#red five queuing by

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

It’s You

Where Y/N’s chaotic energy clashes with her grumpy, tattooed neighbor, her mission to get on his good side turns into stolen glances, quiet moments, and a connection she never expected.

Au Harry

Word count: 13,395

Content warning: Cursing, smut, alcohol.

The warm glow of string lights illuminated Y/N’s cozy Los Angeles apartment as the sound of laughter filled the air. The small space was a mix of bohemian chic and personal touches—a gallery wall of polaroids, a cluttered coffee table covered with open bags of snacks, and a few empty wine bottles standing like trophies from their earlier indulgence.

Y/N flopped back onto the couch, a glass of red wine in hand, her cheeks flushed from both the alcohol and nonstop giggling. Her two best friends, Harper and Lila, sat cross-legged on the floor, snacking on popcorn and chips, fully embracing the childlike joy of their adult sleepover.

“This feels so right,” Y/N said, her voice slightly tipsy. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

“Because we’re responsible adults now, remember?” Harper teased, adjusting her oversized hoodie. “Nine-to-five, bills, and pretending we know what we’re doing.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lila quipped, popping a gummy bear into her mouth. “I’m thriving in my chaos era.”

Y/N snorted, and Harper rolled her eyes with an affectionate grin. Lila was the wild card of the group, always coming up with unpredictable ideas. And she didn’t disappoint tonight.

“You know what we should do?” Lila suddenly said, sitting up straighter. “Karaoke.”

“Yes!” Harper exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Oh my God, yes. Do you still have that mic we bought for New Year’s Eve?”

Y/N groaned dramatically, but her smile betrayed her fake reluctance. “You mean the mic that nearly got us evicted? Of course, I still have it.”

Lila grinned wickedly. “Perfect. Let’s wake up the entire building with our stunning renditions of 2000s throwbacks.”

Without waiting for further approval, Lila dashed to the hall closet and pulled out the karaoke mic, triumphantly waving it in the air. Harper grabbed her phone, already scrolling through a playlist.

“You’re starting,” Harper declared, pointing the mic at Y/N.

“What? No!” Y/N laughed, holding her hands up defensively. “I’m not ready!”

“Too bad,” Lila said, shoving the mic into Y/N’s hands. “You can’t escape destiny. Pick your song.”

Y/N sighed theatrically before smirking. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when your ears bleed.”

As Y/N queued up Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson, the room erupted in cheers. The first few notes played, and soon enough, Y/N was belting out the lyrics with unrestrained enthusiasm, her friends joining in for the chorus. It didn’t matter that they were slightly off-key; in that moment, they were superstars in their own private concert.

Wine glasses were forgotten, snacks spilled, and every lyric was sung at full volume. It was the kind of night they’d remember for years—a reminder that no matter how grown-up they pretended to be, some things never lost their magic.

The girls were in full swing, harmonizing (poorly) to “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys. Lila stood on the couch holding the mic as if she were performing at Madison Square Garden, while Harper played air guitar with a half-empty wine bottle. Y/N was doubled over in laughter, her cheeks aching from smiling so much.

Just as they hit the iconic, “Tell me why—” part, a loud knock echoed through the apartment, cutting through their drunken fun like a record scratch. The girls froze, their voices trailing off mid-note. Y/N straightened up, exchanging wide-eyed looks with Harper and Lila.

“Uh… did someone order pizza?” Lila whispered, her voice unsure.

“Nope,” Y/N said, setting her wine glass on the coffee table. “Stay here. I’ll get it.”

With a mix of nerves and annoyance, Y/N padded to the door. She peered through the peephole and groaned. It was her new neighbor, Harry. She’d only exchanged a polite “hello” with him in passing, but he’d already struck her as the brooding, grumpy type.

Bracing herself, she opened the door.

There he stood: tall, disheveled hair pushed back in a lazy attempt at taming it, wearing a faded gray hoodie and black joggers. His sharp green eyes narrowed as he took in her flushed face and the muffled chaos behind her.

“Good evening,” he started, his British accent dripping with sarcasm. “I just wanted to say how much I’ve been enjoying your concert tonight. It’s like living next door to a live music venue. Only… worse.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned by his dry humor. “Oh. Uh, sorry about that. We didn’t realize how loud we were being.”

Harry crossed his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I figured. Thought I’d come over before I lost the ability to hear entirely.”

From behind her, Lila’s voice chimed in drunkenly. “Is it a noise complaint? Tell him to sing with us!”

Y/N turned and shot Lila a glare. Harper muffled a laugh.

Y/N sighed and looked back at Harry. “We’ll keep it down. Promise.”

He tilted his head, lips twitching into the faintest smirk, though his tone remained gruff. “Appreciated. Just… try not to turn it into a full-on festival.”

With that, he turned to leave, but Y/N couldn’t help herself. “You know, you could’ve just sent a passive-aggressive text or something.”

Harry glanced back over his shoulder, one brow arched. “I thought this had more impact.”

And then he was gone.

Y/N closed the door, leaning her forehead against it for a moment. When she turned around, Lila and Harper were staring at her like she’d just walked off the set of a rom-com.

“Um, who was that?” Lila asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Harry. My new neighbor,” Y/N replied, walking back to the couch.

“And Mr. Grumpy Pants is cute,” Harper added, grinning.

Y/N rolled her eyes, picking up her wine glass. “Yeah, yeah. He’s cute and cranky. Now can we please move on before you two start planning a love story?”

But the mischievous glint in her friends’ eyes told her they weren’t letting this go anytime soon.

The karaoke mic had been put away, and the girls now lounged in the cozy living room, passing a bottle of wine between them. The earlier buzz of excitement had mellowed, but the energy was still warm and lively. Lila was sprawled on the couch with her legs dangling over Harper’s lap, while Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping from her glass.

“I mean, let’s just talk about him for a second,” Lila began, her voice dramatic. “The mopey neighbor with the accent? And did you see those tattoos? They were peeking out, Y/N. He’s giving mysterious bad boy energy.”

Y/N groaned, her cheeks warming instantly. “Oh my God, Lila. He was literally just here to tell us to shut up.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not hot,” Harper chimed in, grinning. “He has that whole ‘I’m grumpy but secretly charming’ vibe. Like, did you see the way he smirked when he made that little joke?”

Y/N tried to hide her flustered reaction by taking another sip of wine, but she couldn’t stop the blush creeping up her neck. She’d noticed too—his smirk, his sharp jawline, the tattoos curling up his forearm, just barely visible under his hoodie sleeves. She’d noticed everything.

“I mean, he’s okay, I guess,” Y/N mumbled, keeping her tone nonchalant.

“Okay?” Lila shot up, nearly spilling her wine. “You’re lying. You’re the worst liar ever.”

“Shut up,” Y/N said, laughing as she buried her face in her hands. “Fine, he’s cute. So what? He’s also my neighbor, and he’s probably annoyed with me forever now.”

“He’s not annoyed,” Harper said, nudging her with her foot. “If he were, he wouldn’t have made the effort to come over himself. He would’ve sent an email to management or something. He wanted an excuse to see you.”

“Right,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “Because nothing’s more attractive than a drunk girl singing Backstreet Boys at full volume.”

“Exactly!” Lila exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. “You’re memorable. He’ll never forget you now.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing despite herself. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Harper said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “But I bet he thinks you’re cute too.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed deeper, and she quickly changed the subject. But as the night went on, she couldn’t shake the image of Harry standing in her doorway, his messy hair, his smirk, and those tattoos. Maybe her friends weren’t entirely wrong.

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds of Y/N’s apartment, illuminating the chaos left behind from the night before. Wine glasses, half-eaten snacks, and the abandoned karaoke mic were scattered around the living room. The girls were tangled up in blankets, sprawled across the couch and the floor like a scene from a sitcom.

Y/N was the first to stir, groaning as she rubbed her eyes and sat up. Harper was curled up on the couch with a throw pillow over her head, while Lila lay on the floor in a makeshift nest of cushions, one arm dramatically draped over her face.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Y/N teased, nudging Lila with her foot.

Lila groaned. “Why are you awake? It’s illegal to be this alive right now.”

Harper peeked out from under her pillow, her voice muffled. “What time is it? Do we even have the energy to exist today?”

“Barely,” Y/N replied, standing and stretching. “But I’m starving, so I’m making breakfast. Come help me.”

Harper and Lila grumbled but eventually dragged themselves up and into the kitchen, where Y/N was already cracking eggs into a bowl. Together, they whipped up a chaotic but delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and a mountain of coffee.

The girls sat around the small dining table, eating in comfortable silence at first. Then Lila broke the quiet with a wicked grin.

“So… Harry.”

“Oh my God,” Y/N groaned, covering her face. “Not again.”

“Listen, I was just thinking,” Lila said, smirking. “Next time we do this, we should make it even louder. Really make him come back over.”

Harper snorted into her coffee. “Yes! Like, full-blown karaoke night but with amps and disco lights.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips. “You two are the worst.”

“But you love us,” Harper said, nudging her with an elbow.

After breakfast, the girls cleaned up and packed their things before heading out. Harper hugged Y/N tightly. “We definitely need to do this again.”

Lila nodded enthusiastically. “Louder next time. You know, for research purposes.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing as she walked them to the door. “You’re both insane, but I love you. Drive safe.”

Once they were gone, Y/N flopped onto the couch and opened their group chat. Almost immediately, messages started flooding in.

Lila: Next sleepover, let’s bring a fog machine. If Harry shows up, we’ll just act like it’s a concert.

Harper: Or we could rent a spotlight. Make it an event

Y/N: You guys are unbelievable. No more wine for you next time.

Lila: Admit it, you want him to show up again.

Y/N: …maybe.

Harper: KNEW IT.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at her phone, her cheeks warming yet again. As ridiculous as her friends were, they weren’t entirely wrong.

The day passed in a blur of cleaning and tidying as Y/N tried to get her apartment back to its usual organized state. By the time the sun started to dip low in the sky, the chaos from the night before had been erased, leaving her apartment looking like a picture of calm domesticity. Feeling accomplished, Y/N decided to check her mailbox before settling in for a quiet evening.

She padded down to the mailroom in her building, dressed in a casual but presentable outfit—high-waisted jeans and a simple white top. As she rifled through the usual junk mail and a couple of bills, the sound of someone entering the room caught her attention.

Glancing to the side, she saw Harry walking in, his hoodie replaced by a fitted black t-shirt and dark jeans. His tattoos were on full display now—intricate designs that wound up his forearm and disappeared under the sleeve of his shirt. He barely glanced at her as he moved to his mailbox, unlocking it with practiced ease.

Y/N swallowed her nerves and decided to seize the moment. It was better to make a proper introduction now than to let the awkwardness from last night linger. Turning slightly toward him, she cleared her throat.

“Hey, neighbor,” she began, keeping her tone light. “Figured I should introduce myself officially now that I’m not, you know, half-drunk and screaming karaoke at midnight. I’m Y/N.”

Harry turned his head, his green eyes locking onto hers. His expression was neutral, almost unreadable, as he gave her a quick once-over. “Harry,” he said simply, his voice low and clipped.

Y/N bit back a grin, determined not to let his gruff demeanor throw her off. “Nice to meet you, Harry. Sorry again about last night. I promise we don’t usually host impromptu concerts. Unless, of course, you’re a fan of boy band throwbacks.”

Harry let out a soft exhale that could’ve been a laugh—or just a sigh. “I’ll survive.”

Encouraged by the hint of amusement, Y/N decided to keep the conversation going. “You know, if you’re ever feeling nostalgic, you’re welcome to join us. We could use a fourth member for our extremely off-key girl group.”

Harry’s lips twitched slightly, but his expression remained mostly stoic. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Y/N tilted her head, giving him a mock-serious look. “You’re really hard to read, you know that? Most people at least chuckle at my jokes.”

Harry glanced at her, his gaze steady and calm. “Maybe I’m just not most people.”

For a moment, Y/N didn’t know how to respond. There was something almost challenging in his tone, but it wasn’t harsh. If anything, it piqued her curiosity even more.

“Well, Harry,” she said finally, flashing him a bright smile. “Challenge accepted. I’ll make you laugh one of these days.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead closing his mailbox and tucking the letters under his arm. As he moved to leave, he paused, looking over his shoulder.

“We’ll see about that.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Y/N standing there with her stack of mail and a strange mix of frustration and intrigue swirling in her chest. One thing was for sure—Harry might be grumpy, but he was far from boring.

As soon as Y/N got back to her apartment, she tossed her mail onto the counter and grabbed her phone, already smirking to herself. She opened the group chat with Harper and Lila, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Y/N:

Guess who I just ran into in the mailroom?

It didn’t take long for her phone to buzz with replies.

Lila:

Was it… oh, I don’t know… Mr. Grumpy Hot Neighbor?

Harper:

Harry! Tell us everything right now.

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly, typing out her reply.

Y/N:

Yes, it was Harry. I introduced myself properly. You know, as a fully functional adult and not a drunken mess.

Lila:

And? Did he swoon? Did he drop all his mail and propose on the spot?

Harper:

Or at least crack a smile?

Y/N sighed and leaned back against the counter, smirking to herself as she typed.

Y/N:

Absolutely not. He was… well, Harry. Polite but distant. He might’ve almost smiled, but I can’t be sure.

Lila:

Ugh, he’s really sticking to the mysterious moody thing. It’s so hot. What did you say to him?

Y/N:

I told him he was hard to read and said I’d make him laugh one day.

Harper:

Bold move, I love it. What did he say?

Y/N:

He said, ‘We’ll see about that.’

Lila:

STOP. That’s basically flirting.

Harper:

Right? That’s flirty! Subtle, broody flirting.

Y/N:

You two are ridiculous. It wasn’t flirting. He’s just… like that.

Lila:

Y/N, this is your rom-com moment, and you’re living in denial. Grumpy guy + sunshine girl is literally a trope for a reason.

Harper:

Exactly. Next step: get him to join us for karaoke.

Y/N:

Oh, sure, because he definitely seems like the kind of guy who wants to sing ‘Toxic’ with us.

Lila:

You never know. Maybe he has a secret karaoke voice that’ll blow us all away.

Y/N laughed to herself, shaking her head. Her friends were relentless, but she couldn’t deny that their enthusiasm made her smile. As much as she tried to brush off the encounter, she couldn’t stop replaying it in her head—the way Harry’s green eyes lingered just a second too long, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. 

It had been a couple of weeks since Y/N’s encounter with Harry in the mailroom, and she’d managed to push him to the back of her mind. Between work, friends, and her usual routine, she hadn’t bumped into him in the halls or around the building. Life went on, and the memory of his grumpy smirk became just another amusing anecdote to share with Harper and Lila.

Until one night.

Y/N was jolted awake by the blaring sound of the fire alarm. Disoriented and groggy, she stumbled out of bed and grabbed a sweatshirt, pulling it over her pajama tank top. She shoved her feet into sneakers, grabbed her phone, and headed for the door. The hallway was chaotic, filled with neighbors in various states of sleepiness and confusion, all heading for the exits.

Once outside, Y/N joined the crowd of residents gathering on the sidewalk. The chilly night air bit at her skin, and she crossed her arms to keep warm. She craned her neck, scanning the crowd to see if there was anyone she knew—until her eyes landed on a familiar figure leaning against a lamppost.

It was Harry. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction, and he wore a hoodie over loose sweatpants. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, which, to be fair, he probably had. His expression was pure exhaustion, and he rubbed the back of his neck as he yawned.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She made her way over, her footsteps crunching on the gravel. “Hey, neighbor,” she said, coming to a stop next to him.

Harry turned his head, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he registered her. “Y/N,” he said, his voice rough from sleep. “This is… unexpected.” He waved his hand around. 

She grinned, shifting her weight to one foot. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. But hey, at least it’s the fire alarms being obnoxiously loud this time and not me.”

Harry’s lips twitched, and for a second, she thought she’d finally gotten him to crack a smile. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?” he asked dryly.

“Never,” Y/N replied, a teasing lilt in her voice. “It’s too good of a story.”

Harry exhaled softly, almost like a laugh, and shook his head. “Fair enough.”

They stood in silence for a moment, watching as a fire truck pulled up and a couple of firefighters headed inside to investigate. The air was crisp and carried a faint chill, but Y/N barely noticed. She glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye.

“Do you think it’s an actual fire?” she asked.

“Doubt it,” he said, crossing his arms. “Probably just someone burning their midnight snack.”

“Sounds like a riveting Saturday night,” Y/N joked, earning another small exhale from him.

“Tell me about it,” he muttered, glancing down at her. His gaze lingered for a moment, and Y/N could feel her cheeks warm, though she tried to play it cool.

“Well,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “If it turns out to be a drill, I’m demanding a formal apology from management for ruining my beauty sleep.”

Harry’s lips quirked, just enough for her to notice. “I’m sure they’ll get right on that.”

For the first time, standing outside in the middle of the night with Harry didn’t feel awkward or forced. It was easy, natural even, despite his perpetually tired and broody demeanor. Maybe it was the ridiculousness of the situation, or maybe her persistence was finally wearing him down.

Before either of them could say more, a firefighter emerged from the building, shouting to the crowd that it was a false alarm. People groaned, some laughing as they shuffled back toward the entrance.

Harry pushed off the lamppost and looked at Y/N. “Guess that’s our cue.”

“Looks like it,” she said. “Catch you later, Harry.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Night, Y/N.”

As she headed back to her apartment, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a small spark of satisfaction. Sure, he was still grumpy, but she was getting closer to breaking through. And honestly, she didn’t mind the challenge.

By the time Y/N woke up the next morning, she had already drafted the text she knew Harper and Lila would demand. Still half-asleep, she grabbed her phone and opened their group chat, typing out the full story in detail.

Y/N:

So… guess who I bumped into at 3 a.m. when the fire alarm went off?

It didn’t take long for her phone to buzz with rapid-fire responses.

Harper:

Oh my God. HARRY?

Lila:

Please tell me you were both standing there in your PJs like the meet-cute of the century.

Y/N:

 No, it wasn’t a meet-cute. We just talked. Very normal. Nothing groundbreaking.

Harper:

What did you talk about?

Y/N:

I made a joke about how this time it wasn’t me being loud, it was the fire alarm.

Lila:

YES. Classic Y/N. What did he say?

Y/N:

He just… smirked. Or sighed. I’m honestly not sure anymore. He’s so hard to read.

Harper:

Smirking counts as flirting. I’m logging it.

Lila:

Definitely flirting. He wouldn’t have smirked if he wasn’t secretly interested. Men don’t waste smirks on people they don’t like.

Y/N:

Or he was just tired and didn’t care enough to argue.

Harper:

Nope. Not buying it. He’s interested. He’s just grumpy interested.

Lila:

Exactly! Brooding types like him don’t wear their feelings on their sleeves, but trust me, he’s intrigued. You just need to keep working on him.

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile.

Y/N:

You two are absolutely ridiculous. We talked for five minutes, tops. Nothing more, nothing less.

Harper:

Sure, keep telling yourself that.

Lila:

Face it, Y/N. This is your slow-burn romance, and we are here for it. We’re already planning the playlist for your wedding.

Y/N:

Oh my God. I can’t with you two.

Despite her protests, Y/N couldn’t stop replaying the interaction in her mind—the way his eyes lingered on her, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Harper and Lila were reading too much into it… weren’t they?

Shaking her head, Y/N tossed her phone onto the couch. She had no intention of indulging their wild theories. But deep down, a small, stubborn part of her couldn’t help but wonder. 

Y/N lay in bed, staring at the faint shadows cast by her bedside lamp on the ceiling. The city sounds outside her window were faint but constant—cars in the distance, the occasional murmur of voices. She’d been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, her brain refusing to shut off.

It didn’t help that every time she closed her eyes, all she could think about was Harry.

It wasn’t intentional, or at least that’s what she told herself. She’d been trying to push him out of her mind all day, but now, in the stillness of the night, his image seemed to surface unbidden. The way his messy hair stuck out when she’d seen him by the mailboxes. The tattoos peeking out from under his shirt sleeves, the intricate designs winding across his arms like a story she desperately wanted to read.

