I hope you like it!

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: none, some obvious tropes (snowed in, there was only one bed)

*Masterlist pinned to my page

~

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, prompting you to drop the pile of clothes you’re holding to answer it.

“Hey, Santi,” you answer the familiar friendly voice on the other end.

“You lose power yet?” he asks, slight concern in his tone.

“Just about an hour ago,” you reply, peering out the window. The sun’s still out, so you’ll be okay for a few more hours until it sets.

You’d all been expecting the power to go out, of course. The news has been tracking a seemingly out-of-nowhere snow storm that’s been headed your way, starting its impact a few hours earlier. You hadn’t expected to lose power so soon, though—it usually takes a lot more ice or wind to damage the lines. You’ve been preparing as best as you can for the cold nights ahead. With the lack of heat and power, it was bound to be a long night or two.

“You have everything you need, right?” he asks after a short silence. Santi and the other guys, most of them, live closer to the city and away from the countryside that you'd chosen to live in. With the way the roads are, everyone's been warned not to drive if possible. Not that there’s anywhere to go.

“Yeah, I always do—”

“Listen, I was wondering if you could go stay with Frankie during this whole thing,” he chimes in.

Frankie lives across the street from you—you’ve been good friends with him ever since you moved in years ago, even becoming a part of his group of ex-military friends when he introduced you to them, and you'd fit in like you’d always belonged there. It’s perfectly reasonable that Santi would ask you to go stay with your friend to hunker down during a storm. You would all stay with each other if you could, but seeing as that’s impossible and you and Frankie only have each other right now…yes, completely reasonable.

Fuck, who are you kidding?

What seems like a long time ago, you realized you had feelings for Frankie. And, by some luck—or not—you found out they were reciprocated.

But things don’t always work out the way you want them to; hell, it seems like things never do. At the end of the day, you both had wanted to pursue something more with each other, but life got in the way, just as it often does. You both had a lot going on in your lives back then, things you had to deal with and sort out alone. Ultimately—awkward conversations and deep talks and all—you’d both decided it was best if you simply stayed friends, lest things become overcomplicated.

And so you did. Despite this small history, things haven't really been awkward since then. He’s still a good friend to you, one of your best friends, really, and the subject hasn’t been mentioned again ever since.

Only, you haven’t really moved on. You haven’t been much good at leaving the feelings behind you, either. At first you just kept shoving them away, trying to convince yourself that you felt nothing at all whenever you were with him, nothing except friendly love for one of your best friends. But despite your best attempts not to, you found yourself slowly falling more for him. Being close to him for this long has made it even harder for you to move past it.

Not that you've addressed any of this again.

Had you sorted out the things you were dealing with back then? Maybe. But you’d both decided on what was best, years ago, and given that Frankie hasn’t brought it up again since, it’s likely he wants to keep things that way. Time tends to help some people to move on, where it drives the knife in deeper for others. Frankie’s been on plenty of dates since then, even a relationship or two. So you know you were probably just a momentary interlude in his love life, someone he stopped thinking about in that way long before you could ever even think about moving on. You're nothing more than a good friend to him now. And so you've kept your continued feelings for him to yourself, allowing them to thinly layer your friendship like a light dusting of sugar that’s never quite sweet enough to stand on its own.

But the thought of sheltering with him for a few days? You're not sure if you can keep your feelings contained if you're with him for that long and with that much free time to get lost in your thoughts. But given the seriousness of the storm, you were both bound to end up at one or the other's place, anyways.

You must have been silent for a little too long, because Santi speaks again, breaking your thoughts. “You can watch over each other, that sort of thing. Besides, you know how he can be…” he trails off, waiting for you to answer.

“I—yeah, I’ll go over there,” you finally agree, nodding to yourself. “I was going to check up on him eventually, anyways. I’ll go over as soon as I finish up what I’m doing.”

“Sounds good—let us know if you run into any trouble. We’ll find a way over there if we need to.”

You mutter a quick thanks and remind them to stay safe before hanging up, tossing your phone onto the couch with a resigned sigh. Moments later you pick it up again, quickly sending a text to Frankie to ask him if it’s alright for you both to bunker together for the night. Which he quickly agrees to, of course—you’ve spent many evenings over at his place, or his at yours.

Really, you don’t know why your brain’s suddenly trying to make this weird for you. You’ll bring some snacks and blankets, and it’ll be just like any other Friday night you’ve spent with him. Not weird. There’s nothing there (at least on his end) for you to feel awkward about.

You shake your head and finish your emergency preparations, trying to be done with it before it gets dark so you can head over to Frankie’s.

~

Exhaling deeply first, you ring Frankie’s doorbell.

“Coming!” His deep voice calls from inside.

You shove your hands into your pockets then change your mind, moving them to grip anxiously onto the straps of your backpack. Another few moments pass before you hear Frankie trod to the door. He answers it with a soft smile plastered on his face, the same one he uses every time he greets you. Immediately taking the bag you’re carrying off your arm, he beckons you inside and you follow, shrugging off your backpack.

"Did you need help with anything?" You ask, dropping your bag onto the ground and looking around the darkened place. The windows are covered, there's flashlights and candles out on the table, and a couple cases of water are stacked in the kitchen.

He’s layered up in clothing just like you are—a familiar flannel button-up peeking out from under his jacket. His hair is messy like he’s been running around all day, which he probably has been from the looks of it. If you had to describe it, he looks like...home.

