#they are harmless and small and make funny noises

[slut4megantheestallion]

Hey can you do cullen x reader headcannons where the reader ghosts them and ignores all the messages and ignores them in school and stuff like that? it’s okay if not!

Cullen siblings x reader that ghosts & ignores them Headcannons

Warnings ⚠️: stalking mentioned of mind reading, cullens x reader, maybe some fluff, angst, black!reader, obsessivnesss.

Characters ☆: Edward cullen, Alice cullen, Emmet cullen, Rosalie cullen, Jasper cullen.

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-Edward Cullen

● Edward is instantly intrigued when he realizes he can't read your thoughts. To him, that's already unusual, but what really catches his attention is the way you avoid him and his family.

● He tries to figure you out what makes you tick - listening intently to your conversations with others, hoping for clues about why you're ignoring him

● Edward uses his mind reading ability to hear the thoughts of people around you, looking for any insights about you. It frustrates him when nothing adds up to you. Most people's thoughts about you are mundane or superficial, leaving him with no answers about you.

● Edward finds himself shadowing you more than he cares to admit, trying to learn more about you from a distance. He tries to act like it's just harmless curiosity, though deep down, he knows it bordering on obsession.

● He'll linger near your locker of eavesdrop on your conversation in the cafeteria, always careful to stay undetected.

● He would send polite text messages asking if he does anything to offend you, but when you don't respond, he starts over analyzing everything.

● He thinks about using his vampire speed to catch you off guard, but he doesn't want to scare you off.

● if you accidentally bump onto him the hallway and mutter an apology with meeting his eyes, his cold, undead heart flicks of warmth. He becomes fixiated on earning a silver of attraction. Though he's deeply conflicted about his growing obsession.

-Alice Cullen

● Alice was genuinely baffled by your behavior. She's used to everyone liking her, so your avoidance to her is both confused and challenging to her. She had visions of you interacting with the cullens and becoming part of their circle, which only fuels her determination to get close to you.

● She would wave at you across the cafeteria at lunch or try to sit near you, hoping you would acknowledge her.

● Alice would send you cheerful and polite text messages, trying to start conversation, but when you don't respond, she gives up. She'll try again with something like, "Hey, just wanted to say hi!"

● After weeks of being ghosted, she starts questioning if she did something to offend you. She would try to win you over until you notice her

● Alice would leave small, thoughtful gifts in your locker - a book she thinks you'd like, a handmade bracelet, or a note with a kind message. When you ignore her gestures, she becomes more determined, viewing it as a puzzle she needs to solve.

● If you so much smile in her direction, Alice feels like she won the lottery. She'll immediately text edward or tell jasper gushing about the tiny interaction.

-Emmet Cullen

●At first, he doesn't take your avoidance seriously. He thinks it's funny and treats it like a game, trying to get a reaction out of you. He'll do ridiculous things in class, like make exaggerated noises or cracking jokes loud enough for you to hear, just to see if you acknowledge him.

● if you ignore him in the hallway, Emmet might pretend to trip or dramatically gasp, saying something like, "Oh no, Y/n, you've wounded me again by ignoring my existence!" He genuinely enjoys the challenge of getting you to notice him and sees it as an opportunity to show off his charm.

●Despite his playful nature, he's extremely protective. He secretly keeps his eyes on you, ready to step in if someone bothers or upset you. He doesn't understand why he feels so attached to someone who barely acknowledges his existence, but he can't help it.

● on rare occasions, you ignoring him stings. He hides it well, but he starts to wonder if there's something wrong with him or if he's done something to upset you, hoping it's not because you dislike him.

-Rosalie Cullen

●Rosalie assumes you're ignoring her and her family out of jealousy or hatred. She takes it personally and brushes you off as someone who's unworthy of her time. However, as weeks went by, you began to intrigue her. She wonders what makes you different from everyone else.

● She admires the way how confident and independent you are, though she'll never admit it. She finds the way you ignore people both impressive and frustrating. She tries to engage small talk with you, like complimenting your outfit or asking about an assignment, but your dry short responses leave her both annoyed and intrigued.

● extremely overprotective. If she overhears anyone talk bad about you, she'll shut it down. She might not understand why she feels the need to defend you, but she will not tolerate anyone disrespecting you.

● if you do acknowledge her like a small smile, a thank you, or a brief conversation- Rosalie feels an unexpected warmth. It's rare for her to feel genuinely happy, but your attention sparks something in her that she didn't know she craved.

-Jasper Cullen

● Honestly, out of all his siblings, he's the most understanding. He doesn't take it personally and respects your desire to be alone, but he can't help but be curious about your emotional state, especially since you're so calm and composed.

●He tries to subtly influence your emotions, hoping to catch a glimpse of what you're feeling. When his attempts don't seem to affect you, he's both impressed and puzzled. He starts to admire emotional resilience and wonder what makes you so different from everyone else.

● he's quietly overprotective, often wanting to be near you during school events or crowded spaces. He tells himself it's just to make sure you're safe, but deep down, he's drawn to you in a way he can't even explain.

● He worries that his interest in you is selfish, especially given his past. He feels guilty, wanting to be near you, fearing he might bring danger to your life.

● if you do ever notice him jasper with a kind gesture, he feels a quiet sense of peace. He'll treasure those rare moments and hold onto them longer than he should.

[ruewrote]

𝑖𝑑 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡.

PAIRING: josh washington x fem!reader WARNINGS: no use of y/n GENRE: fluff SONG INSPIRATION: still into you by paramore WORD COUNT: 1.1k NOTE: the inspiration was from randomly seeing this post

navigation | ask | josh washington masterlist

you sat next to josh in the soft glow of the fireplace. the world outside was silent, the others fast asleep, but neither of you seemed ready to follow. there was something about these late night moments, when everything slowed down and the noise of the day faded away, that made you feel like you could stay here forever.

josh was leaning back on the couch, his legs stretched out beneath the table. his fingers tapped lightly against the fabric of the armrest in a rhythm that matched the quiet crackling of the fire. every now and then, his eyes would flicker over to you, but they'd dart away just as quickly, like he was too shy to hold your gaze. 

you’d known josh since high school, and even back then, he had a way of making you nervous, but what started as a harmless crush had grown into something much more, something you never quite found the courage to say out loud.

the two of you had been inseparable once, always laughing, always together. time had changed things, as it always does, but the connection was still there, pulsing just beneath the surface. 

you just had to reach out for it.

as josh shifted in his seat, your eyes caught something on his wrist, the worn edges of a familiar bracelet catching the firelight. your breath hitched. no way.

“is that…?” you asked, your voice trailing off, not daring to finish the thought.

josh looked down, his brows furrowing for a second before realization dawned on his face. a small, sheepish grin appeared as he held his wrist up, showing off the faded bracelet. “yeah… still got it,” he said with a chuckle, his voice playful but softer than usual. there was a hint of something vulnerable beneath the humor.

you blinked, your chest tightening as you stared at it. the bracelet was old now, the once bright threads you had carefully woven together long ago frayed and faded. you’d made it for him during your last year of high school, just a simple braided thread in his favorite colors. a silent promise. 

you’d almost forgotten about it, but here it was, still holding on after all these years.

“you’ve kept it this whole time?” you asked, your voice coming out more surprised than you intended.

josh shrugged, but his fingers were nervously playing with the bracelet’s loose threads. “i guess i’m more sentimental than i thought,” he said with a grin, though his eyes didn’t quite meet yours. he was trying to make a joke of it, but you knew better. josh wasn’t the type to hold onto things without a reason.

“you never took it off?” you pressed, this time more softly, curiosity mingled with the fluttering in your stomach. there was something almost thrilling about this realisation, that he had been carrying a little piece of you with him all this time.

josh let out a breath, leaning back a little, his gaze flickering toward the fire. “i thought about it a few times,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, the teasing edge gone. “but it felt weird, you know? like some things… just stick with you.”

your heart was doing a funny little dance in your chest, and you tried to ignore the way his words sent a warmth spreading through you. some things just stick with you. you weren’t sure if he meant the bracelet or something deeper, but the thought of it made your cheeks heat up.

“honestly, i didn’t think you’d even remember it,” you said, a little embarrassed by the way your voice wavered. “it was just a silly little thing i made.”

josh finally looked at you then, his eyes meeting yours for real, there was something different in them. something softer, more open than you’d seen in a long time. “i didn’t forget,” he said, his voice steady. “i didn’t want to.”

for a moment, you couldn’t speak. you’d spent so many years thinking of josh as this untouchable thing. your best friend, your crush, the guy you never quite had the courage to confess to. but sitting here, seeing him hold onto something that felt so small yet so significant, made you wonder if he felt it too.

“you’re such a sap,” you teased, but your words were gentle, almost affectionate.

josh laughed, this time fully, his usual confidence returning. “hey, i’m just saying– i wear your jewelry. not everyone can say that.”

“oh, yeah? well, don't go thinking you’re special now,” you shot back with a grin, feeling the ease between you both settling back into place, though your heart still raced beneath it all.

he leaned back into the headrest of his seat and grinning back at you. “well, i don’t see you making bracelets for anyone else.”

you bit your lip, trying to hide the smile that threatened to spread across your face. you leaned in a little too, closing some of the space between you. “maybe i’ll have to start charging for them,” you said, your tone playful.

josh raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “oh, i’d definitely pay for this one. it’s totally vintage now.”

the two of you shared a laugh, the moment lighter, but the air between you had shifted. something had changed and you both seemed to feel it. 

“you really didn’t have to keep it, ya know?” you said, a little more softly this time, looking down at the bracelet as you spoke.

“i wanted to,” he replied, his voice just as soft, no hesitation in his words. “it’s… it’s a reminder of a time when things were easier, you know? when we were just… us.”

your heart clenched at his words, and you couldn’t help but reach out, your fingers brushing over the frayed threads. the touch was light, but it felt like it carried more weight than anything else you’d ever done. “i’m glad you did,” you whispered, barely loud enough to be heard.

josh’s hand shifted slightly, his fingers brushing yours as you both looked at the bracelet, a quiet moment passing between you. when you finally met his eyes again, there was something new there, for the first time in years.

“guess that this makes me your favourite, huh?” he said with a teasing smirk, trying to break the tension.

you smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. “you’ve always been my favourite, josh.”

this time, it was josh’s turn to freeze, his eyes searching yours, and for the briefest moment, you thought you saw that same emotion you’d kept hidden for so long reflected back at you.

and in that moment, you realized that maybe you weren’t the only one holding on to something after all.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

© ruewrote 2024.

[spiderb00]

netflix and (not) chill

Lara Raj x reader 

“It was a good idea to watch a movie with your girlfriend, until you complimented one of the characters” 

Genre – Fluff   Warnings – None  (request)

Now playing – The boy is mine, By Ariana Grande 

"Okay, I think we've got it all here!" You said, walking up to your girlfriend, Lara, who was sitting on the couch in your apartment.   

