#sorry if it's not like the best I wrote it kind of quick because I got ~inspired~ and hadn't wanted to loose it

[mytherapyisreading14]

Hey could you write a fic with post prison Reid where the reader has a crush on him and she doesn’t think he likes her so she keeps it to herself and when they are on a case she she’s Spencer manhandle the unsub and she gets kinda distracted because she wants him to manhandle her and then he finds out about her crush and then he kinda teases her about it then he fucks her like really rough sorry if that doesn’t make sense 😭 also could you make the reader have a thing for his hands lmao

Don‘t get Distracted

Summary: You got distracted when Spencer arrested the UnSub during your current case - he noticed and confronts you back in the hotel.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Smut, some Fluff (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: Mentions of Knifes and stabbing, dirty talk, kissing, making out, unprotected sex (don’t do that), choking, spanking, orgasm denial, dom!spencer (kinda)

Word Count: 2,9k

Author’s Note: I’m sorry it took me so long to finish this🫢 I never really liked a single version I wrote and now I simply give up, I’ll leave it like this😩 Anyway, I hope you like it! :)

It isn't like you are trying to fall for Spencer Reid. In fact, you do your absolute best not to. You keep it professional. Friendly. Safe. Because if there is one thing you are sure of, it is that he doesn't feel the same. It isn't anything he does. He isn't cold or rude to you. Quite the opposite – he is kind and polite. But never more than that.

You aren't the type to be noticed by someone like him. Not after everything that happened. Prison changed him, and if there is ever a chance he looked your way before, it is long gone now. So you keep your crush a secret, but some days make that harder than others. Like tonight.

You sit on the edge of the bed, files spread all around you, but your focus is on Spencer. He stands by the window, arms crossed, eyes scanning the city below. You can tell he is thinking. He looks tense. Focused. Hot.

And all you want is to be close to him. To touch him. To tell him you noticed the way his smiles have grown rarer since prison, and that you missed them. That you missed him. But you don't.

-

The next day, everything shifts. You are closing in on the case, currently on the way to arrest the UnSub. The farmhouse where he is holed up looks like it could collapse any second. You, Spencer, and Morgan decided to split up. You take the back and step over a few broken door frames, your flashlight shining in the dark. A few minutes later you hear a noise.

You recognize it’s Spencer’s. "I need you to put down the knife. Now." You sprint toward the voices, and what you see nearly stops your heart. The UnSub takes a step forward and tries to stab Spencer in the stomach. But Spencer, he is faster. He sidesteps, catches the man’s wrist, twists it back, and then shoves him up against the wall with a force that makes you shiver.

One arm locks the guy in place, while the other brings out the cuffs. He works quick and controlled. And god, you are not okay... Your feet move on autopilot, but your brain doesn't. You can barely think past the rush of heat that explodes inside you at the sight of him. It is like watching a completely different version of him. You stare and just can’t look away.

He turns to you when it’s over. "You okay?" he asks. "Uh—yeah," you manage to breathe out. "I’m fine. Just... Didn’t know you have that in you." His mouth twitches into something between a smile and a smirk for a second. "Prison teaches you a few things." You try to play it cool. You really do. But your cheeks are already burning.

-

Back at the hotel, you tell yourself to forget it. That it’s just adrenaline. That the reason you’re so flushed has nothing to do with Spencer’s hands and everything to do with the takedown. Yeah, sure.

You avoid him the rest of the evening. Bury yourself in reports, avoid eye contact at dinner. Because the idea that you’ve reacted so obviously… and that he might’ve noticed? Absolutely mortifying. So when there’s a knock at your door around 10 p.m., the last person you expect to see is him.

“Spencer?” you blink. He stands there, holding two cups of tea like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “I figured you might need a distraction,” he says. “The last few days were intense.” You hesitate. Just for a second. Because what is he doing here? Still, you step aside. “Yeah. Uh… thanks.”

He sits beside you on the edge of the bed, hands you the tea, and for a while it’s quiet. Then he breaks the silence. “So… you were staring.” You freeze mid-sip. “What?” you ask, trying to act confused. “At the farmhouse.” He turns his head, watching you. “You looked surprised. And a little… flustered.”

“I was not—” you start, but he interrupts you. “You were,” he says, and this time there’s something different in his voice. He’s teasing you. “And then Garcia texted me something… interesting.” Oh god. You already know what’s coming. “No,” you say, but he nods, clearly enjoying himself.

“She said you made a comment about me. Something along the lines of… ‘if Spencer ever wants to manhandle me like that, he can.’ ” You nearly drop the tea. “She did not say that to you,” you say. “She did,” he says with a smirk. You think about an excuse, anything that might save you from total humiliation. “That is—I mean—I don’t mean it like—”.

He tilts his head. “Don’t you?” You blink at him. “I - no, and I… I think you don’t even like me like that.” His expression softens instantly. The teasing fades, just enough for something real to shine through. “What makes you think that?” he asks gently. You shrug, suddenly very aware of how close he’s sitting next to you. “I don’t know. You never… looked at me that way. You always seem kind of... distant.”

Spencer is quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I guess I do.” He looks down at his tea, then back at you. “The truth is… after prison, it was hard to let anyone in. I didn’t feel like myself. I didn’t really trust myself for a while. So I kept my distance.” He pauses. “Maybe I was trying too hard not to look at you that way.”

That shuts your brain down completely. “You were?” you whisper. He nods once. “Ever since I got back. Maybe even before that.” You didn’t expect that, but when his words settle, you grin. “So… what now?” you ask him. He leans in, eyes flicking to your lips for just a second. “Still want me to manhandle you?” he asks with a smirk back in full force. “Spencer!” you say, blushing and playfully hitting his arm.

He laughs and sets his tea aside, hand brushing your knee as he stands. “I’ll take that as a yes.” You stare up at him, still sitting on the bed, heart pounding against your ribs. He is looking at you differently now. “You’re seriously enjoying this,” you say with a shaky voice. “Enjoying what?” he asks, acting oblivious. “Teasing me,” you say, and his smile widens.

“Of course I do.” You roll your eyes playfully. “You’re insufferable,” you say. “Maybe,” he murmurs. “But you still want to kiss me.” You open your mouth, probably to deny it - or argue - or make some sarcastic remark, but nothing comes out. Because he’s already leaning down. And then, finally, his lips brush against yours. It’s barely there at first, but the moment you kiss him back, everything shifts.

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb tracing your cheekbone as his mouth moves against yours. You let out a quiet sound you don’t mean to, fingers curling into his shirt, and that’s all it takes for the kiss to deepen. Spencer’s other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer against him and the heat between you is impossible to ignore now.

His lips part slightly against yours, breath hitching when your hand slides up to his neck. The kiss turns messier then, hungrier. Like all the months of silence snap at once, and now there’s no holding back. He exhales against your lips. “You have no idea how long I wanted to do this,” he admits. “Try me,” you whisper, and he kisses you again, harder this time.

You gasp softly as he guides you back onto the bed, one hand bracing beside your head, the other trailing along your waist. His body hovers over yours. His lips ghost down to your jaw, then just below your ear. Your fingers tangle in his shirt, desperate to keep him close, to make this real.

“Spencer,” you breathe out while his hand is sliding under the hem of your shirt, your legs brushing against his. He pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. “Tell me you want this,” he says, voice rough and low, “tell me you want me to fuck you.” You look up at him, skin flushed, chest rising and falling in sync with his. “Please Spencer,” you whisper, “I - I need you to fuck me. I need you to fuck me hard. Now.“

For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move. Just stares at you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you — like he can’t quite believe this is real. Then he leans down and kisses you again. "If at any point it gets too much for you, just let me know. I don't want to hurt you," he says with a worried look when he pulls back again.

A feeling of warmth and security spreads through you. "You look cute when you're worried," you tease him. "but I don't break easily,“ you say and wink. Then his hands are back on your waist, your back, your skin — everywhere at once. You can’t stop touching him, can’t get close enough to him.

The tension between you, held back for so long, finally melts into heat, passion, pleasure and love. His fingers hook around the hem of your pants and he pulls them off in one quick motion. Your top comes off next, then your bra and panties, that are already soaked through. His eyes trail over your body hungrily and he starts to kiss down your neck slowly.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he whispers in your ear and a shiver runs down your spine. His words and all the kisses make you even more desperate and you can’t help but buck your hips against him. You can feel his erection and want more but he pushes your hips back down. “Someone’s needy,” he says, not giving you what you want yet. “Spencer, please. Don’t make me wait,” you whimper and he chuckles.

He keeps kissing down your body - your breasts first, taking one of your nipples in his mouth. You observe his actions and seeing his big, slender hand around your breasts is a sight you didn’t expect to enjoy this much. You moan his name and he looks up and follows your gaze. “Like what you see, angel?” he asks and you nod. His hands continue to roam over your body, down to your stomach and between your thighs.

He keeps his eyes on you, observing every little reaction before he finally runs his fingers through your folds. “So wet, is this all for me?” he asks and you nod. “Words, angel. Tell me how good I make you feel,” he says, stopping for a moment. “Y-yes. All for you,” you breath out and he looks satisfied.

With one finger he starts to trail circles around your clit, slowly applying more and more pressure before slipping a finger in. It feels so good and you cover your mouth with your hand in order to stop meaning out loudly. Spencer however doesn’t like it, he immediately reaches for your hand and pulls it off. “No, don’t do that. I want to hear you moan for me for me angel.”

He adds another finger and starts to pump them in and out faster, keeping one finger on your clit the whole time. You can’t help but lean forward to watch his hand again, knuckles buried deep inside you. “Looks like my hands are quite a distraction to you,” he says and chuckles again before his other hand wraps around your throat, squeezing just perfectly.

You don’t respond, too focused on the pleasure and how good his hand looks buried inside you. With the sight in front of you, the feeling of his fingers inside you and his hand wrapped around your throat it doesn’t take long for your orgasm to build up. Your legs start to shake slightly and you clench around Spencers fingers. You’re almost there when he suddenly pulls out. You whine. “Spencer, what the hell are you doing? I was so close!” you curse.

“I know. But I to feel you come around my cock,” he says before he starts to take his clothes off. When he unbuttons his pants your eyes widen. He’s certainly bigger than you expected. He starts to stroke his cock and you can’t help but watch him. Even though you can’t wait to feel him inside you, you enjoy watching him. Then he leans down and spreads your legs further apart.

He lines himself up at your entrance, sliding through your wet folds and teasing your clit again before he finally pushes inside you. “So tight and wet for me, angel. You’re all mine now,” he says. He gives you some time to adjust before he starts to pound into you. He leans down next, sucking on your neck and breasts, leaving hickeys everywhere and claiming you as his.

The room is filled with your moans and whimpers and when Spencer looks down and sees his cock sliding in and out of you he groans. You wouldn't have thought that something could turn you on even more, but hearing him groan certainly did. “Oh god, so good. Pl - please, don’t stop,” you manage to breath out, your mind already lost in all the pleasure.

His grip on your hips tightens and he increases his pace. He can feel you clench around him and almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. He applies pressure on your clit again, playing close attention to your reactions and when your close again he pulls out of you. “A- Again? Are you fucking serious?” you ask furiously. You can tell he enjoys the control he has over you. “I hate you so much right now,” you say but he just grins.

“Say it like you mean it,” he says before he suddenly grabs you and flips you over. You’re on all fours now, ass up in the air facing him. He immediately slides back into you, pounding into you hard from behind and hitting new angles and reaching spots you never could. One of his hand slides up your back and into your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail and pulling hard.

Your back arches up and you can feel your body pressed against his. His other hand suddenly comes down on your ass, spanking you. You moan out his name so loud that you’re afraid your neighbours know now what you’re doing in here, but you don’t really care. “That’s what you wanted, am I right? For me to fuck you? To spank you?” Your eyes roll back in pleasure and you’re too overwhelmed to answer him.

Spencer how ever doesn‘t like that. The hand he just hand in your hair goes down to your throat again while he gives you an another spank. “Answer me,” he says and slows down, pressing you against his body and leaning down next to your ear. “Tell me how much you love this,” he whispers in your ear. “I- I love this. I love it when you fuck me hard, Spencer,” you say quickly, afraid that he’ll not let you come at all if you don’t.

“Good girl,” he says and kisses the spot behind your ear gently before he picks up his pace again. You can feel him twitch inside you, telling you that he’s getting close now too. “I’m gonna tell you when you’re allowed to come. I want us to come together, do you understand?” he asks as if he’s read your thoughts. “Yes,” you breath out quickly before you get too lost in the pleasure again.

He thrusts into you again a few times before he slides his hand forward, teasing your clit with his fingers again. “Come for me, angel. Now,” he says and you let go. Your orgasm crashes over you and you never had one this intense before. You can feel him twitch inside you before he finishes too. For a second you see stars. When you finally come down, he lets go of you and slides out.

You lay down together, completely out of breath and he pulls you in his arms. Neither of you say a word but he holds you close to him, gently stroking your hair. It’s a quiet, peaceful moment but after a while Spencer speaks up. “You should go to the toilet now. I don’t want you to get UTIs,” he says and you groan. “You know how to ruin a moment, don’t you Dr. Reid?” you joke and he laughs.

“I’m just worried about your health, angel,” he says and leans down to kiss your head. “We can still cuddle when you come back, okay?” he says and you smile. “Definitely. You don’t get rid of me that easily,” you tease him. “Good. Because I don’t want to. Now hurry, I want you back in my arms.”

[daryltwdixon]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 6.5 | Part 7

Summary: Neither you or Joel had realized the fallout of facing each other after trying for a baby—something that never would have happened if Tommy could have given you one himself. And when the first time doesn't stick, you're back at Joel's door, asking for another favor.

|| smut MNDI 18+, pinv, f!receiving oral, dirty talk, no outbreak, not cheating but still def not kosher!!! don't do this!!!, breeding kink, rule breaking, baby making, talk of infertility, joel is absolutely filthy when he's turned on what can I say || notes: Tommy, hunny, if you're reading this, im sorry. im sure you're great in bed. im sorry this got so long!!! I was hella sick the past couple days and mightve wrote this with a fever sooo

You hadn’t meant for it to change anything.

In the days after the first time you… tried with Joel, you hadn’t really spoken to him. He’d left in a hurry, barely looking at you as he pulled his clothes back on, and you’d been too drunk on the aftershocks of what was possibly the best orgasm of your life to really think about what came next. Not until the hours stretched into days, and the reality of what you’d done started to settle in.

Now, standing by the pool in the thick, hazy heat of late summer, you realized just how weird it was going to be when you saw him again.

It was Frankie’s birthday, the last big cookout of the season—an annual thing the Morales family threw without fail, and especially this year with Maria now expecting their first baby. The beer was always cold, there was always too much food, and the night always ended with everyone gathered around the fire pit, full and tipsy and laughing. You’d been coming to these parties for years, always bringing appetizers, just as the Miller brothers always brought the beer. It was tradition. Comfortable.

Except this time, nothing felt comfortable at all.

You were in your string bikini, your loose, sheer cover-up thrown over the lounge chair you inhabited, still slick from the last dip in the pool. The air smelled like sunscreen and charcoal smoke, the buzz of cicadas tangled with the sound of splashing and distant laughter. You had just grabbed your drink from the poolside table when movement caught your eye.

Joel.

He was stepping into the backyard, a case of Miller Lite hooked in one hand, his other hand pushing through his hair. He looked good—annoyingly good—worn jeans hanging low on his hips, t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, sunglasses tucked into the collar. He scanned the crowd until his gaze landed on you.

Your breath hitched. Not because of him—of course not—but because the moment stretched just a little too long.

And then Tommy turned, sitting next to you with an easy, unaware grin, and Joel’s eyes flicked to his brother like he’d just been caught red-handed. He gave an awkward nod—more of a grunt than a greeting—before turning on his heel and heading straight for the house.

You flushed.

Right. This was going to be weird.

Tommy laughed, like he hadn’t noticed the way you went red beside him. He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before getting to his feet. “Guess I better go say a proper hello before he drinks all the beer himself.”

And just like that, he strolled off, leaving you sitting there, drink in hand, watching the back door swing shut behind Joel.

The sun was starting to dip lower, stretching long golden streaks over the yard, and you were starting to feel it—the kind of lazy, sun-drenched exhaustion that came from too much heat, too much pool water, maybe one drink too many. The party was still going strong, laughter rising over the music, but you were more than happy to hover near the patio with a few of the other wives in the shade.

You hadn’t seen much of Joel.

Every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse—his broad shoulders making their way through the small crowd, the sound of his laughter, the sun catching in his hair—but he never seemed to linger anywhere long. It was like he was playing some kind of unspoken game, orbiting close enough that you were aware of him but never so close that you had to speak.

Which was fine.

It was fine.

You were definitely not hyper-aware of him. Not tracking his presence without meaning to. Not letting the memory of the filthy things he said to you crawl into your head every time you glimpsed those big, soulful eyes.

You exhaled, shaking the thought loose just as Maria called your name. She stood at the grill next to her husband who was flipping burgers, her hands full of side dishes that had to be put out for dinner.

"Can you grab the potato salad from the fridge?" she asked, nodding toward the house. "I meant to bring it out, but my hands are too full!"

"Yeah, of course," you said, already stepping toward the back door.

The second you slipped inside, the air-conditioning cooled the heat still clinging to your skin, the quiet settling heavy after the constant hum of the party outside. It felt nice. Like taking a breath you hadn’t realized you needed.

The house was mostly empty, everyone still out in the yard, and for a brief moment, you let yourself just enjoy the quiet. Then you stepped into the kitchen and saw him.

He was standing near the counter, one hand braced on the edge, the other loose around a beer as he looked out the kitchen window into the yard. His shoulders tensed when he heard you, but he didn’t turn, just flicked his gaze toward the fridge like that was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Joel.

You ignored the way your pulse kicked up, forcing yourself to be normal. Chill. 

“Hey,” you said, casual, like this was fine. Just another Saturday afternoon.

Joel nodded once, barely glancing at you. “Hey.”

Oookay.

You moved toward the fridge, opening it and scanning the shelves. “Just need to grab something for Maria,” you said, reaching for the container of potato salad.

Joel exhaled, shifting to the side so you had more room, but he still didn’t look at you. His grip flexed around his beer, his jaw tight like he was concentrating very hard on ignoring you.

Fine.

Grabbing the container, you shut the fridge and turned to leave, but you found yourself hesitating.

You sighed, shifting your grip on the bowl before turning back around. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.”

Joel’s head lifted slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to say anything. “Like what?”

“This.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “The awkward. The avoiding.” You paused, tilting your head. “You can’t even look at me.”

He blinked, caught off guard, before his eyes flicked to yours—quick, hesitant. “I’m lookin’ at you right now.”

You huffed out a small, dry laugh. “Yeah. For the first time all day.”

He shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable, his fingers tapping once against the beer bottle. “Ain’t avoidin’ you.”

You lifted an eyebrow.

Joel sighed through his nose, glancing at the floor before dragging a hand down his face. “Alright,” he admitted, “maybe a little.”

You crossed your arms, letting that hang in the air for a second.

Joel took a long breath like he was trying to collect his thoughts. Then he finally—finally—looked at you, really looked at you, with something almost hesitant in his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said, low but firm. “You’re right.”

Your arms loosened slightly, tension easing just a fraction. “I do that a lot.”

Joel huffed a little laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah.”

Joel’s eyes flicked down—quick, instinctive, before he caught himself and looked away. But not fast enough. You saw it.

The humidity outside had been enough to keep you from throwing your cover-up back on after the pool, but now, standing here in the cool dim light of the kitchen, it felt like a mistake. The shift in temperature sent a shiver across your skin, every inch of you laid bare in nothing but damp, clinging fabric. You knew this bikini was thin but damn your nipples for hardening in the sudden cool air. Water still beaded along your collarbone, trailing in slow, lazy rivulets down your stomach, disappearing beneath the tiny scraps of your bikini.

And it seemed like Joel was very aware of these things as well.

You weren’t sure if he swallowed, but you thought you saw his jaw go tight. Then, just as fast, he looked away.

Something curled low in your stomach. Was he thinking about that night, too?

Not supposed to. That was Rule #2.

Not supposed to think about it. Not supposed to talk about it outside the four walls of your bedroom.

Joel cleared his throat. “You feelin’ alright and all?”

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “What?”

His fingers tightened around his beer bottle. “Any signs yet?”

Oh.

You shifted your weight, trying to collect yourself. “No. Won’t know for a few more days. Won’t show up on a test yet.”

Joel nodded, looking thoughtful, like that was news to him. His gaze flicked downward again—this time, toward your stomach.

“Did Tommy not tell you that part?” you asked, amused despite yourself.

His mouth twitched. “Not exactly.”

You smirked. “You mean you didn’t ask.”

Joel scoffed, almost like a chuckle, shaking his head. “Wasn’t exactly a conversation I was rushin’ to have with my brother. Haven’t… had to think about this stuff in 15 years.”

That made you laugh—a soft, breathy thing—and just like that, something tilted in the air between you.

The tension didn’t go away. It just… changed.

Joel was still standing where he was, but now it felt like he was closer, and he was even smiling a little bit.

Maybe you were the one who had stepped closer.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, when the space had shrunk, but suddenly, it wasn’t enough. The air between you was buzzing, and you could feel his presence—solid, warm, steady across from you.

Joel’s fingers flexed once against the counter. His gaze flicked down again—quick, but not quick enough.

This time, when his eyes met yours, he didn’t immediately look away.

And neither did you.

The kitchen was quiet.

Not just in the absence of sound, but in the way the air felt thick, in the way neither of you spoke, in the way neither of you moved.

But you weren’t imagining it.

Joel’s eyes were still on you, his body still angled slightly toward yours, and you were very aware of the space between you.

Your skin prickled, still damp from the pool, and you wondered again if he was thinking about that night. If the way his fingers flexed against the counter meant he remembered how they’d felt on your skin. If the way he swallowed meant he was trying real hard not to think about the words you exchanged, low, filthy, depraved–

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, breaking the moment like a stone thrown into still water.

“Y’all hidin’ in here?” Tommy’s voice was easy, oblivious as he crossed the threshold, already making a beeline for the fridge.

“What?” you squeaked, “No, why’d we be hiding?”

Oh god. Your stomach flipped as heat prickled up your spine. Why the hell had you said it like that?

Tommy, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t care.

“It’s hot as hell out there. Think I saw Frank fannin’ himself with a paper plate like some old lady in church.”

Joel straightened immediately, rolling his shoulders back like he’d just snapped to attention. He cleared his throat, shifting his grip on the beer bottle. “Damn near a hundred degrees, I’d say. Just… takin’ a minute.”

Tommy barely looked up, cracking open the fridge. He grabbed a beer for himself, glancing toward you. “That for Maria?”

You nodded, heart still kicking a little harder than it should. “Yeah.”

“Good. She was about five seconds from sending out a search party for it.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose—maybe a huff of a laugh, maybe just a breath—but he made sure to avert his eyes from you now.

You just nodded once, shifting the container in your arms before turning on your heel and walking out the way you came.

Joel

A week had passed, the tightness of unspoken things curling around him until the evening settled low one night and Joel finally started to relax.

The TV’s blue light flickered against the golden glow siphoning through the blinds, the last rays of daylight painting the floorboards in long, slanted streaks. The house was quiet aside from the hum of the sitcom playing, its canned laughter punctuated by the real thing—Sarah, curled up beside him on the arm of the couch, feet tucked up against his thigh as she giggled at another dumb joke.

But Joel was distracted.

He’d been distracted for days, really. 

It wasn’t just the wrongness of it—though there was plenty of that, enough to make his gut twist every time he let himself linger too long on it. 

It was the fact that he couldn’t seem to stop feeling it.

The way you’d tightened up around him, shuddering, gasping, falling apart with his name on your lips. The way you’d let him take you, let him fill you, let him say things he had no right to say.

He shook his head, forcing the thought away.

Wouldn’t let himself dwell on it. Wouldn’t let himself remember the way you felt, the way you sounded, wrecked and breathless beneath him. Wouldn’t let himself think about how easy it had been to lose himself in it, to let every filthy thought spill from his mouth like he didn’t give a damn about the consequences.

But you.

You had let him. Had taken everything he gave you, had needed it.

And worse than any of it—the thing that really messed him up—was knowing that Tommy, his own brother, couldn’t make you finish the way he had.

That knowledge had settled deep in his bones, twisting something dark and selfish in his gut. That he was the one who had made you come apart like that. That only he had. And God help him, but the idea stroked his ego like a cat purring into your hand. He hadn’t been able to think straight since.

And maybe that was why, when the knock came, it took him a second to register it.

Joel blinked, dragging himself out of his own damn head. He turned to Sarah, their eyes meeting in confusion. “You expectin’ anyone?” he asked. Sarah shook her head, brow furrowing. Joel exhaled, pushing himself up from the couch with a few protesting cracks in his knees before heading for the door, rubbing at the tension settled in his jaw before pulling it open.

For a second, he had to blink to make sure he was seeing right.

You stood on his porch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, stuffed into the front pocket, your hair mussed from the evening breeze. The light had dipped enough that everything was softer now, blurred at the edges, but it didn’t hide the red rimming your eyes, the way your shoulders curled in just slightly.

Joel’s chest tightened.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He cleared his throat, opening and closing his mouth, but before he could say anything, Sarah appeared beside him.

He watched as your expression shifted instantly, the smile pulling at your lips effortless, natural. A mask, maybe—but a convincing one.

“Auntie!” Sarah beamed, rushing forward to wrap her arms around you. And just like that, your smile became real. He saw the way your eyes softened as you hugged her back, tucking your chin briefly over the top of her head.

Sarah pulled away just enough to grin up at you. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

Your gaze flicked between her and Joel before settling back on Sarah. “Was wonderin’ if I could steal your dad for a sec,” you said easily, voice light, “that okay?”

“Please,” Sarah teased, shooting Joel a smirk. “Any chance to take him off my hands is always appreciated.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head as Sarah turned back toward the couch, giggling to herself. But when he looked back at you, the brightness from a moment ago had already dimmed. The smile had slipped—not completely, but enough. Your lips were still quirked at the edges, but your eyes… your eyes looked tired.

Joel exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“So,” you sighed, shifting slightly on your feet. “Can we talk?”

There was something in your voice, something heavy, something that sat thick in the air between you. And Joel knew. He knew what this had to be about, but that didn’t stop his mind from racing, didn’t stop the sudden, gnawing pull in his gut as a dozen worst-case scenarios started clawing their way forward.

Were you here to tell him it was all a mistake? That he should’ve never come near you like that, never agreed to something so ridiculous? Were you going to say you couldn’t look at him the same, that you didn’t want to, that whatever had happened between you was too far over some invisible line?

Or worse—were you here to cut him out entirely? To tell him he was done, that he’d never step foot in your house again, never see the baby he had tried to put in you?

The thought settled cold in his stomach, but he didn’t let it show. He just jerked his head toward the hall, leading you through the quiet house and out to the back door.

The porch creaked beneath your weight as you moved, wordless, settling onto the old swing. Joel followed, standing a few paces away, one hand braced against the railing. You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at you.

Your eyes were fixed on the pool in the yard—the above-ground one he’d put in for Sarah and her friends this summer, the water still rippling from whatever movement had last disturbed it. The tubes and pool rafts floated aimlessly, bobbing in the quiet evening breeze.

But you weren’t really looking at them. Joel could tell your stare was a thousand miles away.

Just say it, he thought. Just tell me you think it was all a mistake, so I can stop going crazy in my head.

“It didn’t work,” you finally said, voice cracking.

Joel’s eyes found yours, and for a moment, all he could do was look.

You were beautiful in the dying light—soft gold settling over your features, catching in the moisture gathering in your eyes. Your chin wobbled, lips parting slightly as you sucked in a shaky breath, fighting for control.

His chest ached.

Joel had never been good at this. Never been the type for soft reassurances or knowing what to say when someone was hurting. But he couldn’t just stand there, not when you looked like this. So he moved, stiff and uncertain, stepping toward the swing before lowering himself onto it beside you.