Stop it, you mentally chastise yourself.

“Nah, I’m just making some final tweaks,” he remarks, walking over to pull the living room curtains shut. “The house is warm enough for now, but it won’t be long before it starts feeling like the inside of a fridge in here.”

He turns back to face you with a different sort of smile on his lips, a gentle expression you can’t quite make out.

Unbeknownst to you, Frankie’s been in deep for you, too. He knows you'd both agreed not to date, but over time he's come to greatly regret that decision. It was the right one at the time, but he can't help but wish things had gone a little differently. There’s no one he’d rather be around, and any and all dates he’s been on over the years have failed for the same reason—they’re not you. They could never be you.

Chances come and go, and his has gone. In more ways than one you’re a light in his life, someone he couldn’t ever deserve, and somehow he’s lucky enough to have you in his life at all—even if it’s just as friends. If he’s a better person now, a lot of it’s because you’ve been there to pick up the pieces, the same way he does and will always do for you without a second thought.

But something you can’t help him with is the fact that he’s fallen for you, hard, long after you’d both agreed to just be friends. And he keeps on falling.

He knows people change their mind all the time, but he’s been unwilling and unable to bring it up again with you. For all he knows, that agreement had just been your gentle way of telling him “it’s never going to happen.” He doesn't want to risk scaring you off and losing one of the best people in his life.

Frankie comes back to reality, watching you smooth out the front of your shirt.

“Okay, well, I brought some of my blankets in case we need to pile them up…” you say, pointing to the large bag you brought. “And since your stove is electric, it looks like we’ll be eating snacks for dinner.”

“That’s bold of you to assume,” he retorts, walking over to the kitchen. With a silly gesture, he proudly uncovers a large dish full of one of your favorites.

Frankie is certainly no chef, but he can put together a dish or two, even going out of his way to learn how to make the things that you both love. He puts a hand on his hip, amused by the surprised look on your face. “I made it before the power went out. They did teach us some things about preparation in the military, you know,” he teases, dimple on full display.

“And here I was packing junk food and sandwiches, like a loser,” you jest, grinning back at him. Frankie somehow always manages to make your life a little better. He beams and your chest constricts at the sight.

"Oh, we'll definitely need those for later," he reassures you with a grin. "If the guys were here that'd all be gone before the worst of the storm even hits," he adds, making you laugh.

Some of your favorite nights with Frankie are the ones that are completely uneventful, ones where you relax after a long day of work and binge your favorite snacks while watching some crappy movie on the couch. Then again, it's always the little things that make you happy when it comes to him.

~

Once you've had your dinner you both get comfortable next to each other on the couch, chatting about life and nothing in particular, the way you often do—minus the lack of electricity and a mostly dark room that’s barely lit up by a couple of small camping lights Frankie has. No doubt the other guys would make things a lot more chaotically entertaining if they were all here, but you’re happy it’s just the two of you now—even if it does make it harder for you to think straight at the moment.

Frankie says something that makes you chuckle and you look up at him, noting the delicate smile on his lips and the way it almost balances out the tired lines under his eyes.  He meets your eyes, and if he looks like he wants to say something else, it's probably only in your mind because he doesn't.

The wind outside makes itself known, rattling the windows in its wake. You're suddenly grateful you'd agreed to come and stay with Frankie. Although you’re lucky to have a shelter, these kinds of storms are best when you don't have to ride them out alone.

You also become hyper-aware of how intimate the moments you share with Frankie are. At the end of the day, you're glad he's in your life, even if it's not the way the younger version of you wanted. You still have him and he has you, and that's really more than you could ever ask for.

A chill suddenly makes its way through you.

"Are you shivering?" Frankie stops talking mid-thought to ask you.

"What? No, I—" He cuts you off with a chuckle and shakes his head, reaching down into your bag. With a quick movement he pulls a beanie on over your head, purposely tugging it past your eyes as you laugh and playfully smack his hand away.

"Watch yourself, Morales," you attempt to glare at him as you smooth down your hair, but fail to contain your smile when you see that goofy twinkle in his eyes.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” he concedes and raises his hands in mock surrender. The grin is still on his face as he moves to fix the beanie on your forehead. Another quiet chuckle escapes his lips until his fingers move away from your forehead, accidentally grazing along your cheek.

It’s not the chill that makes you both fall abruptly silent.

It’s almost as if the wind wiped the grins off your faces as Frankie looks into your eyes with an intense gaze. His hand still hovers along your cheek, neither of you seeming able to move. You’re suddenly grateful that it’s impossible for him to hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears right now. Your imagination must be getting the better of you again, because you almost believe that there’s something wistful about the look on his face.

But just like that, he drops his hand and you both avert your eyes.

“It’s, um...getting late,” you break the silence. “We better get settled before it really starts getting cold in here.”

Frankie clears his throat, nodding in agreement and standing to pile some blankets onto the couch.

“What are you doing?” you ask him.

“Um...you know I don’t have the guest room set up. There’s just the bed in my room. You go get cozy, I’ll take the couch.”

"What? I'm not gonna steal your bed, Fr—"

“And I'm not going to have you uncomfortable in my house,” he brushes you off with a wave of the hand. “It's fine, querida, really. You know I've knocked out on this couch more times than I can count." Your chest warms at the sound of his pet name for you. It's harmless, just something he's always called you. But for some reason it makes your face warm to hear it this time.