Lara loved to go to your loft, it was cozy and away from the noise of the Kats. Not that she didn't love those girls, but whenever you two needed some alone time, this was the perfect place. Today, you and your girlfriend were in deep relaxation mode, and all you wanted was to watch a good movie and snuggle up together on the couch. 

The smell of the homemade pizza you two made was all over the air, and the bottle of wine you'd opened was already ready to be poured into the fancy glasses you'd bought for dates like this. It was Lara's turn to choose the movie, so after a long conversation she decided that you would see "Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham", an Indian movie, which according to Lara was "One of the best movies I've ever seen!", so you gladly accepted, excited to know more about your girlfriend's movie tastes and culture. 

"Then come join me, baby." Lara said as she patted the seat next to her on the couch.   

With excitement, you sat down quickly on the couch, snuggling next to Lara as you handed her a glass of wine, which you had poured.   

"All right, we can start." You say, before you press play, Lara turned her head in your direction.   

"Okay, listen to me, cutie. Whatever you're thinking of doing, save it for after the movie, I really want to watch it until the end." Lara said, knowing your history of almost never watching the movies until the end when the two of you are alone.   

"I promise, I wasn't even thinking about it, pretty girl." You say, showing your pinky, hoping that Lara would intertwine hers with yours. 

With a snort and a laugh of amusement, Lara intertwined her pinky with yours, pulling you lightly towards her and giving a small kiss on your lips.   

"See, you're the one who always starts-"   

"Shii, the movie is going to start." Lara said, smiling at the red-haired girl's antics, you started watching the movie, taking sips of wine and eating your slices of pizza.   

The movie was fantastic, you couldn't remember the last time you were so involved in such a long movie. You loved the filmography, the character development, the story, everything was simply artistic and very well thought out. Lara would make some comments about the movie occasionally, just talking about how she loved some scene and how she remembered watching the movie with her parents and sister.   

You really understood why she spoke so highly of the film, it was really captivating. You laughed when one of your favorite characters appeared on the scene, playing her role beautifully and making everything look funny and professional at the same time. You learned that the actress's name was Kajol (courtesy of Lara), and she played Anjali Raichand, married to Rahul, one of the main characters. 

"She's so funny." You said, a harmless compliment. "It's kind of charming, she's very beautiful." Another innocent compliment, at least for you.    

Lara, who was very focused on the film, had her attention diverted for the first time. Had you just said that a woman was beautiful in front of her? I mean, she knows she's an actress, and she's a lot older than you, and that you're probably never going to see each other in your life, but so what? Had you just said that a woman was beautiful in front of your girlfriend?  

You continued with your attention focused on the movie, not even noticing the enraged look your girlfriend was giving you right now. You know Lara is jealous from birth, but you didn't mean it badly, you just innocently let it out.   

Stretching your arm to place it on Lara's shoulder, you quickly felt the Indian girl shrug her shoulders, a silent motion to get you off her. Looking at her, you saw her arms crossed over her chest, the girl's eyebrows were furrowed, and for a moment you wondered if you had done something wrong.   

"Baby, what's wrong?" You asked, puppy eyes looking at the girl who seemed indifferent to your doubts.   

"Nothing, I'm just too hot here to be hugged." Lara said, shrugging once again, the girl's eyes glued to the TV. Oh, something was very wrong.   

When the movie was finally over, you stood up, putting the dirty dishes and glasses in the sink and coming back to tell Lara that you would go upstairs to the room in a minute, only to no longer find the fire-haired girl on the couch. Confused, you went back to the kitchen, washing everything very quickly and going up even faster.   

When you entered the room, you saw your girlfriend already in her pajamas, one of your shirts - which were too big on her - and only a black panty. Getting closer, you crawled until you were on top of the distracted girl on her phone, starting to distribute kisses down the back covered by the fabric of her (your) shirt. 

"You look so pretty in my clothes, baby" You said, startled as your girlfriend quickly turned on the bed, knocking you off her.   

"I thought I wasn't pretty enough for you." Lara says, getting out of bed and walking to the bathroom, starting to smear some skin care products on her face.    

Dazed on the bed, you stood up, still trying to process why she would have said that. 

"Baby, I don't understand. What does that mean?" You asked, scratching the back of your neck, leaning against the bathroom door frame.   

"Ask Anjali." That was all the Indian girl had to say to make you know why she was acting like that.  

"Baby, no. Please, let's not do that." You said, throwing your head back before approaching the girl who was looking at herself in the mirror of your bathroom, putting your arms around her waist.   

"Do what? I thought you thought she was pretty. Why don't you ask her what you were going to ask for me?!" Lara says, turning around in your arms and arching an eyebrow as she looks at you.  

Deciding to mess with the girl, you shrug, taking your hands from her waist and turning around to leave the bathroom.   

"Alright, do you know if she has Instagram? Maybe I'll DM her..." 

You barely finished speaking when you felt a tug on your shirt, pulling you back into the bathroom and pinning you against the sink.   

"YOU WHAT?" Lara said, a smile starting to escape you. "Yn, I swear if you laugh I'll snatch that little smile off your face!" Lara said, pointing at you with the sharp nails she wore.   

"Wow, calm down Freddy Krueger, I was just kidding." You said laughing and taking Lara's hand in yours.   

"What did you just call me?" Cutting off the red-haired girl's speech, you kissed Lara in surprise. 

Lara gave a small punch on your shoulder before giving herself completely to the kiss. You knew she wasn't really mad, she just wanted a little reminder that she was the woman of your life, and that you would always be with her.   

"Are you calmer?" You said, hugging the Indian girl and kissing the top of her head. "Look, there might be a thousand beautiful girls all over the world, they got nothin’ on you, baby." You said, rocking your body along with hers in your arms.   

"Did you just recite Bruno Mars?" Lara said, looking up to meet your eyes. A smile on your face, making the shortest girl mirror your action. 

"Of course, he gets the message across." You said, winking at her. But letting out a little "Auch" when the girl slaps you again, this time on your biceps.    

 "If a thousand beautiful girls were around you, you'd be wearing a blindfold."  

Oh, how you loved this woman. 

Hey guys, I love this request! It sure is Crazy Girl!Lara and Yn coded.

Speaking of movies, have you seen the Golden Globes? What did you think? I was particularly happy for Fernanda Torres and Demi Moore. I was hoping that Mikey Madison would win something from Anora, bc everyone was saying she looked fantastic in the movie, but maybe next time.

stay safe, I just learned about fires in LA, and I'm sending all the positive energy to the people who were affected by this.

xoxo, spider.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Toys

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You find Morsa's rocketship toy

When you first move in with Morsa, you've got a lot to explore.

You knew every inch of the apartment in Germany but the house in London is different and you take your time exploring it.

You end your search in Momma's new room, the one that she says she's sharing with Morsa with the Big Bed. You really like the Big Bed so you're sure that you'll sleep in it with them very soon.

You decide to rummage through Morsa's bedside drawers. At home in Germany, she didn't put much in them but this is her main house so they must be fully stocked.

You go through them carefully.

Most of them are funny adult things like cotton wool pads and some of her makeup and her hairbrush and hairbands.

Morsa, you think, is very boring.

She doesn't have fun things in her drawers.

In Germany, Momma has some of your toys tucked into her drawers so you can have some to play with when you wake up early. It's a little annoying that Morsa hasn't done the same yet.

You keep looking through her drawers for something fun though and you're rewarded when you get to the very bottom.

There's a few long things that you don't understand and a small oval thing that has a little button on it.

You click it.

The oval starts vibrating in your hand.

"Oooh," You say, turning it over in your hand,

You've never seen anything like this before but it's what you expect an alien rocketship to sound like. That's what it is, you decide. It's an alien rocketship.

You didn't know Morsa liked aliens but it's nice that you do now.

You make an engine noise like the rocket under your breath before running off with it, leaving all the big long things on the floor.

"Woosh!" You say, taking the stairs two at a time as you run your rocket ship down the bannister. You keep making engine noises as you run around.

Momma and Morsa are still unpacking the things that were shipped over from Germany.

They're in the kitchen and you can hear them squabbling over whose cutlery set they're keeping. They were arguing earlier as well because Morsa has a tiny kettle that barely works and Momma wanted to swap it for her big kettle.

They're not proper arguments, harmless little squabbles mostly but they've left you unsupervised which is why you're now running around with your rocketship making noises.

You press the button again and the vibrating gets more fierce than before.

"Oooh," You say," Cool."

You press the button a third time and it gets louder than before again. This must be the speed it needs to be when it gets ready to take off.

You like that.

The arguing in the kitchen has stopped though so the only sound is the buzzing of your alien ship.

"Princesse..." Magda's mouth hangs open as she sees you flying around a very familiar vibrator. "Where did you get that?"

You turn around, smiling at her. "I found your alien rocket!" You tell her," It's so cool, Morsa! It makes noises and buzzes!"

Magda winces, hoping the sound of this conversation drowns out the noise from the vibrator so Pernille doesn't come in.

"It does, doesn't it?" She crouches down to your level and holds out her hand. "But can you give it to me, please?"

You frown, pulling it closer to your body. "No," You say," You only want it 'cause I have it. You're not playing with it!"

"Princesse-"

"No!" You say," I'm playing with it! Wait your turn!"

"Give it over!"

"No!"

"Princesse, please?"

You think for a moment before," I'm giving it to Momma!"

"No!"

Magda jumps at you but you've already dodged her outstretched arms and ducked into the kitchen.

"Momma! Momma! I found Morsa's rocketship!"

"Pernille! Don't listen to her! She's found nothing!"

Momma's at the cupboards, replacing all over Morsa's bowls with the ones from Germany.

You reach up to tug on her trousers but Morsa grabs you quickly, a hand going over your mouth as she quickly backs out of the room before Pernille can turn.

"Give it to me!"

"No!"

"Give!"

"No!"

"If you don't give it to me-"

"Momma! Morsa's being mean! She's not sharing!"

"Shh!" Magda is quick to silence you, burying her head into her hands and sighing. "What do you want in return? Huh? You give me the...er, rocketship and I give you-?"

"I want cake."

"You know Momma doesn't like you having cake."

You shrug. "I'll keep the rocket."

"Fine! Fine. I'll get you cake."

[emeritusemeritus]

hello! absolutely love your writing and so happy to find someone who likes the weasley twins too! :D if it’s not too much trouble, i’d like to request a little drabble with fred where the reader adopts a ginger cat and fred finds it funny? thank you! <3

Hi Anon! Thank you so much, we are all definitely Weasley Twin lovers over here! It’s my pleasure, this was really fun to write 😂 hope you enjoy! 🖤

Warnings: minor sexual references, brief talk of curses, fluff and humour, a million ginger jokes, mentions of future kids.

