#new vegas reacts

[fallout-friends-react]

Could you please do NV companions react to courier dating yesman

Arcade: "Oho my god. You cannot be serious." Arcade had a comically large smile on his face. The Courier assured him they were serious about it, and did their best to explain all the good things about Yes-man. Arcade listened intently, as seriously as he could. At the end of their speech, he looked at Yes-man, and (he thinks) Yes-man looked at him. "You know what? Why not. Who am I to say this type of thing is impossible?"

Boone: The Courier was nervous to come out with the news, but knew they had to if they were going to keep traveling with Boone. "Great." Boone said dryly. "Can we get going?" As it turns out, he really didn't care all that much. As long as Yes-man didn't get in his way, it wasn't really any of his business.

Ed-E: 2 robots, 1 courier :)

Lily: Surprisingly, Lily took to Yes-man quite well. Maybe it's his high-spirited attitude that she likes so much. The Courier liked to listen to the conversations between the two. Very entertaining.

Raul: "Y'know boss? I've seen a lot in my time. This is something... new." Raul rested his hands on his hips and faced Yes-man. "I sure hope that's a good thing!" Yes-man replied happily. "I guess it's not... bad?" Raul questioned his own words. He shrugged. "I just hope I don't have to be the one to fix him when things go sideways."

Rex: Clunkly metal box is just around all the time now. That's fine.

Cass: "This is stupid." Cass said flatly. The Courier, clearly upset, couldn't get a word out before being interrupted. "I mean, look at his stupid face. Can you even stop smiling?" She asked Yes-man. "I cannot!" he said cheerfully. "Oh yeah. This is gonna go great."

Veronica: "You're dating.. a securitron.." Veronica asked without a question mark. The Courier gestured to Yes-man, "yeah look how cute he is!" Veronica clearly stifled a grimace with an awkward smile. "Can you come here for a sec?" She slung her arm around their shoulder and whispered, to make sure the robot couldn't hear. "Look. I know my way around mechanical things. Are you sure this is like... safe? Couldn't he go rampant and end up hurting you or something?" The Courier shrugged her off and dismissed her worries. More than anything, Veronica was just worried about them.

Vulpes: Vulpes took one look at Yes-man. "No."

[robcosposts]

We are dropping the video in one day

[simplegenius042]

Fallout Casting for Ryomen Sukuna Matata for Jujutsu Kaisen Abridged react fic

"Fuck school! Be crime! Do gay!" - Ryomen Sukuna, Episode 2 JJK Abridged (by the Schmuck Squad).

Reasons To Why I Believe These Characters Should Be Casted listed below the cut:

Richard Grey/The Master (the leader of the Super Mutant Army and the main antagonist of Fallout (1997), seeking to evolve humanity into super mutants with the Forced Evolutionary Virus (FEV), however, is stopped by the Vault Dweller, Elrand Brandt, and his companions via the power of persuasion) -> Mostly the grotesque way his body is morphed and stuff, but you can imagine his mouth opening on Ryder's body like Sukuna does on Itadori's body.

Sulik (a tribal looking to save his sister in Fallout 2, was saved by the Chosen One, Finidy Mona, and joined her as a companion to find the GECK, while she also helps him save his sister from slavers) -> It's mostly his tattoos that got me to choose him as a potential candidate.

Stanislaus Braun (the Overseer of Vault 112 in Fallout 3, Braun is a sadistic old man who regularly tortures his captives in a world of virtual reality, but had known the location and use of the GECK, which lead James Dolen to seek him out (only to be transformed into a dog), but was later outwitted by Alph inside the VR world and Amata from within Vault 112) -> Evil for the sake of being evil? Hates a kid for no reason? Would definitely take over somebody's body if given the chance? Sukuna candidate.

Yes Man (a securitron Benny had tampered with to help him overthrow House, is key to the Independent Vegas ending of Fallout New Vegas. Courier Six, aka Ryder, finds him in Benny's penthouse, and teams up with the securitron to save Benny from Caesar and overthrow House together) -> Listen he's too cheery for his own good. And sarcastic too. Like Abridged Sukuna.

DiMA (the synth co-leader of Acadia in Fallout 4 Far Harbor DLC. He is also the "brother" of Nick Valentine, the person who gets the Sole Survivor, Nate, to admit that he's likely a synth himself and has been involved in the sketchy shit around Far Harbor) -> Though the least potent candidate, what cannot be denied is that DiMA disregards everything about morality when it comes to doing what he thinks is the ways things should be.

The Scorchbeast Queen (the motherfucking progenitor of the Scorched disease and the final boss of Fallout 76 (if players nuke her nest at Fissure Site Prime). The Resident, Vega, only survives her encounter with the Scorchbeast Queen because of the FEV that had partly transformed her) -> She looks as ugly as Sukuna's fingers.

John Henry Eden (the President who runs the Enclave in Fallout 3, has all the personalities of the past presidents copied and downloaded into his A.I. He intended to use the water purifier to release a modified FEV into the water to kill anyone with a trace of radiation in them. He attempted to get Amata onboard with this plan, but since it would technically kill Alph, Amata convinced the president to give her the virus to "use" and tricked Eden into self-destructing and run like hell while Raven Rock fell down around her, towards Alph and his companions who were fighting outside trying to get to her inside) -> Eden and Sukuna are all aboard the murder express.

Dean Domino (one of Ryder's temporary companions in Fallout New Vegas Dead Money DLC. He was friends with Frederick Sinclair and had used Vera Keyes to get him one step closer to the Sierra Madre vault, however America being nuked interrupted this heist and lead him to being ghoulified, and while trying to get into the Sierra Madre, had been forced by Father Elijah to help him get into the resort. Dean eventually betrays Ryder inside the Sierra Madre, having been unable to comprehend someone could be as smart as him, which leads to him getting filled with lead) -> Dean Domino is a selfish bastard, Ryomen Sukuna is a selfish bastard.

Dr Klein (a brain apart of the Think Tank in Fallout New Vegas Old World Blues DLC, he was the director of the Big MT. His speakers are set on a loud volume and he is quite an arrogant punk. Klein and the rest of the Think Tank had vivisected Ryder, taking her heart and spine (and losing her brain to Dr. Mobius) and would only allow her to leave if she dealt with Mobius and gave them the resources to explore the Mojave from the safety of Big MT) -> As loud as Abridged Sukuna is.

Ishmael Ashur (the leader of the Pitt in Fallout 3 The Pitt DLC, though he is the big boss of slavers and raiders, Ashur is trying to humanely find a cure for the Trog which his daughter Marie seems to be immune to. However, the Lone Wanderer, Alph's appearance in the Pitt shakes things up) -> If Ashur just lost his benevolent intentions behind his actions and was doing things for the evils, he could be a lot like Sukuna.

God (the alter who acts as the "conscience" to a nightkin called Dog in Fallout New Vegas Dead Money DLC, he looks out for Dog and wants to kill Father Elijah so badly. Ryder helps both Dog and God make peace with each other and merge them both into a new personality) -> God is the voice in Dog's head, and his voice is quite menacing. Like Sukuna, though Sukuna is more malevolent than God.

Remember, for the alternative option, REBLOG and put in the tags WHO else from the Fallout franchise should be Abridged!Megumi and WHY you think they'd better suit the role. Also if there is a tie, then a repost will be made with only the tied candidates, and you'd have to pick from them.

I've also created and will continue to update (until the polling is done) a Master List for the poll results of the casted winners. You can find it right here.

You can find my Fallout OC profiles Master List right here, which also includes a link to the original post where I pitched my react fic idea. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, chow!

[satans-left-asscheeky]

Do the Fonv companions watch anime

Arcade

This one's 50/50 for me. I feel like he'd like it if he ever actually watched it, but someone would have to force him to watch it for him to ever really get into it

Benny

No, but Swank watches it, so he's seen it.

Boone

No. Doesn't understand it, but will watch if forced

Cass

No she thinks it annoying and is really obnoxious about her opinion too.

Raul

Maybe- Like if six watched it he'd watch it with them, but he'd never really watch it of his own accord

Veronica

YES! She's super into probably would get Cade into it and share theories with him, she'd also probably force Boone and Raul to watch too.

Vulpes

Yes? But more to understand what people are talking about at first... doesn't really watch it because he likes it though (except the violent ones he's all for those)

[danses-with-dogmeat]

wait omg can i request joshua for the praise thing?? it's so cute i think i'm gonna pass out /pos (gn!six please)

Joshua Graham Reacts to g/n! Six Giving him Praise

Ahh yes! I'm so glad you enjoyed it, that piece was just too darn sweet to write, honestly.

Sorry it took so long to come out, but here it is! I hope you like it! 😁

Also, here's the original ask as well:

"I just have to ask you for a few characters 👉👈 Porter Gage, Hancock, Raul, Charon and Gob ack don't call me out for my ghoul loving ass just getting showered in praise. I just feel the ghouls don't GET enough lovin', they are all wonderful, handsome and great men."

And here is the link to the full post!

I'm gonna add Joshua to the full post as well, btw :3

“Joshua?” Your voice carried smoothly over the sand, through the hot, dry air. But Joshua didn’t stir, he didn’t even seem to register his name. 

“You okay?” You pressed forward, craning your neck as you took a couple steps in his direction, trying to see what it was in the creek that had caught his attention so fully. 

“Did you… find something?” You bent down as you reached Joshua’s side, noting the way his unblinking eyes seemed glued to… nothing. Nothing, but his own reflection, staring back with the same intensity. 

The sand shifted beneath you as you settled by Joshua’s side. He noticed you, out of the corner of his eye, but remained silent. 

What could he say? 

How could he speak all that he was thinking, as he peered down at his scarred and bandaged face? Could he voice the way that he feels? So unworthy of your devotion to him, so confused as to why you stay by his side, so appreciative that you care for him the way you do, but so wholly afraid that if he speaks his fears, that they will come true. That, as soon as you come to your senses, as soon as the novelty of being with him fades, you will leave…

Who could love a face like mine? And more… Who could love the man that this face belongs to? A man who has done so much wrong, that his sins could only be absolved through the most violent forms of suffering? And even still… Am I truly free of them? 

He did not feel it. 

“I... am not worthy…” The missionary began quietly, and saw your head snap towards him as the words met your ears. “I am not worthy of even the least of all the deeds of steadfast love and all the faithfulness you have shown me.”

“What?” You asked, your brows furrowing as you shifted your body to face him, rather than the stream of water below. 

“It’s a line from Genesis." He attempted to clarify, "Jacob is speaking to God, speaking to him of his own humility in response to the devotion that the Lord has shown him.”

Your brows didn’t unfurrow. 

“And that… That has to do with…?” 

“I’m not…” Joshua’s jaw clenched as his eyes finally left his own watery visage in favor of hiding behind his downed lids. 

“I’m not sure why I said it. The quote just… came over me.” He lied, knowing full-well that the words had everything to do with you. 

If I tell you that I feel unworthy of you, will that start something? Will that plant the idea in your mind that I don’t deserve you? Will you then act on that idea?

“Hey.” 

He felt your touch upon his shoulder as your voice met his ears, it was light, but unyielding as your fingers clenched at the bandages insistently. 

“You can talk to me.” You smiled as Joshua’s eyes opened and his gaze landed upon your face, and he wasn’t immune to it. Nor your words, and all that they promised. 

Love rejoices with the truth.

“I’m humbled by you, Six. Humbled by the love you show me every day, and I feel… As Jacob did with the love of God. I feel unworthy of you.”

He felt your grip tighten upon his shoulder as sadness flooded your expression. It pained him to know he was the source of the strife he saw in your eyes.

“Sometimes it’s easy to forget who I am, what I’ve done… What I look like, when I’m beside you, but then, my reflection finds me. Then as I look upon your face, as I remember your deeds and your devotion to me, your kindness to others... I cannot help but feel confused.”

“Joshua, I–” 

He continued insistently, his scarred brow hardening over the intense blue of his eyes as you saw them spark with fire from within.

“I have erred more times than I could possibly count, and yet, each is written upon me, like a shouted word, etched into my very skin for all the world to see. For all who gaze upon me to pity me and my failures, to hate my deeds and to agree that I am unworthy of compassion and repentance. That I am unworthy of happiness, and certainly, of love. They see you beside me, and they know, simply by seeing me, that I am unworthy of you.” 

Joshua’s hand traveled slowly up to grasp at yours. Your eyes were wide and glistening as he gently took hold of you, and removed your touch from him. 

The air was utterly caught in your throat as your partner released your hand from his grip and stood beside you, his gaze resting back on the reflection in the running water that marred his covered features even further with each ripple over the small, jagged river stones that weren’t yet smoothed over by the current. 

“But it seems that you’ve failed to note this. Whether by choice, or simply because you are too righteous to see such things, you’ve still stood by me, even despite all that I’ve done, and that I am... I had to be sure you know the truth, Six. So that you can make your own decision about me, about our relationship… And you can find the words and inspiration you need to leave me behind, and to move on to better things. To be with someone who deserves you.” 

And truth will set you free.

The thought sprung unbidden into Joshua's mind.

I don't feel free.

But perhaps... Perhaps, now, Six can.

Still, you sat in the sand, in shock at everything that had just left your partner, the man you love, and have loved happily for the months you’ve been together.

Where had it all come from?

One moment you’re making camp, waiting for Joshua to collect water, dusting off the fabric of your tent, laying out the bedrolls close enough to later rest in his embrace all through the night, and now he… what? Wants you to leave him?

What changed?

Joshua made a move to step away from you, to leave you kneeling there, alone, beside the river that had apparently inspired these harsh words that encouraged even harsher actions, but you would not stand for it.

You could not. 

“I won’t leave you, Joshua.” You got to your feet as he paused his steps, and he tilted his head towards you, to better hear your words. To hear the justification that he was sure would be well-meant, but ultimately, unfounded. 

“Why?” He whispered, and you got the sense that he was going to speak more, that he would continue monologuing until he convinced himself further that you do not belong with him, even when you know that, beyond all reason, you do.

“Because Joshua, because..." You took a breath as righteous words filled your mind, "'You are precious in my eyes, and honored, and… I love you.' That quote comes from the book of Isaiah. And it’s God speaking to Jacob, telling him that this is why men are worthy of him, and why, even if they’re not, they’re still deserving of unconditional love, even by one as divine and perfect as God.” 

Joshua’s eyes were the ones widening now, and his body turned so that he could face you fully once again. 

“Now, I’m not saying that I’m perfect, but… If God can stand to love you, if he can keep you here, after all you’ve been through, if he can promise you life, even after going through what should’ve meant your death tenfold, then can’t I do the same? Can’t I promise you a life with me, can’t I love and accept you for who you are, no matter what anyone else thinks?” 

Joshua’s light eyes were glistening as they fixed on the sand below him, and you couldn’t help but step forward to try and draw his attention back to you. 

I had to sit through your monologue of self-hatred. Now it’s your turn to listen to all the reasons your words were wrong.

I won’t have you tuning me out.

“After living a life so devoid of it, there’s no one I can think of who’s more worthy of love and compassion than you.” 

You placed both hands on either side of his face, gently urging his eyes to meet yours. 

“Everything you’ve done, Joshua… You’ve been made to pay for. Just as you said, it’s all written upon your body, but it’s here too.” You dragged one palm down to rest over his chest. It was warm to the touch, even through the layers of his bandages and clothes. 

“And here.” The fingers of your other hand brushed over his temple, then his forehead. 

“You’ve paid for it enough. With these horrible thoughts, these feelings of unworthiness plaguing you, every mark upon your skin, all the pain you feel every day. Trust me, my love, you've paid for it. Now… I think God and I both just want you to know peace.” 

Joshua’s hands rose to delicately collect yours, to pull them down in between your bodies. But he didn’t release them from his grasp this time, only held them there, embracing you as much as he could allow himself as his mind still swirled with turmoil. 

“But why?" He asked, "You don’t have to be with me. No one is requiring it of you; and with another, everything would be so much easier. You could be happy… Happier than I can make you.”

“Why you?” You almost laughed at him, it seemed so obvious within the confines of your own mind, the mind that was almost always occupied with thoughts of him only. “I love you, Joshua. I love how you speak to me, how you respect me and want me in your life. I love that I’m able to help you, but you… You’ve helped me more than I think you know.” 

“How?” His voice was so desperate for an answer, it was almost demanding.

“Ever since I woke up from that grave… I didn’t really have a purpose. I didn’t know who I was, didn’t have anyone in my life to turn to, I didn’t have a path... but you gave me one. With you, I could help people in ways I never imagined. You were always so sure of your own path, that it inspired me to be sure of it too. To become a part of your path.”

You could feel your hands shaking where he held them between you. Your whole body was trembling with insistence, begging him to take your words to heart.

Everything about this night that the two of you were sharing once pointed to normalcy. Making camp, divvying out duties, feeling the warmth of the fire against the cool desert air, hearing the wind sweep over the dunes of sand; it was like so many other nights spent with one another. You hadn’t expected to have this conversation, hadn’t thought you’d be fighting tooth and nail to get your partner to understand how deeply you cared for him, how much you couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him, let alone ever consider it without his knowledge. But it was happening, and now this night was so much more important than all those others, because if you fail… It could be the end of all of this. This bliss that you’ve taken for granted. 

You’d survived without him for months before you ever met him, you could find happiness without Joshua, you knew that, but… With him, you didn’t have to look for happiness. With him, it surrounded you. 

“You have made my heart beat faster with a single glance of your eyes,” You said quietly, and even with the linen wraps covering Joshua's visage, you could see the way he softened at your words. “You made me love you more with every word you spoke. I can’t imagine who I’d be now without you, and I don’t want to.” 

Your hands tightened within his grasp, and you pulled his body closer to yours as your eyes stayed locked to his mesmerizing gaze.

 “Darling… in all my life, I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you. Believe me.” 

You insisted, and then you leaned forward even further, and kissed him. 

The thin linen obstructed you a bit, but it didn’t matter. You could feel the heat of him through it, sense the shape of his lips as they moved against yours, as they relented to your touch, and to your words. As he let you love him. 

Joshua’s hands released yours, allowing you to press yourself closer to him as you felt his touch upon your hip, and around the nape of your neck. In the same movement, your arms smoothed over his chest to grasp at his shoulders. He took a deep breath in through his nose, as though he’d been devoid of oxygen until you pressed yourself to him, and you felt the warm puff of air pass through his bandages and caress your face as he exhaled. Subtly, you could taste him through the barrier, the sweetness of cactus fruit, and the tartness of the healing powder he mixed into the water he drank. You sighed into him at the familiarity of it all. His touch, his taste, his burning warmth that sometimes felt unnaturally hot. Enough so, even, that it could scar you in return. 

And though it never had, Joshua hadn’t ever left any physical blemishes upon your skin from his touch, from his love of you, you were certain that you hadn’t gone completely unmarked by him. Like the words he spoke, like the thoughts and actions he inspired, like the emotions that surrounded him in your mind, his mark was within you. And all of that, all of his influence, his own love for you in return, that you felt was as permanent as any scar left upon his own skin. 

“Thank you,” You felt Joshua whisper against you as you parted, but remained pressed to one another. “Thank you, Six, for all that you have given me. I… I still do not feel worthy of it, but, I will do what I can to change that. No matter how long it takes.” 