“No, I mean...isn’t it better if we share? I think the whole point is to keep our bodies warm. It’s easier to do that if we’re in one room.”

He finally meets your eyes again, holding your gaze as though there's more than one thing on his mind, then runs a hand through his disheveled hair.

“I...Are you sure? I really don’t have any problem with—”

You smile softly at him, trying to hide any indication of awkwardness in your tone. “Yes, Frankie, it’s fine. Really. Besides, we can stack all our blankets together this way.”

He smiles back. “I have a big, fluffy one we can use, too.”

~

All the remaining heat in the house has definitely dissipated now, leaving behind a frigid chill. It's bearable for the time being, but leaves your skin covered in goosebumps anytime you expose so much as a sliver of skin to the air. The last time you checked, the snow had already made a significant cushion to the ground outside, and was still going strong.

You've been in bed for an hour or two, huddled into a ball underneath several layers of blankets and refusing to move because it only makes you colder to shift the air around.

Frankie's asleep next to you—you assume he's asleep, anyways. Neither of you have said a word in a while, and with the pattering sounds of snow falling outside, you're getting drowsy yourself. Still, you haven't been able to fall asleep, not even when you jam your eyes shut. It's too cold, for one thing, and for another, it's difficult to ignore the fact that he is right next to you. It's a big bed and there's a decent space between you, but still.

You shift positions yet again, trying to wrap yourself tighter in your section of the blankets. You move to readjust one of the blankets that's gotten pushed away, accidentally bumping Frankie's arm in the process. You grimace, hoping you didn't wake him.

"Your hand is like ice," Frankie's quiet voice suddenly fills the room.

"Oh—Sorry. I thought you were asleep," you mutter back, your voice muffled by the blankets.

"No. It's hard enough for me to sleep even when there's not a historic snowstorm going on." He jokes, though you know it goes deeper than that for him.

Not really knowing how to respond, you remain silent. Rolling onto your side facing away from him, you tuck yourself further into the blankets before resolving to pull them up and over your head entirely.

Frankie's soft laugh rumbles next to you. "Seriously, your skin is frozen," he tells you. “You’re like the opposite of a space heater right now,” he chuckles and you can hear the grin on his face.

You push the blanket off your face, feigning a groan. “Freezing weather and a lack of heat lends to poor circulation, Francisco.”

"I know, I just…maybe it would…it might be warmer if we slept closer together." His voice is so soft that you can’t help but think how nice it would be to fall asleep to the sound of it every night.

When you don’t answer right away he quickly adds, “Or not—I wasn’t trying to...I didn’t mean—Sorry.” Frankie shuffles uncomfortably under the covers.

“No, you’re right,” you murmur hesitantly, barely louder than a whisper. “It...would probably help.”

A beat of silence.

Then you hear Frankie gently move his pillow over towards you, scooting himself in until you can feel his warmth against you. He doesn’t move again at first, you only feel his chest rising and falling against your back. But ever so slowly, he wraps an arm over you, the weight of him sturdy and comforting. You can tell he’s tense—hesitant—until you place your own hand on his, holding him closer to you. Feeling you make yourself comfortable must put him at ease, and he relaxes around you. Neither of you say a word, just lay there sharing each other’s warmth.

You’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder on some late nights on the couch before—things two normal, friendly people do, right? But you’ve never let yourself think too much about it. You can hardly help it now, reveling in the way you feel safe in his arms, fitting perfectly along the curve of his body. You are warmer, although some of it may be because of the way your pulse is just a little bit quickened. You wouldn't mind if you had to stay like this forever.

Frankie quietly exhales, his breath warm against the back of your hair. “Better?” he finally speaks, his voice gravelly and hushed, not much louder than the sound of snow hitting the window.

A pause. “Yeah.”

You feel him relax even more, burying his cheek a little more into the space above your shoulders. “Let’s try to sleep, then, querida.”

And just like that, Frankie Morales manages to make you fall a little bit more in love with him.

It’s then that you realize—it’s always been simple with him. Everything is always...easy with him. Nothing’s overcomplicated or messy; it’s just you and Frankie. It’s what drew you to him first, long ago. It wasn’t the outspoken openness that that others had, nor the confident resolve, but the quiet way he cares for you. The way he manages to always make you laugh, even at the times when it’s almost impossible to. The way he makes you feel so whole that you forget there was ever anything missing in the first place. That’s how he found his way, permanently, into your heart.

For Frankie, it’s always been you. You’re a grounding presence to him, someone who’s made him familiar with peace again over the years.

He lies there listening to the sounds of your breathing, sure that you’re finally fast asleep. He feels sleep coming over himself, too. He knows he’ll sleep a little easier tonight with you. He’ll weather anything when it comes to you. That’s how he knows, and convinces himself that once this storm business is over, he’ll tell you. For now, he lets himself follow you into slumber. His last conscious thoughts are of how he wouldn't mind having you in his arms like this every night, and if it weren't for your warmth lulling him to sleep, he might've confessed to you right then and there.

 ~

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[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Mystery Writer (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer finds books at a second hand bookstore that are annotated and he falls the person writing the notes. 

AN: This was part of a fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins​ server! This is for the marvellous @definitelynotkatesblog​ <3 I really hope you like it! I had to delete the original post because it didn't show up in the tags. This will be staying up regardless of that now.

Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

“If you need anything, just let me know!”