Word count: 1.1k

Ginger Root

"Hey baby," Fred shouts out as he steps through the door to the flat above the shop on his lunch break, instantly loosening his tie and popping open the top shirt button that was slowly choking him.

He briefly waits for you to reply but hears nothing, so he goes looking for you. He's hoping that you'd made him something to eat for his dinner, though of course he didn't expect it if you. The shop had been ridiculously busy this last week and the thought of having to stand and make something to eat in his break hour seemed too far of a stretch for him. He's also hoping for a cuddle, needing to feel you back in his arms for a little while whilst he can, and even more hopefully he wonders if he can convince you to cuddle naked, horizontally on the bed.

He freezes upon walking into the living room, seeing a single ginger cat sat proudly on his sofa. It's comical almost how he freezes at seeing the seemingly harmless cat, looking around the empty flat as if there's an audience waiting for his reaction that he was being pranked.

He walks slowly over to the cat, approaching it with as much caution as he would a hippogriff, squatting down beside the content kitty that barely flicks it's eyes over to the intruder, sitting pride of place in Fred's usual spot.

"Okay," Fred says seriously to the cat, their faces only inches apart as he gives the kitty a questioning look, attempting to level with the feline. "You've either been cursed or you've never told me you were an animagus in the, what, 10 years we've been together?" He waits a moment for any feedback from the cat but hears nothing.

"Give me a little meow if you've been cursed and I'll fix it right away."

"Meow."

You laugh as Fred jumps at your sudden noise, falling back onto his haunches after losing his balance in surprise, arms scrambling to stop himself and failing miserable, which only adds to the hilarity of the situation.

"Godric woman," he grumbles, mock-clutching his heart as he gets up using the coffee table as leverage. He looks towards you and you smile widely seeing his heated cheeks, the look in his eyes devilish as he seeks revenge, especially as he eyes what you're wearing.

You're leaning on the doorframe, wrapped in a fluffy white towel fresh from the shower and enjoying every second of seeing Fred recover from your unplanned prank. His eyes are focused on your towel, the little tuck hidden within the slope of your breasts and the smirk on his face looks almost dangerous as you try and figure out his next move.

"But your lunch!" You squeal as he lunges as you, lips first attacking your neck.

"It can wait," he mumbles, finding his roaring appetite for food suddenly replaced by something else.

"So you found him, or her?"

"Him... I think," you say, pulling a fresh Tshirt on as Fred buttons up his shirt, leaving the tie off for now.

"He was shivering in a box next to the leaky cauldron... I couldn't leave him there Freddie." You hoped Fred wouldn't be mad, that he'd understand your desperate need to rescue the poor little kitty.

"I know sweetheart," he says with a small smile, eyes gentle with understanding.

You walk ahead of Fred as you both made your way back to the living room, pausing briefly to scratch the little sleepy cat on the sofa before you stepped into the kitchen to pull yours and Fred's pre-made lunch out of the fridge. He kisses you as a way of thanks as you both take a seat on the unoccupied sofa and eat the lunch you'd prepared earlier.

"Have you named him yet?" Fred says, taking a massive bite out of his sandwich, hardly able to talk with his mouth full of food. You pull a face of disgust for a moment at his lack of eating etiquette but drop it once you look upon the cute cat app curled up on the other sofa.

"Not yet, still thinking of options," you say, mentally running through the admittedly short list of monikers you'd come up with on the way home.

"Well with that hair he's definitely a Weasley," Fred beams, "very on brand."

"Think your mum will knit him a jumper for Christmas? Or a little scarf?" You joke, earning a snort of laughter from your boyfriend as his delighted face takes another large bite, thankfully not speaking through this one.

"What shall we name you little Weasley?" You say, looking upon your new friend.

"Well it can't be George, s'got two ears," Fred mumbles through a devilish smirk.

"Fred!" You say, scandalised by his words, though you can hardly contain your chuckle that follows only moments later.

"What about Minerva?" You can, casting your eyes towards Fred to watch his reaction, seeing him nearly choke on the last bite of his sandwich at your suggestion.

"Marmalade? Keeping with the ginger theme."

"Garfield?"

"Eh?" Fred frowns, missing the joke entirely.

"It's a muggle thing.. oh! Thomas O'Malley!"

Again Fred gives you a bewildered stare that makes a giggle slip out of you.

"Muggle film, the ginger cat. We could name him after him!  Abraham Delacey Giuseppi Casey Thomas o malley... Weasley."

"Or we could not," Fred says blankly.

"Ron?" You ask, trying to glance at the cat's face to see what else would spring to mind.

"No, it's too clean," Fred jokes, nodding his head towards the cat.

"Squash? Cheddar? Pumpkin?"

"Stop naming food!" Fred calls out with a laugh before he pauses, clearly thinking. "Wait I like pumpkin! Pumpkin Weasley?"

"Our first child," you joke, throwing your legs over his as you lean back on the sofa. You knew he'd have to be going back to work soon so you'd take what you could get.

"Great we can name our children after root vegetables," Fred says with a mock roll of his eyes, big hands coming up to stroke your legs as he pulls them deeper into his lap.

"Ginger's a root vegetable, they'd fit right in," you beam, looking at your boyfriend's fiery locks, secretly hoping that whatever children you'd have would share this certain characteristic.

"Oh yeah! Meet the twins, parsnip and turnip," he jests, laughing as your eyes widen in horror at his words, knowing that it would be just your luck to get your own mini version of George and Fred.

"Who said anything about twins?!"

"Maybe we'll just stick with the cat then," he smirks, joining your gaze towards your new best friend, realising that it might not be a bad thing after all to expand your family.

"We'll start with Pumpkin."

[theamarischapter]

He’s Not My Boyfriend!

CHAPTER 05; friends (?)

new here? chapter 1 - previous: chapter 4

pairing: beomgyu x f!reader

w/c: 3.3k

genre: strangers to frenemies to lovers, high school au, slow burn…ish (?), fake dating (for a day) - FINALLY HERE!

warnings: none!

summary: a friendship blooms, but buried feelings crawl their way back to the surface. a harmless april fools prank turns out to be…not so harmless. your “indifference” is killing him.

fic below the cut! enjoy <3

You’ve discovered that Beomgyu is just as much of a nerd as Kai and Soobin. They play the same games and watch the same shows and gush over the same celebrities. You’ve gotten used to listening to him and Soobin argue over whatever game it is that they stay up until 2 AM playing. They’re always, undoubtedly, the loudest at your lunch table. Since the recent alliance, your friend groups have sorta merged. Which (of course) means that the teasing is annoying as ever, but at this point, it’s all white noise. Now, it’s Beomgyu who manages to be the biggest annoyance in your life—in an endearing way. You almost miss the time when he was the shy, quiet boy your friends shipped you with. Almost. 

Jumbled conversation echoes through the cafeteria, overlapping the clatter of trays. Students crowd together around small tables, gossiping and laughing, while others keep to themselves. You sit beside Beomgyu, who, as per usual, has made it his mission to annoy you. He keeps poking your side. Each time, you flinch a little, swatting his hand away. 

“Cut it out!” You yelp, suppressing small laughs. You find yourself amused despite the feigned annoyance. Beomgyu puts his hands up defensively, looking off to the side with a small smirk.

“What? I barely did anything,” he defends. His gaze returns to you, meeting your unimpressed expression. The corners of his lips pull into a guilty, upside-down smile. He always acts so innocent. 

“Beomgyu.” You retort, tone unamused. You shake your head, rolling your eyes. His arms fall back to his side, a laugh escaping his lips. His joy, even when at your expense, is contagious—you have to suppress a smile. 

“It’s funny, though…” He mumbles, looking away again. You raise an eyebrow at him, whipping your head from side to side as you look around the circular table—your friends are beside you, to the left, and his are next to him on the right. They’re all taking inconspicuous glances at you, not yet acknowledging the playful exchange happening. 

“Really? ‘cause I don’t see anyone laughing,” you retort, glancing around again as if to make a point. He narrows his eyes at you, head tilting to the side. 

“You were. Like five seconds ago,” he replies. His voice is flat, expression blank. You scoff, crossing your arms. That’s not fair, and he knows it. 

“That doesn’t count. I’m ticklish,” you reply, shrugging. He hums in thought, shaking his head and nudging you with his elbow. 

“You think it’s hilarious too,” he argues. “Just admit it.”

“Shut up,” you grumble. Sure, it’s a little funny, but not when he does it five million times! Besides, he only thinks it’s funny because of the way you react. For you, it’s just embarrassing—especially considering how his touch makes your heart flutter. 

“You didn’t deny it,” he teases, leaning a little closer. Your heart skips a beat, an uncomfortable feeling bubbling in your chest. You lean away, unable to make eye contact.

“You’re so annoying.” You mutter, shaking your head. You glance up, eyes meeting Chaewon’s. She has a small grin, eyes gleaming with amusement at your spectacle—and something else. Something that makes you shift nervously in your seat. “What?” You raise an eyebrow at her. She hums in delight, leaning her elbows on the table. 

“You two are so cute!” She gushes. Before you can even begin to think of a retort, the rest of your friends are ganging up on you. 

“You should just date already,” Yunjin teases, her dark eyes glistening with mischief. 

“They probably are—they’re just too embarrassed to admit it,” Kai adds on, nudging Soobin to join in. Soobin hums in thought, smiling evilly. He opens his phone, showing off a blurry picture—you and Beomgyu, side by side, smiling together in a crowded hallway. 

“I saw them walking together the other day,” Soobin explains, causing the table to erupt in gasps. Seriously, what era is this? You didn’t know being near a guy was so scandalous nowadays. Why does he even have that picture?

“You guys are so annoying. God forbid a girl and a guy be friends!” You retort, scoffing as you roll your eyes. You’re too preoccupied arguing to notice the odd expression on Beomgyu’s face. 

His hands are on the table, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. He shifts uncomfortably, his gaze fixated on everything but you. His throat feels tight, lungs small as he attempts to breathe. Why can’t he just be normal? His heart jumps every time someone mentions how cute you’d be together or how he’s basically your boyfriend. He doesn’t understand. He buried those feelings when he buried the old version of himself. That’s not him anymore. He doesn’t like you, he can’t like you. So, why does he feel this way now? It’s like a hurricane ripping through all of the flimsy defenses he’s held up thus far. He’s going insane, meanwhile, you sit there calmly denouncing even the idea of being with him. Which feels great, by the way.

“Beomgyu’s totally blushing,” Kai points out. Everyone’s gaze is suddenly on him, including yours. Yours. Oh god, what’s happening? He can’t breathe. His heart is suddenly beating out of his chest. This isn’t happening. Control yourself, Beomgyu. He scoffs, but it sounds more like a cough. 