The wood groaned slightly beneath his weight and for a second he hesitated, fingers twitching against his thigh. Then, after a beat, he lifted a hand and rested it on your shoulder, squeezing gently.

The sound you let out was small, choked, a breath away from a sob. Your hands flew up to your face as your shoulders curled inward, your body trembling against the weight of it.

And then—before he could react—you turned into him. Pressed your face against his chest, curled against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joel stiffened.

For a long, still moment, he didn’t move, his body locked up tight. His breath was shallow, caught somewhere in his throat, but the sound of you—soft, muffled cries against his shirt, the uneven tremble of your breath—made his chest pull even tighter.

Carefully, slowly, he let his arm settle around you.

He wasn’t sure how much comfort he could offer, but he could do this. He could be solid. He could be warm. He could let his fingers trace slow, steady strokes over your arm, grounding you, letting you take what you needed.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered.

You sniffled, your body shifting as you pulled back slightly. It was like you suddenly realized how close you were, blinking up at him, eyes glassy but clearer now.

“It’s—” you exhaled shakily, rubbing at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. “It’s okay. Not your fault, of course.”

Your shoulder still pressed lightly against his, and Joel’s arm, solid and steady around you, didn’t move. He wasn’t sure if it was to comfort you or to keep himself grounded, but his thumb was still tracing slow, absentminded strokes against your arm, like if he stopped, something might shift in a way he wasn’t ready for.

The quiet between you stretched, thick and full, the weight of everything that had transpired the past few weeks hanging in the warm evening air. The swing creaked softly beneath you, the distant chirp of crickets threading through the silence, but neither of you spoke.

Joel wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to say.

He didn’t know how to fix this. Didn’t know if you even wanted him to fix it. So he just sat there, his fingers still moving, his eyes still studying you—your profile washed in golden light, the way your lashes were still damp, the slow rise and fall of your chest as you tried to steady yourself.

And then—

“Would you…” Your voice was small, barely above a whisper.

Joel felt like his lungs stopped working, his heart kicking up before he even knew why. You were still staring down at your lap, fingers twisting together, your teeth catching at your lip as you sucked in a breath like you weren’t sure how to say what you wanted to.

You tried again. “Would you be okay with…”

You trailed off, shaking your head. Still not looking at him.

But Joel knew. Knew before you even said it, before the words could form, before you could force yourself to meet his gaze.

“You want to try again?” he asked quietly. 

That got you to look at him.

And when your eyes met his, something shifted. Because Joel suddenly realized just how close you were.

Close enough that he could make out every ridge and curve of your soft lips, every delicate flicker of color in your irises, every tiny freckle that summer had kissed onto your skin. He hadn’t noticed it before—not really. Not in the dark of your room, not when he’d been too caught up in the moment to see you the way he did now.

Yes, you were nice-looking—Tommy always had good taste in women. But Joel had never let himself notice something like that. Not before. Not until now, until you were watching him with that hesitant, quiet hope, until something deep and unfamiliar curled in his chest in a way he couldn’t quite name.

He could feel you shifting beside him, like you were fighting some sort of urge, like you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself. He got it. He felt it too. That strange, electric wrongness, the awareness that neither of you was saying what you were actually thinking. His fingers twitched where they laid, but he didn’t move them.

“Would you be okay with that?” you asked softly. “I’ll talk to Tommy, see what he thinks, of course. He’s out tonight, but I just—I couldn’t stand being alone. After taking the test this morning, it just felt so empty in the house. It’s okay if you don’t want to, of course. We can figure out something else, maybe a donor or some sort of IVF or surrogacy—”

You were rambling now, your words tumbling out too fast, your hands twisting in your lap, your eyes darting away from his like you didn’t really expect him to say yes.

Joel didn’t know what the hell to do with the mess of feelings twisting inside him as he watched you stumble over your words. It wasn’t like you to hesitate, to second-guess yourself—but now, you were looking anywhere but at him, your fingers fidgeting, your breath uneven. He should’ve let you work through it. Should’ve waited. But before he could think better of it, his hand moved, fingers brushing beneath your chin, tilting your face up to his.

Your breath hitched as he lifted your face toward him, guiding your eyes back to his in a slow, careful motion that had nothing to do with the things he wasn’t supposed to think about.

“I’ll do it,” he murmured, his voice low, steady. And damn him, he couldn't help the way his eyes flickered to your lips as they parted when he said, “We can try again.”

“Are you sure you have to go?” you asked, your hands resting on Tommy’s chest as he held your hips, fingers squeezing gently.

His smile was soft, easy—full of the kind of warmth Joel had no business standing in the middle of. There was so much love in your eyes, so much familiarity between you, and Joel felt like he was intruding.

But that didn’t make much sense, did it? You’d both invited him here. You’d both agreed to this. And yet, here he was, sitting on the damn couch, trying not to watch the way you looked at your husband—like you’d rather he stayed, like you weren’t about to let his older brother take his place in your bed for the night.

“Listen, hun,” Tommy said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You know how Frank’s been feelin’, all the pressure of havin’ a baby soon. Maria’s gonna pop any day now, and the least the fellas could do was plan a night away.”

You pouted up at him, fingers playing absently in the longer strands of hair at his nape.

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to focus on anything else. The clock ticking on the wall. The hum of the fridge. The feeling of his own damn skin crawling.

“Joel here’ll take good care of ya,” Tommy said, and Joel’s body locked up.

His head jerked up, his whole body locking up like he’d been physically struck.

When he met Tommy’s gaze, there wasn’t even a flicker of mischief there. No teasing, no knowing smirk. Like he hadn’t just said the worst goddamn innuendo Joel had ever heard in his life.

Christ.

“Jesus, Tommy,” Joel muttered under his breath, but his brother didn’t hear him.

Or maybe he just ignored him.

Either way, Joel didn’t look. Didn’t watch the way Tommy leaned down, kissed you slow and lingering. Didn’t watch the way you melted into it, or the way his little brother looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him.

Not with what the night had in store for the two of you.

When the door shut behind Tommy a few minutes later, you turned, your eyes flicking to Joel—hesitant, uncertain—before darting away just as fast.

There was no getting over how weird this was.

“Can I… get you something to drink?” you asked from across the room, your voice just a little too casual, like you were trying to make this feel normal.

Joel nodded. Something to take the edge off was exactly what he needed.

With Sarah at a friend’s for the night, there was no rush, no curfew, no reason to be anywhere but here. He could take his time. He should take his time, not rush into it like last time. He still felt bad about how long it had taken him to get it up. But what the hell did anyone expect?

This was weird.

His younger brother asking him to put a baby in his wife.

His sweet, pretty, sexy wife.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Joel cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his jaw as you turned to grab the bottle from the cabinet. His eyes flicked down—just for a second—catching the curve of your waist, the slope of your back as you reached for two glasses.

He needed to get his shit together.

“Whiskey, really?” he asked, surprised.

“I thought it would be for the best. Ya know. Calm the nerves.”

“You’re nervous?” He didn't mean for it to come out so rough, so low and gravely, but something in the way you were standing there, hand wrapped around the wide glass as you looked between him and the drink.

You handed him his glass, fingers brushing, and you pulled away as soon as his hand wrapped around it, grabbing yours and walking into the living room, “Aren’t you?”

Joel brought the glass to his lips, giving himself a second before responding as he sat down across from you. The whiskey burned, but not as much as the look you gave him over the rim of your own glass.

"Wouldn’t call it nervous," he muttered, setting his drink down on the table.

You hummed, taking another sip. "No?"

"Nah." He shifted, the leather couch creaking beneath him. "Just... y’know. Wrappin’ my head around it."

You studied him for a long beat, fingers curled loosely around your glass. "So you’re sayin’ it’s not weird for you at all?"

Joel let out a little chuckle, rubbing his palm over his thigh. "Didn’t say that."

Your lips quirked, but it wasn’t quite a smile. Maybe more like you were just relieved that he was talking to you again. Something in Joel shifted at the realization. He should’ve been better at this—at talking, at making this easier. At not making things so damn weird.

"Guess I just figured the second time would be easier," you admitted, voice softer now, quieter.

"Easier how?" Joel asked, his hands twitching on his thighs before he grabbed his glass again, taking another sip just to do something.

You hesitated. "Jus’ didn’t expect it to feel so…" Your eyes, previously glued to the contents of your drink, flickered up to meet his. Joel felt his stomach flip, his pulse tick up. Your gaze was steady, unsure but searching, and he could feel it— the weight of it settling somewhere deep in his chest, in the thick, charged air between you.

“Tense.” you finished, and Joel swallowed down his last sip of whiskey, the burn sinking all the way to his gut, welcome this time—anything to settle the fire licking up his spine. 

It took a moment before Joel realized the both of you were staring at each other, gazes locked and burning across the room.

The silence stretched, thick and unmoving, the weight of it pressing down on his chest. He should look away, should say something to break whatever spell this was, but his body wasn’t cooperating. His fingers flexed around his empty glass, his breath slow and measured like he was trying real hard not to give himself away.

Then, you blinked, inhaled, and wet your lips before forcing out a quiet, “Should we… get to it, then?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly, eyes dragging over your face, searching. “That what you wanna do?” His voice came out rougher than he meant, lower, like the whiskey had settled there and refused to budge.

You let out a breathy laugh—nervous, unsure. “Isn’t that what we’re here for?”

Joel didn’t answer at first. He just set his empty glass down on the table, slow and deliberate, the soft clink against the wood the only sound between you. Then, he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, watching you.

“I mean,” he murmured, voice low, “we got all night, don’t we?”

You nodded, slow, absent, your teeth catching your bottom lip as your fingers toyed with the hem of your shorts. Your bare legs shifted slightly, restless, and Joel could see the way your body carried the same tightly wound energy thrumming under his own skin.

And for the first time, he wondered if it wasn’t just him who felt different. If you’d been thinking about that night all along too. If this thing, this quiet, simmering thing between you, had started to crack open something neither of you were ready to face.

Joel swallowed, flexing his fingers against his knees before dragging one hand over his jaw. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

You exhaled, shifting in your seat, but when your eyes lifted to his, there was something there—something nervous, maybe, but certain.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’m sure.”

Joel nodded once, slow, measured. “Alright.”

But neither of you moved.

Not yet.

And that might’ve been the worst part, the way the space between you suddenly felt charged, humming, like a live wire sparking at both ends, neither one of you quite willing to touch it first.

Joel finally sat back, spreading his legs slightly, running his tongue over his teeth in thought. “How you wanna do this?”

The words sent something sharp curling low in his stomach, but he kept his expression even. Neutral. Like this wasn’t the strangest damn conversation he’d ever had in his life.

Your lips parted slightly, like you hadn’t expected him to ask that, and something flickered in your gaze.

“I…” You hesitated, shifting again. “I don’t know.”

Joel huffed a quiet breath, rubbing a hand over his thigh. “Why don’t you tell me what you like,”

He meant it as a practical question. But the second the words left his mouth, something about them felt different. Felt thick.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, lips parting again—but no words came.

Joel’s fingers flexed where they rested, and then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand and curled two fingers toward himself in a beckoning motion.

“C’mere.” His voice was low, rough, unwavering. His other hand patted the empty space beside him on the couch.

Your eyes went wide.

Joel’s gaze stayed steady, dark and unreadable, waiting, watching. And when you didn’t move, when you stayed frozen in place, teeth worrying your lip like you weren’t sure if you should—

He tilted his head slightly, exhaling through his nose.

“Don’t be all shy now,” he murmured. “You helped me last time. I’ll help you this time.” A pause, thick with meaning. “Come on, now.”

Your fingers twitched, and then slowly, hesitantly, you moved towards him.

You set down the empty whiskey glass with a soft clink, and Joel caught the slight tremble in your hands as you made your way over to him. You sat beside him, close but not too close, your body angled toward his, but still not touching. He could feel the heat of you, though, could sense the way you hovered in that charged space, your breath just a little uneven.

Your eyes flickered to his, uncertain, waiting.

Joel let the moment stretch before speaking, voice low, rough with the remnants of whiskey and something heavier. “Now,” he drawled, slow and deliberate, as his hand rested on the back of the couch as he turned towards you, “what’s got you all worked up, hm? Why you nervous tonight? Weren’t nervous last time.”

You blinked at him, “Yes, I was.”

Joel shot you a look, brows furrowing slightly.

You were?

Hell, he was the one who’d been in damn ribbons last time, all wound up so tight he couldn’t even get hard at first. But you…you’d been steady, patient, pulling him out of his own head with soft hands and softer words, guiding him through it like you’d done this a thousand times before.

But now, looking at you, at the way your fingers twisted absently in your lap, at the way you were still hesitating, hovering, he realized maybe he’d had it all wrong.

Maybe you’d just been better at hiding it.

Something in him shifted at that thought, something warm and unexpected. And then—just like that—the corner of your mouth quirked up, barely there, but enough.

Enough to break the tension just a little.

Joel’s gaze stayed locked on yours, watching the way your lips twitched with that barely-there smile, the way you shifted in your seat, still wound up tight. You might’ve been trying to play it off, but he could see it now. The way your body was holding something back, how much you were overthinking, just like he had last time.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping low and edged with something darker.

“How do you usually get off?”

He watched the way your body reacted to the question, your thighs pressing together just slightly, the way your fingers tensed against the couch cushion, like you needed something to hold onto.

“Joel—”

“C’mon, now,” he murmured, tilting his head, gaze flickering down your body before finding your eyes again. “You asked me the same question last time. Let me help you relax, sweetheart.”

Your breath came a little faster now, chest rising and falling, and for a second, Joel thought you might overthink your way out of this. Might shake your head, pull away, break the moment before it could go any further.

“I, um…” Your teeth caught your bottom lip harder now as your eyes flicked away, like you were thinking, trying to find the right words. “Tommy—he usually… he’ll go down on me.”

Joel hummed, urging you on. “Mhm.”

“And usually I’ll get off then—”

“Usually?” Joel interjected without thinking. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked at you.

You shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Sometimes it takes a while,” you admitted. “So I tell him to give up and—”

“Give up?!” Now Joel was incredulous. His head jerked slightly as he wiped a hand down his face, like he could scrub away the mental image of his little brother trying and failing to make his own damn wife finish on his tongue.

"Jesus Christ."

You gave a small, amused shake of your head. “Not everyone is as talented as you, Joel Miller.”

The words left your mouth so easily, a throwaway comment, but the second you said it, your face went red, realizing what you’d just admitted. You let out a breathy laugh, trying to play it off as a joke, but Joel wasn’t remotely amused.

Because he’d seen the way you shrugged when you said give up. Like it was normal. Like you didn’t expect anything else.

No. He wasn’t having any of that.

His expression hardened, jaw ticking.

“Lay back.”

Your eyes widened slightly, your lips parting as you released your lip from between your teeth. “What?”

“Lay back, dammit. Pants off.”

“Joel, we’re—”

“You keep breakin’ Rule Number Three, doll, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you don’t give a damn about ‘em.” His voice was firm, his gaze unwavering.

“Sorry,” you murmured, your voice softer now, almost breathless, and Joel’s stomach tightened at the sound of it.

Joel was already moving, shifting forward, his body his broad frame eclipsing yours, forcing you to either back up or let him take what he wanted. You braced yourself against the couch, your hands gripping at the cushions as he hovered over you, broad and unrelenting.

“You don’t have to–”

“I said lay back, baby,” he murmured, voice low and firm, edged with something dark and determined. His fingers brushed against your thigh, coaxing, teasing, his eyes locked onto yours. “Lemme show you how it’s supposed to be.”

You hesitated, your chest rising and falling too quickly, lips parting like you wanted to say something—maybe protest, maybe challenge him—but instead, you obeyed.

You let him guide you down, sinking back against the cushions, legs still bent, thighs pressed tight together.

Joel hummed at the sight of you beneath him, at the way you looked up at him now—uncertain, but wanting. He could see it in the way your breath hitched, in the way your fingers twitched like you didn’t know what to do with them.

“That’s a good girl,” he muttered, dragging his palm up the length of your thigh, heat radiating from his touch even through the fabric of your shorts.

He should take his time, should tease you like he’d been dreaming about in the weeks between last time and now—the way he’d pictured you squirming, begging for him. But then he remembered what you’d said.

How sometimes it took too long.

How you’d just tell Tommy to give up.

Like it was your fault. Like you were too much work.

Bullshit.

Joel’s jaw ticked, something dark and dangerous curling in his gut. His fingers flexed against your skin before slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down before you could say anything else.

You sucked in a breath, hips lifting instinctively, letting him pull them past your thighs, past your knees, tossing them somewhere behind him. His hands settled firm on your legs, his thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles against your inner thighs as he spread them wider.

And fuck, you were already so wet, your panties clinging to you, a darkened patch right where he wanted to put his mouth.

His smirk was slow, satisfied.

"What’s this all about, hm?" he purred, pressing his thumb against the damp fabric, rubbing just enough to make you jolt. "Wanna tell me what’s got you all dripping for me already?"

Your breath hitched, a little mewl escaping you as you tried pushing your thighs together, squeezing tight, making the soft, puffy outline of your lips press perfectly against the thin fabric.

Joel swore he started salivating.

His hands ran up your legs as he sank onto the floor, knees pressing firm against the couch cushions, palms settling against the soft skin of your inner thighs. He wanted you spread open for him, wanted all of you.

"Tell me, baby," he urged, voice thick, coaxing.

Your throat bobbed, lips parting, your breath a little shaky. "I was…" You swallowed hard, fingers twisting in the couch cushion, "I was just remembering."

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, heavy-lidded and dazed, thick with want. "Rememberin’ what?"

You met his gaze, lashes low, voice barely above a breath. "How good you made me feel last time. I’d never… felt that before. Not like that, at least."

Jesus fucking Christ.

Joel let out a low groan, his cock stiffening behind his zipper, aching in a way that made his breath come slow and deep through his nose. You had to feel it, the hard press of denim against your ass, the way his body reacted to your words, to the way you looked at him like you were already cock-drunk before he even touched you properly.

"You felt so good, Joel," you murmured, your voice thick, dreamy, like you were already sinking into it. "Made me feel so good."

His fingers curled against your thighs, pressing in just a little harder.

"Gonna make you feel real good again, baby," he muttered, voice rough as his fingers hooked into your panties. He pulled them down slow, savoring the sight of them peeling away from your slick folds, strings of arousal clinging to the fabric.

"Open these pretty legs for me," he murmured, gripping your thighs, easing them apart as he settled lower, gaze locked on the glistening heat between them.

You let him hold you open, bare to him, and all Joel could think about was getting his mouth on you, making you come undone the way you were supposed to.

The way he knew he could.

Joel’s breath was heavy, measured, but inside, he was burning.

He slid his palms up your thighs, pressing them wider, his thumbs tracing firm, slow strokes along the sensitive skin. His hands felt big where they gripped you, broad and rough, like they could hold you there forever, keep you open for him until he was satisfied.

And right now, he was hungry.

His gaze stayed locked between your legs, taking in the way you glistened in the low light, slick and dripping for him, already so ready. He exhaled sharply through his nose, his cock pulsing behind the tight confines of his jeans.

"Fuck, baby," he murmured, almost to himself, dragging his thumbs over your inner thighs, watching the way your muscles twitched beneath his touch. "You got no clue how pretty you are down here, do you?"

You whimpered, a small, needy sound, and Joel felt it straight in his gut.

He leaned in, inhaling against your core, lips just barely brushing against you—not quite a kiss, not quite a touch, just enough to tease, to let you feel the heat of his breath against your slick folds.

You gasped, your hips jerking slightly.

He smirked, the ghost of it pressing against your skin.

"Easy, sweetheart," he murmured, smoothing his hands over your thighs, grounding you, keeping you spread open for him. "Ain’t gotta rush. Gonna take my time with you."

And then, finally he let his tongue drag through your folds, broad and slow, from your dripping entrance up to your swollen clit.

You shuddered.

Your fingers scrambled at the couch cushion, a broken moan spilling from your lips, thighs trembling beneath his hands.

"That’s it," Joel muttered against you, voice thick, satisfied. He dragged his tongue over you again, slower this time, savoring the way you tasted, the way you reacted.

He loved this—loved watching you come undone beneath him, loved the way your body melted, how you gave in so easily when someone actually took their damn time with you.

His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking just enough to make your back arch off the couch, another moan breaking free.

"Joel—oh my God—"

"Mmm," he hummed in response, the vibration sending a sharp jolt through your core. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you still, keeping you right where he wanted you.

You were practically dripping onto the couch, coating his lips, his chin, and Joel loved it. Lapped it up like he was dying for it, groaning against you, letting himself drown in you.

He flicked his tongue, slow and teasing, before dragging it down, prodding your entrance. His hands slid up, fingers pressing against the dips of your hips, holding you steady as his tongue dipped inside you.

You choked on a breath, your thighs twitching against his shoulders, and Joel grinned.

"Yeah?" he rasped, pulling back just slightly, his lips slick and shining with you. "That feel good, sweetheart?"

You barely managed to nod before his mouth was back on you, eating you like a man starved.

Your hands fisted in his hair, and he groaned against you. He loved how messy you were, how you squirmed just as he’d imagined, how you kept whispering his fucking name, breathless and desperate like you just couldnt help yourself.

He knew there was a reason that was a rule.

Because it sounded too fucking pretty coming from your mouth, tangled up in all those sweet little sounds you were making, and he never wanted to stop hearing it.

"Ain’t learned your lesson yet, huh?" he muttered against you, voice thick with sin, pressing a kiss against your clit before dragging his tongue over it again, slow and deliberate, feeling the way you jerked. "Keep breakin’ that rule, sweetheart, and I’m never gonna stop."

A little choked noise escaped you, hands pulling harder in his hair, but you weren’t pushing him away—you were pulling him in.

And fuck, did that make him ache.

"Bet you don’t come this quick for him, do you?" he rasped, letting his tongue dip down, teasing at your entrance before pressing inside, groaning as he felt you pulse around him. "How long’s it take you on my brother’s tongue, huh? You gotta work for it? Tell him it’s okay to give up?"

You whimpered, a full-body shudder rolling through you, your hips rolling up, chasing more, and fuck, that answer was all he needed.

Joel grinned against you.

"Not with me, baby. Nuh-uh. You come when I tell you to, and you ain't goin' nowhere 'til I get what I want."

His fingers dug into your thighs as he devoured you, tongue working you over, sucking slow, firm pulls on your clit until your whole body seized beneath him.

"Joel—"

Your thighs clamped around his head, hands flying to your mouth like you could stop it, like you knew you weren’t supposed to say it.

Joel groaned, filthy and deep, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down against his mouth, forcing you to take it.

"That's it, baby," he growled against you, tongue curling, licking deep. "Say it again. Come on my tongue saying my name, just like that."

You shattered, a strangled, broken cry falling from your lips as you gushed against his tongue, whole body trembling, thighs shaking around his head.

And Joel fucking loved it.

But he wasn't done. Not even close.

Your breath was still uneven, your body twitching from the aftershocks, when he kept going.

"Too much—" your voice was a high, breathless plea, hips shifting like you were trying to get away, but Joel chuckled, gripping you tighter, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"Nah, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your soaked folds. "Tommy might let you tap out, but I ain’t him. You’re gonna take everything I give you."

And then he was back on you, devouring you, tongue pushing into you, working you open, tasting you like he was fucking starved for it.

You gasped, legs trembling, but Joel just held you still, broad hands locked tight around your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he pinned you down.

He wasn’t sure what came over him in these moments. Wasn’t sure if he’d ever been like this before. He couldn’t remember another time a woman made him feel this insatiable, this hungry. He kept telling himself one more—just one more, to wring you out and leave you spent beneath him. But you were still so soft, still so wet, and he wasn’t finished yet.

He pulled back just enough to watch the way you twitched beneath him, your lips parted, your chest rising and falling fast. Your thighs gave a little shake where he held them apart, and fuck—you looked downright beautiful.

You were panting, wrecked, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, legs trembling where he held them apart.

And Joel was grinning against you.

Because you hadn’t told him to stop yet.

And until you did, he was gonna pull another from you.

And another.

And another.

By the time you came the fifth time, you were boneless.

Joel leaned back slightly, watching the way you just lay there, sprawled out against the couch like your body had melted into it, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Your legs were still twitching, little aftershocks making you jolt every now and then, and he could feel the warmth of you still slick and messy against his mouth, his chin, his fingers.

He wasn’t sure if you were even conscious after that last one.

He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, jaw tightening at the sight of you—wrecked, trembling, looking like you hadn’t even processed what the hell had just happened to you.

Joel exhaled through his nose, pleased, then dragged himself up over your body, bracing his forearms on either side of your head. You barely stirred, eyes fluttering, a sleepy little hum slipping from your lips as his hand slid into your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, voice rough.

You made a noise, something breathy and spent, your eyes opening just barely.

“Hm?”

Joel smirked. "You need a break?"

There was a beat, like you were trying to process what that even meant—then a sleepy little giggle bubbled up in your throat, your hands finding his hair, fingertips scratching lightly against his scalp.

"Maybe like, five minutes," you murmured, smiling up at him, wrecked but glowing.

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head, before pulling you against him. You let out a surprised squeak as he stood up, gathering you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

“What the—?”

Joel shot you a lazy grin, shifting you higher against his chest. "My brother would kill me if I told him I knocked you up on a couch like a teenage boy."

That finally seemed to wake you up.

Your whole body stiffened, eyes going a little wide as reality set in.

"Oh, god…" you murmured, voice a little hoarse, your hands gripping at his shoulders. "I can't believe we just… I just did that…"

And fuck, something in Joel sank at the sound of your voice.

Because he knew that tone. Knew it well—that creeping guilt, that second-guessing, the way someone’s mind started running ahead of them, thinking about what it all meant instead of how it felt.

His jaw tightened.

He hadn’t meant to… he didn’t even know what came over him. He should’ve stopped earlier, should’ve slowed down, should’ve given you more space to breathe before he just took and took and took.

But Jesus, the way you responded to him, the way you gave it all back, the way you opened for him like you’d been waiting for someone to finally take care of you—

It did something to him. Still, he had to be sure.

"Hey." His voice was softer now, more even, as he shifted his grip on you, keeping you steady in his arms as he began to climb the stairs. "Ain't nobody gotta know. Stays between us."

You blinked up at him, chest still rising and falling a little too quickly, fingers curling slightly into his shirt.

“But Tommy—”

Joel shook his head, cutting you off gently. "Tommy don't need to know a damn thing ‘cept that we tried."

You swallowed, lips pressing together like you were still processing, like you wanted to say something else, but didn’t know how.

Joel exhaled, shifting his weight slightly, giving you something solid to hold onto.

"You still want this, don’t you?" he asked, quiet, steady.

You hesitated—but then, slowly, you nodded.

"Yeah."

Joel nodded back, just once.

"Then that's all that matters."

His hand smoothed over your back, solid and warm, grounding you. "We just keep doin' what we agreed on. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less."

Your breath hitched slightly, but you nodded again.

And Joel didn’t let himself think about why that felt like a lie as he crossed the threshold into your bedroom.

Eventually, he laid you down on the bed, and you settled back against the pillows, your chest still rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. You reached for the hem of your shirt, peeling it off and tossing it somewhere, your bra following it to the floor.

Joel took his time. He shucked off his jeans, then his shirt, watching the way heat crept up your neck, the flush deepening across your skin as you took him in. 

He told himself he just wanted to see your reaction—wanted to watch the way you took him in, wide-eyed and wanting—but the truth was, last time, he’d been so caught up in his own head, trying to wrap his mind around what the fuck he was doing, he barely let himself process it.

He wanted to commit this to memory.

In case it was the last time.

His hand wrapped around his cock, the poor thing aching, flushed dark at the tip, leaking, desperate for relief. He hissed through his teeth, exhaling sharply as he stroked himself, his eyes fluttering shut for just a second before he climbed onto the bed.