“Mm.” You hummed, a grin touching your lips as you pressed your forehead to his and closed your eyes, soaking in the simple feel of him. “And I’ll be right here. Right beside you, all the way.” 

You felt the outline of his own smile as Joshua leaned forward, and captured your lips with his once again.

[venisonsteak403]

Funny scenario I just thought about:

You guys do know How in many Courier 6 Interpretations they Have lost their memories? (Only "recent" ones for some and Full factory reset for others) Imagine a Female courier 6 on her first period since she got shot.

What's her reaction?

Mine's was she thought she was dying and she even wrote her last will and testament (astounding she knows how to read and write and what a last will and testament is) then when she told boone she had to Endure The Talk™ from him

[falloutnewcourier]

Question for y’all, would y’all be interested in companion reactions if I did them? I wanna try and get used to writing the characters as I haven’t really written for them before.

[shanaz-khan-newaccount]

Look, i know it sucked, it's trash, it's a pathetic attempt of a final cutscene that should never belong to an rpg with multiple endings but at least it's not a pic of my malewife in a pit with a voice over that states that they died alone and miserable in a dark alley because they attempted to eat a can of soup and chocked themselves with the tin can and it was all my fault because i didn't choose their favourite political party to rule the city.

[no-144444]

the grid: when the media says something insane...

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req: Hi, I'd like to request a blurb about the drivers reacting to reader being talked bad about from an interviewer. Scenario-Interviewer: "Do you think the reason you lost today's race is because 'y/n' was here and had something to do with it?"

featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Logan Sargeant, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Charles LeClerc, Carlos Sainz, Arthur LeClerc, Ollie Bearman, Max Verstappen, Paul Aron, Jack Doohan.

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Oscar Piastri: makes the interviewer feel dumb asf

“And how do you feel about the DNF today, knowing that it's breaking your record of competing in every lap so far this year? Is there any specific reason as to why you might’ve made that mistake? I did see some new faces in the garage today,” Danica asked.

Oscar frowned. “What are you trying to say?”

“I was just wondering if you count your partner, Y/n, as a bad luck charm now. This is her first Grand Prix, isn’t it?” 

He actually laughed in her face. “Do you seriously believe in shit like that?” he chuckled. “And no, it’s not her first, nor will it be her last.”

Danica stood, embarrassed. 

“Do you have any other questions?” he asked, polite as ever. She didn’t respond. “Thanks for the joke anyway, that was actually quite funny,” Oscar added as he moved onto the next interview, a bright smile on his face despite the poor race result.

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Lando Norris: insults the interviewer

“And how do you feel about the DNF today, knowing that it's cementing your loss in the Driver’s Championship? Is there any specific reason as to why you might’ve made that mistake? I did see some new faces in the garage today,” Danica asked.

He stared at her for a moment, trying to compose himself. “If you’re talking about my girlfriend, I’d suggest you just come out and say it, Danica.”

“Alright then, do you see her as a bad luck charm now? Considering this is her first race, if I’m right,” she asked outright. Jenson rolled his eyes beside her as Martin just chuckled. 

“Not at all, she’s here to support me and I’d much rather have her here for a day like today than a win. It’s called a support system Danica, I’m aware of the fact that you’re not a fan of those, but some of us actually benefit from caring about other people. And another thing, all of my bad races, you’ve been there. Maybe you’re the bad luck charm,” his voice cut through the tension in the cold Las Vegas air like a knife, and Jenson and Martin just started laughing as Danica stood there dumbfounded. “Maybe I should ask Sky to not bring you around as much.” 

He handed the microphone back and continued on with his day, then posted this later: 

landonorris

liked by pierregasly, lewishamilton, and 479,933 others

landonorris: idc if ur bad luck ur too sexy to let go of 🥴

comments are disabled.

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Lewis Hamilton: protective much?

“It’s Y/n’s first race in years, and yet you DNF for the first time in months, do you want to give us some insight to that?” Danica asked. 

Lewis’s eyebrow raised and an annoyed smile made its way onto his face. “What are you saying right now?”

“Well, it’s just strange that her first race in years, 2 to be exact, is the one you don’t finish.”

“Are you trying to insinuate that she’s bad luck or something?” 

“Is that what you believe her to be?” 

“Fuck no,” he scoffed. “She’s my wife, is what she is. I’m grateful that she’s here. I love to share my love of motorsport with my wife, and I don’t feel sorry for the media that she's been preoccupied with being pregnant and busy to be here for the last 2 years. I love having her come and support me, and I’m happy that I didn’t finish the fucking race, I get more time with my family now. I cannot believe you enjoy making shitty headlines like this. Danica, maybe just stick to fucking driving.”

With that, he walked away, and later made this post:

lewishamilton

liked by pierregasly, francocolapinto, and 2,393,932 others

lewishamilton: my good luck charms xx

comments are disabled.

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George Russell: flabbergasted that someone would have the audacity 

“Sorry about the result today George, do you feel like external factors made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

“Y’know, it’s been pretty tough all year with the car but it really felt like we pulled back to the top today, and it was just a shame that Lando went wide and pushed me into the gravel,” he shrugged.

“And you don’t see your girlfriend as a bad luck charm? It is her first race, right?”

He death-stared her for a moment. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Well, we just wanted to know how you react to knowing that it’s her first race and it’s also the race you DNFed in.”

“I don’t have a reaction,” he scoffed. “Your headlines are going to be written anyway, it doesn’t matter what I say. I don’t see her as bad luck or whatever rubbish you’re going to paint this as, and I don’t really care what you think about it. Anyway, it’s not like you have the monopoly on perfect races, Danica.” 

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Kimi Antonelli: awkward and insulted 

“Sorry about the result today Kimi, do you feel like distractions made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

“Umm…” he trailed off, looking at George confused. George shook his head, silently telling him not to answer. “I don’t know what you mean?” 

“Well there were external factors, obviously, but also your girlfriend was in the paddock for the first time this weekend, correct?”

He nodded. 

“So do you see her as some sort of bad luck charm, or something?”

He pulled a face of disgust for a split second. “No, not at all. She went to every single one of my F2 races so I don’t see how she could have been bad luck here when she was not bad luck there,” he shrugged. 

“So she’s not bad luck?” 

He chuckled awkwardly. “N-no. Like I say, she was at every one of my F2 races. I think she is lucky, if anything.” 

He walked away confused as George reassured him that they were just fishing for headlines and to ‘not give them the time of day’. He was slightly worried that you would think you were a bad luck charm and quickly found you and showed you that you weren’t.

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Alex Albon: shocked. 

“Sorry about the race today Alex, do you feel like distractions made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

“Umm,” he kind of chuckled. “I don’t think so? I mean it was so wet so I’m not shocked that I went off.”

“But in the garage, do you think you would’ve been more focused if your girlfriend hadn’t been there?”

He just stared at her with a slightly shocked smile as she held the microphone to his face. “Did you actually just ask that?”

She didn’t answer, just nodding. 

“Well, why don’t we think back to every other race she’s been at this year. Monaco, Canada, Silverstone, Austria, and Baku, which were all my best races this season, apart from maybe Canada.”

“Yes, but today she was-”

“In the garage, the same as she always is. Wow, you’ll really do anything for a headline.”

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Franco Colapinto: Sassy asf 

“Sorry about the crash today, glad to see you’re ok Franco. Do you think this weekend has been a bit more difficult because of distractions or something new being in a paddock? We saw that it was your girlfriend's first GP this weekend, could she have anything to do with it?” Danica asked. 

He did a double take, staring at her. “¿Qué? Is that really what you think?” 

She shrugged. “It’s only a question.”

“It’s a stupid question,” he scoffed. “¿Por qué traería mala suerte? She has been at every race so far and I haven’t seen anyone complaining.” (Why would she be bad luck?)

“So she’s not bad luck?”

He laughed. “Do I have to repeat things 3 times for you to understand?”

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Logan Sargeant: angry

“Sorry about the result today Logan, do you feel like distractions made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

He stared at her, then pushed the mic away from him. “I’m not answering stupid fucking questions about my girlfriend.”

And he walked off. And posted this later…

logansargeant

liked by pierregasly, oscarpiastri, jensonbutton, and 345,938 others

logansargeant: let's not bring my girlfriend into this, yeah?

comments are disabled.

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Daniel Riccardo: plays it off. 

“Sorry about the end of the race today Danny, do you feel like distractions made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

He laughed, thinking she was joking. His eyes widened when he realised she wasn’t. “You think I can’t race because my girlfriend is in the back of the garage?”

“It is her first GP, correct?” 

He chuckled. “No, no it’s not. She’s always there, and anyways, I’m in the car, it’s not like I have all the time in the world to stare at her ass or something,” he smiled. “I know she’s beautiful but I don’t exactly see her when I’m going to the straight at 200 kilometres an hour.”

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Liam Lawson: sassy man apocalypse 

“Sorry about the end of the race today Liam, do you feel like distractions made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, confused about the question. 

“Your girlfriend was here for the first time, could she be a bad luck charm for the team?”

“I don’t think she is but I do know that your interviews make me feel pretty fucking unlucky,” he scoffed before walking off. 

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Charles LeClerc: laughs in their face

“Charles, what do you think about the people saying that Y/n is bad luck in the garage?”

He started laughing and didn’t stop for about a minute. He was as bad as Lando, to the point that Carlos had to actually walk him off the fan stage. He came back on, teary-eyed and smiling. “I think it’s quite funny.”

“Evidently,” Carlos scoffed. 

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Carlos Sainz: …

“Carlos, what do you think about the people saying that Y/n is bad luck in the garage?” Danica asked.

“What people are saying that?” he asked. 

“The media,” she answered. 

“Well they always have bullshit to say. I’m just surprised they had the balls to go after my wife,” he scoffed. “They’ll be hearing from my lawyers.”

“That sounds extreme-”

“It’s defamation of character and she’s my wife. Nothing is extreme.” 

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Arthur LeClerc: Won’t answer

“Sorry about the race today Arthur, do you think there are other factors, such as distractions, that messed up your race?”

“What a stupid question, no,” he scoffed before walking away. 

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Ollie Bearman: insulted

"Sorry about your race today Ollie, do you think that your partner Y/n being here might be a bad omen?"

He stared at her. "No. Why would she be?"

"It's her first GP and you DNF, if that's not bad luck I'm not sure what is."

"That's pretty rude," he scoffed. "Don't bring my girlfriend into this."

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Max Verstappen: guys…

"Sorry about your race today Max, do you think that your partner Y/n being here might be a bad omen?"

He stared at her, his eyes dark. "Fuck off."

"Excuse me?"

"That's bullshit, don't bring my family into this. If I have a bad race, I have a bad race, that's just how it goes. She isn't bad luck, she isn't for you to make headlines about and she's not here to just be a good omen. She's my partner and she's here to support me, that's it."

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Paul Aron: laughs in their face…

"How do you feel about the result to day, do you think things could've been different if someone wasn't distracting you?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"We saw your race engineer giving out to you and your partner Y/n for distracting you. Do you think she might now be a bad luck charm?"

He scoffed, laughing in her face. "Bullshit, someone turned into me and I didn't have enough time to react. Your headline can be about that, keep my girlfriend out of this."

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Jack Doohan: so normal about it! (...)

“Sorry about the race today Jack, do you think there are other factors, such as distractions, that messed up your race?”

He knew what they were trying to say. “Do you want to just say what you want to say to my face?” 

She was taken aback. “Do you think Y/n is a bad luck charm?”

He scoffed. “You’re seriously fishing for headlines when someone could’ve been seriously injured? That’s pathetic. And another thing, she’s not a fucking bad luck charm, she’s my partner, she’s not just a headline for you to fuck with.”

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[fallout-friends-react]

Please write New Vegas companions react to the courier sitting in their lap :)

Arcade: Arcade sighed heavily. It's been yet another long day helping the followers. Feeling tired, he sat on the nearest bench he could find, and leaned his head back so he could look at the sky absentmindedly. With no warning, the Courier sat on his lap, making him jump from surprise. "W-what are you doing?!?!?! There are other places to sit???" The Courier just laughed and said this spot looked the most comfortable. Arcade adjusted his glasses, "I-uh- you.." He stuttered, clearly embarrassed. "Surely there's somewhere better for you to sit." The Courier laughed again and finally got up to sit next to him instead. Arcade couldn't think of anything to say, he rested his face in his hands to hopefully hide his red face. It didn't help much.

Boone: Boone had been keeping watch while the Courier relaxed. They watched him watch the horizon for any signs of danger. He looked bored. The Courier got up and called Boone, "Hey come sit, I'll take next watch." Boone got up without a word, listening to their command. He took a seat on their previously occupied chair. Without even bothering to go keep watch, the Courier immediately sat on his lap. They just wanted to see how he'd react. Blank. Nothing. "I thought you were going to keep watch." The Courier huffed and got up. With crossed arms, they went to do as they had promised. The Courier didn't know it because of his sunglasses, but Boone had a hard time looking them in the eye.

Ed-E: He has no lap with which to sit.

Lily: The Courier was clearly exhausted, and Lily could tell. Without thinking it through, Lily found the closest and sturdiest wall and leaned against it. She assumed a wall sit position, making the Courier confused. "Sit for a bit. I can't let my own grandchild be so tired." The Courier couldn't believe their eyes. There's no way they could sit on her lap while she's doing a WALL SIT, no one could handle all their weight while doing that. Or so they thought. The Courier noticed Lily's bulging thigh muscles. She is a nightkin after all, she's stronger than any normal human. The Courier shrugged and took a seat. Her lap was much more comfortable than expected.

Raul: The Courier and Raul had taken a trip to the NCR embassy to visit some captain for some kind of mission. Raul didn't really listen to the details so he didn't actually know the reason for their visit. The embassy was particularly busy this day, so they were told to wait for the captain to be available. The lobby was busy enough that there were almost no seats, save for one. Raul sat down without really thinking about it. The Courier awkwardly stood in front of him. "I'd offer you my seat, but I think elders get dibs." He chuckled. The Courier just smiled in response. Raul thought for a moment, probably they wanted to sit too, god only knows how long the NCR will take. "Hey boss," he gestured to his lap, "take a seat." The waved him off, surely he wasn't serious. "No really, come on." He patted his lap. The Courier hesitantly took a seat. The two stayed silent for a couple minutes. Raul interrupted the silence by tapping on their arm, "yeah I don't think my old bones can take this. Let's try switching spots" They got some stares from other embassy patrons, but neither of them really minded.

Rex: You literally cannot sit in a dog's lap.

Cass: Both Cass and the Courier had been complaining about how tired they were from walking. Almost to see who could one-up the other on how tired they were. They happened upon a building with a missing side, but at least it still had a roof. One chair occupied the corner of what looked like a kitchen. Cass used whatever energy she had left to run to the chair and take it for herself. "HA. I got here first." She smirked at them smugly. The Courier crossed their arms and looked at her annoyed. Just as Cass rested her arms by her sides to really relax her muscles, the Courier quickly took a seat on her lap. Cass shot them a dirty look. "Oh I'm sorry was this seat taken?" The Courier reflected her smirk from before. "Uh, yeah, I'd rather take the floor if you're gonna keep this up." Cass was too tired to put up much of a fight.

Veronica: Veronica and the Courier had stopped into the first bar they could find. They were both exhausted from walking for nearly the entire day. The bar was way more crowded than either had expected. Almost every seat was taken. Veronica spotted the singular vacant chair in the corner of the room and quickly claimed it as her own. The Courier stood next to her, leaning on the wall. She could tell just how tired they were and knew their feet must have been aching. "Hey," getting the Courier's attention, she patted her lap, to signal they should take a seat. "You sure?" The Courier asked, just to be sure she was okay with it. "I insist!" She looked at them with a smile. They took a seat and were instantly relieved. Veronica invited them to take a seat herself, but she didn't expect it to be so embarrassing. She blushed slightly, and couldn't look at them the entire time they were on her lap.

Vulpes: Having finally set up camp for the night, Vulpes's guard was down. As down as it could be anyway. Sitting on a log near the campfire, he closed his eyes to relax for just a moment. The Courier saw their chance and quickly made their move to spontaneously sit on his lap. Vulpes quickly opened his eyes at the sudden weight on his lap. He lifted his arms so as to not touch them, "Um.. Is there something I can help you with?" He didn't seem as amused as the Courier had hoped for. They quickly got off his lap, feeling a little embarrassed.

[maudie-duan]

Summary: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, they say, but does it really have to be the end if it turns into one of the deepest connections you've made in a while?? Paring: Long Hair Harry x (Fem)Reader Tags: Always Open @sassamanda77

Word Count: 16K

A/N: I've been working on this story on and off for weeks. Didn't like it at first, but I was really craving an LHH fic where he's just really emotional and in his feelings. So there will be lots of angst.

Warnings: Strong Angst/Smut: mentions of Zayn leaving, and the band's hiatus. Implications of fooling around under the influence of alcohol, Size Kink, Talks Of Oral Sex (M/F receiving), Fingering, (M/F) Masturbation, Slight Spit Play (Just barely), Edging, While I don't condone unsafe sex, there is Unprotected Sex, Pull Out Method...on a lighter note there is lots of fluff, Soft Harryx100, Very Emotional.

(If I missed anything PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!)

What was the last thing you remembered? Before the dizzying haze sent the world spinning, a tunnel vision of shadows speeding past you. Maybe there was walking, a stumble, a hand gripping yours, maybe the distant face of a stranger.

What was his name? 

And then there were lights? There were so many lights; was the bar really that bright? There was that last shot when the burn of the alcohol was no longer apparent, the sugary finish the only thing washing over your tongue. Kelsey said to take another, so you did; the scene was already blurring around you, and then she said one more, so you did it without hesitation. 

After that, there was the bathroom, except Kelsey wouldn’t leave Bryan’s side, so you had to go alone. Yes, this is where the world started fading because you remember using the bathroom and seeing yourself reflected in the dim lighting of the mirror, but what happened next? 

“Fuuuuuuck—” is all you can say, squeezing your eyes shut, face planted in the pillow. 

When was the last time you felt this hungover, your ears ringing, the roar of a headache this intense, so painful that it hurt to even move your head? A pang so deep in your temples that there’s pain with every thud of your racing heart, feeling the throbbing pulse with every beat pounding through your skull--a steady reminder of the many drinks you felt the need to indulge in, now churning in the pit of your stomach. 

And then there was the ache in your jaw as you gritted your teeth together, willing yourself not to throw up because you didn’t know if you could even move another muscle. Had you fallen? Was that it? Fallen and hit your head…

“That bad, huh?” a deep voice sounds in your ear. 

At first, you don’t think anything of it; maybe it was a figment of your imagination, the demon on your shoulder from last night whispering in your ear, materializing through the pulsing headache ripping through your brain. 

But there it was again, and this time there was a dip in the bed next to you, “I’ll get water?” it says, and maybe you’re still dreaming because every time you move your head, the world still seems to spin, any movement too fast, and there’s that wave of nausea again and that voice—that smooth voice, and is that an accent? 

You know you need to lift your face from the pillow, but you’re unsure if you have the strength or the will to stir this feeling any further. That voice is familiar, though, and when the blanket rustles, the feeling of the moving sheet awakens your naked body and alerts you. Wait naked? You think, whipping your head toward the movement on the bed, and when you spot the man sitting next to you, your whole body reacts, a sudden jolt jumping through you, and then you’re falling off the edge of the bed, the sheets coming with you as your body hits the ground with a hard thud, agony already taking way. 