Spencer pressed his lips together at the person behind the till before heading deeper into the rows of second-hand books. Familiar titles, old and new, printed on spines in various states of pristine/decay, they tempted him to select and bring them home with him. The clear sections between biographies and fiction guided him deeper into the forest, deeper into finding his way out. He was hoping to adopt one such book for a day off, when he could revisit it with a fresh eye. It would be like seeing an old friend again, remembering why they were friends in the first place with a hint of that initial read through from years ago, and perhaps he would learn something new in the process.

A dull ache in his chest at the sight of The Sign of Four by Arthur Conan Doyle. But he had long since recovered from that heartbreak and he would be able to read this story without feeling that again.

Still. It had been several years since he read this book.

His nervous fingers plucked it off the shelf and the pages fell open for him. A flattened gum wrapper parted the pages like the Red Sea. Spencer lifted it out tentatively. Its creases were ironed in from its role as a temporary bookmark, an impression of scribbled black ink flattened after it was made.

Spencer’s eyes scanned over the page in search of what this gum wrapper might have been guarding.

“Women are never to be entirely trusted – not the best of them.”

In the margins was scribbled:

Product of the time, but still a prick, rude smartarse role a bit dull

Spencer found himself exhaling in light laughter. That a lack of empathy was considered “dull” by this person, when it was something he dealt with in his job almost every day. The confidence in this commentary too, this brazen critique of a much beloved fictional character was left for someone else to find.

His gaze found Watson’s opinion of Holmes’ casual sexism: “atrocious sentiment”. It was circled twice in the same black biro.

Spencer dug his thumb against the text block and flicked through the book. A waft of that book smell lifted from the paper, accompanied by the bold notes of the previous owner dotted across the text until he finally landed on the reverse of the front cover. Two letters – initials - were scratched onto it.

It was with bridled exhilaration that Spencer approached the till and held up the book with a half-smile. His hands were quick to place it down on the counter so that the shop assistant could type the price into the till. His mood was apparently palpable because they seemed just as happy as Spencer to hand him back the novel in a brown paper bag – the receipt tucked inside.

 --->--->--->--->--->

 “Love is an emotional thing, and whatever emotional is opposed to what is true, cold reason, which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgement.”  

What a lonely existence and also a lie. See: entire relationship w/ Dr. Watson!

Spencer smiled at this comment. Now all the other instances of a double underlining made sense. Each one produced itself in his mind as evidence that Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact love. Maybe not marry, but it would have been terribly unconventional for him to wed Doctor John Watson. The unknown author seemed to understand this. They never emphasised if this love was platonic or romantic. But the way in which they proved love existed within this character oft portrayed as emotionless, Spencer simply adored. They were a romantic reader, who still enjoyed reading about the cynic

He grew quite aware of his posture in that moment and he straightened his back. A few clicks of complaint emitted as he stretched, his head twisting from side to side. Screwing his eyes open and shut behind his glasses, he revisited your deduction.

On the dot of the “i” in “lie”, there was a sprinkle of graphite around the indent from where a pencil’s lead had snapped from the effort put into topping off this point. A sprinkle of graphite smudged where the pages pressed together.

Spencer moved on to where a sentence in black biro tried to blend in with the printed words. A memory appeared at the front of his mind: when Rossi was bewildered to learn Spencer and Dr. Alex Blake wrote the newspaper crossword in pen.

The pencil markings were like mini brainstorms, something to revisit and make a solid theory with the black biro. But the planning was never rubbed out.

Little quotes were circled. This mystery critic spent half the book roasting the characters and the other half leaving little exclamation marks and circles around phrases and words when they couldn’t think of something to say. Spencer found it sweet, picturing the thrilling unfolding of events for the reader to revisit.

His heart ached in bittersweet memory as he recalled the contents of Dr Alex Blake’s book The Route of Linguistics. It was necessary pain to create a profile of who this mystery critic was. Yes, he was profiling out of work hours. His evenings were now spent trying to picture the voice behind the notes. The sarcasm, the witty blows to the character’s and author’s ego. He almost wished that he couldn’t read so fast because he finished the book, even with its additional notations, all too quickly. But there was one bonus.

Spencer traced the pad of his fingertip over the exclamation marks describing Mary Morstan. What else might a detractor of the great Sherlock Holmes read?

--->--->--->--->---> 

He had returned to the bookshop in favour of adopting another. Yet he could not find one that satisfied his unknown criteria. It was not until he found himself checking the front pages of the fifth book he had selected, that he realised he was looking for a pair of initials.

Sighing, he placed My Dear Bessie, with its empty front page, back on the shelf. The chances of finding another book containing this mystery critic were so minute. He could probably calculate them if he wanted to dedicate himself to such a disheartening statistic. He’d rather not spend his lunch break doing that, as much as he loved statistics. This once, they did not assure his safety and he remained unsupported by the fact that he could not find any other Arthur Conan Doyle books.

His desperation became most apparent when he thought that perhaps fate should just decide for him. If anything, he would come away with a random book to read through in about ten minutes on a flight back home.

He peeked around the corner of the shelves. The shop assistant at the till was busy writing something down, not paying any mind to the shop’s only customer.

“A random shot had no better odds than just picking books off one by one” is what he told himself as he closed his eyes and placed his fingers on the end of the shelf, just over the first book’s spine. In an “S” pattern, his arm moved up and down, over the books and shelves and gaps between units. His feet stepped forwards into the space he knew was clear.