And then there was his face—sharp jawline, green eyes that seemed to pierce through her defenses, and that faint smirk he’d given her last night when she’d cracked her fire alarm joke. It wasn’t a full smile, but it had been enough to spark something in her. Something she couldn’t quite shake.

She groaned, rolling onto her side and burying her face in her pillow. “Get a grip,” she muttered to herself.

But it was no use. She kept thinking about the way his voice sounded—low, calm, almost soothing in its quiet confidence. The way he seemed perpetually unimpressed but not unkind, like he was holding back a part of himself from the world. And the way, despite all that grumpiness, she felt drawn to him.

The worst part was that she barely even knew him. A few brief encounters, a handful of words exchanged—it wasn’t enough to warrant this level of overthinking. And yet, here she was, wide awake at 2 a.m., her thoughts spinning in circles around a guy who probably wasn’t thinking about her at all.

She sighed, flipping onto her back again and staring at the ceiling. “You’re losing it, Y/N,” she whispered into the dark.

But no matter how hard she tried to distract herself—counting sheep, replaying her favorite movie in her head, anything—her mind kept drifting back to Harry. How frustratingly attractive he was. How much she wanted to figure him out. And how, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she kind of liked the challenge.

The next afternoon, Y/N tied her apron around her waist and stepped onto the floor of the bustling Italian restaurant where she worked. The warm scent of garlic, fresh basil, and baking bread filled the air as the sounds of clinking silverware and cheerful conversations hummed around her. It was her favorite kind of shift—steady but not overwhelming, just busy enough to keep her energized.

She loved being a server. There was something satisfying about knowing the menu by heart, from the way the chef perfectly folded the handmade ravioli to the rich, velvety tiramisu that always left customers raving. She enjoyed the rhythm of it all: taking orders, making guests laugh, weaving between tables like she was part of a well-rehearsed dance.

By the time her shift ended, the sun was low in the sky, casting a soft golden glow over the city streets. Y/N slipped her bag over her shoulder, said goodbye to her coworkers, and began her short walk home.

The evening was warm, the kind of weather that made her glad she’d chosen this neighborhood to live in. She liked the convenience of being close to work, the charm of the old brick buildings, and the occasional vendor selling flowers or roasted nuts on the sidewalk.

But as she rounded the last corner toward her apartment building, the sky darkened suddenly. Heavy clouds rolled in overhead, and before she could process what was happening, the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

“Seriously?” Y/N muttered, looking up at the sky as if it might offer her an explanation. Within seconds, the light drizzle turned into a full-on downpour. She didn’t have an umbrella, of course—it had been sunny when she left for work—and now she was too far from the restaurant to go back.

She quickened her pace, pulling her bag closer to her body to shield it from the rain. Her hair was already plastered to her forehead, and her clothes clung to her as the rain soaked through. She groaned in frustration but couldn’t help laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

By the time her apartment building came into view, she was drenched. She jogged the last stretch, her sneakers splashing in puddles, and darted toward the lobby entrance. As she reached for the door, it opened from the inside—and there, standing in the doorway, was Harry.

Of course, it was Harry.

He was holding a takeout bag in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. His green eyes widened slightly when he saw her, taking in her rain-soaked appearance.

“Rough night?” he asked, his voice dry but laced with faint amusement.

Y/N brushed a wet strand of hair out of her face, shaking water from her arms. “You could say that. Apparently, the weather decided I needed a shower.”

Harry stepped back, holding the door open for her. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

“Thanks for the observation,” Y/N said with a wry smile as she stepped inside, water pooling around her feet. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He smirked, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary before he nodded toward the elevators. “You should probably get upstairs before you flood the lobby.”

“Wow, you’re so thoughtful,” she teased, her sarcasm barely masking the warmth in her voice.

Harry didn’t reply, but his lips twitched like he was holding back a comment. He stepped aside, letting her pass, and as Y/N headed toward the elevator, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder. He was still standing by the door, his attention now on the rain outside, but she could’ve sworn she caught him sneaking a glance at her as she walked away.

Y/N stepped into her apartment, water dripping onto the floor as she kicked off her soaked sneakers. She stripped off her rain-soaked clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket before heading straight to the bathroom. The hot water of the shower was bliss, washing away the chill of the rain and the lingering frustration of getting caught in it. By the time she stepped out, wrapped in a fluffy towel, her skin was warm and her mind was clearer.

Slipping into her favorite pair of soft pajamas—shorts and an oversized t-shirt—she towel-dried her hair and grabbed her phone from the counter. She hadn’t checked it since leaving work, and the screen lit up with a few notifications. Most were unimportant, but one text made her freeze.

Unknown Number:

Hey, it’s Harry. Got your number from the resident book. Hope that’s okay. I, uh, ordered way too much food. If you’re not busy and don’t mind eating with someone who’s terrible at small talk, you’re welcome to join me.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry had texted her? She stared at the message, rereading it a couple of times, unsure what to make of it. The grumpy, brooding neighbor had gone out of his way to invite her over for dinner?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she thought about what to say. She could easily come up with an excuse, blame the rain, or even politely decline. But something about his message—how he’d gone through the trouble of looking up her number and even made a self-deprecating joke—made her hesitate.

Finally, she started typing.

Y/N:

Hey! I’m surprised you didn’t mention how loud I was running through the lobby earlier. I’d love to join, but fair warning: I’m in my pajamas. I’ll bring wine to make up for it.

She hit send before she could second-guess herself and immediately got up to rummage through her small wine rack. She picked out a bottle of red, grabbed her favorite corkscrew, and texted him again.

Y/N:

Give me five minutes to make myself look less like a wet dog.

His response came almost instantly.

Harry:

I wouldn’t have said anything about the lobby, but now that you’ve brought it up… five minutes works. Apartment 4D.

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. She quickly towel-dried her hair a little more, tossed it into a loose bun, and grabbed the wine. As she stood by her door, nerves fluttered in her stomach, but she pushed them aside.

Whatever this was—neighborly dinner, an olive branch, or something else—she was curious enough to find out.

Y/N stepped out of her apartment, the bottle of wine in hand, and made her way to the elevator. As she descended a floor, her nerves started to tingle, though she shook them off. It wasn’t a big deal. It was just dinner with her neighbor. Her very attractive, grumpy neighbor with tattoos and a British accent. Nothing to overthink at all.

When she reached Harry’s door, she raised her hand to knock—but before she could, the door swung open. Harry stood there, leaning casually against the frame, one eyebrow raised.

“I could hear you coming down the hall,” he said, his tone dry but his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

Y/N let out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I’ll take that as your way of saying you’re happy to see me.”

“Something like that,” he replied, stepping aside to let her in.

Y/N walked in, glancing around as she entered. Harry’s apartment was similar in layout to hers but had an entirely different vibe. The walls were painted a deep, moody gray, with shelves lined with books, records, and a few small plants that looked suspiciously well cared for. A guitar rested in the corner by the window, and the faint smell of takeout wafted from the small kitchen.

“Nice place,” she said, setting the wine on the counter. “Very… broody chic. Fits you.”

Harry arched a brow as he closed the door. “Broody chic? Is that a compliment?”

“Depends how you take it,” Y/N shot back with a grin.

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he moved toward the kitchen. “Hope you’re hungry. I may have overestimated how much I can eat on my own.”

She followed him, glancing at the spread on the counter. There were containers of what looked like Thai food—pad thai, green curry, fried rice, and spring rolls. Definitely enough for two, if not three.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said, grabbing a spring roll. “Planning on feeding the whole building?”

“Only the loudest resident,” he said, smirking again.

She gave him a playful glare before grabbing plates from the counter and handing him one. “Lucky for you, I came prepared,” she said, holding up the wine. “This should balance things out.”

As they settled at the small table, Y/N couldn’t help but notice how relaxed Harry seemed. He wasn’t smiling, not really, but there was something softer about him tonight. Less guarded. And as they started eating, trading sarcastic comments and occasional small talk, she realized she didn’t mind the challenge of cracking through his tough exterior one bit.

Harry handed Y/N two wine glasses, their fingers brushing briefly as she took them. He didn’t say anything, but his lips moved slightly as if he was trying not to smirk. Y/N poured the wine, filling each glass just enough before sliding one over to him.

Meanwhile, he plated the food, carefully dividing the dishes between two plates. His movements were deliberate, almost methodical, and Y/N found herself watching him for a moment before realizing what she was doing. Shaking herself out of it, she grabbed her glass and followed him to the bar counter.

They sat side by side, the warm glow of the pendant light above them casting a cozy atmosphere. Y/N took a sip of her wine, her gaze flicking to Harry as he started eating in silence.

For a while, she stayed quiet, enjoying the food and the unspoken rhythm of their shared meal. But her curiosity got the better of her. Setting her glass down, she turned toward him slightly, resting her elbow on the counter.

“So,” she began, her tone light but probing, “why are you always so grumpy?”

Harry paused mid-bite, his fork hovering over his plate as he looked at her. His green eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger but as if he were trying to decide how serious she was.

“Grumpy?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, grumpy,” she said, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You know, the whole emo, barely-smiling, ‘I don’t have time for your nonsense’ vibe you’ve got going on. Is it like… your thing?”

Harry leaned back slightly, taking a slow sip of his wine as he considered her question. “Maybe I’m not grumpy,” he said finally, his voice calm. “Maybe you’re just too… cheerful.”

“Cheerful?” she echoed, laughing softly. “That’s your explanation? I’m cheerful, so that automatically makes you grumpy?”

“Something like that,” he said, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling. “You’re deflecting.”

He raised his glass, meeting her gaze over the rim as he took another sip. “Maybe.”

“Come on,” she pressed, leaning in slightly. “There’s got to be a reason. I mean, you’re not actuallymiserable all the time, are you?”

Harry sighed, setting his glass down and leaning his forearms on the counter. For a moment, he seemed to be debating whether or not to answer. Finally, he shrugged.

“I’m not grumpy,” he said, his voice quieter. “I just… don’t see the point in pretending all the time. People put on this front like everything’s great, but most of the time, it’s not. I’m just… honest about it.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. There was something in his tone—something unspoken but heavy, like he was revealing more than he intended.

“Well,” she said softly, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think being happy is the same as pretending. And I’m not pretending.”

Harry glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “I noticed,” he said simply.

Her cheeks warmed, and for a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Then Y/N picked up her glass and raised it toward him.

“To being honest,” she said with a small smile.

Harry’s eyes flicked to her glass before he picked up his own, clinking it against hers. “To being honest,” he echoed.

And for the first time that evening, his smirk softened into something closer to a smile.

Harry swirled the wine in his glass, staring at the deep red liquid for a moment before setting it down and looking at Y/N. His expression was more open now, his usual guarded demeanor softened.

“You seem nice enough,” he said, his tone casual but sincere. “I could use a friend around here.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the admission. For a moment, she wasn’t sure how to respond. Then a warm smile spread across her face.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” she said, her voice light with humor. “I thought for sure you hated me after the whole karaoke fiasco.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, his lips twitching in amusement. “Hated you? No. Annoyed, maybe. But hate’s a strong word.”

“Good to know,” Y/N said, laughing softly. “Because I was convinced you’d written me off as the world’s loudest neighbor.”

“I’ll admit,” Harry said, smirking now, “the karaoke was… a lot. But it’s hard to hate someone who sings ‘I Want It That Way’ with that much enthusiasm.”

Y/N covered her face with her hands, laughing harder. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you remember the song. That’s so embarrassing.”

“It’s unforgettable,” he said with mock seriousness, taking another sip of wine.

When her laughter died down, Y/N looked at him, her expression softening. “For what it’s worth, I’d be happy to be your friend. You don’t seem as scary as you pretend to be.”

“Scary?” Harry echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah,” she teased. “You’ve got the whole ‘grumpy lone wolf’ thing going on. It’s a little intimidating.”

Harry shook his head, but there was a faint smile on his face. “I’m not scary.”

“No,” Y/N said, grinning. “You’re not. You’re just… Harry.”

He didn’t respond right away, but his gaze lingered on her for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Finally, he nodded, his tone soft but certain. “Yeah. Just Harry.”

As they continued eating, the conversation grew lighter, the initial tension between them fading into something comfortable. By the time they finished their meal, Y/N realized that beneath Harry’s gruff exterior was someone she genuinely wanted to know better. And judging by the way his smirk had softened into something warmer, she suspected he felt the same.

After finishing their plates, Harry leaned back in his chair, resting his forearm on the bar counter as he glanced at Y/N. There was a comfortable silence between them, one she hadn’t expected when she first showed up at his door.

“Thanks for coming over,” he said finally, his tone quieter but sincere. “I don’t usually… do this.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, swirling her wine in her glass. “What? Order too much food or invite people over?”

He smirked faintly, shaking his head. “The second one. I’m not exactly the ‘neighborly dinner’ type.”

“Well, I feel special then,” she teased, tilting her head at him. “Although, if you’re not usually this social, why’d you invite me? I mean, not that I’m complaining.”

Harry shrugged, glancing down at his glass. “You seemed… different. I don’t know. Most people I meet just seem fake, like they’re putting on a show. But you’re…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Real.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty of his words. “Oh,” she said softly, a smile tugging at her lips. “Well, thanks. I think.”

“I mean it,” Harry added, looking at her directly now. “You’re… not what I expected when I moved here. In a good way.”

Her cheeks warmed at his words, and she tried to play it off with humor. “Careful, Harry. You’re starting to sound like you actually like me.”

“Don’t push it,” he said with a smirk, though his eyes were softer than usual.

They fell into another comfortable silence, sipping their wine and letting the moment stretch out. Y/N felt herself relax more with each passing second, realizing how easy it was to be around him now that some of his walls had come down.

After a moment, she broke the quiet. “You know, for someone who claims not to be social, you’re pretty good company.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” she said, her grin widening. “You should let yourself be social more often. You might surprise yourself.”

He scoffed softly, shaking his head. “One step at a time.”

They shared a small laugh, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel like this was a turning point. Whatever Harry had been holding back before, he was letting her in now, even if only a little. It felt… nice.

Eventually, she glanced at her phone and realized how late it had gotten. “I should probably head back,” she said, setting her empty wine glass down. “I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”

Harry stood as she got up, shaking his head. “You haven’t. But… thanks for coming. I mean it.”

She smiled, grabbing the bottle of wine. “Anytime, Harry.”

As she walked to the door, he followed her, leaning casually against the frame as she turned back to face him. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at her, a softness she wasn’t used to seeing from him.

“Goodnight,” she said, her voice lighter now.

“Night, Y/N,” he replied, his smirk returning.

She headed back to her apartment, her heart unexpectedly lighter. Maybe Harry wasn’t as grumpy as he seemed—or maybe she was just getting used to it. Either way, she found herself smiling as she closed her door behind her. And for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t overthinking anything.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sunlight filtering through her blinds and a faint smile lingering on her lips. The night before with Harry had been… unexpected, but not in a bad way. She stretched, grabbed her phone from the nightstand, and immediately opened her group chat with Harper and Lila.

Y/N:

So, guess what? Harry invited me over for dinner last night.

It didn’t take long for her phone to explode with notifications.

Lila:

WHAT. DETAILS NOW.

Harper:

DID YOU SLEEP WITH HIM?!

Y/N rolled her eyes, her cheeks warming despite being alone.

Y/N:

No, I didn’t sleep with him. Calm down.

Lila:

Boring. But continue.

Harper:

Okay, but like, did it feel like it was going there?

Y/N:

No! It wasn’t like that. He said he had too much food and could use a friend, so I brought wine, and we had dinner. That’s it.

Lila:

You brought wine. That’s a date move.

Harper:

Right? Totally a date.

Y/N:

It wasn’t a date. We ate at his bar counter, talked a little, and that’s all. But…

Lila:

BUT WHAT?!

Harper:

Spill, Y/N. Don’t make us beg.

Y/N sighed, biting her lip as she typed out her next message.

Y/N:

Okay, fine. I wouldn’t mind if something happened, but it’s not like I know much about him. I don’t even know what he does for work.

Lila:

Oh my God. You want to bang the mysterious, tattooed neighbor. I KNEW IT.

Harper:

This is your grumpy/sunshine romance, and we are living for it.

Y/N:

You two are ridiculous. I’m just saying he’s attractive, okay? That doesn’t mean anything’s going to happen.

Lila:

It’ll happen. The sexual tension alone is probably unbearable.

Harper:

Agreed. You just need to ask him questions about himself. What he does for work, what his favorite food is, if he’s single—

Lila:

Definitely ask the last one. For research purposes.

Y/N groaned, shaking her head but smiling despite herself.

Y/N:

You two are impossible. But fine, if the opportunity comes up, I’ll try to find out more about him. Happy?

Harper:

Ecstatic.

Lila:

Can’t wait to hear how this unfolds. We’re already planning the wedding playlist.

Y/N laughed, tossing her phone onto the bed. Her friends were relentless, but they weren’t wrong about one thing—she was curious about Harry. And as much as she tried to deny it, she wouldn’t mind getting to know him better… or seeing where this strange connection between them might lead.

Later that month Y/N walked into her apartment after a long day, expecting the usual cozy warmth to greet her. Instead, an icy chill hit her the moment she stepped inside. She frowned, rubbing her arms and heading straight for the thermostat. She fiddled with it for a minute, but no matter what she did, the heater refused to turn on.

“Great,” she muttered, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders. It wasn’t unbearably cold outside, but inside her apartment, it felt like a freezer.

With no other options, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She didn’t know many people in the building—just Harry, really. And as much as she hesitated, her fingers hovered over his name before she finally sent a text.

Y/N:

Hey, random question. Do you happen to have a small heater or something I can borrow? My heater’s broken, and it’s freezing in here.

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed.

Harry:

Why don’t you just stay here tonight? I’ve got heat, and I don’t own a portable heater.

Y/N stared at the message, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t expected that. Borrowing something was one thing, but staying at his place? She hesitated, her fingers tapping lightly against the screen. Before she could overthink it, she typed out a response.

Y/N:

Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.

His reply was quick.

Harry:

You’re not intruding. Besides, it’s better than you freezing to death in your apartment. Bring whatever you need.

She bit her lip, a mix of nerves and curiosity swirling in her chest. Finally, she grabbed a bag and threw in some essentials—pajamas, a toothbrush, and a few other things—before bundling up and heading out.

When she reached his door, she knocked softly. It opened almost immediately, and there was Harry, leaning against the frame with his usual calm demeanor.

“Figured you’d take me up on the offer,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.

“Yeah, well, hypothermia didn’t sound appealing,” Y/N replied with a small smile, brushing past him into the warmth of his apartment.

As she set her bag down by the couch, she glanced at him. “Thanks for this, by the way. I really appreciate it.”

He shrugged, closing the door. “No problem. It’s just one night.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Wow, Harry. That almost sounded like you’re happy to have me here.”

He gave her a dry look but didn’t respond, instead gesturing toward the couch. “You can take the couch if you want, or I can grab some extra blankets for the guest room.”

She looked at the couch, then back at him. “Guest room? You have a guest room?”

“Barely,” he said with a shrug. “It’s more of a storage room, but there’s a bed in there.”

“Well, as long as it’s warmer than my apartment, I’ll take it.”

Harry nodded, heading toward the hallway. “I’ll grab some blankets.”

As Harry disappeared down the hallway to grab blankets, Y/N called after him, her voice light and teasing. “By the way, I brought some wine as a thank-you! You know, for saving me from my frozen wasteland of an apartment.”

She heard him chuckle faintly, his voice drifting back from the other room. “Thoughtful of you. What kind?”

“Red. A classic, nothing too fancy,” she replied, smirking as she started to take the bottle out of her bag. “Figured you’d prefer something a little understated, given your whole ‘mysterious and broody’ vibe.”

Harry reappeared in the doorway, carrying a thick blanket over one shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I think you enjoy calling me broody a little too much.”

“Well, it fits,” she shot back, grinning. “Speaking of which, I realized something earlier—I don’t even know what you do for work. So, enlighten me, oh mysterious one. What is it that you do?”

Harry paused for a moment, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I own an art gallery,” he said simply, setting the blanket on the couch.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “You own an art gallery?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning casually against the back of the couch. “Small place over in Silver Lake. Nothing flashy, just local artists and smaller exhibitions.”