“Am not,” he mutters, but the shake in his voice isn’t helping his case much. Soobin laughs, eyes wide with amusement as he gasps. 

“You’re totally in love.” He teases, which only causes Beomgyu’s face to get warmer. In love? Never. Never in a million years. You grimace, taking control of the situation before it gets out of hand.

“Ugh, you guys are so stupid,” you scoff. Luckily, the bell reverberates through the crowded space, ending the conversation with ease. You part ways, heading to class with your friends. Beomgyu can’t help but watch as you disappear into the crowd. 

Was the idea really so stupid? Was it so unbelievable that he might like you? Or maybe it’s the other way around. Of course, nothing has changed since middle school. You’re still way out of his league. It makes sense that the idea of anything more than friends is a joke to you. It’s a joke to him, too. Totally. It’s hilarious!

He just needs to get himself together. Those feelings are only coming back because he’s around you again. It’s just nostalgia. Just a bad habit that he never got to break. He doesn’t like you! It’s just…the idea of everything. The idea of having a girlfriend. That’s why he always gets so flustered when your friends tease. It’s not because of you, right? It can’t be—that would be breaking his promise to himself. 

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

Yeah, no. Something must be seriously wrong with him. How did his brain go from being completely normal to being a jumbled, confusing mess in seconds? He knows how, but he searches for a different answer nonetheless. He repeats to himself over and over that he likes Yeji, even if they haven’t talked in a while. He likes her, not you. Things are just getting mixed up. Any normal person would get flustered in this situation. Well, except for you. You never react. But that’s different! You’re just freakishly calm—underreacting, if you ask him. His reaction to the teasing is totally normal. So, no, he doesn’t like you. And, even if he did, he can’t allow the same thing to happen a second time. Not when he worked so hard to become your friend. 

Why did he do that, anyway? No, no, no—don’t even go there, Choi Beomgyu. It’s normal to want to be someone’s friend! He feels sick to his stomach.

The next time he sees you, he feels himself spiraling. Your eyelashes are long and pretty, fluttering every time you blink. Your silky hair frames your delicate features. His eyes linger on your plush lips a little too long, then the pretty pink hue of your smooth cheeks. This is unfair. He worked so hard to move on, to accept that he couldn’t have you. He accepted that it was all in the past. He didn't have a chance, and that was okay! 

Then again, that was before everything. Before he was someone in your life, before you started calling him Gyu in that sweet, familiar tone. Maybe he can indulge his feelings this time. He’s a better person now. You’re friends already. What's the harm? The feelings are going to eat away at him anyway. It’s better he just acknowledges the facts—he likes you, and no amount of denial will stop it. 

That said, your indifference might. You deny everything so casually. He’ll subtly lean closer or brush fingers with you, and you don’t react. In fact, you look at him like he’s crazy. It’s making him remember exactly why he wanted to avoid catching feelings again. You don’t like him. 

At least, in his perspective, you don’t. But he can’t read your mind. He doesn’t know that your heart jumps whenever he touches you. He doesn’t see the way you scramble to steel your expression whenever he gets a little too close. He’s too in his head to notice the way your voice trembles whenever you tell him to knock it off. It’s not that you don’t like him. He’s just conditioned himself to interpret everything you do as friendly, or as his stupid heart playing tricks on him. You’re blushing because you’re uncomfortable, not flustered. You’d never be flustered because of him.

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

The end of March is fast approaching, which also means April 1st is coming up—April Fool’s Day. Beomgyu has the perfect idea for a silly little prank. Something totally innocent and unrelated to the all-consuming feelings currently overwhelming his heart. He sighs, sprawled across his unmade bed sheets as he stares at your contact. His heart beats a little quicker at the notion of messaging you, but he manages to settle on a simple message. 

gyu 🧸: hi i have an idea

You respond quickly, almost too quickly. His heart jumps when he sees the three little dots flickering. 

you: what is it gyu 🧸: a prank for april fools you: omg yes

Well, that was easy. Then again, you’re probably only agreeing because you think it’s something typical. You know, stuff besides pretending to date your friend.

gyu 🧸: i didnt even tell u what the idea is yet you: okay so tell me 🙄 gyu 🧸: well since we get shipped i thought it’d be funny if we pretended to date

There’s no immediate response this time. His heart drops, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. A minute passes, then two, and then his hands are trembling over the keyboard as he panics to type out something to redeem himself. You must think he’s crazy and weird. Of course, that was dumb. It’s a dumb idea, and you wouldn’t—his phone buzzes.

you: omg wait that’s hilarious 😭 they’re gonna freak out 💀 im in gyu 🧸: okay

He blinks, shakily putting his phone down. You actually agreed. He rereads the message just to ensure that he read it right. You’re in. You think it’s hilarious. Maybe he wishes you didn’t find it funny, though. This is definitely a horrible idea. He’s asking to get hurt—but whatever! He gets to call you his for a day, even if it’s pretend. He gets to be close in the way he’s yearned to for years (technically). He feels knots forming in his stomach just thinking about it…

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

You’ve spent days preparing to successfully carry out this prank with Beomgyu. It’s no fun if it’s obvious you’re messing with them, so the build-up is important. You started resisting the teasing less, sitting a little closer, wearing matching bracelets—you even posted a faceless picture of him on your close friends. You’re seriously dedicated to this…Beomgyu might actually combust. He knows it’s pretend, but that doesn’t stop his poor heart from pounding wildly. When the day finally comes, he’s grateful that you think his flustered expression is just spectacular acting. 

How else was he supposed to react when you suddenly grabbed his hand? His fingers twitch in your grasp, and for a split second, he wonders if you can feel his pulse racing through his palm.

Chaewon is the first to see you two entering school hand-in-hand; usually, you meet her in the morning since you have first period together. She gasps loudly, hands flying over her lips as if she’s just witnessed the biggest plot twist of the year. It’s honestly endearing how happy she looks for you. Her eyes sparkle with excitement as she hurries over, practically skipping. She says your name in disbelief, eyes darting between you both, then down to your interlocked hands. 

“Is this what I think it is?” She squeals when you nod and pull Beomgyu a little closer without warning. Oh, he is not going to survive today. His heart does backflips, his eyes trained on you. You’re calm as ever—at least, on the surface

“Surprise.” You laugh, letting out a shaky breath. Your heart is beating unreasonably fast. You remind yourself that this is all a prank. He has Yeji—at least, he did last you checked. Then again, he’s here pretending to be your boyfriend. Sure, it technically means nothing, but it’s still a little odd. If they were really in any sort of relationship—be it a talking stage or more—would he be playing this game with you? The thought lingers, unsettling and unspoken.

“I knew it,” Chaewon says, smiling proudly. “All along. You two are so obvious.” 

“Shut up,” you grumble, rolling your eyes. Obvious? Well, of course, she’s only talking about the past week. You aren’t obvious about anything because you don’t actually like him. 

The rest of your friends react in a similar manner. Yunjin finds out through Chaewon and promptly blows up your phone in the middle of class. She catches you during passing period and is gushing, making way too much noise considering how early it is. Soobin and Kai see him walking you to third period and are immediately on your case. 

“Wait—isn’t it April Fools, though?” Soobin asks. He narrows his eyes, eyeing you suspiciously. 

"Yeah, so what?" Beomgyu shoots back, a little too quickly. A little too defensively.

“I don’t believe it,” Soobin replies, shrugging. 

“Well, no one’s begging you to. She’s my girlfriend,” he retorts. Your heart flutters at his declaration. It almost feels real for a second, like he’s really claiming you. You smile, clinging to his arm casually. 

“Couple goals,” Kai teases, laughing. Beomgyu smiles wider than he should, shaking his head. The warning bell urges you to hurry up, so you part ways with Soobin and Kai. As you enter the class, you catch his gaze lingering—like he’s waiting for something. You look away without a word, quietly taking your seat. 

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

Lunchtime comes around quickly, but today, your friends have decided to eat outside. The sun hangs high, fluffy clouds drifting through the sky. A slow breeze contrasts the warmth of the sun, rustling the trees. Ironically, it’s you and Beomgyu who are the first to show up at the table. He’s beside you, his shoulder brushing yours—he’s close. Too close, considering your friends aren’t here yet. There’s no reason to pretend. Your heart stutters when he quietly, mindlessly reaches an arm around you—for a moment, you think maybe one of your friends is approaching, but they’re not. His head turns toward you, eyes narrowed as if he’s searching for something in your expression. Why is he staring so hard? You clear your throat and return to scrolling on social media. This is fine. You have no problem being close to him, he’s your friend. He calls your name, the sound so gentle it makes your heart stop.

“Hm?” You look up, putting your phone down. You wonder if he can hear just how fast your heart is beating. You hate it. You wish he’d stop playing with your heart like this. 

He’s not quite sure what he’s thinking, honestly. Maybe he spent too much time in class fantasizing about being your real boyfriend—feeling your soft lips against his, getting to hold you whenever. You’ve done a good job being his fake girlfriend. Perhaps that’s why he forgets about everything. He forgets that you don’t like him, that you’re out of his league. 

You’re still close, and there’s a glimmer of something in your eyes as they connect with his. It’s electric, sparking something new within him. Within you, too. Your body moves on its own, leaning into his touch. He figures it’s okay. A pretend kiss for his pretend girlfriend—just this once. His fingers flex at his side, his shaky breaths brushing across your face. He knows he shouldn’t, knows he’ll regret it, but you’re looking at him like that, with wide, glimmering eyes and already parted lips. Suddenly, it’s impossible to stop himself. His eyelashes flutter as he glances down at your inviting lips, the scent of your sweet perfume drifting in the breeze. Time seems to stretch, each second feeling like hours. Your fingers twitch at your sides, itching to pull him a little closer. He almost feels like he’s dreaming. 

And then, you’re pulling away. You gently tug out of his embrace, but the hesitation is there—a weird look in your eyes. Hurt, maybe. His warmth lingers on your skin. Your lips part like you might say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, you laugh. To him, it sounds uncomfortable, but you know just how pained it sounds. You almost let that happen. You almost forgot what day it was. April Fool’s. 

“Gyu, that’s not funny.” You mumble, averting your gaze. You almost lost control. You almost let your heart slip out of your careful grasp. Shame burns in his throat, his chest tightening as humiliation washes over him. He wants to disappear. He knew none of this would end well, but he went through with it anyway. And now it’s too late to take things back—if only he would’ve just taken a second longer to actually think. It’s almost painful how much you obviously don’t like him. You think he’s a joke. 