But before he could settle over you, you moved. You laid down flat on your belly, head toward the foot of the bed, your chest pressed flush to the mattress, your ass tilted up just slightly.

And right in front of you—the dresser mirror.

Joel’s body locked up as his eyes flicked up, finding his own reflection staring back at him. But then—your eyes met his through the glass, a little shy, a little hesitant.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His cock twitched in his hand, and his grip tightened around the base like he needed to ground himself, keep himself from losing control too fucking fast.

And then you smiled—small, soft, still lost in that post-orgasm haze, warm and pliant and looking like you’d do anything he told you to.

Joel climbed onto the bed, moving behind you, his weight shifting over your back as his broad hands settled on your hips, gripping firm.

His eyes flicked back up to the mirror, watching the way you looked at him, watching yourself.

He smirked.

“You dirty girl,” he murmured, his grip tightening as he ground his cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.

A breathy whimper slipped from your lips, your body arching, pressing your ass back into him, and he swore under his breath as his bulbous, leaking tip caught against your entrance.

The heat of you, still soaking, still so tight, made his breath catch as he  lowered himself, chest pressing into your back, caging you in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as his cock teased against you, notching at your entrance, pushing just barely.

"You wanna watch me fuck you?" he rasped, his voice low, dark, dripping with sin.

You let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut, and Joel rolled his hips forward, making you feel every inch of him stretching you open, slow, teasing, unbearable.

Your eyes snapped open, a choked gasp spilling from your lips as your gaze locked onto his in the mirror.

That wrecked, ruined expression, that wide-eyed shock as you took him inch by inch, deeper and deeper…

He knew was never gonna forget this.

Joel growled against your ear, his breath hot, his hips pressing flush against your ass as he bottomed out, stretching you open until there was nowhere left for you to go.

"Wanna watch your husband’s own brother knock you up, baby?" he purred.

Your jaw dropped, eyes going glassy, mouth parted in a silent cry as he felt you squeeze around him, your tight little pussy gripping him like you’d never let him go.

Joel had never felt anything this good.

He pulled back, just barely, before sinking home again, slow and deep, forcing you to feel every inch of him, every drag of his cock as he stretched you open all over again.

You whimpered, nails scraping against the sheets, already wrecked, but not nearly done.

He watched in the mirror as your lips parted, as your lashes fluttered, as your brows furrowed at the overwhelming sensation of it—of him, filling you to the brim, thick and unrelenting.

"That’s it, pretty girl," he groaned, grinding into you, pressing his full weight over you, hips rolling in a slow, deep rhythm. "Take it just like that. Nice ‘n easy, let me feel you, huh?"

Your mouth fell open, a breathy little moan spilling out as he fucked you slow, letting you feel every inch, dragging it out, stretching it thicker, deeper.

Then he pulled back, bracing a big, rough hand on your hip before thrusting forward, harder this time, deeper, dragging a sharp gasp from your lips as your eyes flew open— and as he looked up and saw your face, he could’ve finished right then and there, your eyes flashing open wide and your wrecked voice crying out for him.

His jaw clenched, his fingers digging into your hip as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping against your ass, the slick wet sounds of you taking him filling the room, mixing with the soft, broken noises slipping from your mouth as he fucked you hard, deep, like he’d been waiting his whole life to do this.

Joel’s body pinned you down, his weight heavy and solid as he laid over you. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to move—just him, pressing you into the mattress, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, exactly where you needed to be.

The heat of him burned into your back, his chest slick against your skin, his breaths hot and uneven at your ear as he worked himself slow and deep, grinding his hips down into you, forcing your body to take everything he gave you.

You couldn’t move.

You could barely breathe.

Every push forward drove you deeper into the mattress, your fingers gripping at the sheets, holding on as his pace built, each thrust sinking him deeper, stretching you open with long, deliberate strokes.

Joel groaned against the nape of your neck, his mouth grazing your skin as his hips rocked into you, dragging you forward with every heavy roll of his body. His weight bore down, pressing you into the bed, keeping you flush beneath him, letting him sink in to the very hilt, until you could feel every thick inch of him, filling you, claiming you.

He could feel everything—the way your body clenched around him, the way your walls fluttered, pulling him in deeper, tight and wet, keeping him locked inside you.

And in the mirror, he could see how flushed, how spent and wrecked you were, your soft lips in a perfect ‘o’ as he kept pushing himself to the hilt, your velvet walls constricting his cock with every thrust. He relished in the feeling, how deep he was inside you, how good you felt wrapped around him, how you had no choice but to take it.

Your moan was soft, needy, muffled by the sheets, your back arching, trying to press into him, trying to take him even deeper.

"You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?" Joel murmured against your sweat-slicked skin, feeling the way your walls squeezed him tighter, your body locking up, every muscle trembling beneath him. One of his hands slid under you, finding your clit easily and starting to rub slow circles using two thick fingers, "Gonna give me another, baby? Gonna let me feel you?"

His hand slid up, his fingers brushing over your throat, tilting your face to the mirror.

"Look at yourself." he said as his hand wrapped around your face, thumb pushing into your cheek and fingers digging into your jaw as he brought your gaze up to meet his.

Your eyes met his, glassy and fogged, your lips parted, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as he ground into you, holding you still, keeping you stretched full and helpless beneath him.

"You see that, baby?" he whispered, his fingers tightening at your jaw, keeping you there, keeping you watching, “See how perfect you look takin’ my cock?”

Joel thrust deeper, grinding his hips against your ass, rocking into you, making sure you felt every thick inch stretching you, keeping you full.

“You know, my brother can pretend all he wants," Joel growled, driving into you harder, making you feel it, making you take it.

"But this pussy’s mine now," he snarled, his fingers gripping tight at your jaw, making you watch yourself begin to fall apart on him.

"Was mine the second you came on my cock last time, wasn’t it?" he rasped, thrusting deep, holding you full, his fingers grinding slow and taunting against your swollen, sensitive clit.

"Go on," he growled, fingers and thumb gripping your jaw, sliding one up to press firmly at your lips before pushing past them, hooking into your mouth. "Say it."

Your breath hitched, a muffled coo spilling around his thick finger.

“All yours, Joel,” you whimpered, voice broken, wrecked, helpless.

Your words turned into a sob, your thighs shaking, your body locking up as your orgasm tore through you, your muscles clenching down tight around him, your walls milking his cock, dragging him even deeper.

Joel groaned, his head tilting into your neck, feeling you pulse around him, trying to pull him in, hold him there, keep him inside you.

You heaved in breaths, trembling beneath him, as he released his tight hold on your face, your head met the bed, too wrecked to hold yourself up.

Joel followed you down, face pressed into your shoulder, holding you still as he thrust once more, deep and final, his body locking up as he filled you, spilling inside you, holding you down, making sure you took all of it.

He stayed there for a long moment, panting, his breath warm against the back of your neck, his body covering yours completely.

Joel didn’t move right away.

His breath was ragged, hot against your sweat-damp skin, his weight still pressing heavy over you, pinning you down, keeping you filled, stuffed, claimed.

His arms caged around you, his chest pressing into your back, the lingering aftershocks of release making both of you twitch, shuddering in the same unsteady rhythm.

But as the haze of it ebbed, something else crept in.

His own words, thrown into the thick air like a brand, still hanging there.

My brother can pretend all he wants.

This pussy’s mine now.

Was mine the second you came on my cock.

Joel exhaled slowly, eyes pressing shut, realization sinking into him like a heavy weight.

Jesus Christ.

He shouldn’t have said that.

He’d felt it—deep in his chest, in the pit of his stomach, in the way you clung to him, the way you let him take and take and take like you needed it just as badly. But saying it? Letting those thoughts slip out, low and raw and real—

That was something else entirely.

His grip loosened, fingers flexing where they’d held you too tight, his body finally easing up, lifting off you, just a little. Enough to give you air.

His mouth hovered at your shoulder, his breath still uneven, before he forced himself to speak.

"I’m sorry," he breathed, voice rough, thick with something he didn’t want to name. "I… I shouldn’t have—"

“Joel?” Your voice was weak, soft, barely above a breath.

And when he looked up at you, your eyes were open just a little, sleep-heavy, a small, lazy smile tugging at your lips.

He swallowed. "Yeah?" he asked, voice gentler now.

You sighed, shifting just enough to settle deeper beneath him, your body still pliant as you rested your head on your arms, "Don’t ruin it."

Joel stilled.

You breathed slow, eyes fluttering as exhaustion pulled at you.

"It’s okay. I won’t say anything if you don’t."

Something in his chest tightened, and for the first time since the haze had lifted, he let himself breathe.

Joel exhaled slowly, eyes tracing over your face—soft, spent, utterly at peace beneath him.

"Okay." he murmured finally, voice low, rough, unreadable.

And with that, he let it be.

tag list: @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698

[purplecoffee13]

Cross The Line*

Summary: “Harry and Y/N have always had a great professional relationship, all based on one rule; a line they drew the first time they met. But when one day that line accidentally blurs, Harry finds that he doesn’t want it to go back to the way it was…”

Wc: 13k

Tropes: Boss!rry x Secretary!Y/N

Warnings: A LOT of back and forth (this is what Katy Perry wrote hot and cold about), arguing, curse words, smut, dirty talk, degradation, light ch0king, dom/sub dynamics, edging, b0ndage, and recording while… yk🤗

A/N: I’m terribly sorry to have been testing your patience so much the second half of this year, here is a long one shot to say I’m sorry🥲 and I appreciate all of you and I hope you are happy and healthy and will get everything you want in the new year xx💘💘

General Masterlist

HEADER = POV change

Harry's relationship with his secretary is completely normal.

At least, he’s always thought it is.

Sure, it may have seemed more friendly than the usual boss/secretary relationship, but that was only because Y/N was special. She was one of the kind. Smart, stealthy, and sneaky if need be. She did everything he asked for, sometimes before he even realized he should ask her, and was always ready to do more.

Of course, she was attractive as well. Shit, attractive may have even been an understatement. Y/N was drop dead gorgeous and Harry was entirely aware of it. Her ambition made her even sexier, and it's one of the reasons he hired her in the first place.

When Y/N walked through his office door that first time three years ago, he couldn't believe his eyes.

He remembers it like it was yesterday, those wide eyes staring back at him as she froze a couple feet away from him. She was quick to regain herself, though—he had to give her that. But she was nervous as she sat down, even though her movements were calm and the tone of her voice stern. He saw the slightest shake of those hands of her.

Because that job interview hadn't been the first time Harry and Y/N came across each other. It was actually a Halloween party at some high end secretive club in New York one month prior. A night that ended with them hooking up in one of the private lounges.

Even back then, when he never thought he'd see her again, he knew that he would never forget that night, nor the way her face scrunched up as she clenched around him, or the sounds that she made as he drove into her.

He could see that she remembered it as well as she sat across from him that day, but Y/N had quickly made it clear that she was serious about pursuing a career in the film industry. She said she could prove what a great secretary she could be for him, as long as they could put that Halloween night behind them and pretend it never happened. She wouldn't make him regret it, she had told him. He took the chance.

And she had been absolutely right.

Three years had passed and Harry was still thankful to himself for hiring Y/N. She was the best around; fiercely loyal as well. Y/N had been offered jobs by other companies, but she turned down every last one of them. Harry liked to think their relationship played a bit of a part in that as well.

They had become friends—if that's what you could call it—over the years. They had a playful dynamic filled with flirty jokes and random phone calls and favors that blurred that line they had drawn so carefully during Y/N's job interview.

No matter what, Y/N would be the first Harry would call, every time. Whether it was bad business news or a drunken phone call, her number was most likely to be at the top of his last calls. And she always answered, even though she didn't have to. It was a special bond, and while they always danced on it—especially Harry—they never crossed that one line.

Not that Harry needed to. As a matter of a fact, he had quite the adventurous love life. With plenty of people on speed dial and a charming smile that could make anyone's panties drop, Harry wasn't short on romantic escapades. The one thing they all had in common, though, was that it'd never last longer than a few days, and they were rarely ever repeated.

The same couldn't be said for Y/N. In fact, Harry had never seen her with anyone outside of her work, and he never heard her mentioning anything about it...

He didn't know why, but somehow, that thought popped up into his head last Friday as they sat in his office with a drink, celebrating the outstanding reviews that critics had given the newest produced film that was set to premiere next week. Before Harry knew it, he was asking about it.

"Why are you rubbing your temples?" He questioned, watching Y/N massage the side of her head with her eyes closed. He was leaned back in his seat, whiskey in hand as he observed the woman across from him.

"Tension headache." She groaned in response. Despite her grumpiness, Harry couldn't help but grin. What could he say? She was cute when she was grumpy.

"We are literally celebrating, Y/N. What could you possibly be so tense about right now?" He teased, and felt his stomach swirl as a smile painted her lips. She might have rolled her eyes, but she still thought he was funny.

"Oh you have no idea." She mumbled, grabbing her glass and leaning back into her chair. She took a big gulp, her face pulling at the strong taste of the liquor. Harry chuckled.

"You should relax more. Maybe get a hot date to take care of some of that stress for you." He suggested jokingly. Y/N scoffed at the insinuation.

Shaking her head, she said: "I get taken care of just fine, thank you very much."

The equally teasing tone in which she responded caught Harry seriously off guard. Her slight grin pressed down on his chest, and despite having started this joking banter himself, he suddenly didn't find the topic very funny anymore.

"When?"

Y/N locked eyes with her boss. “What?”

"You're here 24/7, when do you even have time to hook up with someone?"

"You know there's this thing called weekends." She joked, but the amusement faded when Harry's mouth didn't even quirk upwards in the slightest bit. It fell quiet for a second or two, and just when Y/N opened her mouth to say something else, someone knocked on the office door.

"Come in."

Harry had said, and soon enough Robin, one of the managers walked in, telling them everyone was going to the pub down the street to celebrate, and if they wanted to come along.

Harry didn't even have the chance to reject the offer—he'd rather spend his nights with his secretary—before Y/N agreed to go along. Feeling obligated, Harry reluctantly gave in as well.

He ended up going home quite early that night, not even properly saying goodbye to Y/N like he normally would before leaving, and he couldn't get the image of her wrapped around another man out of his head the entire ride home. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was the fact that it shouldn't, and more importantly, couldn't bother him, which made it even less bearable.

Whichever reason there may have been for it, he decided to drown out his thoughts by inviting one of his old hook-ups to his house. But even as he drove himself into her as she kept screaming his name, he couldn't stop thinking of Y/N. When she had reached her climax and he began to chase his own high—Harry was caught off guard by Y/N's face flashing through his mind, and extremely embarrassed when those images triggered his orgasm.

The next week is awkward, to say the least. It started out Monday, when Harry could barely look Y/N in the eye. She had received the sudden cold shoulder pretty well, but Harry still felt horrible about it. His attitude got less stiff throughout the week, but it was still bad.

By the time Thursday rolls around again, Harry still hasn't had the chance to get that weird feeling out of his system. So when he approaches his office and spots Y/N behind her desk smiling at him, a wave of guilt washes over him.

He curses himself as he sinks into his desk chair, absentmindedly turning on his laptop. What is he doing? Y/N is his assistant. He shouldn't let his protectiveness of her get the best of him. He does not want to lose her in any way.

Harry flinches when there is a knock on his door. He looks up, finding Y/N standing in his doorway. Immediately, he signals for her to come in. She seems a bit nervous as she nears him, and considering she's never been nervous around him, his heart sinks at the idea that the cold shoulder he's been giving her the other night might have affected her way more than he thought.

He just doesn't know how to behave instead.

"You have a meeting in conference room C in five minutes. It's the banker's son who's been proposing his script for the past year. I  know your schedule is tight, especially with the premiere coming up, but I thought you might as well get it over with." She says, putting a stack of papers on the table that Harry can only assume is the script. He nods, quirking up the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, smart thinking." The praise falls from his lips in a casual manner, and he doesn't miss the way she physically relaxes at the positive reinforcement. She nods at him, and turns back to the door. Right before she is about to leave the office, she turns around again. Harry leans back in his seat, waiting to hear what she'll say.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped last week." She says, and Harry frowns at the apology.

"What?"

"I clearly said something that ticked you off." She explains,her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know we joke around, but I was afraid that maybe I'd accidentally crossed a line—“

"Y/N, stop it." Harry interrupts her, getting up from his seat. Her lips are locked within a second, and she stares at her boss with wide eyes. His stomach twists at the sight of it. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"But— if I said something inappropriate then I want to apologize for it." She says, straightening her posture again, biting her bottom lip so he won't see it quiver. As if he doesn't know the way her body works. As if he hasn't known for three years.

Putting his hands inside his pockets, Harry walks around his desk and stands in front of her. A little closer than he needs to, and yet not as close he would like.

"Let me ask you this: How many times have you declined booty calls for me?" He asks, tilting his head a bit. A slight smile appears on Y/N's face, and she pretends to think it over.

"Twenty-seven." Her smile crinkles her eyes, making them even more glassy. Harry quite literally feels his hand itch to touch her face, but he keeps it sternly in his pocket. "I kept track so I could count all the reasons you definitely won't get into heaven."

At that, he lets out a snort. Y/N can't help but chuckle too, and slowly but surely the weirdness dissolves from the room. When the laughter has died down, she speaks up again.

"So... we're good?"

"We're good." Harry smiles at his secretary, and his chest heats up when he spots the faint blush that appears on her cheeks. Jesus Christ, did she become even more beautiful than she was yesterday or was he just too stupid to notice earlier? Probably the latter.

"Well in that case you need to leave because your meeting is like, right now." She reminds him, and he hums in agreement as he gets up from his seat and walks towards the door with Y/N.

"Already gone, love." He winks at her, walking out the door with a lot more confidence in his relationship with Y/N. Maybe everything can go back to normal again. Maybe he was just exaggerating when he couldn't get her out of his head this weekend. Perhaps it was just a glitch, a temporary error in his brain that had come and gone in a flash.

That must've been it, he tells himself as he makes his way to conference room C. He takes a deep breath, musters a polite smile, and opens the door to the room. Harry already knows this guy is going to be wasting his time, but he made a promise to hear him out, so he will.

The guy sitting at the table is the stereotypical spoiled rich son. When John Longwell—a long-time business partner of Harry's— asked him to revise his son's script as a favor, Harry told him he'd do it if he ever found the time. He always hoped John's son would lose interest and forget about the script by the time Harry could find a free space in his agenda, but unfortunately that hadn't been the case.

And although the arc of the story had sounded absolutely horrendous— something about zombies fueled by a brainwashing radio song, which didn't even make sense to Harry because zombies don't have brains—he couldn't back out anymore. So he needs to get it over with, starting now.

Harry loudly shuts the door.

The guy—whose name he can't really remember at the moment—flinches and turns around, a big grin on his face as he gets up from his seat.

"Mr. Styles, it's a pleasure to see you." The man says, extending his hand, which Harry, in turn, takes. He only gives a slight nod before heading over to the other side of the table and sitting down.

"So, where's your script?" Harry asks, eyeing the empty table. The guy looks flustered, opening his mouth to say something, but the opening of the door interrupts that. Harry leans back in his seat when he spots his secretary walk through it, not even eyeing the other guy as she struts over to him and lays the printed out script on the glass table.

"Sorry, you forgot this. It was still on your desk." She says, finally turning to the man to throw him an innocent smile. His sheepish grin satisfies her enough to turn back to her boss and focus all her attention on him. "I also forgot to ask you— do you want to move up lunch today?"

The corner of Harry's mouth tugs up. Over the last three years, the concept of 'moving up lunch' has become a code for 'should I get you out of this early?'. Y/N came up with it a long time ago, and it has stuck ever since.

"Yes, I would very much like that. Thank you, Y/N." He says, and the way a smirk slowly creeps onto her face makes the hairs on his body rise.

"It's my pleasure, Mr. Styles." She gives one final nod before walking out of the room and closing the door behind her. Harry would lie if he said he didn't let his eyes fall onto the way her hips moved as she strolled away.

Unfortunately the fun doesn't last long, and with the slam of the door Harry is reminded that he still has to sit through this meeting a little longer. He looks down at the script.

"A Thousand Zombies

By Jason Longwell."

Right, Jason, that was his name.

"Jesus Christ, if that were my secretary I'd have her bent over my desk all day. How do you get any work done?" Jason breathed out, grinning like a stupid fucking schoolboy. Harry quite literally felt the storm cloud that came floating right above his head the second he heard that incompetent loser say those words. His hands balled up into fists at the suggestive comment, knuckles getting whiter by the second.

"Get out." Harry growls. John raises his eyebrows, looking around him as if Harry couldn't have possibly been addressing it to him.

"W— what?" He stumbles.

"I don't do business with insolent idiots. Get out." Harry repeats, getting up from his seat and buttoning his suit jacket. John follows his movements, anger starting to cloud on his face.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He exclaims in a failed attempt to sound intimidating. At least, Harry assumes that's what he's trying to do.

"I called you an idiot. Now, get the hell out of my face before I boot your sorry ass right to the front door." With one brow raised, he waits as John tries to muster a response until he eventually gives up and storms out of the room. Harry throws the script into the trash as he walks out of the conference room half a minute later. Y/N is immediately by his side.

"That was quick, I didn't even have time to think of an emergency." She jokes as they walk back to Harry's office together. He raises a brow.

"Yes you did. What was it this time? Food poisoning?" He guesses, holding the door to his office open once they've reached it. Y/N grins as she walks past him and takes a seat at one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Actually, your car was going to get stolen in about five minutes." She responds, the blush of her cheeks revealing the slight embarrassment of having to voice this excuse out loud. Harry's eyes widen as he walks over to his desk, feeling his assistant watching his every move. He quite likes the feeling.

"No way." He laughs. "You just get more creative by the day."

"What can I say, I'm good at crisis management." She shrugs, crossing her legs and getting into a more comfortable position on the chair. Harry tries his best to not let his eyes float to her legs.

"That you are." He murmurs, the huskier sound of his voice giving a different ambiance to the conversation. As Harry feels the mood switch, he curses himself. Why did he have to ruin it?

Y/N clears her throat. "Anyway— why'd the meeting end early?"

"It ended early because Jason Longwell is a sleazy douchebag." He responds shortly, straightening in his seat in an attempt to gain control of the situation again. He can't let himself slip like this again, and she can't know the real reason he kicked out Jason. But there is no denying the sheer rage that boils his blood when that comment flashes through his memory. He hates that the asshole thought he could just speak about Y/N like that.

"Ooh, what did he say when you kicked him out?" Y/N asks eagerly, still in a playful mood. "You did kick him out right?"

"I don't have time to get into this right now. I need to sign those contracts that were sent in yesterday before I go home." Harry says sternly, avoiding eye contact with Y/N as he speaks, but he still sees the slump in her shoulders at his sudden shift in attitude.

"Right, of course." She immediately returns to the responsible secretary she always is, getting up from her seat. He hears her exit the room, heels clacking against the wooden floor. As soon as the door has shut, Harry throws his head back in frustration.

So much for going back to normal.

Playing into the teasing will only rope him further into that forbidden fantasy, and he clearly won't be able to stop himself from resisting her if he does. But he's the one who started all the playfulness, massively screwing himself over he realizes now. If he shifts his behavior, she's always going to think he's mad at her because of something.  But he's going to have to, because Harry can't go back to normal anymore.

Deciding he needs to clear his head, Harry grabs his coat and heads for the elevators without so much as a word. He pretends not to notice the way people's eyes widen when he walks by, suddenly on their best behavior, and although it used to give him an ego boost back when he started, nowadays he just prefers it if people aren't scared of him.

It turns out to be a particularly nice outside for a winter day in London. Not to get it twisted— it's still freakishly cold. It's just that the sun has replaced the endless rain of this entire month. Harry suppresses a chuckle at the irony of the sun finally being out at the very first moment where he's felt so shitty in a long time.

He doesn't know how long he's outside, so he knows it's not fair to be frustrated when he comes back and Y/N isn't at her desk, but he can't help the slight distress that washes over him at the empty seat.

"It's just a date—"

"Your second date!"

Harry creased brows don't do much to hide his feelings when he turns around to see his secretary with a co-worker. The shy smile on her face—accompanied with that blush on her cheeks she always gets when she's secretly giddy about something—disappears at the sight of her boss looking at her like she just killed a puppy.

"Ha— Mr. Styles." She is quick to catch her almost error. Her wide eyes bore into his, filled with confusion and worry. But Harry's frown doesn't give away much, aside. From the fact that he is obviously annoyed.

"I was looking for you." He states stoically, not even acknowledging the employee that is standing next to her. The woman takes the hint and gives Y/N and Harry a small nod before walking away. As soon as she does, Harry turns around and walks towards his own office. He can hear her footsteps following him inside, and with the inconsistent clacking against the floor he can tell she's having a hard time keeping up with his long strides. Still, he doesn't slow his pace.

"I need the papers for the donations printed out and on my desk. And I'll need you to move the meeting with the director of the romance movie to Tuesday evening."

"Yes, of course." The breathy response falls from Y/N's lips the second he finishes his sentence, and by the time he enters his office, she is long gone to do exactly what he asked. Harry shuts the door a little louder than intending to, accidentally shaking the framed artwork on the wall.

Y/N isn't very talkative for the rest of the day, that usual spark of hers seemingly having dimmed. Harry's chest is heavy, knowing his cold attitude was the catalyst for that, but he keeps it up nonetheless. He can't help himself from falling back into it every time he sees her face.

A date. She's going on a date. A second one at that. He can't believe it. Is this who she referred to when she said she gets taken care of? His stomach churns at the possibility.

He tries not to, but Harry still gets warped into the spiral of overthinking about 'date' Y/N has tonight. So much, in fact, that he almost doesn't notice the time flying by until Y/N knocks on his door at 6PM. Harry spots the coat that hangs over her desk chair, and he realizes the work day is over.

"Everything is done for the day and ready for next week. I also sent the papers about the donations with a courier who owed me a favor, so the documents are signed on both parts and the donations will be officially registered by Monday." She explains, hands behind her back. Her new shy behavior—while quite endearing—is excruciating to see. She had always been comfortable around Harry, until now. Until he had to ruin it for the both of them.

"Thank you." Harry gives her a firm nod.

"No problem." She responds a bit awkwardly. "So... I'm going to clock out for the day."

Y/N has already turned around by them time Harry's voice croaks out a 'no'. She whips her head towards her boss, head tilted as she awaited whatever it was that he was going to say.

"I need those contracts for that romance movie." He says before he can even comprehend his words.

"But you won't be negotiating that deal for another two weeks." Y/N retorts, her tone more stern than usual. He can tell she's tired.

"I don't care. I want them on my desk tonight." He holds his head high, despite knowing damn well what he's doing.

He's stalling. Long enough for... he doesn't know actually. For her to cancel her date? It sounds ridiculous now that he really thinks about it.

"Harry, I have an appointment tonight—"

"I said I don't care. I pay you to do as I ask. This is not something you can argue me on." He grumbles. With how Y/N's jaw is clenched, he can't say the same for her attitude. Without another word, she leaves the office.

Harry's worry begins to grow every minute that passes with Y/N out of sight. But when she returns with a stack of papers in her hand after a bit—seven minutes to be exact—that worry evolves into surprise. Walking over to his desk, she plops the papers on them a bit carelessly before speaking up.

"I had them made on Monday because I like to be a few steps ahead." She elaborates. "Now, if that's all, I'm going home."

Y/N doesn't even say goodbye when she grabs her coat and walks to the elevators. Harry sighs to himself, not knowing how the hell he should handle this. It takes him a few seconds before he realizes he really can't do this anymore. He needs to talk to her, if only just to clear the air.

And so, he gets up from his seat and hurries after his assistant.

He catches her just as she walks into an empty elevator, and he joins just before the doors close. Her knitted brows make it clear that she is not in the mood to talk to him.

"I'm sorry... about the documents." Harry confesses, but she doesn't face him. It stays quiet between them for a bit, until the biting sentence falls from Y/N's lips.

"You said we were good."