She stared at him, her curiosity piqued. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“What did you see coming?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, laughing softly. “Something more… I don’t know, corporate? Like sitting at a desk all day and brooding at spreadsheets.”

Harry actually laughed at that, a low, warm sound that surprised her. “Sorry to disappoint. No spreadsheets involved.”

“No, it’s not disappointing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s just… unexpected. I mean, you own an art gallery. That’s cool. Artistic and grumpy? You’re full of surprises, Harry.”

He shook his head, but there was a faint warmth in his expression, like her enthusiasm had caught him off guard. “It’s just a business.”

“Just a business?” she repeated, tilting her head. “Don’t undersell yourself. That’s impressive.”

He looked at her for a moment, his gaze steady. “Thanks.”

They fell into a brief silence, and Y/N felt the air shift slightly. It wasn’t awkward—if anything, it felt… comfortable. She gestured to the wine. “So, should we open this or what?”

Harry nodded, stepping into the kitchen to grab two glasses. “Why not? You’re my guest, after all.”

As he poured the wine, Y/N couldn’t help but think that for someone who seemed so guarded at first, Harry was slowly becoming an open book—one she was eager to keep reading.

Y/N leaned against the counter, swirling her glass of wine as she watched Harry pour his own. “So, how did you end up owning an art gallery?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. “I mean, that’s not exactly the most common career path.”

Harry took a sip of his wine, his gaze thoughtful as he set the glass down. “I’ve always loved art. Painting, sketching… that sort of thing. But it’s not exactly the easiest way to make a living.”

Y/N nodded, understanding the struggle. “So, the gallery was a way to stay involved in the art world?”

“Something like that,” he said, leaning his hip against the counter. “I came into some money after my mom passed a few years ago. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to make me think about what I really wanted to do. I didn’t want to sit in an office or work for someone else. I wanted something that felt… personal. The gallery felt like the right choice.”

“That’s incredible,” Y/N said, her voice soft. “I mean, turning something you love into a business? Not many people can say they’ve done that.”

Harry shrugged, a faint smile on his lips. “It has its challenges, but I don’t regret it.”

Y/N smiled at him, feeling a new layer of respect for her neighbor. After a moment, he tilted his head, his eyes flicking to her. “What about you? What do you do?”

She hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Oh, nothing nearly as impressive as you,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just a server. I work at an Italian restaurant a few blocks from here.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?” she asked, frowning.

“Like it’s nothing. You said you’re ‘just’ a server,” he said, taking another sip of his wine. “You’re in food service, right? That’s an art in itself. Just… a different kind.”

She blinked, caught off guard by his perspective. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”

He nodded, gesturing with his glass. “Think about it. You’re part of creating an experience for people. The way the food’s presented, the way you interact with customers—it’s all part of the artistry. Doesn’t matter if it’s a painting on a wall or a plate of pasta. It’s still something people connect with.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, a mix of surprise and gratitude washing over her. “That’s… actually really nice of you to say.”

“It’s true,” Harry said simply, his green eyes meeting hers. “Stop selling yourself short.”

She smiled, feeling unexpectedly lighter. “Thanks, Harry. I guess I’ll try to keep that in mind the next time someone complains about their breadsticks not being warm enough.”

He chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Breadsticks or not, it sounds like you’re good at what you do.”

Y/N sipped her wine, the corners of her lips curving up. 

Y/N swirled the wine in her glass, glancing at Harry over the rim. She hesitated for a moment, then decided to push the conversation a little further. “You know,” she began, her voice softer now, “you have a really nice way of thinking about things. The way you look at art, even food… it’s kind of impressive.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with an amused expression. “Is that your way of saying I’m not just a grumpy neighbor?”

“Maybe,” she said with a small grin, her tone almost teasing. “But seriously, you’ve got a smart mind, Harry. You see things in a way most people don’t.”

He tilted his head slightly, his green eyes studying her as if trying to figure out her angle. “Are you flirting with me, Y/N?”

She laughed, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. “And if I was?”

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smirk, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze never leaving hers. “Then I’d say it’s about time you stopped pretending you find me intimidating.”

“I never said you intimidate me,” she shot back, her grin widening. “I said you have a grumpy vibe. Totally different.”

“Right,” he said, his tone dry but his smirk giving him away. “Good to know I’m not scaring you off.”

“Not even close,” Y/N replied, her voice confident now. She leaned her elbow on the counter, resting her chin in her hand as she looked at him. “You’re not as scary as you think, Harry. In fact, I think you’re kind of… interesting.”

Harry chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

“Right back at you,” she said, her gaze warm.

For a moment, the air between them shifted. The playful banter was still there, but beneath it was something quieter, something unspoken. Y/N didn’t know what exactly was happening, but she wasn’t in a hurry to break the moment.

Harry finally set his glass down, his expression softening just slightly. “Careful, Y/N,” he said, his voice low but with a hint of amusement. “You keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like having me around.”

“Maybe I do,” she said simply, holding his gaze.

The corners of his mouth twitched, and for the first time, he didn’t deflect her comment. Instead, he just looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his green eyes. Y/N felt her heartbeat quicken, but she didn’t look away.

The mood in the room shifted as Harry leaned forward, his green eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine. 

He tilted his head slightly, his voice low and teasing as he said, "You wouldn't be able to handle me."

Her breath caught, but she wasn't about to let him have the last word.

 "Try me," she challenged, her voice steady but laced with anticipation.

Harry's eyes darkened, the playful smirk on his lips giving way to something deeper, something more raw. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and placed his hand lightly on her throat-not gripping, just resting, his thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. The warmth of his touch made her heart race, and she felt her breath hitch as he leaned in closer.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to disappear, the only sound her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Then, without another word, Harry closed the gap between them, capturing her lips in a deep, searing kiss.

It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't rushed either-it was deliberate, like he'd been holding himself back and was finally letting go. His lips moved against hers with a confidence that left no room for hesitation, and Y/N melted into the kiss, her hand instinctively reaching out to grip the edge of the counter for balance.

She kissed him back just as fervently, tilting her head to deepen the connection. His fingers slid from her throat to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as though he couldn't get enough of her. The heat between them was undeniable, and in that moment, nothing else mattered-not the chill of her broken heater, not the wine, not the playful banter that had led them here.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads nearly touching. Harry's green eyes searched hers, and for once, his usual guarded expression was nowhere to be found.

"Still think I can't handle you?" Y/N whispered, her voice a little breathless but tinged with humor.

Harry smirked, his hand still lingering at the nape of her neck. 

"Guess I underestimated you," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "But l'm not done yet.”

Harry's hand slid down from Y/N's neck to her wrist, his grip firm but careful as he led her through his apartment toward his bedroom.

Her heart pounded in anticipation, her breath catching when he opened the door and gently but deliberately pushed her onto the bed.

Y/N gasped softly, propping herself up on her elbows as she looked up at him. The intensity in his green eyes made her pulse race, and the energy between them was electric, the room feeling heavier with every passing second.

Harry stepped closer, his movements slow and controlled, like he was savoring the moment.

He placed a hand on her throat again, this time with a gentle but deliberate squeeze that sent a shiver down her spine. His thumb brushed along her jawline as he leaned in, his voice low and commanding.

"Are you going to be a good girl for me?" he asked, his tone dripping with authority and heat.

Y/N's breath hitched as she nodded slowly, unable to look away from his piercing gaze.

Her voice was caught somewhere in her throat, so she let her actions speak for her, tilting her head slightly into his touch.

Harry smirked, leaning down until his lips were just a breath away from her ear. His voice dropped even lower, a whisper that made her skin prickle with anticipation.

"I knew you would be," he murmured, his tone both teasing and possessive.

The words sent a jolt through her, and she felt her body react instinctively, her cheeks flushing as she surrendered to the moment.

Harry's lips brushed against the corner of her jaw, trailing down her neck as his hand stayed firmly but gently in place. Every movement felt deliberate, like he wanted her to feel every second of his attention.

Whatever control Y/N thought she had going into this was slipping fast, and the way Harry's touch consumed her made it clear—he knew it, too.

Harry paused, his intense green eyes meeting Y/N’s as he leaned over her. His hand lingered on her throat, his grip light but enough to hold her attention completely. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, didn’t move any closer. He just looked at her, his gaze softening slightly, as if he were silently asking her a question.

It wasn’t just a look—it was a pause, a chance for her to stop him if she wanted to. His eyes, usually so guarded, were now open and searching, silently asking for her consent.

Y/N’s heart raced as she looked back at him, feeling the weight of his unspoken question. She swallowed, her breath shallow as she gave him the answer he was waiting for. Slowly, purposely, she nodded.

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smile, a mixture of relief and satisfaction crossing his face. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an edge of tenderness.

He leaned down again, his lips brushing hers as his hand on her throat tightened just slightly, enough to make her feel both safe and completely at his mercy. And as the space between them disappeared, Y/N felt herself giving in fully, her trust in him unwavering.

Harry's piercing gaze never left Y/N's face, his touch as light as a butterfly's wings. He slowly pulled her to the edge, his hands on her hips. The soft rustle of sheets filled the room as she sank into the bedding, eyes darting up to meet his.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him undoing his pants, revealing his hardness beneath. She gulped audibly as he climbed onto the bed with her, their bodies pressed together from chest to knees. His hand trailed down her side, stopping just above her thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. His touch sent shivers of anticipation up and down her spine.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered against her earlobe, his hot breath causing goosebumps to form on her skin.

She bit her lip, hesitating for only a moment before whispering back, "I want you to take control."

Harry's smirk was both predatory and reassuring as he nodded once in understanding. His hand slid underneath her shirt, tracing patterns across her stomach before moving higher till it reached its destination: her lacy black bra. He palmed one of her breasts through the fabric, eliciting a moan from deep within her throat that echoed around them. His thumb circled her nipple roughly, making it harden into a tight bud underneath his touch.

His lips followed suit, kissing along her jawline and trailing down towards that erect nipple. He flicked it with his tongue teasingly while simultaneously tug

His smile was wicked as he leaned back, a glint in his eye. "Is that so?" He trailed kisses down her neck, his stubble grazing against her sensitive skin, making her shudder with pleasure. His hand slid between their bodies and brushed against her center, indulging in the wetness there. She gasped at the sensation, arching into his touch.

"You're so ready for me," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He pushed her shorts aside and slid one finger inside her slowly, feeling the tightness surrounding him. Y/N moaned softly, her hips grinding against his hand in encouragement.

Harry removed his finger, teasing her as he lowered his head to capture one of her nipples in his mouth. He growled softly against her skin, sucking gently as he began to thrust two fingers inside her in short, quick motions that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. She cried out softly, gripping the sheets beneath her as he continued his ministrations. He quickly undressed her and stared at her body. Y/N felt hot under his eyes. 

They quickly lost themselves in each other's touches. The squeak of the bedframe echoed in the room as Harry positioned himself at her entrance and pushed inside her slowly. She gasped at the fullness but welcomed it, urging him on with a nod of encouragement.

He slowed down, taking deep breaths to regain control as he braced himself above her. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked hoarsely, gaze locked onto hers.

Y/N nodded fiercely, signaling him to continue. With a low growl of approval, he began moving inside her slowly but steadily, their 

bodies meeting in a dance of desire. Every thrust sent ripples of pleasure through them both, their skin slick with sweat under the dim light of the bedside lamp. The air was thick with an almost palpable tension as they moved together, the sound of their bodies meeting filling the room.

Harry's grip on her hips tightened, his rhythm becoming faster and harder, mirroring the desire that flared in his eyes. Y/N met him stroke for stroke, their eyes locked on each other as if they were the only two people in the room. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the silence beneath the duvet, broken only by their heavy breathing and soft moans.

Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she neared her climax, his name falling from her lips in a whispered plea. Without missing a beat, he quickened his pace, his cock driving into her with urgency. Their connection was intense, overwhelming, everything she could have asked for and more.

As she cried out in ecstasy beneath him, feeling her orgasm wash over her like a wave, Harry followed close behind. His body tensed as he groaned loudly, filling her with his warmth and love. Their hearts raced in unison as they finally collapsed onto each other, panting heavily but content.

He rolled off her slowly, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before rolling onto his back beside her. 

Harry lay on his side, propped up on one elbow as he looked down at Y/N. His green eyes were softer now, a flicker of mischief dancing in them as he smirked. 

"So," he said, his voice low and teasing, "are you going to text your little girl chat and tell them we fucked?" Y/N let out a surprised laugh, turning her head to look at him. 

"What? No! They'd never let me live it down."

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. 

"You should. Tell them the hot, mysterious guy was really grumpy the whole time."Y/N laughed even harder, covering her face with her hand. 

"Oh, right. That'll really sell it. 'Hey, girls, just an FYl, my grumpy neighbor is not only hot but also excellent in bed. Highly recommend.'"

Harry chuckled, his grin widening. "Not bad. Make sure you add in the part about how I stayed in character the whole time-grumpy and all."

She rolled her eyes, still smiling as she nudged him playfully. "Fine. I'll throw in that your scowl is even sexier up close. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," he said dryly, though the amused glint in his eyes gave him away. YN shook her head, the laughter subsiding into a warm smile.

 "You know," she said, her tone softening, "you might be mysterious and grumpy, but you're also a little cocky. Just saying."

Harry leaned down, his face inches from hers.

"Maybe," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "But I think you like it."

Her cheeks flushed as she looked up at him, biting back a grin. "Maybe I do."

"Good," he said simply, before capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss that made her forget about everything else-including her friends waiting for updates in the group chat.

The week passed in a blur of near-misses and brief encounters between Y/N and Harry. She saw him in the mailroom once, where he gave her a small nod and the faintest hint of a smirk before disappearing upstairs. Another time, they crossed paths in the hallway, exchanging quick hellos but nothing more.

Neither of them brought up the night they spent together, and while Y/N tried to brush it off as a casual hookup, part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he was deliberately avoiding the topic. She didn’t want to push, figuring Harry would open up if and when he was ready.

Then, one evening, as she was curled up on her couch with a glass of wine and her laptop, her phone buzzed with a text.

Harry:

Hey. Sorry I’ve been so distant this week. The gallery is getting ready for a new showing, and it’s been… a lot.

Y/N stared at the message for a moment, her stomach fluttering. She hadn’t expected him to reach out, let alone apologize.

Y/N:

Hey, no worries. I figured you were busy. New showing sounds exciting though!

A moment later, her phone buzzed again.

Harry:

It is. Stressful, but worth it. You should come by. It’s this Saturday night. Bring your friends if you want.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry inviting her to his gallery? That felt… significant.

Y/N:

I’d love to. Are you sure you want me to bring my friends? They’re a little… loud.

Harry:

If they’re anything like you, I’m already prepared for chaos.

She laughed softly, shaking her head.

Y/N:

Fair warning: chaos is guaranteed. But I’ll be there.

Harry:

Good. I’ll send you the details tomorrow.

Y/N set her phone down, a small smile tugging at her lips. For all of Harry’s grumpiness and guarded demeanor, this felt like his way of extending an olive branch—a step toward something more. And she couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing him in his element, at the gallery, intrigued her.

She grabbed her phone again and opened the group chat with Harper and Lila.

Y/N:

Ladies, clear your schedules for Saturday night. We’re going to an art gallery.

Predictably, her phone exploded with responses almost immediately.

Lila:

Wait, is this Harry’s gallery?

Harper:

The grumpy tattooed neighbor has an art gallery?

Y/N:

Yes. He invited me. And before you ask—no, we’re not talking about the other night.

Lila:

Boring. But fine, we’re in. Is there wine?

Harper:

And snacks?

Y/N:

I’ll ask. But behave yourselves. He already thinks I’m loud.

Lila:

Oh, honey, we’re just getting started.

Y/N laughed, already imagining the chaos her friends would inevitably bring. But deep down, she was looking forward to Saturday more than she cared to admit. 

The week crawled by as Saturday approached, each day slower than the last. Y/N found herself obsessing over small details—whether Harry would be too busy to notice her, what kind of people attended art gallery showings, and most importantly, what to wear. She wanted to look effortlessly put-together, like someone who appreciated art but wasn’t trying too hard.

By Saturday afternoon, her room was a battlefield of discarded outfits. Finally, she settled on a sleek black jumpsuit paired with a cropped denim jacket and ankle boots—stylish but not over the top. She added a few gold accessories and a swipe of lipstick before grabbing her bag and heading out the door.

On the way to Silver Lake, she picked up Harper and Lila, who were already buzzing with excitement when they climbed into the car.

“You look hot,” Lila said, eyeing her outfit. “Very ‘I like art but I’m too cool to talk about it.’”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, laughing as she started the car. “I’m going for low-key, not intimidating.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” Harper chimed in, adjusting her blazer. 

Y/N glanced at them in the rearview mirror, grinning. Harper wore a bold red jumpsuit, while Lila had opted for a metallic skirt and leather jacket. 

By the time they pulled into Silver Lake, the sun had set, and the neighborhood was alive with energy. The gallery came into view, its windows glowing warmly against the evening sky. People were milling about on the sidewalk, chatting in small groups with glasses of wine in hand, while others filtered in and out of the bustling space.

“This is it,” Y/N said, parking the car and taking a deep breath.

“It’s so fancy,” Lila said, practically bouncing in her seat. “Look at all these people!”

Harper leaned forward, peering out the window. “I’m already picturing Harry brooding in a corner, glaring at anyone who talks too loud.”

“Probably,” Y/N muttered, her heart fluttering as she got out of the car. She grabbed her bag and adjusted her jacket before turning to her friends. “Okay, let’s not embarrass me too much, yeah?”

“No promises,” Harper said with a grin, looping her arm through Y/N’s as they headed toward the gallery entrance.

Inside, the space was even more vibrant. The walls were adorned with bold, eclectic pieces of art—paintings, sculptures, and mixed-media pieces that immediately drew attention. Soft music played in the background, and servers wove through the crowd with trays of wine and hors d’oeuvres. The hum of conversation filled the air, blending with the occasional burst of laughter.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room, searching for Harry. She didn’t spot him right away, but she noticed how carefully curated the space felt—each piece arranged with intention. It was a reflection of him, she realized, meticulous and thoughtful.

“This is amazing,” Harper said, grabbing a glass of wine from a passing server. “He really knows what he’s doing.”

Lila nudged Y/N. “Speaking of, where is Mr. Grumpy Art Dealer? I want to see him in his element.”

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, glancing around again. “He’s probably—”

Before she could finish, her gaze landed on him. Harry stood near the back of the room, dressed in a crisp black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showcasing his tattoos. He was talking to a small group of people, but his eyes flicked toward her as if he could feel her presence.

Their gazes locked for a moment, and he gave her a subtle nod before turning back to his conversation. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt Lila squeeze her arm.

“Oh, he definitely saw you,” Lila said, grinning. “And I’m not imagining the way he looked at you.”

“Stop,” Y/N hissed, her cheeks flushing. But she couldn’t deny it—there was something in his gaze that felt personal, even in the middle of the crowd.

“Go say hi,” Harper urged, giving her a nudge.

“Not yet,” Y/N said, grabbing a glass of wine for herself. “I’ll wait until he’s free. Let’s just look around first.”

As they wandered through the gallery, admiring the artwork, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that Harry’s eyes were on her—even when she wasn’t looking his way.

Y/N wandered through the gallery, sipping her wine as she admired the artwork. Each piece was so different—some abstract, others intricate and detailed—but all of them carried a sense of purpose. It was easy to see that Harry had a good eye for curating.

She glanced across the room and saw Harper and Lila chatting animatedly with a group of women, likely bonding over their outfits or the wine. Typical, she thought with a smile, shaking her head.

As she moved to the next painting—a striking piece of layered colors and textures—she felt someone step up beside her. There was a shift in the air, a quiet presence that made her turn her head.

It was Harry.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the painting. His black shirt, with the sleeves still rolled up, contrasted sharply against the warm tones of the art, and his tattoos seemed to blend seamlessly into the aesthetic of the space.

“It’s acrylic and resin,” he said, his voice low but steady. “The artist used palette knives for the texture and then poured resin over it to give it that shine. Took weeks to cure properly.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard for a moment before she found her words. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly, turning her attention back to the piece. “I love the depth in it. It feels like you could reach in and get lost.”

