#their face looks way too dark in my phone goddammit...

[boiled-bronze]

[Image ID: A digital drawing of an anthro Enot, from Rain World, dancing and looking to the side smiling, while wearing a bright orange dress with a yellow water drop pattern, high heel shoes and a pearl necklace. End ID.]

Enot in a dress!! Non-canon probably, I don't know where they would get a dress like this.

Inspired by this post by Pipa and this one by Mushroom :3

[p0orbaby]

Silver Linings

summary: you’ve had a baby and you’ve had enough, you want your wife, goddammit!

warnings: SMUT 18+, just sex alright, im too lazy to read back and see what there is

a/n: thanks for the request !

word count: 1.2k

-

You’re lying in bed, counting the new cracks in the ceiling. You’re convinced they’ve multiplied since the baby was born. Or maybe it’s just that you’re always staring up these days, wishing for sleep. You read somewhere that the Spanish government once paid people to make babies. But they don’t mention how they don’t pay enough for someone to come and take the baby off your hands every now and then.

But who’s counting?

Alexia’s beside you, scrolling through her phone like it owes her money. She’s wearing that ridiculous sleep shirt with Messi’s face on it—some joke you don’t quite understand but one that involves a poorly executed bet, a late-night purchase, and more tequila than you’d care to remember. You’re not sure what makes you more irritated: the shirt or the fact that she looks hot in it. Even with the dark circles under her eyes.

You clear your throat, trying to get her attention. It’s like trying to wake a bear from hibernation. She just grunts and scrolls faster.

“Hey, Messi’s number one fan,” you say, nudging her with your foot. “Put the phone down before you sprain your thumb”

She glances over at you, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, but there’s a flicker of interest there. “What? You wanna talk about our feelings now?”

“No, I want to talk about the state of our sex life,” you reply, deadpan. “Which is currently on life support”

Alexia raises an eyebrow, finally putting her phone down on the nightstand. “Oh? You wanna do something about that?”

You shrug, trying to play it cool, but the truth is, you’ve been thinking about this all day. Well, between the nappy changes, the feedings, and trying to remember when the last time you showered was.

“I mean, we probably should. Before the baby wakes up and finds out we’re trying to have fun”

Alexia grins, a little too wickedly for someone who’s supposed to be sleep-deprived. “You know, I’ve been waiting for you to say something. It’s like you read my mind”

“Oh yeah? Was it before or after you ordered that new strap?”

She laughs, the sound low and throaty. “Before. Definitely before. The new strap was just… insurance”

“Insurance?” you snort. “You mean like how some people buy a fire extinguisher for their kitchen?”

“Exactly. You never know when you’re going to need it”

You’re laughing now, genuinely, and it feels good. It feels like the first real laugh you’ve had in weeks. Maybe months. The kind that shakes off the dust that’s settled between the two of you, the kind that makes you remember why you fell for her in the first place.

She’s already moving, shedding the Messi shirt in one smooth move. There’s something almost ceremonial about the way she does it, as if she’s readying herself for battle. You swallow hard, the familiar heat building in your belly. It’s been so long since you’ve felt anything but tired, anything but stretched too thin.

When she climbs back into bed, she’s got that glint in her eye that says she’s up to no good. “You ready for this?”

You raise an eyebrow. “For you to pretend you know what you’re doing?”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as she kisses you, hard and possessive. It’s all teeth and tongue, a little desperate, a little sloppy, but it’s enough to make your toes curl. You gasp into her mouth when her hands start to roam, fingers grazing over your still-sensitive skin. Everything’s too much and not enough, and you can’t help the little whimper that escapes your lips.

“Easy,” she murmurs against your mouth. “We’ve got all night”

“Yeah, until the baby wakes up and decides to serenade us with her cries,” you mutter, but you’re already arching into her touch.

“You’re right,” she says, her voice dropping an octave, sending shivers down your spine. “We better make this quick”

You laugh, but it quickly turns into a moan as she kisses her way down your body, her hands gripping your thighs like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she doesn’t hold on tight. You’ve missed this, missed her. Not just the sex, but the connection, the way she makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the world, even when you’re surrounded by chaos.

When she finally reaches into her bedside table and pulls out the strap, the new one, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

She just smirks. “I told you. Insurance”

“Right,” you say, but your breath catches in your throat when she presses the tip against you, the cool silicone a stark contrast to your overheated skin. You’re sensitive, achingly so, and the stretch of it has you chaining air, your fingers digging into the sheets.

“Too much?” she asks, her voice softening for the first time tonight.

You shake your head, biting your lip as you try to focus on the sensation, the delicious burn that’s equal parts pleasure and pain. “No, it’s… it’s good. Really good”

She moves slowly, deliberately, and you can tell she’s trying to be gentle, trying not to overwhelm you. But there’s a tension in her body, a barely contained need that mirrors your own, and it’s not long before she’s thrusting harder, her hands gripping your hips, tethering you to the earth.

It’s overwhelming, the way she fills you up, the way she looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters. You can feel the coil tightening in your belly, the pressure building to a breaking point. It’s almost too much, too intense, but you can’t stop yourself from chasing that high, from wanting more.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your nails raking down her back. “I’m gonna—”

But before you can finish, she shifts her angle, hitting that perfect spot inside you, and it’s like a dam breaking. You come apart with a strangled cry, your body trembling with the force of it, and she’s right there with you, whispering filthy praise into your ear, her voice raw with desire.

When it’s over, you’re both a mess, caught in the sheets, your bodies slick with sweat. You can barely catch your breath, but there’s a satisfied smile on your face, one that mirrors hers. It’s not perfect, it’s not the earth-shattering, movie-ending kind of sex, but it’s real. And that’s enough.

As you lie there, trying to remember how to form coherent thoughts, she pulls you close, her arm draped over your waist. “We should do this more often,” she says, her voice sleepy but content.

“Yeah,” you murmur, already half-asleep. “If we ever get the chance”

But for now, you’re content to just lie here, basking in the afterglow, knowing that you’ve still got each other. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to get you through the sleepless nights and endless nappy changes.

As you start to drift off, you hear the faint sound of the baby stirring in the next room. You groan, burying your face in Alexia’s neck. “Your turn”

She laughs softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Fine, but only because you did all the hard work”

You snort, but you can’t help but smile as she slips out of bed, pulling on the Messi shirt once more. As she heads out to tend to the baby, you close your eyes, feeling more at peace than you have in weeks. Maybe even months.

[bellobambino]

"Mangia."

A Luigi Mangione Fluff Piece

The pov for this piece is from an unnamed girl, something more than friends.

Summary: Didja eat? lol. Luigi is italian, so he's a feeder. Late night Jersey diner run with LuLu.

586w

-----

Luigi and I always end up in this exact booth when it’s late, we’ve run out of shit to do, but we don’t want the night to end. Lakeside Diner is the bee’s knees in North Jersey. Luigi’s dad is friends with the owner, and they go way back.

Luigi is sitting across from me, arms folded, with a look on his face that tells me his gears are turning. I know what’s coming.

“Have you consumed anything other than coffee in the past 24 hours?” He nods at my mug, his eyes dark and accusing.

“Yeah,” I say, slowly tearing apart the paper sleeve to my straw. “I had some fruit earlier.” I lie.

He gives me a tired, incredulous look. He knows me. He can always tell when I’m lying, and that’s always pissed me off. I can’t get anything past him. But he’s also the only person who seems to get me—really see me.

“What?” I ask dryly.

“Fruit,” he responds as if it personally offends him. “I’ve been with you all day. How did you slip fruit by me without me noticing?”

I half-ass a shrug, hoping he’ll lose interest and drop it. But this is Luigi, and Luigi doesn’t drop anything. Never has.

He reaches for the menus we haven’t touched and starts flipping through them with the look of a single dad trying to feed a picky toddler. “Are you in the mood for fries or something more like grilled cheese?”

Why is he giving me the illusion of choice? “I’m not hungry,” I try.

Don’t think he even hears me. “This place has great cole slaw. Have you tried it?”

“Cole slaw? No. Lu, it’s two in the morning. I’m fine with the decaf.” I try to say it kindly because he’s trying. I wish he wouldn’t, but he’s a man compelled.

He nods, still not looking at me, and flips the page. “They’ve got lots of omelette options,” he says, pointing at a picture with complete earnestness, waiting for my response.

He’s so perfect, I hate him. “Thank you, Luigi. I’m just not hungry.” I try to sound sincere and convincing.

But Luigi is impossible. The man has never dropped an argument in his life. He sees a problem he can fix, and he won’t stop until it’s solved. Right now, I’m his problem.

He stands up and heads to the pastry case.

Oh no.

I try to turn around and wave him off, but he’s deliberately ignoring me at the counter. I lean back in the booth, defeated.

My stomach growls. Goddammit.

A minute later, he comes back with a chocolate-dipped almond horn and sets it in front of me without ceremony. I stare at it. It’s glossy, gorgeous, massive. He knows me too well.

“Mangia,” he says.

I sigh because I’m conceding this one for the sake of our relationship. I break off a piece and take a bite. It’s dense, chewy, and perfect. Much like Luigi himself. I would throw myself in front of a bus for him.

He’s chuffed, his toothy grin lighting up his whole face, his eyes crinkling under the wattage of his pleased smile. He must think he’s really saved the day.

I pick up my phone to look at anything other than his victorious face. He leans back, closes his eyes, and sighs. Success for Luigi.

If my world went to hell, he’d be the first one to grab me an almond horn. And I’d eat it every time.

[patchwork-oil]

❧ "Blue Hour”

Chapter 2/?

Pairing: Karkat/Reader (Gender Neutral) Word count: 2,386 Warnings: strong language

Summary: Turns out, you forgot Nepeta was stopping by. She’ll be able to help you sort through your feelings, though.

Author’s Note: Happy Christmas Eve I guess? What better is there to do than write fanfic lollll

As is only reasonable, I refused to think anymore. I went completely head-empty watching some videos on my phone in the dark of my room before eventually passing out without a thought to my name. Everything should go by perfectly, I’ll forget about yesterday and today should proceed as normal.

Right?

I lay in a half-asleep stupor when something possesses me to check my phone. 11:30 AM..? How late was I up watching videos... A Pesterchum notification?

AC: :33< hey (name)! be there at 12!

Oh.

AC: :33< ill make karkitten open the door if youre sl33ping in again h33h33 AC: :33< is it pawlright if aradia comes too?

Oh no.

I completely forgot Nepeta was stopping by to pick up part of her cosplay she left behind last time we held DnD here. And we’re supposed to go out to the craft store after.

With all the practice of a college student who had woken up minutes before class began way too many times, I rush out of bed and get dressed in a flash—it’s just Nepeta and Aradia, they can handle it if I accidentally wear my shirt backwards. Breakfast! Breakfast? Is there time for breakfast?

I scramble out the door and beeline it to the fridge. Yogurt will have to do. Karkat was leaning over the counter with a bowl of cereal and his phone in hand, watching me in bewilderment.

“(Name)-“

“Hm?!” WHAT. Why didn’t he start by swearing at me? What does he want? I probably responded too fast-

“-if you have the time, which, by the looks of it, maybe you don’t… No, wait, what the hell has you all flighty?”

“Um!” I shovel some yogurt into my mouth and dunk the empty container in the trash. “See, uh, in like, 10 minutes Nepeta’s coming over?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, (Name), you know we tell each other before we have guests,” he moves to pick up his bowl.

“No, no! She won’t be staying—we’re leaving right after. I would have told you yesterday if we had something planned, but really she won’t be here long so I forgot. I… also overslept, sorry.”

Karkat’s face contorts, trying to read me as if I were a sign across the room. I find myself avoiding his gaze, for some reason. He gives up, and with a sigh places the food back down.

“Fine.”

“… Aradia too.”

“Fuckin’—The more the goddamn merrier, I guess.”

I smile in relief and wash the spoon I was using. He seems to have forgotten what he wanted to talk to me about, so that’s a plus!

“So,” Goddammit. “I just wanted to say-“

“Brush my teeth! I have to go brush my teeth. Tell me after?”

“Wha-“

I’m in the bathroom with the door closed before I hear the end of that. Why the HELL am I freaking out so bad? I don’t even know what he wants to say! It probably isn’t about last night. There isn’t even anything to say about last night! I was just on top of him a little! Roommates can get touchy with… each other… no they don’t. Do they? I’m spitting out paste before I even realized I started brushing. I check myself in the mirror. I really could have messed up today with forgetting to tell him about Nep coming over. I owe it to him to at least listen to what he has to say. Can’t find a solution when you’re too scared to look at the problem, or something.

I pull open the handle in defeat.

“Hi Karkat!” That’s… not my voice.

“Hey Nepeta. (Name)’s in the bathroom. Yeah, Aradia, go ahead. Make this your hive.” Karkat dripped with all the sarcasm I was to blame for.

“Hi! I’m here, I'm almost ready! I just need to grab my bag and stuff.”

Karkat was holding the door open as Aradia and Nepeta filed in. I wave to them both as they talk quietly between themselves. Karkat’s iconic scowl hit me like a headshot. Yeah. He’s going to tear me to shreds when I get back.

I mouth “sorry” at him as I hurry past.

Last week, I stored Nepeta’s delicate cosplay hat in my closet when I noticed she had left it here. I suppose if I kept it out I wouldn’t have forgotten about today, but there’s nothing I can do about that now.

Her craftsmanship is gorgeous. From what I remember, Kanaya knit the base as some sort of a beanie, but Nepeta created these intricate fantasy flowers and sewn them into a sort of laurel configuration around the rim. I loved Nep’s DnD character, probably the most interesting out of the groups just by the way Nepeta role-played her, but the cosplay she brings every week just goes to show how much time and care went into creating the character as well. A druid swiftstride shifter, can’t get more Nepeta than that. 

I should probably stop gawking and get back out there.

“Eee! Thank you so much for keeping it safe!” I feel almost too guilty to smile when Nepeta takes the hat from me. She puts it on as she bounces excitedly in place, apparently down to wear it out of the house. Honestly, she should wear it everywhere with how much time it must have taken to make.

“Of course! I’m just sorry about oversleeping today. We should get going right away. Have you guys eaten?”

“No,” says Aradia, stepping out into the hallway. “When Nepeta told me you weren’t answering, we both suspected you’d be too busy rushing to get ready to eat.”

“Wow! Geez, gumshoe, give me a break.” The other two are already down the hall when Karkat grabs me by the arm.

“Kar!?“

“We are going to talk when you get back. And before you flip whatever’s left in your stupid, rotting thinkpan, I’m. Not. Mad at you.”

… Allllllright.

Kinda out of character for Karkat if I’m honest.

His eyes bore into me with some expression I couldn’t understand. Yet, despite staring down each other for what felt like the rest of the afternoon, I don’t get the chance to dumbly respond with at least an “okay” before he shuts the door. _________________

Aradia pulled us to a cafe when I said I couldn’t stop dreaming about a hot breakfast sandwich. I’m honestly just saying anything to try not to think about how serious Karkat sounded. The other two go secure a table outside while I stand waiting for our orders. The cafe is almost crowded but mostly it’s pleasant with its mild chattering. I’m just grateful to sit outside in the crisp autumn air, hopefully it will clear my head. A tray appears on the counter before me and a server calls my name.

Nepeta and I have been friends nearly since college began. We were both art majors and we just clicked too well not to stick like glue. To top it off, I adored her art style. I often tell her how adorable her art style is, but she compliments mine back just as much if not more. She majored in 2D animation and it always felt like she was much more well-rounded than me. We make it a habit to gush about each other’s art constantly, she’s more than aware of how much I admire her. I mean, she’s getting plenty more commissions than I ever had.

And Aradia was a friend that Nepeta had introduced me to when we were batting around the idea of starting a DnD session. There’s no one with better time management than Aradia, and that’s like half the battle of being a dungeon master, I’m pretty sure. Not to mention her stories are always so exciting, she really knows how to make it feel like we’re really exploring dungeons and looting ruins.

The only other players in our session are Dave and Karkat, Dave who claims to have been dragged along by Aradia and Karkat who wouldn’t shut up about it until I let him join back when we first started dorming together. Ever since him and I got that table, we’ve been using it every other Sunday to play together in person.

“(Name)? Hellooo?”

“Ah! Sorry, did you say something? I was totally in my head.” Nepeta had apparently been trying to get my attention. Maybe this is more of a ruminating week.

“Heehee! You seem like you have a bit of a full heart, lately. You were acting strange since you caught up with us back at your apartment.”

“Huh? Oh...”

“Something on your mind?” Aradia leaned in.

I guess I trust these two more than anyone…

“I… Promise it’s not a big deal. In fact I’m pretty sure I’m making a bigger deal of it than it needs to be.” The two share a look briefly. “It was just something that happened between me and Karkat yesterday.”

“Did you guys fight?” Aradia asked way too fast and with too big a smile on her face. She does love drama after all.

“No. Not really, I guess. Well, it’s weird. And you have to promise not to make fun of me because this is actually super easy to make fun of me about.”

They both start giggling, which evolves into just full laughter.

“Right, not sure why I even asked,” I laugh along with them.

“We won’t! We won’t, we’ll be so serious,” Nepeta mediates with a lingering smirk.

“Nepeta, do you, like...” I look for my words like they’re somewhere on the table with my sandwich. “When you lived with Equius, did you guys… hug?”

“Yes of course! But I also just hug people all the time.” She demonstrates by half-hugging Aradia right next to her.

“What, did you just hug Karkat for the first time?” Aradia asks incredulously, almost ignoring Nepeta at her side.

“No,” I say with almost a scolding tone. “We’ve hugged before… I think. It’s not about that. I’m sorta just trying to find a roundabout way to explain… Well, I sorta was on top of him.” 

“YOU WHAT?” They scream in unison.

“NOT LIKE THAT! It wasn’t like that! I just had my leg on his! But we were really close and for I don’t know how long—we were playing a game together!”

“Well what did he do?” One of them asks, I’m too busy burying my head in my hands.

“So when we won the level, at some point he put his arm on my back? And we still didn’t notice until we looked at each other.”

“And?”

“And that’s it”

“That’s it?” Aradia presses.

“Yes ‘that’s it!’ And I’m freaking out!”

“Really, (Name). That seems pretty normal to me! You both got excited is all. Even if it is weird that Karkat gets excited at anything at all,” Aradia tries to reason, Nepeta stays focused on me.

“But I really can’t read him! Ok, but this morning is when it gets weird. I think he was trying to talk to me about it, but I’m way too scared to hear him out.”

“What is there to be scared of? You’re the only one Karkat doesn’t really scream at. He’s more at, like, 70% with you at most.”

“I’m not scared of that. I… don’t know. That’s what I’m having trouble with. I don’t even know why I’m nervous. I just don’t want anything to change between us. He’s the best roommate I’ve ever had.”

“Are you worried he may have liked you all along?” Nepeta asks very quietly, but very pointedly. I stare at her like she has the answer written on her face.

“I… think so. I guess that’s what I haven’t been able to put into words. I don’t know how I’d feel if this whole time he was only nice to me because he liked me like that. Only moved in together because…”

My heart catches in my throat, I really don’t know what I’d do…

The two share a look, this time more troubled.

“(Name)…” Aradia starts.

“I don’t think that’s happening. I mean no offense, but when Karkat likes someone, it’s very obvious. We would have seen something during our sessions at the least,” Nepeta finishes.

Oh, right. It’s no secret Nepeta had a huge crush on Karkat for a very long time. It wasn’t until maybe sophomore year that we encouraged Nepeta to tell him, all of us knowing fully well he didn’t feel the same way. It was strange, though, the way Nepeta gained a lot of confidence after he rejected her feelings. She was a completely different, happier person. They’d been friends much longer than I knew either of them, but it was only after that day that they both seemed completely honest with one another. Karkat, too, could laugh around her more and more since then. I hope I’m not reviving any bad history.

“And if I know him, I’d say he’s probably trying to clear this up as well.”

“Nepeta’s right. Everyone noticed how you started to act similar once you were dorming together. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was freaking out as much as you for the same reasons.”

I sighed as if I had been out of breath. “So there’s nothing to worry about?”

“Not at all,” Nepeta smiled and put both hands on one of mine. She looked absolutely charming with the afternoon sun on her hat and her cute cat-ear horns.

“Aw man. It would have been much more exciting if he made a move on you. Imagine how awkward next session would be.”

“I don’t think you’d like that as much as you say you would, Aradia.”

“It would enhance your characters!”

The heavy air leaves the table with our fit of laughter. I’m definitely ready to see Karkat tonight, even if he needs to cut me to ribbons.

“Thank you guys. I promise I’ll be more present for the rest of the day.”

Nepeta perks up “You better! I just got a huge commission and I want to spend all day in the craft store!”

Aradia tags along. “And I’ve been getting into woodworking, we may have to stop at a hardware store too.”

“Oh, what the hell! All I need is a new sketchbook!”

Previous Chapter

Author's Note: I always wanted to read a fic where Aradia and the reader were friends :3

I don't know why tumblr isnt letting me do my indenting :( i love my indenting

[monochromaticbeans]

Chapter 20: The Ghost In You

(Spoilers for "A Letter From Baji Keisuke")

The ghost in you

She don't fade

Inside you the time moves

And she's living in you.

“The Ghost In You” ~ The Psychedelic Furs

The summer festival at Musashi Shrine was in full swing. The warm evening air buzzed with excitement, lights from the game booths flashing as the smell of grilled corn and takoyaki filled the air. Toman’s First Division wove through the crowd, all of them enjoying the energy of the festival—though, as usual, it wouldn’t be a First Division outing without some kind of ridiculous challenge.

“Missed again, Chifuyu?” Ryusei taunted, leaning against the shooting stall with a smirk. “Maybe you need glasses.”

Chifuyu rolled his eyes, handing the air gun back to the booth operator. “Shut up, Ryusei. It’s rigged.”

“Oh yeah?” Ryusei grinned. “Then let’s see if you’re up for something else.” He pointed down the hill, to the entrance of a dark tunnel outside the shrine grounds. “I bet you can’t walk all the way through that haunted tunnel and snap a picture of the other end.”

Chifuyu raised an eyebrow. “Haunted tunnel? Seriously?”

Ryusei’s grin widened. “Maybe. Or maybe not. I heard it collapsed years ago and now it’s full of angry spirits.” He wiggled his fingers, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. “Creeeepy.”

Hikari glanced at the tunnel, amused. “So, we’re ghost hunting now?”

Baji cracked his knuckles, looking a little too excited. “Sounds fun. I’m in.”

Chuu, on the other hand, looked a little green. “I dunno… tunnels freak me out, man.”

���Which is why you have to go,” Ryusei said with a wicked grin. “Prove you’re not a chicken.”

Chuu groaned, but after some nudging, they convinced him. Soon enough, they found themselves at the tunnel entrance. There was a noticeable chill in the air despite the humid summer night. Ryusei shoved Chifuyu forward, his flashlight waving dramatically. “Go on, Chifuyu, let’s get this over with.”

Watching Ryusei and Chifuyu disappear into the tunnel, Hikari’s lips curled into a grin. Think you’re so tough, huh, Ryusei? She slipped in behind them quietly, her phone light off, moving like a shadow as she closed the distance.

Meanwhile, Baji had other plans. He tugged his hair over his face, covering himself with a dark curtain of hair, a wide grin hidden behind it. “Hey, Chuu,” he called, lowering his voice into a groan.

Chuu turned, and Baji began to stagger forward, dragging his feet through the dirt with his face hidden.

Chuu’s eyes went wide. “W-what the hell? Baji?!”

“Ghoooost…” Baji moaned, dragging one foot as he staggered closer, his face still hidden.

Chuu let out a scream, stumbling backward before tripping over a root and tumbling down the hill collecting a mess of dirt, twigs, and leaves along the way. He finally came to a groaning stop at the bottom, completely disheveled.

Inside the tunnel, Ryusei was in full act mode. “Feel that chill?” he whispered, his voice close to Chifuyu’s ear. “The spirits are all around us, man…”

Chifuyu rolled his eyes, but he was definitely looking paler. “You’re full of it, Ryusei. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

A sharp, echoing laugh rang out from the darkness behind them. Both boys froze, whipping around as they caught sight of a shadowy figure moving toward them in the dark.

“What the—” Ryusei stammered, his confidence cracking as he backed up. “Who’s there?”

The figure took another step forward, and a low, guttural, unnatural growl filled the tunnel.

“I’lL DraG YouUu dOwn To hELL…”

‘Holy shit, it’s a demon!” Chifuyu screeched, diving behind Ryusei, who was already stumbling backward, his face pale as a sheet.

And then Hikari stepped into the light, laughter echoing off the tunnel walls. “Gotcha, dumbasses.”

Ryusei groaned, rubbing his head as he realized what had happened. “Goddammit, Hikari. I think you actually stopped my heart.”

She smirked, crossing her arms. “Didn’t like my death metal growl? I’ve been working really hard on it. Thought you’d appreciate it, Ryusei.”

He glared, though a grin tugged at his lips. “Yeah, thanks for the heart attack. Payback’s coming, I swear.”

Hikari folded her arms, a smirk still on her face. “You deserve it, Ryusei. Trying to scare Chifuyu with that lame-ass ghost story.”