His heart cracks at her wobbly voice. He can't believe he made her feel this way. If any other person would've brought her to tears, he would've beaten the shit out of them. He reaches for her arm.

"W— we are." He lies. It's the biggest lie he's ever told her, and she knows it, because she immediately turns around.

"No we're not! I said I was sorry if I did something wrong, and you told me it was okay, and now all of a sudden you're being so... cold. I don't understand—" her eyes become glassy. "I don't understand what I did wrong."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Harry opens his mouth, ready to spout out his apologies, when Y/N's phone starts to ring. It takes them out of their little trance, and Y/N fumbles around her jacket for a bit until she's finally found her phone. He can't see who's calling her, but it can't be an expected call if he has to judge by the expression on her face.

"Marco, why are you—" her eyes widen at whatever the voice on the other side of the line is telling her, and Harry subconsciously finds himself leaning in a bit in the hope to find out what's wrong.

"What?" Y/N breathes. Her voice is small, and it sounds defeated, tired. The elevator dings, signaling they're downstairs, but Y/N doesn't move, so Harry doesn't either. She seems to notice and lets out a huff before storming out of the confined space and pacing around the lobby.

"You said we had a green light! That was months ago, Marco! Did you even—" She growls, clutching at her phone so hard Harry is afraid she's going to break it. "You know what, never mind. Give me his number."

The Marco guy seems to say something that he really shouldn't have said, because with the way Y/N's face twists Harry swears he can see steam coming out of her ears

"I don't care that they're not answering, I'll make them answer. Give me their numbers and then go find them." She orders before ending the call. And although the thought really shouldn't be crossing his mind right now, Harry can't help but notice how attractive Y/N is when she's mad. He shakes off the thought, telling himself that's the last thing he should be paying attention to right now.

Y/N paces around one more time, cursing under her breath, before striding past Harry and pushing the elevator buttons like a maniac.

"What's going on?"

Y/N shakes her head. "N— nothing. Just a little hiccup that could've easily been prevented. I won't be long."

Harry raises a skeptical brow, but she doesn't dare to meet his eye. She's lying through her teeth.

"Y/N—"

"Harry, really, it's nothing. I'm taking care of it." She tries to convince him, but he notices the way her hands are slightly trembling. "I'm sorry I was unprofessional. You're my boss. It's my job to take your orders, not question them."

Wait, no.

That aching feeling fills his stomach. His entire body, for that matter. He doesn't want her to be a silent and compliant assistant. That's not why he hired her. He needs someone to push back, to joke around with. Shit— what has he done?

Harry finds himself speechless as she enters the elevator and pushes the button of the seventh floor; the office. His brain isn't fast enough to think of what to say before the doors shut and the elevator ascends.

His feet stay glued to the ground as he ponders, his mind reeling like a rollercoaster. Frustration fills his body to his every finger tip. Everything has gone wrong, and he has no idea how to make it better.

At least ten minutes must've gone by by the time that a concierge taps Harry on the shoulder to ask him if he's okay. Still a bit wary, he nods before excusing himself and leaving the building.

Everything is going wrong.

Leaning over the desk with her face buried between her arms, Y/N is unable to hold back the tears that glide over her cheeks.

First, her boss gets mad at her, and she has no idea why. Then, just when they seemed to be okay again, he changed his attitude up again. And what does she do instead of letting it go? She starts a fight. And now Marco drops a disastrous bomb in her lap that could entirely ruin the movie premiere on Sunday. And if that wasn't enough—and she really thinks it was—this sudden crisis caused her to cancel her date of tonight.

It wasn't anything special, really. Y/N had met Jamie a few weeks ago, and they went out last week. He was a nice guy, handsome too, and she thought he was perfect for a short lived affair. Besides, her vibrator just couldn't live up to her fantasies. She was human, she needed to get off every now and then too. It was like Y/N had this itch in need of scratching, one she hadn't been able to reach in what felt like years.

But that wasn't going to happen now. In fact, she was risking being fired if she didn't solve this problem as soon as possible.

Damn! She really thought she had kept it all together, despite the extreme business this year. She thought she'd done a good job.

But that was a lie, because if she had done a good job, Marco wouldn't have ever gotten into the position where an artist on the soundtrack could manipulate the contract they signed. Y/N had told Marco to make it airtight, already having been suspicious of the artists' integrity from the moment they became part of the soundtrack. She assumed that they would try something.

'Chain' was an up and coming band known for their indie sound, but Y/N would just describe them as two pricks. Not only had they been subtly demeaning to her when Harry met with them, barely acknowledging her existence, they were arrogant as well. They came in expecting a lot more money than Harry and the rest of the company were willing to give them. It was absurd that they expected such a big number, but their cocky attitude didn't fade throughout the meeting.

It was truly a favor to the director, why Harry worked so hard to compromise with Chain. The director had been so passionate about the movie, and he had really wanted the song. If one thing was important to Harry, it's that there went passion onto the projects he produced and invested in. So, he decided to help, and eventually managed to struck a deal with the singers. It was still way above the pay grade they should've got—in Y/N's opinion—but they agreed.

Having seen first hand how greedy those two were, she had told Marco—the guy who handled all the legal documents—to make that contract airtight. She demanded to look it over, but because of her busy schedule, she let Marco have another lawyer look at it before sending the contract.

And now, because of a lazy mistake Chain's lawyer found, they are demanding more money or they'll waive their rights to the music. Something which would be absolutely detrimental because the entire climax of the movie, the cinematography and timing are all tuned to the song.

If she doesn't find a way to solve this problem, this entire premiere could fall apart, and it would all be her fault. She gave the green light to Harry, who gave it to the director. It's all her fault. 

She should've fucking read that contract herself, then this would've never happened.

Between Harry being mad at her, the fact that she was in her luteal phase, and this sudden disaster, the tears began streaming down her face, and the soft crying only turned into full on sobs the more she tries to calm herself down.

She allows herself the mental breakdown, but when she begins to regain control of her breath again after a few minutes, Y/N decides that it's enough. She has a job to get done, and no one was going to swoop in and save her.

So, she starts making call after call, ringing everyone in the immediate vicinity of the two arrogant bastards. It's crucial she reaches them before the night is over. Only forty minutes have passed by the time she is on the seventh person, but it feels like an eternity nonetheless.

She flinches when, while trying to reach Chain's tour manager, the elevator door dings and a shadow nears. Her tense shoulders sink a little bit at the sight of Harry, glad it's not some creep. Her brows crease as she watches him walk towards her. He's carrying a couple of bags with... is that food? It sure smells like it.

When the call goes to voicemail—for the third time—Y/N puts down the phone and gets up from her seat, hurrying over to her boss and stopping him before he could reach her desk.

"What are you doing here?!" She asks, blocking his way. He lifts the bags, a subtle, apologetic smile on his face.

"I brought food—" He looks up at her, and his eyes darken as soon as he takes in her face. "Have you been crying?"

Y/N raises her hands to her face, quickly glancing at the ground while she wipes her cheeks before meeting his eyes again. Harry puts the bags down, and it feels like her heart skips a beat or two when his thumbs stroke the skin under both her eyes. He leaves his hand around her face, cupping her jaw while he stares at her with such a piercing pain in his eyes that it makes Y/N's eyes water altogether again.

"What's wrong?" His voice is soft, and the feel of his big, warm hands holding her is comforting her in a way she hasn't experienced in a quite some time. Y/N only focused on his chest, afraid that the welled up water in her eyes will spill out again the second she looks at her boss. She told herself the crying was over, so why wasn't she able to control herself?

A few seconds pass, and silence runs between the thick air that makes it nearly impossible to breathe normally. Then, Y/N feels the slight pressure of Harry's hands, inching her head upwards. Automatically, her gaze flicks to that of her boss, and when she sees the worry on his face, a tear escapes her eye. His thumb catches it before it has the chance to roll down all the way down her cheek.

"I messed up." She only says, closing her eyes in shame. Harry says nothing, only letting out a sigh as he continues to caress her cheek.

Suddenly, the phone rings. Y/N reluctantly backs away from Harry's touch, and runs over to her desk to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" She says, her voice laced with such desperation that she internally cringes at it.

"Y/N? It's Marco. I found them, they're at a studio just outside the city."

She hums, grabbing a pen. "Give me the address."

"No, I'm going. This is my mess, Y/N, I'm not going to let you clean it up." Marco croaks from the other side of the line, and Y/N feels his voice tug at her heartstrings.

"Marco, listen to me. This is as much my fault as it is yours. I should've read the damn thing and notice the mistake." She replies, leaning over her desk to grab her coat.

"Y/N, I'll take care of it, okay? I found a fault in their loophole, they're stuck. Let me handle this. You just go home and enjoy what's left of your evening I ruined—" Marco tells her. "Wait, didn't you have a date tonight? Oh my god, did I ruin your date?"

"I did... but it's alright. It probably wouldn't have worked out with him anyway." Y/N chuckled awkwardly and glanced towards Harry, who looked weirdly annoyed at what she said.

"I'm so sorry, I promise I'll make it up to you." Marco shares the desperate plea.

"You can make it up to me by giving me the address of the studio." Y/N tells him cheekily.

"Y/N..." he warns.

"What? I promise I'm going home. It's just so I know where you are." She lies. Y/N is a good liar, except in front of Harry. Having a tendency to get nervous, she always betrays herself. She's lucky that this is a phone call, otherwise Marco would've known she wasn't planning on going home at all.

Hesitantly, he gives her the address, which she immediately writes down on her hand.

"Okay, thank you Marco. Good luck." She says, hanging up the phone with a lot more confidence than ten minutes ago. She can feel Harry staring her down as she puts on her coat, clearly waiting for an explanation for this whiplash-like behavior.

"I really have to go."

Harry shrugs. "I'll give you a ride. You can explain everything to me on the way to your house."

Y/N shakes her head, walking towards her boss. "No, really, you don't have to."

"Yes I do." Harry argues.

"You really don't."

"Do you have a problem with me bringing you home, Y/N?" He asks as if he's dumb, as if he doesn't know she's secretly trying to go to that studio.

"No!" She is quick to protest.

"Or does it have anything to do with the address of that mysterious studio you've written on your hand?" He teases, and Y/N clenches her jaw in frustration.

"I just— I need to make sure it's handled." She sputters. Harry shrugs.

"From what I heard it's being handled just fine." He points out. "You've got to learn to let things go sometimes, Y/N."

She shakes her head, looking the floor. "I can't. Not with this."

Harry lowers his head, trying to get on the same eye-level as her and searching for her eyes. "Why not?"

"I told you; I messed up." Her voice quivers as she tells Harry the truth. "There was a mistake in the contract with Chain. Somehow they found a loophole, and now they want more money or they'll waive the rights to their song."

"What?!" Harry growls, exactly like Y/N anticipated he'd react. God, he's going to fire her any moment.

"It's my fault. It was a reference mistake I could've easily spotted if I had taken the time to revise it." She admits, feeling extremely shameful of her lazy actions.

"What are you talking about? This is the legal team's fault, they should've seen that damned mistake! It's not in your job description to revise a contract, it's not your responsibility. It's not your fault, Y/N." He explains. She sucks in a breath, his words hitting her harder than she expected. Heart aching, the one sentence rings in her head.

It's not your fault.

That couldn't be true, could it? She was responsible for this deal, and for Harry. She should've seen this coming, even though she couldn't have possibly known. Did she not always pride herself in having this sixth sense, in being ahead of everyone else? What was she without that? What was she if not the best at the one thing that made her special, that set her apart from the crowd. What was she worth without that invincibility?

"You revise every contract, don't you?"

Her eyes flick towards her boss. She doesn't say anything, but the answer is hidden in her pupils. And it seems Harry can read them like an open book. "How long have you been doing that?"

"Two years." Y/N stammers, her arms crossed as if it will keep her body from revealing whatever her mouth won't. Harry just lets out a breathy chuckle before pulling her into his arms, taking her into a sweet embrace. With his chin leaning on her head, Y/N takes the opportunity to bury her face in his chest, trying not to bask too much in the heavenly scent of his cologne.

"Remind me to give you a raise." He jokes in a soft whisper, earning a sniff of laughter from Y/N.

For a while it seems like everything that tore her down, including what went down between her and Harry, didn't exist anymore. There was just him and her, their embrace and a distant ticking clock, the only indicator of time passing. Yet it felt like the world stopped, or slowed down at least, being in Harry's arms like that. And suddenly, that itch that she hadn't been able to scratch in so long, it felt like it was soothed by a stroking hand instead, and in a way it fulfilled her. It just so happened to be a way she did not expect.

The initial shock at the realization—this puzzle piece that suddenly clicked—made Y/N back away. She clears her throat, fiddling with her hands.

"They're supposed to be at this studio right outside the city. It's only twenty minutes away by car. I just need to be sure." She announces. Harry grabs the bags of food he put down before placing his hand on her lower back and guiding the both of them back to the elevator.

"We'll take my car." He states, and although Y/N can tell by his tone that Harry expects there to be no talking back, but she just can't help herself.

"Harry, I told you I can take a cab." She suggests as they wait for the elevator door to open. Harry doesn't respond as he guides them both into the small space and pushes the button for the ground floor. When the door closes, he turns to her, looking down at her with such an intimidating stare that Y/N feels like she's shrinking.

"And I told you: we're taking my car." He says sternly, his low voice twisting her stomach in an interesting way. When Y/N goes to open her mouth again, Harry lays his finger on her lips. He hums in disapproval, shaking his head.

"I was being clear, right?" He asks rhetorically. His gaze sweeps over her mouth before settling on her eyes again. Not daring to speak another word, let alone breathe, Y/N only nods in response.

"Good." Harry responds, a cocky smirk framing his face as he strolls out of the elevator, leaving Y/N breathless and in a slight trance. Blinking a few times, she comes back to her sense and hurries after her boss.

Richard has always been a master at reading people, and this time is no exception. The second he began driving, he raised the partition, leaving Harry and Y/N with some privacy.

Harry really has a knack for hiring the right people.

The first few minutes of the car ride are silent, and Harry spends it observing Y/N as she picked at her nail beds, frantically looking at of the window as if it would make the car move faster. She has so much tension inside that little body of hers; she is clearly in need of a distraction.

"I think I'm jealous."

Y/N's head whips to him, brows raised at the sudden confession. Her body turns with her, knees now in Harry's direction as she leans back into the seat, getting comfortable as she lays close attention.

"Of me?" She asks, utterly confused. She seems very lost, not really connecting the dots. Harry doesn't blame her; that confession was quite out of the blue.

"Of whoever gets to take care of you."

Pure silence. Harry swears he could hear a pin drop. Y/N stares at him like a deer in headlights, probably having no idea what to say or do or think. She gulps.

"What?" Her voice is so soft that he almost doesn't hear her, but since all his focus is on her, he doesn't miss it. Letting out a breath, he leans forward, placing a hand on her thigh. His face inches closer and closer until their mouths are mere inches away from each other. Checking for her reaction with every small movement, he can't help but notice how she doesn't stray away from him. In fact, she leans in, causing their lips to brush against each other.

"The idea of another man touching you, having you, it makes my fucking blood boil." He says, voice hoarse. Her eyes frantically search every last inch of his face, looking for something she seemingly can't find. Perhaps she's attempting to find the usual playfulness that always accompanies any conversation that blurs that line between them. In that case, she could keep looking forever and ever, because he is dead serious. Fuck how it used to be and fuck whatever's right or wrong.

And most of all, fuck that line, because he's crossing it.

Harry closes the small gap between them, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to work up his throat at the sole feeling of her lips against his. What a fucking idiot he was for ever agreeing to forget about that Halloween night. Not that he ever truly did forget about it. Besides her obvious competencies, hiring Y/N was a way of keeping her where he seemed to like her best from the moment they met; close to him.

With that thought in mind, he wraps his hand around her face and pulls her closer. She complies, clicking her seatbelt free to move further towards Harry when he slips his tongue inside.

Their mouths move against each other like it's both the first time and the hundredth time they've done this. So familiar and yet it's like nothing he ever felt before. A sensation so different from three years ago, one so heavy and laced with a detail his brain can't quite seem to grasp. Deep down, he knows what it is, he just can't quite lay his finger on it.

But his body can, and it does, and so does Y/N's, because her grinding against him is exactly what he needs. His hand sneaks around her neck, lips curling into a smile at the familiarity of the curves of her neck and the identical moan that falls from her lips just as it did three years ago.

Harry groans when the car suddenly stops and Y/N falls forward a little bit, the friction against his trousers being a bit too much to bear at the moment. Slowly, the partition lowers, and without so much looking at them through the mirror, Richard speaks up.

"We've arrived."

Wrong. Harry clearly hasn't.

Before Harry can catch his breath, Y/N can get off his lap, and either one can even answer, the partition rises again. Immediately, Y/N throws her face into Harry's neck.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." She wheezes out in pure, utter shame. Harry shakes his head, a faint grin on his face. He would have been laughing his ass off if he wasn't so painfully hard right now. Instead, he only pats Y/N's back, telling her it's fine. She groans and opens the car door.

"No it's not! God, I will never be able to look him in the eye again!" She says, punching the bridge of her nose. Harry shuts the door and grabs Y/N's waist, pulling her towards him. She stumbles into his chest. He lifts her face with his fingers, forcing her to look up at him.

"You're going to have to, because I don't want to fire him." He jokes, and Y/N bites her lip to keep her smile from growing too wide. Not wanting to give Harry the satisfaction that he made her laugh, she looks to the side, but her face expression falls quickly.

"This is not my apartment." She notes, looking at the huge building next to her. "This is yours."

Harry nods.

"I can't be at your apartment, I have to—" Y/N stops herself before she can say more. But Harry already knew what she was going to say. Playfully, he raises a brow.

"You have to... what?"

"To... I have to—"

"Sneak out to that studio?" He finishes her sentence, and her eyes widen. She tries to regain herself but her cheeks are flushed and there is nothing she can do anymore. He's got her. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

With that, he places a hand on her lower back and guides her towards his building. She stumbles a bit, but eventually catches onto the pace. But her body language is apprehensive, looking back at the road where Richard is standing. Or well, was standing. Harry ordered him to drive away as soon as they got out of the car.

Still, she turns around in a quick motion, trying to get to a cab. Harry's arm catches her, however, and he pulls her back against his chest. Along with his other hand, he turns her around, catching sight of her big eyes boring into his.

"Don't try me." He speaks slowly, dipping his head down until he finds himself inches away from Y/N. "You know what happens if you try me."

His voice is lower than before, having flipped a switch now that her mouth has been on his. He got a taste for the first time in years, he wasn't going to let her get away now. Y/N's breath hitches, eyes flicking down to his mouth.

Knowing he's got her right where he wants her, Harry pulls back and strolls toward the entrance of his apartment building. Soon enough, he hears those heels behind him and he smirks.

It's silent when they step in the elevator, and for the first few seconds, as Harry leans agains't the wall and observes his secretary, it stays that way. She eyes him a couple of times, her ears getting redder.

"What?" She breathes out, looking down at her body like there must be something wrong if he's looking at her for so long. He simply shrugs.

"Nothing. Just admiring you."

At that, Y/N vigorously shakes her head and crosses her arms. A soft scoff leaves her mouth, one she didn't think Harry would hear, but he did. He takes a few steps towards Y/N, inching her against the wall.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?" He asks sincerely, searching for her eyes. When she finally looks up at him, the nervous smile on her face fades a bit.

Harry doesn't like that look on her face. Needing to fix it, he leans forward and plants his lips on hers again, grabbing her face and pulling her into him. It only takes a matter of seconds before her arms are wrapped around his neck and their bodies are impossibly close to each other again.

Tongues delving deeper into each other's mouth, Harry feels himself floating on some sort of feeling. Despite not being able to define it, he is absolutely positive that he doesn't ever want it to stop. And since kissing Y/N causes this specific feeling, the only feasible option is to never stop kissing her. It's the best plan he's had in ages.

It doesn't take long before the situation gets heated, much like it did before, and Harry's hands trail to Y/N's hips to pull her against him. Desperate for any sort of relief, Harry's hips automatically start to move, and Y/N immediately responds. His body feels like it's on fire, and he tries not to let out any sounds as his strained cock rubs against his tight pants.

Harry takes his lips off Y/N's mouth, peppering kisses to her jaw instead. Slowly, he works his way towards her ear, where he stops to whisper in her ear.

"I'm going to remind you how fucking beautiful you are." The hot breath that left his mouth had her shuddering against him, a slight whine escaping her lips. As he leaves sloppy kisses on Y/N's neck, Harry's free hand slowly travels under her shirt, finding her bra.

She gasps softly when his hand starts to massage her breast, the sensitivity of both spots leaving her hot and bothered under Harry. Fuck, she is so fucking stunning, how did she not see it herself?

Suddenly, the elevator stops, and the door opened. Taking a step back, Harry only winks at Y/N before he turns around and strolls out as if it's a casual Friday. As if he doesn't have his secretary, whom he left high and dry, trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

"Would you like something to drink?" He asks when they enter his home, Harry immediately going into the kitchen.

"Absinthe." Y/N breathes out, leaning over the kitchen island. Harry peeks inside his fridge.

"I only have white wine."

Y/N shrugs. "I'm sure it'll have the same effect if I just keep drinking."

Harry chuckles, grabbing the bottle of wine and placing it on the counter. He walks to a cabinet and takes two wine glasses out of it. Placing one in front of Y/N and the other in front of himself, he opens the bottle and starts pouring, not stopping until the glasses are halfway full. Y/N laughs at the ridiculously full wine glass that he pushes her way, but takes it gladly. He doesn't miss the way her breasts nearly spill out of her top as she leans forward a bit further than intended to in order to grab the glass.

"To the unexpected." She says it like it's a dare. Amused, Harry decides to entertain it, and nods his head.

"To the unexpected."

They raise the glasses before both taking a long sip. Y/N rests her arms on the table, giving a perfect view of her tits right in Harry's frame. She smirks when his eyes accidentally fall on it, and Harry's stomach swirls with excitement. She's trying to play.

"Crazy, how fast life can change, isn't it?" She asks rhetorically, and Harry just hums, waiting patiently for her to reveal what she's trying to do. "I mean, I got up today thinking I'd end the day in another man's bed."

There it is.

She's always been smart, and she knows how to push Harry's buttons. Though his fingers grip the kitchen counter tightly, so much that his knuckles turn white, Harry keeps the corners of his mouth lifted.

"And now you're here." He says, head tilting just a bit. She hums in agreement, taking another sip from her wine.

"Yeah, but just crazy to think that I went into the day thinking I'd hook up with someone else." She tells it so innocently, as if she's mostly talking to herself. Harry's jaw clenches as he stalks around the kitchen island and nears Y/N.

"But you're not, though." Harry notes, falling right into the trap. He knows what she's trying to do but he just can't help himself. He doesn't like the idea of her being with another man. He waits for her answer, hearing his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"I know, but I could have—"

Before the sentence has entirely left Y/N's mouth, Harry's hand flies to her neck. The amused look on Y/N's face tells him enough, but he doesn't care.

"You're not. You're in my bed tonight, and any night after that as far as I'm concerned, so I don't want to hear another fucking word about it."

Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she stares up at him. "You really are jealous."

The corner of his mouth tilts upwards, "And you've gotten feisty over the years."

Y/N bites her bottom lip, humming in agreement to his observation. Harry lets out a soft chuckle, tightening the grip on her neck. Y/N gasps in surprise.

"But do you still like to be put in your place?" He asks, inching his face close to hers. The answer is written in her eyes, and yet Y/N doesn't respond. When it's clear that she won't anytime soon, Harry's free hand sneaks around the waist of her pants. She shivers at the touch.

"Well? Do you?" He repeats himself, and slowly but surely, Y/N nods her head. Harry lets out a disapproving noise. "That's not a proper answer."

Closing her eyes, Y/N lets out a deep breath. "Yes, I like to be put in my place."

"That's what I thought." Harry laughs, taking his hands off of her entirely. She frowns, but her eyes widen when he barks out a demand. "Take off your clothes."

He watches carefully as she follows his orders, and she clearly takes her time stripping down to her underwear. When she has, she looks to him for some sign of approval, but Harry just raises his brows. His hands are sunk into his pockets as Y/N lets out a little breath and takes off her bra and panties.

His eyes trail down her body, his cock hurting at the sight of her. God, she's beautiful. He feels like an absolute idiot for not having fought for her earlier, but he reminds himself that he can't change the past and that she is here now, stark naked in his kitchen. A grin spread across his face.

"Do you remember how you addressed me all those years ago?" He asks. It takes a few seconds before Y/N answers, but she gives him a firm nod.

"I called you sir."

Harry nods. "Rules haven't changed. Now, get on the counter."

Her eyes flick to the marble countertop, shock flashing through her eyes. "But Har—"

His right brow lifts ever so slightly. Catching the hint, Y/N stops herself before she can finish the sentence and hoists herself on to the cold countertop. It must not be very pleasant to lay your naked body on that freezing surface, but it was an uncomfortable temporary obstacle. The results would be great, and in about thirty seconds, she'd forget all about that cold touch against her skin.

Harry pulls out one of the bar stools and sat directly in front of Y/N. Spreading her legs apart, he catches sight of that perfect pussy he has been waiting three years to taste again. Like a starved man sat in front of a feast, the urge to dive right in is almost too strong to bear. But before he has her writhing under him, he wants to make her shiver.

"Can't believe it took us so long to get here." Harry hums, tracing his fingers up her thigh, carefully observing the way Y/N tries to control her breathing. Her fists are balled up into curls, attempting to send her concentration to anything else than Harry. He tries not to let his smugness show too much, but he has to say he likes seeing her struggle a bit. A bit of payback for trying to toy with him just now.

"You've always been stubborn." Y/N jokes, a gasp strangling out of her when Harry's fingers ghost over her clit. He chuckles, the tone of his voice so low that it could almost be considered evil.

"If I remember correctly, you're the one who wanted to forget about that Halloween night." He notes. Y/N hums.

"I also made the condition to act professionally, but we didn't do that either." Her eyes gaze into his, catching the fond smile with which he stares at her. A faint blush erupts on her cheeks.

"You drew the line." Harry retorted, and Y/N scoffed.

"You crossed it about a hundred times." She argues in response. He only hums, that cocky smirk on his face.

"I did, and consider this hundredth and first time to be the last, because I'm not getting behind that line again."

Y/N has never been so turned on her in her entire life. Harry’s words are the epitome of determination, and the way his fingers slip inside her so easily the second he finishes his sentence only solidifies that notion. The gasp that leaves her mouth is cut short and evolves into a low moan as Harry’s lips latch onto her clit.

Sensitive would be an understatement for her current state. She is aching, and the way Harry is ravishing her almost hurt. But any pain dwells in comparison to her desire she was overcome with at the situation she currently finds herself in. She is on Harry's kitchen counter, legs spread wide open and letting him do all the things that slipped into her dreams over the past three years.

Harry sucks in all the ways that made her squirm, moving his fingers with such ease that made it seem like he has fingered her a thousand times already. As if he knows her like the back of his hand, as if he knows all her secrets, even ones she doesn't know herself.

Y/N's hand buries itself in Harry's hair when he begins to kitten lick her clit, and she feels that inevitable climax inching closer and closer. She wonders how she had been able to keep herself composed for so long, because the high that creeps up on her feels like it was long overdue.

Unfortunately, the sensation comes to a grinding halt when Harry backs away from Y/N. Her head shoots up, and finds him leaning over her body, wearing boyish half-smile that is now glimmering with her juices.

Wrapping one arm around her waist and the other one under her legs, he picks her up bridal style. She holds onto his shoulders, burying her face into his neck as he carried her to his bedroom. When she begins unbuttoning his shirt, he throws her on his bed. She lets out a soft yelp, bouncing onto the bed.

"So greedy..." Harry tuts in disapproval, but Y/N doesn't quite care. She wants him, bad, and now that she's had a preview of what's to come she doesn't want to wait any longer. She needs him and she needs that orgasm.