Harry glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That’s the idea. The artist wanted it to feel immersive, like stepping into an emotional landscape.”

She looked at him, her curiosity piqued. “Do you know all the details of every piece in here?”

“Pretty much,” he admitted, his smirk growing. “Part of the job. I like to understand the process—it helps me connect with the artists and explain it to people who come through.”

Y/N smiled, sipping her wine. “It’s impressive. You’ve created something really special here.”

Harry looked at her again, his green eyes studying her for a moment. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “It means a lot, coming from you.”

She tilted her head, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “Why me?”

He shrugged slightly, his gaze flicking back to the painting. “Because you actually look at the art. Most people just see it, but you’re trying to understand it.”

Her cheeks warmed at the unexpected compliment, and she turned back to the painting to hide her flustered expression. “Well, you make it hard not to appreciate it. The way you talk about it… it’s obvious how much you care.”

He didn’t respond right away, and the silence between them felt comfortable, almost intimate. Finally, he leaned in just slightly, his voice softer now.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

Y/N turned to look at him again, her heart skipping a beat at the closeness between them. “Me too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the bustling crowd around them faded into the background, leaving just the two of them standing there, the art surrounding them as if it were part of their story.

Harry slipped his hand into Y/N’s, his fingers warm and steady as he gently tugged her through the gallery. She followed without question, her curiosity mounting as they weaved between groups of people. He didn’t say a word, just led her down a quieter section of the space where fewer people were lingering.

When they stopped, Y/N noticed the piece in front of them was a painting—bold yet delicate, with strokes that somehow conveyed both strength and softness. She tilted her head, studying it, drawn to the way the light and shadows played across the figure in the painting. There was something familiar about it, something that tugged at her memory.

She took a step closer, her heart beating faster as the realization slowly dawned on her. The painting wasn’t just beautiful—it was her.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned to Harry, her eyes wide. “Is this…?”

He nodded, his gaze steady but unreadable. “It’s you.”

Y/N stared at the painting again, her mind racing. The details were unmistakable—the way her hair fell, the soft curve of her face, the hint of a thoughtful expression she’d never realized she wore. But it wasn’t just her likeness; it was the way the he had captured something deeper, something vulnerable and raw.

“How?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “I started it a few weeks after I moved in. I didn’t even know your name then. I just… saw you.”

Her chest tightened as she turned to him again. “You saw me?”

He nodded, his green eyes softer now. “In the mailroom. In the hallway. On your balcony once, drinking coffee. I didn’t know why, but there was something about you that I couldn’t get out of my head. So, I painted.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, a mix of emotions swirling inside her—flattery, disbelief, and something she couldn’t quite name. “Harry, this is… incredible. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I just thought you should see it. This is the first time I’ve shown it to anyone.”

Her heart thudded in her chest, and she took a step closer to him, her voice soft. “Why me?”

Harry’s gaze locked on hers, his expression open and sincere. “Because it’s you, Y/N. I couldn’t have painted this if it wasn’t.”

The noise of the gallery faded around them as she stood there, her hand still in his, staring up at the painting of herself. For the first time, she saw herself through someone else’s eyes—not as the loud, chaotic neighbor, but as something worthy of being captured in art.

And Harry, the grumpy, mysterious neighbor, was the one who had done it.

[keerysfreckles]

lacy, oh lacy — LS2

pairing: logan sargeant x reader (no pronouns used)

summary: when logan needs more comforting than ever, he knows you'll be there.

warnings: sad logan, short fic, not proofread

a/n: james vowles. count your days.

masterlist !

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

when you got the text your heart broke.

'i'm not in williams anymore.'

when you got the call your heart broke even more.

his pained cracking voice sends a wave of hurt through your body. you never moved so fast to get out of your job, just telling your boss you needed to leave right now. you could've sworn you sped the whole way home but you didn't care. you needes to get to logan.

you kept the call going the whole way home, just letting him get anything he needed to off his chest. your heart clenched every time his voice broke or trailed off, or when you heard his muffled sniffling as he tried to hide it the best he could.

you promised him you were almost home, and told him you'd be there in five minutes. however as you were about to get closer to the small grocery store by your shared apartment, you had an idea.

you walked briskly down the aisles, knowing exactly what you needed to get.

you opened the third freezer door and grabbed a carton of chocolate chip ice cream. in the past if logan happened to he upset for any reason, this seemed to always brighten his mood. you only hoped the ice cream would work today.

while walking towards your apartment door and fumbling with your keys, you worry if logan's mood has gotten worse since you ended the call. you're quick with unlocking the door.

"logan?" no response.

you take off your shoes and coat by the front door, then proceed down the hallway to your bedroom. you bring the shopping bag with you, the cold ice cream hitting your leg with each step.

you can't think your heart could break more, until you see logan. he's in bed, staring at something on his phone with red puffy eyes and a matching red nose.

you silently walk over to him, leaving the ice cream at the edge of the bed. you hug him sideways, and he immediately leans into your embrace. at your contact his eyes start to water again. his body shakes as the minutes pass, only making you want to hold him impossibly closer.

your countless kisses placed on top of head don't seem to be calming him down.

this is when you look at his discared phone in his lap. it's the email sent from williams about his release.

"you know looking at the email won't change anything lo?" you question softly, continuing to run your fingers through his hair.

you feel him nod, "i just don't know what else to do," his voice cracks once more.

you begin to let go of him, but his hands tighten around you. "don't leave, please."

you kiss his head again, "i'm only going to change, then we can cuddle as much as you want. plus i got you ice cream."

he looks up at you for the first time today. his bloodshot eyes make you yourself want to cry. "chocolate chip?"

"of course," you smile before kissing him gently on the lips.

after you change out of your work clothes as quickly as possible, you grab two spoons so you and logan can enjoy the ice cream.

you begin to smile once you walk back into the bedroom. logan placed his phone down on the nightstand, and had cars queued on the tv across from the bed.

you sat next to him before placing the blanket over the both of you. you turned towards him, letting him lean into you again. youe legs ended up tangling together under the blanket as you got comfortable. the ice cream was in between you, providing both of you with a sense of familiarity and comfort.

"i love you," logan looks at you, before a small smile spreads over his features.

"i love you more, and i'm nothing but proud of you," you lean forward to kiss him, "i'll always be here for you."

[wethotcrazy]

LET'S PLAY A FEW

pairing: Zhou Guanyu x Streamer! Reader

word count:

i have been cooking this up in my brain for so long now, like it has been weeks that i've been meaning to writea guanyu fanfic and now here it is yippie also i wrote this because guanyu is very dear to me and i am just gutted that he wont be racing next year

The stream was alive with the low hum of background music and the click-clack of Y/N’s keyboard. Her Tuesday night streams were a familiar routine for her viewers—three hours of CSGO, now smoothly transitioning into Valorant. She’d solo queued, half-focused on the game, half-focused on her chat. It was a relaxed vibe tonight, her soft voice filling the gaps as she responded to questions.

“Y/N, who’s your favorite agent?” one viewer asked.

“Hmm, depends on the day,” Y/N mused, squinting at the game. “But I’m leaning toward Jett lately. Fast, flashy… plus, I’m a sucker for knives.” Her words were accompanied by the sharp sound of her clicking through weapons.

Her team switched to defense. She’d been holding B site alone and wasn’t too concerned. “It’s always quiet until it’s not,” she muttered, eyes narrowing as she scanned the entry points.

And then it wasn’t quiet.

The enemy team pushed hard—four, no, five enemies storming the site. Y/N’s demeanor shifted instantly. She stopped talking mid-sentence, leaning forward, her entire focus honed in. Chat knew what was happening. They’d seen this mode before.

One.

Two.

Three clean headshots in rapid succession. Her chat erupted.

“SHE’S COOKING,” someone spammed.

“Demon time activated,” wrote another.

Four down, one left. Y/N’s crosshair tracked, and with one swift flick—the fifth player dropped.

“ACE!” Chat’s excitement exploded, emotes and all-caps filling the screen.

“Nice ace,” a voice said, calm and steady. Y/N’s body went rigid as a soft kiss landed on the crown of her head. Her breath caught in her chest.

Slowly, as if she couldn’t believe it, she turned her head to see Zhou Guanyu standing there, his face calm as ever, hands in his sweatpants pockets. His eyes met hers with an easy grin, one he’d worn countless times but somehow always made her heart stutter.

“Are you solo queuing right now? Want me to hop on?” he asked like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Y/N’s mouth opened, but it took her a moment to find the words. The situation wasn’t particularly funny, but a wave of giddy laughter poured out of her—that helpless, uncontrollable kind.

“I’m… I’m streaming right now, Bǎobǎo,” she said through breaths of laughter, wiping at her eyes.

Guanyu’s eyes flickered toward her monitor, realizing what had just happened. His gaze shifted to the camera. “Oh. Hi, chat,” he said with a casual wave like it was any other Tuesday night.

Pandemonium.

Chat’s messages scrolled too fast for Y/N to read. Everyone was freaking out. The calm, private nature of their relationship had only left the fans guessing. Speculation had been rampant, but this? This was confirmation.

“NO WAY THAT’S GUANYU.”

“WTF OKAY BOYFRIEND REVEAL.”

“Bǎobǎo?????????”

Y/N’s face was red as she tried to focus on the chat. “Alright, alright, calm down,” she said, fanning herself dramatically. She glanced up at Guanyu, still grinning like a fool. “You’re unbelievable.”

Guanyu’s only response was to tilt his head, his grin never wavering. “You’re the one who’s blushing,” he teased before walking off toward the kitchen.

Three years earlier, Guanyu had been just another viewer in Y/N’s chat—a regular with a verified checkmark that made him stand out. People recognized his name, but Y/N didn’t at first.

“Zhou Guanyu…” she read aloud, squinting at the name in her chat. “That’s… a Formula 1 driver, right? Chat, you’re messing with me.”

“No, it’s actually him!” chat exploded.

Sure enough, he’d donated with a message: “Big fan of your streams. If you’re ever down for games, I’m in.”

Y/N’s eyes went wide. “No way that’s real,” she muttered, half-laughing. But over the next few weeks, his presence became a regular occurrence. Guanyu’s name appeared in her chat, his playful comments lighting up the screen.

Then one day, he sent a Discord invite.

“Let’s play a few,” his message read.

He wasn’t what she expected. His sense of humor was sharp but subtle. He wasn’t loud, but he was confident. Their first few games were filled with banter and easy laughter. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being just "streamer and viewer" and became… more.

Soon, he’d hop into her streams without warning. His voice was instantly recognizable. Their interactions sparked thousands of clips on Twitch. Fans flooded her social media with theories. “Are they together?” became the constant question. They never confirmed or denied it, and after a while, the frenzy died down.

But when Guanyu’s race schedule allowed, he’d appear on her stream. Sometimes he’d just be a voice in the background, sometimes he’d play with her on-stream, and sometimes, like today, he’d forget she was streaming entirely.

Back in the present, Y/N’s chat was still in shambles. Guanyu’s sudden appearance had sent them into a spiral, and Y/N’s notifications were pinging nonstop. She’d read a few messages aloud, fighting the urge to laugh all over again.

“‘Tell him to come back’… No, he’s probably playing with Sweet Corn right now,” she joked, glancing over her shoulder.

“Does he call you Bǎobǎo?’” she read, the grin on her face growing wider. “Yeah, yeah, he does that sometimes. It’s…” She trailed off, her cheeks burning again. “Don’t worry about it.”

A few minutes later, Guanyu wandered back in with a bowl of fruit in hand, offering her a piece of mango. She took it with a raised brow. “You’re a menace, you know that?” she said, still half-laughing.

“Mmm,” Guanyu hummed in response, popping a piece of mango into his mouth. “You love it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” she said softly, her voice quieter this time, almost just for him.

Chat caught every word.

[criminalmindswhore]

Playlists Tell All

Tara finds your playlist titled Prentiss and looks through it while you drive. She and JJ tease you about it until Emily finally finds out.

BOTH HANDS ON THE PHONE AT ALL TIMES 🤨 Also, this is long bare with me, also not proofread, oops.

TW: SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT

It was no secret you were gay. It was apparent from the day you walked into the BAU wearing docs and a septum ring. Tara was the first to notice, lesbians find each other. You were never closeted to them but never shouted it in the bullpen either. If they asked, you told.

"Hey, Y/n can I ask you something?" Emily asked as you two went down the elevator. "Sure, what's up?" You smiled at her. "Are you gay?" She looked puzzled, "Miss BAU Unit Chief was the last to notice?" You chuckled and she looked offended, her mouth falling open. You were almost too distracted by your thoughts, 'I wonder if that's the face she makes when she-', to notice the elevator stop. "So like only women or?" She stepped out of the elevator, you following suit. You cringed at thinking of being with a man, "Only women." She chuckled, "I knew it." She stopped walking signaling you were parting ways for the night. The cold Virginia air made a chill run down your spine, or maybe you noticed the few shirt buttons undone on the way to the parking lot. "I'll see you tomorrow Y/n." She smiled at you and grabbed your bicep for a moment. The touch lingered in your brain, your skin on fire, "See you tomorrow Unit Chief of the gayest FBI unit." She laughed loudly at your comment as she walked away, her grey hair swaying with which step.

Your talks with Emily to your cars became a nightly thing, on purpose from your end but she didn't need to know that.

After a case in Northern VA, Tara, JJ and you were in an SUV driving back to Quantico. Tara deemed you the driver as you were a 'young sprite who would stay awake longer'. Your phone became the AUX phone and Tara sat up front scrolling through your music creating the perfect queue. Her eyes widened as she came across a playlist titled, 'long talks with Prentiss'. She sat straight up and looked at you. You turned your head to glance at her, then back at the road, "What?" She leaned back against the seat, "Nothing." JJ's interest was now peaked, "Tara, you gotta tell us now." Tara scrolled through the songs:

She - Dodie

girls - girl in red

1950 - King Princess

She's My Religion - Pale Waves

I Wanna Be Yours - Arctic Monkeys

Call Out My Name - The Weekend

and on and on and on...

Tara came up with a genius plan, queuing up all the songs. The second girls came on, it clicked. "Tara, I can explain." She just laughed, "Explain that you have a huge crush on someone almost 30 years older than you?" JJ put down her Cheetos, "Wait? Emily?" Your grip on the wheel tightened and your cheeks turned bright red. "Can you two just not?" Tara chuckled, "Oh no miss thing, you have to spill now." JJ laughed from the backseat.

You weighed your options, either tell them and they tease you about it, or you don't and they tease you even worse until you spill, "Fine," the two women high-fived, "but it doesn't leave this car. Clear?" JJ saluted at you and Tara nodded. "She's just so hot dude. How could I not find her attractive and she does that stupid thing when she's focused where she licks her lip and then bites it." You were gushing like a high school girl at this point. "And don't get me started on her hands." JJ cringed slightly. "Okay, but she's 1, your boss, and 2, old enough to be your mom." You sighed and grimaced, "Why do you think it lives in my head? I have a playlist and that's it. She will never know and no one else will." Tara shook her head, "Honey she probably already knows. Emily is one of the best profilers in the world, not only that she's got those super-secret spy skills. Has she been acting differently towards you?" You shook your head, "No, I mean we've been talking one-on-one a lot more but that's just because we usually leave at the same time." Tara hummed and JJ laughed loudly, "What JJ?" You were still horrified at the current situation and her finding it humorous was not helping. "She did mention how she knows someone in her inner circle is attracted to her but didn't wanna bring it up." She leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. "JJ! You can't just tell me that!" Tara was losing it, doubled over in laughter. "You both suck."

It didn't get brought up again during the case. You thought it had blown over until you were all standing in the bullpen after the case chatting while people packed up bags and files. "Hey guys, what are laughing about?" Prentiss asked as she joined the group, bag in hand. "Reid is so oblivious to how much his neighbor wants to get in his pants," Luke explained while still laughing. Emily licked her bottom lip before pulling it between her teeth, Taras's head shot around to look at you wiggling her eyebrows. You scoffed and smacked her arm. "What's going on there?" Emily asked while smiling at you two, "Oh god are two?" Tara laughed and you nearly threw up in your mouth. The whole team was now looking at you and Tara with their mouths open, "God no! Tara and I are not sleeping together!" The team erupted into laughter except for you and Emily, staring into each other's eyes. She smiled sweetly at you and your face got hot. "I am going home, you guys enjoy bullying Reid." You grabbed your bag and stood up off your desk, "Wait, I'll walk with you, let me grab my cup from the kitchen." Emily took off swiftly to retrieve her mug and JJ gave you the 'I know something they don't' look. You glared at her and went to wait for Emily by the elevators. She approached you and pressed the down button, "Ready?" You nodded and stepped into the elevator.

The following week was full of being teased by JJ & Tara and Emily knowing something was up. Emily entirely said, "If someone made a playlist based on me I would be honored," while working a case. Which earned a stare from JJ and a muffled laugh from Tara.

One night you and Emily were heading down together like you usually did, "Hey, have you been seeing someone? Tara and JJ seem to know something about you no one else does." As you unlocked your car you froze. "Um, no, there's just a running inside joke going." You shrugged your shoulders trying your best to control your microexpressions. She seemed happy with your answer and wished you goodnight. You got in the car and turned on the playlist, your phone screen still open to it when someone knocked at your window. You rolled it down and Emily glanced at your lap, "Hey did you notice if- is that my name?" Her face was shocked, yours was pure fear. You flipped your phone over, "No." She saw right through you, "Y/n, let me see." She was smiling in a way you've never seen before. You didn't budge until Emily reached through the window and snatched your phone, turning away from your car. You unbuckled yourself and jumped out, "Emily please." It was too late.

She turned around, mouth agape, "Y/n, is this how you feel about me?" Her voice was low and dropped an octave. It shot shivers through your body erupting your core. You didn't know what to say, the damage was done. She stepped closer, reached behind you, and slid your phone into your back pocket. She went to move her hands but you grabbed her arms, holding them on your ass. "Emily." Your desperation showing in your voice. It set something off in her. Before you could process it, Emily's lips were on yours and your back was hitting your car. Her hands are on your hips gripping you tight. You snaked your arms around her neck gripping her hair. Her lips moved furiously on yours, her tongue swiping against your lips. The action made you whimper giving her access to your mouth. You could feel her chest moving on yours as she breathed heavily. She pulled away but kept her face inches from yours, "Y/n," she sighed, "This can't happen." You dropped your arms from her neck, she didn't move. "Fuck it." She said in the hottest fucking voice you've ever heard, you moaned at the sound before she attached her lips to yours again.

As her apartment door closed, bags were dropped, jackets discarded. Her lips moved against your neck as you gripped her shirt, "Emily, please." She chuckled, "Already begging for me pretty girl?" You moaned at the praise and Emily lifted a brow, "Oh you liked that huh?" Her arm reached around you to harshly grabbed your ass, "You like being praised by your boss huh? Like the slut you are?" Your knees buckled under you and she gripped your hips to keep you upright. Emily continued her attack on your neck as she pulled you to her bedroom, dropping you on the bed with a thump. "Pretty girl I need you to verbally consent for me before I fuck you senseless." She unbuttoned her shirt as you spoke, "Yes Emily, please. I need you." She slipped her shirt off exposing her black lace bra to you and you stared in awe. She laughed at you and took a finger under your chin pulling your eyes back to hers, "Up here." She spoke sternly and you didn't dare disobey at the risk of her leaving you high and dry. She straddled your lap and started undoing your shirt at an agonizing speed. You squirmed under her from impatience, "Ah, patience sweet girl. I'll get there. Although I understand why you're so needy after months of wanting me exactly like this. On top of you getting ready to make you scream my name." She slipped off your shirt and leaned in close, "I believe it was, call out my name I saw on that playlist of yours?" She left a wet sloppy kiss behind your ear. You could feel the pool of wetness growing between your legs.