As the three emerged from the tunnel, looking rumpled and shaken, they paused, staring in surprise at Baji and Chuu, who were standing there looking like they’d just crawled out of a grave, covered in twigs, dirt, and leaves.

“What the hell…” Ryusei whispered, eyes wide. “They look like zombies.”

Before anyone could explain, Ryusei and Chifuyu bolted back up the hill, their panicked yells echoing all the way back to the festival.

Baji chuckled, dusting off his clothes and picking the leaves out of his hair. “Think they’ve had enough horror for one night?”

Hikari grinned. “Eh, probably.”

And as they headed back toward the festival lights, the sound of their laughter echoed through the summer night.

[arcplaysgames]

Omg Yosuke that's so thoughtful of you, organizing the "we ain't got dates" conciliatory orgy event for the holiday! I mean, we all know it's his in with Reverie but I am not gonna rat him out, let him shoot his shot! Literally! Or, figuratively, but-- you know what I mean.

ALSO THIS IS A WONDERFUL FUCKING DETAIL BUT this game is set in the era of flip phones, not smartphones, and the specific way that Yosuke types is emblematic of the way you would use a shitty ten-keypad for typing, and it's SUCH a specific touch.

oh my god now i'm curious how Japanese text messaging worked in that era. if i remember, I wanna look into that later.

yeah you know what that's fair you all can stay here forever. i grew up in florida is palmetto bugs, aka The Big Roaches That Can Fly. my fear is intense and well-founded.

Yosuke you lie like a fucking rug, you literally texted everyone and picked the folks. It would have been JUST as easy to invite EVERYONE to Aiya or something. You cannot fool me, Hanamura, I'm a higher level gay than you are.

TROY BAKER SING TO ME /slams hands on table

I see u blushu, Kanji. /bats eyelashes at Kanji

also the sad hilarity of Teddie knowing the social script more than Yosuke does occur to me, yep.

YURI LOWENTHAL, SING FOR MY AMUSEMENT

gdi no one fucking sings in this scene, what a fucking rip off! booo! zero out of five, worst game i ever played.

anyway, for Christmas proper, NANAKO AND DOJIMA ARE HOME AND I COULD FUCKING CRY ABOUT IT. nanako i am gonna squish ur lil round face i love you mwah mwah

anyway

GOT MY INSURANCE CARD MIGHT LITERALLY BE THE FUNNIEST LINE IN THIS FUCKING GAME, I'M WHEEZING. god the line read is so fucking good on it too, I love Kanji. I would kill for Kanji. He's the best fucking character in Persona and it's not even close.

anyway, shock of shocks, the cake is not poisonous this time and everyone gets to enjoy it (tho Naoto reveals it was their third attempt at making one, lol)

Teddie made Nanako a teddie doll and I want a fucking teddie doll, goddammit

don't even fucking worry about it, dojima, it's fine

Dojima accidentally brings up the fact that Reverie is leaving soon, which Fucking Sucks. but! it sucks less than being a human sacrifice to fuel a seal to prevent the fall of Nyx, The God Of The Dark Hour, so really, can't complain!

I am pretty sure Reverie is gonna live through all this. I think getting his ass shot by Adachi was the only chance of for real dying, so we should be good.

god, I would sacrifice Reverie for, uh, P3P Reverie in a heartbeat.

(I remembered in literally the middle of that sentence that all of my characters are named Reverie Vantas lol)

NANAKO I LOVE YOU can we finally finish your fucking slink tho, is that now allowed again?????

anyway the game is wrapping up and I am anticipating another P3P-style time skip to when Reverie leaves but

one, I am still sort of... not actively sour on but ambivalent about the entire Midnight Channel thing. I feel like the final explanation had a lot of plot holes and didn't really make sense if you thought about it.

two, this is not a game about dying like P3P was so there is a lack of finality to everything honestly, which has less bombast than i anticipated

three, I STILL WISH I FUCKING KNEW WHY NAMATAME, ADACHI, AND REVERIE HAD THIS POWER. like, the big eyeball mentioned it granted powers to those with the fortitude to traverse the hollow forest but WHY SPECIFICALLY THESE THREE DUDES ugh whatever

four, i hope the bonus dungeon boss has some fucking Shenanigans bc Ameno-sagiri just does not compare to Ryoji-Nyx and the multiphase shit that was so fun.

sigh! sigh!!!!!

I did max out Marie tho so I will see about that at some point I guess?

[ewebie]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged in this by @once-in-a-blue-moon-rising (whom it appears tumblr had unfollowed for me? thanks tumblr, that feature was neat).

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

93

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

853,773 -- I want to break a million in 2024!!!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Sherlock... One with a QueerEye cross over, one with a Bluestone42 cross over, one with a Spooks cross over.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Invocation of Saint Margaret - (15k words) a remix of Kipli's A Second Chance:

When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Forces of Nature - (18k words) This is the hammock sex one...

Ok. I started this about 6 months ago, because Nicole asked for it (it is, in a way, a tumblr prompt, but it is way too long to be a short). I finally decided to finish it. So... I hope you enjoy it. Meanwhile, how is Sherlock so smoll? Sherlock watched as the man pushed himself out of the water and onto the floating dock constantly anchored in the middle of the lake. Oh. He was… He was quite tanned. Broad shoulders sloped into a narrow, muscular waist and tapered hips that disappeared into the navy swim trunks. Somehow the breadth of the shoulders made the thighs and legs that appeared out of the bottom of the trunks look delicate. Tanned in their own right and powerful, but oddly proportionate to the shorter stature the man seemed to possess. Sherlock watched the water run off of him, down his back, tracing a path along his spine and through the pleasing fossae lumbales laterales and lumbar lordosis into the waistband of the trunks. Sherlock swallowed. Shit.

Paranoia - (3k words) Based on a party game that I had never heard of

Based on the prompt: This is literally the best party game ever ok so here’s what you do: Everyone sits in a circle. Whoever goes first whispers a question to the person on their right. The person on the right must answer the question out loud. The trick is, no one else in the circle knows the question. Next, someone flips a flip-flop up in the air. If it lands face up: the asker must say the question out loud to the whole group. If the flip flop lands face down: the asker doesn’t say anything, and everyone in the group is left to wonder what in the world the question was. And you go around the circle like that. The best questions have the answers as people. We like to limit it just to people in the circle, too. It just makes it more fun. Here are some examples of good questions: * You have to cover someone in the circle completely in peanut butter and lick it all off. Who? * You and one other person must be surgically bound together for the rest of your life. Who is the other person? * You and someone in the circle go in a dark room for 1 hour and do unspeakable things. Who? ... the creepy sexual ones are the best, and it’s really fun when you limit it to people in the circle. have fun

That Is Rather Unlikely - (3k words) The one where Mycroft is high (and my FIRST Mystrade)...

So. Jam asked for this... And you all need to keep that in mind. Then again, the idea was so cute, and a bit cracky, and I couldn't resist... So consider this celebration for then end of a gorgeous Mystrade fic that I've been reading (go read Memoranda of Understanding - yes all 3 parts - by Mydwynter) “Funny story,” John bit out with a humorless laugh. “Isn’t it always.” He braced himself. This was going to be a doozy if John didn’t think it was funny. “But the punchline is: Not Sherlock.” Greg furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, ‘Not Sherlock’?” “Yeah, no. It’s the other one.” The grin on John’s face was carrying through the phone. “Other what?” Greg asked flatly. “Holmes.” “Goddammit,” Greg hissed. “What’s he done?”

On Favors and Keeping Score - (7k words) sickfic!

I love the idea of John taking care of Sherlock when he's sick. But John's a doctor and it walks such a fine line between work and actual affection. Plus, I'm a sucker for John whump. And (from experience) doctors are terrible patients. Then again... Who else thinks that Sherlock has that tiny bit of patience for the right patient? John woke up to the horribly unpleasant sound of his clock alarm. Which meant he’d slept through his phone’s alarm. And for a moment he glared blearily at the noisemaker before smacking at it with his palm. Ugh, he felt like rubbish. The back of his throat was burning with the irritation that heralded a proper dose, his nose was threatening to drip every few seconds, and he had the uncomfortable flush that normally suggested a fever. Nothing high, just uncomfortable. Nothing deadly, just irritating. Nothing worth calling in sick with, just a full day of discomfort in the face of other people’s discomfort. It was going to be a day where he was forced to bite his tongue from telling people off. “You’re not as sick as I am, so off you pop.”

5. Do you respond to comments?

I do! When I'm on a posting schedule for a multi-chapter fic, I tend to reply to the previous chapter comments just after I post the new chapter. When I finish something big, I tend to have to just sit in my feels before replying to the comments on a final chapter. Then I need to make myself go back and respond. Otherwise, I try to get to comments once a week or so.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Angstiest ENDING has to be Bait and Switch, which was written for Mystrade is Crime and I put big ol' pylons around it with caution tape as a NOT HEA. It's not the angstiest fic I've written, but definitely harshest ending.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Happiest is tricky to call, because I love a tasteful fade to black and rewarding and soft end for EARNING it. But soppiest is probably Fairytale of New Scotland Yard, in which I tried to fit as many Christmas tropes as humanly possible.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have... Nothing epic or meltdown worthy, and I have a great community of authors to whom I can turn. And I have to thank @atlinmerrick for giving me framework to think about them. I've had a few rude things in public bookmarks that I've chosen to ignore. But if someone is a dick in comments, they get deleted. Bye bye assholes.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do... Kind? um... M/M? Is that the question? I am a slut for tasteful fade to black... I don't tend to be very graphic when I do write the smutty parts?

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I do, I have, there are a few in my trello as well... Craziest one is probably the nonsense RPF/Sherlock crossover that involved a handful of IRL tumblr friends, the BBC3 intern (who was a cat), Kevin the intern (who existed in deep tumblr lore), and Sherlock characters in which it was a show but also not... The third one in the series was absolutely unhinged and crossed with another set of crackfics from another author and had sentient magenta ooze. So... yeah. It was wild. The series is The Glitter Gang Shenanigans. I'd say just read the 3rd one, but... it would make less sense if you haven't read the first two.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yeah... Stolen and posted in Russia... Huge headache. I think I got it taken down.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, but I don't really allow it anymore.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yep. And 3 of them are on AO3 (one of which is the first in the Glitter Gang series) - those 3 are all with Jamlockk

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

To write, it's Mystrade. I loved writing Johnlock stuff, but I feel like I... outgrew the drama? There's something so lovely and rewarding about two flawed characters with history and baggage and in their middle age coming together.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

There's a WIP I've referred to as "The Big Ebil" and it's really good... and really intense... but I was working on it when I was in a very specific state of mind, and I'm not sure I want to go back to that place... I add to it every now and then and it's all framed, but...

16. What are your writing strengths?

I like to make them EARN it. I like using a character's flaws lead to a logical conclusion that fucks up their plans. I have a very focused sense of flow with my sentences (and drives @paialovespie crazy some times) but I do think I have rhythm in what I do.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I think it's my obsession with final-draft before moving on. I can't zero draft to save my life. Even in a sprint, I'm backtracking to edit. It makes things slow going and sometimes over-wrought.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I have done. And I just finished an epic that has a metric crap tonne of French in it. It was almost foundational to the story, and I actually had 2 betas for the fic (one for the usual SPAG and one specifically to look at the French -- thank you Sky). Because there was so much French, I did hover-text translations rather than just having the translations in the end notes. I've had a few other fics with the odd one or two lines of non-English, but I use that infrequently.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

On AO3... Sherlock. On paper... X-Files.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

Right now, I'm still super proud of finishing The Hayloft. It's very emotional, very soft, AU Mystrade. It was a true labour of love.

I think from a formatting and story design perspective, I See London; I See France, because it reads like an episode of QueerEye -- intersplicing commentary segments with action chapters -- and makes use of a dozen different character POVs/voices.

But all time favourite fic is an oft neglected fic from very early on in my AO3 writing. It's called All These Things That I've Done. (yes... back when I was using song lyrics for titles). It's 55k words. It is Angsty as all fuck. But it's pre-slash for Johnlock, Sherlock is only in the last chapter. It's functions as a backstory for John Watson that ends with S1E1 of Sherlock... so since it's not really a Johnlock fic, it doesn't show up in searches as often. I had originally started it as a response to a desperately underwhelming "John Watson" display done for Sherlocked Con (it was truly poor). And I love it. I reread it about once a year or when I need a good cry. The playlist for it (all the chapter titles are songs) is also just... angst. I had someone read it while listening to the appropriate songs and the live-blogging was basically sobbing. I really love how it turned out. So... if you love John Watson, read it.

Open tag... anyone who wants to do this, please do! (tag me back!)

[bellysoupset]

❤️❤️ i love your characters!! i was wondering if you'd write a little ficlet where lucas gets a really bad stomach flu or something? like very sick? thanks!

Ask you shall receive, nonny! This is also for another anon, who asked for "feverish sick Lucas, so dizzy he pukes on the bed"

"Don't come over tonight." Bella's heart plummeted to her stomach as she read the text over and over again, trying to make sense of it. Lucas sounded pissed, but she couldn't figure out why he would be. His contact turned green again and she saw him typing, then deleting, then typing- She was already chewing at her lip when the second text came through, "sick, don't want u to get it."

"Goddammit Luke," She breathed out in relief, putting down the phone for a second and forcing her heart to calm down. So dumb. She raised the phone up again and typed quickly, "yeah, not gonna happen. do you need anything from the pharmacy?"

"Bell, I'm serious, don't come over."

Ever since she had ended up in the hospital with that ear infection, Lucas had been insufferable when it came to her health. She knew it was due to a lot of unresolved trauma, but it didn't make it any less annoying.

"Suddenly, I can't read. Love you" She typed back, shoving the phone back in her purse as she made her way to the parking lot. Lucas was a little bit of a hypochondriac so she wasn't too worried about him having medication, but food that was actually healthy and fulfilling? Yeah. Besides, he chugged Gatorade on good days, so she dumped a couple more bottles in her basket at the grocery store.

The apartment was quiet and dark when she let herself in, much different from its usual state of disarray with the curtains pulled back. She stripped down her boots at the door and made her way to the kitchen first to put away the items, figuring Lucas was asleep by how quiet the place was.

He was in bed alright, curled up under the blankets, just the top of his hair poking out. She smiled at the scene and looked around the room. It wasn't any different from how she had last seen it, wasn't it for his water bottle being right next to him on the bed, instead of on the bedside table.

She walked over to the Lucas-shaped lump of blankets and slowly pulled them back, "Luke?" Bella whispered, grimacing as she took in his face. He was pale and sweaty, big bright red splotches on his cheeks, "oh honey," she cupped his cheek, noticing the searing heat rolling off of him.

He stirred slightly and opened his eyes, frowning immediately as he took her in, "told you not to come, Bell."

"You worry too much," she rolled her eyes, combing his hair back, "when did this hit?"

"Morning," he groaned, letting his eyes slip closed again under her soothing touch, "woke up feeling super gross."

"Gross?" she leaned in to press her lips to his forehead, an habit her mom had passed down to her, of measuring the fever. Even to her warm lips his forehead felt way too warm, "how gross?"

"Head hurts," he sniffled, "my eyes hurt too. My stomach. My joints-"

"Is there anything that doesn't hurt?" Bella huffed and he let out a weak laugh.

"My hair."

"Great," she rolled her eyes in an affectionate way, "did you take anything for that fever?"

"Uhm..." Luke yawned, nodding quietly, "I took Tylenol, earlier."

"Earlier when?"

"When I wo-" he yawned once more, "woke up."

So, judging by how sleepy he was, anything ranging from six hours before to thirty minutes. Bella sighed, "Well, I don't think it's working at all, babe," she grabbed his water bottle and opened the bedside table, going through the mess of analgesics he always had for when training was rough, "one more, okay?"

Lucas grimaced and opened his eyes again, they were bright because of the fever, "no," he shook his head, forcing himself to sit up, "they're just gonna come back up."

This made her frown, "have you been puking?"

"No," Luke groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, "but I feel so gross, Bell."

She would never cease finding his mannerisms adorable, Bella thought, before putting the medication back down, "alright. We can try it later, just drink some water, please?"

He took the water bottle reluctantly and forced down a couple gulps, before turning his head with a grimace and burping wetly, "that was disgusting."

"Good enough for now," she admitted defeat, getting up from the bed and walking into the bathroom. She wet a washcloth and then came back to the bed, brushing it over Luke's brow and causing him to let out a moan.

"I love you," he sighed, sinking down on the pillows again, "have I told you I love you?"

"Doesn't hurt to say it again," Bella smiled, moving the washcloth to his neck, "get some rest, I'm going to wake you up in a couple hours to eat."

"No food," Lucas groaned and she tugged at his oversized shirt, to have some access to his chest.

"Can't take tylenol on an empty stomach, honey," Bella leaned in, kissing his temple again, "sleep."

He didn't need much prodding to fall back into a fitful sleep, snoring softly. Bella sat there for the longest minute, just watching the careful rise and fall of his chest, before shaking her head out of the daze and coaching herself into sorting things around.

Lucas met her in the kitchen, two hours and a half later. He had moved out of the the room with one of the blankets thrown around his shoulders, attracted by the smell of food. His hair was sticking out everywhere and he definitely needed to shave by now.

"Changed your mind on not being hungry?"

He wrinkled his nose, "not sure. I was lonely though."

She snorted, turning off the heat of the soup, "you were asleep, boy."

"Was lonely in my sleep," Lucas pouted, collapsing sitting down by the kitchen table and cradling his head, "I hate being sick."

"Not sure there's a single person who enjoys it, Luke," Bella gave the soup a final stir and checked for salt, "you need to eat, babe."

"Really?"

"Really," she sighed, filling up a small plate, "I know your stomach feels gross, but you'll feel worse if you take meds without eating and-" she moved closer to the table, planting the plate in front of him and a hand on his forehead, "and you really need the fever meds."

"Uhm," he groaned grumpily and she stretched across the room to grab him a spoon. It was almost comical to see Lucas, a man who was always excited about food, grimace and drink his soup daintily.

She didn't bother sitting back down, instead Bell stood behind him, hands on his shoulders, occasionally playing with his hair when he put the spoon down and groaned loudly, "I'm sure it tastes good-" Lucas pressed a fist to his mouth and badly muffled another sick sounding burp, "but I can't eat anymore."

He had eaten only half the plate, but it was enough for the medicine, or at least she hoped so, "it's okay," Bella leaned in, kissing his temple and Luke immediately leaned onto the touch, "meds and bed now, alright?"

"Uhm, sounds perfect."

He swallowed the two pills she handed him with a grimace. Then stood up and promptly swayed on the spot, causing her to rush to wrap her arms around his torso, "Luke?"

"Dizzy," he groaned, eyes shut tight, "Bell, can't we just go lie down?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course-" she rambled, worried over the insane heat radiating from him. She prayed the medication worked fast.

Not ten minutes later they were back in his bed. Bella stripped down her daily clothes, putting on one of his shirts that looked like a dress on her, and lied back on the pillows, opening her arms as an unspoken invitation. He didn't need more as he promptly collapsed on top of her, face mushed on her chest.

"You're so comfy."

She squirmed under his weight and then closed her eyes too, "do you wann-" a hiccup jostled him, interrupting her and Lucas let out a moan.

"God, no."

She frowned, glancing at the top of his head right under her chin, "Lucas?"

"'mfine," he mumbled, sounding the very opposite of fine, "I just-" he pulled back from their position, sitting up on the bed, his head hitting the cushioned headboard, "fuck that soup."

A chill went down her spine, "babe, I think we should move this party to the bathroom-"

"Can't-" another sick sounding hiccup, this one making her cringe and kick off the blankets, because it sounded awfully like all the liquid had rocketed to his throat, "Bell-"

"Okay, I'm gonna get you a bowl," she decided, figuring he meant he was too weak and dizzy to get up, "be right ba-"

He leaned forward, completely out of it, mouth open and Bella got up in a jump. She bolted to the kitchen and grabbed the first big thing she could get her hands on, leaping back to the bedroom-

Lucas was still staring at his lap, a little line of drool hanging from his bottom lip, as his chest jostled with a gag, "B..."

"I'm here, I'm here-" she crawled on the bed and planted the bowl - it was actually an old ice cream tub, she realized now - on his lap. He gagged again, more violently.

"I don't-" he burped, a stronger stream of colored drool hit the tub and Bella grimaced, turning her head to avoid looking at it, while holding his bicep to keep him from swaying.

"You're alright, baby..."

Then he heaved, hard and she heard, instead of seeing, as vomit shot up. She felt his whole body struggling once the liquid stop, trying to bring up more-

"Bell..." Lucas whimpered and she turned to face him, only to realize he had completely missed the ice cream tub and vomited down on the comforter, pooling on his lap.

"Oh fuck, Luke..." she groaned, before correcting herself quickly when he let out another pathetic whimper, "it's okay, it's just a blanket, baby," she combed his hair back, now grabbing the ice cream tub because clearly he had no possibility of aiming, "are you done?"

He answered by lurching forward with another heave, bringing up all the water and bits and pieces of the veggies she had put in the soup. Most of it got in the tub, some of it splashed on her hand and Bella fought a gag of her own.

Lucas let out a drawn out moan, "I'm not done," he mumbled in a thick voice and she nodded in understanding, squeezing the plastic of the tub.

"It's okay, don't fight it," Bell rambled, though she was pretty sure he wasn't. He leaned forward even more and she moved the tub to try and catch it - Lucas burped, twice, then brought up another stream of nothing but water and some bile.

"Fuck," he sighed, then coughed, "I... I think I'm done."

She could've cried with relief, the death grip of worry on her chest easing just a little, "alright..." Bella bit down her lip, glancing at the mess, "let's get you cleaned up, hold on."

It was a bit of a hassle, first she rushed to dispose of the tub - washing it on the sink after pouring the puke on the toilet, bringing it back to the room just in case - and then folded the blankets in, trying hard not to gag to avoid hurting Lucas' feelings, because he already looked damn close to tears.

"I'm sorry."

"It's just vomit, baby," Bella grimaced, holding the blanket away from her body, "I'm gonna put this in the washing machine, you're good?"

He nodded, though his face looked milky white and she felt no reassurance at all.

When she came back to the room, he was sitting down with his legs out of the bed, like he was ready to get up, the ice cream tub once more planted on his lap.

"God, Luke, you're still nauseous?" Bella whispered, crawling on the bed to hold him by the shoulders. He didn't answer her, only nodded and she cursed softly as she felt the heat rolling off of him. This couldn't be good, not when he had just vomited up all the medicine.

He buried his face in the tub and heaved, but as she expected, there was nothing left to bring up. Still, Bell rubbed his back and whispered sweet nothings, hoping it would at least make him feel better.

He put the carton back down, turned his head and mushed his face on her neck crook, "hurts Bell..."

"Wanna try the water again?" she whispered, struggling to keep straight as he leaned more of his weight on her. Lucas groaned and she sighed, "at least then you'll have something to bring up, Luke."

He gagged, didn't bother to pull back from the embrace, "fine..."

It was a struggle to get him to drink, as he kept gagging around the bottle's finish. He let out a "no more-" and then folded in half, squeezing the tub in his big hands to the point Bella wondered if this was just nausea or something else- And then Lucas vomited all the water up again, so quickly after drinking that it still looked pretty much the same.

It brought up some more chunks from the soup, made him whine and then tip to the side -

"Lucas!" Bella exclaimed, grabbing the ice cream container before he dropped it, and catching him before he fell off the bed too. He slumped on her.

"'mdizzy, B."

"I know, I know," she put the ruined container on his bedside table, "c'mon, lie down," he obeyed quietly, collapsing against the pillows again and Bella let out a sigh of relief when it seemed the worst was over, for now at least.

She had to do something about the fever.

Bella got up to go grab the previous washcloth she had wet, only for him to grab her (his) shirt and whine, "Bell?"

"Shh... I'm gonna be right back," she unhooked his big fingers from her shirt, "just one second, Luke."

"Please," he said pitifully and she rushed to the bathroom. In the twenty seconds it took her to come back, he rolled onto his side and curled up.

"Aw, honey," Bella whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed and planting the washcloth on his overheated forehead, using it to wipe down his face, "you'll feel better in a couple hours, it's probably just a 24 hours bug..." she reassured him, prayed she was right.

He nodded, leaned against the washcloth, "You'll stay?"

Bella wondered where the hell he thought she was leaving to, at midnight, and how he had come to the conclusion she could possibly leave him alone. Instead of voicing these frustrations, though, she leaned in to kiss his temple again, "not going anywhere."

He relaxed with a little sigh, eyes closing, "okay..."

[leiawritesstories]

Emrys’s Waterfront Café

Same universe as In The Empty Gym. Rowaelin. College AU. Enjoy!!

Word count: 2,391

Warnings: language, innuendo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hurry up, Ae, you’re gonna be late!” Lysandra squealed, impatiently bouncing on the balls of her feet as she watched Aelin carefully finish her mascara, cleaning off any stray smudges. 

“Calm the hell down, Lys!” Aelin called, “I have twenty whole minutes, I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, but what if he’s early? Aeds literally showed up half an hour before he was supposed to for our first date.”