“Oh my god—oh my god—!” you yell, clutching at your chest, your heart slamming against your ribs, every breath coming at a rapid pace. If you thought your head was pounding before, this was a new torture. 

“I didn’t mean to give you a fright,” He says, and you watch his tall figure crouch next to you, grasping the sheets tight around you as you study his features. It’s like each aspect of his face pulls at your mind like a distant memory. 

He hands you the bottle of water and comes down to his butt, a small smile playing at his lips, and the longer you stare, the more you think you remember; at least you know you came here willingly, hence your naked body under these sheets, but was there sex? 

He’s quiet, only a smile, and when you bring the bottle to your mouth, he laughs, “You don’t remember a thing, do you?”

And when he laughs again, you watch his dimples dip into his handsome face, and you think to yourself…if you’re going to have a one-night stand, this is definitely someone you would want to go home with…or to a hotel? Because when you force your eyes away from his face, you peer around, eyes moving around the luxury suite.

“Did we have sex?” you ask, eyes shifting back to him, and he licks his lips, drawing his knees to his chest, a casual demeanor taking way.

His face morphs from playful to serious in a matter of seconds, which makes your heart drop, and even though it was more plausible than not, you kind of hope you didn’t because you can’t remember a single detail of being in this hotel room, and as you clinch your jaw the ache travels to your temples, bringing tears to your eyes because this has to be the worst headache of your life—and fuck this guy is so hot.

What do they say? You can’t experience beauty without pain? Then you’re cursing to yourself, thinking the one time you score a decent one-night stand, you would, of course, be too miserable to enjoy it. 

“There wasn’t sex in the traditional sense, I guess…” He tells you, cutting through your thoughts.

“Mmmm…” you mumble, eyes sweeping over his face. Then you find yourself smiling because he looks so earnest, and his answer has you searching the tiny treads of memory you can’t seem to conjure no matter how hard you try.

There’s a faint grin tugging at the edge of his mouth, and you can tell he remembers everything, but something tells you that you’ll have to dig for the details. 

“Would you mind…maybe elaborating a little?” you push, watching the smile spread on his face. He reaches forward then, stretching past you to the nightstand, the scent of his faded cologne filling your nose, beckoning you as your eyes fall to the inked skin along his ribs, and then it’s like they’re all coming into view, a sleeve running up and down his arm—fuck.

He sits back on his heels, “Here, I tried giving you these last night, but you passed out pretty quickly after…”

“After…?” You try again and look down at his open palm, the ibuprofen resting in the center of his large hand. You grab the pills and toss them back, guzzling the rest of your bottle of water as if your life depended on it.

He laughs again, his deep rasp breaking through, “So if I can remember correctly…” He starts with a grin, his British drawl making your heart skip a beat. 

“You said, Gerry…I want you in that bed. Then you led us to the room.” He bursts into laughter then and says, “My name is Harry, by the way.”

You immediately feel the heat creeping up your neck, your face burning with shame--shame for your bold behavior, which few have ever seen. “My apologies, but please continue,” you say.

“Don’t worry, Darling, it was quite humbling. Very few get my name wrong…”

You shake your head, thinking you would probably believe anything he told you if he said it with that smile. The same smile that probably got you to this hotel room, but now you’re having second thoughts about who was calling the shots, thinking maybe you’re the one that spurred last night on—you in one of your rare moods, a toss-up of what kind of drunk you’d be, but at least you weren’t bent over a toilet crying over your Ex, so that was a win already.

“Do you want to shower?” Harry asks, as your eyes travel down his torso, eyeing the tattoos; not a single one is familiar, except maybe the butterfly—Like perhaps you saw it in a dream, and why is he wearing boxers, and you’re completely naked?

“I would love a shower…” You breathe, watching as he springs to his feet, a little too fast for your current state, and he smiles when he catches the dizzying look on your face.

“Man, you’re in rough shape…” He laughs, reaching out a hand, and you clutch the sheet to your body, embarrassed by your lack of clothes, suddenly feeling more modest than you’d hope in this kind of situation—But there’s nothing a hot shower can’t fix, right?

Here is the thing about Harry: He brought you back on a whim. He had no intention of bringing a girl back to his hotel room; in fact, it was never in the cards to even go out. He was here in Vegas with the band, probably even the last time they would play here since there was already talk about their impending hiatus. 

Harry was minding his own business, passing you in the hallway on your way out of the bathroom, and when you locked eyes, he watched the smile grow on your face. He thought…fuck…another fan… but when you stopped him in his tracks, there wasn’t a glimmer of recognition. 

You planted your hands on his chest, gazing up at him--a bold move on your part—which immediately piqued his interest. Harry was just drunk enough to play into it. Maybe see it through and play along to see what your next move might be. When you pushed him against the wall in the shadowy light of the hallway, he nustled his face into your neck, trying to shield his face from all the random people shuffling in and out of the bathrooms.

And this is where maybe he did spur you on just a little…

The second he drew a breath, breathing in your scent, he felt himself giving in. The warm flesh of your neck was so close to his mouth that he couldn’t help but push a soft kiss—press his lips into your skin and listen for the gasp he knew would fill his ear, your hot breath fanning over his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, and what else could he do?

He felt your hands roaming his body, clutching at his shirt, pulling with such want that one of the buttons on his shirt popped open, making him pull away in laughter, excitement surging through him that felt foreign because when was the last time he just got to let loose like the? Tensions had been so high lately that nothing in him wanted to be here in Vegas, but now he could at least have a little fun, and why not?

Harry hated Vegas; it almost felt worse than New York, a dense population, always a sea of faces, a place he could rarely go unnoticed, and here he was letting some stranger fondle him, and when you asked him what his name was, he laughed again, pulling away with curiosity, he wanted to see your face, he wanted to know if you were playing into some kind of bit, but then you noticed the tattoo at the center of his chest, and the look in your eyes told him otherwise. 

You didn’t know who the fuck he was, and this made him even more curious—Yeah, you were drunk, but so was he, and would this be a bad thing? He hadn’t had sex in a while, on a sort of cleanse he held himself to for the last six months, and maybe you guys didn’t have to have sex; there were other things. 

But as your hand moved the thin silk of his shirt aside to get a better view, you forced your hand to his chest, pinning him against the wall, his body unmoving as your finger began to trace the outline of one of the butterfly wings. Harry watched as your finger slid down the center of his abdomen, his muscles tightening, forming a straight line to the top of his belly button, sending a rush to his dick.

When you bit down on your lower lip, Harry nearly lost his mind; even then, he wanted to hear your thoughts, wanted you to say them out loud. 

There you were, standing before him with very few words, and then you called him Gerry, which somehow sealed the deal for him. He knew nothing about you, whether you came there alone, what your name was. He figured he could ask you in the car, but as you guys pushed your way through the bar, Harry made a point to be your guiding light, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you guys past the flashing lights of the cameras, cursing to himself the moment you guys stepped foot outside the bar—what was supposed to be fun and low-key turned into him moving through a crowd of people, and while Harry didn’t regret his choice, he knew that you would bare the sting of this later.

Do you want to shower first? You ask, taking hold of Harry’s outstretched hand. Your eyes are trained on his face, watching a smirk spread on those heart-shaped lips you knew you were lucky enough to kiss last night…because there must have been kissing, right? You just wished you could remember.

“You want to take separate showers?” He grins, pulling you up from the ground, and just as you stand to your feet, the sheet is ripped from your body, but your reaction is too slow, and when you look down at your feet, Harry’s foot is at the edge of the material.

“Shit, I’m sorry…” He blurts, adverting his eyes while you stand there clutching at your breast, trying to cover yourself in any way that you can. “I have already seen you naked…if that means anything…”

You laugh then, your face burning, “Yeah…but it would be different if I actually remembered…” 

“So you really don’t remember a thing?” He questions, covering his eyes.

This makes you smile as a bashful look takes Harry’s features--the kindness to cover his eyes is enduring as he crouches back down to feel around for the sheet on the ground blindly, patting his hand across the floor. He grasps the material and holds it out to you, not daring to peek.

“Thanks…” you say, your smile stretching wider, and you can’t help but laugh as you pull the sheet around your body. 

You like Harry’s easy energy; nothing about how he’s presented himself has made you uneasy in the slightest, and when you give him the clear to look, his eyes don’t even wander. They move straight to your face, making your heart pick up a beat.

You can shower first,” he offers, and as soon as he says the words, you feel this draw, this urge, this want to be close. 

A want to explore what it is about this guy that’s conjuring this strange sense of wanting to give your all. Was that what it was last night? A sense of safety? You could have done anything…he could have done anything, but something tells you he didn’t take advantage of the situation.

“We could shower together…if you’d like…?” You ask almost as if it were a question, letting it hang in the silence between you. Harry ponders your words, weighty in the way his brows knit together, his eyes surveying your face, his gaze on the verge of making you backtrack. 

And then he smiles, and you see that glint in his eye, the look that probably lured you in, and he says:

“A mutual shower, no sex?” 

He holds out his hand with a mischievous smirk, turning up the corner of his mouth, and when you grasp his hand, his grip is firm, his green eyes holding you in place, and you wish you remembered what these hands felt like on your body. Did he play into your assertive mood, or was he more gentlemanly? Did this kindness show through the whole time?

You return the smirk, feeling your guard waiver, “Deal--” Then he tugs you toward the bathroom, the sheet falling around your body like a gown, and you wonder if this is what it felt like to be swept off your feet—that giddy feeling of new wonderment filling the air around you both, and when Harry laughs it makes your stomach flutter, like a crush you’ve held secret for years and now you’re finally playing out that fantasy. 

Because later, when this was all said and done, this is the part you’ll look back on and wonder why you did it, why it was so easy because this…him…that feeling blooming deep in your belly would become as familiar as looking in the mirror, and although his face felt distant right now you knew it, somewhere deep within. 

…

Harry couldn’t believe it worked, getting you here in the shower with him. 

He could tell you were nervous. 

The way you kept making small jokes to mask your apprehension, your eyes barely meeting his. When you wrapped the sheet around your body tighter and wiggled yourself up onto the counter, he could see you trying to play it cool, and maybe you would have fooled anyone else, but there was something jerky in your movement, stiff, still guarded, everything understandable, but there was just this tiny piece of him that wanted that girl back from last night.

It didn’t have to be sexual. Although that part was pretty amazing, Harry admired your boldness the most. Yes, he knew that alcohol had a lot to contribute to that, but it came from somewhere, right? He wanted to get this part over, you know, get past all the weird stuff because whether or not he wanted to admit it to himself, you guys were complete strangers. 

So he stood there, patient, his hands tucked behind his back, leaning against the wall as the silence stretched, both of you waiting for the water to warm up, “Are you from Vegas?” he asked. 

He watched you draw in a deep breath, your posture straightening. “I’m from Colorado…you?” and when he gave a faint chuckle, he watched the realization dawn on your face as you let out a nervous laugh.

“England…” Harry laughed, running his hand under the water. It was the perfect temperature, but he knew you weren’t ready. 

“Still kind of cold.” He lied. 

You shrug, “What are you doing in Vegas?” He asked next. 

“I’m supposed to be here with my friend Kelsey. I was actually hanging out with her and her boyfriend last night…damn…I hope she’s not freaking out right now. I can’t remember if I called her.”

“You did--” Harry confirms, followed by a laugh.

Harry catches your eye for a brief second right before they dart to the ground, your cheeks flushing, and he’s still trying to wrap his brain around you and the person you were last night, feeling himself getting sucked in all over again, but differently something more approachable, less fleeting. 

“I don’t do this a lot,” you finally tell him--a pang of guilt is eating away at Harry, and his mind is trying to piece together why you felt like you had to explain yourself. Was he making you feel weird, he wondered? 

When Harry heard this bit, a sense of relief washed over him; this he could work with, this he knew, “Yeah?” He questions.

“Actually… I’ve never had a one-night stand…I ummm….” He watches you swallow the rest of your words, your eyes searching his face. As you gaze at him, he observes the fear creeping into your features, witnessing it take over.

And when he sees this, he’s quick to speak up, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do…and last night I didn’t do anything that you didn’t ask of me…I only did what you wanted…I swear.”

When your eyes sweep over his face, he feels this need for you to believe him because it’s true, and when you breathe the word “Okay…” You nod, then your face relaxes, and you hop down from the counter and move toward the shower, leaning past him to check the temperature of the water. 

When your arm grazes over the soft skin of his stomach, he sucks in a breath, his nerves getting the best of him now, and when you turn your head, your eyes move over his belly, and he stills himself, afraid to move, “Did those hurt?” You ask, and he watches your eyes trail along the band of his boxers.

“They did…” He says, “But it was more of me wanting to cover up another tattoo there, and then these just happened…”

You nod your head again, and he feels himself involuntarily sucking in his stomach, suddenly self-conscious, your neutral gaze unreadable. 

Then your eyes flick to his, smoothing your lips together, “I think it’s ready…” you tell him. 

“Yeah?” He asks, wanting to make sure this is something you want. 

“You’ve already seen me naked…” you laugh, then out of his own bewilderment, that damn sheet drops to your feet, and you step into the hot shower, eyes on his the whole time.

Okay…so he could definitely work with this, and even though he was fighting back his boner, the half-mass that threatened to give him away. He knew he couldn’t help it, and as Harry pulled down his boxers and stepped in behind you, he turned away, not wanting to weird you out. 

…

“Do you want some of the water?” You ask, your eyes closed, the hot water hitting the top of your head like heavy rain. The humidity of the shower fills your lungs as you reach and smooth your hair back, and its soothing warmth is all-consuming.

You know that you’re on full display, but you’re having one of those “fake it til you make it” kind of moments, and you figured if he didn’t like what he saw last night, maybe he would have asked you to leave. I mean, he was the one offering the shared shower in the first place. 

You thought the longer you kept your eyes closed, the longer you could keep them from roaming. You knew you were hogging the hot water, but something about the heat washing over your scalp felt like a christening of new life, the ibuprofen starting to kick in. You stood there finally at peace, massaging your scalp as a long sigh slipped past your parted lips, causing Harry to clear his throat. 

When your eyes flutter open, you blink away the water, the moisture from your eyes blurring your vision. Then, you step away from the downpour, taking care not to look anywhere but at Harry’s face, his focus trained on your eyes, never drifting any lower.

This made you smile, knowing damn well his eyes had plenty of time to survey your body, and a piece of you wanted him to. 

There was something about him that made you want him. You wanted him to watch you, maybe make the first move so that you wouldn’t overthink it, and here you guys were, in the midst of a hot shower, your bodies only inches away as you both played polite, and the thought alone was driving you crazy. 

That’s when you grab hold of his arms, trying to maneuver around him in the tight space, guide him toward the shower head, watching as the water cascades over his dry hair, and when you let go, your gaze falls to his shoulder, the trickle of water floods down his chest as Harry closes his eyes, and he lets his head fall back, an audible sigh escaping as you watch his lips part, his tongue coming out to lap tiny droplets of water—and fuck you are so turned on, a dull throb pulling between your legs already.

“This feels so good…” he mutters, caught up in the tranquil lull of the water. 

Would it be so bad to take a peek? See what Harry would have been working with? Because if you’re honest, your eyes may or may not have flitted over his mounding bulge stretching out the front of his boxers earlier, so why not confirm and put your curiosity to rest?

But here you are with every opportunity—do you do it? His eyes had to have roamed, and as your eyes scan down his body, you watch the toned muscles along his torso tighten and relax as he moves his arms above, running his fingers through his long hair, and there’s those damn…what are they…leaves? 

And as you eye them, you can’t imagine what he could have possibly covered up; it doesn’t even look like anything was there…and oh fuck, you think as his thick dick comes into view, the weight of it hanging heavy and hard between his legs and shit. There was no way that was inside you last night because as you sucked in a deep breath, reeling over his size, Harry asked, “Can you pass me the soap,” and for the second time that day, you jumped, slamming your hand over your mouth to muffle the yelp of surprise rising. 

When you peel your eyes away from his dick, your eyes meet his, and of course, he’s smiling because your dumbass couldn’t stop gawking.

Now you’re blushing, and when you pivot on your feet, you slightly slip, causing Harry to grasp hold of you--your wet hand slides down the wall and comes to a halt as you push the weight of your body into the palm of your hand and holy fuck, Harry’s hands are on your naked body, and as you right yourself, his hard dick pushes against your ass, and you’re trying everything in your power not to provoke it any further—push into him, nudge the idea into his head.

“You okay, Darling—” Harry questions, and you don’t even have to turn around to know that he’s smiling; you can hear it in the pitch of his voice, the amused tone of someone who just caught you red-handed, but how could you not look, and why are you making this so awkward? There’s no reason to freak out, but like the weirdo you know you can be, you’re doubling down, pushing out the first words that come to mind.

“We didn’t have sex--” you force, over-dramatic, of course, and then you’re repeating it. “We didn’t have sex…we for sure--did not--have sex.”

He laughs, “I know silly…I told you that already…”

“Yeah, I know--” you tell him, your tone getting pushy, the embarrassment of it all catching up to you.

“Okay…” He says, “Is everything okay?”

“I just accidentally looked at your dick…” you blurt, almost as if you’re waiting to be reprimanded. Harry drags his hand from your waist as his hand finds purchase on the wall next to yours. He releases you then, his breathy laugh filling your ear, and he pulls away, tsking his tongue several times in a row, making you smile.

“Why would you taking a peek at my dick be more confirmation than me saying? He pokes.

You shake your head, pushing yourself upright, “You just want me to say it?” 

This warrants another laugh, the laugh echoing through the shower, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about…I swear?”

Then your head whips in his direction, catching his cocky grin right before it disappears, “You know why…”

“Come on, Darling, humor me just a little?” he pleads, and now you look again, your eyes sweeping to his hard dick, your gaze making his cock bounce, and you draw your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to suppress your smile.

“I’m just a shy girl…” you joke.

“You weren’t shy last night…” he tells you, with that sexy smile again, and you laugh, your nerves getting the best of you as you try and play it cool.

“It doesn’t count…I don’t remember…” you say.

“Well…I’m just a shy boy… I’m not sure I can repeat your demands out loud…”

You gasp, pushing a hand into his chest, “My demands?” you ask, and Harry grabs hold of your wrist, holding your hand in place.

“Yes, Darling, you were very demanding last night…”

“Stop…I might go run and hide.” You threaten him, feeling shy, but there’s something calming about his energy. You like his playfulness and find yourself wanting to play into it. 

“Like go hide back under the blankets?” He offers, poking you in the belly, and then your eyes drop to his finger moving away, your boobs coming into view, a reminder that your casually standing here naked with a dude you just met, and it’s starting to shock you how easy this feels.

“If I get back in that bed… I’m going back to sleep…” You tell Harry, firm, no room for negotiations.

“Can there be cuddling?” Harry suggests, taking a step toward you as you ponder his offer.

You laugh, a nervous flutter growing in your stomach, “So you want me to stay?” You whisper, your back hitting the wall. You were so focused on Harry’s gaze that you didn’t even notice the steps he had taken toward you, caught up in the idea of sharing a bed again.