It’s obvious—but only when ignoring a few key details. Namely, the fact that you did lean in, for just a moment, before realizing what was happening. Of course, it must’ve been some weird prank he was trying to pull on you, and you almost fell for it. You refuse to be humiliated today. You don’t need—or want—to hear him laugh in your face and remind you that it’s pretend. More importantly, you don’t need anything to fuel the feelings brewing in your chest. You know just how bad one kiss could ruin things. It’d be impossible to stay in denial any longer. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, looking away. You’ve given him an easy out, even if the words sound stiff on his tongue. “I just wanted to see what you’d do.” 

You manage a laugh, gently smacking his shoulder. He hates how you can just play it off, how you can act so normal as if it was all nothing. He thinks, maybe, it was—to you, at least. He’s a complete moron—he’s probably just ruined the rest of the entire day. “You’re so annoying,” you whine, masking the ache in your heart with a smile. 

He rolls his eyes, laughing as well. Though his laugh is a lot softer, tinged with melancholy as he looks away. Would it be stupid to cry over something so trivial? Probably. He’s not going to, anyway. Not in front of you, at least. 

Maybe it’s about time to stop the prank. 

taglist: @whatblop, @innies-goth-gf, @woncheecks, @ewsnup <3

a/n: yayyy! these two can never just be chill i guess. like...they always gotta have something going on. anyways, i hope you enjoyed this chapter!!! only 2 - 3 chapters left omg. as always, ty for ur support and patience! likes, comments, and reblogs greatly appreciated! (≧∇≦)ﾉ <3

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

next chapter

[solbaby7]

Make You Feel My Love

pairing: azriel x reader

[ part 2 to Make You Feel Something ]

warnings: sexual tension, possible sexual descriptions, not intended for readers under 18, swearing, best friends who fuck, possible typos

summary: Late nights and dim lights with a Shadowsinger who bares it all when it comes to you.

[part 1 ]

—

Practice makes perfect.

At least that’s what you told yourself every time the sun would set and Azriel came strolling through the doors of your bedchamber. He’s grown rather confident as a muse, such perfect features translating on dozens of pages in your sketchbook and countless canvases with him draped over the throne or laid out in a field of flowers. Two of them were a set, a close enough depiction of the shadowsinger in a spring, water up to his chest and inky hair dripping over his forehead—he looked peaceful, like the world hadn’t yet taken a piece of his soul. Most were divided between the two of you; stolen slices of sunshine and bargained bits of darkness hung proudly on his walls, even the nude one had its own home in his closet. “Where do you want me?”

“On the bed.”

He raises a brow, a smirk growing in the corner of full lips but he obeys. “Skipping right to the fun parts, are we?”

“Not this time,” You state firmly, arms crossing at your chest and putting your foot down. “I have three sketchbooks filled with half-finished pieces because you and that silver tongue of yours.”

“You’ve never complained about it before.” Azriel plops onto your bed face down, arms curling under the same pillow he was burying his face in. “Why don’t we do this in your room more often? I’m sure sitting for hours will be much more bearable with the smell of you surrounding me.”

“We stopped doing that because you kept falling asleep.” You’re not even facing him, bare feet smacking against the hardwood floors as you dragged over a chair and the small side table beside it. The soft blue book you pull out is far more intricate than any of the others he’d seen you use before, a special set of charcoals were pullout and sharpened. Stained fingers smear at the page, giving a rough base to sketch upon and Azriel finds he falls in love with the messy ponytail you pull your hair into each time before you’d started.

Azriel made a little noise, humming into the comfort of your sheets after shrugging off his shorts; no underwear this time. Just endless miles of hard muscles and giant wings that settled into the soft fabric of your duvet. “Even better, I’m quite handsome when I sleep.”

“You snore.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Is it? Shall I ask Rhys to join us? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind poking around in my head to help confirm.”

It was a harmless taunt; one he probably still wouldn’t have laughed at even when you were just friends. But now—this. The late nights and early mornings laughing about nothing, fingers smeared in whatever medium you’d chosen to use that time. Sometimes it would lead to more; feverish mouths molding against one another, your fingers tracing at bare skin while Az’s greedy hands tug off your clothes. Soft promises branded at your flesh each time your bodies connected, shadows in a frenzy, touching the places his hands couldn’t get to but he swallows every moan, every blissed out whimper until he was full off you and the air you breathed.

Other times were softer, two friends bonding over something they didn’t have to share with others. A reprieve from expectations; a place where Azriel bared his body and allowed another to find a beauty in him he had yet to see. “You wouldn’t dare—you’d get too jealous having someone else looking at me the way you do.”

“Maybe, I’ll just think of a different memory; of me before a mirror with my hands between my thighs.”

It’s too easy to push the right buttons; amber irises peering at you over the plush pillow beneath him, wide shoulders tense and body half covered by the sheets. “That’s not funny.”

You’re already sketching the outlines of the bed frame, the mattress and the crinkled pillows. Rough outlines of a figure beginning to form before your very eyes as you continued, fresh linen sheets, a thick duvet that smelled of you bunched low at Azriel’s waist. “I wasn’t laughing.” He shifts in bed, hair messy and gaze darkening when taking you in; giving you time to change your words. “You moved.”

“Take it back.”

“Why?” You poke harder, amused grin plastered on your face. “You jealous?”

To your surprise, Azriel nods; just once but it’s enough to have your stomach doing flips. “I don’t like the thought of someone else seeing you like that—someone that’s not me.”

The movement doesn’t alter the direction of the sketch too much and the way he rests on his side, upper body propped up by one strong arm while the other rested over his stomach and he’s not as awkward with his hands anymore—allowing them to just be. You don’t dare look in his eyes, fearful of the secrets he’d lure out of you and you linger around areas that have already been completed. The strong lines of his waist, the dark trail of hair, the muscles of his abdomen that seems to flex slightly when your stare lasts a beat too long. “That your way of telling me not to be seeing other people?”

“Have you been seeing other people?”

You try to ignore the fire that burns in your belly at the jealously he openly displays and your hand pulls away from the paper, a brow raised in question. “Have you?”

It’s difficult to maintain eye contact under the intensity of such a rich gold and you’re fairly certain he can hear the way your heart thuds in your chest. This was the closest either of you had gotten to verifying what it was you were doing and suddenly the warmth from the fire is entirely too much. A finger hooks under the neckline of your shirt, tugging gently in a motion that Azriel doesn’t miss, tongue darting out to wet his lip. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

True.

It wasn’t like he had the time to juggle another woman between all of his responsibilities and spending every spare second sneaking off into whatever room was empty for a few minutes of skin on skin, mouth to mouth and tongue sliding over tongue. “Maybe, I want to hear you say it.” It comes out a little shy, head tilting to the side to rest against your hand and shadows twist up your ankle, around your calf and over your knees. They stop at your thighs, the cool sensation almost resembling the pressure of hands when they tease at the hem of your sleep shorts. “Az—“

“You have to hear the words?” The shadowsingers voice goes devastatingly low, unbearably taunting; luring you in and daring you to bite. Play with me. His shadows seem to croon, tracing letters in your skin too gentle for you to decipher but the heated stare greedily feasting on your reactions is a big enough clue. “Can you not feel it in how I touch you? How I handle you?” The cool pressure creeps past the silk of your shorts, fleeting touches grazing spots that needed more before they dart off to the next. “Is it not clear when I look at you?”

“Azriel—“ It comes out breathless, bones melting to nothing in the cushions of the couch. “The drawing.”

“Who’s stopping you, sweet thing?” The shadows do the work for him, raising the charcoal back in your grasp while the other extends out your sketchbook. “I’ll keep still while you finish.”

A double meaning in the best case.

No doubt, this was his payback for making him spill his load in your hand like some teenager still learning their bodies.

His shadows are relentless, memorizing every curve and branding their touch in their wake. Focusing is near impossible, hands shaky and breathing choppy when forcing yourself to relax; to continue drawing the tortuously beautiful body before you. Az smirks when you pause, throat bobbing with a swallow when you feel the cool caress graze your chest, teasing over peaked nipples. You can feel him following your every move, every drag of pencil to paper; a few of the lines are less than neat but you can’t find it in you to care when Azriel’s attention on you is so addictive. “Can you feel it now?”

“I’ve always felt it, Az.” There’s such vulnerability laced in your tone, eyes trained on your paper; copying the furrow of his brow, the straight line of his nose, the plush of his mouth. “Just need to hear you say it.”

There’s a brief pause; enough time to sign the page and neatly put your utensils away but instead of tearing the page free like usual, you shut the baby blue book and tie it tight. “I want you,” He confesses when you stand, your back is to him and the words come out so quiet you barely hear it. Your body stills and your soft inhale of breath is encouragement enough for him to keep going. “—as more than just friends.”

A slow glance over your shoulder, book still in your grasp and now you’re definitely sure he can hear your heartbeat—everyone in the whole damn city probably could. “Yeah?”

He nods, a smile creeping in the corner of full lips at the way you’re looking at him and Azriel shifts to make room when you move closer, hands and knees sinking into the mattress when you sit yourself on top of him. “I want to kiss you in front of people,” Warm palms dips under your shirt, strong hands gripping at your sides with the most perfect pressure when explores the shape of you. Az lets a pleased sound rumble in his chest at the way you fall into him, allowing him access to a body he’d laid claim to long before he’d ever even touched you. “And have a cheesy picture of your face hanging up behind me in my office.” A blush fans, soft laughter filling the room but inside your screaming; on top of the world with no plan on how to get down. “Just want you. Only you.”

His hands keep trailing higher, pausing at the curve of your breasts and his pupils go wide when you grind down on him, pulling the shirt clean off and throwing it somewhere behind you. “Then have me, I’m yours. Only yours.”

[deuxcherise]

Collar Crimes: Weasel In

C/w: Unhealthy behavior, yandere OC, yandere male, whiny yandere, gender neutral reader, comfort (?), fluff (?), mentions violent action, cute image of stoat for reference A/n: So I watched a video about a stoat, a type of weasel, and oml it's adorable as heck. And vicious. And we can’t deny a cute yandere, can we? Enjoy~ Masterlist | Part 0, Part 1 (you're here!), Part 2

The stoat is a very lovely creature. Quite small, halfway tameable, and very weasel-like. A long-shaped living doll of a creature. However, it is… less cute in its mannerisms. You've seen it, with its tiny form, take down a rabbit twice its size and thickness. You were a child back then when you first witnessed this shocking event in a documentary, and have long since accepted that not all cute things are gentle and innocent.

Perhaps that is why you haven't called the police yet, though you definitely keep your phone on hand. Just in case…

“(Y-Y/n)... I… This is not what it looks like!”

Really? Then what the heck am I looking at? 

The very large trash bag he is dragging away in the alleyway next to your apartment has a very suspiciously human shape, with a defined head, armed-bound torso, and bound legs. Sure, an idiot could chalk it up to Eris's strange tying technique, but you are no idiot.