“Lysandra.” Aelin walked over and placed her hands on her roommate’s shoulders. “Calm. The. Fuck. Down. I’m not going to be late, and your masterwork isn’t going to be ruined.”

“I know, I know,” Lys sighed, “I’m just really fucking excited for you!”

“You’d think you were the one going on the date,” Aelin snorted, returning to the bathroom mirror to give herself a last once-over. 

“Bitch,” Lys snickered.

Aelin shrugged. “Hey, I can’t blame you. Rowan is, as you and Elide never ever stop reminding me, the hottest freshman lacrosse starter.”

“Bitch!” Elide called from her room, where she was seated cross-legged at her desk, typing away on her laptop. 

“Love you too!” Aelin returned, blowing a kiss at her suitemate. She twirled one of her loose curls around her finger, toying with the golden strands. 

“Hand off!” Lys batted Aelin’s hands away from her styled messy bun and the loose, framing strands falling out of it. “I didn’t spent an hour on your hair just so you could ruin it!”

“Nah, you spent an hour on her hair just so Rowan could ruin it!” Elide cackled.

“El!” Aelin shrieked, flushing under her light makeup. “Shut up!”

“So you don’t want to kiss him, then?” Elide waggled her eyebrows wickedly. “Pity, that. If Lorcan’s that good a kisser, imagine what the rest of the guys on the team can--”

“Okay hell no, El, I do not need that image in my brain! This is a first date, goddammit!”

“Uh huh,” both Elide and Lysandra chorused. 

“You’re the worst,” Aelin groaned, grabbing her cute little mini backpack and tying her high-top Converse. “I’m leaving now.”

“No goodbye for us?” Lys stuck out her lower lip. “And after I spent all that time helping you get ready.”

“Thank you, Lys.” Aelin gave her roommate and best friend a quick hug, ducking into Elide’s room to hug her too. “Okay I really have to go now.”

“Bye!” her roommates called, waving from the door as she headed down the hall to the elevator. 

~

Down on the ground floor, Aelin took a couple of deep breaths and checked her phone again, having heard it buzz while she walked towards the doors. She found a waiting text from Rowan. 

>i’m outside the door now 

So Aelin exited her building, a grin slipping onto her face when she saw Rowan waiting for her, casually but nicely dressed in dark jeans and a Henley, sunglasses on his face to block the bright, early-spring sun. 

“Hey,” she greeted, sliding her own sunglasses on. “So where are we going?”

“That’s a surprise,” he grinned, falling into step next to her. “You look gorgeous, Aelin.”

“Thank you.” She blushed a little bit. “My roommate insisted on helping me.” She cast her eyes over him, appreciating the view. “You look pretty damn great yourself, if I do say so.”

He huffed a little, pushing his sleeves up his forearms. “Thanks.”

Her eyes fixed on his left arm. “I never got to tell you how much I admired your tattoo!” She peered closer at the intricate design. “What language is that?”

“Wait you recognized that it’s a language?”

“Yeah, of course. I do study linguistics,” she quipped. 

“God that’s so cool. It’s the Old Language.”

“Damn,” Aelin whistled, “it’s beautiful, whatever it says. Where’d you get it done?”

“Part of it at Lion’s, some of it I actually did myself.”

“No way!” Aelin exclaimed. “My uncle Gavriel owns Lion’s!”

“Gav’s your uncle?” Rowan’s brows shot up. “Shit, I can kind of see it. Gav trained me, taught me everything I know about tattooing.”

“Good with your handiwork, are you now?” Aelin teased, clamping a hand over her mouth when she realized the joke had slipped out. “Fucking hell, I’m sorry, I--”

Rowan chuckled. “I do like working with my hands,” he smirked, his entendre definitely not going unnoticed.

Aelin gaped at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Gods,” she giggled, “I never would have guessed your mind’s as far in the gutter as mine is.”

“Baby, my mind is the gutter,” Rowan drawled, leading Aelin up to an older pickup truck and opening the passenger door for her. “Your carriage, milady.”

“Thank you, good sir,” she preened, stepping up into the surprisingly clean cab. She tried her very best to ignore the throb that shot through her at the nickname he’d used. Rowan loped around to the driver side, got in, and started up the engine, backing out and heading out of campus. 

“You mind if I put some music on?” he asked once they were out of the parking lot.

“Yeah, go ahead!” 

Rowan fiddled with his phone for a moment while they sat at a stop sign, putting on a classic rock playlist. Aelin grinned, tapping her foot along to the beat. 

“You’ve got good taste, Rowan Whitethorn.”

“In music and in women, it seems,” he shot right back, grinning at her.

Aelin flushed. “Bet you say that to all the girls you take out.”

“I’ve never taken out anyone as stunning as you.” Honesty shone in his green eyes. 

She hardly knew what to say, so she quickly changed the subject. “Now will you tell me where we’re going?”

“Still a surprise, Aelin,” he smirked, keeping his eyes on the road. “Still a surprise. Nice try though.”

She sighed in fake exasperation. “Fine then, keep your surprises.” A new song came on, and she popped up in her seat. “I love this song!”

~

Rowan took her to a cute little café down by the riverfront, holding the door open for her like the young gentleman he was. 

“I love this place!” Aelin gasped when they walked in, a gleeful grin spreading over her face.

“You’ve been here?” Rowan looked shocked, and a little disappointed.

She impulsively rested a hand against his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to disappoint you, Rowan. Yes, I’ve been here. A lot. Started coming right around the beginning of the year, when I had to study and Googled all the places that were open late and served coffee.”

He chuckled at that. “Well, I can’t blame you for that. How often are you here?”

“Oh, I--”

“Aelin!” exclaimed the café’s owner, coming to greet them with a pair of menus in his hand. “I wasn’t expecting you today!”

“I didn’t know I was coming today, Emrys,” she grinned, giving the jovial older man a quick hug, “but Rowan here brought me.”

“You chose well,” Emrys told Rowan, leading the pair to a table by the windows. “Aelin knows she’ll be well fed if she comes here.”

“Emrys,” Aelin groaned, “he didn’t need to know that!” Emrys just winked and headed back to the kitchen. 

“Hey hey, I’m trying to impress you here,” Rowan smirked. “It wouldn’t do for your insatiable appetite to pretend not to exist just to make me feel better.”

“My insatiable appetite is, I’m sure, going to be easily satisfied by you,” Aelin purred, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

Rowan coughed, his face flaring red. “Aelin!” 

“What?” she asked innocently, batting her lashes. 

“We’re in public!” he all but squeaked, furtively glancing around to see if any of the other guests at the café had overheard Aelin’s little joke. 

“Calm down, Rowan, you look like a bird who’s just had his feathers ruffled,” she teased, flipping her menu onto the table. 

“Don’t you need to look?”

“Nope! I tend to order the same thing whenever I come here. Besides, even if I did order something different, I’ll bet you Emrys is back there cooking up my usual.”

Rowan had to laugh at that. “Damn, Aelin, he really does know you too well.”

She grinned. “Yeah, he does.”

~

As they were leaving, Aelin carrying the paper bag of their leftovers, Rowan slid his hand into her free one as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She glanced up at him, a soft little smile curling up her lips. They headed down to the riverfront hand in hand, Rowan tugging Aelin down to his favorite spot. 

“I’ve never....never taken anyone here,” he admitted, a little sheepishly.

“Never?” Aelin’s brows shot up. “Seems a little serious for a first date.”

“It might be.” Rowan sat down on the old wooden bench, patting the space next to him. “But I’ve got a feeling you’re the person I want to bring to this place.” Blushing a little, Aelin seated herself next to him, so close she could feel his breath against the top of her head. Another inch over and she’d be leaning into his side. 

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, drinking in the peaceful view of the river and the city, the cool green shade of the trees around them, the warm spring sun gilding the buildings and the ripples of the river. 

“I’ve been coming here since I was a little kid.” His voice soft, distant.

“You live here?” She turned her head to him.

“Yeah, I’m from the western part of the city, so sort of close to campus but far enough away that we never had to deal with crazy drunk frat boys.”

Aelin snickered. “Bet that was nice for your family.”

“Sure was,” Rowan chuckled. “I found this place when I was in grade school. I’d been out riding my bike around and I came down to the riverfront and I was exploring, and then I happened upon this little path. So of course I followed it, and here we are now.”

“Here we are indeed,” Aelin grinned. “It’s so peaceful, Rowan. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“Of course,” he murmured, sliding his arm around her shoulders and tugging her gently against his side. She leaned into him, fitting so naturally against his side. As though they’d been made to fit together.

And they sat there by the riverfront for a good hour longer, talking and joking and laughing with each other, until Rowan glanced at his watch and swore a string of terrible words in German. “Fuck me, I’ve got practice in an hour!”

“Not here, I won’t,” Aelin purred, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Shit, I--”

“Is that a promise, Aelin Galathynius?” His eyes darkening. 

“Maybe,” she hummed, widening her eyes.

“Well then.” Rowan swallowed harshly. A smirk danced across his face. “Too bad I prefer not to go there on the first date, baby.”

“A true gentleman,” she smirked, standing and pulling him along with her. “Does that mean you’ll ask me out again?”

“Can I actually surprise you the next time?”

“Of course.”

“Then may I take you out again, Aelin?”

“Yes,” she replied, her smile broad and joyful, “yes you may.”

Rowan’s grin didn’t leave his face the whole drive back to campus. Aelin could practically see the gears turning in his head, planning what he wanted to do for their next date. 

“Aelin!” he called as she hopped out of his truck. 

“Yeah?”

“Text me a list of all the places you have gone while you’ve been here! I do want to surprise you this time.”

“Okay!” she called, pushing her door closed. Rowan idled in his truck for a moment, watching her stroll over to the sidewalk, then shifted into park and jumped out of the cab, catching up to her in just a few bounding strides. 

She halted, raising one blonde brow. “Did I forget something?”

“This,” was all Rowan said as he closed the distance between them, kissing her gently. He felt her lips curve upwards against his as she returned his kiss. God, it was just as incredible as Rowan had hoped. 

“You’ve got practice!” she gasped as she pulled away, her lips a little redder. 

“I’ll make it,” he grinned, a little breathless himself. “Text you later, Ae!”

She waved over her shoulder, blowing him a kiss as she headed up the sidewalk to her dorm building. Rowan grinned like an idiot as he returned to his truck, kept grinning all the way to practice.

Where his team captain took one look at his stupidly giddy face and yelled, “PAY UP, BITCHES!”

“What the fuck, Lorcan?”

Lorcan Salvaterre, a junior and the captain of the team, grinned wickedly as he collected his earnings. “You kissed her, yeah?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Then I won the bet!” Lorcan crowed, incredibly proud of himself.

“I--You--What--” Rowan took a deep breath. “You dicks made a bet?”

“Hell yeah we did!”

“God,” Rowan grumbled, laughing wryly, “I should have known.”

~

Aelin waltzed back into her dorm with a huge, dopey smile plastered onto her face. Rowan had kissed her. Rowan. Had. Kissed. Her! 

“EL!” Lysandra hollered. “You owe me fifty!”

“Fuck!” Elide yelled, hurrying into Aelin and Lys’s room. “How the fuck do you know?”

“Look at her,” Lys smirked, gesturing at Aelin and her expression. 

“Well shit,” Elide whistled, slapping fifty dollars into Lys’s hand. “Congratulations to both of you.” She winked broadly and returned to her room.

Aelin’s eyes narrowed at her gleeful roommate. “You made a bet?!”

Lys just smirked.

“Bitch!” Aelin squealed, her face flushing. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Babe, the guy’s head over heels for you. I bet Elide he’d kiss you on the first date, and I appear to be right.”

“And what did Elide bet?”

“Third base!” Elide yelled from her room. 

Aelin’s face went bright red, her jaw dropping open. “ELIDE!” she howled. “NO!”

“Yeah, yeah, you want to go on at least four or five dates before you jump his bones,” Lys cackled.

“Both of you suck,” Aelin groaned, flopping onto her bed.

“But you loooooove us!” Lys crooned.

“Yeah, I do.” 