 Now, there was proof that your body acted on its own accord around this man, that you could be inching backward and have no conscious thought of it until you were staring up at him, watching him plant a hand next to your head, walling you in.

And now you’re holding your breath, contemplating his next move, his inquisitive gaze sweeping over your face—what is he thinking? 

Then Harry reaches forward and tucks a wet strand of hair behind your ear. Moments later, his finger drags along your jawline as you exhale that weighted breath—His close proximity dizzyingly affecting you as you fold your hands behind your back and flatten against the hard-tiled surface—Your mind is desperate to find something real, something to root you in place. 

It’s like suddenly you’ve been here a million times with this guy, this stranger that’s growing strangely familiar by the second, and as you glimpse the smile spreading on his beautiful face, your eyes drop to his mouth just as his tongue comes out to smooth over his bottom lip, and he rubs them together, drawing you in even further.

And as if there were an invisible string tugging at your core, you push your hips from the wall, an urge pulling between your legs as his thumb traces a faint line across your lips, and he presses his body to yours, your lips parting the second his thumb moves away. 

“Would you like to stay longer?” He whispers, his tone like honey dripping down your spine, and there you go again, arching your hips into his. Then his hand comes up to your waist, softly gripping the skin at your side, driving your hips back until your hands are flat against the wall again, Harry’s hard dick pushing against your thigh, and your willing yourself to stay perfectly still. You stand there compliant, relishing the feeling of his hand moving to your hip. 

Your throat is tight with every word you want to say, and as you nod, you swallow down hard, trying to force the lump down, “Yes…” you push, your voice barely above a whisper, and he’s smiling again, his lips corking into a playful grin, and you’re dying for him to kiss you because he could kiss you right now.

Those lips could be pressed to yours in a matter of seconds because his face is so close, so close that you, yourself, could close the gap, but you’re too scared, and when you watch his gaze flick to your lips, again, you rub them together, preparing for that kiss, because he’s definitely going to kiss you, his head is moving, he’s closing the gap, and as your eyes flit closed, you hold your breath waiting, waiting…and then his lips, press into your cheek, delicately lingering until his raspy laugh fills the crook of your neck as Harry moves his mouth to the shell of your ear, “Maybe later…” 

Then you grab hold of his hips, pulling them into yours, your arms wrapping around his neck, and then you’re hugging him, and you don’t know why you’re doing it. Still, it’s like this primal urge of wanting to be close to him, to feel his body next to yours, this safety that seems to emanate from every fiber of his being. You want him close, to feel that closeness with Harry, because you can’t remember the last time you felt this safe, this open vulnerability. 

It’s like it’s overtaking you, and when Harry’s arms wrap around your body, his grip tightens, and he returns the gesture—Everything about it feels real.

It’s like this surreal calm takes over your body, and suddenly you’re crying, a few tears drifting because this feels so good, this hug, and you think you wouldn’t need anything else, that this is perfect, and he’s not letting go. Then he pushes his face into the crook of your neck, his body trembling in yours, his weight slightly shifting. That’s when you realize he’s crying, huffing a hot sob into your neck, and you hold him--You hold him tight because maybe he might just need this more than you. 

…

Harry didn’t think he would cry, but there he was, crying into the neck of a total stranger, not even second-guessing himself because once he heard your soft sniffle brush past his ear, he knew he was a goner. 

Harry felt his edges crack them crumble into a sob like the weight of days, months, the years were coming down on him--All the days that had vanished slipping past him, and while Harry had the world at his fingertips, there had been a hollow opening up, one big question mark, marking his life with no plan for his future because 

Harry knew that things with the band couldn’t last forever, that the shelf life of a boy band was short. It wasn’t just the band; they were all getting tired, especially Zayn, who was already on his way out the door. Harry could feel it, see it there in his features, Zayn 

withering away right before their eyes.

Another collective weight, the foundation of their legacy, splitting beneath their feet.

So when you stumbled into his world, he wasn’t necessarily looking for you, but here you were, wrapped in his arms, both of you tucked beneath the blankets as Harry listened to your slow breaths, your body growing heavy as you drifted off to sleep, feeling a world of safety crashing into him.

At first, he told himself he would wait until you fell asleep and then sneak out of the bedroom, hang out in the living space, watch a movie, or write in his journal. But the second he opened his eyes, you were still in his arms, your face inches away from his. He watched as you stirred awake, your eyes lazily flitting open, a slow smile waking on your face. 

“So it wasn’t a dream…” you whispered, making his heart flutter, and without thought, his lips moved to your forehead, and Pressed a soft kiss to your skin. 

As the kiss lingered, he breathed you in, thinking how was it that you both used the same soap, but somehow you smelled more inviting, the soap taking on a whole new aroma, one he wanted to savor, and when he pulled away, you brought your hand up to his cheek, stroking your thumb back and forth. Then, your hand drifted to the nape of his neck. 

And as you drew in a breath, you pulled his face to your mouth, your lips moving to his temple, and ever so gently, he felt your lips meld to the tiny hairs along his hairline, whispering the words, “I’m so hungry…” and when you laugh, a puff of warm air ghosts over his ear, sending a slow hum down his spine. 

This is the feeling he had been longing for. That feeling of ease, of comfort. 

It had been months since he had three consecutive days off in a row; it had been even longer since he had felt this building notion, this anticipation of feelings—the beginning of a crush—those silly flutters in the depth of your belly every time you look at them, and you were merely a stranger. There could be nothing else from here. He didn’t even know if you knew who he was. 

“Let’s order room service…” he whispered, trying to keep his voice even as he bit back tears. Your eyes wandered over his face. He wondered if he had asked what you were thinking if you would tell him, and then he did, his heart starting to pick up.

“What are you thinking?” he forces the words tight in his throat. 

And to his surprise, you don’t even hesitate, “That for some reason you look familiar, but I swear I can’t figure out why…like maybe it’s just my brain recalling your face from last night…”

Then Harry is holding his breath, watching, waiting for you to figure it out, and when you say, “I don’t think I could forget a face like this—” he lets out a quiet breath, pressing your hand into his cheek.

Just then, a rapid tap drums from the other room, and Harry lifts his head, his eyes flicking to the open door of the ensuite. “I think someone’s knocking,” he hears you say through the onset of panic. 

His heart races, and he tries to remember if they had anything planned as a band, but today and tomorrow were free days. Why the hell would anyone be bothering him? 

The knocking stops, but then the sound of clicking fills the silence of the room, and just as Harry is piecing together what’s happening, the hotel door opens; a soft glow from the hotel hallway bleeds into the main room, and Harry springs to his feet as a man calls out his name. 

“Shit—be right back…” he told you, fidgeting with his boxers, now sitting low on his hips, “It’s just Paul… probably checking in—” 

And when Harry catches the worry streaking your features, he bends down and kisses you on the cheek, “Don’t worry, love, it’s just a friend…” Then he watches your brows knit together, mulling over this bit as Paul calls Harry’s name again, his voice drawing closer to the bedroom.

…

Lights began to beam through the dark doorway as you watched Harry step out, closing the door behind him just as you caught sight of a man leaning down to click on a lamp next to the sofa just beyond the door. 

You lay there for a beat, wondering if you should feel fear, but the feeling never stirs, then your thinking why did Harry need all this space, and what does he do for a living to afford such a luxury hotel room.

As soon as Harry closed the door, the room was swallowed in darkness, and you bound off the bed to search for the curtains, opening a small section until you realized that the sun was setting, the twilight of the evening just settling over the bright lights of Vegas and holy shit, what a view. 

You had to have money to get this kind of view, so you opened the curtains wide, sinking into the comfy chair next to the window, crossing your legs underneath you, mesmerized by the hustle and bustle far below, the room so high that you could barely see the people moving around, or maybe your eyesight was shit, either way, it was the perfect view.

Bored, you turned on lights, trying to breathe life into the room. 

When Harry took longer than you expected, you shut yourself in the bathroom, taking this moment to spruce up. As you gazed at yourself in the mirror, your eyes darted to the oversized t-shirt Harry let you borrow.

Your eyes scanned over the faces, filling five boxes, the last box spelling out “1D,” and you laughed, thinking, what the hell is this? The faces of these little boys stretched across the shirt, blue, pink, and purple, repeating the pattern, and at the very bottom of the shirt, it read, ‘Up All Night Tour 2012,” which was two years ago. Harry seemed too old to be repping this; how old was Harry anyway?

The more you look at the shirt, the more you want to make jokes, like, of course, it says ‘Up All Night’ They looked just on the cusp of no longer having a set bedtime, and with any boy band, you find yourself surveying their attractiveness, your eyes only lingering on the dark-haired boy with the earrings who probably grew up to be really hot, with those dark eyes and dark lashes—the others weren’t your vibe, but then you felt weird thinking that, like how old were they anyway.

Then it dawned on you that they were the reason you were here, that Kelsey arranged this whole trip to Vegas around this concert, the only way she wanted to bring in her 21st birthday, at the iHeart Music Festival.

That’s when you made a mental note to ask him about this band, see if it was worth it, see if your friend was crazy for dragging you guys here because you could barely afford it as it was, and when she brought her stupid boyfriend, it ruined the whole trip…maybe hooking up with Harry will be the only highlight of the trip after all.

Eventually, you returned to bed after searching for your phone. You found it under the bed, but it was dead. Now you had to wait for Harry and Jeez. What was taking so long?

When the door finally opens, Harry is running a hand down his belly, a sweet grin, peeking at the corner of his mouth, “I’m starving…” He drawls his British accent heavier when the words are lazy.

“I think food is the last step to curing this hangover.” You tell him, sitting up on the bed.

“Sorry that took so long…we were going over plans for the next couple of days.”

“Gotcha…” you nod, “Is that good or bad?”

“It’s whatever…” He pushes, shrugging his shoulders as he puffs out a breath of frustration.

“I think for like the first time in a while, I just need a vacation…” He continues.

“Vacations are nice…” you agree.

“Do you get to at least enjoy Vegas while you’re here? Did your friend want to go out? I could always ditch. I don’t want to impede on any of your plans—”

He laughs, “I’m technically not old enough to hit the town just yet. It wouldn’t be a good look…”

“Wait, what? Weren’t you out last night?” 

“Well yes…but that was 18 plus…”

“Are you telling me you’re 18?” you blurt, surprised because you thought you guys were at least the same age.

“Darling, I’m 20… don’t worry… you’re not robbing any cradles trust me…” and you watch as a faint blush creeps into his cheeks, and when he runs a hand through his long hair, he scrunches his nose, making you laugh because shit, this dude is hot, like probably the hottest guy you’ve ever scored as far as hook up’s go. 

“What?” He asks, eyes searching your face. You push yourself off the bed, coming to stand in front of him, feeling a sudden urge of confidence, and when you bring your hands up to cup his face, you ask:

“May I kiss you?” and he lets out a nervous laugh, grabs your face in his hands, and matches your stance.

“May I kiss you…” he jokes, and you drop your hands, wanting him to take the lead.

“Yes…” and just as he’s leaning in, you say, “But let the record show…I did ask you first.”

His breathy laugh fans over your lips as he presses his mouth to yours. Your smile slowly fades as your lips begin to move together. When Harry deepens the kiss, you release a chaste breath. Your lips part, and you swipe the tip of your tongue over his top lip. Then Harry groans, and the vibration hums across your lips.

Your hands come up to his waist, gliding up his torso until they wrap around his neck, your hands threading through the curls at the nape of his neck. You couldn’t believe you were kissing him. It was like everything that you had imagined in the shower, except his touch was a lot more gentle, his pace slow, meaningful in the way his thumb caressed your cheek back and forth, kissing you the way you’ve always dreamed of being kissed, like cue the night sky and all the stars above you and this would be absolutely perfect, but fuck the stars if you had this mouth kissing yours.

Because what were the stars if you had his hand gripping the back of your neck, holding you in place, anchoring you there, because suddenly it feels like you’re floating, this kiss dizzying you, a heady sense of giddiness coursing through your entire body and all you can think is this…this is what I want right now.

And you’re acting on it, greedy for it, a soft moan slipping past your lips, and you want this, you want this right now, and Harry seems to be picking up your cues, and as your breath picks up, so does the kiss, and it’s breath after breath, this urge growing, and as you begin to move the kiss, taking a slow step back, Harry breaks away.

“Mmmm…” He breathes, swiping a thumb over his bottom lip, a grin spreading across his mouth, and there’s that urge again, and you take a step forward, your mouths crashing together.

Then you’re picking up on that same rhythm, and then you’re pulling him toward the bed, you’re mouths move with hunger--desperation in each step that you take backward, Harry moving with you until the backs of your legs bump the bed, and your pulling at his waist, needy for him to crawl into this bed with you, and then he laughs, halting your hands, and you open your eyes just as he’s pulling away from the kiss, his eyes trained on you.

“What?” You ask, “Is this not okay?” 

His hands smooth down your forearms and grasp your hands, “If this is what you want…I hate to say it…but I really need food…” He suggests, dropping one of your hands to pat his hungry belly.

“Food?” you repeat, almost dazed because you literally almost had him in this bed.

“Yes, love, I need fuel to take you on again…” he rasps out with a laugh.

“Again…?” you ask, licking your lips, the taste of his mouth still on yours keeping you in the moment.

“Yes… you’re a feisty one…” Harry tells you, bringing his mouth to your ear, “Mmhmmm….” is all you can say when you feel his lips press into your neck, revving you back up, and you squeeze his hand hard, gasping out a breath of desperation as you tug his hand toward the ache between your legs.

Harry releases a weighted breath as he pulls away, his eyes locking with yours. You pressed his hand to the fabric of your panties and unclenched your tight hold on his hand. When you bite your lower lip, you watch the contemplation crease between his brows. 

Then ever so slightly, he drags his fingers over the warm center of your underwear, your mouth rounding into an ‘O’ as the pressure of his touch deepens over your clit, and he begins to draw a small circle with his fingers, and you whimper a low, “Mmmm…” just as his hand draws away slowly, a small smile playing at his lips, and your hips move in the direction of his hand, not wanting the touch to end.

Then you’re on the tips of your toes, pressing your lips to his again, and this time his hands are on your hips, forcing them back until you’re seated on the bed, and he breaks away from the kiss, pushing his weight into his hands, planting your ass to the bed, “Food first. Then this…” He reiterates, this time a little more firmly, and all you can do is smile, him nodding his head until you’re following along.

“Fine—” you puff out, sexually frustrated, to say the least. You laugh as you fall back onto the bed, ready to pout about it, as you swing your legs back and forth over the side of the bed, suddenly feeling a fit rising, and you exhale a loud dramatic sigh bubbling up from within, and when your eyes sweep to Harry. He’s standing there with a huge grin, stretching from ear to ear, and you cover your face, embarrassed maybe, but more overwhelmed by what this dude was doing to you, your resolve crumbling with every passing hour.

“See…I told you…feisty…” He chuckles out, running a hand through his hair.

…

Harry knew he was in for it the second his fingers slid over the soft cotton of your underwear as he watched you unfurrow, your jaw going slack, mouth curving into the perfect shape. He knew exactly what those perfect lips felt like wrapped around his cock, and had you put up more of a fight; he would have given in, fallen mercilessly into the greed that was overtaking him.

And when you fell back onto the bed, his fingers twitched at his sides, a whole vision of him falling to his knees to pry those delicious thighs open. The only thing between his mouth and your pussy was the weightless material of your panties. All he would have to do was slide them to the side, bring his mouth to your warm center, and taste you. Drag his tongue up your slit till he was spreading you open, the salty-sweet slick of your pussy coating his tastebuds because you were already wet, the fabric damp under his touch—you needed him like he needed you—and now as you both sat there taking your last bites of food, the T.V. droning on in the background, he was smitten.

“Okay—that’s fair, but what’s like the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you? You asked Harry, a broad smile stretched across your face as both of you enjoyed each other’s company, and he couldn’t believe how much fun he was having just sitting there talking to you.

Harry had to think this question through; he knew what he wanted to say, but how could he tell you without giving his identity away or not spurr on more questions to lead you there because Harry had decided back in the bedroom what this would have to ultimately be—a hook up—that’s all it could be because once you figured out who he was, it would scare you away. 

How could something like this work when it’s so clear that you both lead two very different lives? 

“Ummm…I guess…one time I fell in front of a room full of people…I mean, like a massive fall, a ridiculously stupid fall, and not only did I fall in front of all these people, but my family and friends were there too….and I just laid there for a second, not wanting to get back up.”

You laughed and asked, “Was it like a presentation or something?” and Harry studied your face, readying himself for the lie.

“Yeah, back at Uni, it was pretty silly, really…I had a nasty bruise down my hip later, but that didn’t hurt half as much as my ego.” He laughed out, stuffing his last bite into his mouth.

He liked the way that last line made you laugh as you took a drink of your water, your eyes darting to his mouth, lingering, making his dick tingle, and he wished he could hear your thoughts out loud, and then you surprise him:

“What are you thinking?” 

Harry is thinking a lot of things, and he knows that if he tells you the truth, it will shift the mood, switch gears from light and easy to possibly where you guys had left off in the bedroom. 

He could feel the tension floating at the surface of every thought—feel it in the way your gaze lingered, the way your lips smoothed together every time he licked his lips or ran a hand through his hair. The way he felt himself flirting, witty with a purpose just to make you smile, laugh that cute laugh of yours—you taking any excuse to touch his arm, his hand, he liked you loose like this, a girlish playfulness that sent a flutter to his stomach, his dick anxious to please you.

But that was the problem. Harry didn’t know if he could do it. He had gone so long without sex already, and he wasn’t prepared. 

There wasn’t a single condom in the room, and yes, you guys could fool around like last night, but he knew he would want more. Ever since you touched his face in that shower, held him while tears streamed down his face, he wanted to bury himself deep inside you, make you feel the way you made him feel—warm, safe, secure in his touch, your bodies pressed together in a haven that only you two could build because couldn’t this last longer? 

Did it have to end at this? All of it was so confusing, these feelings circling inside him.

“What am I thinking?” He finds himself repeating, trying to stay in the moment.

“Yeah…” You answer, your tone soft and inviting.

“I’m thinking that I’m really glad you’re here…and that this has been the best time I’ve had in a really long time.” And when Harry says it. He knows it wasn’t what he planned on saying, but the words tumble out of his mouth with intention.

Harry wanted you to feel precisely what he was feeling right now, and that was fulfillment because even if you didn’t move any further than this, this would be just enough, you being here, the presence that you’re bringing to his life in this very moment—this joy—Harry hasn’t felt this kind of happiness in so long that all he wants to do is bask in it, savor every second.

…

There it was again. That soul-deep kindness that’s been chipping away at your guarded facade all day, casting away doubt from the moment you opened your eyes this morning. 

Who was this person, this man sitting next to you on this couch? 

Where had someone like him been when all the others failed before him--his presence alone was the biggest mindfuck you have had in a long time because what the fuck are you doing here? Where was this going? It was starting to feel like more than a hook up; the time you both were putting in said otherwise.

Technically, you guys had already hooked up, even if you didn’t remember, he did, so you both had already gotten what you wanted, so your staying longer was a choice on both of your parts, and here you knew nothing about him, but feeling a draw so intense that you can’t even put a finger on the feeling, it’s like your soul already knew him—already knows him—his eyes as familiar as looking in the mirror, but what was the catch? How was this going to end? Could this be more?