She pulls him closer by his pants and starts to unbuckle his belt. "You're taking too long."

Y/N is about halfway done when Harry's firm hand wraps around her neck and pulls her closer to his face. Inching down, he growls: "You'll take what I give you."

"Then give me something." She spits back, and Harry's eyes turn five shades darker at her invitation to a challenge. He slowly leans back, Y/N watching his every movement in anticipation.

"On your stomach."

Y/N stomach swirls at the command, and she obeys as quick as she can. It stays silent for a little bit, and she awaits his further actions eagerly.

"Hands behind your back."

Again, she does what he says. Y/N doesn't dare to turn her head as she hears Harry walking around his room. When she feels a silky material around her wrists, she knows enough. He's tying her up.

Knowing better than to do otherwise, Y/N keeps her mouth shuts as Harry makes an impenetrable knot with his tie. She moves her wrists, assessing how tight it really is, and gets interrupted by a punishing slap on her ass. The sting remains for a couple of seconds, and she is sure there is now a red print the size of Harry's hand on her right cheek.

"Ass up." He barks out his final order, no doubt smirking as she changes her position, slightly struggling now that her arms are of no use.

Y/N bites her lip in anticipation when Harry's hand grabs onto her hips, steadying himself behind her. She slightly flinches forward when the tip of his cock teases her entrance, and attempts to speed up the process by leaning backwards a bit. She's rewarded with another slap on her ass.

But then Harry finally sinks in, and that dreadful itch that plagued Y/N for such a long time is finally scratched, over and over again as he begins to pound into her with long, slow strokes.

"Fucking hell..." Harry murmurs, his cock suctioning into Y/N's tight, clenching pussy. He is so big, and it bruises her in all the right ways.

"Oh baby... thaaat's it." He groans when Y/N begins to bounce back on his cock, aiming to get it even deeper inside of her. She is ruthless in her movements, groaning at the overwhelming sensations. When Harry gropes her ass— and his nails bite into her skin—she loses control.

Burying her face into the mattress, Y/N screams as she reaches her peak. The sound of Harry's moans at her pussy convulsing around his cock only strengthens her orgasm. Her mind goes entirely blank as the shattering release ripples through her like an earthquake. The only thing she can think of is Harry's name, and it's the only thing she cries out as the dizzying explosion settles all over her body.

"You really are desperate, aren't you?" Harry sneers as he pulls his cock out of Y/N, letting go of her hips. She nearly falls over, her tied up hands making it difficult to catch herself. This orgasm was so intense, she could feel the three years of pent up tension as it washed over her. Her cheeks are burning red and her teary eyes makes her vision somewhat blurry.

Y/N is thrown off when Harry suddenly turns her around and she finds herself lying on her back. The way he towers over her would have been intimidating had it not been extremely hot.

"Came on my cock so fast..." he mumbles cockily, corner of his mouth pulled up like the arrogant bastard he is. "Such a slut for it."

Y/N wants to give him some snappy comeback, but her brain is still fried from the orgasm and she's always liked to be degraded in bed, so she decides to only glare at Harry while he speaks. He catches it, and his grin only widens.

"You know it's true, baby." He tells her, bringing your legs over each of his shoulders. That deviant smirk is the last thing Y/N sees before her eyes roll into the back of her head at the feeling of Harry's cock stretching her out again.

He leans forward, almost folding her in two, and reaches deeper. He stays there for a few seconds—as if he is catching his breath—then slowly backs out of her before slamming right back in. Y/N lets out a screech that, if it hadn't been for the desperation laced in its tone, would've sounded like someone was trying to murder her.

Trying to keep her own moans at a minimum, Y/N closes her eyes and listens to the harsh slaps of Harry's skin against hers, and the groans that escape his mouth with each thrust. The strength behind each movement makes her clench around Harry, who in turn hisses her name as if it were a curse word. It only causes her to clench more. 

"Fuck, such a pretty little whore." Harry praises as he drives into her. Y/N can only whine, her tits bouncing uncontrollably at the impact of his motions. She must look fucking helpless. Opening her eyes, she catches the way Harry looks at her; like she's a dream. Like she's his dream.

"My pretty little whore." He growls, leaning back and holding one of her legs with his arm while the other reaches for her breasts.

"Yes..." Y/N breathes as he begins squeezing her breasts, getting lost in the sensations of him. Somehow it feels like Harry is everywhere. As if he has latched onto a part of her soul and she feels him coming to claim that every time his cock sinks into her.

"Such a tight fucking fit." He groans, taking her nipple between his fingers. "You should see how perfectly your pussy sucks in every inch of my cock..."

Y/N bites her lip as Harry talks, trying not too get too overwhelmed by the filthy things he's telling her as he plunges in and out of her. Her eyes catch the flex of his muscles that occur with every thrust, and she wonders how she got a man so perfect to fuck her stupid like this.

"Should record it... make a little video for just the two of us. What do you think?"

Oh my god.

"Don't you want to see how perfect we fit together?" He taunts, thrusting his hips harsher than before, hitting a spot that had been untouched for quite a while now. Y/N's face scrunches up.

"F—fuck! Yes, yes..." She responds when Harry stills inside of her to await an answer. He chuckles at the apparent hurry in her voice and reaches for—what Y/N assumes to be—his phone, on the bed. His motions are slow and soft, determined to keep Y/N satisfied at least a bit while he logs into his phone and searches for the camera app. She notices the start of his recording by the sudden change of pace and force of his movements.

His camera is pointed right at her pussy as he begins thrusting deep inside of her, and Y/N screams out Harry's name. The concentration on his face as he captures how she takes him proves too much to bear, and she shuts her eyes tightly, head flopping to the side.

She can hear his ragged breathing over all the other sounds that their bodies are making. The small grunts he makes in an effort not to moan too loudly is all she can focus on, and the tension in her belly grows exponentially with each vibrations of his voice that reaches her ears.

Harry slows his pace, putting more emphasis on the impact of his moves. It allows him to bring his free hand down to touch Y/N's clit. Her legs begin to shake the second he does.

"Are you gonna come again for me? I'm so close, baby. I can tell you are too." The softness in the delivery of his words have Y/N's ovaries rattle. She can only nod, a whine that was an attempt at a 'yes' falling from her rosy lips. Harry grins, his eyes flicking from his phone to her face. Everything feels so hazy, much like a daydream.

"Please don't stop." She squeals in such a high pitch that surprises even herself. Y/N had no idea she could go that high. Harry's bringing out an entirely new side of her.

"I'll never stop, baby." Harry rasps, pressing down on her clit in such a way that Y/N becomes cross-eyed for a second. Her nails grip into the bedsheets, the second release rippling through her like a hurricane. She never quite understood the word bliss, until now. This must be it; this feeling of... pure ecstasy.

Like a blank canvas splattered on with all the bright colors that exist in the world; fresh and exciting and psychedelic in a way. Impossible to define yet such a specific feeling. Y/N let all of it tingle from her head down to her toes, wanting to remember it forever.

The continuous pounding Y/N through her orgasm comes to a grinding halt when Harry reaches his own, pulling out just in time for his sperm to coat her puffy clit and swollen tits. His camera is focused on her frame, recording every spurt that paints her. She's the canvas, he's the colors, Y/N realizes. Harry is her definition of bliss.

The words shared between the two are scarce as Harry unties Y/N's hands, picks her up and carries her to the bathroom to clean her up. But the smiles on their faces says enough, both knowing what they feel is rare, and beautiful. Y/N assesses Harry's face, concluding that the soft edges of it makes him look like a proper angel.

When he's dressed her in one of his shirts, he takes her back to the bedroom, where he pulls her against his frame. Y/N wraps one leg around his torso, hugging him from the side with her head buried into his neck. The way his chest rises and lowers fills her with pure ease, and she leaves a few soft kisses in his neck as a silent thank you. Harry only hums in satisfaction, his arm only tightening around you, as if he's afraid you might let go.

"I'm never gonna let you go now." You tell him before you can even fully comprehend your words. Your heart starts racing, afraid that might've been too soon to say.

"Promise?"

Your racing heart is now melting as you turn your head and see Harry holding up his pinky. You are quick to interlock it with your own.

"Promise." You say with a smile.

General taglist: @mema10

[nanamiskentos]

PLOT — Gojo wrote everyone letters before the Shinjuku Showdown, and it's time you finally opened yours.

CREW'S NOTES — disregarded working on a full fic rn in terms of some quick angst that actually did sober me up a bit 😁

You stare at it, the same letters sloped in scrawled, quick handwriting. Your name, scribbled on the front, and the paper is soft. What little choice do you have but to open it with careful fingers?

The moment the paper unfurls, you know.

He knew. Gojo must have known what the fight with Sukuna would entail. You look past his iteration of your name, the strokes heavy as if a hand had hesitated and allowed ink to pool underneath.

I thought about saying this in person. But you know me, always showing off when I should be serious, and being serious when I should be joking. Besides, if I looked you in the eye and said this, I think I'd lose my nerve.

I'm sorry.

I think I'm going to die.

Maybe not. Maybe, I'll win and we'll laugh about this, and you'll tease me for being overly dramatic. (Please go easy on me, I'm very fragile).

But if you're reading this, I guess I didn't make it and that bastard got the best of me, and I can only hope he didn't mess up my pretty face too bad. Sorry, I guess you're not laughing.

There's a lot I could say. A lot I should say. But none of it matters more than this: You made me so happy. God, you made me the happiest man on earth.

I don't know what it says about me that I was a sudden fool for Cupid, I fell in love with your quick, clever mouth and your eyes, and that spine made of steel that got into my bones so deep that I couldn't breathe sometimes.

You always looked at me like I was someone. Not just the strongest, not just a weapon. You touched me like I was worthy of love, and held me like I was yours. And I was, I am and I think I always will be. And when we next see each other again, I would still be yours.

If I could have built a world just for us, I would have. A stupidly big estate with ceiling windows for days, a dumb house that hates me, silk sheets you'd complain about, and a kitchen you would never use. I would love to introduce everyone to the new head of the Gojo clan, though you wouldn't have to take my name if you didn't want to. I wanted to see you, pretty in blue and silver silks, and I'd kiss your ring like a priest in love with his god, and scandalise all those fussy elders.

I wanted to grow old with you. Can you believe that? Me. Old.

White hair, back pain, stealing kisses from you like teenagers in love. I would have watched you glow in the sunlight, and watched you live besides me. And you would probably outlive me by a hundred years.

So, if I haven't come back, if this is truly it, then please remember me not for how I died (I'm actually a bit squeamish, so I hope it wasn't too messy), but for how I loved you. Because I did. I do.

And if there's any kind of after, I'll be there and I'll wait for you. Please don't forget to look for me, no matter how many years pass. Just remember to look for the smiling lovesick fool with snow in his hair, and hands in his pocket.

I love you.

Forever your idiot, Forever yours, Gojo Satoru

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Text

(Dean Winchester x female reader)

Summary You’re back in the bunker, and Dean’s in a bar in Missouri. Thank God for modern technology. CWs Sexting. Dean being a good boyfriend. Phone sex. Sneaking around. 18+. 1.3k words.

Dean Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

Dean drags his phone out of his back pocket and opens the message from you without even thinking twice about it. His phone is set to downloading pictures automatically, which he later on thinks he might have to change, because the picture that greets him is of your tits and your hand between your legs.

He immediately locks the screen and pushes his hand with the phone in it under the table, taking a careful look around if anyone saw. Sam’s deep in conversation with Jody, Donna and Doug, so Dean grabs his beer with his free hand, takes a sip, tries to act very casual.

His phone vibrates in his hand, and although he knows he shouldn’t, knows that the conversation could turn back to him any second, that anyone could walk past him and look at his screen, he opens the message.

Thinking of you…

Dean needs to clear his throat, takes another sip. Another message.

Wish you were here to do that thing with the thing.

Well, right about now, Dean wishes he was too. He scrolls up a little, takes a quick peak at the picture you sent. Nipples hard, chest flushed. Goddamn, you look just about good enough to eat.

Still. He’s in the middle of a bar, game on in the back, about half of Missouri traipsing around him, his brother and closest friends (and Doug) right next to him. The only reason you stayed behind is because you got banged up pretty good on the last case, and since this looked like a simple salt and burn, Dean put you on bedrest.

He’s really regretting that right about now. If you were here and in this kind of mood, he’d be dragging you back to the motel like a caveman. But you’re not, so he starts typing.

At the bar with the guys. Call you later? Love you, get some re

Another photo comes in. It’s a close-up, your middle and ring finger pressed into your mouth, tongue curling up, lips pink and wet. Dean deletes what he wrote, writes something new.

Hot

Thinking of me?

He looks at the sent words. They don’t look very sexy, but maybe it’s just cause it’s weird to see them typed out. He would say them to you usually, of course. Well, not those exact words, but—

Need your beautiful cock inside me.

O-kay. You’re way better at this than him. That beautiful cock you’re texting about heard the wake-up call, is figuratively rubbing sleep from its eyes. Again, surrounded by most of Missouri. Well, he can’t half-ass this now.

Wish I could be inside you, baby girl. Feel how wet you are.

Yeah, that’s better, Dean thinks. He’s almost proud of himself, takes another sip of beer.

“What do you think, Dean?” he hears and his head shoots up. It’s Jody, turned all the way towards him, and he has no idea what she’s talking about. He clears his throat again.

“Uh, uhm,” he says, eloquently. Well, the best lies contain half the truth, so he motions to his phone. “Sorry, wasn’t listening, just checking in with the homebase.”

“Aw,” Donna says, laying her head to the side. “Give her our best. How is she?” Dean looks at his screen.

Want you here with me, fucking me so hard and deep I can feel you in my throat.

“Good, all good,” Dean stutters, reassuring smile forced onto his lips. “Real good.” He feels his phone vibrate again, but he doesn’t dare look down. And then Doug has a great idea.

“Hey, why don’t we send a nice picture?” he pipes up. Everyone else at the table thinks it’s a great idea too.

“Sure,” Dean says, quickly switches to the camera. He turns, stretches his arm out. Everyone leans in, smiling. Snap. Done. Merriment around the table and Dean can turn back to your messages, pretend he’s sending the picture.

Want to take all of you, baby, feel you open me up.

He quickly starts typing.

Wish I could taste you right now. Taste your delicious pussy. Eat you until you’re screaming my name.

Well, how about that, he is good at this, which of course, he isn’t surprised at, not really.

Oh God, Dean, I need you

Dean reads the text proudly. He loosens up his elbows, puts both hands on the phone. Game mode. You’re gonna get what you’re asking for, cause Dean is a giver through and through.

Use your fingers, imagine they’re mine. Think you can take three?

Dean grins. If they’re yours, you probably can, with how sweet and dainty they are. Immediately he’s rewarded with the mental image of three of his fingers pressed into you, making you full while you’re moaning his name over and over. Oh, he needs to be careful. He is getting himself to a place of no return quickly. So he decides to concentrate on what he’s writing.

Wanna make you come until you can’t move and then fuck you

Make you come one more time on my cock

Then let you lick what’s left off of me

Jesus, he doesn’t know where that came from, but it’s out there now, and the image of it… it’s making things difficult. Your pretty eyes blinking up at him, heavy lids and swollen lips, while you clean him up with your tongue.

I’ll let you sleep for a bit and then we go again

Over and over

All night baby

Dean suddenly notices you’re not answering anymore. Which means you’re either dead or otherwise busy. He’s still staring down at his screen when he sees Sam get up out of his periphery.

“Another one?” Sam asks, pointing at Dean’s nearly empty beer. Dean nods, and then his phone vibrates and doesn’t stop vibrating. He looks down. You’re calling him.

He stands up, no regard for his situation, mumbles some excuse and moves towards the bathrooms. He picks up at the same time. He nearly trips over his own feet when he hears your voice on the other end.

“Dean…” you moan, and he knows that tone so well. The one that tells him you’re… “I’m about to come.”

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Dean says, hurrying now. He finds the men’s room, pushes in. It’s empty as far as he can see, so he goes to the cubicle in the back, pushes in and locks the door. He presses his fist against the cool material to steady himself.

“Tell me, baby,” he says, now fully concentrated on you.

“I wanna, mmh, wanna hear your voice.”

“I’m right here, okay?” he says, a smile going over his lips. “I hear you, hear how good you sound.”

He hears small gasps from your end, and he closes his eyes, leans his forehead against his fist. Imagines you in your shared bed, covers pushed to the side, your naked body writhing while you make yourself come to his words and voice.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he mumbles. “Wish I could feel you, could see you move, make you feel good. God, I would fucking take you and—“

“Yes,” you say, voice cracking. “Dean, I’m gonna—”

“Let me hear you, beautiful,” Dean says.

The rest is a long moan, breathy and intense and perfect. Dean’s eyelids flutter like a young maid’s at your sounds. He listens to your breathing calm down, content little sighs leaving you. He wonders if you can hear his breathing as well.

“Fuck, I miss you,” he says and it comes from so deep inside him it shocks him a little.

“I miss you, baby,” you reply, still a little breathless. “I love you so much.”

The smile spreading on Dean’s face is broad. “I love you too.”

“Where are you right now?” you ask.

“Restroom,” Dean replies. He hears a small chuckle come from you that he knows is gonna get him in trouble.

“And how’s your… situation?” you ask, voice an act of innocence. Dean looks down at himself. His situation is pretty obvious.

“’bout as hard as a rock,” he replies casually, making you chuckle again.

“Well,” you reply. “Maybe we can do something about that?”

[scoupsakakitty]

A/N: Since it’s my Birthday today, I thought I’d surprise you guys with something small I wrote for you. I hope you like it! 🌹

A Rose for Every Regret | idol!S.coups x Reader | fluff

It had been a long day at work. Y/N stepped out of the elevator and dragged herself down the hallway, the weight of her bag feeling heavier than usual. Her birthday wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She had hoped for something… better. But birthdays didn’t seem special anymore, especially after the breakup with Seungcheol, or as everyone else knew him, S.Coups.

He was always too busy, too distracted, too caught up in his own world to notice the little things that mattered to her. So, when they ended things six months ago, she swore she wouldn’t let herself get pulled back into that kind of hurt.

Unlocking her apartment door, Y/N paused. Something felt… different.

She stepped inside, immediately greeted by a sight she couldn’t have expected in a thousand years. Roses. Dozens of roses in vases, arranged perfectly on every available surface in her small living room. The air was thick with their sweet, floral scent.

Her eyes widened, her heart pounding in her chest.

“What the…” she whispered, dropping her bag to the floor.

There was no note, no explanation. But there didn’t need to be. She knew exactly who had done this.

Reaching for her phone, she typed a quick message, her fingers shaking slightly:

Y/N:

Cheol, what the hell? We’re not even together anymore. And how did you even get into my apartment?

It didn’t take long for his reply to come through.

S.Coups:

You never changed your door code.

Her jaw dropped.

Y/N:

Are you serious? That doesn’t give you the right to break in and do… whatever this is!

S.Coups:

I wanted to make your birthday special.

She stared at the message, feeling a complicated mix of emotions anger, confusion, and a small flicker of something she didn’t want to name.

Rolling her eyes, she tossed her phone onto the couch and tried to focus on cleaning up. But every time she looked at the roses, her chest tightened.————————————————————————————-Hours passed, and the sun dipped below the horizon. She had just settled down with a glass of wine, trying to ignore the flowers staring at her from every corner of the room, when the sound of her door opening made her freeze.

Her head snapped toward the entrance.

“Cheol?!” she exclaimed, her voice sharp.

He stepped inside casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He was dressed in his practice clothes sweatpants, a hoodie, and a baseball cap pulled low over his messy hair. In his hands were several gift bags and a small cake box.

“What are you doing here?!” she demanded, standing up so quickly she nearly knocked over her wine glass.

He smiled sheepishly. “Happy birthday, Y/N.”

Her heart betrayed her, skipping a beat at the sight of him. He looked tired, but his eyes held that same warmth she’d fallen in love with years ago.

She folded her arms, trying to steady herself. “You can’t just walk into my apartment like this! Seriously, Cheol, what’s wrong with you?”

He set the bags and cake down on the coffee table and straightened up. “I couldn’t stay away. Not today.”

She let out a short, sarcastic laugh. “Oh, really? You had no problem staying away last year when we were still together. Remember? You were ‘too busy’ to even call me on my birthday.”

His expression faltered, guilt flashing across his face. “I know I messed up, Y/N. I’ve messed up a lot. That’s why I’m here. I needed to see you, to say I’m sorry.”

Her arms stayed crossed, her gaze hard. “And you thought breaking into my apartment was the best way to do that?”

“I didn’t break in,” he argued lightly, scratching the back of his neck. “You really should change your code, though.”

“Cheol!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry! But I just… I needed to see you.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Why now? Why today?”

“Because I couldn’t let another birthday go by without making it right,” he said, his voice soft. “I’ve been such an idiot, Y/N. I know that. I was so caught up in work, in everything else, that I forgot what was most important. You.”

She looked away, his words hitting her harder than she wanted to admit. “Cheol, we’ve been over this. It’s too late. We’re not together anymore.”

“I know,” he said, stepping closer. “And it’s my fault. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Every day, every night, I miss you. I miss us.”

Her heart ached, but she kept her face neutral. “That’s not fair, Cheol. You don’t get to just walk back in and say this now.”

“I know it’s not fair,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “But I’m begging you, Y/N. Give me one more chance. I’ll do better. I’ll be better. I’ll show you every day how much you mean to me.”

She met his gaze, her defenses crumbling just a little. “You didn’t even have time for me before. Why should I believe you now?”

“I’ll make time,” he promised, stepping even closer. “I’ll prove it to you. Starting now.”

He reached into one of the gift bags and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped box. “This is for you.”

Reluctantly, she took the box and opened it. Inside was a delicate bracelet with a tiny rose charm, simple but beautiful.

“It’s not much,” he said, watching her reaction. “But I wanted you to have something that reminded you of how much I love you.”

Her breath caught. “Cheol…”

“I know I hurt you,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “And I know it’ll take time to fix things. But please, let me try. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Tears welled up in her eyes despite her best efforts to hold them back. She hated how much she still loved him, how much she wanted to believe him.

“You really hurt me, Cheol,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

“I know,” he said, stepping closer and gently taking her hand. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

For a long moment, she just looked at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt or insincerity. But all she saw was love raw, desperate, and unshakable.

Finally, she sighed, a small, watery smile breaking through. “You’re such a pain, you know that?”

His face lit up with hope. “Is that a yes?”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile grew. “It’s a maybe.”

He grinned, pulling her into a tight hug. “I’ll take it.”

As his arms wrapped around her, she felt a warmth she hadn’t felt in months. Maybe he really had changed. Maybe this time, things would be different.

————————————————————————————-

And as they sat together, sharing cake and laughter, surrounded by the soft glow of candlelight and the scent of roses, she realized that she was ready to try again.

After all, love was worth the risk. And with Cheol, it felt like coming home.

[urcoolgf]

hey! i would really love it if u wrote this prompt.

basically drew and reader are roommates and best friends since they started filming obx together. a lot of people ship them, but reader kinda does nothing about it and it’s pretty obvious that drew does have a thing for her.

fast forward, it’s the day after drew’s birthday and they’re both eating cake and like talking and stuff. drew switches topics and hes like like “yk i never got what i acc wanted for my bday” and readers like “yea? what?” and then drew goes “good sex” or smth freaky like that

if ur not comfortable writing it, i understand, but i would really love it!! thank you!!

you guys are so creative oml i love this concept

also this ran LONG so i hope you enjoy ! :) so sorry it took so long

‘outer banks’ brought a lot of change into your life. a lot. it was your first big ‘debut’ (so-to-speak), and it also came with many new friends, and… a new roommate. drew starkey—aka ‘rafe cameron’.

the two of you had quickly become friends, not only because you were sharing an apartment with him, but you also just understood each other. the rest of the cast was obviously also amazing, but something about drew just felt more natural—more real.

—

it all started on the day you got your scripts. drew was sat next to you, fiddling with his hands while the director and other important people talked through what was expected, and when. once the meeting was over, and everyone had gone their separate ways, as he was getting up he noticed you—still sat at the table, already reading through your script with your nail in your mouth, deep in thought.

“got any notes yet, boss?,” he chuckled lightly, leaning over the table to look you in your eyes. of course drew had taken notice to how beautiful you were. it was impossible to ignore. your hair, your eyes, your beautiful smile. you were magnetic even when you weren’t saying anything.

“oh! no. no, i’m just thinking how long this is going to take to film, honestly,” your unsure tone had him intrigued. he turned slightly to sit against the table, crossing his arms in front of him, his script crinkled underneath his grasp. you hadn’t really looked at him, just quick glances during the meeting, and even now—you were more focused on your current issue, selfishly enough.

“is there a problem?,” you noticed his eyes narrow, like he was worried for you for some reason—like he cared, even though he barely knew you. it made you feel like you could talk to him without judgement, so you decided to just throw it out there.

“i just… okay, look, this is embarrassing, but i… i couldn’t find a place in the area…,” you started, finally looking up at him long enough to catch his reactions—you watched every tiny movement in his face, waiting for him to prove you wrong, and laugh in your face about it. he didn’t. a soft smile overtook his face instead, but he still didn’t say anything, and now you were starting to overthink it. “sorry! God, i don’t want you to think i was like– trying anything, or asking for help. i just– you asked so, i told you.”

he chuckled, lightly, his bright blue eyes squinting, and his smile lines prominent. he was an image, for sure—a sweetheart. “no– don’t worry, i didn’t think that.” his laugh made you smile, even in your current situation.

“would it be totally crazy if i said i had a free room in the apartment i’m renting?”

—

so, here you were—months into filming, you and drew living together, and tons of fan ‘ships’ of the two of you. it didn’t bother you; you and drew were close friends, filming together, and living together, it was natural for people to like the idea of you two dating.

you thought it was funny, but drew fed into it a little more. he was kind of protective in public, taking you out on ‘dates’ which were really just lunches, reposting stuff about the two of you. you didn’t think anything of it, but what you didn’t know was that the idea of you two being together drove drew crazy. it was hard enough being around you during filming, but at home? on the internet? it was hard for him to get over you when you were everywhere.

the two of you had become undeniably close, even the other cast members could see it. so naturally, you were comfortable talking about anything with each other, which led you to this moment. it was the day after drew’s birthday, the two of you carrying on the celebration by eating leftover cake on the couch.

“so, you have a good birthday?,” you asked, mouth half full of cake. you didn’t realize how close you were sat to him, but it was all that was going through drew’s mind right now.

“yeah, yeah it was good,” he rambled mindlessly, looking at you with those big blue eyes.

“what?,” you laughed a bit, putting your plate down on the coffee table like you didn’t totally believe him, but you also didn’t know why he was looking at you like that—like you had something he wanted.

he took a deep breath, contemplating whether he should really say what he was thinking right now, or if he was mental for even considering it. “just didn’t get what i actually wanted for my birthday.”

“what?! what is it? why didn’t you tell me?,” you were curious, to say the least, scooting even closer to him. your big eyes, and inquisitive smile had his heart beating a million miles an hour.

all he could do was look down at his fiddling hands, trying to find the confidence to just say it. he laughed a bit before answering. “some good sex.”

your jaw went a little slack, a breathless laugh coming from your lips. he laughed a bit more to cover it up as a joke, but part of you knew—knew he wasn’t joking. he looked back up at you, he tried to hide the lust in his eyes, but it was no use. you were sitting there, so close, and your perfume made it hard to think, and the way your eyes darkened would have scared him if he didn’t already know the emotion behind them—want.

“oh yeah?,” it was like something came over you, the way he was looking at you like he could devour you whole. a sudden confidence swept through your body—either that, or a type of lust. without giving yourself a chance to think, you climbed into his lap.

“oh! hey there,” he chuckled—half seductively, half surprised, not knowing what to do—whether to touch you, or keep his hands off. he didn’t know if this was real, or not.

“you can touch me, dummy,” you took his hands into yours, placing them on your hips. your shirt sat just high enough him to feel the warmth of your skin under his fingers—it was intoxicating.