She kissed down your collarbones as she unclasped your bra, throwing it somewhere in the room. She kissed down to your chest until she reached your left nipple, swirling her tongue around it, "Mhm, fuck yes." You gripped her hair harder than you planned on eliciting a moan from her. It was music to your fucking ears. She discarded her slow and steady pace and reached down to unbuckle your belt, undoing your pants and slipping them past your ankles. They hit the floor with a metallic clink before she kissed down your stomach. She pulled off your underwear with her teeth, the sight nearly making you finish right then and there. "Emily, you're wearing too much, I wanna see you." Your voice was slurring, you were so drunk on every single thing you were feeling. She sat up and undid her bra, slipping it off, her perfect breasts falling against her chest. She was perfect. She stood for a second taking off her pants, revealing her perfectly toned legs.

She positioned herself between your legs and licked up your slit. The sensation making your head spin. Your hands gripping her sheets as she took your clit between her lips humming at the taste of you. "You are so in for it Y/n." Hearing her say your name like that was music to your ears. She started flicking her tongue against your clit and your back arched off the bed. She reached one of her hands up grabbing yours giving you something to ground yourself to this moment. You gripped her hands tightly as she teased you with the other hand. Emily removed her mouth from you looking up at you making eye contact, "Beg for it." Your words got caught in your throat causing Emily to completely move her hand away from you and harshly grip your thigh, "I told you to do something Y/n." You swallowed, "Please Emily. Please fuck me. Emily, I need you, please." She smiled devilishly before slamming two fingers inside of you setting a rough pace. "That's my pretty little slut." The cockiness apparent in her tone of voice. She maintained eye contact as she reattached her lips to your clit, pulling it between her teeth softly.

Emily's pace showed no mercy as she fucked you roughly. Her tongue and lips worked against your clit as she pumped her fingers in and out of you roughly. You were so close to coming undone and she could tell. She removed her mouth from you, still fucking you with her fingers, "Do you want to cum?" You writhed under her nearly screaming from pleasure, all you could muster was a nod. "I need words." You opened your eyes and looked into hers, "Yes. Please. I'll do anything." She smirked and let go of your hand, wrapping it around your throat. You moaned her name so loudly you swore the whole building would hear, but neither of you cared. She whispered against your clit, "Cum for me Y/n." She licked your clit once more before you came screaming her name and a slew of curse words. She continued her pace fucking you through the high until your body fell limp. She slowed her pace and slowly pulled her hands from you. She kissed up your stomach, "Such a good girl. You did so good pretty girl." She pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek before disappearing into the bathroom and returning with a warm, wet washcloth. She sat down at your feet, "Is it okay if I clean you up?" Her tone was gentle and slow. You nodded, not having feelings in your face. Your whole body felt like it was vibrating. She was soft and gentle, discarding the cloth into the dirty laundry.

She pulled a t-shirt over her head and laid one out at the end of the bed. She laid next to you, pulling you into her. You wrapped your arms around her waist before snuggling your head into her neck. She wrapped her arms around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your head. "Emily, that was." You couldn't quite form the words as your nose was still tingling. "Awesome, amazing, perfect, I know." She giggled at her joke and you smiled. "Who would've known badass Unit Chief Prentiss likes to cuddle after sex." She scoffed, "Shut up! I can be soft!" You chuckled, "There's a shirt at the end of the bed if you want it. You can go to sleep, I'll get you up in the morning." You sat up and looked at her, "I'm kind of hungry." She smiled, her eyes wrinkling, "I'll grab you a snack." She left the room and you slipped on the shirt, never leaving the bed.

The playlist you regretted making, just got you the best sex ever.

[paperstorm]

(I'm so sorry if this posts twice, I had it queued but tumblr seems to have eaten it) Thanks for the tags @annoyingcloudearthquake @rangersoup @thisbuildinghasfeelings and @carlos-in-glasses! Here is a snippet from Somewhere in a Song, chapter posting tomorrow :)

It takes Carlos a moment, as he steps into the main part of the theater from a side entrance, to notice he isn’t alone. TK is sitting at the edge of the stage in the middle, with his legs hanging over the sides, purple Converse on his feet and black jeans despite the summer heat outside.

“Oh,” Carlos says in surprise, from yards away where he’s standing in the aisle between rows of red velvet chairs.

“Hey.” TK nods at him in greeting. His hands are tucked underneath his thighs and Carlos looks around quickly, wondering if TK’s bandmates are here as well. He thought he spotted Marjan back in the lobby of the hotel, but now he’s wondering if it wasn’t her. He only saw the woman from the back.

“Where’s the rest of your crew?” TK asks, echoing the question Carlos hadn’t gotten around to asking.

“Back at the hotel. Relaxing.”

TK nods again.

“What are you doing here?”

Raising an eyebrow, TK combatively asks, “What are you doing here?”

Carlos bites back a sigh.

Before he can reply, TK gives him an answer. “We’ve never been at this venue before. The last time we were here, we played some rinky-dink place across town.”

Their eyes meet and their gaze holds for a long moment. Carlos steps forward, walking further toward the stage. He climbs the five steps up the side of it and turns so he can take in the seemingly endless rows of seating from the vantage point he’ll have tonight when they perform on this stage.

“I like to get to know a place before I play it,” TK continues with a casual shrug. He looks around, leaning back on his hands and head tipping back to look up at the high vaulted ceiling, intricately painted in gold and red and orange. “Especially these old historical theaters. Get a feel for the bones of it, a feel for …”

He trails off and Carlos finds himself desperately curious to hear the end of the sentence, because it sounds so much like exactly what he was doing five minutes ago. TK looks over at him, and then quickly looks away.

“Never mind,” he says, with a laugh and a roll of his eyes. “Did you want the stage for something? I can head out.”

“A feel for what?” Carlos asks.

TK licks his lips. He’s wearing glittery earrings today and they sparkle in the overhead lights. His head turns again, blinking at Carlos, green eyes searching his face. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find, because softly he says, “For the artists who were here before me. Jazz bands or opera singers or – I don’t know, fucking … tap dancers.”

Carlos chuckles and watches as just a glimmer of a smile changes the shape of TK’s face before he’s gazing back out into the empty auditorium.

“Maybe it’s stupid,” TK says with a shrug. There’s an edge to his voice that suggests he’s daring Carlos to make fun of him and see what happens. “But I like to think everyone who gets to perform in a place like this leaves a mark on it. Like they’re all still here, somehow, and after tonight we’ll be here too, cheering on the next act that comes through.”

“It’s not stupid.”

Silence settles between them for another moment, and then TK asks, “So, what are you doing here?”

“Same thing, basically,” Carlos tells him honestly.

TK looks at him, and again Carlos feels as if he’s being x-rayed by those clear green eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah. That’s what music can do, right? Make you feel like you’re part of something bigger than yourself. Bigger than just a song or a show or a moment in time.”

Tagging @theghostofashton @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @eclectic-sassycoweyes @carlos-in-glasses

@bonheur-cafe @actual-sleeping-beauty @herefortarlos @heartstringsduet @alrightbuckaroo

@goodways @lightningboltreader @emsprovisions @freneticfloetry @liminalmemories21

@reasonandfaithinharmony @ladytessa74 @never-blooms @sanjuwrites @orchidscript

@lemonlyman-dotcom @jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng @honeybee-taskforce @hereghostslive

@just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian @tellmegoodbye @ironheartwriter

@butchreyes @anactualcaseofthetruth @ditheringmind @thisbuildinghasfeelings @whatsintheboxmh

@irispurpurea @nisbanisba @corsage @chicgeekgirl89 @nancys-braids

@carlossreaders @denizoid @everlastingday

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk

[icallhimjoey]

Lost & Found

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader    

Summary: You take a little break, a week away to somewhere warm to relax and calm your senses. So does Joe – same flight, same hotel, same travel plans and, worst of all, same suitcase. What was meant to be a lovely trip to the sun starts off on the wrong foot when you find expensive designer outfits belonging to a man in what you thought was your suitcase.    

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, lots of swearing, we get a little spicy but nothing too bad, 18+ just in case though!    

Author’s note: we're going at a much slower pace for this one, apologies for the longer wait!    

Wordcount: 2.9K  

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Not looking him in the eye, tension left your body as you snorted at the strange compliment you got.

“Looks better on you, anyway,”

He could probably tell your heart was beating a million miles a minute, the compliment clearly a joke meant to take the edge off. Which it did, so, that worked out fine.

But then tension built back up when you both started walking in the same direction, back the same way you came to get a taxi. When it dawned on you that you were both going to be headed back to the same hotel, the possibility of sharing a taxi stared at you right in the face.

Fuck.

You immediately started looking for excuses to play for time. A toilet. A souvenir shop. A phone call to distract you enough to stop walking. Anything.

Coffee shop.

Perfect.

You stopped walking and queued up, but then, so did he. Got in line right behind you.

You turned and gave an awkward smile. He returned it and then, there was silence. You just... stood there, next to your suitcases, until it was your turn.

The longer neither of you said anything, the more excruciating it became. Every second that passed made you think the same thought more pressingly: say something, say something, say something.

But... say what, exactly?

You’d already said more to each other than was normal for two strangers, hadn’t you?

You glanced behind you again as you felt your neck was still hot, probably all red, and immediately made eye-contact with him.

“So, this isn't– this is not awkward at all,” you said, huffing a nervous laugh through your nose.

He copied it and went, “Yea,” and was about to say more, was about to instinctually reach out a hand to touch your shoulder, maybe. To touch the fabric of his own T-shirt. But you were next in line and were asked for your order, and then got handed it quite quickly, making you scurry off with it immediately because the thought of waiting for a taxi together was awful and oh my God, you could not share a taxi with him. You needed to be in one by yourself before he was even out of the building because how else were you going to call your friend and tell her everything?!

Plonking down in a taxi with your coffee had you biting your nails, or what was left of those anyway, until it actually pulled up onto the road.

You sighed a breath of relief when you left the airport in your own taxi. Safe, just you in the backseat joined by the friend that you called.

"Bitch, guess what the fuck just happened?"

The nail-biting had been for no good reason. Joe'd been just as adamant about not sharing a taxi when he too realised that you'd be giving taxi drivers the same address to go to. He had hung back with his drink until he'd seen you drive off from behind the glass of the large windows that adorned the full scope of the building. Then, he had a cigarette outside just to extend the time. The space. He'd honestly just wanted a coffee and didn't get into the queue behind you to be a creep, although, he'd mentally admitted to the mistake when he'd seen you awkwardly look at him.

Best to create some distance now to not make things any weirder than they already were.

He'd seen how deep you blushed.

Thought it was all cute, but, understood you probably didn't feel all cute.

On the way back, you told your friend what had just transpired which amused her greatly.

"So he's good looking and rich?"

"I'm afraid so."

It was honestly so unfortunate.

"And staying at the same hotel?"

"I literally died. I'm dead. I am speaking to you from the afterlife."

Dramatic, sure, but it was truly how you felt.

"Oh my God, wait, I need to write all of this down for my speech,"

"Your speech?"

"For when you two get married," your friend found all of it a lot more amusing than you did. The bitch.

"Pff, piss off, my God. It was the most embarrassing thing ever," you complained.

"Well, did you survive it?" she asked pointedly.

"Ugh, stop, keep the voice of reason to yourself, I don't need it,"

She ignored you and answered her own question. "You've survived it fine, get over yourself and actually relax, will you?"

You didn't need reminding. When your boss gave you a weird stare last week and then said that you looked like you were dying, like, actively decaying, you confessed that the stress of, well, everything was really starting to get to you.

You'd been piling responsibilities on top of more responsibilities and the whole thing had become one big unsturdy mess that had started keeping you up at night.

It had started with innocent nail biting, had progressed into waking up at weird hours of the night, unable to get back to sleep and, eventually, nightmares and weird night terrors had crept in. Kept you from getting any sleep at all.

You'd gotten used to passing out from sheer exhaustion around 4 AM, sometimes 5, and then your alarm would pull you from your slumber a mere two hours later. Two and a half if you were lucky.

You'd been sent on this trip to do some mandatory relaxing. Your boss needed you back fresh-faced and well-rested next week. Something something big client, major meetings, important presentation et cetera, et cetera.

"Did you end up getting some actual sleep last night? Hotel bed okay?"

"Yea fine actually, but that was mostly thanks to the three tequila sunrises I poured into myself last night – my nails are practically gone,"

Stress.

"Have an early lunch, get drunk, have a cheeky nap,"

"Yes ma'am,"

"Seriously though, I can't believe how fucking lucky you are, just, fucked off abroad to laze by a pool, boss's orders. Meanwhile I'm stuck here in this horrid fluorescent office lighting and, you know what, I think blue light glasses are a right scam, they don't fucking do anything at all,"

"Hey." you interrupted, "Have an early lunch. Get drunk. Have a cheeky nap."

"Yea, thanks," Sarcasm. "Feel how hard you're frowning right now? How clenched your jaw is? How high your shoulders are?"

Okay, time to hang up. You were keeping your friend from doing her job and her shoving your currently situation into your face wasn't actually helping.

Back at the hotel, you opened your suitcase with your code and only realised then that the good looking rich guy hadn't even been able to open it. You'd gone through every single item in his, knew what he underwear looked like, and he'd been stuck in his room with your locked one.

Unfair, but, in your favour, so fine.

There was a little trickle of guilt, but that was easy to ignore as you unpacked and changed into something more weather-appropriate.

When you dropped the black T-shirt off at the front desk, it took too long for you to explain what you were doing and what you wanted them to do. You kept hesitating on sharing more information, kept adding little bits, until you basically told them the full story.

"Can you hold onto this? Someone will pick it up later– it's, this is his T-shirt. I borrowed it, but he wants it back. Obviously. But I don't know– I don't know when he'll pick it up. I just had his suitcase for a little bit. I've got my own now. We– they got switched, so, this isn't mine. He said to leave it here so..."

Confused narrow eyes stared at you as they hesitantly took the black T-shirt from you. "Do you perhaps have a name, or a room number?"

"No, um... no, I don't– wait, yes, I do, or... I think I do. Do you have a guest here with the name J–"

"Hey,"

There he was. Polite smile and all.

"Oh, that's him," you pointed, glad to end whatever this dumb interaction was.

"That's mine. Thanks." Joe took his own T-shirt, giving you another smile – definitely awkward still – before heading towards the lifts.

Good.

You were going to sit out by the pool, which was the other way. You hoped that he'd be busy enough with work meetings, conference calls, and whatever else people on business trips got up to that you wouldn't have to run into him again.

Except then you did.

Because of course you did.

You'd followed your friend's advice and had gone for a nap at 4 in the afternoon. It was a struggle to actually fall asleep, and perhaps you should've gotten a small coffee at the airport instead of a large one, but you'd gotten a good hour and a half in. You'd woken up all kinds of disoriented and groggy, and had silently debated getting room service for dinner instead of going down to make your reservation at the restaurant. After going back and forth between staying in bed or getting out, you'd decided to get out for fear of not being able to get to sleep later.

You'd gotten ready, decided that a strappy dress would do, and double checked if you had your hotel room key before closing the door behind you and making your way over to the lifts.

It took ages for a lift to get to you, and then when one finally did, you pressed the button for the ground floor, but the lift slowed just as quickly as it started going.

Ninth floor.

Doors opened.

Him.

Wearing the fucking jacket you'd worn to the rooftop bar the night before.

Should've gone with room service.

"Hi," he said on the back-end of an amusing chuckle. You pursed your lips together in a small smile as a response.

Cool.

You were going to be in a lift together for half a minute. Very fun that every single surface inside of the lift was mirrored, your reflection inescapable.

And he was wearing the fucking burgundy jacket.

This was going to be your trip, wasn't it? This was what it was going to be like the whole time. Constant reminders of your stupid cringeworthy choices from that first evening and maybe you could just go drown yourself in the ocean later. Just for funsies.

The hum of the lift as it picked up speed wasn't enough to fill the silence.

The deafening silence.

"Nice jacket,"

As you counted down the floors, you though you might as well just lean into it now. Into this whole bit. Acknowledge the elephant in the room and make yourself feel lighter about it.

"Thanks. Nice dress."

"Thanks."

Just a few more floors.

"I wouldn't have been able to pull that off,"

You looked at him in the mirrored surface in front of you before you turned your head to look at him from the side. Was that... was that a double entendre?

No.

Could be though.

Was the rich good looking business man flirting?

Maybe.

The potential lay in wait.

"Mhm..." you mused, confidence growing when you saw he was trying to repress a grin. "I think you're selling yourself short, Joe," 

You revealed you knew his name. Thought you knew his name, anyway. His face dropped, just for a second. It could've been a reaction to the lift stopping with a slight jolt as it reached the lobby.

"I feel like you've got the legs to make this work." you joked, but didn't get a laugh in response. Just a tightlipped sort of barely there little smile. The polite kind.

Doors opened and you left whatever that moment was behind as you stepped out.

Food.

It took Joe a second to gather himself, to silently scold himself for needing to get used to this already. Be appreciative of it whilst he was at it. People knowing him ultimately was a good thing, something he'd worked so hard for and had wanted for so long. He couldn't let the bitter aftertaste it left him with affect him so much.

He was fine.

So, you knew who he was? Big deal. Lots of people knew who he was.

He was fine.

Except, he wasn't fine.

He wasn't fine as he sat through his dinner at his table for one, tucked away in one of the corners of the restaurant with perfect view of you.

Perfect view of you sinking teeth into your starter, main and dessert.

Perfect view of fingers wrapping around glassware of every drink you had.

Of the flirting the waiter seemed to entertain you with, getting warm smiles and sometimes cute giggles in return.

Of how you filled the quiet with your phone that was laid down face up next to your plate, just using a middle finger to swipe and tap at the screen.

Of how you declined a coffee and told the waiter you were going to go upstairs for a drink, smiling as you pointed a small finger up.

Of how your body swayed as you walked away in a dress that looked great, but you know what looked better?

You know when you'd looked better to him?

Joe wasn't allowing himself to think it.

He thought it, but didn't let his inner monologue sound the words out.

Joe had watched you all throughout dinner and then, after finishing his own meal, had followed you upstairs and then watched you as you sat at the bar with a cocktail.

He watched as you buried yourself into your phone even more.

Watched as you ordered another drink with a charming smile that told him you were probably not going to have to pay for any of the drinks you were getting.

Watched as your leg started bouncing.

Watched as you used a hand to rub at your arm, picking up then that the breeze he felt was getting colder.

Watched as your shoulders hunched up more, full attention with your phone still.

What were you even doing on that phone? Work? In a place like this?

Well, sort of.

You were working through e-mails. Slowly. Very slowly. You'd get distracted by Instagram and group chats. Tidied your gallery a little. Added whatever you wanted to the notes app: little to do lists, silly thoughts, creative ideas, things you couldn't forget to do before you'd go back home – like, "get a manicure" and then right below that, "mani pedi if possible".

You felt how the alcohol started warming your blood a little, and it had been enough to keep you warm until suddenly, it wasn't anymore. Temperatures dropped fast at night, and when you'd ordered your third cocktail, you contemplated maybe also getting a warm drink.

You shivered and checked the time.

You could also not order a fourth drink and maybe ask if you could take this one back to your room. Have a hot bath and drink it there.

Before deciding on anything, you typed, "get a jacket" in your notes app, and then added "or get the one long sleeved thing you wore cleaned". It was stupid how making lists like this made you feel productive. Calmed your nerves almost instantly. You looked at your finger nails and realised you hadn't bitten at any of them since that morning.

"Hi, can I just ask– is it okay for me to take this back to my room?"

As an answer, the bartender reached and held up a plastic cup before looking at you questioningly. Did you want whatever was in front of you poured into a to-go cup?

Before you could answer, you jolted a little at a sudden touch to your body from behind.

Fabric.

A jacket got draped over your shoulders.

Burgundy.

You took a shaky breath of cold air, ribs tightening around your lungs.

You recognised the scent before you did anything else which made you bite your lips into your mouth in an attempt to ignore that thought completely.

You turned to look.

Nobody.

Other side.

Joe.

Joe smiled, already walking away from you, back towards the lifts. All polite and warm and charming. Rich business man smile. Ugh.

Before he got out of earshot, you managed to ask, "Do I leave this at the front desk again?"

"Sure," Joe shrugged one shoulder, triggering the glass sliding doors in front of him. "Or drop it off at room 907, either one's fine."