Spencer stopped and opened his eyes, his finger shifting just an inch out of the way of his new book’s title.

Circe. Madeline Miller.

He tapped the top and the book fell forwards, where he caught it. Its shining dust jacket was serving its purpose, a few tears along the edges from where it had protected the hardcover. He checked the front page. A map of Aiaia in orange and brown filled it to the corners. On the next page, his heart stuttered at the sight of two initials in the same handwriting and the same biro. There was also a scribble - invisible to start with then a ball of black.

The first page with the story’s text held a scribble just above its opening line:

the power of the name

“When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.”

He could see that the first was in a blunt pencil, but the addition was a sharpened point carving into the paper. A secondary thought that was provided after completing the novel, they had added it. Spencer lifted it to his face, his eyes crossing to keep the stipple in focus. The scent of the paper and the graphite reached him easily; the note must have been made just before Circe was gifted to him. How lucky he was to find such a treasure.

The shop assistant was cutting out a new sign for “BUY ONE GET ONE HALF PRICE!”. By the time Spencer made it to them, the sign was placed upon the pile besides him. The shop assistant smoothed out a crease on the dust jacket, ineffectively but Spencer admitted the gesture. He was glad that someone who loved books as much as him got to work in a place like this.

--->--->--->--->--->

Spencer’s mind, definitely for worse, echoed the words off the tabloids around his head the split second he made eye contact with the headlines. He paced the shelves to somewhere a little quieter. When he found the chocolate aisle, he pretended to peruse. Ever half a minute or so, his gaze drifted up to the till area where the shop owner was on a phone call and clearly not paying attention to him.

It was not long before Spencer grew bored of looking at KitKats, and he pulled out One Thousand And One Nights. The book’s pages fell again to page 57. This shop’s receipt stood above them, still holding its place from the previous owner. It felt wrong to part the two.

No new people had entered this corner shop for 8 minutes. He’d even given the time at the receipt’s end a fifteen-minute margin either side. Given that this mystery critic took a break from work at the same time on the same day of the week – and that they worked during the day – he should have seen them. Maybe he had, and they were that man in the baggy hoodie who stunk of weed. Probably not. Hopefully not. Not that Spencer was judging him for his… recreational activities. He just wanted the mystery critic to be someone he could realistically spend time with.

Just then, Spencer’s phone trilled annoyingly loud. He received a glare from the shop manager and Spencer sent an awkward apologetic expression his way before answering JJ quickly.

“Spencer, we’ve got a case. We need you here ASAP.”

His response was immediate. “Ok, be there in ten.” Hanging up, Spencer dithered on the spot then grabbed a packet of Cheetos. He’d been there for nearly twenty minutes; he had to get something.

“Three dollars,” the manager said before returning to his call. But not before he rolled his eyes at Spencer. Spencer dropped the bills onto the counter and dashed out before he could be offered a receipt.

--->--->--->--->---> 

  An outlier in the usual length of case work had passed by in five long days. Spencer hardly ever regretted the time he put into this job. Every unsub caught was lives saved. But the absence of his mystery commentator had been niggling at the back of his busy mind and he was glad to finally reunite with them on this long flight back.

From his satchel, he recovered the copy of One Thousand And One Nights and began rereading the notes to ground himself in the story. His focus lingered on the page as if he were reading it at the average 250 words per minute. It allowed him to block out the humming of the engine.

Spencer did not take his eyes off the page as he pulled open his desk drawer and popped a piece of overpriced gum into his mouth. Half-hearted reminders bounced in his head, from when he tried smoking and chewing gum to ease his cravings. The fruit flavour was very clearly artificial and it faded within six minutes. Why his mystery critic would pick such a pathetic packet of gum to chew, he didn’t know. But hopefully the fact of its flavour disappearing fast would mean they get through the packet quicker and buy another soon. Even if today, and the days before, spent in that shop did not lean in favour of that hypothesis.

--->--->--->--->--->

The Five People You Meet In Heaven was in the Recently Donated pile. It was near the top, slid towards the edge of the container after being placed wonkily on a copy of some sports autobiography.

Within the pages was more than Spencer could have ever hoped for. Entire paragraphs were circled, quotes underlined. A squashed mini post-it note tabbed the page and a whole paragraph was scrawled on it, about Tala. An arrow pointing to the underside, Spencer lifted the flap and saw more to read, like an interactive pop-up book that he’d gotten Henry for his second birthday. Spencer closed his eyes quick and snapped the book shut. He wanted to save it for when he was sitting comfortably, not while he was rushing back to work in time for JJ to get to her lunch break on time.

The shop assistant had just clipped the lid back onto a green highlighter when Spencer drew up to their counter. With careful fingers, he placed the book upon it. There was a twitch of the assistant’s mouth; their eyes brightened. They looked like they wanted to say something, but something else held them back from making the first move. Spencer recognised it from his school days.

“It’s a good read.” He spoke after they had typed the price into the till.

“I know,” The assistant replied instantly, a relieved smile on their lips, “What part are you on?”

“I’ve already read it, but I wanted to revisit the passage at the diner.”

“Ahh, that’s a good bit. One of my favourites.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed a fraction of an inch. His gaze dropped to the nametag on the left side of their chest. Y/N, their name’s first initial. It couldn’t be.

“What did you think about the final person, Tala?”