“Harry, should I go?” You ask him, needing to know where he stands in all of this; hear the words that he wants you to stay.

He’s in the middle of gulping down his water, and as soon as he hears the question, he chokes the water down with a cough, eyes darting to you, and you wait for his cough to settle.

Harry takes a beat, taking you in, his eyes sweeping over your face, “Do you want to leave?” he finally says, making your heart pick up a few paces.

“I just want to make sure I’m not overstaying my welcome…” you answer, studying his face.

He shakes his head. “Am I making you feel that way?” Harry scoots closer to you on the couch, your body shifting toward his, and places both hands on the tops of your thighs, bringing his eyes level with yours.

There’s a plea rising in his features, a worry furrowing his brow as his hair falls into his face, and you reach to sweep the tuff of hair behind his ear, “No—I just feel like—”

“I don’t know…” And you can’t even look at him, his gaze too much, that look sucking you in, making you weak for this man—you want to fulfill every silent want that he has, every want that’s filling the air because you can feel it, the breath heavy in your lungs. You want him just as much as he wants you because you’re aching with it, pleading from the depth of your belly for it—an unspoken want so desperate it hurts.

“I want you to stay…” he whispers, cupping your cheek in his hand. The warmth seeps into your skin, and you close your eyes, wanting to savor the feeling.

Then there are tears, and you don’t know why you’re crying, but when the pad of his thumb swipes over your cheek, you grab hold of his wrist, your eyes shuddering open. His face is blurry until the tears spill over, and he’s wiping them away, “I’m scared…” you choke, barely able to get the words out.

“I’m scared too…” He manages, as his face begins to break, then you spring forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, and when he falls back into the pillows of the couch, you crawl into his lap as he draws you into his body, Harry holding you tighter than he’s had this whole time.

“I think I really like you…” He murmurs, pushing the words into your neck, and you feel your whole body heat with the thought; your feelings mutual, but all you can muster is a “Yeah?”

And as you relax into his lap, Harry’s grip loosens enough for him to rub a slow hand up and down your back, your body going slack, and your head nestles into his shoulder as the tears continue to fall, and you close your eyes, getting lost in the feeling of the rhythmic stroke of his hand.

It’s not until he scoots his hips forward on the cushion that you stir from your trance, his arms a fortress from whatever was plaguing you before, and you shift your hips until you’re realigned with his body, your hand absentmindedly twirling a lock of his hair around your finger. 

You listen as Harry draws in a slow breath through his nose, one of his hands traveling lower, moving over the curve of your hip, skimming under the back of your thigh, and he grabs your flesh, pulling you further into him, your center now pressed against the mound of his boxers as your legs spread just enough to make it known, your body waking, the path his hand took now alive with his touch. 

Without thinking, you press a delicate kiss to the skin of his neck, your lips slightly sticking to the damp aftermath of your hot breath, which came and went as your emotions slowed. Harry’s shoulder slick with your tears. When you lift your head, your hair is glued to the side of your face, and you brush it back, forcing it behind your ear. 

The blush of his lips is the first thing you see, more prominent in the trace of his tears now glistening on his flushed cheeks, and when your eyes meet his, a tear spills over, and your throat seizes with the sight. You have no idea why he’s crying, but somehow you feel the pain of it settling in your bones, the pain fitting to your flesh as if it was your pain to carry. 

Will a kiss make it better, make it all go away? 

Because the way he’s looking at you with those green eyes, so green, islands in a sea of pain, the whites of his eyes red, giving it all away. You reach for the hem of your shirt, bringing it up to his nose, and wipe it clean, making Harry laugh. It’s a start, and when he grabs hold of the shirt, he silently nudges his chin upward, a quick nod, signaling for you to take it off, and he helps you lift it over your head, your bare breasts coming into view, and you’re straightening your spine ready for him to take you in.

His head falls back against the cushion of the couch, his body slumping as the tears continue to come, like the sight of you is too much to bear, a pained look as he bites his lip, and everything in you wants to ask, just ask, that’s all, but it doesn’t feel like the right time, like whatever Harry feels he needs to release, let it go, so he can move on from it.

He scoots himself further down on the cushion, his ass nearly toward the edge, and you shift your weight into your knee, pushing into the sofa, your outstretched hand coming down next to his head. 

The sudden jolt of your arm falling into the pillow makes your boobs bounce up, only inches from Harry’s face, and the two of you lock eyes as you adjust yourself in his lap, a chill running down your spine when his warm breath fans over your skin, bringing awareness to your hard nipples—the unspoken need for him rising as the air grows thick around you, all your focus closing in on Harry.

His long legs become the perfect chair, enough space between you and the tenting bulge forming in his briefs, and he drags a hand down his torso, dipping into the band to readjust the growing boner that has your mouth watering because there’s no way that dick hasn’t already filled your mouth, that your jaw hasn’t stretched around it, tried to fit as much of him into your mouth as you could, was that it? 

Was that the pain in your jaw this morning? So stiff you could barely open it. 

Did he fuck into your mouth until he came, shot his warm load down your throat? Did you both go to sleep satisfied because now you’re thinking the only way you could leave this hotel satisfied is if that dick had been deep inside you, a memory for later when all else fails when you have to say goodbye because you’ll have to say goodbye, right?

The head of his long penis peeks out of the top of his boxers, and the material settles over his girth, and all you can do is stare, his fingers grazing up and down the fabric as he comes to full mass, the movements slow and steady like a sunset opening up to the night, taunting you, knowing that darkness brings all the things you hide in the light, and these are the things you want to give him, the things you want to share.

…

It’s an unspoken want, but this is what Harry needs, he thinks while he watches your body lengthen, your posture righting itself as you cup both of your breasts in your hands, your gaze moving from his dick to his face, your mouth smoothing together, stirring a hunger in him when you pinch the tips of your nipples with your fingertips, arousing yourself, and your rock hard nipples even further. 

And what a fucking sight to see, the pleasure it brings when you clamp down on the tips, just hard enough to release that soft gasp slipping past your parted lips, and he wants more. He wants to see it all, and when Harry reaches for your wrist, he pulls your hand between your thighs--he wants to see you touch yourself--he wants to see you plead for more than just your fingers. 

The gesture is silent; no words needed because your fingers are already moving, a palm pressed into his knee as he watches you steady yourself, the other hand moving over the center of your panties, a slow, gradual pace as your hips jut forward. 

He sees your need growing as you find your rhythm, your gaze focused on him, right where he wants it, making him even more turned on as he watches the slow circles, your legs widening when you press a foot to the ground, rising slightly, your body secure. 

That’s when you slip your hand into your underwear, the need more pressing, your breath picking up, and when you roll your hips into your touch, your head falls back as you unleash a gentle moan, your eyes flitting shut, ready to get lost in it.

Harry decides to join in on the fun, stroke his hard throbbing cock, while he takes you in--The idea of him being inside you was only a fantasy at this point, but maybe he could make it real.

Harry knew he couldn’t be as graceful as you. What started as slow and delicate for you was already sloppy and pressing for him. He couldn’t help the groan rippling from his throat as he cast it with a slowing stroke, forcing himself to stay in rhythm with you as your eyes fell to his, then his hand, and you both shared a smile, and he locked his knees together to give you more stability, your weight sinking into your hips as you slowed down.

“Tell me what we did last night?” you asked with a smile, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh as he forced his dick completely out of his boxers, his cock resting in his hand.

That’s when Harry felt the power shifting in his favor, “Take your panties off…I want to see…” He tells you, glimpsing the smile widening on your face as you come to standing, and when you swing your leg over his, he spots the wet center of your undies, and he has to let go of his dick, or else he might come. 

“Fuuuuck…” He breathes, “Those are mine now,” He forces as his gaze follows the motion of you stepping out of your underwear.

He loves the playful smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you swipe them from the ground and toss them on his chest. 

“Here…” he tells you, patting the space beside him.

You laugh then, Harry’s chest tightening in anticipation, but you comply, gracefully taking your seat next to him. What was bold before slips into a timid smile, your eyes darting to your hands clasped together in your lap, and this is what Harry was waiting for: the vulnerability you were giving so freely.

…

Was this it, you thought? Was this going to be the moment you’ve been waiting for? 

The undressing was easy. You had already done that part; this part was new, and the rest was still a mystery, every event from last night. 

Harry places a hand on your thigh, and you grab hold of it, nervous, too nervous to look at him, suddenly scared because suddenly sex with him was a real possibility, not just a passing thought that had flitted in and out of your mind all day. 

When he leans in and whispers, “You okay?” his rasp catches in the shell of your ear, and you nod, shooting him a quick glance, and he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, chills running down your arms.

“Lay back,” he asks, your eyes on his face as his eyes flick to the arm of the couch. You turn and look, pausing to take in the empty space beside you and you picture yourself lying there. 

When you turn back to Harry, he’s watching you, his eyes glancing over your face, and he sits back, lifting his hips to push down his boxers. When he leans forward to push them past his knees, he kisses your lips, soft and brief, and when he pulls away, you crawl toward the end of the couch, doing as you’re told, a giddy sense of pride swelling in your chest, that you guys have made it this far.

Once your head is resting against the armrest, you bring your knees up, pressing your feet flat to the cushion, your knees slamming together when you catch sight of Harry rising, his face serious, unreadable, sending a pulse between your legs, and my god, you want him so bad, you want him to shove that fucking dick so deep inside you that you’re yelling his name at the top of your lungs, so loud that your voice fills every vacant space in this room.

“This may come as a surprise,” he starts, his penis in his hand again as he stands before you, “But I don’t have any condoms…” and he laughs, your eyes trained solely on his hand, now gliding down his hard dick, his words barely registering. 

You tear your eyes from his moving hand just in time to catch the cocky smirk rising on his face, “Good thing we didn’t have sex last night. I’m not on birth control anymore…”

“Mmmmm…” he hums, watching you lick your lips, and you swallow hard, your mind in overdrive, already contemplating what you would say if he asked to fuck without one, and when your eyes sweep down his body, you think, fuck it, let’s risk it all! 

This thought makes you laugh, “Yeah…” you say, meeting his eye again, “So… that’s bad, right…?” you ask, your clit throbbing, and you bite down on your lower lip, praying he’ll make the decision for you both.

“I think…?” He answers with a curious smile, the words coming out more of a question, and you squeeze your thighs together, trying to find relief from the pressing thought of you guys fucking, raw, and nasty; no holding back because that’s what it would be if he stuck that warm, supple dick inside you…and your almost begging that those are his next words, the tension building between your legs, your gaze, and Jesus Christ, just say yes or fucking no you plead internally. 

Your legs fall open at the sight of him continuing to stroke himself, your fingers already rubbing slow circles, enough to satiate the ache, and then Harry smiles, that fucking smile, so cute, and so sweet, his dimples dipping, “Sit!” you force out through a wave of pleasure—a single word humming through your body enough to take you to the edge and you have to stop touching yourself or else you’ll come right then and there and it’s too soon. 

Harry doesn’t even question you. He drops into the cushions, one of the decorative pillows in his way, and he thrusts his hips forward, his dick still in his hand, and when he falls back into the couch, his hard cock stands tall, ready for you, and he scoots his hips back down the cushion, opening up space for you to climb on top. 

“So we’re doing this?” he asks, and he definitely thinks sex is about to happen. There’s not a single trace of question on his face as his hand glides down, hitting the base of his dick, and damn it, he wouldn’t even care if you shoved him inside you right now, and should you just do it, just fuck him now, and worry later because this is the first time in your life that you would, that you’ve ever wanted to. 

Without a word, you climb into his lap, leaving a space between you and his moving hand. When Harry drops his penis to reach for your face, it hits your inner thigh with a thud, heavy and hard, and maybe in another lifetime, you would ask him to smack that fucking hard dick across your lips, tap your cheeks, feel the thickness down your throat, and maybe he already has, you’ll never know, but there’s no time because you have to find relief. 

Harry’s kiss is sloppy, his mouth moving against yours with force, with hunger, his tongue coming out to wet your lips, and you follow up by shoving your tongue into his mouth, greedy to taste him. 

When your tongues clash, Harry pushes a groan into your mouth. The tremble runs over your tongue, sparking a cooling chill down your spine that sends a quiver to your clit, “God dammit!” you yell into the air with a laugh, and your head falls back, your eyes fluttering shut as Harry, presses a wet kiss to your neck. 

“I want it…I want you,” Harry pleas, his woody voice filling your neck, and you’ll do it, you really will, but that little voice in the back of your head is telling you that you’ll regret it. 

“I just want to feel you for a second,” he gravels, forcing you back in his lap, creating enough distance for you to take hold of his dick, now hot in your hand, and it’s so fucking tempting, the thrill filling your chest, the thought swirling something deep in your gut, and your fucking pussy beats with it.

Your mouth is already watering, and you work a glob of spit against the roof of your mouth, thick, and you spit down onto his cock, Harry laughing out a breathy, “Shit, baby—” as you both watch it drip over his pulsing head, the saliva working down his sensitive cock. 

You spit again for good measure, working it down his dick. When you bring your hand back up to the head of his penis, Harry sucks in a sharp breath, stopping your hand the second you smooth over the tip; a smile stretches across both of your faces, a knowing stare—your whole world as you know it, right now, in this very second is getting lost in those green eyes peering back at you, and you’re captivated, his eyes moving to your lips and you draw yourself forward in his lap.

With his dick in your hand, you lift your hips, pressing a hand into his knee, finding stability as you press the head of his penis between the lips of your pussy, your wetness dragging down his shaft until you hit the base of his cock, a moan leaving your mouth as you push against his dick with more pressure, your hand starting to work the tip.

“You’re teasing me…” he breathes, letting his head fall into the pillow, and he closes his eyes, his lips parting, a slight twitching in his hips, and he hooks both arms over the back of the couch, letting you take control. 

His dick is warm against your pussy, your slickness marking a glossy streak down his thick dick, and you follow the wet path back up to the tip, rolling your hips once you reach the top, giving the head of his cock a little more attention, and when you press him into your cunt, needing more pressure, his tip dips past your entrance, a quick stretch as his dick snags on your opening. You both groan out in unison, Harry’s head whipping up to meet your eyes, a throaty laugh filling his chest, and his dick pulses against your clit.

Your strokes get more aggressive, up and down, stroking down with your hand in tandem with your movements, his dick getting more and more wet and sloppy as you tease your entrance again. Then, Harry grabs hold of your thighs, his fingers digging into flesh as he bucks his hips up, and you yell out a pained “Ahhh…fuck…” as your hand wraps around his dick, pulling it away, and your body shudders, the overwhelming sensation edging you.

Harry drags your hips forward as you move through the wave. Your head falls to his shoulder as warmth rises from his body, your hot breath filling the space between you, and you close the gap by pressing a kiss to his inked skin. “We can if you want to…” This time, his words hang between your stare as you bring your face up to his. 

“Harry…”

“I know…” He coos, his soft lips hitting the lobe of your ear, and his breath splays over your neck, sending a hum down your spine, between your legs, and he grips you tighter. 

His arms wrap around the small of your waist, bringing you flush to him, his hard dick pushed to his belly, now tall between you.

He’s so fucking ready for you, but you like the way he begs.

The heat of him pressed between your thighs is making you crazy, your clit swelling for it, and you want it so bad. “Just for a second,” he begs, his voice straining as you begin to move against him, each movement short and precise. 

You circle your arms around his neck, feeling the tension build, the urge for him growing deeper, tugging at you from within, every spot you know he could hit, whispering from inside you, begging, pleading. You press your forehead to his, each breath growing shorter and faster as you work against him, trying to fulfill that pressing need for him as he stares back at you, waiting for you to say anything.

“Just for a second…?” you force out, your fucking pussy aching, the friction on the verge of pain and pleasure as he pulls you down harder, forcing your clit against him, and you can barely move your hips, Harry strangling your movements, making you desperate for relief.

“Just for a second…” he whispers with more control, and he lifts his chin to push a kiss to your mouth while your hips are fighting for more.

“Just—a second…” you say into his mouth, already pushing a knee into the couch, and lift your hips, breaking Harry’s hold. 

He grabs hold of his dick, both of you gazing down as he guides his dick to your opening, and you spread yourself, making it easier, your hand shaking as adrenaline surges between you both. 

Harry nudges the tip in, your pussy opening for him as you grab hold of his neck, and you slowly sink with a loud, “Mmmmm….” pushing past his ear, filling the space, but all you hear is, “Oh, fuck, baby… that’s so good…” as your walls stretch around him, the pain sharp, and foreign, but as his dick pushes past the spots that need him, that were calling out for more, there’s pleasure—pure fucking pleasure.

And just as you hit the hilt of his dick, your breath hitches, the entire expanse of him now inside you, and you tense up as your mouth moves against his. Harry slows you both down, and you gasp into his mouth as soon as your hips ease to a standstill. 

The sudden pause magnifies the intensity of the stretch--his length stretching past anything you’ve ever felt before, his girth widening you beyond any measures you’ve ever experienced because they were nearly warm-ups, lead-ups to this very moment because it is so fucking good, so good, and then your hips are moving, Harry scraping out a sharp groan into your mouth as you continue to kiss.

Each time you lift and lower back down, the walls clenching around his dick loosen. 

His dick is wet with your juices, nice and slick, the fit better with every movement, and it sends a flutter of excitement to the pit of your stomach, “So good—” you breathe out, “That dick is so good…,” and Harry laughs, grabbing hold of your face, not wanting to break the kiss.

He’s more romantic than you pictured.

He’s gentle and lets you move at your own pace. When you swivel your hips on the way back down, he nips your lower lip, bringing you with him as he falls back into the cushions. “Play nice…” he laughs as you guys hit the pillows with a soft thud. 

“I don’t want to play nice…” you tell him, taking his bottom lip into your mouth, and you gently tug, grabbing hold of the back of the couch. 

That’s when you slam down on his dick hard, releasing his lip. His eyes roll back as his body relaxes into the couch, his hands twitching on your hips, then sinking into your skin to grab hold of you, and he lifts his hips, drawing you forward, then back. The first time it’s slow, but he does it again with more force, and you cry out a moan, his cock deep in the pit of your stomach, and you squeeze the firm surface under your palms to ground you.

“Tell me how good it is…” he pushes out, between a moan, “More—” you shout, and he juts you up with a raise of his hips, and you yell out his name, letting your head fall back as the force runs through you.

Your entire body heats with the growing pressure, and when you look back at him, he’s securing his hands on your waist, bucking into you again, and as soon as you hit the base of his dick, he does it again, and again, until your bouncing up and down, losing your grip on the couch—losing control, each thrust up a welcoming embrace, tipping you closer to your threshold, and it’s hot, and heavy, your hands slipping on his chest as you try to steady yourself.

“Oh my god—”

“You’re going to—” you choke out. 

“Say it!” he says as you fall into his chest, your resolve etching away, and his grip tightens; Harry gaining more control, his pace consistent, his strokes shortening, deeper, as he holds you in place.

Your gaze is trained on his chest, your hand smoothing over the butterfly--transformative that���s what this will be because you’ve never gotten this close, this fast, without the extra work of your hand, and it’s a completely different feeling, a feeling you have to let go and let happen, every breath in and out, pulls deep in your belly.