“the birthday boy should get everything he asked for,” you whispered into his ear, making his eyes roll back at the warmth of your breath, and the close proximity. he felt like he was floating. “don’t be scared… i don’t bite,” you moved his hands further back, giving him the courage to grasp the flesh of your ass beneath his fingers.

the action made you mewl just a bit, moving your hips around in his lap, eliciting a groan out of the man beneath you. “y/n… fuck– you’re– you’re driving me crazy,” he breathed out.

“mm good,” you purred, giggling lightly before moving your lips down to his neck. his hips involuntarily rutted up into your core, causing you to whine into his neck.

“gonna give me my present, y/n?,” it was supposed to be taunting, but he sounded so ruined already, like the fact you were even near him was enough to get him off.

“mhm, anything you want… birthday boy,” you chuckled lightly, nipping at his neck softly. he was understanding more and more that this was real, and he got bold. he was squeezing at your ass even more, splaying his hands as wide as possible like he was claiming it—claiming you.

when your lips finally connected with his, he couldn’t help the soft groan that echoed into your mouth. he tasted like a bad decision… and you fucking loved it. you weren’t sure if this was exactly something you had been waiting for, hoping for, or expecting, but you weren’t going to sit here and act like you weren’t savoring every second of this.

you moved your hands from the back of his neck, down, down, down to his waistband, finally pulling back from his lips with a mischievous smirk. he was absolutely reeling. having you like this is all he’s wanted since he first laid eyes on you, and now that he had you? it was going to be a long night. he’d make sure of it.

“you– you sure, y/n?,” he wanted it—wanted you—of course, but he couldn’t help but think you’d leave him high and dry at any moment. he still wasn’t totally convinced you were real right now. your glossed over eyes, flushed cheeks, and dangerous smile. it all seemed too good to be true—to have you like this.

“‘m sure drew. let me take care of you,” you purred, sliding off his lap onto the floor, slotting yourself between his spread thighs. and holy fuck, he could cum from this sight alone.

you shuffled him out of his pants and boxers, leaving his flushed tip exposed to you—you could drool at the image before you. drew whined when you took him into your hand. it didn’t matter how many hand jobs or blow jobs he had been given, didn’t matter that he did it himself to the idea of you, none of it compared to right now.

“f– fuck. holy shit,” he gasped out. you hadn’t even done anything yet—not really, but his reaction gave you the biggest ego boost. you had so much control over him like this.

you worked your hand up and down his cock, relishing in the way he shivered beneath you. so yeah, maybe you’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about this—pictured him falling apart for you like this. denial was never your strong suit.

drew couldn’t even think straight once your tongue darted out to lick his tip. his eyes rolled back immediately, like a second nature, and he knew in this moment he would never be able to be ‘just friends’ with you after this. the way you looked up through your eyelashes—all innocent—while his dick was in your mouth? it was lethal. he was a goner, totally enveloped in you.

“fuck– y’ur mouth ‘s perfect,” he breathed out, his chest heaved as you forced yourself down, taking as much of him into your mouth as you could. he was addictive, and you’d never been the type to like giving head, but the image above you made it much more enjoyable. you’d do it for him any day of the week, gladly.

you made yourself gag on him, since he clearly wasn’t certain enough to put his hands on your head himself. you could tell he was close, his dick twitched against your tongue, and you were ready to take it—take all of him, whatever he gave you… until he pulled out, breathless.

“if i’m cummin’ from anything it’s gonna be your pussy. please, y/n,” the way he was basically whining—begging—for you?

how could you deny him?

you giggled lightly, snaking your way back into his lap, moving your hips against him in a way you knew would drive him crazy. and it did. “please– shit, please y/n… need it. so fuckin’ bad,” his hands found their grip on your hips again, playing with the flesh beneath his fingers while he was rutting up into you, trying to get any sort of contact. you stripped him of his shirt before hinting at him to return the favor.

“go ahead, drew… unwrap your present,” the way you whispered in his ear—the hint of challenge behind your tone—he didn’t waste another second. the sounds of him shuffling around to get you out of your clothes was unmistakable. your shirt came off first—pulling it over your head, and discarding it somewhere in the room. you loved this—making him work for it, making him beg.

he stared at your tits like they were the only thing worth looking at. his pupils blown wide, hands almost carefully moving up to touch them, like they were sacred—like they needed to be worshiped in a way he had been preparing for his whole life. drew swore he would’ve been content just playing with them for the rest of the night, but you were offering sex… so he was going to take it. he’d waited way too long to pass this up.

he latched his mouth onto one of your nipples while he slid you out of your shorts, leaving you in just your panties—your tiny, soaked through panties.

he’d never seen anything like you before.

he toyed with you like you were his, playing with your tits like they belonged to him, but you didn’t mind. the whines escaping your throat only encouraged him more.

“fuck– drew please. stop teasing,” you chuckled breathlessly. there was no humor behind it though, you needed him. now. if this was anyone other than drew you’d be embarrassed how needy you were right now—embarrassed how wet you were, and how even while you were on top of him you felt totally out of control. he had more power over you than even you knew.

you felt helpless in this moment, basically begging for his dick… and you loved it.

you’d deal with that fact later.

“so fuckin’ pretty, holy shit,” his hands roamed all over your body. he explored like he’d already been there millions of times—and maybe in his head, he had. his fingertips came down to play with the hem of your panties, “these are stayin’ on though.”

you rutted against him like a cat in heat. not even three minutes ago he didn’t know if he could touch you, but now? now he had more control over you than anyone ever had. just taking what was his. under any other circumstances he’d make this special—take you to the bedroom, spend time worshipping you, and your body, like you deserved, but he wasn’t himself right now. not with you pressed into him, straddling him like second nature, completely willing to do whatever he wanted.

this was an opportunity he couldn’t risk losing, so quick and sloppy would have to do… tonight.

he pulled your panties to the side, pumping his cock a few times before finally pushing himself into you. you fell down on his hips, almost accidentally taking all of him. he was big enough for it to burn, but you didn’t even care. you’d never felt so full in your life.

you could feel the way he shuttered against you, unable to control his movements like you had taken him over completely. his eyes fluttered shut even though he wanted nothing more than to see the look on your face right now.

“you good?,” he breathed out, silently asking if he could move yet.

“yeah– yeah… fuck ‘m so good,” that was all he needed. as much as he loved the sight of you on top of him, it would have to wait for another night because he was ready—ready to take what was his.

before you could think, he’d flipped your back onto the couch, still nestled inside you like he was stuck to you. he wasted no time drilling into you again. you were caged to the couch, his arms trapping you like you’d run away if you could (you wouldn’t—never in a million years).

your head was spinning, he was hitting spots inside you you never knew existed. it was all too much… in the best possible way. “drew… oh my God– shit– you’re so fuckin’ deep,” your words were mumbled, and broken by your moans. you were basically sobbing beneath him, and the image only spurred him on more. he went faster, harder, deeper. you didn’t even think it was possible, but he was doing it. stars clouded your vision, your back arched so far off the couch you thought it might snap in half. his hands clamping against your sides, pushing you back down.

“aww, baby… don’t run from me now,” he leaned down, whispering—taunting—right in your ear. you had forgotten how to breathe at this point, completely consumed by him. you felt the coil in your stomach tighten—closer, closer—“be a good girl ‘n let me have my present.”

fucking hell.

it was impossible to stop the way your orgasm ripped through you, wrecking you from the inside out—wrecking you for anyone else. your moans made drew’s cock twitch inside you.

“do it,” you said breathlessly, a smug smile on your face. he couldn’t help the groan that slipped from his lips, stuttering inside of you like he was possessed.

“yeah? gonna let me fill you up?,” he cooed. it was almost humiliating—if it were anyone but him. he chuckled lowly, almost like he was mumbling to himself. “greedy little thing.”

“please… please drew– need it. so bad,” you weren’t sure how you were even getting the words out right now, but some part of you knew you needed it—needed him.

“fuck,” he breathed out before spilling into you. warmth flooded your cunt until it was dripping out of you. he crashed right beside you, the couch barely wide enough for your two sweaty bodies. your guys’ heavy breaths broke through the silence as you laid there, wondering what the fuck this meant.

“any chance you wanna give me an early christmas present too?,” he laughed, turning his head to face you, and you doing the same.

you smacked his chest with the back of your hand, but you couldn’t hide your smile.

that stupid grin took over his face, “is that a yes?”

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[thebestsetter]

Thinking about (lovesick) Hiori Yo keeping a diary.

His parents have always been emotionally unavaible. For them, Hiori was nothing more nothing less than an experiment, the one destined to be what they've always wanted to be and yet never managed to acomplish: someone who wears the title of being "the best in the world".

He also didn't have much (if any) friends. All his time was dedicated to football practice, so the only people he talked to (aside from his parents) were his teammates. And they were nice, sure, but they were not his friends. They were more like acquaintances. The only one he could really call a friend was one of his teammates, Karasu Tabito, and even so he still didn't feel comfortable enough talking to him about the complex thoughts he had.

Because of that, he's never had anyone to talk with. No one to confide about his feelings and emotions. No one to talk about how he wanted to leave his home house (that place didn't feel like a home). How his parents fucked up his sanity. How he didn't really like football that much.

He couldn't keep all these things inside his head anymore. He needed to pour these feelings out. That's why he decided to start a diary.

Grabbing an old notebook and one of those common blue pens, he started writing. The diary was his most treasured possession. It stayed locked inside his bedside table, being away from all of the prying eyes.

Writing felt good. He wrote about his strained relationship with his parents. About soccer practices. About gaming tips. About pretty much everything.

His thoughts about many different themes were written there. That's why his journal didn't really have a specific theme.

Well, at least in the beggining it didn't have.

Because ever since a month or so, all the pages on his diary began to revolve around a girl. You.

He met you during a rather boring math class. The teacher was rambling on and on about algebrics or whatever, and time seemed to freeze because of how utterly shitty the endless class seemed.

"His explanation sucks, doesn't it?"

He heard a female voice coming from beside him. When he turned to the direction of the sound, he saw the prettiest girl he had ever met.

Her hair framed her face perfectly, it's color matching her eyes in the most beautiful way Yo had ever seen. The smile she had on her face seemed to shine, and Hiori found himself smiling back, too.

"Yeah" he sighed, then looked back at the teacher

"I just wish the old hag would shut up"

"I wish he would just shut up"

They spoke at the same time.

Looking at eachother, they both began to laugh. Hard. Clutching your stomach and tearing up kind of laugh. Snorting like a pig laugh. Wheezing. Hitting the table with your fist to try and stop with the loud laughing, but being phisically incapable of stopping.

"Hiori Yo and (Name) (Lastname). Do you want to share with the class what made you laugh so hard? I'm sure they want to laugh to."

"N-No, mister. We're sorry. We-We'll stop" you answered, still trying to stiffle your laugh

"Do not interrupt my class again, or else I'll send you both to the principal's office"

"Okay sir." Hiori answered, not believing a word the teacher said but still a little scared to have his parents find out he went to the principal's office

"Hiori Yo, huh?" You said "It suits you"

"Thank you, miss (Name) (Lastname)." Hiori smirked "Your name is very pretty. It also suits you"

"Oh, so you think I'm pretty?" You smirked, a mischevious and playful glint on your eyes.

"N-no!" Hiori blushed hard, averting your gaze. His accent got stronger like it always did when he became nervous, and he was quick to correct himself "I-I mean, yes! You're very pretty! B-but I didn't mean to say t-that. Not that you're not pretty! Is just that..."

He was interrupted by the sound of your laugh mixed with the bell signalizing the end of the school day. It's obnoxious sound was such a contrast from your sweet, honey-like melodic laugh.

"Don't worry, I was just teasing you!" You smiled at him, grabbing your backpack and getting up "Well, see you on the next advanced math period, mister Hiori Yo"

You then quickly left, leaving behind a red and speechless Hiori.

He has been obsessed in love with you ever since. He wanted to be with you all of the time, no exceptions. You were just so nice! It seemed like his problems disappeared when you were near. Life seemed brighter, and even his parents noticed the change in his behavior. He was more carefree, happier, lighter.

And never once did he forget to write in his diary. In fact, he wrote about you so much he decided to rip the pages about his parents and other things and make the journal solely based on you.

He wrote about the dates he wanted to go to with you. Wrote about how he wanted to hold hands with you, kiss you till you're both breathless, stargaze with you, game with you. Do basically everything with you.

He detailed how he wanted to confess to you: you would both be in a park, having a picnic, when he would suddenly pull a bouquet from his backpack and put his feelings on the table, making it clear he viewed you as more than a friend. And then you'd laugh and say you like him too, making fun of his strong accent and how much effect you had over him.

Not that he'd mind. As long as your attention was on him, you could humilliate him all you want. He was pathetic.

He even wrote about your wedding, the petunias he wanted to give you and how Hiori (Name) had such a nice ring to it.

He wrote everything in his diary. And that was his fatal flaw.

Because he also wrote about how he wanted to spend his practice time with you. How he wanted to give up on soccer and move in with you to a house on the countryside, just you and him. How he sometimes skipped practices just to go out with you.

"Mom? Dad?"

He would never have thought that, one day, he would forget to lock the diary up. And who would've guessed it would fall in the hands of his parents, who have no idea of privacy.

"Yo, we need to talk about this"

When Hiori saw the notebook in his dad's hand, he swallowed dry. He felt like crying just by imagining what they wanted to discuss about.

Maybe they didn't read it. Yeah, maybe they still respected their son, at least a little bit.

"W-what? How did you..."

"It was on your bed." His mom answered, a stern expression on her face "me and your father came to an agreement after reading it, and..."

"You read it?!" Hiori was furious and sad at the same time. Not surprised, no. He knew they would've done this. "You can't do this! My personal thoughts are in there! It's my diary! You're invading my privacy!"

"Bullshit. Teenagers do not have nor need privacy" his father cut him off "Whatever. What matters is that we read about that (Name) girl. And we've decided..."

No. He can say anything but what he thinks they're bout to say. He can't handle that.

"We don't want you around that girl anymore. She's getting in the way of your football practices. That's why...

We're moving you to a different school."

No...

No.

NO!

"No she's not!" Hiori screamed, pleaded. He wished that for once his parents would listen to him, think about his feelings at least one time. "I love her! I swear I'll do double the practice! Just, please. Please don't do this" his voice was wavering. He was weak. "Please don't keep her away from me. Please."

"We do this cause we know what's best for you. We're your parents. We know you better than yourself." His mom tried to reason.

"No you don't!" Hiori screamed "She's the best thing that has ever happened to me! You can't do this to me! You can't decide these things in my behalf!"

"We're your parents. We can and we did. End of discussion." His dad gritted out, not an ounce of empathy in his face. "And we also decided you're not keeping a diary anymore. We don't want you hiding things from us."

With a swift move, he threw the notebook inside the fireplace.

"NO!" Hiori screamed, running to collect the ashes and try to save the diary, but it was already too late.

In his knees in front of the fire, Hiori cried. The flames were dancing around as if mocking his sadness, laughing at his disgrace.

He stayed there for so long he lost track of time. His parents were no longer in the room, deciding to finally give their son space. But he didn't want space.

He wanted you.

He stayed motionless until the last flame was unstinguished. And when it finally was, so was his hope for a better future. A future without his parents playing with the strings of his life all the time, treating him like a puppet. A future with no pain.

A future with you.

And so, a single page that survived flew and fell in front of him.

He picked it up.

Dear diary,

I think I can make up with my parents. I didn't told her about the whole situation since I don't want to burden her, but from what she heard, (Name) said we just need to talk. And maybe she's right. Maybe they'll like her just as much as I do, and we can be a big happy family. She makes me feel like everything is possible. I'm sure I love her, and I want to spend all my time by her side...

He couldn't read it anymore.

With a scream, Hiori tore the page apart.

~A/N: Sorry anon, idk how to write angst ☹️

Masterlist

[universefcb]

HIII i love all you’re stories and i’m so happy you wrote that one about lamine but i was wondering if you could write another one where his little brother loves the reader and lamine gets a little jealous because his brother keeps clinging to the reader and stuff and it’s mostly just fluff and funny moments you don’t have to but if you could that would be amazing thank you for you’re time❤️❤️❤️

Little rival

Pairing: Lamine Yamal X gf!reader

Summary: You are Lamine's girlfriend, but his younger brother really likes you.

Warning: Just Lamine being a cute and jealous boyfriend<3

Author's note: THEY ARE SO CUTE TOGETHER 😭😭😭😭

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

It was supposed to be just another quiet afternoon at the Yamal house. The reader was sitting on the living room couch, laughing while watching cartoons with Keyne, Lamine's little brother, who was basically glued to her as if they had been best friends forever.

“Do you want more juice, sweetie?” she asked affectionately, running her hand over the boy’s head.

“I want it! Apple!” he replied, his eyes shining.

Lamine, who was leaning against the door with his arms crossed, watched the scene with a crooked smile. It was cute, sure. But it was also kind of annoying. Ever since the reader had started showing up more often at the house, Keyne seemed to have completely forgotten that he, Lamine, was her older brother and boyfriend. Now, she belonged to Keyne—or at least that’s what the little boy thought.

“And you’re not even going to give me a kiss hello?” Lamine asked, an eyebrow raised.

The reader looked at him over her shoulder, laughing.

“Oh, sorry, love. I was kidnapped by a very affectionate mini Yamal,” she joked, stretching out her arms towards him.

Lamine came closer, and when he bent down to kiss her, Keyne made a loud sound of protest and pushed his brother's face away with his little hand.

“She’s my girlfriend!” he complained, sulking.

“Your what?” Lamine’s eyes widened, laughing nervously. “Hey, calm down, shorty. This is MY girlfriend, you hear?”

“You have the ball. I have it.” Keyne crossed his arms with a gigantic pout.

The reader burst out laughing, and Lamine threw his head back, as if he were losing to his greatest rival in life: a 5-year-old boy with brilliant arguments.

Later, while playing a board game, Keyne refused to sit far from the reader. He would sit on her lap, hold her hand while he played, and even make her hold his water.

“This is emotional sabotage,” Lamine muttered to her, his eyes narrowed as he watched his brother take a small piece of biscuit from her hand.

“Don’t be dramatic, Lam. He loves you too,” she replied, trying to hold back her laughter.

“He wants to steal my wife!” he whispered back, scandalized.

At the end of the night, when Keyne finally fell asleep on the reader's lap, clinging to her arm, Lamine carefully approached and sat down next to them. He looked at the scene with a smile that was half defeated, but completely enchanted.

“I officially lost to a brat,” he said quietly.

She laughed, leaning against his shoulder affectionately.

“Never. But I guess you’ll have to share me… at least until he grows up.”

“Great,” Lamine snorted. “Then I want more kisses when he’s not looking. That much, at least.”

"Done."

And with that, he stole a quick kiss, before Keyne opened his eye and screamed "NO!", as if he were protecting his queen from the dragons — or, in this case, the jealous older brother.

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @merinottt @htpssgavi @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando

[noxemma]

@colorlessjay thank you so much for the awesome story idea and the inspiration for the title, I really dig the idea of a romance in reverse (I'm not a phenomenal artist but this came to me in a vision, so I had to give it a go 😂). Hopefully you enjoy this next installment (Cas POV this time) as much as the last ones

---

Steering through the Rearview: A Romance in Reverse

First comes love a kid(napping), then comes a marriage ... Yeah, they're definitely doing things in the wrong order, but maybe, if they're lucky, they can figure out how to reverse their way into something real.

---

Castiel takes the hint when Dean turns up the music. Not that he minds; he's not sure what had possessed him to say those words to Dean.

That's not entirely true, Castiel mentally chastises himself. Dean's words may have been gruff and stained with anger, but his eyes. His eyes had been sad and full of ... Caged hope? No, that doesn't sound quite right. It's not caged exactly, more like ... Castiel looks at Dean, searching for the right words to describe the beautiful and complicated man beside him.

Dean must feel him staring because he darts a quick, nervous smile his way. Hobbled, maybe. Unable to run free, but still wild and wanting inside.

"What? Do I have somethin' on my face?" Dean asks, turning the music down and letting out a chuckle that sounds forced.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare, I just got ... lost in thought," Castiel rushes to explain, trying to will the heat back down that he feels rushing to his cheeks. "Sam's written several stories about traveling. Lovely pieces full of nostalgia and wonder. I assume those were trips taken in this car, with you and your father?" "Uh," Dean starts, one hand coming off the wheel to rub at the back of his neck. A nervous habit, Castiel is quickly learning. "Yeah. I guess they must be. This was the most stable home we had for a good chunk of our childhood." Dean shoots a glance at Castiel, magnificent green eyes wide, like he's confessed something he shouldn't have, or didn't mean to. "That would make sense, then," Castiel responds with a warm smile that he hopes is reassuring.

He understands not wanting to talk about rocky childhoods. Or fathers, for that matter. So, while Dean's admission only stokes his already blazing curiosity about the man, he forces himself to let it go and let whatever band Dean has playing take over the conversation. To his surprise, Dean doesn't take the out, choosing instead to continue talking.

"Uh, Sam told me he, um, well, whenever I agreed to this, he told me that he wrote a lot about our childhood for your class. He also said you were ridiculously smart, so you'd probably be able to put some stuff together." Dean's not looking at him, but Castiel can see his hands tighten on the wheel and his shoulders tense. "He did," Castiel admits. "Although it is a creative writing class so I can't be sure how much is real and how much is fictional. But, well, we tend to write what we know. I try not to read too much into them, unless of course I'm worried a student might harm themselves or someone else. However, one story of his in particular does stand out."

"Yeah?" Dean's answer is breathless and high, compressed fear dampening the sound.

"It was about a boy and his brother and their father. They lived on the road, chasing down supernatural entities, trying to get revenge for their dead mother," Castiel tells him slowly, verbally approaching with his hands raised to show he means no harm. "It was really wonderful, best in the entire class, though I'm sure it was written with a heavy dose of creative license. Or did you really hunt monsters across the United States?"

Dean lets out a whoosh of air, relaxing back into the seat and letting color come back into his knuckles. "No. And, yes, kind of. Man, Sam has one hell of an imagination," Dean lets out a relieved laugh before continuing. "Mom died just a few months after Sam was born. House fire, or well, arson. The guy they think did it was a criminal who skipped out on his bail, but the police could never track him down. I think that's part of the reason why Sam is going into criminal law. Anyway, Dad took it hard and became a bounty hunter. It gave him a sense of purpose and resources to work on Mom's case in his spare time, for a little while anyway. But, as the years went by, and the leads went cold, he started taking comfort in a bottle. He was drunk when he totaled Baby. Nearly killed Sam and I." "You were in the car with him? How old were you?" Castiel manages to bite his tongue after the second question escapes his lips. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry." "Nah, it's okay. It's practically ancient history now. I was seventeen, Sam was thirteen. Dad kept insisting he was fine to drive, and I tried to argue. And I know I should have tried harder, or hidden his keys or something but, but there was just no getting through to him when he got that way ..." Dean's eyes go far away and Castiel is pretty sure he's seeing something other than the road. His jaw clenches and he gulps before he blinks, eyes refocusing. "Anyway, can't change the past. Sam was in the backseat, so he was the least hurt, which was a fucking miracle." "And you?" Castiel breathes, riveted and horrified as more pieces of Sam's writing slot into place; the pretty paint facade of fiction washing away from the story, revealing the uglier truth behind it. Dean rubs his neck again, hesitating before admitting, "I was in the hospital for over a week. Bobby and his wife Karen fostered us until I turned eighteen. Gave me a job at his junkyard and taught me how to be a mechanic. Helped me get my GED and paid for me to go to trade school and get my ASE certification. Not to mention he helped me petition the state for custody of Sam once I had full-time employment and an apartment in my name." Before he realizes what he's doing, Castiel's hand is on Dean's knee, squeezing reassuringly as he says, "I'm so sorry, Dean. No child should have to go through that. I'm glad you had someone like Bobby to help you." "Thanks, Cas. Me too. But, like I said, it's all ancient history now." They both know he's lying but Cas doesn't call him on it because he's too busy trying to remain calm when Dean lowers his hand to cover his own.

"Cas?" Castiel asks, cursing how breathy his voice sounds and pulling his hand slowly back into his own space before he does something irrational like skipping the wedding and just driving around for the next few days. "You've called me that a few times now."

"Yeah. Cas. You know, the shortened version of your name or, as it's more commonly known: a nickname," Dean rolls his eyes, laughing like Cas has made some great joke. He stops when Cas just stares at him in confusion. "Hang on, has no one really ever called you that before?" "Um. No?" Dean's mouth drops open, and he stares at Cas in the passenger seat for long enough that Cas is worried they might start to drift off the road if he doesn't snap him out of it. "My parents were, um, very formal and ... strict," Cas explains quickly, pitching his voice high in a poor imitation of Naomi, "'Castiel, if I wanted you to be called something else, I would have put it on your birth certificate.'" Dean let's out a snort and the cold dread, which had begun squeezing its icy fist around Cas' chest at the memory of the woman who gave birth to him, recedes at the sound. "Seriously? Man, I can't imagine if I had to run around calling Sam 'Samuel' for the rest of his life. What kind of name is Castiel anyway? European?"

"Biblical. My parents were also extremely religious. They named all of us after angels. Michael, Gabriel, Lucifer." "Damn, and here I was feeling bad about myself for being named after my grandmother, Deanna. Although at least you aren't Lucifer. Does he really go by that?"

"He went by Nick until he died few years ago. Or at least that's what Gabriel told me," Cas admits.

Dean shoots him another look but doesn't press. Instead, he mimics Cas' action from earlier, right hand coming off the wheel to squeeze his leg. He knows the action is supposed to be comforting, but knowing doesn't stop the heat sizzling up his veins.

Cas closes his eyes to fight against the feeling. It doesn't help; green eyes and freckles emblazon against the back of his eyelids.

How long has it been since someone, besides Charlie or my students or Jack, touched me, intentionally? Months? Years?

Cas stifles a groan. Because it doesn't matter. It's clearly been long enough that his body is responding disproportionately, and he has to stop it. Now. So, he starts talking about the one thing he knows for sure will kill any errant desire he's feeling.

"My parents disowned me when I came out to them. Gabriel is the only one who still speaks to me. He would have probably been disowned too if he hadn't kept the family name and become so successful so quickly. This wedding is actually the first time I'll be seeing any of them beside him in well over a decade now." "Shit, sorry, Cas," Dean blurts before chewing his lip and darting more glances his way, clearly debating something. "You can ask whatever it is you're wondering," Cas encourages, welcoming the distraction. "Uh, why are you going to this wedding then? I mean, I get that they're family, but well, to quote Bobby, 'family don't end in blood. And it don't start there either.'"

The voice Dean puts on when quoting his surrogate father wrings a laugh out of Cas and the dangerous heat of attraction is replaced with an equally dangerous, though less embarrassing, warmth centered father up his body.

"I'm getting the idea that Bobby was a very wise man. But, to answer your question: I'm going because Jack is actually my biological nephew. I was friends with Kelly, his mother, and I raised him like my own when she died from complications shortly after giving birth. She never put Lucifer on his birth certificate and her parents never contested her choice to name me his as his godfather and legal guardian. But, somehow, Naomi and Chuck have found out about him, and they are threatening to petition for custody of him if I don't show up."

"Why? On what grounds?" Dean explodes, barely contained fury adding a growl to the words that sends a tingle up his spine and forces him to shift in his seat. "I'm a single father and a man who wouldn't be able to afford the house I'm living in if it wasn't paid for by my more successful brother, and gay on top of that," Cas ticks off, "Plus a few others, I'm sure."

Dean stays silent, but rage radiates off him in heavy waves. Cas is just about to try and call off the whole ridiculous idea, sure Dean will agree now that he knows what he'll be up against, when Dean's face brightens and he pins Cas with a wild stare, stealing the breath he was about to use to speak.

"Hey, Cas. How do you feel about being fiancés?"