Was there any point in trying to hide your smile?

"907. Got it. Thank you."

With a last glance that lasted just a fraction of a second too long, Joe headed inside and you turned back to the bartender who was still waiting for an answer.

"Um," you frowned, shook your head and closed your eyes a second to think.

"Did you want your drink to go, ma'am?" 

"No, thank you." you moved to slide your arms into the sleeves of Joe's jacket.

"I'll have it here."

---

The Taglisted

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taglist currently full, sorry

[strangelysamantha]

My request is a short fluff with Pope. You make the first move with him, at a party. You guys dance along to music and kiss and cuddle and stuff 🤍🤍🤍

party moves ❀

pope heyward x gn!reader.

warnings: fluff fluff fluff that’s all and swearing and slight mention of drinking (it’s a party come on)

words: 829.

summary: it’s a boring party until pope shows up, and the atmosphere makes it easy to express your true feelings.

request? yes!

a/n: this is such a cute prompt ty! <3

my masterlist

——————————————————————————

kiara was very excited as the two of you prepped for her party. you helped her hang some ribbons, “thank you for helping me set up,” she starts, “it’s a lot easier when there’s two people.” you agree smiling, “of course, plus i love decorating.” you string up some led lights, the purple radiating hue added a nice touch. “yknow popes going to be here right?” she smirked, softly nudging you shoulder. redness rises to your face, embarrassment flooding in. “so?” you question. “it’s time to make a move! you like him, and i know he likes you.” you shake your head, “i don’t want to ruin our friendship, i can’t loose him kie.” she understands, “you won’t loose him, and besides, you shouldn’t let doubt get in the way of a potential relationship.” her words reassure you, and it gives you that boost of motivation you so desperately needed.

this party was just a stepping stone in the right direction; if you played your cards right, you might end up with a boyfriend by the end of the night. crowds of people started arriving at the party, you and kiara shared a enthusiastic high five, proud of the turn out. you keep your eyes out for pope, hopeful he approaches you first. you stand with a red solo cup in hand, swaying gently to the music, jj approached you first, “hey, nice party.” he chugs his solo, you laugh at his behavior, sure he’ll end up in bed with a hottie from the party. “thank you j, did you happen to come with pope?” he shakes his head, “no he had a few chores to do then he said he’d come.” you frown, hoping his chores wouldn’t take too long.

you found it more difficult to pass time when pope wasn’t by your side. you entertained yourself with kiara, following her around the party, greeting guests. only bothering because you were on the lookout for someone in particular. you become a little disappointed as it had already been almost an hour. the party was still thriving, the upbeat music blasting loudly as people yell drunkenly. you found a couch to sit on, distracting yourself in your phone. suddenly a body sits by you on the couch. you quickly look up, confused. a smile creeps on your face as you finally see pope. he’s ecstatic to have made it. “sorry i’m late, the party decor is awesome!” his compliment fulfills you, “thank you, i’m so glad you made it.”

“of course, i wouldn’t miss this for the world!” he continues to sit by you, taking in his scenery. “do you want a drink?” you ask. he hesitates but ultimately gives in. “let’s go!” you grab his arm and drag him through the party, looking for any alcohol. however, the alcohol was gone. only discovering empty bottles you shrug, “is that okay?” he laughs, “of course.” you two hesitate in front of the table, you recall what kiara had said earlier. “do you maybe wanna dance with me?” he chuckles, “yes!” you follow him out on the dance floor, the two of you jumping in the middle of the crowd. the music was motivating. you reach for his hands, holding them tight as you continued to dance.

a slower romantic song had been queued, everybody slowed down. you instantly cut the distance between the two of you, you put your arms around his neck, nestling your face in his chest. his arms hang around your waist. you sigh contently, peaceful in his arms. you lift your head to look at him, his pretty eyes locked on yours. the moment felt right, and if you didn’t do it today, when would you ever find the courage? you glance up at his eyes, to his lips, back to his eyes. after a few seconds you lean in and kiss him. with your eyes shut, grip tighter, you melt into his touch. he kisses you back, pulling you as close as he can. you stay kissing until you physically have to pull away for some air. the taste of him still on yours lips.

“pope, let’s sit down for a second.” he’s quick to follow you back to the couch. “is everything okay?” he was always so caring and concerned for you. “yes, i’m okay. just needed some air, there’s alot of dancing going on.” he sits close to you, and since he failed to dismiss your other advances, you felt confident enough to cuddle him. he swings his arm over your shoulder, squeezing softly. “i like being here with you pope. it was so boring without you.” he frowns. “well im here now, so let’s make the best of it, yea?” you stand back up, “yes, back to the dance floor?” he smiles standing up; and reaching his hand out to you. dragging you back to the speaker. the two of you dance together, laughing, with huge smiles plastered on your face.

[literaryavenger]

Captain America: Civil War

Summary: When on a mission in Lagos things don't go as you expected, Secretary Ross offers the team a solution.

Pairing: Platonic!Avengers x F!Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of violence. Language. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 3K

A/N: It's only half of January and I've already been sick, great! Anyway, basically all the other parts of this story were queued and ready to go, so I got some time to rest but now I'm here writing with a fever! So, if anything doesn't make sense or I missed some mistakes, that's why. Enjoy!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

After months of tracking down Rumlow, you finally have a chance to get him once and for all.

You’re in Lagos, sitting at a cafe.

“All right, what do you see?” Steve’s voice comes in your ear. You know he’s talking to Wanda, she’s still learning how to be an Avenger.

“Standard beat cops,” she looks around her. “Small station. Quiet street. It’s a good target.”

“There’s an ATM in the south corner, which means…” he trails off letting Wanda finish his sentence.

“Cameras.” she promptly says.

“Both cross streets are one way.” Steve keeps going.

“So compromised escape routes.” Wanda reasons.

“Means our guy doesn't care about being seen, he isn't afraid to make a mess on the way out.” Steve says, “You see that Range Rover halfway up the block?”

“Yeah, the red one?” she asks “It’s cute.”

“It's also bulletproof,” you discreetly point out  ”which means private security, which means more guns, which means more headaches for somebody. Probably us.”

“You guys know I can move things with my mind, right?” she says and you smirk.

“Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature.” Natasha answers from a few tables away.

“Anybody ever tell you you're a little paranoid?” you hear Sam ask and try hard to contain your laughter.

“Not to my face. Why? Did you hear something?” Natasha says and you can see her smirking.

“Eyes on target, folks. This is the best lead we've had on Rumlow in six months. I don't want to lose him.” Steve says in our comms.

“If he sees us coming that won't be a problem.” Sam says. 

“Yeah, he kind of hates us.” you add.

There’s a minute of silence as you all keep an eye on your surroundings, then you hear Steve’s voice again. “Sam, see that garbage truck? Tag it.”

You turn around just in time to see Redwing flying under it to scan the truck.

“Give me X-ray.” Sam orders the drone. “That truck’s loaded for max weight. And the driver’s armed.”

“It’s a battering ram.” Natasha says and your eyes widen a little.

“Go now!” Steve says and before the words are even out of his mouth you’re moving.

“What?” Wanda asks confused.

“He’s not hitting the police.” you say and then you’re all running in the truck’s direction.

Steve and his supersoldier ass get there first, then Sam and Wanda who can fly, while you and Nat are stuck driving your motorcycles as fast as you can, but can still hear the conversation through the comms.

“Body armor, AR-15's.” Steve says “I make seven hostiles.”

You hear some gun fire and then Sam “I make five.”

“Sam.”- Wanda says and, after a few seconds, Sam again “Four.”

“Rumlow’s on the third floor.” Sam says, then Steve says in his Captain voice “Wanda, just like we practiced.”

“What about the gas?”-you hear her ask.

“Get it out.” he orders. You can see the green and red whirlpool from the street.

“Rumlow has a biological weapon.” Steve after a few minutes, just as you and Natasha get there.

“We’re on it.” she says and basically jumps off her motorcycle and it skids into an agent.

You make a sharp turn and come to a sudden stop in front of an agent on your right side, so you push your left leg off the bike and, twisting your body, you kick the guy hard on the stomach while also dismounting the motorcycle.

When you turn around Nat cocks her eyebrow at you and you shrug. “What? I’m not throwing my bike at these assholes.” she rolls her eyes at you as you two keep taking out soldiers.

You can see Nat getting dragged by Rumlow, but you’re too busy fighting off some agents to help her. You vaguely hear him saying ‘I don't work like that no more’ and frown, you manage to take out the last one around you and, just as you turn, you see Rumlow launch a grenade into the truck and say “Fire in the hole.”

You run towards it, knowing Natasha’s probably in it, but it explodes before you can get close and do anything, the door flying and Natasha falling out of it coughing.

Once you’re sure she’s okay, you turn around but Rumlow’s already gone.

“Sam. He's in an AFV heading north.” you hear Steve say and, sharing a nod with Natasha, you get back onto your bikes and run to catch up with the truck.

“I got six, they're splitting up.” Sam says just as you and Natasha get to where they ditched the truck.

Natasha jumps onto a car and then another and you follow her. “I got the two on the left.” she says.

“I got the middle!” you say and start your pursuit.

“They ditched their gear. It's a shell game now.” you hear Steve say as you run after your two guys. “One of them has the payload.”

Just as you manage to catch up to your guys and knock one of them out, you can hear Sam saying “He doesn't have it. I’m empty.”

You quickly take down the other guy and search through them. “I struck out, too.”

Then you hear Natasha say “Payload secure.” and you allow yourself to relax.

“Thanks, Sam.” She adds.

“Don't thank me.” he answers and you frown, confused as you start making your way back.

“I’m… not thanking that thing.” is all Natasha needs to say for you to understand, and you roll your eyes.

“His name is Redwing.” Sam corrects her.

“I'm still not thanking it.” she says.

“He's cute. Go ahead, pet him.” he says and you can’t help but laugh.

Your amusement is cut short as you hear Steve’s grunts, clearly still in a fight and you try to move faster to make your way to him.

You catch up right after Wanda, just as Rumlow says “And you're coming with me.” and activates the bomb vest he’s wearing.

You don’t have time to even try and cover yourself as Wanda keeps the blast contained in a ball around Rumlow, his screams the only thing that can be heard.

She launches him in the air and the ball of energy explodes too close to the building next to it, setting a couple of floors on fire.

As you all watch in horror, you barely register Steve asking Sam for Fire and Rescue as you put your hands on Wanda’s shoulders and turn her away from the building. You let her rest her head on your shoulder as she starts crying, your own shocked attention still on the building.

This is not good.

-

It’s been a rough couple of days for the team after the mission in Lagos.

You’re all back at the compound now, and you’re on your way to the conference room to wait there for Tony when you pass Wanda’s room and hear her talking to Steve.

“Rumlow said ‘Bucky’ and… all of a sudden I was a 16-year-old kid again, in Brooklyn.” Steve pauses “And people died. It's on me.”

“It's on both of us.” Wanda counters.

“This job…” Steve starts “we try to save as many people as we can. Sometimes that doesn't mean everybody. But if we can't find a way to live with that, next time… maybe nobody gets saved.” 

You see Vision approach and keep walking to make your way to the conference room, exchanging a knowing nod with him.

When you get there you’re a little startled to see The Secretary of State, but you sit down at the table in silence.

Once everyone gets there, Steve sits at the head of table, to his left Sam, then Vision and then Wanda, to his right you then Natasha, then Rhodey and Tony is sitting in a chair by himself to the right of the table.

Secretary Ross is on his feet in front of the table and, once everyone takes a seat, he starts talking.

“Five years ago, I had a heart attack. I dropped right in the middle of my back-swing. Turned out it was the best round of my life, because after 13 hours of surgery and a triple bypass… I found something 40 years in the Army had never taught me: Perspective. The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives… but while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some… who would prefer the word ‘vigilantes’”

“And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?” Natasha asks.

“How about ‘dangerous’?” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Definitely not the word you were expecting “What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?”

Ross activates a screen behind him and News footage from past Avengers and SHIELD matters flash on the screen as he speaks.

“New York.” A Chitauri leviathan. Terrified citizens. A soldier firing a gun. The Hulk smashes into a building and sends a dust cloud that engulfs the camera. Rhodey looks regretful and he glances behind him at Natasha.

“Washington DC.” The three Insight helicarriers, firing on each other. The destroyed Triskelion. A helicarrier crashing into the Potomac and throwing up a massive wave, engulfing citizens and the camera. You and Sam look at each other, then down.

“Sokovia.” Terrified citizens, running. The city rising. A building falling over. Everyone’s eyes are glued to the screen.

“Lagos.” The burning building. Paramedics moving a body. A dead girl. Wanda is particularly affected by the footage from Lagos. Steve sees this and intervenes.

“Okay. That's enough.” Steve says, looking at Wanda.

Secretary Ross nods to his aide and the images disappear, then he starts talking again.

“For the past four years, you've operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That's an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.” he places a thick document on the desk and passes it to Wanda. She looks at it and then slides it over to Rhodey. “The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries… it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they'll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary.”

“The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place.” Steve points out. “I feel we've done that.”

“Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?” Steve looks up and meets Ross's eyes. “If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes… you can bet there'd be consequences.”

You narrow your eyes at him. They’re people, not weapons. Before you can voice your thoughts he goes on. “Compromise. Reassurance. That's how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground.” He points at the Accords.

“So, there are contingencies.” Rhodey says, familiar with the politics by now.

“Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords.” Steve glances at Tony “Talk it over.”

He starts to walk away when you speak up for the first time. “And if we come to a decision you don't like?”

Ross stops and looks back at you. “Then you retire.” he deadpans.

You simply nod, trying to stifle a grin and, when you look at Natasha, you can see she’s doing the same.

He leaves with his aide and there’s a moment of silence before you all get up and walk quietly to the common room. Some sitting, some standing and Tony laying down on a chair. And then the discussion starts.

-

“Secretary Ross has a Congressional Medal of Honor, which is one more than you have.” Rhodey says to sam. You’ve lost track of how long the team has been discussing.

“So let's say we agree to this thing. How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?”

“117 countries want to sign this. 117, Sam,” He leans in to look at Sam since you’re currently between the two men. “and you're just like, ‘No, that's cool. We got it.’”

“Why am I always in the middle of this?” you say, a little exasperated at the two that are almost glaring at each other now, you make eye contact with Nat and she clearly feels the same way you do.

“How long are you going to play both sides?” Sam says, ignoring your comment.

“I have an equation.” Vision jumps in and everyone looks at him.

“Oh, this will clear it up.” you say sarcastically and cross your arms in front of your chest.

“In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. And during the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.” Vision explains.

“Are you saying it's our fault?” Steve asks.

“I'm saying there may be a causality.” Vision clarifies, before going on “Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict… breeds catastrophe. Oversight… oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”

“Boom.” Rhodey says and you roll your eyes while Sam glares at him.

“Tony. You are being uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal.” Natasha points out.

“It's because he's already made up his mind.” Steve says.

“Boy, you know me so well.” Tony says sarcastically and gets up, rubbing his head. “Actually, I'm nursing an electromagnetic headache.”

He walks to the kitchen and grabs a mug before continuing. “That's what's going on, Cap. It's just pain. It's discomfort- Who's putting coffee grounds in the disposal? Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?”

He puts his phone in a basket and taps it, the phone projects an image of a smiling young man. He looks down, then back up, and pretends to notice the picture for the first time. “Oh, that's Charles Spencer, by the way. He's a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA. Had a floor level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn't want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn't go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where, Sokovia.” Everyone is listening to him intently as he seems to be having a little meltdown, but his words are clearly affecting the whole team.

“He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.” He pauses and takes a pill with some coffee, then faces you all. “There's no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I'm game. If we can't accept limitations, if we're boundary-less, we're no better than the bad guys.”

“Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don't give up.” Steve says.

“Who said we're giving up?” Tony promptly answers.

“We are if we're not taking responsibility for our actions.” Steve counters. “This document just shifts the blame.”

“I'm sorry. Steve. That- that is dangerously arrogant.” Rhodey says. “This is the United Nations we're talking about. It's not the World Security Council, it's not SHIELD, it's not HYDRA.”

“No, but it's run by people with agendas, and agendas change.” you interject, seeing Steve’s point.

“That's good. That's why I'm here.” Tony says, pointing at you. “When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.”

“Tony, you chose to do that.” you tell him, then Steve talks, nodding at you.

“She’s right. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don't think we should go? What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don't let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.” Steve says.

“If we don't do this now, it's gonna be done to us later.” Tony reasons. “That's the fact. That won't be pretty.”

“You're saying they'll come for me.” Wanda speaks up for the first time since this discussion started.

“We would protect you.” Vision says confidently.

“Could we?” you say and everyone looks at you, so you elaborate. “If we don’t sign this we’re criminals for even trying to keep her safe. If we do sign, it’ll be our job to come for her if we get ordered to.”

There’s a moment of silence while you all think about this, before Natasha speaks up. “Maybe Tony's right.”

You all look at her, surprised. “If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off-” she gets interrupted by Sam.

“Aren't you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?”

“He’s not wrong, Tasha.” You add.

“I'm just… I'm reading the terrain.” She explains. “We have made… some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back.”

“Focus up.” Tony says and looks at Natasha, clearly amused. “I'm sorry, did I just mishear you or did you agree with me?” you roll your eyes.

“Oh, I want to take it back now.”

“No, no, no. You can't retract it. Thank you. Unprecedented. Okay, case closed--I win.”

They all start to talk over each other, but you’re focused on Steve’s phone that you can see over his shoulder since you’re standing right behind him. He gets a text that says ‘She’s gone. In her sleep.’ and you frown, watching Steve quickly get up.

“I have to go.” is all he says while dropping the Accords on the coffee table and, when he exits the room, you exchange a worried glance with Sam.

Requested taglist: @sapphirebarnes @aki-ham

[nuhahani]

Hc- Breakup songs

Summary: Your relationship was more than private, the world never knew you were in a relationship until you released your newest breakup song.

Pop star!reader au, Bonten Timeline

Warnings: mentions of drug use, cheating, miscarriage. Angst is you squint really hard.

Ran- bitter ft Trevor Daniel

“So the second verse that Trevor sings is actually the exact text message I got from my ex a bout a month after our split. I sent it to Trevor while we were working on the song and that’s really how his verse came to be.”

“Are parts of you still bitter about the break up?” The interviewer asked holding the mic back out to you. Your hands fiddled with the black sheer bodysuit as you thought about your answer. Normally you loved backstage interviews before award show performances but tonight felt different.

“I feel like some parts are still healing and knowing that he’s been moving on does hurt sometimes.” Your manager queued through your ear piece that you needed to be on stage in five minutes.

“Well thank you so much for stopping to talk with us tonight, we can’t wait to see you and Trevor perform your new song!” The world would be watching your performance tonight and little did you know he would be too, against his new girls wishes of course.

Rindou- escapism

Three years down the drain, three years of giving everything and he still left. Last night replayed in your mind over and over while your friends did lines in the back of the club. He gave you no reason other than he didn’t feel that way about you anymore. You stared at the letter R inked in red on your left ring finger, the same place he had your initial on him. You downed the last of your champagne and headed to the dance floor, your short bodycon dress ride up almost enough to leave nothing to the imagination. You could already see the headlines in mind, what paparazzi would say. ‘Princess of Pop music (Y/n) seen leaving Tokyo club with a new man.’ You knew he wouldn’t see the headline, but you didn’t care. You just never wanted to feel like you did last night when the world came crashing down.

The following morning you woke up in a strangers bed. They were nothing less than attractive but they weren’t him. Your manager had been blowing up your phone as you gathered your clothes and made a break for it before the person next to you woke up. In the mid morning walk of shame to your drivers car, the creativity hit you. You wasted no time getting to the studio and were thankful for the full bathroom and a change of comfortable clothes.

Despite knowing the song is about him, rindou still insisted on playing it in his clubs every night. He knows he messed up, he saw the magazines and trending hashtags about you. He stared at the ring in the little black box, he wanted to marry you but with bonten becoming what it was that just wasn’t possible.

Mochi- midnight rain

“So the song is about my most recent ex who I was in a long term relationship with for the past five years. We had discussed marriage and our relationship many times and I was either never ready to fully settle down or something came up that didn’t allow me to further our relationship. I really love him and I hope for the best for him. He’s truly an amazing man and someone’s going to be beyond lucky to say “I do” with him one day.”