Not to mention, the bag starts to squirm and make a muffled noise.

“Quiet,” Eris spit before he stomps on the bag so hard you hear a crack. The bag immediately stills. He then turns to you with a bashful smile, like the kind of smile you’d find on a person who accidentally made a mess in the kitchen because they were trying to make a cake for you.

…..

Yeah, that’s the same exact smile he had when the one time you found him in your kitchen at 3AM, in the middle of baking a cake for your birthday. Sweet as the gesture was, you’re pretty sure you’ve never given him a key to your apartment.

You sigh. “Listen, could you please be more…” You gesture to this whole scene with circular motions of both of your hands. “Inconspicuous about your crimes?”

Eris's eyes sparkle. “Of course, my love! I made sure there aren't any cameras or witnesses here to catch me!”

There were many cameras set up by your landlord just a few days ago, as a result of an uptick of crimes in the area recently. Knowing Eris… that landlord wasted quite a sum.

“Actually, the area here is pretty dangerous,” he adds. “You should come live with me!”

“I've said this before, and I'll say it again. No, thank you.”

His pleasant expression falls for a second before he pipes up, “Mm, okay! Then let me install some cameras!”

“No. No, thank you.”

“But (Y/n)! How else am I going to wat- protect you?” he whines, his arms flailing the trash bag like a child throwing a tantrum.

You sigh as you turn around and start walking back to your apartment. You ignore his cries for your name, unwilling to deal with people in general after finishing your 9-to-5 customer service job. That's how you found him actually, or rather how he found you. Funny, isn’t it? You don't understand why he's so… obsessed over you to this point. 

Why haven't you taken any real action so far? It’s because he’s been pretty harmless overall—aside from a few kisses on the cheek and head and hand. He really likes planting kisses on you, doesn't he? At least he doesn't kiss you on the lips… as far as you're aware…

Still in your work uniform, you collapse on your couch and take a nap for at least an hour. When you wake up again, you find Eris on top of you, staring intensely at your face with a very blank, doll-like expression. Realizing you're awake, his doll-like face breaks into a smile.

“(Y/n)~” he sweetly calls out to you, like a puppy greeting his owner. It would’ve been cute, but his history of creepy antics pollutes his image.

You don't question how he gets into your apartment without a key anymore. “Get off,” you command.

“Noooo… Don't wannaaaa.”

You sigh. He's being difficult again. You take a hand and push against his shoulder, expecting to push him off your bed as usual. This time, however, he's too solid and stable. Drowsiness is keeping you weak.

“Eris…”

“Yes, love?”

“Please get off… you're crushing me.”

“Eh?? No, I'm not!”

He really isn't, bearing his weight on his elbows and knees and not at all on your body. How long has he kept this pose?

Seeing his face about to whine again, you say, “Ugh, fine.” You roll over onto your stomach and close your eyes again.

“(Y/n)? Are you going back to sleep? You haven't had dinner yeeet.”

“.....”

“(Y/nnn).”

“Don't feel like eating,” you mumble.

“Uh… But (Y/n), you have to take care of your health. Or let me take care of your health.”

“Don't need you to. Leave me alone.”

“Hmphhhhh.”

“.....”

You hear him lower himself down onto your body to wrap his arms around you. His lips trace the back of your neck, much to your discomfort.

“(Y/n),” he whispers.

“.....”

“You're lonely, right?”

“.....”

“I am too, so I know. You don't have to tell me.”

“.....”

“Since we're both alone… I was thinking… we should become a family together… Isn't that a good idea?”

“.....”

“I can wait for you at home… cook for you… do the laundry… take out the trash… take care of our children…”

“I don't want any children,” you murmur.

He gently kisses the back of your head. “Of course, of course. I’m okay if it’s just you and me too~ Would you like a summer wedding or a winter wedding? Personally, I prefer winter-”

“I'm not… marrying you.”

“Mm… That's okay too! We can… elope, if that's what you want. As long as we're together.”

“I don't… like you that way.”

“Oh… does that mean you like me in other ways?”

What part of– You sigh. “Shut up… trying to sleep…”

You hear him giggle as he hugs you tighter and plants some more kisses on the back of your head. “Okay, okay, my love. I'm just… so happy. Being with you. I really am. I'll make you fall in love with me… someday, (Y/n).”

“Mm hmm… Sure…”

“Just need to… get rid of some more… pests… so we can be together… always…”

And the both of you head off to dreamland together on the couch~

[st4rsinthenight]

★..random g/t thought. again.★

— CW: Dehumanisation, infantalization (?)

★So, I'm imagining a tiny yelling at a giant because they are so so so fed up by the way that they are acting with them, coddling them, treating them like a baby or heck even— a pet, rather than a person who has their own conscious decisions, all because of their small size. Though, as they are frustratingly screaming their little heart out— the tiny is unaware to the fact that their little protests are not being heard and in fact, to the giant's point of view, their heartfelt angered words sound nothing short off like..squeaks. Squeaks that makes the giant let out a little a laugh, finding their miniscule noises rather funny, as they don't realise that their tiny friend/captive (ect) is actually mad at them.

Or even if they did notice that the tiny was angry with them— or acknowledge their disapproval as to how they they treat them, I doubt that they'd be able to hold back their amusement, as while knowing that they are upset and done with them, they still view the tiny as a cute helpless and harmless little creature.

Y'know when a pet is annoyed and the owner can't help but find it funny ?? That's what I'm going for with this.

They may even coo a bit at sight of the tiny persistently stomping their foot on the counter/table/floor (you name it) as they go on and on with their annoyed grumbling, only stopping to glare confusingly at the giant once their chortle rumbles through their form.

Excellent candidate for angst I think erm. I'm normal, I believe.★

[homeofhousechickens]

I have a chicken who is sweet with everyone EXCEPT my pet sitter. This tiny bantam becomes and vessel of hate and malice when she sees him. She screams, she will attack, puffs up and I presume use every swear word known to chickenkind. He ignores her tirades because she is very small and harmless. But she is determined to bring destruction to him and his entire bloodline. It's not even because he is a guy, she loved my dad and my male friends. Just this guy in particular that needs to be obliterated.

With other people she will hide in their armpits and make cute little noises.

I love chickens so much.

Chickens are so funny! My friend has some chickens that HATE people but whenever my partner shows up they crowd him and will squat for him! Like ladies you see us everyday why lol

[echekate]

Zombie apocalypse AU HCs

gn!reader x Hobie Brown

tw: violence, wounds, blood, mentions of amputation

So AU where you live in a zombie apocalypse, like a year after the catastrophy. You belong to a town of survivors and Hobie is a loner who prefers to survive on his own tho he doesn't mind other ppl if they don't threaten him.

You're one of scouts of your town who go outside and search for all sorts of supplies and maybe even other survivors who might need help and want to join your commune.

You just do your usual thing, rummaging through an old abandoned building when suddenly you drop something or make any other kind of loud noise and it appears that this building is not so abandoned after all - there's quite a company of groaning monsters who now really want to take a bite from you.

So of course you run for your life but the only way is up the stairs and the small mob almost corners you in one of the corridors when suddenly a door opens and you get dragged inside by a strong hand. The door immediately closes behind you, and now it's just the two of you in a small room that seems to be safe enough.

You try to aim your gun at the stranger, but your hands shake violently and there's not much you can do, so the guy smirks at your attempts but still raises his hands to show you he's harmless.

That's how you and Hobie meet each other.

It only takes you so much time to calm down and realise he's no threat. You share your food with him to thank him and talk quietly, patiently waiting for the groaning horde to go away.

It's funny to see a guy so dedicated to certain aesthetics in the middle of the apocalypse. Wearing jeans and leather, having a bat with nails and his guitar on him, combined with an immense amount of piercings he has, he looks so unmistakably punk. Yeah, he looks like a cool guy. Acts like one, too, offering you a grin, his name, a handshake to go with it and a small talk.

"A townie, huh?" Hobie chuckles with a touch of disdain when you tell him you're not a loner, that you're from a town. Something in his voice makes you wonder if there's more to it than a simple 'i'm cooler bc i don't need anyone to survive'.

And only much, much later you'll find out that he used to live in a town, too, but the leader (might be Osborn haha) went nuts, turned into a dictator, pressured people he was supposed to protect, and Hobie organised a riot and ended up killing him. He left after that and now he doesn't trust communes and their self-proclaimed leaders.

He helps you to get out of the building when it's safe and you almost leave to be on your way when it hits you it might be useful to pair up with an experienced survivor like him. And he hasn't had company for a while now, so he just shrugs and agrees.

It's easier to travel together. You navigate zombie-crouded places with ease, watching each other's back, you talk when it's safe (and hell does Hobie like himself a good talk after only being able to talk to himself for a while). You quickly find out that teasing each other is hella fun and it takes him only about two days to come up with a nickname for you - maybe something made from your name or maybe something stupid from all those jokes you share.

Once you reach another town and settle in a house that has decent fence, Hobie starts a fire and soon you hear him strumming something on his guitar. He's glad if you decide to sing along. And if you play guitar, too, he'd hand it to you, but just before you grab it he'd pull it away for a moment and squint his eyes at you. "Jus' don't break it, luv", he smirks before finally handing it to you. And if you sing - damn, he'd definitely start missing his being in a band days and promise you to write a duet for you two.

Sometimes you try to convince him to come with you to your town but he just shrugs and laughs it off. He doesn't yet tell why he's so stubborn about it, and you know better than to pry.

Your expedition goes calmly until the last village on your way where you encounter raiders. They shoot first and you don't really have a choise but put down two of them. You find a hiding spot before any of you gets shot, but the next day when you plan to leave and head back to your town they notice you. And, well, of course they want revenge.

You flee both from raiders and zombies attracted by the gunfire, navigating the narrow alley filled with junk, and where you slip with ease, Hobie suddenly falls trying to jump off something and gets an iron rod right through his thigh.

Putting all the trouble with removing it aside, that's how you and Hobie both end up back in your town. You were supposed to part ways, but it's not like you could just leave him after everything you've been through together. His wound is festering by the time you reach safety, you tried to give him meds, but it only did so much in holding the infection back. Thankfully now the doctors can look after him.

He gets better gradually and soon enough you let him move into your place. After all, you were the one to bring him to the town, so now you're kind of responsible. He's not particularly happy to be there, but trust me, he'd choose his words of distaste less carefully if it was anyone but you with him.

He needs time to recover in safety, but the town is suffocating, so you find a harmless enough decision and start inviting him outside to hunt. Nothing but short sorties not too far from the town walls, but he feels better. And honestly? It's a good time to bond. Winter comes and you spend your nights outside in abandoned hunting lodges, resting close to each other to preserve the heat.