“Oh,�� The shop assistant clutched at their heart, “I was an emotional wreck before and it hit me hard just as the rest did. So bittersweet to hear her forgiveness. It took me a few times to finish reading the end, but it was all worth it.”

He couldn’t be this lucky, to get this many books from the same person and to have them standing in front of him. Spencer didn’t believe in luck.

As he reached across for his new book, he turned over the cover, “Was this yours?”

Twisting their head around to read the publication details, the assistant – Y/N - smiled sheepishly at the initials. “Yes, and I’m glad to see it go to a new home.”

Apparently luck believed in him.

“But,” Spencer felt his brows knit automatically as he looked between the book and their previous owner, “You love it. I-I’ve seen your notes.”

A hand clapped over Y/N’s mouth, “Oh God, you must have. I mean, it wasn’t the intention initially, but I thought they might be a little entertaining for anyone who picks it up to leave them in there.”

“Oh, they were! I’d love to read more of your thoughts. Hear, hear them, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Y/N checked the door to the shop, still shut, and back to Spencer. They dropped their elbows onto the countertop with their chin in their palms. “What did you wanna know?”

From his bag, Spencer procured his – their – copy of The Sign of Four and flicked through the pages. So many places to choose, but he wanted to open with what had introduced him to Y/N’s analysis.

The pair put their heads together, leaning on the counter. Spencer could smell the chewing gum on their breath. Y/N never cut him off, and he never wanted to cut them off. There were little pauses at the end of each of their turns to speak before the other picked up where they had left off. Their voices leapt from secretive whispers to passionate orations of their favourite passages, rebounding evidence and analysis off each other like a bouncy ball. Spencer finally had a voice to put to the sarcasm, the one his mind had conjured long forgotten in the wake of Y/N’s enthusiasm.

The shop’s door swung open. Spencer leapt to attention as an older woman swept in, past the two of them towards the non-fiction section. Y/N adjusted their name tag, their back straight too. The clock behind the till announced that it was now twenty minutes after the end of Spencer’s lunch break.

Running on the rush of his hobby meeting a potential friend, Spencer asked, “Can I get your number? So we can talk more, maybe swap some more books, when you’re not working?”

His luck was still by his side as Y/N wrote out their number on his receipt, written in their infamous black biro.

--->--->--->--->---> 

  Spencer leapt over to the door of his apartment, took a deep breath, and unlocked it. Stood behind where it had been was Y/N and they too were still wearing the uniform from work. Their nametag was still on their polo shirt, the same spot that Spencer wore his FBI tag.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asked the second they made a step inside his abode.

“Tea would be great. Milk and one sugar please.”

And while he was in the kitchen, Y/N rushed over to the bookshelves, their eyes wide to take in Spencer’s collection. “Oh wow! You weren’t joking!” Their finger indicated to a hard cover copy of Mean Time by Carol Ann Duffy, “That’s one of mine. Well, yours now.”

Plucking it from the shelf, they opened it up. Spencer had written his initials beside theirs.

Spencer stuck his head out in the partition, “Ours. If we’re going to be sharing.” Y/N stood on tiptoes, teeming with delight, their hands cradling the book with all the care Spencer could hope for in a fellow reader. Joint custody of their books and their passion? What a dream.

“I just have to write a little more about the epilogue, and I’ll be with you,” Y/N took their place on his couch. A pencil began scribbling away their thoughts onto the last few pages. Their knees were their desk.

Spencer finished brewing and placed the mug in front of Y/N, who mumbled a quick thank you to him. He joined them in writing his final notes. It slowed him down a considerable amount, but he was glad to take things at a casual pace, especially considering the way that Y/N almost broke their pencil as they scrawled out their thoughts for Spencer to hear later.

“Have you thought about the next one you’d like to try?” Spencer asked tentatively. He wasn’t so sure if Y/N would want to be interrupted.

Luckily for him, Y/N paused their stream of consciousness to look back at his books, “Hmm. So much to choose from.”

Stood up, their book left in Spencer’s care. They took a deep breath, closed their eyes and used their forefinger to draw a zigzag over the spines. Spencer felt that he was almost sick with joy.

Y/N stilled their wandering hand and opened their eyes, already drawing out the selected novel, “This one.”

“And what have you chosen for me next time?”

Y/N handed over The Butterfly Lion from their bag, “Ok, I can’t wait any longer, what do you think?”

They sat back on the couch. Their legs now hung over the arm of the couch, elbows either side and face cupped in their palms. The book rested in their lap. Shifting so that he faced them completely, Spencer returned to the first page and his analysis began.

[sunrisefairy]

Cameras and crushes

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Warning: Alcohol, small mention of death, pure fluffiness 

Summary: Y/N is used to being a background character someone you glaze over but never really notice. But more recently she longed for someone to see her, well she longed for a certain redhead to see her. 

A/N: Wrote this for @theweasleysredhair​​ writing challenge based off the prompt “You remembered?” very proud of this fic so i hope you love it as much as i do. All feedback is welcomed :))))

italics represent a flashback 

Taglist: send me a message if you would like to be added @hufflepuff5972​ @inglourious-imagines​ @klausdatprettyboi​ @georgeweasleyswhre​​

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Y/N is very content with being a background character, she’s quite used to it actually. Growing up with 3 older and much louder brothers she was pretty happy with sticking to the sidelines, letting them be noisy and crazy while she kept to herself. Y/N grew up with mostly boys around her, her mother passed away when she was young. Y/N would always beg her brothers and her dad for stories of her mother, wanting to feel closer to her. Y/N’s dad would fondly retell memories of his beautiful wife, reminiscing on how witty and charismatic she was. He’d mention all the small, quirky things she would do which made him fall hard and fast for her. Y/N longed for that kind of love, she longed for someone to take notice of her in the way her dad did for her mum. Ever since Y/N was a little girl she yearned to be heard and seen but that proved difficult when you’re as shy and quiet as her.