“Now have you ended things on okay terms?” The women asked you. The radio studio you sat in was quite comfortable compared to the past ones you’d been in. Memories of you and Mochi played in your head. Cold winter mornings laying in bed. Hot summer nights when you couldn’t get enough of each other.

“I think we ended on as okay terms as we possibly could. I imagine he thinks I’m a bitch and I don’t blame him for that. At the end of the day we saw our lives going in different directions. It was the least selfish options for both of us.” He watched the interview on the computer in his office, he understood why you couldn’t marry him. He was grateful that you still spoke so highly of him.

“This might be a bit of a reach but it seems like you still have some lingering feelings.” Your face dropped a little at the interviewers comment.

“Yeah, I’m still very much in love with him.” He was also very much in love with you. Just two people madly, deeply in love with someone they can’t have.

Takeomi- hurts like hell

“I don’t want to know who she is.” You rubbed your temples. You had known for sometime that your husband had been cheating, you just didn’t have solid evidence. You were more irritated that he interrupted your work to tell you that he’s leaving you. Sure you wanted to cry but you would never let him have the satisfaction of seeing you like that. You didn’t wait for him to leave instead you walked out of your in-home studio to your bedroom. He didn’t bother to follow you, he didn’t give any explanation just did what he said he would do; leave. You made a few phone calls and within the hour you had changed the locks, listed several of your vacation homes for sale and went straight to cry in the shower. It hurt like hell, you didn’t understand why he did it.

It didn’t take long for outlets like TMZ to notice your wedding band missing. Word spread that you and your mysterious spouse were rumored to be divorced. You kept yourself busy and distracted until your grief turned into anger and you finally wrote your newest single. Takeomi wasn’t the only to hear it on the radio or Spotify playlists. But now those who knew about your relationship all knew what he had done. The harassment from his younger brother was nothing new but now it had been taken to a whole other level. The girl he left you for was no longer with him. She cheated on him not long after the divorce was finalized. You were younger than your ex husband but that did not make you naive enough to reignite your relationship when he enviably came crawling back. You were finally moving on and it brought nothing less than happiness to see him suffering after what he put you through. You guess he should’ve known that how you get them is how you lose them.

Mikey- flowers

“And thats a wrap!” The director yelled. You ran to hug your manager for all the hard work she does. Within the next few days you were watching the video back and you could honestly say it was the most fun you’ve had on set in a while. You filmed it entirely in the house you and your now ex fiancé once shared. He was out of town and was unaware that you were doing more than stopping by to pick up the rest of your things. You couldn’t figure out exactly when the love faded from your relationship. Maybe it was when you won your first Grammy last year. Maybe it was when Bonten struck a million dollar deal for exports and dealings.

You watched yourself dance around the house you once called a home in his favorite lingerie. Your mother once told you that the day he loves you the most is the day you will feel nothing for him at all. She had been right, the relationship grew so toxic. In all honesty you hadn’t wanted to leave him, you wanted to fight for the small spark that desperately clung to life. The breaking point came when you saw him going out of town for business the week of your two year anniversary. You understood that you were both extremely busy but it felt like you were the only one trying in your relationship anymore. You had left long before he got home that day to find your two million dollar engagement ring back in its box on the bed you once shared. He didn’t reach out, he fully understood. You had finally broken, you weren’t coming back.

Just hours after the music video was released a knock on the door of your new penthouse startled you. There was no one through the peephole so when you opened the door to find a giant bouquet of a hundred red roses and your favorite takeout. There was no note but you didn’t need a note to know exactly who they were from. You hadn’t blocked him on any social media but you felt like this, just like your relationship, was a private matter. You chose to simply send a picture of the flowers and take out on your kitchen table with a quick text to him that said thank you.

Mikey stared at the message, he had no intention of replying. There was nothing left to say, he messed up but he was still proud of you and your career. Proud that you put yourself first.

Kakucho- Angels like you

“This next song is the last one for tonight.” The crowd had mixed reactions to the devastating reality that your concert was coming to an end. “I know! I know! But this is an upcoming release called Angels Like You. I hope you guys enjoy it.” Kakucho sat in his private room at the stadium you had successfully sold out in less than ten minutes. The Haitani brothers lounging in the room with him as he listened. You weren’t playing the victim, the lyrics said just as much. You were fully taking all the blame for everything wrong with your relationship. You had no idea he was there but he was more than happy to keep supporting you. He knew you were wrong for each other but he couldn’t help clinging onto the small chance that he was wrong.

Your relationship had never been public knowledge, you knew that everything with him it needed to be private and kept away from the wondering eyes of the public. You knew about his job and what he did. You even had a small letter K tattooed behind your ear. But at the end of the day you had been the problem in the relationship, your ex before Kakucho had done a number on you. He made you beyond insecure, so when you met Kakucho and we’re being treated like the princess he sees you as you almost had a panic attack. But those unresolved self-issues started to shine through three months into your new relationship. Unfortunately, he still stayed but you couldn’t keep letting your problems destroy him. He was truly too good for this world in your eyes.

Sanzu- you should be sad

“Hi, I’m (y/n) welcome to my home!” You spoke softly to the host with his camera crew. You and your band were being featured guest on a streaming segment called ‘Live sessions from home’ where you got to perform several acoustic versions of some of your songs. The three songs you had chosen were from your newest album called Manic. You started off the session with an interview followed by your newest songs Without Me, 3am and You should be sad. The interview itself consisted of background knowledge of the songs themselves such as the inspiration behind them. “So the inspiration for Without Me and You should be Sad are based on the same person. An ex that I recently ended my relationship with. The songs themselves are a back to back response to the same breakup. I really indulged into a more personal look of life in You Should be Sad though. It was really nice to be able to be that vulnerable.

“Can you tell us a little more about the line ‘I’m so glad I never ever had a baby with you,’?” He asked softly.

“That line was the hardest to write actually. I found out about a month and a half before we broke up that I was pregnant. We weren’t planning it, it just happened but unfortunately I had a miscarriage…” You trailed off trying desperately to keep your composure and not cry on camera. Truth is Sanzu wasn’t prepared to be a parent, he can’t love anything unless there’s something in it for him.

Kokonoi- 7 rings

“You know calling her a gold digger is kinda funny since her net worth skyrocketed 20 million above you the second she released her new song.” Takeomi yelled as loud as he could over your new music that Rindou, Sanzu and Ran were blasting through the building. Sanzu had made it a point to twerk on the table in their meeting room.

“I SEE IT I LIKE IT I WANT IT I GOT IT!” The three men yelled. Koko was anything but amused, arms folded across his chest as he glared at the three. He hadn’t meant to let the words slip during the argument but it just happened. He had called you a gold digger and he himself was confused as to why. You had never asked him for anything, you spoiled each other equally, paid for things equally despite him protesting that he never wanted you to pay for anything. He never thought once that you would actually leave him for saying something stupid like that. An argument that started out by you simply asking if him if he wanted to go look at apartments together. Neither of you knew how it escalated to the point of breaking up weeks after deciding you wanted to live together.

Your new album was being released later this week and the argument gave you the final touch to it for one of your biggest hits. In fact the entire album was about Koko, specially your song Imagine. You had written both after the breakup and they were both paying off. 7 Rings was everywhere he went, every club, every store. He couldn’t escape the guilt he felt every-time he heard your voice. He looked over the necklaces in front of him. Diamond, emeralds, and rubies. But the sapphires are what caught his eye. Twenty thousand dollars later he was on his way to apologize. He was still dressed in his suit from work.

He debated turning around and running back to his car when the door swung open. There you were, stunning as you always were in his eyes.

[mariacallous]

Faruk Fatih Özer stood in front of a passport control officer at Istanbul Airport, a line of impatient travelers queuing behind him. He pulled his face mask below his chin for the security camera. Surely he was nervous. The 27-year-old had unruly black hair, a boy-band face, and a patchy beard. Normally he overcompensated for his callow features by dressing in a pressed three-piece suit. But this spring day he wore black trainers and a navy-blue sweater hastily pulled over a white polo shirt, as if he had dressed in a dash. A small backpack was slung over his right shoulder. He looked like someone who could have been going on a last-minute day trip—or someone planning to never come back. At 5:57 pm on April 20, 2021, the guard stamped his Turkish passport and Özer shuffled through the crowd to Gate C, a flash drive containing a rumored $2 billion (£1.6 billion) in crypto stashed in his belongings.

After Özer’s plane reached Tirana, Albania, at 9:24 that night, he checked into the Mondial, a popular 4-star business hotel in the capital’s commercial district. A couple of days later, he looked at his social media accounts. A mob was very angry with him: Customers couldn’t access their money on the exchange Thodex, where he was founder and CEO, and people were accusing him of absconding with their funds.

Özer posted a public letter to his company’s website and his social accounts. “I feel compelled to make this statement in order to respond urgently to these allegations,” he wrote. The accusations weren’t true, he said. Thodex—which had nearly half a million investors and $500 million (£400 million) in daily trade volume—was investigating what Özer claimed was a suspected cyberattack that caused “an abnormal fluctuation in the company account.” Assets would be frozen for five days while Thodex resolved the issue. This was terribly bad timing for the big business deal he said he was en route to make: selling the company, or so he had told some employees and his brother and sister before he left. All would be made right. “There will be no victims,” he promised. “I personally declare that I will return to Turkey within a few days and ensure that the facts are revealed in cooperation with judicial authorities and that I will do my best to prevent users from suffering.” Of course, there was this possibility too: He was in the midst of pulling off the biggest heist in Turkey’s history.

Before dawn the day after Özer posted the letter, police squads fanned out across Istanbul and public prosecutors opened an investigation. Law enforcement arrested 62 people, including Thodex employees at all levels of the company—and Özer’s older brother and sister, Güven and Serap. Interpol issued a red notice, a request for law enforcement worldwide to find and “provisionally arrest” Özer pending his extradition to Turkey. Search teams deployed across Albania, Montenegro, Kosovo, and North Macedonia. There were reported sightings of the dark-haired young man across Tirana, rumors that he had gone to a poultry farm, that an executive from the Albanian football league was sheltering him. Soon, the Albanian police arrested people accused of aiding and abetting him. But no one seemed to know exactly where Özer was.

Özer had vanished at a particularly precarious time in crypto’s annals: In the weeks leading up to his disappearance, so-called rug pulls—when a cryptocurrency exchange or altcoin developer absconds with investors’ funds—had crypto investors around the globe flabbergasted. The CEO of Mirror Trading International, a crypto trading company based in South Africa, defrauded users of more than $1 billion, then skipped town; TurtleDex, an anonymous decentralized finance storage project on Binance, reportedly vanished with $2.4 million; another decentralized finance project, Meerkat, reportedly fleeced investors out of $31 million (of which they paid back 95 percent). Blockchain analysis firm Chainalysis ranked rug pulls as the primary scam of 2021, accounting for 37 percent of all cryptocurrency scam revenue that year, up from 1 percent the year before.

Thodex was at the top of that roster, and nearly every major outlet from Bloomberg to Newsweek published headlines like “Turkish Crypto Exchange Goes Bust as Founder Flees Country” and “Turkish Cryptocurrency Founder Faruk Fatih Özer Seen Fleeing Country With Suspected $2 Billion From Investors.” CoinGeek called it “the biggest scam in the digital asset industry in 2021.” The New York Times’ headline read, “Possible Cryptocurrency Fraud Is Another Blow to Turkey’s Financial Stability.” In Turkey, the country I now call home, people were reeling: For years, crypto had been built up—largely by Özer but by others too—as a way out of economic volatility. Now it seemed like just another way to lose your life savings. But something felt off to me, like the whole story wasn’t being told.

[jitterbugjive]

Plans for projects

So I've been seriously thinking about how to best coordinate my projects so I'm not burning myself out all the time and this is what my game plan looks like so far:

My Magic Grandpa: I am working on the finale now, and there is a bonus episode after it that is 3 chapters. I imagine this will take around another 2 years. Once that is done, I'm going to take a 1 to 1 1/2 year hiatus from updating where I will instead focus on conceptualizing a shorter season 2. I will also take this time to advertise and attempt to publish.

Once Upon a Calamity: Red Riding Hood will probably be done by the end of the year or around the start of next year. I will take a year break from updating to script out a couple more chapters, using the half year mark to start drawing the next chapter which will be queued up for the start of the following year. This way I can be really ahead and not have to worry about delays. Again, I will be looking into publishing for this series.

Bedeviled Dotty: I'm doing my best to make every update important to the story somehow and avoid filler content now, so that the story can move along faster. Not having to worry about drawing OUAC for a while, I can hopefully do Dotty updates more frequently. I want the story to end by 2026-2027. After that, I want to start putting together a new series of short stories that take place in Leporia, featuring comics of different characters and their abilities called "Tales of Leporia"

WTF? I'm a Magical Girl's Familiar: I'm not sure how long it will be before this project launches, I realize I need a lot more time to figure it all out and improve my art before I tackle it and I think I'd like to have at least half of it scripted before I start drawing it. That would be five chapters, and I have about 2 scripted right now. I haven't been focusing on it right now but next year I'll probably go back to working on it.

Doctor Whooves and Assistant: I just have to take whatever pace everyone else on the project takes with this one, I'm trying to have an update a week on youtube and tiktok to keep traction going. We've changed how we work on episodes now where we are working on multiple at a time and won't launch an episode until the episode after it is mostly ready to go. We've got a LOT of episode 16 done but episode 17 is just now getting lines edited together and 18 is waiting on lines. There are other side projects happening as well, but a lot of people have had to put stuff on hold due to life stuff. I get the most engagement out of Ponies With Pockets Productions, so it's what I'm the most motivated to work on right now.

Aristotle's Apocalypse: I have 2 episodes scripted right now and I plan to script more. I also plan to launch the series as a podcast on Spotify and youtube next year. This should be a fairly easy project to produce as it doesn't require very many voices at a time and doesn't need a whole lot of effects.

I think that's everything on my plate right now. Do I have more ideas for projects? You bet I do, but I don't plan to work on those for a VERY long time. I'm only thinking about stuff within the next few years.

[jellyfishjuliet]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by gayass @cer-rata

Here’s how it works:

Make a list of five of your WIPs for your followers to chose from.

Provide a short synopses/teases to give some context.

Post a snippet from one of your fics that you’ve worked on in the past week.

Your followers get to send an ask with one of the five listed WIPs!

You must then write a paragraph or so in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write a paragraph on it anyway, and then another that you can share from something else.

Adjust the writing requirement depending on the size of your following. The point is to make some progress, so if you're not expecting a lot of asks, maybe make your goal bigger, and the inverse is true for large followings. Do you.

File names:

None of them from BartKon week bc they're all finished and queued for publishing hehe

This Ship Will Carry Our Bodies Safe to Shore: Now that Hikaru and Sai have reunited in life, they try to navigate their friendship while taking responsibility for past mistakes. [Hikaru no Go]

The Red House (and all who live in its walls): Bart Allen has left his lover. What will Kon El do now? [DC Comics]

Untitled Prime Earth x Smallville crossover fic: Bart Allen of Pre-Flashpoint Origins meets Clark Kent of Smallville. [DC Comics & Smallville]

Untitled Clark Kent Origins Reboot fic: What if Jonathan and Martha found Clark in 2024 when their lives weren't so simple and easygoing? [DC Comics]

When Jon Came Home: What if Jor El wasn't a cunt and actually called Clark to let him know that his son got sucked into a wormhole, and they worked together to rescue Jon from Ultraman's volcano? And what if Jon comes back different anyway, but this time an eleven-year old instead of seventeen? [DC Comics]

[the-flaming-nightmare]

Tagged by the wonderful @anewkindofme (who inspired me to start making my own signs for these tags) and @snowviolettwhite! 💙

Here's another snippet from my Daddy!Joel and Little!Ellie sickfic:

"You still have enough of everything? Midol? Pads?"

Ellie nodded, adverting her gaze to the floor as her cheeks flushed a bright pink. Despite it having been a year since she came to live with Joel permanently, Ellie was still getting used to being able to talk so casually about these sorts of things without the conversation immediately being shut down by just the mention of her period. It felt awkward as hell (at least on her end), but she had to admit that it was a damn nice change.

"Yeah, I still have enough of everything. Speaking of which, I should probably go pop a Midol, and dig out my heating plushy. I could definitely use both of those things right about now."

"How 'bout I go what you need, while you get settled on the couch? We can even watch something while we have dinner. Anything you want."

Ellie's eyes darted back up to look at Joel. "Anything?"

The man gave a nod, already having an idea of where this was heading.

"Anything."

A slow smile began to creep across the girl's face. "Can we watch Chicken Little, then?"

Out of all the animated movies Joel had guessed might be Ellie's favorite, Chicken Little had not been one of them. Joel lost count how many times they've watched that movie in the year that she's been living with him. He could practically recite the entire script by heart by now.

Ellie's face broke out into a full-blown grin, her arms uncurling from around her stomach and falling back down to her sides.

"If you'll excuse me then–" she moved to stand, prompting Joel to stand with her–"I'm gonna go get Disney+ up and running. Don't be long, old man."

She grabbed the strap of her backpack and slung it back over her shoulder, before turning and walking out of the kitchen with a victorious smile.

Joel just shook his head and rolled his eyes; worried frown being replaced by a fond smile. If she was still able to be her usual jokester self, then she would be just fine.

With his worries subdued for the time being, Joel made his way to the staircase. He stopped at the linen closet in the hallway, grabbing the pinkish red, white striped lobster heating plushy. He then went into the hall bathroom and rummaged around in the medicine cabinet until he found the small bottle of Midol inside. Once Joel had everything Ellie needed, he returned to the kitchen.

Joel first threw the heating plush into the microwave for the recommended five minutes, then he grabbed a glass from the cupboard above the sink and filled it halfway with water. While he waited for the plush to finish heating up, the man took the water and bottle of Midol into the living room where Ellie was now curled into the corner of the couch with her homework resting on her knees and a pencil in her hand. A glance at the TV showed Chicken Little already queued up on Disney+.

Tagging (if you wanna): @angelique-of-the-volturi-guard, @snarkythewoecrow, @tomwise, @cielconsumer, @nottapossum, @sinninghowlter and anyone else who wants to join!

[greaseonmymouth]

tagging games

hokay so I've been tagged in a bunch of these over the past few months weeks, by different people, so let's have some memetic fun

1. fanfic writer's bingo

I was tagged by @mslanna !

well, i did get one bingo! I have never commissioned fanart but I have received it. i debated whether to tick off that last square - 'wants to be a professional writer some day' because eh, i could take that or leave it? i do write original fiction and i have at times dreamt about getting it published, but also, i don't actually care. i write because i enjoy writing and getting paid for it i think is highly likely to make me hate it, so.

2. get to know you better game

I was tagged by @love-lays-bleeding !

get to know you better game! answer the questions and tag 9 people you want to know better.

last song i listened to: Danser Med Drenge - Alt for at beholde dig. it's on my Carl x Assad playlist but also Danser Med Drenge are just genuinely enjoyable in general

currently watching: 9-1-1, Grey's Anatomy, and Station 19. clawing at my face waiting for new episodes for all three shows. aside from that, nothing really, though I think I'll watch Dead Boy Detectives when it drops

currently obsessed with: 9-1-1, Afdeling Q.

3. nine people to get to know better

I was tagged by @foxesonstilts ! some repeat questions, but we'll manage.

last song: TV-2 - De første kærester på månen. this is also on my Carl x Assad playlist which makes no fucking sense because this is a song about teenagers in love and first heartbreak HOWEVER it is a banger and when spotify queued it up after my playlist finished, I was like, you know what, I'll just put it on the list.

favourite colour: considering how many blue items i own it must be blue. honestly though i love a lot of colours and am also partial to green, yellow, orange, pink, red, purple

currently watching: see above

sweet/savoury/spicy: all of them? they each have their time and place but most of all they belong in my mouth

relationship status: single and not willing to mingle

current obsession: finding a pair of hiking boots/shoes. i had ordered a pair THREE WEEKS AGO but UPS lost my parcel so i finally got refunded today but i'm leaving on holiday in less than a week and i still need fucking hiking shoes and i'm losing my mind

last thing you searched: "outdoor sport store london"

4. 20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @palavapeite !