“Come—I think—” you blurt, your mind becoming a jumbled mess, every sense entirely overwhelmed, and when he smiles at you, the knot building tightens, and you feel your walls beginning to clamp around his dick, like a fist, as Harry slows his thrusts.

“I’m going to come—I’m coming—I’m coming,” you stretch out with a long moan. 

And It’s that quick, the feeling sneaking up, and just as you’re coming undone, he yanks his dick from inside you with enough force that you collapse onto his chest, leaving you hollow, a sliver of emptying space closing as your walls continue to pulse, and you rub your pussy against his lower abdomen, riding out your orgasm, with that last bit of friction. 

…

Harry hadn’t intended sex, but here you guys were in the aftermath, his hand wrapped around the head of his dick, cum spilling out into his hand as you rode out your orgasm, his body the object of your desire, and he fucking loved it. He wanted this feeling with you for as long as you allowed him. 

“That was—” you huffed out, trying to catch your breath as every harsh puff pushed into Harry’s neck, and he was taken—the start of obsession creeping in because that was--amazing.

“Amazing—” he laughed between a quick inhale, finishing your sentence.

He felt your lips press into his skin, chills running through his whole body, every touch electric, heightened by the energy you guys shared, a connection he hadn’t felt in so long that he forgot what it felt like to actually let go—to get so caught up in the moment that nothing else mattered—and yes, using the risky “pull out method” isn’t the best decision but maybe you guys could cross that bridge later. He didn’t want to think about it; he wasn’t ready for the reality that it would bring, the reality that you would be leaving. 

“Stay another night…I promise I’ll make it worth your while…” he told you. 

That’s when you laughed, a breathy sigh leaving your mouth. Content, your gaze was starry-eyed, beaming up at him. Your body was totally relaxed against his. “As long as there are pancakes…” 

Harry couldn’t decipher his feelings, what this was turning into for him, the way he was catching feelings.

When was the last time he had stayed up all night just talking about anything and everything with someone? He wanted to run his fingers through your brain like you ran your fingers through his hair, everything light, a delicate touch, a mindless gesture, comfortable and charismatic, your walls completely down.

What made you tick? Was it something he could figure out in one night, or would he spend months dwelling on the what-ifs because he felt hopeless for you, desperate for the idea of trying to make this work?

All night had been a fever dream, a kiss, a stare, a laugh; you filled every inch of this space—of his being. When he was inside you because, yes, he was inside you again, you took it slow, no rush, your bodies melding together in a slow rhythm, your mouths moving easy, light, a carefree laugh, a hand intertwined, a giddy clinginess that neither one of you could shake, and when the morning sun sliced through the edges of the curtains Harry was the first to wake.

He lay there as still as he could, not daring to stir you as his gaze lingered on your face, memorizing the details, your head resting on his chest. Your breaths were slow and rhythmic, in and out of your nose, a faint warmth beating down on his skin, almost humming him back to sleep. 

He knew this would be all the time that he had left with you, so Harry savored the seconds, meditating on the thoughts that circled his mind—dwelling on the questions that tugged and ground deep in his gut, the longing to be something else, knowing Harry could never lead a normal life, that love could never be this simple because, after all, you didn’t even know who Harry was, what he did for a living—how in hindsight you were still strangers.

How he was barely his own person anymore, and how could he ask you to share when this was all he could give? Hell, you’ve had him more than anyone else lately, more time than he’s had by himself.

Harry knew that when you woke, there would be no pancakes because he had a gnawing feeling that you wouldn’t want to stick around, that maybe you were the type that just ripped the bandaid off, and he was right.

As soon as you opened your eyes, goodbye had stolen the night and cast light to the inevitable—the end—and as your eyes lingered on his face, your lazy gaze taking him in, still half asleep, the corner of your mouth dropped just enough for Harry to peep the frown you were fighting, the still sadness in your eyes, that didn’t want to leave his.

Then your eyes dropped to his chest, your arm still draped over his torso. You lifted your head and pressed the softest, most delicate kiss into his flesh, your lips pushing into his skin, lingering, and when your mouth moved away, he watched you press your cheek into the warm spot you left behind, closing your eyes to savor the fleeting moment.

Because that’s what this all was, one fleeting moment after the other, and when you rest your chin on his chest, eyes meeting his, the knot burning his throat tightens.

All of his words are lost. Harry biting them back, pressing down on his lip that he’s trying to keep from quivering because you’ve just become the longest goodbye he’s ever had to make, and the grief of it is already taking him.

“I don’t think I’ll have time for pancakes,” you tell him, only furthering the pain building in his chest.

His heart sinks as the words leave your mouth, and you don’t even look at him, your voice still thick with sleep, and you clear your throat, Harry watching the effort it takes to swallow, and he knows you feel it too, the weight of the goodbye.

One more time…

He just needs you one last time. 

…

When Harry gently nudges you onto your back, you know what he wants, and so do you; your body moving with his movements as your eyes fill with tears. When Harry hums out a small sob, hovering over you, his face falls to your neck, and you reach between your bodies, feeling for the hard mass resting against your thigh.

You know what this is; you know this is goodbye.

What you didn’t tell Harry was that you knew, that you had figured it out, who he was—after you showered and slipped back into his t-shirt. 

The two of you stood in front of the mirror brushing your teeth, all laughs, flirty gestures. You stood there thinking this has never been so easy. You felt something wild stirring, the thought creeping into your head with the glimpse of his smile, and you thought maybe love, like maybe you could fall in love with a guy like him, like you could make it work. 

When Harry turned away to reset the bathroom, you stood there brushing your teeth, and you honed in on your reflection, thinking you hadn’t looked this happy in so long, so long that it overwhelmed you, and you stood there, your heart already longing. 

Already mourning this girl you got to be with him, trying to hold it together, trying to hold onto all your pieces because you wanted to give them all away, tell him how you felt, and maybe he would say the same. 

There wouldn’t have to be an ending, at least not now. 

That smile, that kindness could be yours, those lips, those hands could have you any time he wanted.

You were so caught up in this idea, and as your eyes lazily flit over yourself in the mirror. You half-heartedly glanced over the five faces reflected back at you, your eyes taking them in again, remembering you were going to ask Harry about the shirt. 

As you silently studied their faces. You found yourself focusing in on the boy with the playful smile, the boyish grin stretched across his face, familiar, his dimples giving him away and how had you not noticed before?

Then terror took way. 

It was like lightning striking your body, the realization like an earthquake ripping down your spine as your mind fought to keep up. The feeling was almost dizzying as your eyes flicked to Harry, now standing next to you, your toothbrush stopped mid-brush. 

You knew you couldn’t react.

That’s when you had to make the decision, and you knew in that split second that if you said a word, it would change everything. A sacrifice because this is what you wanted, this guy standing before you, just like this, how you’ve had him all night. 

So you bury it deep, a tunnel of grief already splitting inside you because it’s in those flashing moments you know he could never be yours, so you let him go and force the idea from your brain, letting him be exactly who he was, and will be until the time comes to say goodbye, because what he’s given has been so much bigger--bigger than all the fleeting moments--and even if it hurts, and it will hurt later, maybe it’s a gift you thought, and you ran with it.

So now, as he pushed inside you, the pain is sharp, and your body tenses, and you gasp in a breath and let it take way because there was already pain the moment you opened your eyes, the longing that never left your body. 

And as your mouths move together, the tears begin to fall from his closed eyes, your heart aching with it, and you close your eyes, getting lost in it, falling until there’s nothing else but this. 

It’s pain and pleasure all over again, and when he groans, you spread yourself wider, giving yourself completely as tears spill down the sides of your face, goodbye at the edge of each breath that pulls in and out of your mouths. 

Then it’s a whimper, a moan, a ragged hand dragging down his back as his strokes deepen, your nails digging as he rasps out a grunt of satisfaction.

Deeper and deeper, he pushes like he’s trying to merge your bodies together as one. The weight of him forcing against you until you don’t know where your skin begins and his ends--each stroke persistent and measured, like Harry is savoring the feel of you, memorizing it for later, your name falling off his tongue as if he’ll forget and maybe he will, but you don’t want to think of it.

And it’s right there. 

The look in his eyes, the words he’s holding back, but you’re close, and so is he, and the tears haven’t left, and you nod your head, Harry following suit—a shared sense of recognition. 

Harry lets you go first, and seconds later, he’s pulling out, and like every time before, leaving an empty void, but the satisfaction is in the pleasure you’re bringing him. 

Something tells you that very few get him like this, and this notion, this waking realization, is what you’ll walk away with. 

When your back is pressed against the door frame, readying yourself to leave, his arm perched above your head, and it’s all smiles, him putting your number in his phone. 

Maybe he’ll call, or maybe he won’t; it doesn’t matter because what he gave you was the gift of a lifetime—the gift that will keep giving every time you glimpse a picture of him in a magazine or a song comes on the radio years from now, you’ll know it, you’ll know the moments he sings of, the tiny details hidden in his words.

He sends you off with a parting kiss, your mouth moving until he pulls away, and you wrap your arms around his neck, your bodies coming together in one last deep embrace, and you both get lost in it, not sure who will pull away first.

That’s when a voice sounds behind you, Harry’s face lifting to see who it is. When he loosens his grip, you turn your head to see the dark-eyed boy with the pierced ears, and you look at Harry and push away, forcing yourself to leave.

The dark-eyed guy moves aside and gives you space. You move past him, walking a few paces down the hall, the elevator in view. You stop then, looking down at the shirt, pulling it away from your body to glimpse the faces, and when you turn back around, Harry is leaning against the door frame, hands pinned behind his back. 

That boyish grin is in full swing, “You finally figured it out, huh?” he laughs. You turn away and shake your head, a smile never leaving your face, and as the elevator door opens, you walk in and push the button for the lobby. Harry is still watching, and when the doors begin to close, you lean forward to stop them and yell:

“I figured it out last night—”

He brings his hands to his face, fainting embarrassed, and maybe he is. You can’t tell from this far away, but his smile never falters, and you take that as a good sign, “When?” he shouts back.

You step back into the elevator and shrug your shoulders, a cunning smile taking over as you shake your head. Harry pushes away from the doorway and starts walking toward you. The doors begin to close, and that’s when Harry starts to run. His tall figure becomes a sliver as the doors seal shut, Harry disappears, and you look down at your feet and wonder what the hell you just got yourself into.

A/N: This baby was long, but I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think of it here<-

Masterlist<-

[mimikyusrealform]

six degrees of separation

Spencer Reid x Reader. Word Count: 1781. Summary: While circulating the photo of a serial killer around a bar in New York, Spencer gets distracted by the sight of someone who used to only exist in his memories. Notes and Warnings: Set around Season 2 before Revelations, because S2 Reid is the loveliest he's ever been. There's a bit of cussing, and mentions of bullying (not particularly explicit), so read at your own discretion.

The man in front of you is familiar. It's better to say that his face is familiar to you, but not the man himself.

He's asking something, “Have you seen this guy?” In a nervous way, his left hand's fingers, the ones not holding up a fairly young guy's picture, twist and untwist. It's like there's electricity under his skin, and a fuzz in his head. He can't stay still. “Ma'am?” he prompts at your silence.

“What did you say your name was again?” you are asking before you can think it over.

“Uh, I'm Doctor—but you don't have to call me that, it's optional, actually, forget that—Spencer Reid.” He is flustered. You can tell it's not because of you, but because you're a person. Still looking at him, you sip from your Gin and Tonic. His brown hair is smooth and carefully parted, no apparent use of gel, but brushed nicely so it shines, even under the bar's poor lighting. He wears professor clothes: a brown vest, a white button-up and low-rise slacks. He's sinewy and wiry, and you wonder if his bones are naturally thin or it's because he doesn't eat enough. You guess that it might be both.

“Are you from Las Vegas?” you ask him.

“Y-yeah.” He's changed the picture to his left hand, and his right one rubs at the back of his neck. “How did you know? Nevermind. I need to know if you've seen this man?”

It clicks, then. You think it's because of that gesture. You squint your eyes at the picture. “No, I haven't.” You stab him in the chest with your index finger. He recoils as if you had actually stabbed him. “Doesn't matter. It's you who I've seen before; I remember now. You're that kid that graduated from high-school at twelve years old. I was a freshman when that happened.”

He blinks owlishly; it's kind of cute. Then, he blinks again, and a third time. With a start, he miraculously says your name. “I didn't recognize you,” he admits shamefully; you wave your hand dismissively. “I-it's good to see you.”

It truly is—good to see you. Spencer doesn't have many fond memories of his time in high-school. But you're certainly one of the few. He never imagined you would remember him, though, he wasn't important to you the way you were, are to him.

You were short, once, this he can picture clearly, with round and rosy cheeks, and crowded teeth. You must have gone through braces, he notes. That, too, he can picture clearly; well, imagine it. You've grown up. Of course, you've grown up. It's such a menial observation that it makes him embarrassed, somehow. You're a good memory that he's kept dearly, close to his heart. After all, you saved him, twice. Twice! The first time from himself, and the second time from others. How he hadn't immediately recognized you, it was beyond him. You are just as pretty and impossible as an adult as when you were a kid.

The first time, he had been walking out of school with a dejected drag of the feet. Mary Clarkson had made fun of him in Math class because he stammered when answering a complex question, and that had been enough to dim the sun in the sky. He needed to cross the street, and he vaguely checked both ways, head still hung low, before attempting to cross. And then, a hand pulled him by the scruff, harshly and violently, almost throwing him over his back on the ground. He reacted accordingly, jolting out of the hold, thinking he was about to get beaten up. But what he came face-to-face with was your scowl at the same time that behind him, a car exceeding the speed limit whipped through the street.

You had said, in an extremely high-pitched voice while digging your index finger into his chest, “Are you actually dumb? They say you're a genius, but geniuses look both sides before crossing the street! You're just silly, after all!” Your intonation was kind of obnoxious, but then you grabbed his wrist, the right one, pried his fingers open and gently deposited a Hershey's Kiss from your backpack on his palm. “Get better,” you had said, and bolted away to join your own friends, who were all giggling at the display. He always looks both ways after that. And sometimes, he feels true warmth in his chest, where your fingertip had marked him an eternity ago.

The second time was just a month before senior graduation. His senior graduation. Mark Brown and his two friends-slash-lackeys had been throwing him around the lockers, and everyone else either ignored them or hid their smirks behind their hands. Brown was saying something like, “C'mon, I got to teach you. You like learning, don't you, freak? Hold him, you gu—” Brown was a senior, so he was about seventeen years old, almost eighteen. And you were just a freshman, freshly fourteen-years-old. And yet you had walked up behind Brown, gripping the straps of your backpack between your bony fingers, and hurled it at the back of his head, almost knocking him down. Spencer vividly remembers the tingle that ran up his spine at the sound of your shrill yet demanding voice telling Brown to, “Move out of the way, skank! You're crowding my goddamn locker! Filthy, stupid bitch, are you blind or did your junkie father finally beat all the braincells out of your head?”

Then, you forcefully hit the other two guys with your backpack as well until they dispersed. Years later, Spencer would come to know why Brown couldn't hit you. Why Brown would never hit a girl, and instead of fighting you, he scattered. You had placed your hands on your hips and glared at him, before saying, “If you like to learn so much, then why don't you learn how to throw a punch? How to kick a roundhouse. No school director is expelling you. Or, at least, learn how to talk back at stupid skanks. If you can not be stronger, then be smarter, silly.”

Silly, silly, silly. That was the second time you called him silly, the second time you saved him.

“Is that so,” you are saying now. “Then, I suppose it's nice seeing you, too. Who's that man, anyway?”

He glances down at the picture in his own hand, like he had forgotten it was there. “Oh, yeah. Um, this is a suspect in a case I—”

“Are you the police?” you interrupt.

“O-oh, no. No, I'm not. FBI,” he explains, pulling out his badge and showing it to you. 

There's a glint in your eyes. “FBI,” you repeat, voice a tiny bit as shrill as he remembered it being. “How old are you?”

“I'm twenty-four,” he tells you earnestly. Does that impress you? It embarrasses him how much he wants it to impress you. “I, uh, joined when I was twenty-two.”

“I'm twenty-six,” you tell him, expectantly.

He isn't sure how he knows what you want him to say, but he says, “Congratulations. You look younger.”

You don't preen at his words, but you smile at him, and it's the first time he's seen your smile, despite having daydreamed about what it would look like many times before. It's nothing like his imagination. It's not wide and smooth nor is it sweet. It's lopsided, crooked; and he can see your canines are a bit askew and sharp. When you turn your head to the side to take a sip from your white-night drink, he memorizes the planes of your profile. The valley of your cheek, the crest of the bone under your eye, the cliff of your nose bone. He sees the very naked neck, the precipice between your collarbones. Your face is lovely and curious, and so is the slope of your bare shoulders. He wants to run his fingers down the spaghetti-straps of your dress, that dig into your skin. He wonders if the straps are drawing red lines.

He wants to say something, maybe all he wants is for you to listen to him, but then he hears Morgan calling him.

You hear it, too; you don't know who's calling for him, but you know it's more important than you. So you tilt your head towards him in acknowledgement that he has to go. “Goodbye, Doctor,” you say, smiling again. “Goodbye, silly.”

“No, wait,” he stumbles. “We—I still have some time. Let me—”

“Time?” you interrupt him again. “Funny business, time. It delights frustrating your plans. Don't you know?”

His brain catches up to the reference before himself. “The Seventh Doctor,” he mutters. He sounds surprised to his own ears. “From Dragonfire; Season 24, Serial 4. Broadcasted from November 23 to December 7 of 1987. I was six years old when it came out. The Doctor said it to Mel at the end of the third part.”

You are looking at him with amusement at the same time Morgan calls for him again. “What, do you think I can't like Doctor Who?”

“No, not at all,” he recomposes himself, clears his throat, and almost trips back when you grab his wrist, the right one. “W-what are you doing?” His voice is a couple semitones higher.

You don't answer him. Instead, you take a pen from your dress' pocket and write something on his soft skin.

When he lifts his hand in front of his face, he blushes terribly at the sight of what he assumes—hopes—is your phone number.

“Call me,” you say. You pause, and then add, “Don't be silly and start overthinking it. Good night, Doctor.”

You leave after that.

He's left dazzled and dazed, standing there. He feels like a raw wire, and there's a pleasant flow of warmth spreading through his body from where your fingers curled around his joint.

He runs away when he sees Morgan's arched eyebrows and mirthful expression. Not before catching the mocking mimic of, “Good night, Doctor.” He groans a quick shut up in his haste to leave the establishment.

He's such a coward. But he's not coward enough not to call you later that night during the flight back to Quantico. He texts, “Who's your favorite Doctor?” And feels like kicking himself. Who starts a conversation like that? Before he can delete it and disappear, you reply, “I'm not sure, Dr. Reid. I don't think he exists yet. Why, did you want me to say you are my favorite Doctor?”

Morgan laughs the whole flight after reading over his shoulder.

Surprisingly, he finds he can't be embarrassed about it. Not when you spend the rest of the night texting him.

[simplegenius042]

The Repost on Fallout Casting for Megumi Fushiguccicakes for Jujutsu Kaisen Abridged react fic

"I like gigantic, heaving sophistication. Sopping wet tenderness! And a big! Fat!! Gaping sense of compassion!!!" - Megumi Fushiguro, Episode 5 JJK Abridged (by The Schmuck Squad).