Judging by most of the people in Y/N’s life she seemed to attract the boisterous types, guessing her quiet nature balanced them out. She loved her friends with her entire heart, even if their personalities were the opposite of hers, Y/N wouldn’t change their qualities if she could.

One of her friends, although still lively and vibrant as the others, also had a calm and tranquil side to him. George Weasley. Y/N had only known George for a few years having met at Lee Jordan’s 18th birthday 3 years ago. Somehow that night she had ended up climbing a tree with the tall redhead whom she had only met 30 minutes prior.

“How the hell did you get up to that branch?” Y/N mumbled, trying to figure out how to reach the higher branch where George Weasley was currently sitting, his long legs swinging back and forth as he chuckled at the girl below him.

“I used that branch sticking out there and then swung my leg up to get here.” George points to the branch to the girls left. 

Y/N grunts as she attempts what George said but huffs and pouts her lip feeling defeated, “you forget that I have little legs, unlike you Mr. giraffe.”

George rolls his eyes and stretches his hand out, “try again, I’ll help pull you up.”

Somehow, George manages to pull Y/N up and they sit comfortably next to one another up high in the tree. “There you go little bunny, don’t go falling off now.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at the nickname wishing she had brought her cider up with her feeling very self-conscious and unsure of what to do her shaking hands.

The pair fall into a comfortable silence, watching the party goers below them gathered around a very intoxicated birthday boy chanting as he chugs another beer, “we love to drink with Lee cause Lee is our mate and when we drink with Lee he gets it down in 8…7…”

Their voices drown out as George gently nudges Y/N’s shoulder pulling her attention back to him, “soo, Y/N I hear you’re not much of the talker?”

Y/N blushes hard grateful for the lack of light outside. “No I guess not. Not many are interested in what I have to say.”

George smiles, his eyes not leaving the girl beside him, “well I am. Tell me something.”

Y/N chews on her bottom lip nervously and looks back at the drunk crowd, “like what?”

George shrugs, he didn’t really mind what the conversation was about, he just wanted to hear the pretty girl speak. “I dunno, anything. Tell me about something that makes you happy.”

Y/N racks her brain for something to talk about, her palms getting sweaty from the long silence. Finally, she settles on something that always fills her with joy, her mother.

“Um okay so,” she starts staring at the leaves swaying in the tree, pushing down the anxiety. “Before my mother died she always had this film camera with her, my dad used to joke around saying that she loved this camera more than him,” Y/N chuckles quietly before continuing “She would take photos of the most random things, we have this big box back home filled with all the photos she ever took with that camera.” Y/N pauses, fumbling with her fingers. “I wish we still had the camera. You see after my mum passed, dad had to look after us 4 kids and with only one income coming in, it was pretty tough. For my 12th birthday I reeeaaally wanted a new bike, I’d complained for years that I couldn’t have my brothers old one because it was a gross boy’s bike. So, my dad sold my mums camera to get me a pink one. Kind of wish he didn’t because I would have loved to still have mum’s camera with us.”

Y/N finished and chewed her lip realising speaking about her dead mother probably wasn’t a great conversation piece, but any story of her mother always made her feel warm inside.

George hadn’t taken his eyes off her throughout the whole story, his heart fluttering when her eyes had lit up as she spoke about her mother.

“I’m sorry, probably not what you wanted to hear, it was the first thing that popped into my head.” Y/N mumbled.

George simply shook his head and replied, “you don’t ever have to apologise to me for saying what’s on your mind Y/N. I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

For the first time in a while, Y/N felt seen.

Y/N’s phone dings and she pulls it from her pocket to read the message.

-Hey bunny :) so 4 tonight, we’re aiming to get to urs at like 7. does that work for u?

It was from George. Even if she didn’t have his number saved, she’d be able to tell it was from the redhead simply from his choice of nickname. Y/N hated when he called her bunny but George insisted on using the nickname ever since Lee’s 18th mainly because he thought it was cute not that he would tell her that.

Y/N’s heart thumped harder in her chest purely from the fact that George had texted her. Her crush on George had amplified over the years of knowing the boy, feeling both thankful and uneasy at the fact that he had so effortlessly slotted into their tight friendship group mainly because he was always around making Y/N a stuttering mess.

Y/N’s fingers fumble as she types out a response, it was her birthday today and all her friends we’re persistent in throwing her a party. They had agreed to a small gathering at Y/N’s place, Y/N didn’t want them to make such a fuss over it.

-Hey Georgie, 7 is perfect! Cant wait.