The memory of that kiss burned bright in Aelin’s mind, causing her to look up from her homework grinning like a maniac at random times. And giving her wonderful, wonderful dreams that night. Oh, she couldn’t wait for their next date.

~~~~~~

TAGS: please lmk if you want to be added/removed or if tags don’t work!

@charlizeed

@cretaceous-therapod

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@loudphantomdragon

@flora-shadowshine

@nerdperson524

@claralady

@fireheartwhitethorn4ever

@julialovebooks

@nesgoddessofdeath

@morganofthewildfire

@rowanaelinn

@wesupremeginger

@story-scribbler

@nicolivesinbooks

@mackenzieclutt

@stardelia

@maeclin

@gracie-rosee

@shanias-world

@mybloodrunsblue

@swankii-art-teacher

@wordsafterhours

@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

@violet-mermaid7

@holdthefrickup

@skeletons-and-wildflowers

@goddess-aelin

@rowaelinismyotp

@dealfea

@themoonthestarsthesuriel

[kiridarling]

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒.

katsuki bakugou | birthday gone wrong (aha), f!reader, baker!reader, pro hero!katsuki, blizzards, angst and smut, exhibitionism, cockwarming, begging, confessions. minors dni!

— 4.7k words

Wanna blow off some steam?

“Surprise!”

Katsuki jumps ten feet high, and the plastic grocery bags precariously balanced on each finger tear without a second thought. Apples hit the ground with a thud and the egg carton with a depressing slap; one that signifies the crack of at least half a dozen. Katsuki looks at the crowd, red-faced and livid, and Eijirou Kirishima intercepts the awkward silence with:

“Happy Birthday Bakubro! I know y—“

“Said that I didn’t want a fuckin’ party?” Katsuki growls, groceries forgotten on the forgotten. Eijirou looks guilty and chuckles, scratching the back of his head.

“W-Well, yeah, but—“

“Everybody out.”

People sigh, and you think you hear Denki whisper told you he’d kick us out. You hate to say that you foresaw a similar outcome. Katsuki’s never been one for people.

Especially you.

“Awe come on, Kacchan,” Izuku says with hands on his hips. “We came all this way! Just let us stay for a little bit.”

“Yeah!” Eijirou seems to cheer up once given a sliver of hope. “Plus, we got cake and stuff. And Just Dance.”

Katsuki narrows his eyes, but you know better—he’s always had a soft spot for the redhead. You all wait with baited breath, wondering if this entire evening was a bust, as Katsuki weighs his options in a pool of fallen groceries.

“One hour.”

Eijirou gasps so hard he chokes, and Katsuki’s generosity earns him applause from the audience. (Plus whoops and hollers from Denki and Mina.)

“And I mean it—y’all have sixty fuckin’ minutes before you’re gone without a goddamn trace. Kapeesh?”

“Kapeesh!”

Katsuki sighs, rubbing at his temples as he steps over the mess at the front door. You assume he’ll make Eijirou clean it up. “Whatever. Where’s the fuckin’ cake?”

Ah.

“In the kitchen, my good sir!” Denki says as he ushers the ash-blond into the said kitchen, the rest of the party hot on their heels. Eijirou grabs the cake from the fridge and you’re tense until the plate hits the marble of their island.

“Flavor?” Katsuki asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh, I dunno, [Y/N] made it,” Eijirou throws you under the bus, just like that, and you want to scoff at the way Katsuki freezes—if only for a moment. Eijirou’s oblivious as ever, “[Y/N]?”

“It’s red velvet,” you say, trying not to burn under Katsuki’s carmine eyes. You don’t know why he doesn’t look away.

“Frosting?”

“Buttercream.”

As if you’d give him anything else.

Eijirou tries his best to cram 26 candles into the cake before being forced to opt for 23 lest he ruin your decorations. Denki presses him to make a wish and Katsuki rolls his eyes as he blows out the candles. Eijirou wipes an invisible tear because ‘his boy is getting so old.’ Mina and Jiro cut the cake and people seem to enjoy it, and you think that maybe, reuniting with your high school friends after so long isn’t as bad as you thought it’d be.

Even if he said he never wanted to see you again.

“—due to the incoming blizzard, we highly suggest all those who reside in the red and orange zones stay inside until it passes; which should be around ten am tomorrow morning.”

You spoke too soon.

Katsuki turns to the crowd, and you know what he’s going to say before his lip curls.

“Out.”

“Kacchan, don’t be unreasonable!” Izuku says from his comfortable position on the couch. “We’d get caught in the storm if we leave now.”

“Not if you’re fuckin’ fast enough,” Katsuki growls, pulling the greenette’s to his feet by his hair. “Get out, I’m not bunking with you fuckers overnight.”

“Dude,” Denki points to the window, and if you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve thought the blizzard had already started. “If we leave now, we’ll literally die.”

“Die, then.”

Eijirou sighs, clapping his roommate on the back. “C’mon, man. You know we ca—“

There’s a whirr then a click, and the lights and tv die at once. You can’t see a thing but you definitely hear Katsuki shout:

“Motherfucker!”

Eijirou turns his phone flashlight on first; Katsuki’s busy angrily flicking at the light to no avail. You sigh, turning to the ash-blond (and ignoring those ugly fucking butterflies in your stomach.)

“It’s a blackout Katsuki. The lights aren’t going to work.”

“Don’t you think I fuckin’ know that, dumbass?” And your chest tightens because even though he’s not eighteen anymore, he sounds the same—but you aren’t sure why you expected him to sound so different either.

You lift an eyebrow (not that he can see it), “It doesn’t look like you do.”

Denki snorts at that, hollering about how you just owned the ash-blond as Katsuki yells at him to shut the fuck up. It’s...familiar and comfortable, like you’re all in high school again, before you had to worry about your friends dying in their line of work because you couldn’t be there with them.

Before you got injured.

“Well I mean, we have a few blankets,” Eijirou offers, and as your eyes slowly adjust to the dark, you’re convinced you see his figure cross the living room. “And like, sweatshirts if it gets too cold.”

“It’s already getting too cold,” Mina says, and you can’t help but agree. The quickly cooling room has the goosebumps raising on your shoulders, and you’re starting to regret forgetting your jacket at home.

“Okay! I don’t have that many, but,” Eijirou hollers from somewhere, before returning with a handful of cloth. He drops it onto the coffee table. “Plus Hanta and Denks left their hoodies here last time.”

“Oh shit, we did?” Hanta says, and you assume it’s his figure who starts digging through the clothes. “Totally thought I lost this, lol.”

“Did you just saw lol out loud?”

“I did.”

“Ooh Ei, do you still have that old Red Riot hoodie?” Mina asks, and all of a sudden, she’s all over the pile. She finds it before the redhead can answer and snatches it away with a gasp.

You watch the pile dissolve in the darkness, one by one, and by the time you reach for something, your palm hits the cool wood of the coffee table. Fuck.

“Oh [Y/N]! Do you need some of my blanket?” Mina offers, but the blanket is small, and wrapping it around both of your shoulders just renders it utterly useless. You shake your head after she tries for a while.

“It’s fine Mina, I’m not that cold,” you laugh, but she shakes her head vehemently.

“No! Girl c’mon, you look like you’re freezing!”

And, well. Freezing is a stretch. Sure, you’re a little cold, but you’ll live.

“Do you need my sweatshirt?” Eijirou asks, already pulling at the hem. You roll your eyes.

“I’m serious guys, it’s not that bad,” you say, waving your arms for emphasis. They all grumble but they give up, and you feel like you can finally relax.

Something soft and army green drops into your lap. You pick it up in confusion, before looking up to see who dropped it.

Katsuki looks down at you, face glowing white from the phone flashlights. His eyes pierce your soul nevertheless.

“I don’t ne—“

“Take it.”

Katsuki takes a seat next to you on the couch in his own hoodie. You don’t realize until you put it on that he gave you a sweatshirt themed after his own hero costume.

You can’t sleep.

You can’t sleep, and you’re sure it’s due to the temperature. The wind howls and it sounds like you’re in the eye of a tornado, loose branches knocking against the rattling glass, and upon looking through the window, you see nothing but stark white. You sigh, checking the time on your phone for the fiftieth time this hour. Yep. Still four am.

“Stop fuckin’ movin’, dumbass.”

You all decided to bunk in the living room for warmth. You’re surprised Katsuki stayed, though; you figured he would just head to his room and let you all fend for yourselves while he slept in a comfortable bed. But here he is, sleeping next to you on the cold fucking floor.

“Sorry,” you say, but it’s hard when your shivering and your jaw aches from stunting your chattering teeth. Katsuki and Eijirou only had a limited amount of sleeping bags, meaning you’ve got to share a blanket with the hulking ash-blond.

“You cold?” He grunts. You don’t know why he’s asking.

“No.”

Katsuki sighs, and you hear him adjust, the blanket sliding from your neck to your shoulder. “You’re a shit liar.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows to glare his way, and you look to notice Katsuki’s laying the same way.

“What’s your point?”

Katsuki doesn’t answer for a moment, but it doesn’t seem like he’s looking for an answer, either—his neon red eyes glow through the dark and straight into your soul, and the next time you shiver, it isn’t because of the temperature.

“You’re stubborn.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing, “Thought you figured that out senior year.”

Katsuki’s face flashes with an emotion you can’t quite pinpoint before it’s gone again. “Yeah. You’d think almost dying would fuckin’ fix that.”

You sigh. Looks like you’re having this conversation now, then.

“I didn’t almost die—“

“Yes, you fuckin’ did,” Katsuki snarls, and Denki almost stirs at his raised tone. “You took that bullet and you didn’t get up for months—“

“And then I woke up and everything was fine! Seriously Katsuki, what’s your problem? I lived.”

“My problem is that you shouldn’t have been there in the goddamn first place!” Katsuki says through grit teeth. You watch his temple roll underneath his hairline. “That was my fuckin’ fight. I don’t need some chick jumping in front of a bullet for me just ‘cause she thinks I can’t take it!”

You scoff, looking around to see if any of your other sleeping friends are listening because get a load of this guy. Naturally, they don’t respond.

“That’s what this is about? Oh, well I’m sorry I bruised your dignity because I didn’t want to see you get fucking shot!”

Katsuki chest inflates with disbelief before it deflates again, and he’s rolling his eyes before he says, “That’s not—you fuckin’ know that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh really?” You laugh, and goddammit Katsuki, you just had to bring it up, didn’t you? “Because waking up after two months to your best friend telling you to give up doesn’t preserve your dignity at all, huh?”

“I didn’t tell you to fu—“

“You said those exact words, Katsuki. You said give up, and you left the hospital.”

The ash-blond has nothing to say to that, because he knows that you know you’re right, and trying to jedi mind trick you into believing he isn’t an asshole won’t work.

“Well you fuckin’ listened,” he grumbles, more to himself than you, but enough emotion flares in your core to make you want to scream.

“I didn’t have a choice,” you say, huffing, before turning your back to him, deeming this conversation over. “Good night, Katsuki.”

There’s a lull and it has you convinced you’ve won, finally relaxing (as much as you can) onto the cold floor. At least arguing heated your blood up a bit.

“The fuck do you mean?”

You roll your eyes even though they’re closed before you hop back onto your forearms to give the ash-blond a nasty look. “What?”

“You...said you didn’t have a choice,” Katsuki says, and it’s the first time you think you’ve heard him sound weary. Unsure. “The fuck does that mean?”

“It means I had to give up on being a hero either way.”

Which sucked. Because you had spent the past four years of your life working your ass off to save others, and you wind up out of commission before you even got started. You...suppose you didn’t tell Katsuki the whole story. Well, you hadn’t had a chance to—today’s the first time speaking with him since you woke up in the hospital.

Katsuki eyes you out of his peripheral, but only for a second. “And that means...?”

“It means that if I land on my spine the wrong way, there’s a high chance I’ll be paralyzed from the waist down.” You growl, frustrated that it was easier to coax the truth out of you than you thought.

The bullet buried close to your spinal column. You had to do PT for months, relearning how to walk as you slowly regain your motor functions. That’s when you started to bake.

“Oh.”

The howling of the wind turns from somewhat soothing to aggravating as Katsuki’s unimpressive “oh” hangs heavy in the air, and you find yourself sighing, the puzzle pieces finally clicking in your head. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Katsuki asks—he’s still not looking at you.

“Blaming yourself,” you gesture to his figure, which is lax with depression, lacking its sturdiness and usual fire. “You didn’t shoot the gun.”

Katsuki snorts at that, running a hand through his hair, “I might as well.”

“Stop.”

“You got shot because of me,” Katsuki says as if it were a fact. “They were trying to kill me. Not you.”

“And they didn’t kill me. I’m here and you’re here. If I hadn’t been there, you’d be six feet under right now,” you reason. Katsuki shrugs because he’s just as stubborn as you are, and you figure he’s been carrying around this baggage for too many years.

“Does your back hurt often?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I mean sure, I get flare-ups sometimes, but it’s not too bad. Doesn’t really get in the way of baking as long as the table is high enough.”

Katsuki thinks for a moment, teeth worrying his bottom lip. “Is the table high enough? At your café.”

You shrug, failing to see where he’s going with this. “I have a platform thingy, so. It’s mostly for decorating cakes and things—“

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

“What?”

“I’ll buy you a new table,” Katsuki says, nodding to himself as if he was confirming the idea. “A higher one.”

It takes a second for his offer to process, but once it does, you’re fighting a smile. Still the same kid. “Kats, I don’t nee—“

“An—And if you need a new chair. I’ll pay for that shit too.”

You shake your head—mainly in disbelief, “I don’t need a chair, Katsuki.”

“Then what?” He asks, and it almost sounds desperate with the speed he rushed the sentence, “Y’need a car? That hunk of junk you drive could use some work.”

You ignore the jab, because your car works perfectly fine thank you very much, and snort at the suggestion of such an outrageous purchase.

“What? You tryna be my sugar daddy or something?” You joke. Katsuki gives you a look, and it's dead serious.

“D’ya need one?”

“I—no!” You laugh, and have to remind yourself to reel it in before you actually wake Denki up. “I’m fine financially I just—what’s gotten into you?”

“Nothin’.” Katsuki quickly grumbles, facing forwards again. “I just...”

You raise an eyebrow, “You just..?”

“I dunno. I dunno,” Katsuki shakes his head. You let him gather his thoughts in silence before he tries again. He doesn’t.

“Then fuck me.”

In your defense, your mouth moved before you thought it through.

Katsuki has an unreadable look on his face, but his voice is anything but steady when he says, “What?”

Fuck. Fuck.

“U-Uh, I mean,” you recoil. Stupid big mouth. “I—you—don’t worry about it.”

“You said you wanted to fuck me,” Katsuki deadpans. You choke.

“I—no, that’s not—“

“That’s exactly what you said.”

“No, I meant as in I’m pent up. Obviously,” you defend with a huff, crossing your arms on the pillow as you glare daggers his way. Katsuki matches your stare.

“Not as pent up as a Pro Hero,” he scoffs, lifting an eyebrow. You take it as a challenge.

You click your tongue in faux pity, “Awe, the number two hero Dynamight doesn’t get laid?”

“No fuckin’ time,” he grunts, though you don’t find much remorse in his voice.

“Well, you have time now,” you say, completely unsure of where this confidence is coming from. Either way, you’ll take it and run.

“I do,” Katsuki confirms, leaning in closer. He’s close enough that you can smell what’s leftover of his cologne, and see the hint of a grin that makes his upper cheek shine silver in the moonlight. You find yourself leaning in just as much as he does.

“Wanna blow off some steam?” You dare to question. Katsuki’s grin only grows wider.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Katsuki’s kisses are surprisingly soft, you think, and so are his lips. But you don’t have much time to think about it as he pulls you in by the waist, quietly groaning into your mouth while he lays you down on your back.

“Always thought you were the prettiest fuckin’ thing,” he growls, trailing butterfly kisses down your neck. “‘M gonna make it up to you, yeah? Make you feel so fuckin’ good.”

A hand hikes his sweatshirt above your chest before Katsuki’s latching onto the skin under your collarbone and sucking, teeth digging into your skin hard enough to bruise.

“Y-Yeah, that’s fine,” you whimper, intoxicated by the way Katsuki’s lips flush pink as he pulls away, eyes locked on the fresh hickey on your chest. They flicker up to you; he grins.

“Good?”

“Mhm.”

Katsuki hums at that, licking his lips before diving back in. You hiss when he bites too hard, prompting him to bite harder, but he always soothes it over with his tongue, topping each bruise with a kiss. You flinch when his lips wrap around your nipple and he chuckles at your meek whimper; a hand removes its grip on the sweatshirt in favor of sliding it up your thigh.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Katsuki says once he pulls away, enjoying the sight of you writhing in anticipation. “And it’s all for me, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, ‘m all yours just—“ you kick a leg in frustration at the thumb playing with the hem of your panties, “—do something already.”

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, “Do what?”

You frown, huffing, “You know what.”

Katsuki shrugs, adjusting so he’s caging you to the floor. Ghosting a thumb over your panties, he says, “‘Course I do. You gotta ask nicely first.”

You tighten your hands into fists. He would.

“I’m no—“

“Beg, Princess,” Katsuki growls, his stare unwavering. He presses an inquisitive finger to your clit through your panties either as a promise or a threat—which, you’re not quite sure.

You crumble.

“I—fine, just—finger me.”

Katsuki doesn’t move. Asshole.

“Please.”

The ash-blond grins, finally pushing your panties to the side.

“Good girl.”

When Katsuki slides his first finger in, it’s much too easy, and you blame it on the foreplay. You shudder, hands moving to brace themselves on his big shoulders, and the ash-blond muffles a moan as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Another,” you moan, bucking your hips into his palm. Katsuki’s heated gaze flickers from your body to your face.

“Already?” He chuckles, the rasp in his throat giving his arousal away. You nod—he clicks his tongue.

“Fuckin’ dirty.”

Two fingers feel like so much more than just one, and they have your eyebrows folding in a poor attempt to muffle a whimper. Katsuki’s fingers still move tentatively but they’re getting comfortable, curling and searching for that place that’ll make you tremble. And then he finds it.

“F-Fuck,” your body jolts, and Katsuki’s shushing you against the pillows.

“Keep your mouth shut, Princess,” he purrs, head dipping down to nip at your neck. It adjusts the angle ever so slightly, but enough to make you hiss, and he chuckles. “Unless you wanna get caught.”

“Oh yeah, because that sounds fun right now,” you snort towards the ceiling. Katsuki pulls away with an unimpressed look as his thumb comes down over your clit.

“Can’t wait to fuck the brat outta ya. Maybe then you’ll actually shut up for once, huh?” Katsuki inserts a third finger without you asking him to, and you gasp, clawing at his back.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he laughs against your mouth lowly, as if the light kisses will do anything but make more noise, “Good God sweetheart, you’re really pent up, aren’t ya?”

“Shit—I doubt you’re much better,” you try, scoffing at what you can see of his painfully hard cock in his sweatpants. Katsuki looks down before sending a huff your way, with a cute little blush dusted on his cheeks.

“Shut the fuck up,” he grunts, pulling out his fingers. You whine at the loss. “How d’ya want me to fuck you?”

You need to take a step back from how crude the question is. Right, sex.

“Right um,” you look around, trying to find the least obvious position—and one that doesn’t make a shit ton of noise. Laying on your side, you tuck an arm under the pillow, before turning around to Katsuki to suggest, “Cuddle-fucking?”

“Cuddle-fucking.”

“Yep,” you say with finality, popping the p. Making big grabby hands his way, you say, “C’mere, big guy.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes but moves behind you anyways, warm arms easily finding themselves around your waist under the blanket. After a few adjustments and ensuring you're both fully covered, Katsuki’s hard cock presses against your entrance as he hooks his head over your chin with a huff.

“This is so not on fuckin’ brand.”

“I don’t think fucking in a living room with sleeping friends is on-brand for a pro hero or a baker,” you say casually. Katsuki breaks out into a snort, pressing his face deeper into your neck.

“God, I fuckin’ missed you, ya know that?” He chortles. Your chest blooms with something it hasn’t in years, and for the first time, you find that you don’t mind.

“Don’t be such a dick and maybe I’ll stick around this time,” you quip with a smile he can’t see. Though you feel his against the base of your neck.

“Noted.”

Katsuki’s last words hang in the air, unusually heavy, and your eyes catch the snow beating against the window with a less than angry howl. Katsuki’s chest shudders against your back but he doesn’t move, hands frozen at your waist.

“Hey, I thought you were gon—“

“I’m getting to it,” Katsuki snaps, and you gasp as he starts to push inside. “So fuckin’ impatient, goddamn.”

He pulls you down until he fills you completely, and you suppress the urge to shout at the speed he did it with. Katsuki moves a hand to slap over your mouth.

“Shut the fuck up.”

You reach around to pinch him in the side with a huff, he calls you a bitch. It’s a little hard to hear you behind his hand as you say, “Then don’t catch me off guard like that, asshole.”

Katsuki snaps his hips and does exactly what you tell him not to do—prompting another surprised whine out of you and a dark chuckle from the ash-blond. His cheek presses into your jaw as he finds leverage in hiking your lower half up until your puffy cunt is level with his cock, and fucking you until you drool all over the pillow.

“What a pretty fuckin’ thing,” Katsuki grunts, and you can tell he struggles to keep quiet in the way his chest sporadically shudders. You have to grip the pillow for some semblance of purchase and Katsuki chuckles at watching you struggle, before he’s hiking your leg up to fuck you that much deeper.

“I always—always knew you’d sound so good,” he pants, the grip around your mouth bordering on clammy. You want to tell him that if he keeps making so much noise he’ll wake up everyone in this fucking room, but there isn’t much time between moans to get more than a word in. “Fuck baby, keep tightening around me like that, and I might fuckin’ cum.”

You find it amusing how close he is so quickly, until two fingers land on your clit and start rubbing in slow, small circles. Your walls flutter around him and Katsuki digs his teeth into your neck with a curse, his grip around your raised thigh contracting as he tries to hold on for as long as he can.

And that’s when Denki starts to move.

First, he rolls to the left. Which would’ve been fine, seeing as it’s in the opposite direction until he bops Eijirou straight on the nose and promptly rouses the redhead from his slumber. Katsuki’s hips still.

“O-Ow, dick,” Eijirou curses under his breath, quickly scrambling to his forearms. It’s hard to tell through the darkness, mostly because you’re squinting your eyes to feign sleep, but it seems like Eijirou rubs under his nose, only to blink back at a bloody hand.

“...Shit.”

Katsuki’s hips shift, ever so slightly, but enough to nestle his cock deeper and force you to bite back a whine. And another. And then another.

You try your hardest to be discreet when you reach to pinch Katsuki in the side, and he breathes a laugh down your neck.

“What?” He whispers, though it's more than a rasp than anything else. Good to know you’re not the only one struggling to not cum, here.

“You know 'what,'” you quickly hiss. But Katsuki’s hips don’t stop as Eijirou weighs his options to cure his bloody nose in the dark. The fingers on your clit return their usual pressure and you inhale sharply, nails digging into Katsuki’s forearm as your orgasm begins creeping up on you.

Eijirou sniffles and gets up, stumbling through the darkness to turn down the hall that leads to the bedrooms. Katsuki sees that as fucking freedom and his hips really start to pick up so much speed that you struggle to breathe through it all.

“‘M gonna cum,” Katsuki whimpers into your neck, burying his face deeper in a poor attempt to stunt any sound. “Fuck, fuck ‘m gonna cum, you close baby?”

“Y-Yeah jus’ a little more,” you whimper, eyes rolling as Katsuki finds some inhumane energy in him to fuck faster. He nods at that and bites into your shoulder with a growl, “C’mon, fuckin’ cream all over my cock—atta girl, fuck, fuck—“

Katsuki fills you up the moment you clench around his cock with a sigh, the weight of your orgasm knocking you forehead-first into your pillow as you bite the urge to squeal. Katsuki doesn't growl as much as you expect, moans breathy and light as his hips finally stutter to a stop—but you suppose some things have to change over the years.

Katsuki collapses next to you in pure exhaustion and you’re sure that’s his cum leaking down your thigh, but for some reason, you don’t really mind.

“Hey you,” he speaks first, eyes blazing red in the darkness. You snort.

“Hey, you.”

Katsuki chuckles with a stupidly giddy smile on his face, "Y'know, you still fuck really well."

You drop your head on his chest to snort, and his hands find their rightful place around your waist.

"Better than high school?"

"Yeah..." Katsuki grumbles, before his eyes narrow. "Wait—hey, yo—"

"I haven't fucked anyone since," you snuff the fire before it even starts, and Katsuki relaxes, though his eyes stay slim. He pulls you closer and you sigh—it's comfortable.

"Good," he grunts. And then after a pregnant silence: "I haven't either."

That's...strangely reassuring.

Your arms wriggle until they fold over his shoulders to play with the small hairs on the back of his neck, and he hums, eyes fluttering shut with a final peck on the lips. As Katsuki's breathing evens and the white of the snow dyes the highest points of his face white, you smile. He looks older.

You think he's asleep until he nudges your waist.

"Be my girlfriend."

You don't even hesitate.

"Okay."

By the time Eijirou comes stumbling down the hall, both you and Katsuki are passed out—with his body encompassing yours in the most intimate way, face tucked into your hickey-ridden neck as your arms and legs lock around his being. The redhead gives you both a soft smile as he passes, snorting to himself.

“Took them long enough.”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY THOTSUKI

[altsvu]

a little jealous, i suppose?

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!female!reader

wc: 2.8k

summary: after being called in for a case in the middle of a romantic date, you and hotch have to talk to the lieutenant on the case, but they end up flirting with you at the same time. hotch gets a little jealous and proves it when you and him get back to the hotel room.

tw: sex talk, A SHIT TON OF SMUT, some fluff, swearing.

a/n: this is a long one lovelies! i had so much fun writing this! jealous hotch can be a bit naughty... but this is my first (completed) smut fic with hotch and i hope it doesn’t sound super weird or whatever bc i lowkey suck at smut

criminal minds masterlist! ✯ taglist! ✯ text messages!

✯✯✯✯

You and Hotch had been dating for almost a year and a half now. Upon dating, the two of you had decided that it was best to not say anything to the rest of the team. Although you wanted everything to be kept under wraps, everyone wanted the two of you to be together though, and they picked up on the many interactions that you exchanged with each other. It had been easy to keep the relationship a secret, or at least the idea of either you or Hotch being in a romantic relationship, until now when you came into the BAU floor wearing a revealing dress and a full face of makeup.

“Well, well, well,” Morgan whistled. “Looks like someone’s going on a date.”

“Shut up Morgan, you’re just jealous it’s not with you.” you laughed. “I am not jealous at all. You do look really good though.” he responded, in which you blew him a kiss.

“You look so beautiful! Your date is definitely gonna fall head over heels for you.” JJ squealed, coming up to give you a hug. You knew exactly who she was talking about. Hotch. She was the only person you were able to confide in about your relationship with him even though you had practically become best friends with everyone on the team. “Thank you JJ.” you smiled.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Reid asked.

“Or girl?” Penelope said.

You looked for some of your items from your desk, trying to avoid the team’s burning questions. “All I can say is that he’s... definitely older.”

“Well, you know what they say, the older the wiser.” Emily suggested.

“Yes, this man is very wise.” you replied, putting your badge and gun in your purse. Little did everyone know that they were talking highly of Hotch.

Rossi came out of his office. “Well, you’re not going on a date with me.”

“Unfortunately-“ you frowned, then paused mid sentence when your phone rang. You pulled it out and broke away from the group to make sure they couldn’t see the name.

“Sweetheart, you know I can’t wait to see how beautiful you look.” Hotch mused. You could tell he had a smile on his face. “Well babe, lucky for you, I’m about to leave. See you in 5 okay?” You replied.

“Of course.”

You hung up and dropped your phone in your bag, grabbing your coat. “Alright everyone, I’m off. Don’t miss me too much, I’m a big girl, I’ll be okay.”

“Walk you to the elevator?” JJ asked. You nodded sincerely. You then said your goodbyes to everyone and walked out with JJ.

“He’s lucky to be with a woman like you.”

“Yeah, I like to think that. I’m just glad he doesn’t treat me like a child, ya know. I may be the youngest here, but when we’re alone, everything’s just different.”

JJ lifted an eyebrow. “Ohhhh, I see.”

You playfully smacked her on the shoulder as the elevator door opened. “Girl stop. It’s more than that.” You walked into the elevator, blowing a kiss at JJ.

“Have fun!”

✯✯✯✯

“You look absolutely amazing, did I tell you that already?” Hotch complimented as you got out of the car.

“Yes you have, about 5 times already, but I appreciate the compliments. You look quite handsome yourself, Aaron.”

“Thank you, my love.” he said, kissing you on the lips.

The two of you went inside the restaurant and followed the waiter to the reserved table, which had seating next to each other instead of across and the environment was pretty chill since there weren’t a lot of people inside, so it felt even more romantic. It gave you more freedom to perform many forms of PDA, which was something that Hotch wanted to experiment more with.

“So... everyone on the BAU floor is questioning who I’m dating,” you started. Hotch looked up at you mid bite. “Really? What’d you say?”

“I’m dating an older man who’s very wise.”

Hotch sneaked an arm around your waist. “I’m glad that you think I’m wise.”

“I can think of a lot more.” you whispered. You then crept your hand up to the nape of Hotch’s neck and pulled him closer to you, planting a passionate kiss on his lips.

“Mmm, I know what I’m gonna do to you when we get home.” Hotch murmured into your ear after kissing you back. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’re gonna be shaking when you walk into the BAU tomorrow.” His fingers tickled your bare skin, and you hoped you weren’t getting an orgasm from his touch.

“Oh what a naughty, wise man you are.” you mused, taking the opportunity to kiss and nibble on the soft skin that was Hotch’s neck. You sucked on it hard, leaving a dark red mark.

You went back to enjoying your meal and chatting when you were interrupted by a phone call.