As stated in the first Megumi Fushiguro casting poll post here, the cast options will only include the characters who were in the tie. It is up to you to break this tie once and for all by voting for one of the Fallout characters below:

Reasons To Why I Believe These Characters Should Be Casted listed below the cut:

Alph Dolen (my Fallout 3 Lone Wanderer OC, faceclaim Sam Blackensee) -> He's got daddy issues.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy/"Cass" (a caravan owner from Fallout New Vegas before the Van Graffs and the Crimson Caravan worked together to destroy it, Cass drunk her sorrows away at an NCR Mojave outpost, until Ryder showed up to get her contract, though managed to barter her way into getting Cass to give up her caravan name but ensuring she still gets the opportunity to start again. Impressed, Cass journeys with Ryder to New Vegas to find Benny, and Ryder helps her find justice and learn to live. Has a heart condition inherited by her father, John Cassidy) -> Cass has a father who abandoned her, like Toji did to Megumi, and her sarcasm bites.

Danse (from Fallout 4, a loyal Paladin in Maxson's chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel, helps Nate get onboard the Prydwen and meet Maxson, a capable ally who warms up to Nate, despite his xenophobic beliefs, has a crisis after finding out his entire life has been a lie when discovering he was a synth the whole time and the group who gave him purpose have turned their back on him. Nate though doesn't give up on him and gets him out of the BoS without being killed, and gives him a place amongst the Minutemen, which Danse was greatly appreciative and grateful for. It's a long journey, but he is letting go of the hatred he had towards others and himself) -> Danse's sarcasm would probably be confusing. Also man understands the importance of BROtherhood, coming from the Brotherhood of Steel. Spends more time getting stronger to avenge his teammates than looking to get hitched.

Miria (from Fallout 2, Finidy's wife after both were caught in the act by Miria's father, Grisham, causing a shotgun wedding, and throughout their journey together they become closer and Miria becomes a rather cool fighter, unlike in canon but the mods are impressive) -> Perhaps the least "Megumi" like person here, but she would call someone out for being stupid probably (she's had to deal with Davin after all).

I've also created and will continue to update (until the first set of cast polling is done) a Master List for the poll results of the casted winners. You can find it right here.

You can find my Fallout OC profiles Master List right here, which also includes a link to the original post where I pitched my react fic idea. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this, chow!

[vikspretty]

“slut!”

spencer had never told the team he had a girlfriend, never mind what her job was

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x reader

tags: fem! reader, no y/n, reader is a stripper (not explicit), based on a tiny scene but idk what ep or season, fluff!

notes: i was watching spencer clips and i saw the scene of him from i think season 6 where he and Emily were in a strip club asking questions. Then I was listening to slut! by taylor and thought i could make this work somehow. this isnt me calling strippers sluts btw!!! i just know some guys who have called them sluts and i love the chorus of this song and figured i could make it into something.

wc: 1,468

“And if they call me a slut, You know it might be worth it for once” — Taylor Swift's "Slut!" (Taylor's Version) (From The Vault)

He honestly hadn't meant for his team to find out about you through him spilling about your job. He also hadn't meant to keep you as a secret but with the continuous cases recently, he hadn't had much chance to tell them about you.

Spencer asking the witness if her boyfriend had a problem with her job wasn't judgemental, it was a question they needed to ask, and he knew how some men reacted to finding out their girlfriends were strippers, you had told him enough stories from your own experiences to support this.

"It's how we met, so no. Why? Do you have a problem with it?"

"No I don't, actually my girlfriend is in the same line of work and also I'm from Vegas so-" He stopped his ramble early at Emily's pointed look. He had assumed it was because he was starting to ramble, but her look of, 'we need to talk' told him it was because of this new fact about him that she didn't know. Luckily, she dropped it for now and the rest of the talk went smoothly. The subject of a girlfriend wasn't brought up until they were back at the precinct.

"Got anything for us?" Morgan asked as Spencer and Emily walked in.

"Yeah, did you know Reid has a girlfriend?" Emily questioned, not giving Spencer a chance to say anything about the case. Morgan's face shot up in surprise as did JJ's, but Emily continued, "And get this, she's a stripper!"

Ignoring the looks he was getting, Spencer turned to Emily, his tone accusatory. "You say that like it's a bad thing." Immediately, Emily corrected herself.

"No, of course it's not, it's just-"

"We didn't expect someone like that to be your type." JJ said.

Before Spencer had a chance to say that they had never even met her so how could they know, Hotch and Rossi walked in, forcing a subject change.

It wasn't until they were on the jet home and Spencer was reading a book waiting for your reply to him asking to come over for the night that the topic of his mystery girlfriend was brought up again.

As Emily took a seat across from him she asked what they had all been wanting to know. "So how come we've never met your girlfriend? Or even heard of her?"

"I did want to tell you all but it was still relatively new and then we had a long string of cases and I wanted her to meet you when I told you so I just didn't mention it." As he was talking, his phone pinged with a text to which he immediately picked up to read.

"So now that we know, do we get to meet her?"

"I will ask her. You guys were thinking of going out tonight right? I'm going straight to her apartment so I can see if she's off tonight to join us."

That seemed to be enough for Emily as she nodded and gave Spencer a smile, walking back to her seat from before.

You could tell Spencer was hiding something. When he arrived at your apartment he was quiet and it seemed like he wanted to talk but he hid it by practically devouring you and keeping you moaning for over an hour.

Deciding you wanted to find out what it was right now, you took action: grabbing his book from his hands and placing it page down on the table behind you, straddling him on the couch. His hands instinctively went to your waist as he gave you a kiss, despite his questioning look.

"Hi." He said, to which you replied the same. "As much as I do love you on me, we decided to rest for a while. Realised you actually can't resist me after all?" He joked.

It was true. To resist Spencer was torture but your pride refused to let you go back on your statement from earlier so quickly. In your break earlier Spencer had called you insatiable when he got up to get you some water. To this you denied and said that you could easily resist him, you just never wanted to and so Spencer challenged you.

"No... but I can tell you want to say something and I'm just curious to find out what it is."

Spencer had been holding off on asking you to go out with him tonight. He couldn't understand why he was so nervous but he took a breath and asked you anyway.

"It kind of slipped during the last case that I have a girlfriend and also what your job was and now my team wants you to come out with us tonight." Spencer spoke quickly in hopes to not stumble over himself.

Your head filled with questions like why was he scared to tell you this? what prompted him to tell them? was he meaning to keep you a secret? Instead you replied with one single "Yes," throwing Spencer completely off guard. He was expecting at least a question about why he had only just told them when you had been together for nearly 3 months now.

"Oh, that's great, um, we're going to a bar not too far from here actually and we can leave in about 2 hours?"

You nodded and internally decided against bombarding him with questions, instead going in for a kiss, all pride and challenge from earlier forgotten.

The nerves only hit you when you were walking to the bar hand in hand with Spencer. Your face must have displayed these nerves, prompting Spencer to pull you closer and ask if you were okay.

"Yeah, I am, I'm excited to meet your team, but you told them about my job right? They're not all weird about it?" Usually, you didn't care about what people think about you, but you really liked Spencer, and the way he spoke about his team proved that he cared deeply for them and you just wanted them to like you too. From the way Spencer had spoken about them, they didn't seem like the type to judge people for doing what they needed to for money, as long as it was legal of course, but still, you'd had your fair share of encounters with boyfriend's friends that have lead to you being dumped all because they've seen you on stage.

"They would never. They're nice people, truly. And I can tell you right now, Emily will be all over you for how you look tonight."

His words lifted your nerves and by the time you were walking through the bar doors, you were eager to meet them. It took not a minute for Spencer's hand to be at the small of your back leading you to a booth full of people. You took a deep breath saying to yourself that even if they called you a slut, it might be worth it for once, as long as you were seen on Spencer's arm.

Getting to the booth you noticed four people sat, watching as you guys approached. You could feel their eyes on you but to your surprise, they didn't feel judgemental or disgusted - they were kind and eager.

Before Spencer had a chance to introduce you to anyone, a woman was in front of you offering her hand. "Hi, I'm Emily, you are so hot!" Her enthusiasm made you giggle as you shook her hand and replied with your name and "So are you!"

As you got acquainted with the team, Spencer left to the bar to buy you and him a drink, smiling to himself as he saw your own smile from across the bar.

The rest of the night ran smoothly with you quickly realising just how true Spencer's words were. None of his team even cared about what kind of job you had, all they cared about was if you were a good match for their youngest team member.

As you parted ways from Penelope's hold, promising to go out with her and the other girls alone again, Spencer watched with a smile.

"You really love her, huh?" Derek's voice startled Spencer slightly, but he nodded anyway, giving you his biggest grin as you came closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head on his chest.

"Yeah, I really do." Spencer replied, putting his arm around your waist and saying goodbye as he began to lead you back to your apartment. You didn't even need to have heard what Derek had said to him because you could see it in Spencer's eyes. Because in a world of boys who judged you and called you a slut for doing what you're good at, Spencer was a gentleman who would never let those boys anywhere near you.

this one took me a little longer to finish up than i had intended cause work was draining the past few days but i finally got it done. i have more ways to lengthen it but then id feel like it drags on and i just wanted to get it out so i apologise for the semi-rushed ending. i actually dont mind this one so i hope you enjoyed and please send requests, the people i can write for are in my masterlist!

dividers by @cafekitsune

thank you for reading!

[brenwritesss]

I LOVE UR WORKKKK 💕💕 would u be down to write angst for emily or kate? im a suckerrrr for angsty fics 🙏🙏 tysm!

𝐕𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲

⋆˚࿔Kate Martin x reader ❀˖°

Summary: Kate gets drafted to the Aces, making you determine if moving to Las Vegas or staying in Iowa is the right decision.

a/n: not edited

“With the 18th pick in the 2024 WNBA draft, the Las Vegas Aces select Kate Martin, University of Iowa.” 

Your eyes widened at the screen before you as your girlfriend stood up from her seat in the crowd. Your sister latched a hand onto your shoulder while her jaw dropped at those simple yet groundbreaking words. You didn’t have time to react, slapping your own hand over your mouth as you watched Kate walk up to the stage to accept her jersey. “Holy shit.” 

Tears formed along your waterline and you broke out into a smile that was almost bigger than Kate’s. Your sister started shaking your shoulder. “Your girlfriend’s going to fucking Vegas!”

You remember moments before she got drafted; nonstop texts in your phone while you both supported Caitlin as she got drafted #1 overall. Kate was nervous to say the least, telling you how all she wanted was an opportunity. The chance to get her name called and to walk across that stage. It was all she had been talking about for months. There had always been a part of you that knew she was going to get drafted. You had spent the last three years at Iowa watching her, supporting her, cheering her on and all you wanted was for her to get that opportunity that she had been wishing for all season.

My love 💗

Babe, they asked me to switch seats

I’m closer to the aisle now

Idk what this means but I’m nervous

What should I do?

As a joke, you had replied “baby, you’re about to get drafted.” Then she did actually get drafted. Maybe you had a way of telling the future? Is this the universe’s way of telling you that you should ditch getting your major in business and start a career in fortune telling instead? 

You continued watching the rest of the WNBA draft with your hands shaking in your lap. After your initial freak out over Kate getting drafted had occurred, you didn’t waste any time in texting in texting your girlfriend to congratulate her.

“Congratulations baby I’m so so so proud of you.”

Kate didn’t respond instantly as you had expected, but a couple of hours later, you received a phone call from her. “Oh my God, babe.”

You immediately laughed into the phone, “how is my new Ace doing?”

“I don’t even know. There’s so many thoughts going through my head right now. Did you see me?”

You could practically feel her nerves through the phone. “Of course I did. I saw every second. I’m so proud of you, Kate, this is amazing.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking a pause. “I feel really good about this, you know? Everything is falling into place and working out. Knowing that I have your support, babe, it means everything to me.”

“You know I’ll always support you no matter what. You’re going to be doing great things in Vegas, I just know it.” You couldn’t help but tear up again, forcing the tears not to fall so that Kate wouldn’t hear it.

“It’s going to be hard leaving Iowa but this is an incredible opportunity. I’ll be playing with the fucking Aces. Are you joking? The fucking Las Vegas Aces.”

“They’re getting a good one,” you smiled. “When are you coming back from New York?”

There was a few moments of silence coming from her end. Silence that stirred the smallest bit of anxiety within you. Silence that made you feel the smallest bit of uncertainty. “Within the next couple of days for sure. I have to pack up my place and get everything back home in order before I go to Vegas.”

“Right, yeah,” you agreed. There was a part of you that felt almost hurt that she didn’t mention seeing you or coming back to you. Was it stupid to feel that way?

“Hey, I gotta go,” she spoke softly into the phone. “But I’ll call you later if you’re awake. I’ll see you soon, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Seconds after, Kate hung up the phone, leaving you sitting in your shared apartment that she would soon leave behind. You just hope you wouldn’t be part of that. She couldn’t leave you behind right?

Kate was back in Iowa, curled up with you on the couch two days after the draft. When you had picked her up from the airport, you had barely left her side. Not because of your previous fears from draft night, but because even though she was only gone for a few days, you missed her terribly. You lifted your head up from her chest, looking up at her. “When do you leave for Vegas?” you ask her.

Kate looks down at you, softly kissing your temple. “In a couple weeks for training camp. Why?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Just wondering.” You debated on continuing the conversation, having so many questions in your head about the future of your relationship. Deciding against keeping quiet, you continue, “we should talk about some stuff, Kate.”

Kate shifted from beneath you and leaned up more against the couch. Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked at you, not pulling her hand away from your waist. “What’s wrong?”

“We should talk about you moving to Vegas.” You take in her expression, watching as her eyes darted from your eyes to around your face. Before the draft, you and Kate had always speculated what your lives together would look like after college. You both had discussed that if she chose to continue her basketball career professionally, you would find a way to go with her, leaving your life behind in Iowa. The more you thought about it, the harder it would be to leave your friends, family, and your school.

Kate nodded, “yeah, we should probably talk about where we’re staying. I mean, we’re going to have to pack and everything but it shouldn’t be too hard.”

That’s when it hit you. Kate was planning on you moving to Las Vegas with her. And in a way, it felt like you were stuck, torn between wanting to be with Kate but not wanting to leave your life and everything you had worked for, behind. 

“Kate, baby there’s a lot more that goes into this than just me and you moving across the country. I just started a new job and all of my friends and family are here.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to come with me?” Kate asked you, looking almost insulted at the idea.

You shook your head. “No, no that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that we need to talk more about it and figure it out from there. I can’t just tell you I’m moving with you when there’s so many things that tie me down here.”

Kate’s grip on your waist loosened slightly. Slightly enough to have you notice it. “It’s either you want to move or you don’t. It shouldn’t be this difficult.”

You were taken back by her response, acknowledging the tension in her words. “Having to reroute my entire life in a matter of a couple weeks would never be fucking easy.”

“What about all the times we would be in my bed and we would talk about being together?” Kate finally let her hands fall from your waist. “You said you’d follow me wherever if I got drafted.”

“Kate, that was us dreaming. In a perfect world, yes, I would follow you wherever you wanted to go even if it were the pits of hell. But this is not a perfect world, and we have to look at the reality of this situation.”

“So then why say all of that shit?” Kate’s voice raised slightly which caused you to move back on the couch, putting space between you two. “So all of that shit is meaningless then?”

You widen your eyes. “No of course not because I meant it when I said that I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life. You’re not listening to me.”

Kate rolled her eyes, standing up from the couch for the first time since the conversation started. “You always fucking do this, Y/n.”

“Do what?”

“Say that I’m not listening to you when it’s the only thing I’m doing. Do you think that this whole situation isn’t hard on me too? Two weeks ago, I thought my basketball career was over and now I have the chance to play in a league with some of the most talented athletes in the world. Do you not see how big of a deal this is and how I want your support in this?” Kate was walking back in forth in front of you, her tone of voice catching you off guard.

You stood up, trying to get her to look at you. “That’s fucking ridiculous that you would even suggest that I don’t support you, Kate. I have been your biggest fan since I met you and you want to tell me that I’m not supporting you? Why should I have to prove my support by moving across the country and beginning a life that I am not familiar with. You’re making me sound selfish.”

“It wouldn’t be unfamiliar because you’ll have me.”

“And what would happen when I don’t have you anymore?”

Kate froze in her spot, turning to face you. “What?”

“What would happen when you decide that I’m tying you down or becoming too much. Leaving my whole life here, it’s just not worth the risk.”

“That’s fucking bullshit and you know it,” Kate yelled, looking down at you. “Do you think that if I was going to break up with you, I’d want you to move to Vegas with me? And do you really think I could be capable of doing something like that when you’re the only person I can see going through this next chapter with?”

You throw your hands up in the air, trying desperately to reason with her. “Do you care at all what happens to me? Do you care that I’m giving up so much for you?”

Kate was practically pulling at her hair at this point. She rolled up the sleeves of her hoodie before she brushed her hands over her face. “You’re acting like I’m making you move to a different country. Obviously, you have the fucking choice to stay here if you want. I’m not going to force to move to Vegas with me,” she paused. “I assumed you were going to, considering that’s what you have been telling me for months. If you knew you were going to stay here, why would you give me that false hope?”

“Because I thought that up until now, I wouldn’t question leaving with you. But now that it’s actually happening, I have to think about the reality and it scares me.”

Kate tightens her mouth into a small line, making you know that what you just said went straight to her heart. “So it’s not enough knowing that I would take care of you? I wouldn’t just drop you off in Vegas and leave you there you know. I don’t see a future where I’m not taking care of you and putting you first.”

You cross your arms. Everything in you wanted to believe Kate, but you’ve heard the horror stories of what would happen to girls who dated professional athletes. Maybe you shouldn’t have let this go on for this long. Maybe you should have listened to your head instead of your heart. “Do you really believe that?”

“Believe what?”

“That you’d put me first?”

Kate’s jaw almost dropped at your question and in that moment, you wanted to take it back. “This is bullshit.”

Without saying anything else, she slips on her shoes, grabbing her keys, and heads for the door.

You wanted to reach out to her. To tell her to stay and talk it out, but deep down you knew that there was only a matter of time before the magnetic pull between you two came crashing down.

[sitepathos]

Ok regarding the alpha Wayne's! How would they react of y/n got a mate or found a pack to accept them?

Oh, sweetie, you must want people to pass away! The moment they learn you have a mate and/or a pack is when the gloves come off.

Ok, let’s look at just a pack. Let’s say in this scenario, you met an Alpha and a few Betas not long after you moved to Nevada and they found that you were highly compatible with all of them; you bond over similar interests, like video games, anime, manga, etc (you kept your identity as the bastard firstborn son of Bruce Wayne and the host of the Megamycete a secret from them) and your Omega side appeals to the Alpha’s need for dominance and the Betas’ need for someone to care for them. After a few weeks, they talk it over and present you with an invitation to join their pack. They promise that if you join, they’ll treat you with the respect you deserve and if you don’t want to join, they’ll act like it never happened and all of you can go back to hang out.

All Omegas yearn to be part of a pack, a place where they belong and feel safe, and you’re no different. You were trapped at Wayne Manor for most of your life and were constantly reminded that you’d never have a place in the prestigious Wayne Pack. The Megamycete doesn’t help with this as it records are filled with the memories of countless packs and you want that warm sensation of belonging and safety more than anything.