It's back to back first, then you share blankets, and soon enough it turns into cuddling - either it's spooning or Hobie just pulls your head into his chest and wraps his long arms aroung you. You're supposed to take care of him and help him recover, but in those moments you feel taken care of. Small. Maybe even loved. Not something you feel often in this dying shit of a world.

And when the winter passes, Hobie suddenly realises that he doesn't really want to leave. I wonder why,,,,,,

A little extra: I feel like if you ever get bitten or scratched, Hobie would NOT hesitate to take your wounded limb away. He's not the type to wait till it turns into 'either i kill them or they turn into a monster' drama, he just wants to save as much of you as he can. And knowing how good he is with crafting things, he'd probably be the one to make you a prosthesis to replace it, too.

-------------------------------------------------------

pt. 1 | pt.2

[natsuki-bakery]

⁎˚ ఎ DMC Agere HC's ໒ ˚⁎

can you do Nico Goldstein (DMC) regressor headcsnnons? (Like 5-6 range)

•Nico loves customizing everything, and that doesn’t stop when she’s in little space. She has a big collection of shiny, glittery stickers, especially ones with flames, lightning bolts, or skulls, which she uses to decorate everything from her sketchbooks to her tools. She’ll even add some to Nero’s things when he’s not looking, claiming it's to "give 'em some character !"

•She’ll pretend to "fix" or "upgrade" her own toys, sometimes making sound effects as she goes, like little "vroom vroom" or "zap zap" noises. It keeps her hands busy and makes her feel like she’s building something great, even if it’s all just pretend

•Nico loves cartoons that are high-energy and full of action. Shows with wild characters, silly jokes, or exaggerated fight scenes make her laugh until her sides hurt. She’s especially drawn to cartoons with cool vehicles or robots — and will often get overly excited, explaining how she’d make the machines even "cooler".Sometimes, she’ll act out scenes, which usually involves lots of exaggerated sound effects

•Nico gets a kick out of painting her nails when she’s in little space, especially in flashy colors like neon green or metallic blue. She’s also not above throwing glitter on top, making her hands look like they belong to a rockstar. She might even convince Nero to let her paint his nails, too, if she can catch him in a good mood

•Little Nico adores toy cars, especially ones that look like mini motorcycles or have cool decals. She’ll zoom them around on the floor or the workbench, pretending she’s racing or making up stories about daring escapes. If she has someone to play with, like Nero or even Lady, she’ll set up mini "races" insisting on elaborate rules and sound effects!

•Nico’s sense of humor doesn’t go away in her little space — if anything, it becomes more playful. She loves setting up harmless pranks around her workshop, like putting rubber bugs in Nero’s toolbox or hiding silly notes for him to find. Her pranks are never mean-spirited; she just loves getting a laugh and hearing Nero’s exasperated reactions

•Nico uses empty bottles to create "potions" usually filled with safe things like colored water or juice, then gives them dramatic names like "Mega Power Juice" or "Turbo Speed Fuel". She’ll drink them with great fanfare and even serve them to anyone nearby, claiming they’ll give superpowers or make you "ten times cooler, guaranteed"

•Nico enjoys building cozy hideouts using blankets, chairs, and any spare fabric she can find. Once she has her little fort set up, she fills it with her favorite toys, snacks, and a flashlight. Her forts often end up being decorated with stickers or drawings, and she’ll proudly show them off to anyone who’s willing to check out her "top-secret hideout"

•Even while regressed, Nico’s mind is buzzing with ideas, and she’ll sometimes pretend to design gadgets to help her "superhero friends" She’ll draw up blueprints for mini weapons or "super cool" enhancements, complete with wild, imaginative details. If Nero’s around, she’ll assign him the role of hero and explain how her inventions are going to make him "unstoppable"

•She’ll make up tales of wild adventures, usually involving characters based on her friends and herself, with lots of explosions, races, and daring escapes. Her stories are funny, a little chaotic, and filled with Nico’s spunky spirit, making it a fun way for her to wind down and feel safe

•A bit of a kitchen experimenter, Nico loves creating strange snack concoctions when she’s feeling small, mixing candies, sodas, or cereals in ways that make no sense. She’ll mix cola with gummy bears or dunk cookies in weird sauces just to see what happens, which she finds hilarious. Sometimes, she’ll offer Nero a "taste test" just to see his reaction

If you're in the basic criteria , are DSMP fans, vivziep0p fans , h0tel/h3lluva b0ss fans, Owl h0use fans, St4r butterfly fans, Ghibli fans, ddlg/abdl blogs, nsfw/k!nk blogs, anti-agere blogs, or anti Christians/Christianity blogs : just dont interact !

[redcoralpot]

Would you be willing to write a poly Billy x Stu x reader (preferably trans ftm) where Y/N is such like a gender fluid icon

One day he’ll be painting his nails, begging the boys to paint their nails aswell, and then the next day he’s wearing some band shirt, having Stu take pictures of him with the camera Billy got him, flexing the small but masculine body he has

Oh, and a one shot preferably pls

Thxs! And if your uncomfortable w/ this what’s so ever feel free to js ignore !

🫶❤️

Eleganti - Poly Stuilly X FTM!Reader

Summary: The heat has managed to affect all of you, and the only solution? A date at Stu's house with a dash of nail polish. You're sure they were both thrilled.

Warnings: Slight mentions of body dysphoria.

Word Count: 970

A/N: This is for my fellow trans men, enjoy! Can't believe I have to say this nowadays, but fem aligned DNI, this content is not for you. I know how Scream fangirls like to play when it comes to MLM characters and fans.

-

The summer heat truly had gotten to the three of you, with not even a cool breeze to give you relief. Rich boy Stu Macher’s parents were away for the weekend, again, which left his house the ideal place to take shelter in. If you had to be honest, you did not mind the temperature– kind of. The bottles of nail polish in your bag clinked together as you walked up the stairs; you knew Billy would be able to sit still long enough for it to dry. Stu, on the other hand, you weren’t so sure of. Not without heat and plenty of air flow.

Speaking of the devil, Billy glanced up from his book as you creaked the door open, leisurely spread on Stu’s bed. He raised an eyebrow at your appearance, before going back to reading, shifting a little to the side so you had more room to sit down. A smug grin slowly spread over your lips as you set your backpack down on the bed and unzipped it, making a show of the little, colorful bottles you displayed inside. You scooched beside it, and after setting down a towel in front of you, cracked open the first container.

Seeming to catch the smell, Billy spoke up, “Nail polish?”

“Yeah, want some?” He watched as you meticulously picked the colors you wanted, his mouth pursing.

“Not right now.”

You shrugged, applying a lavender base to your fingernails, “Suit yourself!”

Your hand flinched as the door was shoved open, smearing the liquid down your skin, only to be greeted by the eccentric figure of Stu. Upon seeing the predicament he caused, he bounced his shoulders and held up his hands beside his head, with an exaggerated frown. 

“Uh… whoops!”

He sauntered over, pressing his face into your shoulder. In response, you slapped the towel onto his face after wiping the spilled polish on the material. Stu grumbled something; it was ineligible. 

It eventually slid off on its own, with a little help from the teen shaking his head, “Suffocate me, why don’t you?”

Chuckling, you said, “You were the one who made me mess up, tough guy.”

“I totally meant for that to happen.” He slipped his arm over you, hanging like a sloth.

“If you meant it, then you have to be my test subject!”

Stu made a noise, contemplating. You wouldn’t force him to wear it, of course, but it was funny threatening something so harmless anyway. After just a few seconds, you felt the weight on your back release; Stu had moved in favor of shoving your bag into Billy to make space for himself. Then, the noodle of a guy flopped across from you, sitting criss-crossed with the most shit eating grin you have ever seen. Billy scowled at the rough treatment, but the expression was covered by the other’s knee.

He leaned forward, “Gimme orange.”

“Good choice!”

To prevent smearing, you blew on your covered nails as best you could, before bright orange coated the tiny brush in your hand. Stu seemed giddy as you took his hand, peering down, applying the cool liquid with precision. It was such a contrast to what his hand felt like; rough and as warm as a furnace. In the corner of your eye, you could see Billy’s eyes watching over Stu’s jeans, his book long forgotten. Finally, you finished, and allowed the fidgety boy to hold up his palms. His eyes were wide as he admired your handiwork, flexing his fingers with pride.

Stu tapped the top of Billy’s head with his elbow, “Hey, dude, want some of this?”

“Hm.”

“C’mon—”

“Black.”

You snickered, “I knew you’d crack.”

Billy rolled his eyes and leaned on Stu, holding out a hand. He shivered when you made a slight mistake, and gave you an unimpressed look as you fixed it with the edge of your towel. You could only complete one hand before he stopped you.

“Look who’s gonna be Cruella this Halloween!” Stu sneered, poking the other’s nose.

“Hey, hey, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” You shut the bottle, carefully sealing them all back in your bag, “Fuddy duddy William could be making a new trend.”

“Never call me that again. Is this enough for you two?”

Stu cocked his head, “Lemme think… nope.”

You stretched your body out, setting your belongings on the ground. Opening Stu’s own closet, you ran your fingers over the variety of shirts and robes the guy had. In the very back, there was a band shirt, obviously too small for Stu; he grew out of it by the time he was sixteen. You held it out, studying it, before shrugging and taking it off the hanger. Your shirt flew over your head and smacked Stu in the face, but the air soothed the sweat that was gathering under your double sport bras, at least for a moment. Then, the newer shirt covered everything back up, and the dark material banned anyone from clocking the extra layers underneath.

“Why don’t we go out for ice cream?” you suggested.

Stu pumped his fist, even though your shirt was still clinging to his body. Billy shook his head, a little smile playing on his lips when Stu ran out the door, presumably to get his car keys. You, on the other hand, hesitated when you saw a shadow underneath the shirt, where your chest lay. The only other boy left in the room must have caught on, because you felt a passing hand on your shoulder and a whisper in your ear.

“You look fine, it’s normal.”

He met your gaze. However, someone was getting impatient, as a muffled shout rang through the closed window, “Coming? I’m totally getting pistachio this time, and you gotta be here to see me try it!”

-

[tarabyte3]

The Fear Has Gripped Me, but Here I Go

(13.4k)

Fandom: The Accused (BBC)

Pairing: Liam Black/F!Reader

Summary: It was so easy to develop a crush on Liam Black. He's sweet, handsome, funny, and all of your conversations feel effortless. How could you not? Maybe it was too easy because you're starting to fall a little deeper and you can't stop calling him whenever you need a taxi.