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 

117 on my main, but not all of them are fics and not all of the fics are written by me, or just me (some are fanbinding posts, some are fanart, some are collaborative works). including my other two accounts, we're talking 224 works in total.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

on my main, 867,037 words, but that includes about 120k not written by me.

3. What fandoms do you write for? 

currently: Afdeling Q, BBC Shetland. though for the latest yuletide I went back to Volstovic Cycle for a stint and i wrote my first ever Ocean's 11 fic after years and years of only reading.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

that's 4 Harry Potter fics plus one Avengers/Batman crossover I wrote in 2012 on a whim after seeing the Dark Knight Rises and which became unexpectedly popular for a bit. I still love that fic though:

How to become a superhero and gain a family (minus the picket fence) - 7k, Tony Stark & Bruce Wayne, Steve/Tony. 2,758 kudos

the HP fics are:

Don't Blame Me (It Was All a Blur Last Night) - H/D, 7,468 kudos I'll Tell You a Secret (Just Don't Tell) - H/D, 5,209 kudos Here Now, Gone Yesterday (or Back to the Future) - R/S, T/J, 3,078 kudos Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy's Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) - H/D, 2,607 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments?

yes, usually. I stopped responding to comments on my HP fic a while ago because I couldn't summon the energy to engage with them, and more recently I turned off all comments for HP fic so that I wouldn't have to bother at all. I'm glad people are still able to enjoy these fics, but I need some distance.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I've written some dark fic in the past and I think what comes closest is this old thing I wrote for HP nextgendarkfest back in like 2011, in which some of the nextgen characters (including Harry's sons) were criminals who staged their own murders to cover up a heist they did but it implies that Harry was on to them, nearly caught them in the act, and was devastated about it.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

almost all of them??? most of what I write has a happy ending because I want happy endings, damn it. if by happiest you mean 'least complicated' or 'unadulterated joyful' or something like that, then maybe...I don't know, god, I could name at least 50 fics like that just off the top of my head.

You know what, let's do the most recent one:

Et Afdeling Q Julemysterie - this is pure fluff and happy ending and it makes me smile like a fool in love, so.

8. Do you get hate on fics? 

not in a while - I used to get some nasty comments on this one old HP fic that had a nextgen teenage character working out his sexuality, and some people took offense at the character being asexual/not being asexual enough/turning out to not be asexual in the end. like, make up your mind about what the problem is at least? I also got nasty comments on another HP fic which featured aromantic polyamorous Harry in a V relationship with Ginny and Draco (and Ginny herself was in a V relationship with Harry and Blaise) for various reasons, including but not limited to people not understanding that one can in fact be both polyamorous and aromantic at one and the same time. by the time i posted the everybody is trans HP fic I was anticipating nasty comments so I turned comment moderation on for that fic.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

sometimes. in the past I would include it (and hate writing it) because I thought you had to, but these days I only write it when I feel like it. more often than not it's some kind of character moment rather than a horny thing, though I do usually try to approach the smut writing from the angle of 'what would this character enjoy about having sex with this other character? what are their focus points? what are they horny for? what are their coherence levels? what are their sensitivities? how well do they know their own body? their partner's body? how do they communicate? etc. etc.' you'd think that leads to some very unsexy smut writing but if i'm honest i think those bits of writing actually wound up being both the horniest writing i've ever done AND the most true to character (according to my interpretation of the characters anyway).

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

a few - crossovers don't hold a lot of appeal for me in general, so when I've done crossovers there's usually been a 'what if?' spark that set if off.

aforementioned how to become a superhero fic, Avengers/Batman crossover, in which Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne are longtime friends.

it's pure filth that i hide (time for genocide) - Volstovic Cycle/Pacific Rim crossover (or possibly just fusion?). Volstovic Cycle characters pilot jaegers and fight kaijus, no pacrim characters appear.

Dragons - Volstovic Cycle/Harry Potter crossover (...or...fusion?) I can never remember the difference between crossovers and fusions. Harry Potter characters ride dragons á la Volstovic Cycle, no Volstovic Cycle characters appear.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! the full list of translations (and podfics) of my fics is here. I've had fics translated into Russian and German.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes. @palavapeite mentioned this but we co-wrote an absolute deranged behemoth of a 'social media' fic (really, it was a 'livejournal' fic, but same difference) back in like 2008/2009 and it was honest to god some of the best fun I've ever had writing something and also, it was a work of ART.

I have since participated in fests like big bangs and reverse big bangs where I've written or made art, which is not quite the same as co-writing. I once ran a collab fest where I co-created a comic with three friends, which we cowrote and each drew various bits for, which was a lot of fun. and! with @gkkri we co-wrote (and illustrated) a R/S fic (but really it was a Sirius & Regulus fic in R/S disguise) back in 2017 as our last hurrah to the Remus/Sirius fandom as we were both feeling like we hadn't anything left to say for this ship and let me tell you, that co-writing process was like a dream and I'm still really proud of what we made.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? 

I don't have one??? I'm a multifandom person, I enjoy a LOT of ships for various reasons and I don't think I have an all time favourite? some ships I cycle back to over time and some ships I never even write for, just read a shitton for. like I enjoy Steve/Tony still even though I haven't written any fic for them in over a decade? and I mean, despite my misgivings about JKR and general HP fatigue, I will never not love Remus/Sirius. and so on and so forth. the beauty of fandom is that there are so many great characters and dynamics out there to love

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

er, wellllllll there's this one Matt/Foggy wip languishing in my gdocs drive that I'm not convinced I will ever finish, but I really want to. I'll cycle back to it eventually probably. I also have this one Space AU for Caius/Al that I have officially abandoned, but I still think about it!! and yet!! that wip is probably approaching a decade old at this point. I don't know man.

I only have one active fanfic wip atm and that is my current Afdeling Q wip and I WILL finish it, I swear to everything that is beautiful in this world.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I have a lot of strengths and I'm not too humble to admit it, but I think my number one strength these days is that I Do Not Care what other people think anymore, I will write whatever I damn well please, the way I want to. if other people like it: great! if they don't: okay!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

plot sjkdgkfljsgd especially of the crime solving variety. I will never ever be a crime fiction writer. I'm also not great with action-type of plots because....well, I like reading plotty stuff but when I'm writing? I don't care, I just care about my characters and their dynamics and arcs and development and I will hang it on the thinnest scaffolding possible I can get away with to make the story go.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? 

the kind of another-language-dialogue i see in fic most often seems to be weirdly pointless or out of character, just dropped in (usually by a monolingual English speaker) who thinks it adds flavour to the character, when really, that character has never once in canon slipped into their other language in dialogue. because, well, most multilingual people don't? speaking as a multilingual person I'm far more likely to say something like 'shit what is that called in English' than just say the word in Danish. i mean, tell me you don't understand codeswitching without telling me you don't understand codeswitching.

as a counterpoint to this actually i read a Buck/Eddie fic the other day where Eddie had lines in Spanish, and that I had no issue with because a) he speaks Spanish in the canon b) with his family 3) who also speak Spanish. in the fic he spoke Spanish with his family, who also had lines in Spanish. that author did kindly provide translations but tbh I didn't check the translations because the other thing about this fic was, it was clear from context what was being said without the translations because the dialogue followed canon-levels in this regard.

generally though, my preference would be for the tried and tested "A line of dialogue here," said character A, in Language. "The dialogue continues." it gets the point across.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

band RPF. before that I was writing fanfiction without knowing it was fanfiction or what fandom was, for stuff that Didn't End The Way I Wanted It To or similar. but first actual fandom writing? band RPF. it's backed up on a secondary ao3 account now, but this shit was first posted on forums and livejournal a billion years ago.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

listen. 224 fics written (that I know of, because the heavens only know what's been lost to the sands of time at this point) and you want me to pick ONE favourite? absolutely fucking not. also, recency bias is a thing.

i don't know man. let me pick at random:

Of Gilded Wallpaper and Meddling Dragons - Temeraire, 5,068 words

No Archive Warnings Apply, William Laurence/Tenzing Tharkay, William Laurence, Tenzing Tharkay, Temeraire, John Granby, Iskierka Augustine Little, Romance, Fluff and Humor, dragons being dragons, bisexual awakening, agony aunt!granby, an excessive amount of gilded wallpaper, laurence blames the weather for his being hot and bothered, Laurence POV, tharkay brings sexy back 

Summary: Laurence and Temeraire have been living with Tharkay for a scant two weeks when Laurence sends Granby a letter that essentially boils down to hi John how did you know you're gay also plz help I am in trouble.

5. animal crossing picrew

I was tagged by @dejlige-dage !

i have never played animal crossing but this was fun

i am tagging: YOU. if you've read this, you're tagged.

[your-fav-is-in-the-afterlife]

woo pinned post

asks are currently: on

send characters through asks, or just ask me questions if you want. id prefer it if you ask the questions on my main though (@bludraws094), just make sure to say that the questions are about this blog

rules for submitting characters:

green: optional, but encouraged

red: not optional

not colored: not technically a rule, just something you are allowed to do

include what the character is from, unless its a character that has already been done

include where to send them. if you dont, i will judge by my knowledge of the character. if i dont know the character, i will either judge by vibes (for example: i may send a character in a military uniform to hell simply bcus theyre wearing a military uniform) or i will default to purgatory. i know most of the more well known vocaloids though, yall dont have to say where they go, i will send most of them to heaven though

IF THE CHARACTER HAS NO OFFICIAL ART OR IMAGES (for example, book or podcast characters): include either your own fanart, or a link to fanart that was posted on tumblr by the artist. i want to be able to tag the artist so that they know their art is being used for this, and so they can tell me if they want me to take it down

you can submit tumblr users, but i will use their pfp unless you include an image of them or their persona in the ask (the other art related rules apply to the persona image) (for those that dont know what a persona is: it is a character that someone uses to represent themself)

you can submit ocs, but you have to include an image of them in the ask, and, if the oc isnt yours, and/or the art isnt yours, tag the artist and/or the owner of the oc

DO NOT SUBMIT CHARACTERS THAT ARE FROM EXTREMELY NSFW SOURCES UNLESS YOU INCLUDE A NON NSFW IMAGE OF THE CHARACTER. I AM A MINOR, AND I DO NOT WANT TO SEE PORN WHEN GOOGLING THESE CHARACTERS.

dont tell me to send them somewhere other than heaven, hell, or purgatory. i only do those three afterlives

other important information:

this blog is run by an immature teenager with multiple mental disorders, so please be kind :3

posts are queued, with five posts a day

my timezone is est

[jaggedwolf]

TSCOSI Ficlets #4

Queued a couple of batches of five of old ones, wanted to collate'em before I lost'em.

I'll protect you!

Krejjh tackled Translator Jeeter to the floor before the glass window shattered. They didn’t make a move till they heard the gunfire drift farther away from the restaurant. Other patrons went back to their meals, one pair trading four tens with the look of a settled bet.

Krejjh?” Translator Jeeter’s breathing tickled the frills of Krejjh’s neck. A couple of words in human-English that Krejjh couldn’t catch, and then in Dwarnian, “Can I get up now?”

“Sure thing!” Krejjh pushed themself back into a crouch, and stared. No blood coming out of anywhere, no obvious wounds, only quicker breaths. “Are you injured, Translator Jeeter?”

“Nope, thanks to you.” Translator Jeeter smiled for too short a moment before looking worried. “Krejjh-”

Krejjh spun around to face the window, the smarting of their left wing only another focus for the coming battle. No enemies faced them. They turned back, confused.

Translator Jeeter frowned. “Your wing-”

A waiter slid between them briefly, and wow, human restaurants were way more used to Nuezo gunfire than Krejjh would’ve thought. Folks back home would’ve freaked out about mixing meals and battle.

Krejjh folded back their right wing, peering closely at the other one. There was a small tear in the translucent membrane. From the glass, not the bullets. They lightly flapped the wing. Krejjh hummed with the solid, soft sting of air passing through the new hole.

“Woah,” said Translator Jeeter, curls of his hair swaying in the wing-created wind. “I mean, uh, do you need a doctor?”

“Nah.” Krejjh shrugged, their extended wing brushing against a human who scowled and shifted their chair away. “It’ll be good as new, just got to eat and not get any more holes in it.”

Translator Jeeter let out a big breath. “Thanks again for the save. Man, I could’ve sworn the Lower District was supposed to be safe this week?”

“It’s no problem at all.” Krejjh puffed up their chest. “I wouldn’t let my translator get hurt.”

They sneak a look, pleased when Translator Jeeter’s cheeks turn interesting shades of red.

Bad dreams

When Arkady woke, a new shot of adrenaline spiked through her heart at the arm around her waist, the leg tangled between her own, the pressure on her back. It took the sight of her gun on the table and the tickle of breath against her spine to keep her still.

The Iris. Her own room. Violet.

Not the first time Violet had spent the night, but the first time one of those dreams had happened during. Stupid. Should have thought of that, she’d almost flipped and pinned Liu on pure instinct, and that would’ve been-

That would’ve been bad. Arkady disentangled herself. She swung her legs off the bunk, the cold floor a jolt to her toes. Violet’s breathing stayed steady behind her. So quiet, you could almost miss it in the constant hum of the ship.

Arkady listened until her muscles untensed. She slumped forward, forearms on knees. Before tonight the worst thing about the nightmares had been her memory of them - only the barest outlines remained for her head to conjure a dozen possibilities, even as her chest seized in desperation. She blew a breath out past her lips.

“Arkady?” Violet’s voice solidified. “Hey-”

There was the sound of the covers shifting, the feeling of shifting pressure on the mattress, a tentative hand on her shoulder. Arkady leaned back into its warmth without turning around.

“It’s nothing,” said Arkady, throat dry. “Bad dream. You can go back to bed, Liu.”

The thumb idly brushing under the strap of her undershirt stilled. The hand disappeared altogether. The dim disappointment mixed with relief didn’t last long, movement catching the corner of Arkady’s vision.

A pajama-clad knee rested against Arkady’s bare one. “Would you rather be alone?”

“No,” admitted Arkady reluctantly.

Violet slid her arm along Arkady’s, interlacing their fingers. She yawned and cuddled closer to Arkady. There would be another question soon, in the next few minutes, or tomorrow.

Somehow, Arkady didn't mind.

Feet

Sana sighed and tilted her head back against the wall. It had been a long week. Good to be back on the Rumor. Good to be here with its crew.

“This wall is way more comfortable than I remember it.” Sana stretched her legs out, careful not to knock over the cup of moonshine next to her. “I could fall asleep here.”

Sitting cross-legged opposite her, Arkady half-grinned the way she did the way after jobs that mostly went according to plan. “Captain, your mattress is literally five feet away.”

That it was, sheets messily crumpled on it. Sana shrugged. “I built this wall too well, I might not even take off my boots.”

“Now I know you’re drunk,” snarked Arkady, taking a quick swig from her own cup. “Actually taking credit for something?”

“Hey, I do-” Sana’s train of thought was derailed by Arkady lifting Sana’s right foot into her lap, palms skimming the brown leather. Arkady’s fingers made quick work of the shoelace knot. Sana shook her head, trying to clear it. “Kady, you don’t have to-”

“There’s a lot of shit I don’t have to do,” grumbled Arkady, shoulders tightening.

Sana noted that line of tension, the flicker of nervousness in Arkady’s dark eyes, and the easy comfort her own legs felt. She didn’t pull her foot away. “That’s true.”

Arkady continued unlacing the boot. Sana picked up her cup again to take a slow sip. “I don’t thank you enough for it.”

Arkady snorted, but her shoulders relaxed. Good enough. Arkady coaxed out the boot’s tongue, pulling the boot Sana’s sore foot without jarring it. She peeled off the sock in the next breath. Unthinkingly, Sana wiggled her free toes.

Not that Sana had any expectations of where this was going, but if she had, she would’ve expected Arkady to move on to her left foot. Instead, Arkady’s fingers interlocked around the top of her foot. Arkady’s movements were cautious. As if there was a wrong way she was capable of touching Sana.

Sana let out a low groan at the warmth and pressure of Arkady’s thumbs digging into her sole. “Wow, that’s good.”

Arkady’s expression grew more content. “Not exactly my first job with a lot of on-the-feet time. Learnt a few tricks.”

Cat AU

RJ skulks along the alley's walls. They try to keep in mind Park's lesson on minding sound and warmth as much as sight, the first time he had let them accompany him to the kitchen. One had to be careful not to wake the sleeping of the big house.

Park's advice is no use out here - RJ hisses at the thought - where it's always noisy and hot and RJ keeps feeling things on their whiskers that makes them want to dart under dumpsters like they're a kitten.

They inch forward. Their paws are weaker from hunger than they've ever been, but Park is counting on them. Park, who's still asleep in that box two or three blocks back, who's hurt in a way that makes RJ want to yowl even though good cats aren't supposed to. RJ scrunches their eyes shut and tries not to remember the swinging boot that-

The sound of crashing cans fills the alley. When RJ's eyes open, they see a tail disappear around a corner. Another cat! An alleycat, RJ reminds themself. Yet they and Park hadn't eaten in almost a day, and reconnaissance was always a worthy endeavor. At the very least, it would be good intelligence to report.

RJ curls around the corner, both relieved and disappointed to see nothing. They enter the alley, sniffing nervously for any sign of food. A sudden weight lands on their back. They stumble and fall, yelping when hot breath fills their ears.

"If you don't wanna get hurt, keep still," the breath says.

RJ knows that voice. It's one of those alleycats. The fighty one, RJ thinks. The other cats land softly around them, sets of white and orange and grey and striped feet caught in peripheral vision. The group must have waited up on a fire escape or a windowsill. Should've cleared the area fully.

Claws out, RJ readies their trembling paws. These alleycats aren't going to find out where Park is from RJ.

Blankets

Krejjh's Earth-English is isn’t good enough to catch what the human from the bed is frantically yelling into the comms. A summoning of reinforcements, perhaps.

What is this room? The inside of this ship looks nothing of Dwarnian make. The last memory is of a game night with the other pilots. Krejjh’s armor and weapons are nowhere to be seen. If it’s a capture, and these humans are willing to gain something for themselves...the subclan might bother attempting to make a trade, but the subclan would never let Krejjh live down such a folly.

There's still only one human. Krejjh has yet to fight one face to face, only shot down ships and buildings from far above, but Krejjh has the entire upbringing of a Dwarnian citizen and this human has-

Hair? This human has hair, which makes sense, because humans do. Dark curly hair on the head, and a thinner layer over the bottom half of the face. No weapons or armor worn, doesn’t strike Krejjh as a soldier, but what other reason could explain the presence?

"Krejjh?" The human's voice softens, turning to Krejjh with empty hands in the air. In accented yet understandable Dwarnian, the human says "Hey friend, I really need you to stay calm. The war's way less of a concern than what you said earlier, we’re not enemy soldiers or anything.”

The human’s term of address stirs something in Krejjh’s vitals. A sign of deception? A bargain? Krejjh had never been good at the social games, had flown right away from all of those. The blanket, gripped tight, could serve as an impromptu weapon. Then again, it was human-make like everything else Krejjh could see. Could as well fall apart at the first use. The human’s eyes stay on Krejjh’s face, not a glance at Krejjh’s hands.

"Why have you captured me?" asks Krejjh. "Where are your fellow soldiers?"

“None of us are soldiers,” says the human.

The door slams open with the entrance of another human who was covered in guns. The scarred face scowls as Earth-English spews forth - something about the taking of oaths, and maybe weapons. Though the new human really didn’t seem to need any more weapons.

"That's definitely a soldier," says Krejjh, slowly sliding against the wall, pleased when the new human mirrors the movements on instinct.

"Arkady's not a-I mean, kinda used to be but-"

"Catch!" Krejjh throws the balled-up blanket into the face of the new human before leaping through the open door, leaving the humans yelping behind.

Escaped from the room, check. Next stop, armory or cockpit. Shoulders cooled by the ship's air even while running, Krejjh glances down.

It’d be fantastic to find a shirt at some point.