“It’s Garcia.” Hotch whispered. He then proceeded to answer the phone. When he got off the phone with her, he looked disappointed. “What is it?” you asked.

“We’re being called in.”

“Fuck.” you muttered under your breath, hearing your phone ring too.

Hotch took your face in his hands. “It’s okay. We can finish date night another night.”

✯✯✯✯

You had texted JJ that you would be meeting them on the plane to avoid suspicions from the rest of the team and you would be briefed when you arrived. JJ had grabbed your go bag for you as well.

“Y/N, how was your date?” Emily asked.

It was tempting to smile and look at Hotch but you were able not to. “Despite it being cut short, it was amazing. We had... plans after dinner.”

“Oooo, risqué.” Morgan cocked his head to the side. You pinched his cheek and collapsed in one of the chairs, wanting to sleep. In a way, you were a bit upset that you and Hotch had to be called away from your date, you seriously wanted him to be all over you, kissing you, sucking on your skin, massaging your forbidden spots.

“Very. Where are we headed?”

The rest of the team then briefed you on the case and when you landed, you’d have to go with Hotch to talk with the lieutenant that was the lead on the case and set up at the field office.

While you were looking through your copy of the case file, you got a text from Hotch.

SSA Hotchner BAU ❤️: That hickey on my neck won’t be going away for a while, Rossi’s already asking about it

SSA Hotchner BAU ❤️: he thinks i had “a little rendezvous” before being called in.

You stifled a laugh.

You: well... you did. With me of course

You: Keep him wondering, I’ll give you more in our hotel room 😘 and i’m also holding you to that promise

SSA Hotchner BAU ❤️: the things i want to do to you... i wouldn’t even be able to count

You bit your finger and looked out the window, wanting the day to go by fast. Hotch was sitting across from you, so he looked up at you for a slight second with a grin on his face, which caught your attention quickly. He gave you a wink and looked back down. Moments later, the jet was arriving at the team’s destination and you were eager to just change out of your date night clothes.

“Do we have time for me to stop by the hotel we’re staying in?” you whispered to JJ while getting off the plane.

“My beloved friend, we’re on a time crunch.” JJ started. “But, I’ll let you come with me to get the keys for our rooms.”

You sighed in relief and smiled a thank you.

✯✯✯✯

“I kinda wished you didn’t have to change out of that dress.” Hotch admitted. You side eyed him, knowing that he was joking. That was until you turned to look at him and he was staring at you, examining you almost. “Me too,” you smiled, turning to look at him. “But obviously that would be super inappropriate.”

“Well of course it would be.” Hotch growled, pulling you closer to him.

“There’s cameras,” you hissed.

“Good.” One of his hands grabbed your ass and you let out a gasp. Clearly Hotch did not care whatsoever about the cameras, all he cared about was you, and how amazing you looked in front of him. That, and closing this current case as soon as possible. He took your face in his hands and kissed your lips ever so passionately, stopping just in time for the elevator door to open. As you were approaching the lieutenant, you straightened your shirt in hopes that he wouldn’t think that anything suspicious was going on.

“Lieutenant Baker, I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner and this is SSA Y/N .” Hotch said, shaking hands with Baker. When he got to you, a smile creeped up on his face and he lingered a bit after shaking your hand. A bit odd, you thought. “Thank you for coming,” he finally replied. “These suspicious murders have been going on for too long and I’d like to put an end to them as much as you do.”

“And that’s why we’re here.” Hotch agreed. “Is there a place for us to settle?” He led you and Hotch to a conference room with an evidence board, and as you were walking, you felt a familiar hand on your back, creeping to your waist. Goddammit Hotch. You glared at him to stop before he got caught and he only looked back at you with a smile on his face.

The rest of the time in the field office wasn’t bad, but you had a very huge feeling that the lieutenant was trying to make some moves on you.

It’s not like you weren’t used to this, men just found you super attractive. But you only found one man that was attractive.

Aaron Hotchner.

“Hey.” you turned around to find the lieutenant standing next to you. “Is there anything that I can help you with?”

“Nah, just putting these pictures and visuals up. Hotch and I are gonna review the case files until the family comes in to talk to us.”

“Ok, that sounds good.”

You noticed that Baker was still standing in your vicinity. “Is there something that you need from me, Lieutenant?”

“No, not at all. Let me know if you need anything from me, I’ll be trying to round up some potential witnesses.” Baker said, squeezing and rubbing your forearm for a moment and walking away to his office. He had a side grin on his face.

You, on the other hand, stood in your spot truly dumbfounded. Your mouth slightly gaped, you turned and watched Baker walk away. Suddenly your eyes made their way to Hotch, who was looking at you across the room, a grin also on his face.

“What was that about? He ask you if you were dating anyone?”

You rolled your eyes and finished putting up the map for Reid to use later. “Please, no.” Hotch was then standing by your side, leaning against the wall beside the evidence board.

“That wasn’t just any touch there.”

“Yeah well, it didn’t mean anything to me. Did you forget that I love you or something?”

Hotch pulled you into a kiss. “Of course not.”

“Good,” you whispered. “Then what’s the issue? A little jealous, I suppose?” You put emphasis on jealous.

“Agents? The victim’s mother is here.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Hotch replied. He turned back to you. “We’ll talk later.”

✯✯✯✯

It was nearing the end of the day, and everyone was tired. It was only the team’s first day in a small Nevada town, but a lot was accomplished.

Riding in the car with Derek, Emily, and JJ back to the hotel room, you let the breeze flow through your body. Nervousness washed over you as you thought about the morning upon arriving at the field office.

Hotch always had underlying meanings to even the simplest things he would say, which is why you couldn’t stop wondering if he was the slightest bit upset at the lieutenant for advancing on you, the person he loved with all his heart.

“Hey.” JJ poked at your arm. “What’s going on? Trouble in paradise?”

You smiled a bit. “No, uh, I guess there was a bit of tension since the lieutenant was flirting with me.”

“He was actually good looking, I think he’d be a great match for you.” Emily suggested, turning around.

“Y/N does attract almost every male species.” Derek commented.

“Guys, stop, I’m just... not interested in him.” You said simply, turning back to the window. The only thing running to your head was what Hotch had planned for tonight.

When you got to the hotel room, you found things the way they were, only Hotch’s go bag next to yours. You pulled out your robe and shower essentials from your go bag - you hated using hotel soap - and started to strip. When Hotch came out of the bathroom, you were only in your underwear, slipping on your robe, and he was only in a towel.

“You didn’t say when you came in.” Hotch whispered, planting a small kiss on your head.

“I know, I didn’t wanna bother you. I’m gonna shower quickly okay?” He nodded and you then went in the bathroom. When you were done, Hotch was in bed wearing a white shirt and grey boxer shorts. God, he looked so hot.

“What conversation did you want to have earlier?” You asked, wrapping your robe around a bit tighter.

Hotch gestured to you to lay next to him. “You know how I get when it comes to people flirting with you.”

“Yeah, you go feral. Internally, of course.” You paused. “Wait. Is Aaron Hotchner... mad?”

His hand snuck inside your robe, trailing up to your chest, cupping your right breast, sending chilling shockwaves to the rest of your body.

“Let’s just say I wanna show you that you belong to me.”

Oh, Hotch was jealous alright.

You turned to face him and that’s when he worked his magic. One side of your robe slipped off, and next thing you knew, he was teasing your clit, making you wet. Your shallow breaths and whimpers filled the emptiness of the room. He continued teasing you for a bit, then you watched as he pulled out his cock, stroking it a bit while staring at you dead in your eyes. You knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted to make sure you knew he was the one in control, and that he would do anything to get off on your pleasure.

He made extra sure of it when he started cockwarming you.

Oh fuck you Aaron, you said in your head as small whimpers escaped your mouth.

“Yeah, you like when I do that to you?” Hotch- well Aaron, asked roughly. “You like feeling my cock inside you, don’t you?”

He was enjoying the sight of you, close to him, almost orgasming on the spot. But he wasn’t gonna let you get off that easily.

“What’s wrong, my sweet girl? Hmm?”

“I- I need you, Aaron,” was all you could croak out.

Aaron shifted on top of you and you curled your legs around him.

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna have to speak up for me to give you what you want.” Aaron teased, taking of his shirt.

“I need you Aaron,” you repeated a bit louder.

Aaron smiled and thrusted hard and fast into you, in which he took no time. “Good girl.” He let out a fierce groan when he did so.

“Who makes you feel good?”

“You do,” you moaned. “You make me feel good Aaron.”

He kissed you fiercely in response with one of his hands gripping your neck and the other holding on to your leg. “God, you look so sexy under me, my sweet, sweet girl. You take me so well.”

He knew you wanted to come, your flushed face gave it away. But when you asked, ever so politely, he responded with a firm no.

“You don’t get to come until I do.”

“But Aaron, plea-“

“No.”

As he was going faster, you felt yourself nearing an orgasm, and all you wanted to do was melt under him.

He pulled out just after he reached his high and smashed his lips against your clit, stimulating you even more. When he finally let you come, it came on strong and heavy, and a loud, broken “Aaron” escaped your lips. You did not care whatsoever if two of the other team members in the next room heard you. Aaron on the other hand was enjoying every moment of it. “Oh, my sweet girl, you taste amazing.” he mused.

When he was done he collapsed next to you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just... that was super hot.” you breathed, moving closer to him.

“It was. I think now you know who you belong to.” Aaron whispered, caressing your cheek.

“Much more than I did before.”

Aaron offered to clean you up, and after, the two of you slept soundly for the rest of the night.

✯✯✯✯

taglist: @averyhotchner @storiesofsvu @ssaic-jareau @blackbeautifulqueen @dr-omalley @morcias @mstrinnyb

[songbirdstyles]

white wedding.

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

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, smut, angst if you squint.

song inspo.: white wedding - billy idol

word count: 13.4k

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

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

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

“Are you alright?”

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

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

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

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

“Are y’sad about it?”

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

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

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

“Y’don’t sound too thrilled, for someone who jus’ got their dream house handed to ‘em on a platter.”

“There’s a stipulation in the will.”

“Ah.”

You smile tightly. “I’ll only inherit the house if I’m married.”

It’s something you’ll never understand. Aunt Alice never married and lived in that grand old house (your dream house) all by herself, and if you’d known about your role in her will perhaps you’d have argued it with her in person - the hypocrisy of it all, how goddamn unfair it was. And it’ll kill you - truly kill you - to see that house go to whoever her next closest living relative is who she doesn’t hate. Probably some third cousin twice removed, considering how great she was at cutting people off.

And Harry sits for a moment in silence, considering it. “Seems very - very - can’t think of the word.”

“Sexist? Unfair? Dumb?”

“All true,” he agrees, giving you a sympathetic smile, and it makes you feel the tiniest bit better, even if it’s just for a moment. “Barbaric, maybe.”

“I hate her,” you declare, crossing your arms over your hoodie-clad chest, and you most certainly don’t, but you’re angry enough to mean it in the moment. When your father had told you, you hadn’t thought about it too much - besides being confused by the entire thing, being left a house by a relative you hardly knew - but saying it out loud makes you angrier, squeezing your eyes shut. “Would you know she never married? How does that make sense?” “It doesn’t,” Harry repeats, and you glance out the window, lifting your palm to wipe at the cloudy stain your forehead had made against the glass - you’re just less a minute away from your apartment building, and you rip your phone from Harry’s charger and shove it into the pocket of your hoodie. “She left you time, right? T’get married? Tha’ seems only fair.”

You snort, ignoring the way his lips turn up into a smile at the noise. “She gave me a year. I mean, I’m 23 - I wasn’t intending on settling down for another couple of years.”

If you were less distracted, perhaps you’d see his responding silence for what it is - time to think, gears grinding in his head, as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building and leans over the center console to wrap you in a hug. Harry’s a talkative person and he’s only really quiet when he’s got something on his mind, but you’ve got something on yours too (probably more than he does) so you ignore it. And his soft murmur into your hair of ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow for breakfast’ sounds every bit as distracted as you feel so you simply pay it no mind.

It’s easier that way, for now.

 --

 “I’ve been thinkin’ about your situation.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, bent over his plate of French toast as though he hadn’t spoken at all. His sunglasses are perched at the end of his nose so you can see his eyes - which, in your opinion, defeats the purpose of even wearing the stupid things in public. But, whenever you two go out together, he insists on wearing them, along with a grey beanie protecting his infamous head of curls from any wandering eyes, and the bizarre attempt at a disguise always makes you feel like you’re having breakfast with a burglar. 

“Not much to think about,” you shrug, popping a forkful of omelet into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I was just mad about it last night, you know. Heat of the moment, sort of thing.”

“I’d be mad, too,” Harry tells you, and it’s getting more difficult to ignore the way his words send heat creeping up your neck, and you glance down at your plate of eggs with a small smile gracing your face. “Not jus’ heat of the moment, either. Really mad. S’bullshit.”

A second of silence passes, and you let his reassurance settle over you - simply having him agree with you on the stupidity of the entire situation makes you feel a thousand times better. Even if you don’t get the house (and you’ve already progressed into the last stage of grief over almost certainly losing it - acceptance) at least you’ll always have Harry, and maybe that’s enough.

But the house would be nice, too.

“What were you thinking about?” You question, lifting your eyes back up to meet his through his tinted glasses, and if there wasn’t the barrier between your gazes you’d be able to note the nearly shameful glint in his eyes as he digs into his stack of sugary sweet toast, doused with maple syrup and towered high with fruit. “About the situation, I mean.”

Harry begins to speak once more just as you reach over with your fork to nab a piece of banana, and he swats at your wrist as you pop the slice of fruit into your mouth. “Don’ steal my banana, babe,” he tells you, eyes narrowing in mock anger, and you roll your eyes at the name. “Anyway. S’not totally crazy, that you could get married in less than a year.”

Yes, it is, you want to reply back, but you can tell he’s ramping up to something important, so you rest your fork on your plate and furrow your eyebrows at him pointedly. Truthfully, even if the love of your life happened to be sitting in front of you, you’re not sure you could go through with marrying them, anyway. It’s such a heavy commitment and, God, you thought you’d have more time. Time to explore and experiment and not settle down (in your dream house) just for the sake of it.

“What if we got married?”

And that - is not what you were expecting him to say.

You’re not sure if he’s kidding or not so you give it a minute before responding in any capacity. Just stare at him, and he makes a point of hooking his pinkie in the center of his sunglasses and tugging them down his nose just a bit so you can see the absolute lack of amusement in his eyes. He’s all business, goddammit, as if he hadn’t just basically proposed to you in the middle of eating your fucking omelet.

But you can’t be sure he’s serious, and you also can’t be sure that the way your stomach flipped wasn’t because of a particularly egregious sip of chocolate milk and not the prospect of marrying your best friend. So you lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you kidding?”

Harry just shakes his head, grey beanie sliding up just a bit for one chocolate coloured lock of hair to escape the confines of the dumb hat. “M’being dead serious, babe. I’ll get down on one knee an’ prove it, too.”

“Don’t do that,” you beg him, reaching out to grab at his wrist when he makes to push himself out of his chair, and his wide grin only sends your stomach into another set of somersaults. “Jesus, Har.”

“Horrible idea?”

You don’t respond right away, grabbing your glass of chocolate milk and wrapping your lips around the straw. It’s a few seconds to process the request in all its glory - marrying your best friend, even if it’s just for show, is a lot. Sure, all you’d really have to do is head down to a courthouse (you could do it today, even - if you wanted to, and you’re not sure you do.) It’d be easier than searching hopelessly for the love of your life and arrange a wedding in less than a year, and you’d be able to walk the halls of your aunt’s gorgeous estate, decorate it how you please, and - ideally - your relationship with Harry wouldn’t quiver in the slightest.

Well, maybe that’s why you’re hesitant to begin with. Because it would quiver - or because it wouldn’t - or because it’s plain weird to marry your best friend. Even if it’s for a good cause (your dream home) and even if he suggested it in the first place, because he cares about you and wants you to be happy.

That’s sweet.

Maybe it would be a glorious fuck you to Aunt Alice in death. It isn’t as though anyone would know about the inauthenticity of the union but you would, and that’s all the revenge you need for her adding such a silly stipulation to her will, anyway. A marriage born not out of love, but out of need - sure, it’s not exactly how you wanted your life to go, but it’s better than watching the estate go to someone you’d never met before. You could get married and get divorced in the time frame she’d given you to find love in the first place and it would hardly be a blip in your life plans, and certainly not in Harry’s. It isn’t as though he’d suggest it if the marriage would ruin anything for him. 

Sure, you’d prance around family parties with him on your arm to sell your faux romance to your family. Only one or two, though, his arm around your waist, and it wasn’t as if your parents hadn’t already begun to question whether your close friendship with Harry ventured into something further. And, when it’s all said and done, when the house is officially in your name and you can begin shopping for furniture to make it your own, it’ll be easy to sell the divorce - he’s touring, you’d tearfully proclaim, and the stress was just too much on our relationship. And then you’d both be happy, right? For the most part, anyway. Still best friends with no hassle at all, and you get your house and he gets the popstar life without the settling down part.

When you’ve swallowed your gulp of chocolate milk, it’s nearly worrying how much you’ve thought about the proposal.

“It’s not a horrible idea,” you begin, eyes diverting downward to where Harry’s fingers are fiddling with a straw wrapper. “I mean, it could be pretty easy.”

“Very easy.”

“We just elope -”

“Could do it today, even -”

“I haven’t agreed yet, Mr. Styles - but we would elope, and then I’d get the house, and maybe I’d bring you to a family reunion, just to sell it, and then we’re divorced.”

He raises his eyebrows, glasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose until their purpose has been completely obliterated, and his eyes are on display for the goddamn world to see. “Unless we fall in love an’ live happily ever after - no divorce necessary, m’love.”

Bastard. Your stomach flips again but you just roll your eyes, picking up your fork and lifting a shaky bite of eggs up to your mouth. “Shut up.”

You’re almost certain you’ve made up your mind but you still make a show of thinking about it, slowly chewing on your omelet and focusing your gaze on a paper napkin resting on the ground beside Harry’s chair. It’s almost too easy, the entire process, and maybe that should make you nervous, just a little bit, that the idea of marrying him feels so relaxing. But - well - if you had to choose anyone in the world to marry in order to fulfill a stipulation in your aunt’s will, it would have to be Harry.

He’s looking at you eagerly when you look back up at him, and you’re not sure why he’s so excited about it - not like there’s anything in it for him - but it’s something you’ll think about later.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” you tell him, watching the way his grin spreads across his face like wildfire, and you can’t help yourself from smiling, too, “but I am.”

In seconds, Harry’s reaching across the table, grabbing your hand in his larger one, and just the way your heart jumps at the feeling of your palms pressed together should certainly have you rethinking your enthusiastic yes. But then he’s picking up the straw wrapper he’d been fiddling with, and it’s twisted into a makeshift wedding ring, and he’s sliding it onto your ring finger with a wide smile like a fucking puppy -

God. You’re in too deep already, and you’ve only just agreed.

 --

 For the record, you’d rethought your decision many, many times since agreeing.

You’d drafted out the text for Harry for when you inevitably will change your mind - a block of words confessing to him that you’d reacted too quickly and you think it would be best if you simply forfeit your inheritance, but you can never quite gather the guts to do it. And every time you copy and paste the note from your notes to your text thread with your best friend, something always stops you -

The photos of the house from the real estate website you’d seen it on.

Harry’s wide grin as you accepted his offer.

FIngers delicately sliding on an engagement ring made of a paper straw wrapper, and the next day when he’d shown up at your door with an actual, real engagement ring.

Naturally, you hadn’t sent it. You’d deleted the note entirely, too, embarrassed with even looking at your words of defeat sprawled on your phone screen. Sometimes, though, you wish you had fucking sent it. Nearly two weeks after accepting the proposal that still hasn’t progressed from feeling like an absolute fever dream, you’re sitting with Harry at Aunt Alice’s funeral, his arm hooked around the back of your chair and the other clutching a glass of wine that he’s hardly taken two sips of.

You’re on your second glass already, and it’s barely been an hour. You’d signed the guestbook and hooked your arm with Harry’s and introduced him as your fiance to exactly one of your great-aunts, and you’d been so nervous that Aunt Shirley could see right through your faux-engagement that you’d practically downed your glass the second her back turned. 

“This is so weird,” you confess to Harry, shifting closer to him so no one else around you can hear. Not that there is, per se, anyone else around you - not many other people are sitting down, but you and Harry were one of the first people to arrive, so you’ve given yourselves a pass to sit down for a while. “Isn’t it weird, Har?”

“S’only weird if you make it weird,” he murmurs back, and you would roll your eyes at how maddeningly calm he is if you weren’t desperate to keep up your pretense as loving fiance to the funeral goers whose wandering eyes may turn to you two. “And, babe, you’re makin’ it weird.”

Your lips spread into a smile and you lift your glass of wine to your lips, taking a small sip before bringing it back down to your lap. No matter how many times you scream at yourself, internally, that nobody knows you’re not engaged and to calm the fuck down, you can’t stop your leg from bouncing up and down, showcasing your nerves in the most outward way you possibly could. “Wonder when my parents are getting here - should’ve texted them and told them separately. Did you tell your mum?”

“Told her the truth,” Harry tells you, tilting his head into yours in a way that feels so natural you swear you could stay this way forever. “You’re not tellin’ your parents the truth?”

“Bless my mum,” you sigh, “but she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Harry exhales a soft laugh, eyes darting around the room full of people before landing back on yours, and your gazes lock for just the briefest of seconds before he’s glancing down at your lap. “Y’don’t have t’do this if you’re uncomfortable, y’know. We can jus’ say - the pressure of m’job was too much.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you tell him, which is true. You’re nervous, for sure, but he could never make you uncomfortable. “And, ironically enough, that’s my excuse for when we divorce.”

Your voice drops to a near breath on the last word and Harry’s head drops back with a bark of laughter that’s entirely too loud for the setting you’re at but you can’t bring yourself to reprimand him. “Always talkin’ ‘bout our divorce,” Harry breathes, tilting his head closer to yours so his mouth is close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath, hot against your skin. “What if we fall in love, babe? No divorce then. Don’ y’want us t’live happily ever after?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you roll your eyes, even if you’re almost positive you will (or already have) and shake your head at Harry’s resulting chuckle. “Been best friends for nearly five years, haven’t we? If we were going to fall in love, I reckon it would’ve happened already, Har.” 

“You’re right,” he agrees, voice oddly soft and sounding just sentimental enough for you to narrow your eyes suspiciously at him - but before you can question him further, his eyes dart down to where your leg is still frantically bouncing up and down. “Bloody hell, love - bouncin’ your leg so much. Y’look like a nervous wreck.”

“Thanks,” you begin, and whatever else you’d been meaning to say dies in your throat as Harry’s arm shifts from around the back of your chair and his hand comes down firm on your leg. His fingertips brush your knee and his palm lays soft against your thigh, just high enough to gently brush the end of your black dress and you wish you could control the way your stomach flips again and again like a fucking gymnast.

It’s to keep up appearances, you tell yourself. So people don’t think I’m so nervous. But it feels so nice, so natural in a way you hadn’t expected, feeling his hand resting on your thigh like it belongs there, fingertips drumming against your knee which most certainly isn’t bouncing anymore.

Your eyes flit up to his, narrowing them ever so slightly as if to sniff out his intentions, and out of the corner of your eye you can see two familiar figures walking in the high arched doors of Aunt Alice’s service. Your parents break off from each other nearly the second they enter, your father skirting off to greet some of his cousins and your mother’s eyes scan the room filled with relatives before landing on you and Harry.

“Mum’s here,” you tell Harry, pushing yourself to stand, and the feeling of his hand dropping off your thigh is a sensation you absolutely despise. He stands soon after you, adjusting the cuffs of his black button down shirt, and for the first time since the funeral began, you can see the beginnings of nervousness creeping upon him. A light pink flush works its way up his neck to his cheeks and he brings his hand up to run through his hair, inhaling a shaky breath. “You look nervous, Har. You’ve met my mum before.”

“S’different. Now we’re engaged.”

“Not too different.” You hook your arm with Harry’s, patting his hand with yours, and he gives you one grateful fleeting grin before you begin walking over to your mother. She’s bent over the guestbook, scribbling her name with the feather pen resting beside the log. You stop walking when you’re just a couple paces behind her, waiting for her to turn around and see you two - and your voice drops to a hushed tone as you reassure Harry. “I think she already sort of thought we were dating anyway - so she won’t care too much.”

“Wait - she did?”

“Hey, mum!”

 --

 You’re getting married in a week.

And, sure, you’d known that the entire process would move quicker than you could imagine but it still feels surreal and you still reckon you haven’t thought it through enough. It’s worsened (or, in some way, bettered) by the absolute adoration your family had immediately adopted towards Harry after meeting him just a few days ago, your aunts pulling you aside at the funeral and the repast that occurred after and whispering in your ear about what a handsome man he is! 

Well, they’ll certainly be disappointed when, in a month or two, you pop in to the next family gathering and announce that you two had gotten divorced as quickly as you’d been wed. Harry will be your ex husband and, at that point, surely people would be suspicious at the speed of which everything had happened but - hey - you’ll have your house and your best friend and that’s all you really need, isn’t it.

Yeah.

Slowly but surely, you’re coming to peace with it, and Harry’s certainly making it easier by being so zen about it all. His nerves at the funeral had been just about eradicated because your mum loves him, which you knew, and your father had seemed positively overjoyed at the news of your engagement, but they’d both seemed rather disappointed at your decision to elope instead of spending the time planning a big white wedding. And you’d expected that, but you figure that, by the time your second marriage inevitably rolls around, it’ll be real (realer than whatever you’re feeling for Harry, because you’re still not sure) and your father will walk you down the aisle and you’ll be able to go shopping for a big gorgeous wedding dress like you’d always dreamt of wearing.

You haven't even bought a dress. The one you’re wearing now, staring at yourself in the floor length mirror propped against your bedroom wall, is one you’d purchased for your college graduation to wear beneath your gown - simple and flowy, falling to just about your mid-thigh, and the only redeeming quality for even being considered a wedding dress is its white color. Still - it isn’t as though it’s a real wedding, in the traditional sense, so it doesn’t make sense for you to spend too much on a gown you’ll don for a trip to the courthouse and then get sad whenever you look at it again, post-divorce.

No, you don’t think you like it. You’d liked it for your graduation but for a wedding (your wedding) you wish you had something just a bit nicer, and you want to strip out of it and change back into your jeans but Harry’s sitting in your living room, waiting for you to model the stupid thing for him, and you’d hate to disappoint him. So you inhale softly, run your hand down the fabric, soft beneath your fingers, and reach for the door.

Harry’s on his phone when you step out of your bedroom, slowly shutting the door behind you, his body looking strangely large where he’s perched on the small loveseat in your living room. Everything in your apartment seems too small for him - or just too small in general - and it’ll be a nice change to live in a house where you can hold gatherings of more than 5 people without feeling like sardines in a can.