You agree and they all scent you, merging your scent with theirs and preparing a place for you at their house in Vegas (you’re allowed to keep your house since they know how much it means to you, but you spend the daytime there to work and maintain it while nighttime is spent at with your new pack at their house). As the next four years go by, you feel your decade-old wounds begin to slowly but surely heal thanks to your new packmates, all of them patient and teaching you what it means to be part of a pack and allowing you to decide the Omega you wish to be; you realize that for most of your life, you were freezing, and now with your pack, you know what warmth feels like and order how you were able to survive without it for so long.

Of course, after a year, when it became apparent that you could trust them, you told them everything; when you first met, you just told them that you lived in a place in Gotham so bad to you that you withheld on presenting as an Omega until you moved back home and they were so sympathetic and pissed on your behalf. Now, they knew you were the first biological son of Bruce Wayne and the “bad pack” you weren’t a part of was the famous Wayne Pack that so many would kill to be a part in.

Then, you revealed your connection to the Megamycete and all the powers you had at your disposal. At first, they were shocked and a little afraid, which you could understand; then, the unbelievable happened: they embraced you and said that they didn’t care what you were or who your father was, you were their Omega and they’d never let anything change that. Needless to say, you cried surrounded by the people you trust more than anyone else in the world.

Then the night of the Gamer Gala happened; despite not keeping in regular touch with Alfred, you gave him an invitation to the award ceremony and reserved a place for him with your pack. You wanted to show him the people you’ve come to call pack and show your pack the man that kept you alive during the darkest chapter of your life. Instead, they got to see the man whose face decorates the dartboard you have in the game room and see you hand the world’s richest and most eligible Alpha his ass.

When security came to separate the two of you, your pack came to your rescue and that’s when Bruce discovered that you’re the Omega of another pack.

Shocked. Distraught. Pissed. Denial. Bruce went through all these emotions, and more. He came here to beg for your forgiveness and to bring you back home so you could become a member of their pack and their Omega, but here, right in front of him, are these… interlopers, touching you, scenting you, comforting you in ways that only he and his children should be allowed to! You’re a part of their pack and these actions are solely theirs by divine right!

When he first approaches your pack, offers and threats in hand to make them give you back to them, he finds out just how much animosity you hold towards him when you jump on him and try to rip his throat out with your teeth. The growls that came out of you, the rage in your eyes, the bloody bite marks you left on his neck reminded him that while Alphas are the protectors of the pack, when push comes to shove, an Omega will fight tooth and nail and use every dirty trick in the book to protect their pack if they perceive a threat. While he’s happy and proud to see you’re willing to protect what you see as yours (something you both have in common), he’s pissed that you growl and bear your fangs at him, your sire and true Alpha, and that these people allow you to do such things when you should be kept safe and out of the fighting.

He refuses to admit defeat, he’ll take a variety of direction and indirect routes in order to take you back to Gotham, but you end up in his way, bearing fangs and clad in mold armor, ready to give him the Thomas and Martha Wayne Treatment.

Dick cries the moment he sees you with your packmates, smiling at them, scenting them, and bearing your neck at them. Those are things you should be doing with them, not those fakers!

But, he doesn’t blame you, baby bird! No, not at all! They ignored you and these monsters took advantage of you and tricked you into becoming a part of their sick and twisted pack! Don;t worry, he’ll deal with these monsters and bring you back home and cuddle you in your new nest!

Family is something Dick takes very seriously and to see someone he sees a part of his pack being taken away is an unforgivable sin.

As much as he wants to curb stomp them and take you into his arms and bring you back to the manor, he knows that he must do this in a more dignified manner, so he comes to your pack’s house in his official capacity, ready to lay out the “facts” and negotiate a way for you to be released into their custody. As the Right Hand of the Wayne Pack, he’s more than capable of handling such negotiations, allowed to offer whatever he needs to in order to bring the Waynes’ Omega back home be it money, job opportunities, properties, etc.

His signature dazzling smile was extinguished when one of your Beta “packmates” slammed the door in his face and he looked up to see you pouring a bucket of water down on him, leaving him soaked.

After that, he tries to approach your “pack” in public settings, like cafes and restaurants, but he’s quickly shut down each time, being told that they’ll never let them near you.

He decides being “polite” isn’t getting him anywhere, so he decides to visit your “pack” as Nightwing, determined to intimidate them or even put them into the hospital so he can come and “rescue” you from being packless.

That plan goes south when you tackle him in mid-air, clad in your mold armor. At first, Dick tries to convince you that there’s no need to fight, but when he sees all you want is to fight, he relies on his acrobat skills to evade your attacks and try to tire you out, but you manage to wrap a tendril around his ankle and hurl him as hard as you can into the Mojave.

(Un)fortunately, he manages to survive, but he’s forced to retreat for now until he and his pack can come up with another plan.

Barbara takes the news just as hard as the others, but she’s a bit torn about it. While she’s a legitimate member of the Wayne Pack as everyone else, she’s also a member of the Gordon Pack; she may see Bruce as a father figure and a mentor, she fiercely loves and is loyal to her actual father and Bruce would never take that away from her.

She understands that none of them treated you like a part of the pack and you were well within your rights to find another pack (she felt sick to her stomach when she learned that their treatment of you resulted in your presentation as an Omega being withheld), she’s just as deluded as the others and firmly believes that you’re their Omega and is just as determined to bring you back to the manor as the others.

While the others take more direct methods of bringing you back, she decides that the best way of getting you back will be to ruin your pack’s reputation.

Listing them as the most wanted on every law enforcement agency in the world, fabricating arrest warrants, scheduling them for trials, she does it all.

That falls through when you, with all your computer knowledge, not only deletes all of her work, but actually pulls a Reverse Uno on her, calling on the FBI to come and raid the manor, Wayne Enterprises, and her library.

She’s actually impressed at your capabilities and she’s be more impressed if you hadn’t also gone after her dad, making false reports of embezzlement and corruption, leading to her home being raided and her dad being arrested. Of course, the charges didn’t stick and he was let go, but going after her dad makes it personal to her.

She also didn’t like it when you used the Megamycete’s roots to damage both the library and the Clocktower.

To say Jason is pissed is an understatement; he’s angry at himself for being such a dumbass, pissed at Bruce for failing to be a decent dad again, pissed at your new “pack” for thinking they have any right to you, and even at you for replacing them.

He quickly squashes that last thought because he knows none of them could even be bothered to glance in your direction, so you didn’t “replace” them because the pack bonds were never there, so there was nothing to be replaced.

At first, he’s deeply conflicted at how to go forward with this because yes, he does want you back and wants to make amends and treat you like the precious Omega you deserve, but he knows how batshit crazy and horrible they all are and he understands that need to get away from them and be somewhere you feel cared for.

This conflict is short-lived, however, when his delusions win out and he joins the bandwagon on finding a way to bring you back to the manor.

He tries the direct route once; he approached you and your pack while you were out eating at one of Vegas’ finer restaurants to celebrate a successful night of gambling. It ended with you tackling him and repeatedly punching him in the face that you dislocated his jaw and gave him one hell of a black eye.

Anyone else, he’d be pissed, but you? He’s actually proud. He remembers giving you a black eye when you two first met (something that haunts him at night) and thinking you were some weak little brat. After being taken down by you? He’s sure you’re one of the strongest people he’s ever known and he wants to know everything about you.

(Side note: I had this thought after the first A/B/O Batfam post and I think I’ll use this opportunity to make it canon here: Jason is the Left Hand of the Wayne Pack. Dick is the right Hand, meaning he acts as the pack’s second in command and the first to assume leadership should something happen to Bruce; Dick’s also allowed to negotiate and make major decisions concerning the pack when Bruce sends him to act on his behalf. As the Left Hand, Jason is to deal with threats to the pack and seek retribution; he gets his hands dirty so Bruce and Dick’s hands remain clean.)

He decides to deal with your “pack” as both Red Hood and the Wayne Pack’s Left Hand. As much as he hates to do it, he intends to use your Omega biology aginst you; Omega’s get super attached to their packs and the sudden murder of all those assholes will send you into a depressive spiral and while you’re mourning their deaths, they’ll swoop in and bring you back to the manor. Chances are you’ll never be the same again, but he’ll be there to help you every step of the way.

That plan goes south when he finds you after breaking in, pointing guns at him. He may be an expert with all types of firearms, but you have the knowledge of expert marksmen throughout the ages swimming through your head, making you more than capable than him. He flees through a flurry of bullets. Under normal circumstances, he’d return fire and give his attacker hell, but his attacker in this case is his pack’s Omega, so he’ll fall back for now.

Tim is just as possessive as Bruce is; he comes from a high class family that takes its possessions seriously and doesn’t take lightly to them being “stolen,” especially because such inferiors. He’s not about to take this lying down and is ready to do whatever he has to do so he can have an Omega around him.

As is typical of Tim, he first delves into research, learning everything there is to know about these thieves. Within the span of a few hours, he has their entire lives memorized and filed into his personal server. Needless to say, he’s throughly unimpressed with all of them; they’re all ordinary and just one of millions around the world. The Alpha barely has any financial literacy and has no influence, so this pathetic little pack will always be mediocre. The Betas are even less impressive, with forgettable faces, minimal marketable skills, and no noteworthy talents.

Just what is it that makes you so attracted to them? Sure, he knows that their treatment of you was unforgivable and you should hate them, but come on Y/N, you’re a male Omega, for god’s sake! You’re a jewel many would kill and pay billions for! Did their neglect of you leave with you such low self esteem and sense of worth?

After a little more digging, he realizes that you don’t care about money or influence; while he’s seething with rage, he’s capable of seeing that they treat with you love and respect. They pull you into the living room and surround you while watching some movie you picked; include you in on every conversation, even if you don’t have anything to say on the matter; and scent you every time one of them passes you by or reaches for something.

It also helps that all of you share common interests, primarily video games and he hates them even more with that discovery. He’s played many games with the Titans and keeps up-to-date on all the latest news on games and studios; he’s more than capable of talking about games than them and would make a better co-op partner than all of them put together! And he’s more than capable for getting you the latest consoles and games way before they’re put on the market!

With each interaction, he thinks back to every gala, family dinner, and movie night they had and each one lacks any you being a part of it. Just how did you survive your time at the manor, constantly being reminded that no one wanted or even remembered you being there? It’s no wonder your Omega refused to present, chances are you would’ve withered away from the neglect.

Regardless, what’s done is done and he can’t take back what’s happened; he can only move forward and try to rebuild his broken bonds with you. And he can only do that if he brings you back to Gotham, where you belong.

Despite past failures, he opted to try the polite way; using his stalker abilities, he managed to meet with your pack at a restaurant while you were at your old home doing work and presented them with several options, consisting of large payments, guaranteed lifetime employment at any Wayne Enterprises or Drake Industries owned subsidiary, immediate ownership of any dwelling in the world they desired and assistance on all expenses, and many more.

They laughed in his face and told him you were a part of their pack and a true pack doesn’t treat a member like a thing to be bought and sold.

While he admired the sentiment and commended them for seeing your worth, he wasn’t about to let them get away with keeping you from your real pack. Like all Alphas, he’s capable of getting angry, but unlike other Alphas, his anger runs cold while other Alphas’ anger runs hot; while he is capable of physical violence and has quite the punch (a must in his job as a vigilante), his parents taught him that the real way to go after his enemies is to go after their reputation and livelihoods.

That’s how many of his fellow high society Alphas handled things, exposing hidden scandals and ruining businesses; say what you will, it’s incredibly satisfying as a person realizes they’ve lost everything and their name tarnished forever.

So, that’s how he goes about handling these inferiors and when they realize they have nothing, they’ll beg him for his deal and offer you up to them on a silver platter; either that, or you’ll realize you’re wasting your time with these pathetic wastes of space and look for another pack, giving them an opportunity to convince you to come home.

He goes about ruining the various businesses that your “pack” work at (how pathetic, they’re workers and not owners), but he finds that you’ve safeguarded everything behind thick firewalls, leaving him unable to hack and ruin their systems.

He then decides to ruin your pack bonds, planting seeds of doubt about your place as their Omega; for someone like him; it’s child’s play to fabricate false pictures of your packmates meeting with another Omega, fake texts and phone calls of them badmouthing you, and even planting articles of clothing with another Omega’s scent in their bags.

What he didn’t expect was for you to storm the Drake Industries building during a board meeting, clad in mold armor and wings, drag him out and hold him over the skyline, and tell him you knew what he had done and threaten him should he ever do it again.

Actually, your exact words were, “I know you’re a pathetic creep with no life of your own, Tim, and doing shit like this is something only you’d think of doing cause you can’t stand to see someone else happy. Get your own life and stay out of mine, or I tear your head off, shove it in jar, and send it to that freak Ra’s to keep next to your spleen.”

Ok, he wasn’t expecting you to know about that. Or about what words can cut him deeper than any blade.

Still, he learned something new about you. And with each new discovery, he comes closer to finding a way of bringing you back home.

Steph and Cass react the same way to the news: poorly. Both of them know that they never treated you like a packmates while you were still living here, but to just become part of some pack on the other side of the country is a little much for them to handle.

Steph is angry at the thought of just being replaced, actually forgetting that she did the same to you after a week of her living in the manor while Cass actually becomes depressed because she feels like she’s been abandoned (again), but she knows that she has no right to feel this way after she did the same to you.

The two of them partner up, aiming to take down your pack so that you have no one to turn to, but they quickly find out that you’re more than capable of taking them both on.

(Note: look, I know there’s barely anything here, but this post is long enough and I’ve stated before that my knowledge of Steph and Cass is minimum at best. Cut me some slack.)

Once the news reaches Damian, he becomes enraged and rushes to the Batcave some he can lash out at some poor training dummy with his sword.

It enrages him to no end to learn that his blood brother and pack Omega has not only become part of another pack, but a pack of inferior stock! Come on, brother, you’re of noble blood! Don’t sully yourself by associating with this common, low stock rabble!

When he begins to observe your interactions with you, his rage burns brighter and hotter. His skin itches every time they touch you; his teeth grind to a near powder every time you smile at them; and his eyes twitch every time you look at them.

And when he sees that you’ve created a nest in your room and allow them entry? He howls loud enough to call everyone in the manor to him.

An Omega’s nest is a sacred place, one that an Omega feels safe and secure, comforted by soft and plush things to nestle against their sensitive skin and lulled by the scents of those they trust the most; to be allowed into an Omega’s nest is an honor unlike any other and the ultimate sign of trust. All Alphas strive to be allowed to enter an Omega’s nest as there’s no greater measure of intimacy and trust before mating.

To see you bestow that privilege to these… pretenders actually brings tears to his eyes while he howls in rage.

He knew that the rest of his pack had failed, but that sight forced him to ignore his sire and go to that disgusting cesspit called Vegas and bring you back to your senses. Your proper place is at Wayne Manor in Gotham, not a pathetic little hovel in this hideous city.

He expected to be met with heavy resistance once the door opened, but he didn’t expect you to scruff him like some ill-behaved pup, pick him up by the neck, and toss him like some piece of trash and berate him for entire neighborhood of lowborn scum to gawk at. Yes, he acknowledges that his treatment of you was… less than stellar, but that doesn’t change the fact that you and him share blood and that ties you to both him and his sire.

Unlike the rest of his pack and Drake, he doesn’t bother to negotiate with those inferiors you call “pack” because he doesn’t see the need in asking for what’s his by rite of birth. You’re his blood brother and his Omega, no matter what the laws of that miserable little backwater say.

He decides the best way to make his sincerity known is by proving you with materials for your pack, which is a traditional League courting ritual; by providing an Omega with materials for their nest, you show them that your commitment to them is true and if they use your gift for their nest, it shows that the Alpha that they trust you enough to allow you into their most private of places (both literally and figuratively).

So, he uses his connections to purchase many blankets and pillows made of the finest silks from various luxury nest supply stores, both within Gotham and back in his homeland, all of it costing a small fortune. He intends to show you that only he and his pack (and even Drake) are capable of giving you what you truly need, what you truly deserve.

To say to cut his ego when you threw all his gifts into the fire pit out back and light it on fire is a gross understatement. He holds his mother’s teachings in high regard, especially about how he would go about courting and interacting with various members of his pack, and to see you reject his gift, reject him, hurts him far more than any injury he received during his training.

When he returned home after that, he quietly went p to his room and, for the first time in years, wept, the sting of being rejected by someone he now holds dear to heart making him feel lower than dirt.

Ok, that ended up being WAY longer than I thought. Now, let’s just briefly go over you having a mate. For this scenario, let’s say you met an Alpha in Vegas that doesn’t have a pack and when he saw you, he just had to court you and after seeing him treat you like you’re the most precious thing in the world, you decide to accept his courting offer. Sorry if you were expecting another short novel like up above, but this took way too long and my attention is starting to wane.

Bruce: doesn’t like it one bit and actually has the audacity to tell you to break it off because he’s your Alpha and father, so any and all suitors must go trough him first, but he firmly believes all you need is him and your siblings and he’s not going to let anything come between you and your pack.

Dick: bitch actually has the nerve to say your Alpha’s stealing you away from your true pack and doesn’t actually love you. You backhand the shit out of him for that and yell that he doesn’t;t know what love is.

Barbara: while she knows that you want to find someone to give you the love and affection they denied you for years, she doesn’t want to give you up and aims to remove your mate from the equation by using her computer skills, but you prove to be far better than her when you fry not only her computers, but the GCPD’s as well, leaving her to pick up the pieces.

Jason: he tries to go after your Alpha-to-be, but you quickly prove yourself more than capable of defending him and showing Jason that a pissed off Omega is just as dangerous as an angry Omega.

Steph: she’s delighted to see Bruce nearly have a heart attack and give him a few extra grey hairs; seriously, show her your ways. But, she’s not thrilled to see you on the arm of some strange Alpha. Come on, she can choose someone way better for you. Granted, she firmly believes that ll you need are them, but she can help you envision a relationship.

Cass: absolutely does not approve and lets you know through sign language. You a part of her pack and this intruder will not be tolerated. Will probably partner up with Jason to take him out.

Tim: stalks the ever loving shit out of both of you in an effort to find a way to break you up, but you quickly corner him and insult him by calling him a freak with no life.

Damian: oh, little brat loses his shit and tries to do to him what he attempted to do to you when the two of you first met. Of course, you grab hold of the sword and snatch it in two and use part of it to nearly decapitate him, resulting in a scar that just misses his scent gland.

Alfred: while he’s so happy to see that you found someone who wish to be with and that someone in this family has a healthy relationship, he still believes that your proper place in with your father and his pack, so he will aid in the attempt to separate the two of you.

Ok, not my best work, but what can you do? Kinda burned myself out with the first half of this post. I may do another mate post if there’s a high enough demand for it and if anyone has an idea on who your mate should be, feel free to live a comment. Keep in mind only male options will be considered.

Also, for the mate thing, keep in mind that when it comes to A/B/O, nothing’s off-limits and typically, what we consider taboo is considered “normal.” So, could one of the Wayne men consider forcing a mating bite on you if it meant bringing you back to the fold? After all, Omegas are subservient to their Alpha mates.

Just food for thought.