Cas, ever a pillar of grace and decorum, chokes on his own spit.

"Shit, sorry. You're Sam's favorite professor and I'm pretty sure he can kill me without leaving a trace, so please don't die!"

"Why-" Cas starts, coughing and gasping a few more times before managing to get the rest of the question out, "Why would you want to be my fiancé?" "Well, you're gorgeous and kind for one, so who wouldn't want to be your fiancé," Dean says with a wink at him and Cas is grateful that his face is already red from nearly choking to death on his own saliva. "But I was thinking, we were already going to pretend to be boyfriends, right? So why not go for gold? We can knock off at least two of those reasons you mentioned. I practically raised Sam so I'm no stranger to the whole parent thing. We become fiancés and suddenly you're a two parent, dual income household. I mean, I'm not rolling in wealth by any means, but I do okay enough, though most of the money I make doing restorations goes to helping Sam out with tuition, but they don't need to know that."

"But we don't know anything about each other, how would we be able to convince my parents that we're planning on getting married?" Cas challenges, not quite daring to hope that they might have a chance at pulling this off. "Well, we've got approximately five hours to figure it out. Plenty of time, plus we already know a lot about each other." Cas tilts his head and opens his mouth, but Dean answers his question before it can escape.

"You know that I have a younger brother who I raised, that I work as a mechanic and a car restoration expert, not to mention you apparently already described me to 'Uncle Gabe,'" Dean takes a breath and hurries on before Cas can interrupt, not that he would, "I know that your parents are mega douchebags who don't appreciate what an amazing son they have. I know that you're an English professor at Stanford and that you're an amazing dad, aside from a slight oversight in the stranger danger department. But most importantly, I know that Jack belongs with you and I'm willing to do whatever I can to help make that happen."

Cas' heart thuds in his chest at Dean's vehement declaration. "I- Thank you, Dean," Cas manages before his throat closes up entirely and he's blinking rapidly to keep the moisture forming in his eyes from falling onto his cheeks. "Great!" Dean chirps, flicking on his turn signal and changing lanes to speed around a slow-moving truck. "So, babe. How did we meet? Because, somehow, I feel like telling your folks that I accidentally kidnapped your son will be counterproductive."

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

Innocence (pt. 2)

Remus Lupin x f!reader

warnings: smut, protected p in v, oral (female receiving), fingering, loss of virginity, making out, underage smoking, underage drinking, slight innocence/ corruption kink, lmk if i missed any :)

summary: remus’s obsession with your purity ring gets worse, even after he finally gets it off your finger…

word count: 3.6k

a/n: ok so for anyone wondering when i wrote this i was thinking of the remus drawn by likeafunerall because omggg they draw him so good. let me know what you guys think ofc sorry if it’s not as good as the first part, i sorta rushed to get this out smh. but i’m so in love with remus hahaha

~~~

“Remus we shouldn’t be doing this...”

“Then tell me to stop.”

“I... fuck.”

Remus couldn’t help the smirk that took over his face. He finally had you in a spot he’d fantasized about countless times, he wasn’t going to let it go so easily. It was simple really. You were pressed against a wall, and he was on his knees in front of you. He wished he could see the look on your face, you must’ve been blushing hard, your soft eyes squeezed shut as you tried to deny yourself the pleasure your body craved. Unfortunately, your skirt was over his head and prevented him from seeing your pretty face as he ate you out.

It had been a few weeks since the first time you let him touch you, and it would be an understatement to say he enjoyed it. He was obsessed with it. He was obsessed with you. With every encounter the two of you shared it was like a part of your innocence was taken away and given to him. You were still far more innocent than anyone else in the year, without a doubt. But ever so slowly you were losing that innocence, and it drove Remus mad.

What else drove him mad was just how needy you became. You’d seek him out almost daily for some sort of touch. Whether it was for you, for him, or both of you, you wanted it. And you wanted it badly. Though the two of you agreed to keep what went on a secret from the rest of your friends, you sometimes were not the best at subtle hints. You would whisper to him how much you needed him and that was it. Who was he to deny you anyway? A lot changed in a short time, except for one thing.

The ring.

That stupid gold band remained on your finger through all of it. However, Remus would never say anything about it. He would never pressure you to go further, no matter how much he wished to. Because, despite the circumstances that brought the two of you together, he really did care about you. You were funny, sweet, and incredibly kind. What was there not to like? Your beauty spoke for itself, as did your inexperience. He would wait for you however long, or if you decided you never wanted to go all the way he wouldn’t care. You had more control over him than you knew.

“Rem...”

Your voice brought him back to reality. He hadn’t realized how through his thoughts he kept going. You were practically dripping; your arousal covered his chin. Without a second thought, he wet two of his fingers and gently thrust them inside you, only adding to the shakiness of your legs.

When you were done, he was quick to pull his head from under your skirt and look up at you. As he imagined, your face was bright red. But instead of your eyes being shut as they typically were, you looked down at him. There was a wildness in your eyes that he hadn’t seen before, like a mixture of confidence and something else he couldn’t name. It entranced him.

“You’re mad,” you mumbled as you began to fix your skirt and panties.

Remus chuckled. “Yeah, a bit.” He stood, not looking away from you for even a second. “But a lot for you.”

You smiled and looked away, your shyness returning. “Sure. So do you want to go back first or shall I?”

“You can, I have to go to the library anyway,” he answered. He also had to wait a few minutes for his boner to go away, but he wasn’t going to tell you that.

“Alright.” You ran your fingers through your hair and smoothened your uniform. “Do I look normal?”

“You look beautiful,” he said. He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “You are beautiful.”

You were clearly flustered at his compliment, it was adorable. “Um thank you, I’ll um see you later then yeah?”

“Yeah, see you later,” he replied.

You gave him one last smile before exiting the closet, checking both ways before doing so. Remus leaned against the wall and sighed. He really was starting to like you, and he didn’t know if that was a good thing. Relationships were never of much interest to him, he always thought they took too much effort and time away from things that actually mattered. You already consumed most of his thoughts, and you took up a decent amount of his time. For once, he didn’t know what to make of the situation. Except for one thing.

The closer the two of you got, the closer he was to getting that ring off your finger.

A smile formed on his lips.

~~~

One afternoon as the two of you sat in History of Magic together listening to Professor Binns’s long lecture about one of the Giant wars, Remus decided to test your limits.

You shared a desk in the back, Lily and Mary were in front of you. Remus glanced around the room to make sure no one was paying attention. As he expected, half the class was almost asleep, and the other half was doodling on their notes or whispering with their partners. He then looked at you. Your head was perched up on your hand, your eyes fighting to stay open. It made his chest fill with excitement.

Casually, as if he were doing nothing wrong, he placed one of his hands on your knee. Instantly your eyes opened and turned to him. He pretended not to notice, though he watched your posture change from his peripheral vision. He kept his head forward as he began to slowly creep his hand up your thigh. He moved his hand under your skirt, the feeling of your warm skin a familiar comfort.

“Remus,” you whispered his name like a warning.

As his fingertips brushed against your panties, he turned to you and lifted a finger to his lips, silently telling you to be quiet. Much to his surprise, you didn’t push him away. You only nodded your head and pretended to turn your attention back to the lecture. He slipped his fingers under your panties and found you were already wet.

Dirty girl, he thought as he began to touch you.

~~~

The fateful day came not too long after that day. Truthfully, though he had been trying to build up to it for at least a month or two, he didn’t expect it. When you first told him about what the ring symbolized, you were set on following the rules. Other guys had tried to fuck you before, he knew that, and you told him about that. So, what was different about him? Was it because the two of you had been friends since first year? Or was it because he was simply the first boy who truly tried? You were more of a mystery than he expected.

On the special day or night, Remus snuck you up to his dorm. It was during the celebration of Gryffindor winning the quidditch cup which meant no one would be in the dorm until very late, if ever. The two of you had a few drinks, but not enough to make either of you drunk. He had even convinced you to take a hit from his cigarette. Though you coughed terribly, he still thought you looked very attractive. The air that night felt different, even to him, perhaps that’s why you finally decided you wanted to go all the way.

“Did you see Sirius?” You laughed after the two of you entered the dorm. “He was starting to pour body shots.”

“He’s celebrating, let him live,” he replied with a smile.

You fell back onto his bed, and your laughter continued. He made sure to cast an extra locking spell on the door before he moved to the bed and laid down next to you. You instantly turned on your side, propped yourself up on your elbow, and stared down at him, that wild look back in your eyes.

“What’s your game then Lupin,” you said.

He looked at you confused. “What do you mean?”

“With me. I mean, we’ve known each other since we were eleven, we’ve hung around the same people, but we were never that close. Then suddenly like two months ago, you offered to have sex with me. What’s the reason?” You looked away for a few seconds. “I just... I don’t understand where it came from that’s all.”

Remus Lupin was never one who typically got stumped on a question, but at that moment he was. What was he supposed to say exactly? That he had always wondered why you wore that ring and when he found out what it was for, he wanted to see if he could get it from you? That he had become obsessed with your innocence? Neither would work, he knew that. So, he settled on the third option.

“I dunno, honestly. Why did you take me up on the offer? Or well, part of the offer.”

Once he said the words aloud, he realized how awful they sounded. He observed your face, waiting for a frown to form to indicate that you were upset. But it never came. You only gently smiled and shrugged.

“I dunno either.” You placed your hand on his chest, your left one. He watched you drag your fingers up and down his body, the ring like a painful reminder of what hadn’t happened. “But I think... I think I’m ready to take you up on the full offer.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“I know I said I didn’t plan on doing that and I’m completely contradicting myself, and I’m going against my family and my religion but I... As you said, people do it all the time and it’s normal. If you don’t want to, I understand,” you answered. Even through the dark, he could see your blush. Merlin how he loved it.

“Why would I not want to? I should be asking you that,” he replied, trying his best to keep a neutral face despite how excited he was.

“It can be intimidating, right? To be someone's first. I don’t want you to think it has to be some special big thing because it’s not. In my head, I used to think it was supposed to be all that but after starting this with you I sorta realized I don’t care for special I just you know... want it to be with you. And don’t feel pressured or anything, I’m not going to ask to be your girlfriend or any of that. I- sorry, I’m saying too much again, aren’t I?”

Remus gave you a gentle smile and took your hand in his. “No, you’re not saying too much. Actually, you’re saying about the right amount. If that’s all what you truly feel, then I’d be more than happy to oblige. But I need to know, you’re positive. What we’ve been doing is wonderful and I enjoy it very much, but if that’s all you want, we can keep it that way. I know it was special to you to wait for marriage and if that’s not the case anymore great, but I need to know you’re sure of it.”

“I am sure, I promise. I’ve been wanting to for a while, but I wanted to be sure and now I am, do you want to?” You asked shyly.

“Very much,” he said with a laugh.

“Then um... we should... right?”

“You want to right now?”

You bit down on your lip for a few seconds and nodded. “Yeah... unless you want to wait.”

“I think we’ve waited long enough,” he replied.

He was quick to kiss you. He was quick to climb over you. He was quick to undress you. But he took his time pleasing you. Despite what you said, he wanted it to be at least a bit special. So, he took his time, making you finish at least twice with his tongue and fingers before even beginning to move on to the other part.

As he slipped a rubber on, he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty. If you knew the only reason, he started all of this was some sort of challenge, would you have still let him do what he was about to do? Probably not. He had feelings for you then, of course. But it would be a lie to say he did the entire time. His eyes searched your face. You were so sweet, so delicate, so innocent. And he was about to take it away.

“You’re still sure?” He asked as he moved between your legs again. His question had a far deeper meaning than you would ever know.

“Yes,” you answered, your breath still heavy from your last orgasm. “I want you.”

He positioned himself so his tip was touching your entrance. “Alright, but if it’s too much tell me.”

“I will.”

He connected your lips and ever so slowly began to push himself inside you. Even though you were very wet, you were still very tight. Remus’s breath caught in his throat as he entered you. You felt better than any girl he’d ever been with, and he was sure of it. Despite just how good it felt, he paused halfway to make sure you were still all right. Your face was scrunched up, a telltale sign that you were in pain, but you told him to keep going. Still, he double-checked before continuing.

After checking once more when he was fully in, he truly began to shag you. From the moans and whispers that left your lips, he knew you enjoyed it. It made him glad; he didn’t want you to be in pain. You wrapped your legs around his waist and dragged one of your hands down his back, your nails reassuring him just how much you were enjoying it. He laced his hand through your other one and held it against the mattress, the cold feeling of your ring making his lips turn up into a smirk.

What good was it doing then?

“Rem,” you whimpered. “God Rem.”

He looked down at you and noticed you had tears in your eyes. “Do you... want me to slow down?”

“No, please don’t, please don’t,” you replied. “It’s so good.”

“Anything for you love,” he whispered, his breathing hard.

He rested his forehead on yours and continued as long as he could, which wasn’t as long as he would’ve wanted. How was he supposed to last long though? You were so warm, so soft, and extremely tight. The second you began pulsating around him, it was over. He came so hard he lost control of himself, his body collapsed on yours. For a few seconds he swore he couldn’t breathe, his eyes were squeezed shut. But he composed himself as best as he could and moved off you to throw the condom away.

When it was done, he laid back down next to you and pulled his sheets over your naked bodies. The realization hit him. You were no longer a virgin, and he was the reason. A sense of pride filled his chest, but along with that was a feeling of compassion. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close.

“How do you feel?” He asked.

“Aside from sore, nothing. It’s so strange, I always thought it would be a monumental moment in my life but it’s not. I’m still the same,” you answered.

He nodded. “I’m glad. So, you don’t feel any regret or anything?”

“No, do you?”

“Of course not, why would I ever regret shagging you?” He laughed.

You softly chuckled and looked up at him, your face red. “Sorry, that was stupid.”

“The sex or what I said?”

“What you said,” you replied. You turned your head and lifted your hands, a strange look on your face. “I suppose it’s time to take this off.”

“Oh, right,” he said, pretending to not care.

You pulled the ring off your finger and turned back to him, a smile on your face. “This belongs to you now, though I think I should take it home with me once summer comes. You know, so my parents don’t freak out.”

Remus took the ring from you, an indescribable feeling forming inside him. After everything, it was finally his. He’d imagined this moment many times, but never did he imagine just how victorious it would feel. The ring belonged to him now, his eyes shifted, and so did you. He placed it on his nightstand and smiled.

“I’m honored, thank you.”

You pressed yourself closer to him. “Out of every boy here Remus you’re the only one who deserves it, thank you.”

He placed a kiss on your head before falling back on the mattress, his eyes finding the ring once again.

He won.

~~~

The next day, despite still having agreed to keep things secret and unofficial, Remus did something that said the opposite of your relationship. He got ready for the day like normal, except for two aspects. One, he had to hold Sirius’s hair back as he threw up in the toilet from his hangover. And two, he wore a chain over his shirt and tie. It wasn’t just a chain though. No. It was a chain that had your ring dangling on it. He wore it like a prize, one for everyone to see.

He made his way down to the great hall for breakfast with a swing in his step and a small smile on his lips despite Sirius’s nagging to go back to bed. When he entered the great hall, he kept a straight face. Even when he caught your wide eyes, even when he heard Mary and Lily’s loud gasps, and even when James started to question him.

“You shagged y/n?” He questioned. “I didn’t even know the two of you were close. When did this happen?”

Remus only shrugged. “I dunno what you mean.”

It wasn’t until later in the day during History of Magic that he finally got a chance to speak to you. He felt a bit off as it was noticeable how uncomfortable you were sitting next to him. Lily and Mary gave him odd looks, almost as if they were disappointed in him. He didn’t care for their opinions though, yours was the only one that mattered.

“Hey,” he said after a minute or two. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” you replied, not turning your head in his direction.

“Are you still sore?” He asked, his voice quieter. He glanced around the room, a few pairs of eyes were on the two of you, but none that had any real value. Still, he found it strange they were looking.

“Yeah, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” you answered.

He didn’t exactly know what to say. “Great.”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence filled the air, Remus didn’t know what to make of it. You were acting differently. Were you regretting what happened? He didn’t think you did, at least, you hadn’t made any specific indicators that you did. Suddenly, his eyes fell to the chain around his neck and the realization hit him. You were uncomfortable because of the ring being on display. He felt terrible. Without another thought on it, he tucked the chain under his shirt, the cold temperature of it comforting in a way against his warm chest. Then, he looked back at you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his words genuine.

You bit down on your lip, your eyes still locked on the front of the classroom. “I- I don’t know what you’d have to be sorry for.”

“The ring I... I should’ve asked first before wearing it like this. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry for springing it on you like I did, really y/n I’m sorry for making you feel uncomfortable,” he explained.

“It’s fine.” You shifted. “But now... not everyone knows. And I... I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. You can tell me how you feel y/n, I would never tell anyone or judge you.” And it was true, he never would. He cared about you, more than he initially thought.

You finally turned your head to look at him. Your expression spoke for itself. You were hurt. It made something in his chest twist. “I suppose that I liked this being just... ours.”

“It still can be.”

“Can it? I mean, it feels like everyone knows now. Lily and Mary know, I assume James, Sirius, and Peter do as well. I hate the attention.” You fumbled with your fingers. “Did you... tell them anything?”

“No, nothing,” he answered. “Have you?”

“I just told Lily and Mary that nothing happened and that it was a coincidence. But... I don’t think they believe me,” you mumbled in a tone they couldn’t possibly have heard.

He licked his lips and sighed. “Then we’ll just both deny it, they can’t prove anything. I’ll keep the ring hidden and we don’t have to keep doing anything.”

Your face changed. “Oh. You don’t... you don’t want to anymore?”

“No, I do, but I thought you didn’t want to. Do you still want to?” There was hope in his voice. He assumed you wanted to be done, based on your body language at least. But the way you looked at him then spoke otherwise.

“I mean... yeah if that’s okay,” you said shyly, your cheeks turning red.

Ah, right again.

He couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips. “So, we will, it’s settled.”

“It is.”

Victory was a good feeling. You were finally his. His to taint, his to please, his to use. He touched a hand to his chest and felt the ring through the fabric of his shirt. It felt good. Very good. And who knows, perhaps one day you'd be his girlfriend.

He looked down at you.

You probably would be his girlfriend.