“Har,” you call, reaching down to tug the ends of your dress just a bit further down your thighs as you step further into the living room, bare feet padding against the plush rug your parents had gotten you as a Christmas gift the year prior. “What do you think of the dress?” You can hear the click of his phone as he turns it off, dropping it on the cushion beside him, and heat creeps up your cheeks as his gaze turns to you - you should feel self conscious, the way his eyes roll up and down your body, drinking in every bit of your dress, but you fucking love it. Love the way his lips part into a small o and upturn into a grin, how he pushes himself to stand and close the distance between you two until he’s hardly two inches away from you, how he reaches down to pick up the end of your dress as though examining the fabric.

“Do you like it?” You question as Harry drops your dress, letting the fabric fall back down around your thighs. “Wasn’t sure if I did.”

“I love it,” he tells you, immediate and forceful and you can tell he means it with his whole chest - maybe you love it, too. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You don’t think it’s too simple, do you?” Maybe you’re fishing for more compliments but you allow yourself to do it shamelessly. “It was my graduation dress - remember?”

“I do remember,” Harry grins, tugging at the bottom of your dress, and keeping his hands busy is a nervous habit of his that you’ve grown to recognize from a hundred miles away, but you can’t think of why, exactly, he’d be nervous now. “Looked so pretty, walkin’ across tha’ stage. I was so proud.”

You smile, gaze dropping down to where his fingers are fiddling with the skirt of your dress, and you think you’ll wear this dress every single goddamn day if he reacts as positively to it as he is now. “You sound like my dad.”

His nose scrunches when you look back up at him, and your heart twists inside your chest. “Don’ make it gross.” You simply shrug, bringing your fingers up to drum against his shoulders through the fabric of his Fleetwood Mac shirt, his muscles flexing ever so slightly beneath your touch. “M’being serious, though. I love the dress. Y’make the prettiest bride on the planet - m’a lucky man, aren’t I.”

From the moment you walked out of your room you’ve been feeling heat burning your cheeks but it doesn’t stop you from gently smacking his shoulder. “Stop it - you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Looks like y’already are, Mrs. Styles.”

Should that name make your stomach as topsy-turvy as it does? 

You shake your head, smoothing your palms over the front of your dress to both eradicate the wrinkles that adorn the fabric and to wipe off the sweat cropping up on your hands. You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous around Harry before and you can’t quite place your finger on why, but it’s getting more difficult to look him in the eye with your heart pounding as fast as it is. “I’m not gonna be Mrs. Styles for another week.” 

Harry exhales softly, fingertips tapping against your hip and you hadn’t even realized how close his hands were to that spot of your body - but it feels comforting, his touch on an oddly intimate part of you. “I can’t wait,” he says, and you can’t, either. “Makin’ me a very lucky groom, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe could make you go crazy if you focus on it for too long, so you don’t - and it’s hard to focus on much other than Harry himself as his head drops down, forehead pressed to yours, and oh God you can smell his fucking gum, and if you tilt your head up ever so slightly -

Is he going to kiss you? You think your heart will explode but you’ve never wanted anything more so you tilt your head up, just a bit, grip tightening on his shoulder, and you can feel his breath growing warmer against your face -

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing in his pocket snaps you out of your haze.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands dropping off your hips, and your head drops downwards with a soft groan. It was so close. You could feel his breath against your face and how did that fucking opportunity pass you by? - “S’my mum. Fuck - m’sorry.” And you’re not sure if he’s apologizing for the call or what had (or, rather, had not) happened but it doesn’t matter.

One glance at the phone he’s tugged out of his pocket shows that he’s right - Anne’s contact photo smiles up at you and you give Harry a small nod, faking the smile you’re not feeling, before taking a step back against your plush carpet as he turns around, back to you, phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m gonna change,” you whisper to no one in particular. Harry’s head turns just a bit so you can catch the apologetic look on his face before he’s loudly greeting Anne, and you’ve never liked eavesdropping on their calls. So you turn and head to your bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you and turning to stare at yourself, wide-eyed, in your mirror.

He almost kissed you.

He didn’t - but would he have? If Anne hadn’t rung him - would he have leaned down, breathing shaky, like how it always is when he’s nervous, and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours? And you would’ve known exactly how it feels to be kissed by him, whether it would be as dream-like as all the times you’ve dreamt of it. His hands on your hips, yours on his shoulders, bodies slotted together until your hands are roaming and you’re pushing him on to the couch, sliding into his lap and his hands would roam to your thighs -

It doesn’t do well to think about it now. You don’t want to get yourself too worked up about it - that doesn’t do anyone much good - and you don’t want to take too long to change. So you inhale a soft breath, smooth your clammy palms back over the front of your wedding dress, and you allow yourself one final glance in the mirror at the attire you’ll be donning in a week’s time before reaching around to your back, fiddling with the zipper until you can begin to tug it down.

 --

 You and Harry haven’t talked too much since you showed him your dress, and it’s probably not very great etiquette for an engaged couple, but you two have never been normal anyway.

He sent you a picture of the suit he’s wearing and it’s as every bit unconventional as your excuse of a wedding dress, and you told him that - how you would be a pair for the books, the opposite of what a regular married couple looks like. And you texted him just yesterday and asked if he would make you two a reservation at your favourite restaurant for dinner after the elopement (he always tended to get the nicer tables, and you don’t pretend not to know why) and he sent you back two thumbs-up emojis in response.

You’re getting married in three days, though. It would probably be best to talk about it with him before you cross that bridge but it’s never been one of your stronger areas, so you leave it be for now.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questions, tilting her head in so you can hear her against the thumping music of the club. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out for a bachelorette party the second they hard of your engagement and it would be out of character for you to refuse a night of drinks on them - even if you’d rather stay home and think about Harry and all the things you should’ve done when he was at your apartment. Getting drunk out of your mind does seem preferable to wallowing, though, now that you’re out and about and well on your way to getting smashed - so you turn to Olivia and nod once, a simple jerk of your head.

“I’m fine,” you tell her, reaching over to grab the cocktail Amy had gotten for you and bringing the straw to your lips. “Just thinking about Harry.”

Amy snorts from her spot across the booth, dipping her finger into her empty shot glass and licking up the droplet she collected. “Can’t believe it took you two so long to get together.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” interjects Olivia, reaching over to grab your glass out of your hand and taking a sip of your drink. “How long have you two been together again?”

Fuck. You’re in the grey area between being tipsy and being drunk and you can’t remember how long you and Harry had claimed to be together. Was it a year or two years? You think it’s a year - you’d wanted to go as low as possible with your answer. Did we say six months? That seems too low. “I’ve liked him since I’ve known him,” you answer instead, which is absolutely the truth, and Amy and Olivia are both too drunk to ponder about your evasion of the question. “Loved him, even.”

Your fingers brush against your phone, sitting on the table face down, as your friends playfully swoon - the last time you’d texted Harry was to tell him you were going to the club, and you hadn’t checked to see if he responded. It’s always been a habit between the two of you to text where you’re going, in case something happens, which seems oddly barbaric at times but you’ve always appreciated it.

“You’re so lucky,” Amy informs you, reaching across the booth to intertwine your fingers. She gets sappy when she’s drunk and you can tell from the distinct crack in her voice that she’s mere seconds away from bursting into tears and professing how much she loves you and Olivia - you don’t ever quite enjoy being around to see that. “I mean, really. You and Harry - we always knew it would happen -”

“I should call him real quick,” you mumble, watching as her eyes water over, and Olivia rolls her eyes with a grin as she scoots around the other side of the booth so Amy can throw her arms around her. You grab your phone and push yourself out of the booth, maneuvering through the crowd of people until you’ve reached the bathroom.

It's a single stall and the club is small enough that you only have to wait a minute or two before a thoroughly shitfaced woman stumbles out of the bathroom, a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoes, but she’s gone before you can point it out to her. You brush it off with a shrug and shut the door behind you once you’re inside the bathroom - it smells like Febreze and mint soap, and the scent of the mint reminds you of Harry’s breath and you really need to call him, don’t you.

You’re scrolling through your call log before you can wonder if calling your best friend who you’re in love with while you may be quite drunk is a bad idea - the phone is ringing just as you begin to - and he’s picked it up just when you realize you’ve made a mistake.

“Hey, babe,” Harry says from the other end, voice crackling with the poor reception in the club. He sounds groggy and raspy and you can tell you’ve either woken him up or he’s trying to go to sleep, and you don’t actually know what time it is, you realize. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m at a club,” you tell him, and you can hear his soft exhale of air and you can practically picture the slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’m out with Amy and Olivia - they wanted to take me out for a bachelorette party or something - s’kinda dumb, I dunno -”

“Are y’drunk? S’just, you’re slurrin’ a lot -”

“I’m tipsy,” as you sit back on the closed toilet seat, fingernails digging into your thigh. You don’t actually know what you’d called him to say but four days without talking to Harry seems like it’s setting some sort of record and you hate it. “Just wanted to call because - um - well, I miss you.”

For a second you think the call may have broken up - you can’t hear much beside his soft breathing, and you pull the phone away to check if it’s still connected. But then he sighs softly, and you’re quick to press your phone back to your ear. “I miss y’too, m’love - ‘course I do.”

“That’s sweet.” You hum softly, kicking your toes against the tiled bathroom floor. “I thought you might be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “That’s why I was confused. But you haven’t texted me much.”

You can fucking sense him rolling his eyes. “Well, y’didn’t text me either. I thought you were mad at me -”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what happened the other day,” you interject, and you know you wouldn’t be telling him this if you weren’t teetering more towards being drunk instead of tipsy, “and I really wanted to kiss you, you know. I mean, I thought you were going to - and then it didn’t happen.”

“Well, m’mum called.”

“Would you have done it if she didn’t?”

There’s a pause for only the briefest of seconds before Harry says, “‘Course I would have.”

Your heart flutters inside your chest and you lean your head back against the wall, nails digging further into your thigh and it’s difficult to hold back the grin that threatens to split your goddamn face in two. God, he would have. He would have kissed you - does he love you like how you love him? It seems fucking unreal, like something you’d dream up in your deepest sleep. You’d never thought Harry would ever feel the same way, even as you got a fucking marriage license together and planned out the dinner you’d eat after your elopement and -

You can’t think of a single other one of your friends who would fucking marry you for any reason, house or no house, life or death. And who would you do it for? Not Amy, not Olivia, even if they asked you nicely. It’s a commitment - a huge one - one that you wouldn’t be willing to do for anyone.

But you’d do it for Harry, in a heartbeat. You know you would. You’d have the fucking dress on before he could finish asking, and isn’t that what you had done, really? He hadn’t had to convince you much at all. You’d been willing from the get-go.

“Really?” Your voice is barely a breath, a soft exhale of air, reeking of the giddy joy you’re feeling at his proclamation. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Y’know I never lie to you.” Harry sounds nearly offended at the mere idea. “You are m’fiance. Comes with a code of conduct.”

You roll your eyes, and just then there’s a loud knock against the door - you jump violently, phone nearly slipping from your grasp. For a minute you’d forgotten you’re in a club bathroom and you know you’ve been here far too long to be appropriate - you’ll give yourself just one more minute to talk to Harry. “What about when we get divorced? Gonna lie to me then?”

“Always talkin’ about the divorce,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds so full of adoration that you’re nearly overwhelmed by it. “D’you have such little confidence about the strength of our relationship?”

If it were up to you, you’d be with Harry forever - but you can’t tell him that, not yet. “It’s not as though it’s a traditional relationship, you know. I don’t think most marriages that began for the sake of a house inheritance last too long,” you smile, feeling heat burning up your face even if he can’t see you. “Just generally speaking.”

“Hope y’got the statistics t’back that one up -”

Another louder knock shakes you again, and you jump up as though someone had set you aflame. Your phone nearly slips out of your clammy grasp once more and you clear your throat, lowering the device to your shoulder and calling, “Just a second!” to whoever’s waiting impatiently outside. You raise your phone back to your ear and clear your throat again. “I’ve gotta go, Har. I’m in the bathroom at the club - been in here a bit too long.”

“Aright,” Harry says, and you can hear soft shuffling from the other end, audio still crackled by the reception. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, scrunching your nose up before remembering he can’t see you. “I think it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re a stickler for tradition?”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse, Har,” you tell him, before pulling the phone from your ear and hanging up. For a second you can’t move, staring down at Harry’s contact in your phone with a giddy grin that surely makes you look like some child in a candy store - and, in a way, you are - and it’s only a third knock at the bathroom door that has you scrambling out the door, giving an apologetic grin to the girl waiting impatiently.

 --

 Being married - for the record - doesn’t feel too much different than before.

There’s a shiny ring on your finger that Harry had bought, and when you glance across the table where he’s sitting, clutching his menu, you can see the similar wedding ring on his left hand - it’s simplistic and small and contrasts with the rest of his clunky rings and it makes you feel strangely warm inside when you spend too long looking at it. And, even after you and Harry had talked at the club, your ‘post-elopement’ dinner doesn’t feel entirely different than all of the other dinner dates you’d shared before the entire situation began. It’s familiar and sweet and his ankle is hooked around yours under the table, forcing a permanent heat onto your cheeks.

Harry rests his menu on the table, fingertips drumming against the laminated paper, and you similarly drop yours to look at him. “Think m’gonna get the spaghetti.”

It’s a testament to the slight air of awkwardness surrounding you both that the only thing he can think to talk about is the food he’s getting - but you’ll play along. “I like the raviolis,” you tell him. “Think I’ll get those.”

He hums softly, pushing his menu further into the table. “Can y’believe tha’ we’re married? I can’t. Seems so weird.”

“Doesn’t feel that different,” you disagree, toes tapping against his ankle beneath the table. “It’s not like we didn’t go out for dinner together before we got hitched.”

“We’re playin’ footsies under the table, babe.”

You grin down at your napkin, resting on your lap on top of your wedding dress. “Be careful or I’ll kick you, Har.”

His ankle tightens just a bit around yours beneath the table and you could watch that small smile spreading across his face for the rest of your life. “Y’wouldn’t dare - don’t y’love me?”

Yes, you do, so you resist the urge to unhook your ankle from around his and deliver a swift kick to his calf - just rest your palms on the table, scratching lightly at the rustic wood of the table. It’s hard for you to even pretend to be mad at him when all you can think about is how much you want to climb over the table and straddle him - as his wife you suppose it isn’t an insane thought, and you’re nearly certain he’s feeling the same way. Hadn’t he told you he would have kissed you if he hadn’t been called by Anne? Maybe you’ll get a chance to do it again - later. You’ll never give up the opportunity again.

“When d’you get t’move into the house?” Harry questions, leaning in just a bit in his seat. 

“A few months, I think.” You shrug. “Reckon I’ll start redecorating before then, though. I’m already looking at furniture - I’ve gotta save up for most of it, though. Might sell my apartment before then.” There’s a pause, and then you shrug once more, picking at a crack in the table. “I’ll probably move back in with my parents.”

Harry’s eyebrows are raised when you glance up at him, fingers paused in their drumming on the menu. “Are y’kidding? We’re married. You can move in wit’ me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that -”

“Not asking, are you? Even if we didn’t just elope at a courthouse, you’re still m’best friend. Can’t have you moving in t’your mum’s basement.”

You smile softly, flattening your palms against the table and craning your neck to examine the ring - proof that it had really happened, that you’re really married. It still doesn’t feel quite real, no matter how many times you and Harry casually talk about it. “Was gonna live in her attic, actually.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay f’the furniture, too. Don’t look at me like tha’ - s’our house. Needs t’be ready f’when we move in.”

You hesitate, trying poorly to conceal the way your grin is arching further upwards at the mere prospect of what he’s hinting at. Living with Harry? Jesus, even if you weren’t in love with him, living with him sounds like an absolute dream, only made better by your feelings for him. And picturing walking through an Ikea, searching for furniture, feeling his arm around your shoulders as you two look online for decorations - if heaven were a place on Earth, it would be your Aunt Alice’s estate, soon inhabited by you and your husband. “Well, we’ll talk about it, alright?” you land on as your response. 

For a moment, neither of you say anything, and the silence isn’t as stifling with awkwardness as it had been before. Then Harry reaches over, resting his hand overtop of yours, fingers instinctively intertwining, and your heart nearly splits itself in two - he initiated it, holding your hand, and maybe you shouldn’t feel so surprised but you can’t fucking help it. Your scalp is tingling and you swear your eyes are going to bubble over and his hand feels just as soft and beautiful as you’d expected - as you’d always dreamed of.

You’re not sure when, exactly, there would ever be a better time to tell him than now, so you clear your throat and squeeze his hand and confess, “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Har.”

Sharing your feelings isn’t necessarily your strongest spot but you’re feeling egged on by absolutely everything, and the way Harry brushes his thumb against your palm encourages you to continue. “I mean - since we met, basically - but I never told you. Never thought you would like me back.”

“I did,” he interjects, and you look up at him with furrowed brows. “Liked you back, I mean. Clearly - hope y’didn’t think I’d run off an’ marry anybody this fast.”

“I just thought you were being nice.”

“You’re silly, then.”

“A real idiot,” you proclaim, rubbing soft circles into the back of Harry’s hand, and you swear you’ll never let go unless someone fucking rips you away. “Guess I should’ve figured it out, then - seems like we did everything in the wrong order, right?”

Harry snorts, a noise that draws the slightest attention from an older couple sitting at a table beside you, but neither of you pay them any attention. “Get married first, fall in love second.”

“I was already in love,” and you’re not sure why, exactly, you had said that but it feels right and true falling off your tongue so you decide, pointedly, not to regret it.

There’s no hesitation when Harry responds, voice laced with the authenticity you’re so desperately craving - “Reckon I was, too.” You barely get a minute to process that and how it’s making your stomach do flips and turns like an Olympic medalist before he’s standing up, fingers still interlocked with yours to pull you up with him. “How d’you feel ‘bout a sleepover tonight?”

“A sleepover?”

He barely looks at you as he fishes through the pocket of his dress pants to pull out his wallet. “Not like we haven’t had them before.”

That’s true - you’ve slept over at Harry’s house so many times, it’s like a second home to you - but you have a distinct idea that, based off of your previous conversation and the wedding rings shining on both of your fingers, this sleepover will be just a bit different. 

“Skipping out on the reservation, then?” you question, squeezing Harry’s hand as he tosses a $50 onto the table - a significant overkill for your lemonade and his Coke but you suppose he’s feeling rather generous today. “I am rather hungry.”

“We’ll eat at my house,” he insists, leading you through the maze of tables with a grip that’s so tight, you wonder if he’s having the same qualms as you are about never letting go. “Y’like pizza, don’t you?”

 --

 You’ve been in Harry’s house more times than you can count, but it’s never been like this.

His hand is still firm in yours and it’s a feeling you adore - even if his palm has gotten clammier with every second, every step you took closer to his front door, and you can practically smell the nervousness rolling off of him. It’s not unlike the worry that’s overtaken you because you’re not quite sure what he’s expecting - only know what you want to happen and you pray to any god above that your desires align with his.

The sound of Harry shutting the door is the only crack of noise burning through the otherwise thick silence surrounding you. Neither of you had known what to say and the car ride was taken in comfortable silence, hands clasped and heads bobbing to soft music playing on the radio, but being in his house is different - there’s no music, no excuse for Harry to keep his eyes off of you, nowhere to lean your head and pretend to be resting your eyes while your heart uncontrollably thumps against your chest.

In ways, it’s better. Most ways, in fact.

Slowly, you turn to face Harry, fingers drumming against the back of his hand. His breathing is heavy and his eyes never leave yours, and you’re reminded remarkably of trying on your dress for the first time in front of him and your position hadn’t been too unlike this one - maybe now you can do it right.

It feels entirely natural, tilting your head up until you can easily slot your lips to Harry’s. They’re soft and plump and he kisses you back with a vigor you hadn’t quite expected - deepening it before you have the chance to react, his free hand that’s not clutching yours roaming to your neck and you can’t ignore the way your stomach flips at the feeling of his hand on your throat. But then his hand keeps moving up, palm pressing to your cheek in such a sweet gesture that doesn’t at all match the intensity with which he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth - your hand lands on his waist, gripping the flowy material of his dress shirt, pulling his body as close to yours as you can get.

You only pull away to catch your breath, grip tightening on his shirt to ensure he won’t move away - you need him close to you, need to feel his body against yours - the bulge near his thigh that you can feel against your pelvis, hardening with every second that passes.

“Why’d you move?” Harry questions, voice soft and vulnerable and you can’t help but lean up and land another kiss to his mouth. 

“Had to breathe, Har,” you murmur, smoothing your hands against his waist and the wrinkles you’ve surely created in the fabric. His fingers brush the edge of your jawline and you can feel your skin growing goosebumps beneath his touch.

He simply hums in response, ducking his head down to kiss you again. It’s sweeter this time, soft and fluffy but you don’t want that now - God, you want his hand around your neck and his knee between your thighs but perhaps that’ll have to wait for another time. You’re needy for just about anything you can get and if that’s sugary sweet kisses, a touch so gentle you could trick yourself into believing it isn’t there, then you’re more than grateful.

Harry’s teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to have you moaning into his mouth and your nails dig into his through his shirt - the resulting whine into your mouth has you smirking against his lips, pushing your hips further into his. It’s the clearest way you can think of to tell him that you need him beyond kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” he breathes and you can feel his cock, twitching against your thigh and it’s a sensation you never thought you’d be able to experience outside of your deepest dreams - it feels twice as good as you’d imagined. “Gonna make me go crazy, babe.”

That’s exactly what you want.

“Hey,” and you pull away from him, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath still hot on your face, “don’t we have to fulfill the tradition of consummating the marriage?”

He laughs, a loud exhalation of air rather than his true barking laugh, but you smile anyway at the sound. “S’not the middle ages - no one’s expecting us to, if y’don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Harry’s hand slides backwards into your hair, pulling the strands into a ponytail and tugging and your resulting moan has him smirking like a smug bastard against your lips. “God, Har. I really want to.”

It seems that that was the exact response he’d wanted - you get one last lingering kiss to your lips before Harry’s pulling away, hand falling away from your hair and other still interlocked with your own. You don’t have a second to question where, exactly, he’s leading you but then he’s tugging you through the foyer and down the halls and up the staircase you’ve grown to know so well - the trek to his bedroom has never seemed so viciously long until now, but by the time Harry swings open the door, you feel as though you’ve been walking for hours instead of barely a minute.

“On the bed, babe,” he directs you, all raspy tone and dominance lacing every last syllable and you can’t ignore the gush of arousal you can feel rushing straight to your core. It’s the stuff that makes up dreams, really, his fucking voice, and you know just the four simple words would be enough to get you off for years from now. “C’mon.”

You wouldn’t dream of disobeying - your footsteps are nearly completely silent on the carpet as you walk over to the end of Harry’s bed, pushing yourself up to sit on the plush duvet, sinking into the mattress that feels like an absolute cloud compared to the rock you’re used to sleeping on. For a brief second, he doesn’t move - just stands and stares at you, chest heaving through the baby blue dress shirt that your needy grasp had wrinkled. Then he moves, shutting the door with a barely perceptible click before making his way over to you, gazing up at him with heat blazing in your eyes.

Perhaps you’re expecting him to push you onto the bed, to fulfill the dominant tone he’d held before, so it is a bit of a surprise to see your best friend (your husband) dropping to his knees before you, fingertips ever so gently trailing up and down your calves.

The bedroom is so silent, save for your panting breaths and Harry’s shaky ones and you reckon he may be more nervous than you are - you’d expected him to handle all of the confidence between you two but his fingers are shaking as he pulls off your heels, resting them side by side on the carpet at the end of the bed. Chills crop up over your skin as his gentle touch roams up your legs, landing on your knee, and your breath hitches in your throat as the man you’ve loved for nearly 5 years leans in, lips landing a soft kiss to the top of your calf.

This isn’t what you had expected - him fucking worshipping you, on his knees - you’d never pictured it in a million years. And maybe it’s proof of the difference between him and the other guys you’d been with - your ex-boyfriends and flings had always been worried about their pleasure, never paying you any attention, and Harry couldn’t be closer to the end of the spectrum. Your entire body feels warm beneath his watchful gaze and touch, how he brings one hand up to snap firmly when your eyes flutter shut. 

“Look at me,” Harry directs, and despite the slight strain in his actions, his words still hold a never-faltering dominance that he’d had before. “C’mon, babe. I don’ want you to look away from me - can y’do that?”

It’s a task that’s easier said than done, but you nod anyway, swallowing thickly as Harry redirects his attention back to your legs. His hand, resting delicately on your left knee as though you’d break if he put too much pressure, slides down the length of your leg until he’s grasping your ankle, kneading the soft skin in his grasp while his lips linger at the top of your knee.

Using his grip on your ankle, Harry hoists your leg up onto the bed without warning, your toes digging into the end of the bed - uses his other hand to push your thigh outward so you’re on display for him like a goddamn feast and his smug grin proves that he can see just how wet you are, soaking through the white lace panties you’d chosen for the occasion. Heat blooms up your cheeks as he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing your soft skin, and then he gives a dramatic inhale and - that’s -

You reach down, bracing both palms on the side of his face and forcing your husband (husband!) to look at you in the eye. He looks confused by your interjection and apologetic and that isn’t what you were going for but you hadn’t expected him to want to eat you out - most guys didn’t.

“You don’t have to do that, Har,” you murmur, giving a pointed glance to your lap that he’s been eyeing like it’s his dessert. “I won’t be mad.”

And Harry looks almost offended by the prospect of not wanting to, like you’d insulted him - “I want to. D’you not want me to?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice hardly above a breath, and when he begins to pull away you continue. “No! I mean - yes, I want you to.”

He grins, wide and toothy and reminding you of exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place, and you settle back into your spot on the bed with your nerves almost completely eradicated. He wants to - he’s not doing it because he feels obligated - it’s already a step up from any other guy you’d ever been with.

Fingers trail up your thighs as Harry’s lips close around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, cheeks hollowing as he sucks a deep purple hickey, and you lift your hips just a bit so he can hook his fingers in the waistband of your panties and begin to tug them down. The crotch area is practically dripping with your arousal and it takes a bit more force to tug it away from your cunt but once they’re gone, Harry grabs your ankle again and straightens out your leg, making it easier for him to tug the offending material down your body and toss them away from the bed before resting your foot back on the edge.