-See u then bunny, hope ur ready to get ur drink on ;)

-IDK, after the other weekend I dont think im ready to face alcohol again

-nope! no excuses from u, u only turn 21 once

Y/N chuckles at George’s message and goes back to tidying her house, ready for tonight.

~~~~

As soon as it hits 7pm her friends are barging through her front door lugging drinks.

Each of them greet Y/N giving her a hug and wishing her happy birthday.

“We’ll do presents later, first let’s get some drinks into us!” Angelina cheers as she starts to mix some deadly concoction. Alicia connects her phone to the speaker, the living room filling with music.

Y/N jumps as a voice pipes up from behind her, “happy birthday little bunny.”

She turns facing George as he places a brightly coloured wrapped box on the counter with the other presents. He opens his arms, engulfing her into a giant hug. Y/N wraps her arms around his waist, giving him a tight squeeze, “thanks” she mumbles into his chest before pulling away looking up at his warm eyes. They stare at each other for a second before the moment is broken when Fred places something on Y/N’s head.

“A birthday tiara for the birthday girl” Fred states loudly, Y/N glances at the mirror hanging from the wall on her left sees a plastic silver and pink tiara perched upon her head.

“Oh god,” Y/N mumbles adjusting it slightly.

Lee shouts over the music, drawing everyone’s attention over to him. “Okay everyone, the ever lovely Angie has made us each a questionable looking but delicious drink to start the night. So get your butts over here and let’s get this party started!”

A few hours and many, many drinks later, everyone is huddled in the living room, sitting on the couches watching Y/N open her presents. So far, she had gotten some perfume from Angelina, chocolates and a gorgeous photo frame from Alicia and Fred and Lee had gifted Y/N with a bottle of wine and voucher from the little boutique at the corner of her street. Y/N’s cheeks were hurting from smiling so much and her heart swelled at the sweet gifts her friends had gotten her.

“Okay, only one left,” Alicia says, clapping her hands excitedly.

“Probably the best one,” Fred whispers to Lee.

“Of course it’s going to be the best one you idiot,” Angelina says as a matter of fact, overhearing the two boys.

George, who is sitting to Y/N’s right, hands over the brightly colour box, trying to hide his excitement and nerves. “Here you go Y/N, happy birthday.”

The box feels heavy in Y/N’s grasp as she places it in her lap tearing off the wrapping paper. Y/N glances around, noticing everyone’s eager eyes on her. She sees Angelina nudge Alicia’s side smiling at each other knowingly. Y/N furrow her brows, slightly confused then draws her attention back to the box. She ripped off the paper carefully and uncover a brown box, no hints as to what is inside.

“Oh my god, hurry up and open it the suspense is killing me!” Fred says impatiently, George whacks him across the head telling him to shut up.

Y/N take off the lid and immediately her mouth gapes open finally seeing what’s inside. She shakily lifts the film camera out of the box and hold it so gently as if it’s made of diamonds and gold.

Small tears prick in Y/N’s eyes, shocked and surprised at George’s gift, it looks exactly like the one her mother had.

She manages to squeak out a small, “you remembered?” referring to the first conversation they had 3 years prior.

George has a small smile etched onto his lips. “Of course I did, I remember everything you tell me. I take a lot of pride in knowing everything about you actually.” He says, puffing his chest out proudly.

“Yeah like what?” Y/N cradles the camera in her arms.

“Well,” George starts. “I know that you hate the smell tequila because it reminds you of your 18th when you spent most of the night by the toilet. I know that you can’t sleep if the room is dead quiet. I know that you love buying plants but can never seem to keep them alive. I know you never wear matching socks because you think it’s a fun way to spice up an outfit.” He finishes smugly.

Alicia and Angelina let out a small aww in the background reminding Y/N of the 4 other sets of eyes watching her and George right now.

“Well there’s one thing you don’t know about me.”

“Yeah? What’s that then?” George counters.

Y/N doesn’t know where she musters up the courage from to speak the next words, maybe from the alcohol buzzing through her body or finally being sick of keeping this to herself for the past 3 years. Whatever it may be, she’s rather proud of herself, ignoring the way her stomach churns.

“That I have a huge crush on you.”

She expected George to laugh in her face before rejecting her gently. What Y/N definitely didn’t expect was him to cradle her face in his large hands, pressing a sweet but passionate kiss to her pink lips. She squeaks in surprise before melting into the kiss, gripping onto his shirt tightly, scared he would slip away.

Much to Y/N’s dismay George pulls away from the kiss tucking a strand of her hair back behind her ear, “no I knew that too.”

“Wha-how?” Y/N stutters.

The attention is pulled to Alicia as she begins to speak, “it wasn’t much of a secret babe. Everybody knew you were crushing on George. Can’t believe it took either one of you so long to do something about it.”

“Little Georgie here spent months trying to find that camera for you as a way to confess his undying love for you.” Fred reaches over and ruffles his twin’s hair who shoves him off.

“Yep, we were all so bloody excited for you to open his presents so you two can stop pining over each other.” Lee adds downing the rest of his drink then standing up. “Right, now the two love birds have finally confessed their feelings. Who’s up for a round of beer pong? Reigning champion here has yet to be defeated.”

“You’re on Jordan, that ego of yours has gotten large enough.” Fred challenges, everyone moving over to the table to set up for beer pong. Leaving Y/N and George alone on the couch.

George wraps his lanky arm around Y/N’s shoulder pulling her into his side, “I hope you’re enjoying your birthday bunny.”

Y/N grins widely, playing with her new camera before lifting it up and aiming it at George. “best birthday ever Georgie, thank you.” She squeezes the button down, snapping a picture of George who is staring at her like she’s the only person in the world.

Y/N is very content with being a background character, she’s quite used to it actually. But for once she doesn’t mind being the centre of someone’s undivided attention.