He smiled again.

~~~

@misacc08 @whotfskai

[clemswinecorner]

Birthday [Harry Lewis/W2S]

Summary: You and Harry have barely been dating when his birthday rolls around.

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: swearing probably, nothing major

Happy Birthday to our favourite!! In honour of his birthday, I wrote this (don't mind this being published when his birthday only has like an hour left)

masterlist - main masterlist

You and Harry had only been romantically involved with each other for a month or two when his birthday rolled around. You’d sent him a birthday text in the morning, of course, but didn’t see him until later in the day. He spent the morning with the Sidemen recording some golf video, and them and his friends would all meet up at his around 5 p.m. You were kind of nervous when you showed up, because it was your boyfriend’s birthday. Especially because the relationship was still so new, you were a bit nervous about how it would go and what the deal would be. You knew his friends since you’d met through Josh years ago, being Freya’s lifelong best friend. You made your way into the friend group when you moved to London, and had celebrated his birthday with him plenty of times before, but this year was different. It was Josh who opened the door, not Harry, and you greeted him with a smile. 

“Ah, look who’s here!” You give him a quick hug and greet Callum, who was just walking out of his room, with a smile. “I’ll tell him you got here, yeah?” He says, before he walks back to the living room. Harry’s roommates were both aware that you guys are more than friends, though you hadn’t explicitly told them. You’ve just taken off your coat and shoes when Harry walks in. “Oh, hello,” you turn around to him and smile. “Hey birthday boy,” you smile, holding out your hands for a hug, which he accepts. You smell the sweet cologne he usually wears when recording on his hoodie, as he holds you tight. You lean back, still looking at his face with your hands around his neck. “Happy birthday, my love!” You smile, placing a kiss on his lips. You can feel a smile form on his face as he pulls you closer to him. “Thank you, baby. Glad you could make it,” you jokingly roll your eyes. “What, you think I’d miss your birthday? I haven’t in years,” He lets out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, no, you haven’t. You look really nice, by the way,” he tells you, finally able to check you out. “Thank you. Now, do you want your present now or later?” You ask, and you interrupt him before he’s able to talk. “I know I didn’t have to get you anything, but I wanted to,” He smiles at your kindness, “Okay, thank you. I don’t know, I think a few people want to do it during dinner, but up to you,” You nod and think about it for a second. “I’ll give it later, then,” you say, dropping your tote bag on the floor. He nods, and walks back into the living room, with you following him. You greet everyone enthusiastically, not having seen most of them for a while. 

At around half six, Harry walked up to you, nudging your side. You turn your attention away from Simon, who you were in conversation with. “I’m going to get changed, and then we’re going, yeah?” You nod, excusing yourself as you put down your empty glass. You quickly pack two wrapped presents out of your bag, before you walk into his bedroom. He turns around, his shirt already off. You still weren’t tired of that view, and you shameless looked him up and down. He was already in his black trousers, and it was a shame he had to put on a shirt. “Sorry, could’ve knocked,” You softly say, and he shakes his head, “No it’s fine, was just confused who it was.” He sticks his arms through the sleeves, and god, this shouldn’t be as hot as it is. You sit on his bed, and he looks at you curiously as he buttons his shirt. “Sorry, just admiring my view,” you admit, and you can see a slight blush spreading on his neck and chest. He doesn’t say anything back. , nervously smiling as he focuses on his shirt. “Anyway, I have some presents with me as well,” He looks up again with a smile, taking a seat next to you. You first hand him a flat, squared present, making him look up curiously. “Did you talk to Cal about this?” He asks, glancing over to the record player that was still in its box in the corner of his room. You shrug, not wanting to give away anything. He carefully unwraps it and takes out the vinyl cover. “Oh wow,” he says, looking at the cover on the front, a photo you took of him and his friends last Halloween. He smiles, looking up at you, before he goes back to inspecting the cover and turning it around. He looks up at a soft smile of the picture of you looking at him, love evident in your eyes, and him looking down laughing. “Wow, that’s amazing. Is there an album in it?” He asks, looking at the pictures again. “So, Callum did mention to me how they were getting you a record player, yes. It’s, err, actually been custom pressed, it says the songs on the cover as well,” His eyes widen. “Oh wow, that’s incredible. Holiday pub golf version oh I love that,” looking on the A side, which had the picture with his friends. He turns it around, reading the B-Side, “Tiny Dancer, Elton John, oh that’s the one that played when we went on our first date, isn’t it?” You nod, and smile at the memory. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure if you’d remember that. Side A is like, Sidemen related songs, and like, Wild Ones and then the other one is like… Songs that remind me of you, and us,” she explains. “Ooh, Wild Ones, that’s a gem. Wow, thank you, this is really cool,” he embraces you, setting the Vinyl down on his bed for a second to embrace you. “Thank you, that’s wonderful,” he whispers, pulling back to give you a kiss. You smile, and kiss him back, the same butterflies exploding as the many times before. “Harry, we have to get to the restaurant,” You remind him when you take a second to catch your breath. “Yeah, yeah.”

The group arrives at the restaurant around seven, walking there from Harry’s place. You and Harry go in first to inform the staff of the reservation, whilst the group waits outside and chats. Because it was a slightly bigger group of about 15 people that were all relatively well known, he’d rented the small upper floor that was a small extension of the restaurant that would normally fit about twenty people. You go outside to get the rest of the group and enter the cosy room, that has a classy Italian aesthetic. They’d put the tables together, so everyone could fit around, and you take place next to Harry and Callux, Ethan sitting on the other side of Harry and Chip and Callum sitting across from you. You grab his hand under the table as everyone orders their drinks, shuffling a bit closer. When everyone has ordered, the boys decide it’s time for presents, before people get too drunk or too engaged in conversations. The boys make their rounds, at least the ones that didn’t give him anything already, before it gets back to you. Harry looks at you, not expecting you to have anything from him, as you get a small box shaped wrapped present out of your bag. “Y/N, you already got me something,” He lowly says, “No, it’s just something small, please just open it,” you ask, giggling at the thought of the present. Harry reluctantly takes it, tearing off the wrapping paper. He looks at the box, opening it to reveal six golf balls. “Wait, are these…” He looks at you with a laugh on his face, and you nod. “Oh my god, that’s amazing,” he lets out a genuine laugh, taking out one of the golf balls to look at it closely. Ethan looks over, also laughing at the images on the balls. A few of the guys look confuse, so you look at them to explain it, “They’re golf balls with pictures of me on them,” you tell them, and everyone laughs, wanting to see them. When Harry has the box in front of him, now empty as the balls are being passed around, he turns towards you. “Thank you, baby, I love that,” he says, leaning a bit closer. This was kind of dangerous, knowing his friends all surrounded you, but you didn’t really care. They’d know at some point anyway. “It’s just a silly thing, but I’m glad you like it,” you say, looking into his eyes you can see his smile in. He leans closer until your lips are touching, whispering another thank you before he gives you one last peck, moving back. He moves his arm onto the back of your chair, lightly grazing your shoulder, as you see Josh looking at you with raised eyebrows.  Tobi clears his throat, “Anything you want to tell us, guys?” Harry’s eyes widen at the realization of what he’s just done, and you give him a reassuring smile. “Oh. Well, we’re, like, together. Please no big deal though, we’re just, you know,” Harry rambles, and you smile, taking his hand under his table. He briefly looks at you, and relaxes when he realizes you’re okay. “Ayy they both finally did it, everyone give it up for Harry and Y/N!” Chip exclaims as everyone cheers, and you hide on Harry’s shoulder as you chuckle in embarrassment. You sit up again and see Callux give you a small smile, leaning closer to you. “I’m glad you have each other, he has been happier because of you. And you seem more yourself, too. I’m glad,” he shared, making you smile. “Thank you, genuinely. And also for not really asking, took us a while to figure out what we wanted,” she admits, and he nods, “Of course. Oh, is it time for the thing yet?” He changes the topic, and you look back at Harry laughing with Ethan, Simon, and Callum. “Oh, yeah, can you ask Theo? He has the present,” Callux nods as you turn back to Harry, nudging him. “There’s one more present,” You say, interrupting the conversation. The boys all look at you, understanding the signal to shut up, and Harry frowns, trying to work out whom he missed.

Theo speaks up, “Okay, so, this is from all of us, really,” he tells him, looking around the group. “I do think I speak for all of us when I say you mostly have Y/N to thank, though, because she did a wonderful job working it out, but it’s a bit of a group effort, from us, to you,” He explains, handing over a square, somewhat thick, package. Harry looks around the group curiously as everyone expectantly watches him unpack it. “Harry through our eyes, a reminder of our love for you,” he reads curiously, opening the book. He opens it to a written page surrounded by group pictures of him and his friends and family. ‘Harry,’ it reads, ‘You’ve done so much for all of us, we wanted to give you something back. You mean so much to every single one of us individually, and you deserve to know. This is who you are through our eyes, hopefully you see the same magic we do in you.’ He looks up around the group, before he flips to the next page filled with crazy pictures of him. He lets out a chuckle, turning the page to see a combination of written texts and pictures. “You can read it all later, but it’s basically all of us and some more people sharing what they think about you. Stories, pictures, memories. Your parents and siblings are in it as well. Just, for whenever you need it,” you explain, as he flicks through the book. “Wow. Thank you guys, wow, that is so, umm, my god. Thank you,” he says, truly meaning it. You smile, resting your hand on his thigh. You make relaxing motions, Harry clearly a bit overwhelmed with his emotions, as he briefly looks through. “Oh wow, these are old,” he chuckles, looking at a picture Chris had taken of him the first time they’d met. He looks around the group once more. “Thank you guys, thank you,” He expresses once more, and everyone reacts with a smile, “Of course,” or some other form of reaction. Harry kisses your cheek as a thank you as he turns to you once more. “Thank you, it’s wonderful.” You smile, looking into his eyes. “You deserve to know how loved you are.”

[nicolejones412]

Out of Sync

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: You've found yourself with the 107th fighting Hydra, where you meet a handsome Sergeant. But something just isn't right.

A/N: Thunderbolts* really just has me going back to my roots, just now I'm more of a Bucky girl than a Steve one. Enjoy this first semi-fluffy chapter! (No Thunderbolts spoilers for quiiiite a few chapters).

FIC:

You couldn't wait for Agent Carter to join you in Italy.

You had been sent ahead with a small SSR outfit to prep for more of the Strategic Scientific Reserve to join you once you had confirmed the intel you'd received about Hydra's base.

You were pretty sure you were only sent because Colonel Phillips could only deal with having both you and Peggy around so much.

You sighed as you dismissed a soldier you'd been interviewing.

If you heard one more man ask-

"Now what's a beautiful dame doing out here?"

You looked up at the dark haired man that had entered your tent, completing your thought for you.

"My job, Sergeant...?"

"Barnes, ma'am. Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes." He took a seat.

"Nice to meet you Sergeant Barnes, I am Agent Grace with the Strategic Scientific Reserve. I understand you may have noticed something strange on assignment?"

"Well ma'am I am a sniper. It's my job to notice things."

You sighed. If these soldiers would get over the fact that you were wearing a skirt for 2 seconds you might actually get some good information today. Unfortunately it seemed like this was about to be another waste of your time.

"The soldiers we faced last week, they weren't wearing normal uniforms. They had a different symbol. Some kind of octopus."

"That would be the symbol of Hydra. Hitler's rogue science division."

"Well they must have some kind of mad genius working for them. Their weapons aren't normal guns. They weren't firing bullets. More like just blue beams."

"Blue beams?"

"Check with medical. Not nearly enough bullet wounds for what went down."

"I will check on that. Anything else that might be helpful?"

"They retreated west. There weren't very many of them, but they were quick."

You wrote down what he'd told you.

"Thank you for your time Sergeant Barnes."

"Of course." He stood and held out his hand to shake yours.

You looked his hand for a moment before standing to shake his hand. As you looked at his eyes, something felt familiar.

He nodded to you and went to exit the tent, pausing before leaving.

"Sorry if I offended you ma'am, when I first came in. I meant it as a compliment."

You shook your head. "None taken Sergeant. Stay safe out there."

He chuckled. "I will do my best."

The next day the 107th went after Schmidt's men.

Two days later, Peggy and the rest of the SSR that was coming arrived, and you'd reported your findings from the interviews.

"Magic blue weapons? That's what you have for me?" Colonel Phillips asked.

"That's about all the men reported back. Other than confirming that it was Hydra who carried them."

Phillips shook his head. "It's not a lot to go on."

"I think we might be able to triangulate the position of their base, sir."

"We'll see what we here from the 107th. There's got to be a way to-"

A soldier ran into the tent.

"Colonel, the 107th is back. At least, what's left of it."

-

You looked out into the rain, listening to Captain America's show in the distance.

"What's got you so down?" Peggy asked behind her.

You shook your head as you turned to get back to work. "So many soldiers. I just can't believe he-they are gone."

"He?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Forget it. A slip of the tongue."

"I see."

She could see right through you, but wouldn't push the issue as she walked away to speak with Captain Rogers. You were grateful.

You'd had one conversation with the man. Why did the fact that he was most likely dead feel so...wrong? Soldiers die every day in war. He wasn't even that nice to you.

He wasn't dead. You knew it. You felt it. But why did it matter?

A few minutes later, you watched as Captain America ran through the mud to Colonel Phillips tent. You followed as quickly as you could.

"Please tell me if he's alive, sir. B-A-R-"

"I can spell." Colonel Phillips paused before standing. He looked at you, then down at the papers he was holding.

"I've signed more of these condolence letters today than I care to count. But the name does sound familiar." He looked up at the captain.

"I'm sorry."

"What about the others?" Rogers asked. "Are you planning a rescue mission?"

"Yeah it's called winning the war."

"But if you know where they are why not at least-"

"They're 30 miles behind the lines. Through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We'd lose more men than we'd save, but I don't expect you to understand that because you're a chorus girl."

Rogers set his jaw.

"I think I understand just fine."

"Then understand it somewhere else." Colonel Phillips began to walk away. "If I read the posters correctly you've got some place to be in 30 minutes."

You followed the captain's eyes to the map on the wall.

"Yes sir. I do."

You and Peggy locked eyes before following Steve out of the tent.

-

Sending the one successful super soldier you had behind enemy lines probably was not the best idea, but there was no stopping Steve.

And someone had to cause a distraction to cover their exit.

"Are you insane?!" Colonel Phillips lectured.

"Captain Rogers was going with or without-"

He scoffed. "Captain Rogers? He's a barely trained circus monkey and the most expensive asset the United States army has created and you helped him go against my orders."

He slammed his fist on the desk as Agent Carter walked into the tent.

"You're both going straight back to the typing pool after this stunt."

"Colonel-"

"Not another word. Or would you like to explain to the Secretary of Defense why Captain America - the only super soldier we have is gone?"

There was a commotion outside as soldiers ran to the gate. You and Peggy looked at each other before following the Colonel.

You reached the gate just in time to see Captain America lead the 107th back into camp.

"Sir," Steve addressed the colonel. "I turn myself over for disciplinary action."

Phillips looked around at the men who he'd frankly assumed were dead.

"That won't be necessary."

Your gaze wandered from Steve to the man next to him. Who was already looking at you. You nodded to him, and he nodded back before turning to look at Steve.

"Let's hear it for Captain America!"

You joined in as the crowd cheered.

-

"Knock, knock?"

You looked up from your desk. "Sergeant Barnes. I assumed you'd be at the celebration."

"I was, but something just didn't feel right."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." He looked around at the otherwise empty tent.

"You weren't there."

You looked up from your notes and maps for the first time. "I am flattered Sergeant-"

"Bucky," he corrected.

You smiled. "Bucky. I am flattered but I didn't do much, and there is plenty still to be done."

"Yes, yes of course, Agent Grace." He turned to leave but then turned back around.

"Come on, let me buy you a drink."

"Sergeant-"

"Bucky."

"Right, Bucky, that really isn't-"

"Steve wouldn't have made it out of camp without your help. Come on, one drink."

You shook your head. "I just-"

"It can wait. A drink, some food, and some sleep will do you good."

You sighed. "Fine."

Bucky's grin grew from ear to ear. "Perfect."

-

Read Part 2 here.

A/N: All will make sense eventually. I hope. 😊 This will not be an entirely 1940s era fic, so if you're here for that, heads up that I'm only planning another chapter or 2 of this vibe.

[wosoloml]

red string theory || lotte wubben-moy x reader

summary: the first time you see lotte wubben moy, you didnt actually see her.

your life was always connected because you are meant to be.

warnings: none, just fluffy fluff with my lotte girl

from this request

a/n: i hope its okay what i wrote it about lotte because i thought this request is so lotte coded

wc: 1,739 words

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" my work colleague, who is also my best friend, Jules, looks at me with a focused expression.

A few years ago, I attended college in the USA, where I ran my own sports blog for the university newspaper. I especially enjoyed writing about the women’s football team because I witnessed the sport gaining more popularity there.

It felt so empowering to see how all the girls were following their dreams, and I always wanted to share their stories so everyone could see their passion.

I was packing all my work stuff into my bag when Jules called out my name.

"Y/N, can you please help me real quick?"

I sighed but stopped what I was doing and walked into the salesroom.

"Can you make a latte macchiato real quick? Table 7 has a big order, and I’m swamped. Sorry for interrupting you," she said.

I smiled softly at her before glancing at the girl who had ordered the latte. I barely registered her, only noticing how graceful her movements were.

It felt kind of ironic that my last customer of the day would be such a mysterious woman.

But life moved on, as it always does, and that moment faded into the countless fleeting, insignificant encounters you never expect to think about again. Until much later.

----

"Oh my girl, Jules, you made it!" I pulled her into a tight hug.

"Of course! It's your graduation today! I'm so proud of you, my little nerd."

After three years of hard work, endless studying, and way too much crying, I’m finally done. I’m now a certified sports journalist with a focus on women’s football. I couldn’t be happier.

"Now it’s time for you to introduce me to your girlfriend! I can’t wait to meet the mysterious Alessia in person."

Her smile grew even wider as I mentioned her girlfriend. "Come on, she’s right over there, chatting with an old friend from university she randomly ran into here."

----

I’ve checked my phone. 8:00. I arrived at the training ground of THE Arsenal Women’s Football Club.

When I sent my application to a few football clubs as a media coordinator, I never thought my childhood club would hire me. I spent the last few days looking for an outfit and stayed awake the whole night out of nervousness.

It’s already my second week, and I’m still not used to being around all these inspiring and energizing women. You weren’t exactly starstruck, but there was something about being around people you’d admired from afar that left you feeling slightly unsteady.

But it’s different with Lotte. From day one, she helped me with everything. Lotte, however, had a way of disarming you with her easy demeanor. When she introduced herself, it was as if you hadn’t spent the last three days binge-watching match highlights featuring her perfect tackles and precise passes.

Over the weeks, you got used to seeing her around the training ground. She always made an effort to say hi, even if it was just a quick wave or a casual “How’s it going?” Each interaction was brief, professional, and—you told yourself—entirely inconsequential. Except that, somehow, you found yourself looking forward to them.

She had this smile and the way she cared about everyone around her that sticks in my mind, and I can’t stop thinking about her even after work. It’s like we’ve known each other for years.

---

Today was Media Day, and even though I love the girls, I was relieved to have a moment for myself in the cafeteria. Suddenly, someone asked, 'May I join?' At first, I didn’t realize they were talking to me, but when my eyes met my favorite defender's, I knew Lotte was the one addressing me.

'Not at all,' I replied, gesturing to the empty seat.

I don’t want to admit it, but knowing I wasn’t paired up with Lotte for today’s interviews made me a bit sad. That’s why I’m even happier to spot her here during my little break.

She set down her tray, which held a steaming bowl of soup and a sandwich that looked far too healthy for my taste. 'So, how’s life in the media world? Still surviving?'

I chuckled at her words. 'It’s going well. After today, I have a lot of videos to edit, and I still write a blog for a college newspaper, with the deadline coming up, so I’m a bit stressed. The time difference with the USA makes it even harder. But who am I complaining to? I’m sure your schedule is even more packed.' I babbled, feeling a bit embarrassed that I hadn’t stopped talking. It was just a simple question—no need to turn it into a whole essay.

She listened closely the entire time, trying to keep up with me. "Really? You’re very ambitious about your job. I like that. You mentioned the USA. Are you writing for an American college?"

I felt seen, and it made me feel special. I adore her so much. I gathered my thoughts again to answer her.

"Yes! I went to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and have always had a passion for writing. They had a women’s football team that was still in its early stages. They inspired me so much that I decided to write about them in the weekly college newspaper. Sorry for beating around the bush, yes, I write for an American college." My cheeks turned red because, once again, I rambled on.

I noticed the sudden change in her behavior. "Wait, really?" She looked at me, kind of stunned and questioning. "I’ve been to UNC too, before signing professionally for Arsenal. Do you mean the North Carolina Tar Heels? I played for them while you were writing for them."

I widened my eyes in disbelief. "That caught me off guard—wow. We’ve been so close and never talked to each other."

“It’s like we were orbiting each other,” she said one day, her voice thoughtful. “Like we were always meant to meet, but the timing just wasn’t right.”

Her words stuck with me, replaying in my mind long after she’d said them.

---------

Over the next few weeks, sometimes Lotte would bring me a coffee. A few days later, I noticed something as she handed me the cup. "Since when do you get your coffee from that shop near Covent Garden? The one with the green awning?" She looked confused and stuttered, "Since forever. It's my favorite coffee shop. Do you know it?"

"Are you joking? I worked there a few years ago."

“I can’t believe this. It’s like we’ve been circling each other our whole lives.”

This connection with Lotte feels so magical, I can’t even process how life always seemed to bring us together.

“Maybe it’s fate,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

She smiled, a slow, knowing smile that made your heart skip a beat. “Maybe it is.”

-------

As the weeks turned into months, your relationship with Lotte continued to grow stronger. The bond you shared deepened, built on a foundation of shared history and the undeniable pull you felt toward each other.

One evening, as you sat on her couch with a cup of tea in hand, she reached over and intertwined her fingers with yours.

“You know,” she said softly, her voice quiet, “I’ve always believed in timing. That everything happens when it’s meant to.”

You looked at her, your heart full. “And what about us? What does this timing mean?”

She smiled, her eyes warm and steady. “It means we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

And for the first time, you believed her.

[admiringlove]

tear-stained cheek. holy shit this is so long overdue i'm so sorry 😭. anyway here is the masterlist.

it's funny, isn’t it? how someone can walk into your life—unexpected, almost like a quiet storm—and leave behind a trail of emotions you'd never even known could exist. the kind that makes your heart race in the most unsteady rhythm, like the fluttering pulse of a schoolchild who has just learned the thrill of something new.

you remember it, don’t you? the first time you saw him—alhaitham. his presence etched so clearly in your memory, as if it were a moment suspended in time. his blue-green eyes, those striking, captivating hues, flicking around the towering bookshelves, searching with a sense of urgency that could be mistaken for desperation. ruby pupils narrowing slightly, scanning the titles of books that were clearly not in his jurisdiction, buried deep in the wrong section of the akademiya's library.

it was seven years ago, though it feels like another lifetime now. you were younger then, more naive. there was something so endearing about watching him from across the long corridor of dusty tomes. you could practically feel the tension radiating off him—his movements quick, sharp, trying to sort through a pile of parchments and textbooks. he was on the edge, overwhelmed by deadlines, his anxiety painting him in broad strokes. you could see it in the way his eyes darted back and forth, the slight hitch in his breath. you could’ve sworn his palms were clammy, his mind whirring with a thousand thoughts at once.

and then, just as your gaze lingered on him, his eyes met yours. for the briefest of moments, you could almost hear the shift—the silent flicker of recognition in his gaze. and just like that, the panic was gone. he gave a small, practiced smile, masking the chaos that had been there seconds before.

you chuckled quietly to yourself and took a slow stride toward him, deliberately setting your books down next to his with a soft thud. without saying a word, you sat down, as though you hadn’t just seen him nervously look for books, possibly in the wrong section—you were in the vahumana section, after all. and he, being a haravatat student, shouldn't really be in here. but your eyes couldn’t help but wander to his parchment, curiosity getting the best of you.

"that book is in the restricted section," you said, voice calm yet amused, pointing to one of the titles he had jotted down with such determination. "you're not allowed to read it without approval from a professor, and probably an inspector from the akademiya too. i know, because it involves my specialty. aetiology."

he blinked, just for a second, and then the smallest laugh escaped him. a soft, self-deprecating scoff. "i don’t know how i missed that. thank you."

that’s how your friendship began—small moments stitched together, each one quietly meaningful. your shared hours were steeped in academic conversations, unraveling dense research papers, and the whispered rhythm of scribbling as you wrote your thesis side-by-side in the library. sometimes, his sharp-tongued, golden-haired friend, kaveh, would join the two of you. and while alhaitham never seemed to notice the glances you stole, kaveh always did. he was like that—keen-eyed, always knowing, always watching.

one night, walking home under a blanket of stars with only kaveh for company, he spoke. his voice was quieter than usual, softened by the weight of what he was about to say. “you do realize he won’t notice unless you tell him, right? he’s not wired to pick up on things like that. not unless they’re spelled out for him.”

you let out a small laugh, more a puff of air than anything, and lowered your gaze to the pavement. “yeah,” you murmured, lips curving into a wistful smile. “i’ve figured that out by now. but maybe that’s part of what makes him... him. the way he doesn’t see how much i love—”

“love?” kaveh interrupted, his voice laced with disbelief, though not unkind.

“yeah,” you whispered, the word carried away like a secret on the night breeze. “unfortunately, yeah.”

you were always like that—quick to attach, even quicker to fall. you gave your heart away with the same ease you handed over your trust. quick to idolize, to elevate someone to a pedestal so high, you’d forget they were human. and then, you'd fall to your knees, treating love like a religion, a belief you held with a kind of desperate devotion. you looked at him as though he was the creator of the universe itself, as if he held the stars in his hands and had the power to shape the world with his touch.

one night, after graduation, you found yourself standing in his kitchen. the soft hum of the kettle broke the silence, and you watched him prepare tea with the careful precision only he seemed capable of. it was as if he could brew the entire universe into that simple cup. leaning against the doorway, you let the words slip from your mouth, barely planned, as if they had always been waiting there to be spoken. “you know, i think i’m falling a little, over here.”

his eyes didn't leave the kettle, and his response was quick, practical, a little detached. “you’re standing perfectly well,” he said, and you laughed softly. for all his brilliance, his understanding of emotions seemed quite lackluster. “i don’t see you falling.”

but you weren’t looking for his logic. you needed him to see you. you waited for his gaze to meet yours, and when it finally did, you took a breath, letting the night around you settle into the space between you both. the air was thick, but you pushed through it. kaveh was right. he wouldn’t know unless you told him. so you did. "alhaitham," you started, your voice barely a whisper, a tremble of something deeper. "i'm falling in love with you. actually, i’ve been in love with you for quite some time. before graduation, really."

he blinked, as though the words you had just spilled had left him tangled in a sea of confusion, and in that moment, your breath hitched in your throat, a quiet panic curling in your chest. you stumbled over your own words, quickly adding, "it's okay. don't say anything—"

but he cut you off, his voice steady despite the tension hanging thick between you two. "i did not say i didn't feel anything for you."

a relief so soft it was almost imperceptible washed over you, but you still couldn’t stop the trembling in your hands as you stepped closer, your shoulder brushing his with a closeness that felt like an unspoken promise. "you didn’t say you felt anything at all, either," you murmured, and then, almost like an afterthought, "and i’m saying... that it’s okay."

his sigh was a quiet thing, weighed down by the gravity of the unspoken, and he turned his head, his gaze finally meeting yours. there was something raw in the way he looked at you, as though the words he was about to say had been locked away for far too long. “doesn’t mean i wouldn’t like to try. i am capable of feeling, you know.”

the corner of your mouth lifted into a tender smile, soft and knowing, and you reached forward, turning off the stove with a quiet click. “you trying to experiment on me?” you teased, though your heart was racing, the words hanging between you like a fragile thread.

he smiled back, a little smirk tugging at his lips, and there was something in the way he said it that made your heart flutter. “i’m simply saying that you aren’t just a friend to me. i’m capable of feeling intimacy. romance. i don’t know, whatever you call it.”

your heart pounded so loudly in your ears, it drowned out everything else—the quiet hum of the kitchen, the soft rustle of the night outside, even your own breath. you blinked, the weight of his words settling on you, and your lips parted, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to feel. but before you could collect yourself, he rolled his eyes, an almost playful gesture that caught you off guard. then, with a newfound confidence, he pulled you close, his hand landing on your waist, firm and sure.

your eyes widened, and you stumbled over your words, "alhaitham, what are you doing? kaveh's sleeping in the other room—"

he met your gaze, his ruby pupils dark and intense, and a knowing smile tugged at his lips. “you don’t seem to believe my words,” he said, his voice low and steady, “so i’m showing you through my actions. perhaps that would make this ‘experiment,’ as you call it, more believable?”

how could you have said no? in your eyes, he had always been a god, high upon a pedestal so lofty you could barely see the top. everything he asked of you, you had already given a thousand times over without question. you saw him dangle the moon in front of you, its glow irresistible, and in that moment, you forgot that it was the stars you truly craved.

here’s the thing about loving the way you did: when it wasn’t mirrored with the same intensity, the same fire, the same burning passion, everything unraveled. you learned quickly that love, if it wasn’t met with equal fervor, would twist and contort into something unrecognizable. so, in an attempt to keep everything from falling apart, you started sweeping the cracks under the rug, telling yourself it was fine. when his words cut too deep, when he hurt you without meaning to, you pretended it didn’t sting. as friends, it wouldn’t have mattered, but as lovers? it festered, a quiet poison settling into your bones, pricking at your spine like a disease that had no cure.

faith and love were blurry concepts in your mind, tangled in a way that made it impossible to see where one ended and the other began. in his, however, the line was sharp, clear, and separate. while you raised him up, placed him on a pedestal so high it nearly touched the heavens, he never saw you as anything less than his equal. he treated you like a part of him; integral, a piece that completed the whole. but that’s where it faltered, you realized. you loved alhaitham as if he were a god, unreachable, perfect in his flaws, something to worship and adore from a distance. he, however, loved you like you were his reflection. just as flawed, just as human.

it was a cycle, you’d reckoned, one that started the moment you fell, and it was one you knew would lead to disaster from the very beginning. but in the quiet spaces between your words, there was something that still held you captive. something you couldn’t quite name, yet couldn’t escape.

“you cannot keep doing this,” he had said, his voice a sharp edge cutting through the stillness of the room. it was only hours ago, when everything still seemed normal, when the world hadn’t yet fallen into fragments. “stop bringing up the past and throwing it in my face when i least expect it. you can’t keep telling me to correct my past mistakes when there’s no way i can! tell me what i’m doing wrong as it happens, so i can fix it, instead of letting it go and dragging it up later when it’s too late for me to do anything about it!”

the words hit you like a slap, and the spoon in your hands clattered into the sink, a harsh, metallic sound that echoed in the air. you didn’t know what to say at first, only that everything in you had soured at the injustice of it. you looked at him, the weight of your anger and exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders, and you finally let it spill out, raw and untamed. “why can’t you understand what you’re doing wrong in the first place, before you do it?”

his eyes widened, cerulean irises reflecting a mix of frustration and confusion, his pupils dilated in a way that made you feel like you were miles away from each other. “how am i supposed to, if you don’t tell me?” he shouted, voice rising, desperate. “how can i know what’s hurting you and what’s not, if you don’t tell me?”

"i should’ve known this wouldn’t go anywhere in the first place."

the words hit you both like a cold wind, sharp and cutting. your eyes widened in disbelief at what you'd said, and the silence that followed was thick, suffocating, a weight that hung heavy between you both. it was a silence that spoke louder than anything, filled with all the things you had left unsaid, the actions you both had avoided. he stood there, taken aback, and yet, you couldn’t find the words to explain the ache inside you—the quiet, persistent pain of knowing that no matter how hard you tried, he could never truly see you until it was already too late.

“then perhaps we should cut it off before it rots.”

his voice was final, a verdict you hadn’t been ready for. it was as if the last string of connection between you two had snapped, leaving nothing but the cold, empty space in its wake. you turned, unable to bear the weight of his gaze any longer, and stormed out. now, here you were, sitting on a bench at the edge of the city, watching the world move around you as the sky shifted, the sun dipping lower in a swirl of colors, the evening air cool against your skin.

tears had streamed down your face a while ago, uncontrolled, as if they had been waiting to escape for far too long. the city bustled on, oblivious to the storm inside you. the clouds above seemed to echo the disarray in your chest, moving with a restless energy, while you exhaled a shaky sigh. your hands trembled, rubbing together desperately, trying to still the chaos within you, but nothing could stop it. your gaze fell to your lap, empty, lost in the sea of your own thoughts.

perhaps it was your own doing, you thought, as the weight of it all pressed against your chest. perhaps you should’ve stayed away from the very beginning. perhaps you should’ve never let that curiosity get the best of you when you first saw him in the library, never set your books down next to his, never spoken those first words. maybe none of it would have mattered, and maybe you would’ve been spared the mess of it all. but now, the silence between you two was the loudest thing you had ever known.

can you tell i'm channeling myself and how i feel into the reader

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[indulgentdaydream]

Hello luv, first of all... I LOVE NURSE!READER!!! OH god the last lines were soooooo heartwarming for my social worker heart!! LOVE LOVE IT 🩷🩷

So, may I request a Jason x reader again but with a little something... Jealous Jason because reader and Roy know each other longer than Jay and reader and then he gets all jelly and and—! Oh god I love a jealous petty man.

Missy when she fucks up the queue and queues this post for NEXT YEAR by accident 🫣🙃 NEXT YEAR?? LIKE THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE POSTED LAST FRIDAY AND I DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE THAT IT DIDN'T GO UP

anyways AHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH your words are already heartwarming ♥️

I loveeee jealous jason imma cook this up so quick just you wait and see (i wrote this when i first made the draft and i found it funny to leave it. It’s literally been a month I’m so sorry)

I also made this into headcanons because I had a VISION and did not think to give it any justice. (koi youre seriously my number 1 supporter i hope you enjoy this garbage I just threw up, really)

Pining!Jealous!Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: slight jealousy (not too overly consuming), alcohol consumption

Roy had invited Jason to hang out at the bar

Bros being bros

except...

Roy brought you along (because he KNOWS Jason has got a fat crush on you whether or not he’s told him)

(He tried to convince roy it’s not a crush, but always fails because his whole demeanour changes when you walk in the room)

examples:

he's always going to be standing beside you, consciously or not

jason isn't always a tense guy. But he for sure isn't as long as you're talking to him/looking at him/etc. (but if you put your hand on his arm/touch him in any way, it's game over)

your name is brought up, he's listening SO INTENTLY

like a dog when it hears its favourite word

Anyways

The three of you are sitting in a booth

It was originally you and roy before jason showed up, the two of you on either side

Jason shows up and just sits right next to you. No hesitation.

You and roy are laughing away, recounting stories and telling jokes.

Jason is just... really quiet

unusually quiet

He doesn’t look at you guys, rather looking out across the bar, trying to hide the fact he’s feeling this way

That he's feeling unreasonably jealous of his best friend

who literally brought you FOR JASON

He knows it’s stupid. He trusts both of you. You two are the two people he trusts the MOST

He hates that he’s like this, but he can't help it

Roy's better than him. You've known him for longer. He's making you laugh harder than Jason ever has. He's better looking, too. Older. More experienced.

His thoughts are clogging up his head. He's really not listening anymore, just holding his beer, eyes scanning the bar floor, watching the other patrons.

Then Roy is standing in front of him, saying something about using the bathroom.

He is giving a VERY pointed look at Jason.

a "make conversation with your crush or I'm shoving an arrow down your throat" kind of look

Jason felt a little stab of genuine anxiety shoot through him.

He's talked to you alone before. Many times. You two were friends, of course. He doesn't know why this is how he's feeling right now.

Then your hand is resting on his forearm.

Poor boy is still so caught up in his head he just looks down at your hand for definitely a second too long before finally meeting your gaze

Your gaze with those stupidly pretty eyes.

Then comes that horrendously pretty voice, "You alright?"

He nods. Shrugs. Like a stupid teenager who doesn't know how to handle his emotions.

He has to admit he's still a little tense about your attention being focused more on Roy. But not to you. He'd never admit it to you. You'd probably find it unattractive and then he'd really never have a chance.

“Yeah, no, im enjoying the talking. Always forget how well you and roy know each other”

“Oh yeah he just knows how to get me going. You know how he is”

Jason doesn’t know how he does it.

Like some leap of faith.

Some, jealousy super-powered leap.

He tries to be non-chalant about it.

“It’d be nice to do this again sometime. Maybe without Roy around.”

BOY'S HEART IS POUNDING

Sipping on his beer, looking down at it instead to avoid eye contact with you so he doesn't lose his cool.

Or someone show on his face that he is actually shitting bricks

You don't respond for a second and the alarm bells start going off in his head

WHY DID I SAY THAT WHY DID I SAY THAT WHY DID I SAY-

"It would be nice," you say, "Could we make it a date instead?"

He's smiling, turning to nod at you, "Course we can."

But his internal dialogue is just straight screaming at himself

"IDIOT YOU SHOULD'VE MADE IT OBVIOUS YOU WANTED IT TO BE A DATE IN THE FIRST PLACE"

The things jealousy will make you do

Roy comes back and sits down

Jason's into the conversation now

It doesn't really matter that Roy is still making you laugh

because he's not the one holding your hand under the table

AH I HOPE YOU LIKE -missy

I also love a jealous petty man (as long as it doesn't become toxic and he doesn't use it as an excuse to be an asshole)