You can hear his shaky breathing as he pulls his lips away from your thigh, thumb smoothing over the mark he’d left as if to prove it exists. You’d get it fucking tattooed if you could - to forever commemorate this experience - his mark in such a secretive place, just a breath away from where you need him most.

“Jus’ - jus’ tell me if y’want me t’stop,” Harry tells you, eyes interlocking with yours once more, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Lean back f’me, then - not too far, jus’ a bit - still need t’see you.”

So you lean back, propping yourself up on your arms, a barely reclined position from how you’d been sitting before. It’s easier to see him as he grabs the hem of your dress, tugs it up just a bit, but when you lift your hips so he can pull it out from under your ass he doesn’t comply - well, perhaps he has other plans with it, doesn’t want the dress to come off just yet, and you can respect that.

The time it takes for Harry to duck his head beneath your dress, tongue flicking against your overly sensitive folds, seems like fucking years even if it’s hardly a second, but when he does your hips instinctively jerk forward into his mouth. His eyes are flashing when he looks up at you and you breathe out a stream of apologies, heart thumping in your chest, fingernails digging into the comforter beneath you. “Don’ move,” he directs, and you nod again and again and you don’t stop until his lips close in around your clit.

Your head drops back with a low moan as Harry’s teeth graze your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the sensitive nub like it’s what he was born to do. The bottom of your dress covers the top of his head so you can’t see what he’s doing - you have no idea what his next move is and it makes the pleasure rolling through your body that much better.

“Fuck - fuck, Har -” the only two words you can think to moan roll off your tongue like a mantra, your back arching upwards despite his warning not to move but he doesn’t mention it - just drags one hand up, fingertips light and dancing on your thighs until he can splay his forearm across your lower stomach, effectively pinning you to the bed. Your hand moves from digging into the sheets to digging into his scalp, tugging at the loose strands of hair that smell ever so slightly of gel and it makes your heart swell to imagine him putting product in his hair for the elopement - but before you have time to dwell on the sweetness of the sentiment, that talented tongue is licking a thin stripe up your folds before flicking your clit and you’re brought back to reality. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Harry mumbles, muffled where his face is pressed firm to your pussy and the vibrations of his words reverberate against your clit, sending a chill up your spine, and you let out a low whine at the sensation. 

“Yes,” you breathe in return, tugging at his hair just a bit, the strands forming a makeshift ponytail like he’d done to you before. “Feels so good, Harry, god -”

His head pulls back just a bit, hem of your dress dropping to just the tip of his nose so you can see his eyes - smug and glinting and you’re sure that, if you could see his mouth, those lips would be upturned into a smirk and practically dripping with your arousal - but he goes back in just as soon as he’d pulled out, burying his face in the apex of your thighs and you collapse back against the bed with a shout.

Whatever order he’d given you to maintain eye contact disappears. It isn’t as though you can see his eyes anyway, and you couldn’t stop yours from rolling back into your head if you tried. Ecstasy rolls through your body and, God, you know you’re close already, thighs tensing under where Harry’s palm kneads the soft skin, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll see bruises tomorrow. Your cunt clenches and flutters around the emptiness you’re yearning to get rid of and your back arches up again, Harry’s restraint on your torso not enough to stop it now, and you’re so fucking close.

“Harry -” you moan, digging your fingernails into Harry’s scalp and relishing in his responding moan to your clit - “gonna cum, Har -”

He doesn’t say anything - but you can feel his tongue continuing its work, up and down your folds and circling your clit and that’s response enough. Your hips jerk into his face, back arching as you grasp his hair tight enough that it has to fucking hurt but then you’re cumming and -

“Oh, fuck!”

Your voice is high pitched, cracked with a desperate sob right in the middle of your words before you’re holding Harry’s head to your pussy, his tongue working your clit like he was born for it, his low moans muffled against you. The hand previously holding down your torso slides up your body until he can shove his hand into the top of your dress, tugging it down so your chest is. He plucks at your nipple before grasping your tit, full in his palm, and the added stimulation prolongs your orgasm, hips rolling against Harry’s working mouth.

You can’t see straight when Harry pulls his head out from the bottom of your chest but when your vision focuses you’re beyond thankful. His chin is glistening with your arousal, tongue poking out to lap at the moisture on his lips and he dons that shit-eating grin you’ve grown to know so well. You usually see it when he wins a board game or when you’re celebrating something - seeing it on his face after he’s finished giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever gotten is certainly different but not unwelcome by anyone’s standards.

There’s a second where all you do is lie back and catch your breath - staring up at the ceiling above you, chest heaving as the aftershocks race through your body. Harry, meanwhile, pushes himself to his feet, muttering a small groan about God, m’fuckin knees and gettin’ too old for this, aren’t I?

Lazily you hold your hand out towards him, wiggling your fingers, and he reaches out to interlock your fingers again. “How was that?” he questions, voice soft and almost insecure and it’s a sharp contrast from the dominance he held before, but you know it’ll come back.

“I think you’re a natural at that, Mr. Styles,” you tell him, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you pull him closer to you until his knees hit the bed and he’s forced to collapse on top of you, grin cracking onto his face. “Gonna undress me?”

“‘Course,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to place a brief kiss to your lips, but before you can lift your head to deepen it he’s rolling off of you, shifting onto his side and shuffling upwards so his head rests on the stack of pillows. You raise your eyebrows at him - it isn’t as though he can take your dress off from that position - but, as though he can read your mind, he raises his hand and pats his lower stomach pointedly. “Climb up, babe.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, you can feel heat pulsing in your cheeks but you hope it doesn’t show - just sit up, swing your legs around so you’re straddling Harry, hands on his chest and gazing down at him like the God he seems to be. His hair is splayed out on the pillows beneath him, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and you can’t help yourself - lean down to land your lips to his again, and this time both of you allow it to deepen. His hand starts at your cheek like it had before but you reach for it, fingers wrapping around his wrist and maneuvering it downwards until his palm is wrapped around the column of your throat, and he squeezes once experimentally.

You moan softly, hips rolling against the pointed bulge in his dress pants, and Harry’s eyebrows raise. “No fuckin’ way,” he breathes, squeezing again just to hear the way your breath catches. “Gonna be th’fuckin’ death f’me.”

You’re fine with that, and you reckon he is too.

You reach behind you, tapping along your back until you can reach the zipper. You’ve only tugged it down an inch or two before Harry’s free hand replaces yours, dragging the zipper down as far as it can go before reaching for the bottom of the dress. It’s gone in an instant - tossed off the edge of the bed, to be worried about later - and you can feel his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra before it comes undone, and then you’re naked.

You’d expected yourself to feel more embarrassed, or perhaps just nervous, and maybe it’s the effects of your previous orgasm but you’re feeling surprisingly calm - or maybe it’s how Harry looks up at you like you’re some sort of goddess sent from above, as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

It does wonders for your self esteem, truthfully.

“Gonna undress me, then?” Harry questions, hands smoothing up and down your thighs, eyes drinking in every bit of your exposed body on top of him.

You hum softly, pinching at the soft material of his shirt. “I don’t think so - want you to fuck me in your fancy clothes.”

“Well, if I’d known tha’ was an option -”

“Do you want me to put the dress back on?”

“No!”

You grin down at him before rolling your hips over his again, and it’s the last thing you manage to do before his grip lands on your hips and he’s flipping you over - your head lands dangerously close to hitting the headboard but it’s worth it, seeing him above you, fully clothed, pupils lust-blown and wide.

It hardly takes a second for Harry to undo the button to his pants and the sound of the zipper being undone is like music to your fucking ears - you spread your legs, letting him slot his body between them and oh, you can feel the tip of his fucking cock it’s right there and -

The first movement, Harry pushing himself inside of you, has you throwing your head back against the pillow, the moan coming from your throat mixing with a cry. He’s big - certainly bigger than you’d ever expected and bigger than any guy you’d been with - feels like he could split you in half if he wanted to but he stops, hands smoothing up and down your body, and you make a point of reaching for his hand and interlocking your fingers.

You’ll never grow tired of holding his hand, you think. Not for a while, anyway.

“How’re you doin’?” he questions, voice strained, and when your eyes shift back to him you can see the droplets of sweat beaded on his face. “Jus’ - jus’ tell me when, alright?”

“When,” you breathe almost immediately. You hadn’t needed too much time to adjust but you need him to move - you’re so pent up and you know it won’t take long to take you to your second orgasm but, God, he needs to fucking move. “Please, Har - please, fuck me.”

It doesn’t seem he needed much more encouragement than that. With one final move of wrapping his free hand firm around your neck and giving another small squeeze, Harry pulls out agonizingly slowly until just the tip of his cock remains in your heat. Just as you open your mouth to beg him to move again he slams back in with a force you hadn’t anticipated, your body rocking backwards of its own accord with the weight behind the thrust.

It’s exactly what you’d needed, though - fast and rough and his hand, cutting off your airflow just a bit, just enough to have you quivering beneath him. The low groan that rips out of his throat, reverberating through the humid bedroom has you pushing your hips up to his, trying to deepen where he’s buried inside of you to the hilt but you’re not sure how much deeper he could get. Feels like he could split you in half with every desperate thrust, every rut of his hips into yours and yours back into his.

“Oh - god - m’fuckin’ good girl, so tight around m’cock -”

Another rush of arousal gushes straight to your core with his filthy words and your head falls back into the pillow with a high whine, nails digging into the back of his hand as his other one tightens grip around your neck. It makes every desperate moan and cry that much airier and you can tell Harry likes it, staring down at you as his hips pound yours with absolutely no mercy and you don’t want any, anyway. It’s the subject of every single fantasy you’ve ever had about him, rough and hard and the sound of skin slapping skin overpowering your needy noises.

You’d never dreamt it would feel so good.

“Oh god, Harry!” Your eyes are rolling back into your head as your free hand trails down your stomach, shaking fingers focusing on your ignored clit and beginning tight circles around the nub. The jolts of pleasure that run through your body are - god, fucking amazing and you know you’re close, hardly need anything else to tip you over the edge. “Gonna - gonna cum, Har -”

It’s a testament to, perhaps, the long-growing tension between the two of you that his head drops backwards with a cry of me, too in a tone that’s so desperately vulnerable and it’s exactly what you’d needed - the reminder, in the midst of the rough thrusts and desperate moans, that this isn’t a one time thing. If you both allow it, it’s the rest of your life, just like this - and, God, you’ll allow it.

Your cunt clenches around your cock as you cum, eyes rolling back into your head and body spasming beneath him. In the midst of it Harry pulls out and you don’t get a second to question the sudden emptiness before you feel a familiar warmth hitting your lower stomach, and you open your eyes in time to see your husband, hand working at his cock as ribbons of cum spurt onto your stomach.

(You think you could cum again just from the sight but - well, you’ll hold back.)

His breathing is choppy and desperate, broken occasionally by a needy moan until he’s finished and he collapses on his back beside you, hands still intertwined with no intention of letting go. Nothing needs to be said - not yet - not for a little while, where you’ll talk about it more. 

A little while ends up merely being a minute or two before Harry swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hand still clasped in yours, and makes to stand up - it’s only your tightening grasp on his hand that forces him to stop, glancing behind him to look at you.

“Don’t,” you plead, throat already feeling sore and voice raspy. “Just - another minute, alright? Then clean up.”

He hums softly but you know he won’t resist the prospect of just a brief cuddle - one of the few things you hadn’t done often when you were just friends, because you knew that, if Harry held you as close to him as he is now, lips pressed to your forehead, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling him how you felt about him.

Doesn’t matter now, though. And his arms feel so warm around you, clammy palm still pressed to yours like a fucking couple in middle school but you wouldn’t dream of letting go. It’s all so - so peaceful, lying with him and listening to his heartbeat as you rest your head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat thumping as fast and hard as yours is.

And - well. Barely a month ago you were convinced your Aunt Alice was the worst woman in the world - a hypocrite and an asshole, set out to taunt you by lording your dream home over you and snatching it away when you couldn’t find a husband in time. But now? Feeling Harry, landing soft kisses again and again to your forehead, you figure she’s not so bad, after all.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 317: My Boy Was Just Like Me

Previously on BnHA: AFO randomly blew up Lady Nagant as a good reminder of why you should never make a deal with this fucking guy, smdh. Hawks was all “well if it isn’t my two best friends, Deku and Lady Nagant, both of whom I respect and love tremendously.” Everyone was all “??” and Horikoshi was all “shh... just pretend” because it was too embarrassing for him to admit that he forgot to write a couple of set-up flashbacks I guess. Anyway so Hawks got Lady to tell them where AFO was hiding out, and everyone said goodbye to her and Overhaul, who never did get to see his boss (sorry buddy, I’ll send you a vial of my tears in the mail), and headed out to a house in the woods. AFO was all “hello Deku :) :) it sure is fun making you suffer :) :) :) anyways this is a trap”, and blew up the house. Yeah, we all here are getting reaaaaaaaal tired of your shit, AFO.

Today on BnHA: The Hawksquad and Edgeplatoon meet in a warehouse and are all “what should we do about the fact that everything sucks?” Mt. Lady is all “here’s a thought, what if we tried battling AFO with more than six people.” Hawks and Endeavor are all “great initiative, but just a friendly reminder that our friends also suck and would probably betray Deku which would suck further still.” Shouto is all “ANSWER THE PHONE DAD” and Endeavor is all “[IRONICALLY DOESN’T ANSWER THE PHONE].” Meanwhile over in Sadtown, capital of Sadland Prefecture, Japan, Deku is all “All Might, as you can clearly see I am completely fine and good, never been better in fact, definitely not caught up in the throes of an epic mental breakdown which is shutting me down emotionally, anyway so on that note I would like to leave you now goodbye!!” All Might is all “[can’t actually form any words because he’s too distraught].” Fandom is all “o(╥﹏╥)o.” Horikoshi is all “(*＾-’) 乃 [pew pew finger guns and barrel rolls into the darkness].”

sweet jesus lord

this literally doesn’t even look like Deku anymore?? this looks like Dark!Deku who shows up to fight you in that one room in the Water Temple. he looks like he’s about to crawl out of my television set and murder me with his psychic powers good lord

holy shit lmao Horikoshi is really just shrugging his shoulders and resolving last week’s cliffhanger with a single line of dialogue

fire is no one’s weakness. idk what other options you’ve got, AFO, but you’re gonna have to go back to the drawing board. maybe try bees or something. I’m just saying. we’re all expecting fire at this point but nobody is expecting bees

anyway so now they’re all sitting in some warehouse somewhere chatting about it I guess. shoutout to Horikoshi for finally giving my man Edgeshot some more dialogue at long last

well, Edgeshot, to answer your question, she exploded. so naturally she’s fine

nah just kidding, Hawks says she won’t be able to help them out much because she’s recovering from being exploded. this is the part where we all ignore the fact that Hawks got set on fire for like a full ten minutes back during the War arc and was only in the hospital for a day. anyways enjoy your temporary plot hiatus Nagant

man there’s a lot of dialogue here and I’m trying to figure out where to insert commentary but it’s kinda difficult lol. basically, Edge and the others are saying that they should gather up the other remaining heroes and get them all caught up on the whole OFA situation. which, hmmmm

like on the one hand, these guys definitely aren’t going to cut it on their own, so it’s a reasonable suggestion on the face of it. but on the other hand, do we really want to entrust the OFA secret to a bunch of other people, most of whom shat the bed during the War arc to be quite frank? is it really worth the additional risk? especially given that any one of them might go spilling the beans to the public -- or worse, betray them to AFO??

also just a quick side note here, Mt. Lady’s character development never ceases to delight me. she’s become so committed to her responsibility as a hero these days, and it fucking suits her. I genuinely consider to be one of the elites now. I mean it doesn’t hurt that all the other elites are fucking dead lol but still

wait what? Death Arms retired??

Death Arms as in the guy who was too afraid of a little fire to try and save a terrified 14-year-old kid who was slowly suffocating right before his eyes?? that Death Arms???? color me surprised. shocked, I tell you

...okay but holy fuck

Death Arms. bro. my expectations for you were low but holy shit. like I’m sorry, but I don’t even have it in me to try and pretend like I feel the slightest bit of sympathy for him or Old Man Samurai or any of those other guys today. thanks for a whole lot of nothing my dude. good riddance

(ETA: so I’m rereading this the next day and realize this comes off as kind of harsh, so let me just try to clarify. it’s not the fact that he’s quitting that bothers me, to be honest. it’s the fact that he’s quitting specifically because he feels like the public is being mean to him. that’s it.

seriously. it would be one thing if he was quitting because he was scared, because now that is human. nobody wants to die, and I doubt any amount of training can ever fully prepare someone to go up against that fear. but the thing is, he never once mentions that, or talks about the danger aspect. instead, I got the distinct vibe from this speech that Death Arms is one of those people who only became a hero because of the limelight. and I just don’t have any patience for that. if all you care about are likes and subscribes then go become a fucking youtuber or some shit. nothing wrong with that! but you didn’t; you signed up to be a hero and protect these people. they gave you their respect and admiration because they trusted you to protect them. and now that they’re no longer in the mood to worship and applaud your every move on account of them being scared shitless because they’re living in the literal end times, you decide to dip. so like okay, fine then. don’t let the door hit you on the way out. anyways lol sorry for the rant.)

anyway so yeah. perfect example of why I don’t exactly have a ton of faith in most of the remaining heroes out there lol. also let me just once again give a shoutout to my best girl Mt. Lady whom I suddenly find myself appreciating all the more

“please calm down makeste. drink some water and enjoy this fresh new jeans pun” listen Horikoshi don’t tell me what to do dammit

fine. it is a nice pun, I guess

-- damn so now Endeavor’s saying that the media is already being fed info by the retired heroes. so for some of these guys it wasn’t enough for them to abandon all the people they swore to protect and to leave their fellow heroes out in the cold; they decided they might as well actively make things worse for them while they were at it, huh. like I get wanting to spill all the dirty secrets from your old job that you just quit, but this isn’t Jeff Bezos you’re screwing over, this is a sixteen-year-old kid

-- like, yes!! this, right here!!

exactly!! let’s not forget that there are already two prior instances of this happening. Endeavor arguably deserved it, but Katsuki not so much

huh. Endeavor seems to have a more optimistic outlook regarding this than I do lol

I mean, this is the same public that didn’t hesitant to blame a kidnapped child for his own kidnapping, and then later on for being the downfall of the Symbol of Peace. but okay then

anyway so blah blah blah, more talk about how they need to use Deku as bait, which basically puts them back at square one, and then they’re all just trailing off into silence and sitting around in the dark lmao this is getting very depressing

SKDJFLSDKJ:LFKJ

SHOUTO?????

NOOOOOOOO ARE YOU KIDDING ME

OH HOW THE TURNTABLES OMG. THE GHOSTER HAS BECOME THE GHOSTEE. Endeavor you petty son of a bitch. and what a brutal cut to that flashback too. “let’s stop Touya together” nah Shouto I’ve got a better idea why don’t I abandon you in U.A. and sally off with Hawks and Jeanist to found the “let’s pretend like we’re doing something to help Deku” club, which basically consists of us sitting around making terrible decisions all day long

Shouto, honey. you deserve better my little Coca Cola can. .........but if you really do have something important you need to tell your dad you could just text it to him. all the love and support, hugs and kisses, you’re doing amazing sweetie. but if you need to pass on any vital information you can just write it down and hit send honey that’s all I’m saying love

now he’s getting another call?? -- or, no, Hawks is getting a call from All Might

ARE YOU FOR REAL HAWKS OMFG

so while you all were sitting around talking about how useless you are, the kid you’re supposed to be protecting was battling another hired gun. I see. please pardon me for one second, I have a phone call to make. the phone call is to RockLockRock and Manual. the reason for the call is to apologize for calling them the worst bodyguards ever back during the War arc. the reason for the apology is because it turns out I WAS SEVERELY MISTAKEN OMFG

JESUS CHRIST DEKU DID YOU JUST KILL THIS MAN LMAO

shoutout to Horikoshi for offscreening this fight. we get it, lol. Deku strong and scary, villains ineffectual and feeble, and AFO... [checks notes] yep, still a dick. the angst arc continues

-- the angst arc continues, SIR

jesus christ I may have to rethink all of my opinions about Deku being framed for murder in movie 3 lmao. never mind. he did it, your honor

holy fucking shit Deku. “he might blow up, so please be careful” fdlskjflk jlskdjflk lwkejflk anyway so I’ve decided the explosion running gag can stay, actually

DEKU WAIT YOU FORGOT YOUR LUNCH!!

lol why do I get the feeling some serious shit is about to go down. ALL MIGHT NEVER MIND BACK OFF I THINK HE NEEDS HIS SPACE

OH MY FUCK I GASPED OUT LOUD

NO NO NO. I KNEW THIS WAS COMING GODDAMMIT BUT NO. NEVER MIND, I CHANGED MY MIND ABOUT IT, I’M NOT READY TO CRY TODAY

shit. shit shit shit shit and OF COURSE all I can fucking think about is that stupid fucking prophecy and gahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Deku please. please please please if you really are going to leave All Might here, please be so very careful in choosing your farewell words to him now because have this sudden horrible fear that this might be the last time you ever see him alive and oh god. oh god oh god

DEKU NO, YOU’RE REALLY NOT!?!?

I HAVE NEVER SEEN ANYONE LESS FINE IN MY LIFE, ACTUALLY????

holy shit. and the fucking callback to the prophecy now. just in case we forgot. WHICH FYI, WE DIDN’T. but that’s basically confirming that this is all still very much on the table and HORIKOSHI NEVER FORGETS oh my god someone please hold me

and the fact that Deku’s flashing back to it now too, though?? because he never forgot either, because of course he didn’t, and now all this stuff is happening, and AFO’s words are getting to him, and this is literally his worst fear come to life and so of course he’s distancing himself from everyone, and now it’s finally come to even this. even the person he admires most

-- OKAY NO, FUCKING COME ON ALREADY I CAN’T TAKE THIS

I GET IT OH MY GOD, I ALREADY UNDERSTAND THE EMOTIONAL IMPACT OF THIS MOMENT WITHOUT ALL OF THE DEVASTATING FLASHBACKS THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH!! YOU ACTUALLY DO WANT ME TO CRY, HUH, IS THAT IT. THIS MAN THAT HE THINKS OF AS A FATHER, THIS MAN WHO HAS BEEN EVERYTHING TO HIM SINCE HE WAS A VERY YOUNG CHILD. EVERYTHING THEY’VE BEEN THROUGH, JUXTAPOSED AGAINST EVERYTHING DEKU IS UP AGAINST, EVERYTHING THAT’S AT RISK. LET’S JUST PUT IT ALL SIDE BY SIDE. LET’S JUST PILE ON ALL OF THE FEELS

(ETA: just a quick note that even though some of the posts I’ve read have described these as All Might’s flashbacks, I’m pretty sure they are Deku’s. most of these are scenes that only he was there for, so yeah. even though All Might is the one thinking the thoughts on the next page, the flashbacks are what’s running through Deku’s mind right now, and so we’re getting that emotion from both of them, which makes it extra devastating lol.)

wait, what???

WHAT??? do you really think that’s why he’s been so determined to protect you this entire time?? simply because you’re his successor?

-- oh no wait lol I think I got that mixed up, this is All Might saying that Deku feels the need to protect him. well that makes more sense lol

oh my god I cannot

his last words. his last words to him. and we can’t even see if he is smiling, like All Might always encouraged him to do. but what are the odds he can’t actually bring himself to do it. what are the odds he’s actually crying. oh god this scene is going to rip my heart out and STOMP on it in the anime isn’t it. Deku’s VA is going to full on murder me with emotion. not that there’ll be much of me left to murder after the thorough job that Horikoshi has already done here

YOU’RE CRYING. DEKU IS LEAVING ALL MIGHT AND IGNORING HIS OUTSTRETCHED HAND AND YOU’RE CRYING. AND BY “YOU” I MEAN “ME”, FUCK

nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope no words just feels just a big ol’ pile of feels. I do not have the strength. future me... [broadly gestures] good luck with all that

(ETA: LOL, WELL THEN.

what breaks my heart here is All Might. All Might, and everything he’s been through, and history repeating itself, and forcing him to live this moment from both sides because he wasn’t strong enough to fix things.

Toshinori had only just turned eighteen when Nana died. like, I feel like we don’t mention this enough. the All Might we know is a sixty-something-year-old man, and so everyone always talks about him like he’s basically been an adult forever. but he was a child when he met Nana. and he was still just a child when she died. barely a year older than Deku is now. younger than Mirio was when we first met him.

and we don’t talk about that. we don’t talk about how devastating that was for him. and we don’t talk about how the reason he grew up to become so reserved and withdrawn -- for all that he always tried so hard to outwardly project the image of a bold, confident, smiling hero -- was specifically because of what AFO did to him. because AFO targeted him in the exact way that he is now targeting Deku. because that’s what he does. he goes after every new user of OFA, and he finds out what’s most important to them, and then he destroys it. and for Toshinori, that was Nana. if you’ve read All Might Rising, you know that AFO basically killed her in front of him (and only killed her, while letting Toshinori and Gran get away). Toshinori (while crying) later says she was like a mother to him. and interestingly enough, during this same conversation, Gran tells Toshinori that he can see “that madness in [his] eyes” when Toshi talks about becoming strong enough to defeat AFO. madness in his eyes. sound familiar??

what’s happening to Deku now is the exact same thing that happened to Toshinori when he was a boy. AFO tried every bit as hard to break him as he’s trying with Deku now. “the path you’ve chosen is a thorny one. every battle grinds away at your soul with no end in sight.” we don’t talk about how Toshinori experienced this same thing for forty fucking years. and all the while isolating himself, exactly like Deku is doing now. pushing people away, exactly like Deku. because he never had anyone who was able to reach out and pull him back. and those words that he now finds himself frozen and unable to speak -- “don’t push yourself”; “you can rest” -- are the same words that no one ever said to him until decades later, when it was already far too late to make any difference.

everything that Deku is experiencing now is what Toshinori also went through. and it’s only now, as he watches it happen to his student, the boy he loves like a son, that he’s finally starting to realize the full extent of how wrong it was. you shouldn’t have to fight alone. you shouldn’t have to bear that kind of enormous burden alone. you shouldn’t have to push yourself, and you can rest. you can rest.

but it’s too late. just as he’s finally coming to understand it all, it’s all too fucking late. and he can’t say the words, he doesn’t know how to say the words, and then just like that, Deku is gone.

and he’s alone. again.)

I can’t. this can’t be their goodbye. I’m not ready. for this to be how they finally part, and then they never see each other again except in OFA. how is that fair. how is that fair. how is that fair

fuck me. lol. how many pages are left in this thing. let’s just wrap this up lol. so now of all the times for this fucking guy to finally show up

I can’t believe Stain has been here literally this entire time hiding behind this random wall and cutting onions. that was you who was cutting the onions, right. no need to answer that we’ll just say it was

HORIKOSHI JUST END THE CHAPTER PLEASE I’M OUT OF SPOONS. YOU HURT ME SO GOOD AND I LOVE YOU FOR IT BUT YOU NEED TO LET ME GO NOW SO I CAN BEGIN THE PROCESS OF TRYING TO PUT MY LIFE BACK IN ORDER HERE. SO WHERE ARE WE CUTTING TO NOW WHAT IS HAPPENING

Stain did you also let AFO give you a new quirk. what’s with you guys. do you like blowing up

oh nvm lol because they were talking about THIS GUY ohhhhhh my fucking god

THAT’S BECAUSE HE’S SAD, LINDA!! jesus

omfg. and so yes, good, the chapter is ending here now on page 15. for once I am FULLY on board with that lmao

anyway so tune in next week for more adventures of Werewolf Deku!! that is, assuming we don’t finally cut back to U.A. at long last, which is actually a strong possibility considering that this chapter will likely mark the end of volume 31. it sure wouldn’t kill Horikoshi to start giving us some hope after everything he’s just put us through lol. KACCHAN COME GET YA BOY

[catzula]

tell me where you are, honey

So, I should tell you that that this is not my fiction, its heavily based on real life. If you want to check it out, the mentioned band is a Turkish band called 'Duman'.

Genre and warnings: hey guys? This is pure angst. Just angst. Heavy heavy angst. First of all, major character death (not Suna), tw: mentions of suicide, tw: mentions of death, tw: mentions of depression and anxiety, mentions of alcohol, if there's anything else please tell me!

Suna closes his eyes as he sings the words, trying to forget the uneasy feeling stirring in his chest. 

He feels the sweat drip from the sides of his face, making him glisten under the blueish lights of the bar. 

A chilly wind makes his overheated body shiver. Your face comes before his eyes, and Suna can't help the bitter smile finding its way on his lips. He stopped taking song requests a long time ago, so instead, he leans to the mic and asks how's the night going with a broken but charming smile that makes the crowd excited.

It has been a while. Suna shouldn't feel a lump in his throat, a stinging in his eyes. But he does. He can't help it when a fan calls out to him, asking for the song. 

Reminding the rest of his fans of the song, they start chanting the name of it like it's a prayer, holding a rhythm and hoping for him to sing it.

The song he hasn't sang in a long, long time.

The choking feeling is instant, the heaviness pressuring his chest, making it impossible for him to breathe in the foggy room. Atsumu interjects, telling the fans to cut it out, that they are well aware Suna won't, can't sing it.

Osamu sends a glimpse at the lead singer's direction, not surprised to see his fox-like, almost lifeless-looking eyes already damp. Suna runs a hand through his hair frustratedly, Osamu can't tell what he's thinking, but it appears hard on him. 

Atsumu cocks his head when Suna backs away from the mic. "It's okay," he grits his teeth, he looks like he's in pain. "I think- I think I can sing it this once."

The truth is, Suna missed you this song. Suna missed the song he knew that you loved so much. So he sends a smile to the crowd, picking the mic and biting his lip. It was a song he promised he would never sing again, never again after that last time.

But here he is, hoping you could hear it.

"Darling, you are my honey," Suna sings, and it comes out as choked and strained, but the fans are just surprised he actually did sing it.

It's the first familiar chords that cause him to choke on his breath. Suna's already crying, and if the fans looked closely, they could see the others are, too.

Suna's mind wanders off to the last time he sang the song, the last time he spoke those words. 

It's the first big concert his band was going to do. Suna had been trying to make it happen for months now, and if it went well, it would be a big turn point in their careers. 

"Can't you- can't you come a little earlier today?"

"Rin, where are you?" He heard you say from the other side of the line, making him sigh in annoyance. "I've been texting you all day!" Suna pinched the bridge of his nose. He was already aware you were texting him every five fucking minutes, and that was the very reason he hadn't opened one of them. "I'll be home in a few hours." He grumbled, almost inaudible, but you managed to hear him.

He didn't think much about the few seconds of silence that followed his answer.

Your voice was a mere whisper, and you sounded so sad, almost desperate, and Suna closed his eyes. "We have a fucking concert today. We're doing the last cheks." He sighed when you stay silent. "I'll try to come a little earlier."

"Okay, I love you, Rin." He heard you smile, and it made the weight on his chest feel a little lighter. "Love ya too, honey."

Honey. 

It wasn't a word anyone would expect Suna to speak, but it was what he always called you. He always said it with so much emotion, so much thought and love, and it never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

"You taste like honey." He once told you when you asked him, leaning in with a smile and stealing a kiss.

It was your favorite song.

"My soul is already addicted to your taste," Suna sighs the words. The fans are surprisingly silent, watching their favorite singer shake with wtiholded sobs at the lyrics and the love he lost. It's obvious he's out of it, lost in the memories, holding the mic so tight that his knuckles turn white. 

Your love story was one of the most famous ones at the time, more than Suna himself, and was known by almost everyone.

But lately, you had started to feel like it was dying. 

It wasn't, of course. Suna loved you more than he did anything else, and you loved him more than life itself. It wasn't anything in particular that made you feel that way, too. Many little things combined, the depression you were falling into, the stress he was under, the more than often fights happening lately.

Your relationship wasn't the best lately, that, you admitted. Suna was rarely at home. You only saw him a few minutes each day, and that if you were lucky. Even when he was at home, all you ever did was to fight. Not even about anything worth fighting, but they always caused broken hearts on both sides. 

Despite all the stress building over him, Suna was trying to make it better, too. Making compromises of himself, agreeing with you in fights despite your nonsense arguments, not saying anything about you blowing up on the smallest things. 

"Where are you...love..." He cries. He should've thought more, cared more. Suna was guilty of not thinking why you were acting like this instead of how to stop it. He was busy with the upcoming concerts, their band was about to turn the corner, but that couldn't be an excuse.

Suna had gone home after his band practice that day. The apartment was dark, so silent, it scared him until he opened the lights and found you lying on the couch. 

You weren't sleeping, he thought it was because you wanted to see him, but it was because of the anxious thoughts roaming in your mind. Suna should've seen the trembling of your hands, how cold you felt, how limp and numb you seemed. 

"You stink." Those were the first words you told him, your face souring when you took note of the alcohol and cigarettes clinging on him like a second skin. "Did you drink?" You sounded suspicious.

"No, I already told you we were practicing."

"Then why do you smell like this?" Suna gritted his teeth when yiur voice raised, resembling a shout.

"Because we work at a fucking bar? You know all this, why the fuck are you acting like this?" Suna sneered, it was only for a second he had lost control, but it was enough for your face to contort with hurt. 

You felt guilty when he sighed, seemingly admitting defeat. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? But I'm already stressed enough for the concert, and I can't deal with this shit right now." You watched your boyfriend run his fingers through his hair, his words hurting you more than they should. You were acting nonsensible, you knew, but you couldn't stop.

"This shit? You mean me?" Your voice was now a little higher, making him flinch. "Y/N, for fucks sake! You know I didn't mean that!"

"Tell me where are you, honey,"  There were things you were dealing with, shit he didn't know, you hadn't told. He couldn't have known, he couldn't have known, but he should've. If he had, Suna would never have told you all those that day. He wouldn't have made you cry, sob in the room, dark and by yourself. 

He would've stayed with you, told you he was there, that he loved you, everything would be fine. Honey, he would call you. But he hadn't. Instead, he chose to act selfishly.

"Stop being so fucking pushy." He had told you when you asked where they practiced, who else was there but the Miya's, who was that girl you saw in a picture with him, which was taken months ago, why were they standing so close? It was an argument you had gone over five times already, he had told you it was Atsumu's friend and nothing else, but you kept bringing it up.

"Just give me some space, goddammit! You're suffocating me!" Suna shouted. It was rare to see Suna raise his voice, and it made you freeze in your place. You looked in his slitted eyes, only seeing hate, disgust swimming in those greens. 

You didn't say it, but Suna noticed something was wrong, and you were crying too hard, so hard he feared you were going to pass out. "Hey, hey- I'm sorry." He muttered, acting quickly to wrap his arms around your shaking body like he was the only thing holding you together.

You were wrong, and all Suna was feeling was distress, and he could never look at you with anything but love, but your anxiety told you otherwise.

Do you hate me? The question is on the tip of your tongue. It feels like everyone, everything hates you lately, hell, you yourself do, too. You only need an answer, yes or no, since you can't tell by the foggy depression blurring your thoughts.

Do you? Do you hate me? Please don't hate me, I'm sorry, please don't look at me like that.

(he was)

It felt like hours as you cried between his arms, and Suna pressed an occasional kiss to your hair. Neither of you talked, the heaviness of the fight still lingering in the air, and Suna decided to talk about it after the concert. So you just stood there between each other's arms. Maybe you would've told him you felt broken, and you couldn't take it anymore, you didn't-

It was on the tip of your tongue as he pulled back from you, pressing one last kiss on your hair. "I have to go, honey." He told you, checking the time on his phone. "I'm going to be late for the concert."

Suna didn't notice how you flinched when he pulled back, how tears gathered in your eyes, how you couldn't look him in the eyes. "Okay." He heard you whisper. Watching you smile at him, he smiled back when you leaned in to press a kiss on his lips. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pressed your body closer to him, surprising and making him chuckle. It was a kiss that screamed goodbye, but he was too nervous to notice. 

"A good luck kiss, I presume?" He laughed when you pulled back. "I'll see you there, yeah? Let's talk about this after."

"You are with me from now on, honey," Suna should've noticed your lack of response. If he had, maybe he wouldn't be sobbing on the stage now. He feels Atsumu pat his back, Suna's holding on his mic like it's the one thing holding him alive, sobs breaking his words, making him shake.

His fans watch him as he wipes the tears off his face with the back of his hand, the rings adorning his fingers sparkling under the dim light. 

"Tell me where you are, honey,

All the members are crying, not just him. They all loved you, and you were a part of their lives, such a lively, kind person. At the very least, you had managed to tie Suna down.

Its impossible not to cry as people who had heard his cries echoing out of your apartment that night.

You are with me from now on, honey," 

Something was different with Suna's performance that day, and all the others had noticed it. The tired-looking and feeling boy was pumped up that day. He sounded energetic, and Suna gave the best performance he ever had before.

It was all for you, Suna thought. He was singing just for you that day, something he hadn't done in a while. Picking all the songs he ever wrote for you, the ones you liked, just for you, hoping you would feel a little less angry when the concert ended. 

He was smiling the whole time he was singing, but his smile was dropping each time he gazed at the crowd and couldn't find your face, smiling back at him. Were you sitting in the back? Were you that angry with him?

The night proceeded, and the whole band knew it was a success. 

A few songs time left, Suna was frowning since he still couldn't have spotted you. There was no way you hadn't come, but you might have been hiding still. 

Deciding to pull out the big guns, Suna gave the sign to Osamu. They could tell what he had in mind, and Suna smiled with the first hearing of chords. He sang it, sang with a bitter smile, looking at the crowd to finally spot you. 

"You are my soul from now on,

You are my only part that remains alive," 

The concert came to a halt. You weren't in the crowd, and Suna was already in the middle of the song. "Suna- Suna, stop!" Osamu and Atsumu stopped playing, Suna sang the last word alone.

"What the-" He was about to shout at them for making him stop so abruptly, but the terrified look on Osamu's face made him stop. All the blood had left both their faces, and both the twins were shaking, but why were they crying?

It was hard to tell him what happened, and it might've been a mistake, too. 

Wrong time. 

You can't tell a man the love of his life died, she took her own life, right in the middle of the song dedicated just to her.  

What happened after that was a blur. 

Atsumu and Osamu tried to stop Suna from rushing back to the apartment, but he was quick. Suna had no idea how he drove back home, but he was standing in front of the door of your apartment, knocking on the door like a madman, praying you would open it for him. he would see your smiling face, greeting him, or maybe angry with him, crying, screaming- whatever. All he wanted to do was to- to-

He was punching, kicking the door, shouting and crying, crying and crying, and as more seconds that pass, Suna thought he could go crazy. 

It's a miracle when the door opened, and for a split second, Suna thought it was a lie, a cruel joke, a misunderstanding. You were here, you opened the door for him-

It wasn't you. 

You weren't the one who opened the door, but your sister. Her face was damp with tears, and Suna's eyes locked on the figure that stood behind her. 

It was the hardest thing to try and make Suna let go of you, try and calm him, stop him from pulling you back to between his arms, and never let go. 

Osamu arrived right after him. 

He arrived at a scene he would never be able to forget.

His best friend was on the floor, your body limp between his arms. Osamu couldn't hold back his cries when he heard Suna's loud cries, begging and begging for you to wake up, holding your hand, trying to warm you, he was shouting, the pain so raw in his voice, people around him feel tears pricking in their eyes.

"Please, honey, please-" He sobbed brokenly, his body was shaking like a leaf.

He sat there, sobbing in his hands, his agonizing screams audible even from the outside, sending chills down everyone nearby. They think they never in their lives heard pure pain like this in someone's voice.

Osamu and Atsumu were crying with Suna as he finally let you go. He couldn't watch as they took you away, out of the room. 

But they don't hear him crying out your name, instead, it's a sweet pet name they hear. It makes the twins shake with more cries.

honey honey honey

He figured too late, how you were battling with severe depression, how your personal life was a mess, how you needed him to be there for you. He was too late. 

Suna hadn't left the apartment for 15 days straight after that day. He didn't want to speak or see anyone, barely ate and drank. 

He refused to see his family, the twins visiting him.

No one knew what happened in those 15 days, but when he came back out, they could tell by a look he had changed. Not only physically (even though he looked like he was starving and sick), but also mentally.

It was his fault. If he had been more attentive, more at home to see you, ask you if anything was wrong, "honey, are you okay?" maybe it would've been fine. It was his fault.

Even after he left the apartment, even after he started smiling, it was evident Suna was never the same. How could he be? He had lost a part of him, no, he had lost all of him. And all that left was the shell that merely resembled him. 

Suna had tried to sing it more than he could count, but the moment he heard the first chord, he broke down crying. This was the one day he succeeded, and even though it was barely audible, it sounded like agonizing cries instead, he was singing it. 

For you. 

Can you hear me, honey?

honey, honey, honey.

[sakura-ame-no-ai]

"on caffeine."

pairings: kenma kozume x reader

genre: fluff

a/n: i felt a little kenma today, so this one is a little more "spaced-out" or just "randomly-torn-out-from-the-notebook" kind of feel if you get what i mean... anyways, enjoy! :) (i'm a little surprised that there were some people who liked my last fanfiction i wrote lol)

"kyanmaaaaaa?!" kuroo screams.

kuroo currently stands in the doorway of kenma's room, eying the see-through containers on the floor. they're obviously coffee jugs used to fill up coffee in the coffee machine.

you sit beside kenma, watching him trying to beat the difficult level of the game repeatedly as he quickly chugs the content of another coffee jug. his eyes are glued to the screen, focusing on every action of his small character, who is jumping and dodging about in order to evade the fire pellets spat out from a plant-looking monster sitting on the right side of the screen.

at this moment, kuroo scrambles over to the computer and forcefully turns off the pc system by jabbing the power off button on the screen forcefully. the screen instantly blinks into a pitch-black, making you and kenma look at kuroo incredulously.

"kuro! we were about to beat that boss!" you whine angrily, looking back at the now dark screen.

kuroo doesn't care though. instead, he swipes away the coffee jug that kenma is about to take another swig from and collects the remaining jugs from the floor.

"both of your eyes need a break," he lectures, wearing a stern expression.

"you two have been superglued to that computer since high school started like glitter glued to paper."

"kuro, at least we do what we're supposed to," kenma retorts, his eyebrows furrowing into a mad frown.

kuroo frowns back.

"cut the lies, kenken. you've been skipping meals with n/n and you know it. you two can't survive off of caffeine, tannin, xanthine, or any of that shit. you two are literal coffee addicts."

"ahem, it's not me drinking the coffee?" you point out, mad at him about being accused of drinking coffee.

you watch the bedhair march towards the trash can and lift it up, showing you its contents that contains unhealthy sugary drinks. obviously, you were the only suspect who would drink them.

"well, n/n, if you're trying to live by eating glucose, then become a tree and photosynthesize. even plants do better than you."

with that, kuro places the jugs and trash can down on the carpeted floor. the next thing he does pisses you and kenma off. he checks the wiring behind the computer screen, unplugs the wire cable that is supposed to project anything that was inside the computer system, and pockets it.

the two of you stare at him in silence as he lifts up the things he placed on the ground and exits the room, closing the door behind him.

"goddAMMIT, TETSUROU!! GET THE FUCK BACK!!" you screech, rushing to the door.

"COME BACK YOU LITTLE- eh?"

you are taken by surprise as the doorknob won't even budge no matter how much you try to turn it.

with the help of kenma, you try other ways to bust the door open, like pulling the knob, pushing the door, and even slamming into it. every attempt you make is proven unsuccessful and you sink down onto your knees in exhaustion.

eventually, the two of you give up.

"looks like he stuck a knife in the door since he knew there's no lock on it," kenma states, peeking at the crack between the door and the door frame.

"and he knew he'd be dead as hell if he stole the cable for the computer," you sigh, plopping on the bed.

you live in the same apartment as kenma, but your room is down the hall and nothing connects it other than that hallway. because kuroo locked you inside, there's no way to even make an escape down the hall.

"damn it, that sly feline..."

"maybe, we play games on your phone?" suggests kenma, his eyes looking hopeful.

you sit up excitedly.

"that's actually a great ide- wait, no. my phone's in my jacket, which is in the living room."

kenma exhales in despair.

"my phone isn't in my room, either. i left it in the kitchen, i think."

good grief, now both of your plans are ruined, unfortunately.

kenma plops onto the bed next to you, and you stare at the ceiling boringly with him.

"man, is there anything else we can do other than doing absolutely nothing?" you ask, closing your eyes.

kenma only shrugs, making you groan sadly.

now that you're fully aware of the room you're in, you begin to realize the chilly air surrounding you since you're wearing short-sleeves.

"i'm cold."

kenma notices you wrapping your arms around yourself and the slight shivering of your body. if he had been wearing his nekoma jacket, he'd lend that to you. however, he isn't wearing it, and he was too lazy to get up and take a walk to the closet and back just to get the jacket.

he takes a moment to examine the soft and fluffy covers that both of you are currently laying on before lifting it up, making a hole that's enough for him to slip in.

he holds the blanket cavern open and looks at you, which you understand without him speaking. you fit yourself inside the covers with your body squeezing against his as kenma closes the entrance to the cavern to your shoulders.

with the covers enclosing kenma's warmth around you, you feel a sense of security.

the feeling that everything is going to be alright.

kenma usually isn't that inviting though. deep inside you know it. he's usually reserved and he doesn't really give a crap to kuroo. he usually doesn't really care for you, too, even though you're his best friend.

maybe it's because of the caffeine that kenma is willing to give you such an intimate opportunity. he usually doesn't get too hyper when he drinks coffee, but he's usually a little more welcome and emotional after consumption.

but, that doesn't matter now.

you feel the soft feeling of an arm wrap around your shoulders, and a small push that makes the side of your face lean against his chest.

there, you experience the soothing sound of his heartbeat pumping at a steady pace ever so peacefully.

"i guess staying like this while not having video games is not that bad," kenma points out. "even though it'd be better with video games though."

you are about to agree with him out loud, but a light drift of exhaustion takes over you. your thoughts become fuzzy and your eyelids gradually close.

there was nothing you could do, other than to agree with him silently as you drift off into a peaceful slumber.

nothing can be ever so inviting without him by your side.

suddenly, you get jolted awake by the clack of a doorknob. although your vision is still blurry, you are still able to see.

a crack of light shines into the dark room from the door as you hear someone sing in a low voice, "kenkeeeeeeeeen... n/nnnnn-"

but, the singing gets cut off and before you know it, you realize it's kuroo who has just come into the room, staring silently at you and kenma on the bed in a cuddling position.

he blinks at you.

you blink back at him. and then, you start clearing your throat, trying to resolve the embarrassing scene.

"ahem. kuro. i can explain."

[willwriteforhugs]

i wish i’d never met you- choi jongho

boyfriend! jongho x reader - one shot!

word count: 1.8k

genre: angst, pain

synopsis:  your idol boyfriend finds out that you’ve been getting hate for dating him, and you’ve been hiding it this whole time. this doesn’t sit well with him...

warnings: death threats, arguing and yelling, cursing

a/n: this hurt so much to write i’m sorry

so i feel i should put a sort of disclaimer- this fic involves the mc receiving some pretty serious threats and hate content, and i just want to say: this sort of behavior is absolutely not okay in real life, or even fiction. i wrote this as a way to express my anger towards fans who act in this way- sending hate and threats to people you don’t know is horrible and completely fucked up. i just don’t want anyone to misunderstand and think i’m condoning this behavior. it’s very destructive, and unfortunately very real.

on a lighter note, i do hope you all appreciate this fic. it was hard but incredibly entertaining to create. thank you for reading <33

- - - 

your keys jingled as you struggled to fit your house key into the lock. stupid lock. you jiggled it harder, finally hearing the telltale click. your apartment complex had never gotten around to replacing it, though they said they would.

you sighed as you entered your home. it had been a long day, but you were looking forward to tonight. your boyfriend, jongho, finally had a night off. he'd been so busy lately... of course, you knew this was just how it was. dating an idol was a lot of work, and one of the downsides was the lack of one-on-one time. but jongho was supposed to join you at your small condo in only a few hours. so you kept your head up.

your relationship with ateez's beloved maknae had gone public recently. dispatch had caught you. you can still see the headline: "ateez's jongho spotted out with female office worker- to be or not to be?" jongho had been furious, apologizing profusely. you'd told him it was alright, though. after all, you weren't an idol. this couldn't possibly turn into much of a scandal. you will admit that you had been nervous about the public knowing- but it had been two weeks already, and not much had happened. (well, there was one exception, but you had convinced yourself it wasn't a big deal.)

you had picked up the mail on your way into the building, and you now set it on the counter, ready to filter through it.

you spent the next few minutes sorting the mail into piles. bills. ads. more bills.

then, a letter. your address was scrawled in pencil on the envelope, and there was no return address. you flipped it over, dread beginning to claw up your throat. you peeled the envelope open and pulled out the single sheet within. your hands trembled as you read what was typed:

"bitch. i told you to kill yourself. don't make me do it first. you can't just traipse around dating idols, you fucking whore. who do you think you are? you should be scared, knowing i have your address. kill yourself already. i shouldn't have to ask."

your breath came in shallow gasps. your heart threatened to pound out of your chest. this was the fourth letter you'd received. frantically, you shoved the letter back into it's sleeve, then sank to the ground.

the letters were the exception. you didn't know who was sending them. all you knew is that it was scaring you. you prayed it was a hoax. in fact, you'd been convinced that the first one was. but this was the fourth, and you were no longer thinking this was a joke.

suddenly, your cell phone rang, scaring you so hard you jumped. you stood up and left the room to go get your cell. and for a blissful few hours, the letter was forgotten.

- - - 

you were in the bathroom reapplying makeup when you heard him come in. 

“jongho-yah!” you called. “i’m back here!”

a moment later, your boyfriend rounded the corner, looking beautiful as ever. his dark hair was in a fluffy, wavy style today, and he was barefaced. you smiled as he came in, wrapping his arms around you from the back.

“y/n-ah.” he mumbled, his face buried in your hair.

you turned your head, hoping for a kiss. “hello.”

he responded by pressing his warm lips to yours. he ended the kiss quickly, pulling away to look you in the eyes. when you didn’t say anything, he did it again, this time lingering. he parted your lips with his own, and let his tongue brush the inside of your mouth.

this time you were the one who pulled away. “woah there, tiger.”

his face flushed. “i’m sorry, i just missed you.”

“i missed you too.”

he smiled and the two of you exited the bathroom, heading back out to the main room. 

“are you hungry?” he asked, suggesting buying take-out.

you told him not yet. for a few minutes, the two of you made idle conversation, considering how you were going to spend the evening. 

out of the blue, you were overcome with a sudden chill. you shivered, running your hands over your bare arms. “hold on, babe. let me grab a sweatshirt.”

you slipped into your bedroom, seeking out your favorite black hoodie. (stolen from jongho, of course.)

when you emerged from your room, you saw your boyfriend standing at the kitchen counter, mindlessly thumbing through your mail.

your mail.

the letter.

you gasped, rushing to where he was standing. your sudden movement startled him, and he stepped back. frantically, you snatched the envelope off of the surface of the counter. 

jongho raised his eyebrows. “what was that?”

“nothing.” you answered too quickly, and his brow furrowed. 

“baby, are you okay? where is the letter from?”

“it’s not important.” you snapped, reaching to shove it in the trash. before you could get it in, though, jongho had slipped the letter from your hand.

“jongho!” you yelped. “wait, please-”

but it was too late. he had gotten the letter out, and his eyes were already scanning the page.

a beat passed, the room filling with thick, insufferable silence.

then, finally, he spoke. his voice was low. 

“what the fuck is this?”

you squeaked, reaching for the letter again. jongho spun around, grabbing your wrist midair. 

“y/n-ah! what the hell is this?!” his voice had risen.

tears threatened to spill over your cheeks. “it’s nothing, nothing! it’s just a joke, i promise-” 

he cut you off. “y/n-ah.” your boyfriend’s voice broke. “is this the first?”

your vision blurred.

what were you supposed to say? that it wasn’t? that the letter was only the most recent, but you’d never told him? how do you tell the man you love that you’d been lying to him? 

“y/n.” you’d never heard jongho speak with so much emotion. “how. many.”

your voice cracked as you responded. “this is the fourth.”

jongho’s face splintered. “the fourth?” he whispered, his voice foggy. his eyes were unfocused. a beat passed, then; “why wouldn’t you tell me?”

your knees threatened to buckle. you didn’t want him to know for so many reasons. because you loved him. because he loved you. because you didn’t want him to worry. because you didn’t want to get him in trouble. because you didn’t- 

“what the hell is wrong with you? why wouldn’t you tell me?”

in that moment, you swore you felt your heart crack.

the room was once again filled with a suffocating silence, strangling you as he turned his thoughts over.

finally, he spoke, the realization having hit him.

“you didn’t want me to worry. to blame myself.”

somehow, even though the sentences themselves seemed kind, your boyfriend’s tone practically dripped in venom. you looked back up at him, vision blurry, but he plowed on.

“y/n, that’s not how relationships work. why would you hide this? why would you put your health, your happiness-” he stuttered, having a hard time voicing his emotions. “your fucking safety! your life, goddammit! why would you rather risk that than worry me?!”

something in his voice began to anger you, and you snapped back at him, surprising the both of you.

“because, jongho! because i fucking KNEW-” you slam your finger into his chest. “i knew you’d blame yourself, just like you are right now!”

“i blame myself because it’s my fault!”

“how?!” your voice rose to meet his. “how the hell is this your fault?”

“because it’s me! i’m the issue here!” he seethed. “if you were dating any normal guy, this wouldn’t happen. “but no. i was the one who fell in love with you, and now you carry around a weight you never asked for.”

you inhaled sharply, responding before you could even fully absorb his words. “but i chose you, too! i love you, and i’m willing to carry that weight, i always have been!”

“but that’s not the point! the point is that in the end, this!-” he gestured angrily to the letter. “this is because of me. and i hate it. because you know damn well who those come from. they come from crazy fucking people who don’t want to see you with me.”

you sighed, indignant and angry. “i don’t see why it has to be your problem! that is my fucking name on the letter, not yours.”

“but you wouldn’t be getting shit like that in the first place if it weren’t for me!” a beat passed and suddenly his whole body seemed to deflate. “it’s my own fucking fault for loving you.”

you couldn’t possibly think of how to respond.

“you... you get so much shit for being with me, and you know it won’t stop. i’ve made your life so much harder than it has to be.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but your boyfriend plows on.

“if only i wasn’t part of the equation- this would be unthinkable then.”

you felt ravaged. like you were dangling on the edge of a cliff, barely holding on. once, jongho had been your support. your rock. now- now you felt the air beneath your feet, sending chills through you as your heart hung by a thread. 

“god.” he put his face in his hands. “god, sometimes i just wish i’d never met you.”

the thread snapped. you let go of the cliff.

you fell.

you inhaled as the brutal words hit you. they entered like a smooth knife, only to be jerked and twisted in your gut. you took a step back, silent tears streaming down your face.

jongho instantly realized his mistake, his face paling. “y/n...” his voice was almost a whisper as he neared tears himself.  “you know i didn’t mean it like that,” he took a hold of your wrist, and you jerked it back.

“no.” you managed. your voice was scratchy and hoarse. “no. you did.” 

you couldn’t look him in the eyes. turning away, you stumbled towards your front door. without stopping to think- to think that it was already late, to think that you were leaving your own apartment- you shoved on your shoes and left. you didn’t even take your cell phone.

- - - 

back in the kitchen, jongho’s knees buckled, and he sank to the ground. a moment passed. then he put his head in his hands, and for the first time in ages, he sobbed- letting the world swallow him and his feelings whole.