Warnings: Explicit rating, sex, car sex, semi public sex, unprotected sex, adultery, cheating, lying, mutual pinning, romance, angst

A/N: This is a fic about the character Liam Black played by Andy Serkis in the BBC anthology show The Accused. In the show, he breaks into a woman's house, steals from her, stalks her, uses that information to get her to like him, interferes with her life, etc. None of that is shown or stated in this fic, but if you’ve watched the show, you can infer a LOT about their interactions. In the show, he also cheats on his wife and lies to both her and the other woman. That IS in this fic. Unfortunately, Liam Black is one of my poor little meow meows, so this story is also intended to be romantic. I do not condone cheating (obviously). This is fiction. It's just that Liam is a sympathetic creep, but also I want to kiss him. (Andy Serkis has rotted my brain.) | Work title is from “Breezeblocks” by alt-J.

Playlist | AO3

It's distressingly easy to get sucked into the gravity of Liam Black. The way he looks at you—stolen glances in the rearview mirror when he thinks you won't notice—makes you feel special. Beautiful.

Something worth marveling at.

That should be a red flag, but you can't remember the last time someone looked at you like that. It's more than being appreciated for your appearance or checked out by a stranger. It's as if your presence is a bright spot in his day. In the same way he might stop to appreciate the view of a valley brimming with flowers or a sunrise after a particularly long night. His expression, one of awe.

Every bit of conversation between the two of you feels so natural, too. Effortless. Like meeting up with an old friend only to pick up right where you left off years ago. And he makes you laugh in a way you haven't in so long, as if he knows the exact thing to say to get you to smile. Even when you've had a rotten day.

Especially when you've had a rotten day.

So you keep calling him when you need a ride.

After all, Liam gave you his number for that very reason, you tell yourself. It's much easier than arranging a taxi because you deal with him directly. You know it will be him showing up at your door, and he already knows where you live and is familiar with the drive. Why wouldn't you call him?

At least that's how it started. Weeks ago.

Eventually any small excuse became a reason to phone him instead of driving yourself. “Parking will be a nightmare.” “I'd rather not fight with traffic.” “What if I want to have a drink during dinner with my friends?” “I swear my car made a strange noise this morning. I shouldn't drive it until I can get it looked at, and the shop is booked out a week.”

Deep down you know it's because you want that connection. You want his attention on you. You want to catch those blue eyes in the mirror. To see the profile of his nose and warm smile from the backseat. The greying scruff of his beard. The casual flex of his arms on the steering wheel—far more muscular than you would have expected from a driver and deceptively so under his polos because the way the fabric stretches around his biceps is…enticing.

It's just a crush, you tell yourself. Nothing more than a passing fancy. It's nice to have something to indulge in. It's perfectly harmless.

But then one night, you're in Liam’s taxi because you're headed to meet some friends to see a play—your favorite play—only to discover it's his favorite play, too.

So the two of you talk enthusiastically about it the entire drive there, quoting lines and debating character motivations and themes. Once you arrive at the theater, you find that you're very disappointed to be getting out of the car. You were enjoying yourself so much that it went by too fast.

“If you need a ride home afterwards, just let me know, love.” He turns in his seat to smile at you, and the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that's endearing. Earnest.

“It'll be awfully late.” You can't help but smile back, even as you wave off his suggestion. “I can just flag a taxi.”

“I'll already be out. It's no trouble, really,” he insists while holding up a placating hand. Then his expression softens. “A lovely woman like you shouldn't be waiting that late by yourself anyway. It's dangerous.”

You want to protest further. To say your friends will be there, too, and you'll hardly be alone. That you don't want to be a bother. But, god, he called you lovely and he looks so hopeful. Those blue eyes bore into yours and pierce your defenses. The words die on your lips.

You relent.

You'll text him from the lobby after the show, you agree. He'll come get you then.

You've never texted him before. Somehow that feels more intimate than calling him and hearing the rough timbre of his voice.

The play is wonderful.

Your favorite character was perfectly cast, and his delivery of a line makes you think of Liam—the way he quoted it from the driver's seat a mere hour before, the parody of a serious expression on his face that made you laugh. He smiled at you then, all unmasked adoration, and your heart flutters at the memory.

When it's over, you text him before you've even left your seat.

As you resist the urge to impatiently push your way through the throng of people heading for the lobby, you tell your friends you couldn't possibly go out for drinks afterwards. You're tired and you have an early morning, but you'll take that rain check! Next time, you promise. You'll even buy a round! And that seems to placate them enough that they're on their way without you.

Before they can see you getting into his cab. Before they can look too closely and see what you're trying so desperately to deny to yourself: That you're more excited to see him than you are at the thought of spending time with them.

That you want this thing you shouldn't want.

He must have been close because he's already idling in wait as you exit the building. Your expression brightens at the sight of him waving at you from the driver's window, his face bathed in the marquee lights. The bulbs reflect in his eyes, tiny pin pricks like stars, and it sets your heart racing.

Christ, he's handsome.

You briefly wonder if he stayed in the area just for you. You can't deny you like the thought, even as you try to bury it down. That's something you can dig back up and indulge in later. When you're alone.

“How was the play, love?” He asks back at you once you've settled in and closed the door. The sounds outside become muted, trapping an artificial intimacy in with you.

“Fantastic! Oh, you would have loved it,” you sigh as you buckle yourself in. “You really should get tickets while it's still going.”

“Maybe I should.” He glances one last time out the window at the people still spilling from the front doors before slowly pulling away from the curb. “I might fit in better with the matinee crowd, though.”

Your head snaps up towards him. “What does that mean?”

“Well, I'm just a lowly taxi driver. Not really night at the theater material.”

“Nonsense.” You furrow your brows at him, as though you're offended on his behalf. “You aren't just anything, and there's nothing lowly about being a taxi driver. Plus, there are no requirements for going to see a play. Art is for everyone.”

He smiles to himself, almost amused by your reaction. “It'd still be sad, yeah? A man going to the theater all by himself.”

“Not at all!” You try to ignore the thrill in your chest at the implication that he doesn't have a partner. It's something you've suspected based on past conversations, but refused to ask outright. That would have been too much like showing real interest. “I've gone by myself loads of times.”

“Really?” There's a note of disbelief in his voice, and he glances up at you in the mirror. “A beautiful woman like you, without a date?”

A heat creeps over your cheeks. You bite at your bottom lip and glance out the window to hide it. You're suddenly glad for the late hour so he can't see the bashfulness in your reflection.

“Now you sound like my mother,” you tease, trying to deflect the comment.

His laughter rings out through the car. “Oh god, I take it back!”

“Besides, it's not always easy to get a date last minute, romantic or platonic. Is it?” You raise your eyebrows at him in challenge. “Why don't you take one?”

This is the closest you've come to prying because, now that he's alluded to the fact that he's available, you can't help yourself. You have to know. Whether that's to satisfy some curiosity or because a part of you has a vested interest in his answer, you're not sure.

“If you can't get one last minute, then what hope does a washed up old driver like myself have?”

And now you know. Which actually makes all of this feel so much worse because, under the serene veil of passing street lights and quiet roads, the lines are beginning to blur.

You also want to open your mouth and say something stupid like, “Then they're idiots,” or “You’re far from washed up,” and maybe even “I’d go with you.” But you know the second that you do, it pushes this beyond the bounds of rides and cautious flirting.

You don't even know if Liam would want that. What if he's only being nice? You don't know how he talks to his other passengers. Maybe he finds the flirting fun and harmless, too, and he's not actually interested in anything more. Maybe he enjoys being your friend.

Or maybe you’re only projecting what you want to see because you're lonely and he’s easy to talk to—the first man to really pay attention to you in longer than you’d care to admit. You might just end up embarrassing yourself.

Instead, you scoff and say, “Well, it doesn't matter anyway because it's perfectly acceptable to go alone and have a lovely time.”

Regret pools in your stomach. You can't help but feel you missed an opportunity. It's too late now, though. As he chuckles warmly from the front seat and shifts his attention to the road, you know the moment has passed. Bringing it up again, saying those words out loud, will give you away.

There's a silence after that, which stretches on for several minutes. A few weeks ago it might have been comfortable, but now you can't stand it. You only get a few of these moments with him and you're nearly halfway home already. It might be a while before you see him again after this. You're wasting it!

“God, I wish I had walked the block to get a takeout after the show. I'm suddenly starving,” you blurt out, lacking anything else to say, but desperate for any chance at small talk to close the gap between you.

“Want me to stop off somewhere?” He glances up at you in the mirror.

“No!” You immediately protest, a little embarrassed. You had expected this to turn into a conversation about your favorite kinds of takeout or foods so you could learn more about him. You hadn't expected him to offer anything. “No, it's fine. It was just a terrible attempt at making conversation. I swear I'll live.”

“I can if you’d like.”

“It's already so late. Don't trouble yourself. Really!” You aren't even hungry.

When did this become so difficult? When did you go from enjoying his attention to craving it this much?

“I don't have another ride after this.” His voice lowers, barely audible now over the hum of the engine. “And I've already told you, love. For you it's never any trouble.”

Oh. The uncertainty gives way to a warmth in your chest. It settles deep into your ribs and wraps itself around your heart. How could you possibly say no now?

You also know the answer to your questions then: It became difficult when, somewhere along the way, this stopped being just a simple, harmless crush.

“Okay.” Then you hurry to add, “But only if you're sure!”

“Positive.” His profile shifts as he smiles at the road, pleased you’ve accepted his offer.

“There's Chinese on the way. Over by the old Tesco? The one that closed a few months ago?”

“I know it.”

“It's not the best, but it's open until eleven. I can order it now so you don't have to wait too long.” Then you get an idea. “Do you like noodles? Or maybe fried rice? My treat.” You hold up a finger at him when he opens his mouth to protest. “You’re nice enough to stop when you don't have to, it's the least I can do to say thank you.”

“Alright,” he sighs, his shoulders going slack with acceptance. There's something tender in his expression as his smile widens, which only makes your heart constrict further. “Yeah, I'd love some noodles.”

“Then noodles it is.” You place the order on your phone as a silence settles back over the car.

All that fuss and your attempt at conversation didn't even work.

At least you get to buy him dinner, technically speaking. But you're going to do everything you can not to dwell on that right now. Especially now that you’ve realized how far this has evolved.

A few minutes and a short detour later, and he's pulling alongside the curb once again.

“I'll be right back,” you promise before hurrying out into the night.

You feel oddly self conscious of every step as you cross the street because you can feel his eyes on you the entire way. Watching you.

He probably wants to make sure you don't get mugged or something, you tell yourself. He’s keeping an eye on you. That's all. There's no reason for your pulse to be this high.

And yet, if there's a bit more sway to your hips as you walk in the hopes it draws his gaze lower…that's just more fun, harmless flirting. Isn't it?

You're not sure anymore.

At this hour, so near to closing, the restaurant is empty. There's even someone taking down tables in the dining area. The sight of it makes you feel guilty as you give them a nod of greeting. Your disastrous attempt at small talk probably prevented the kitchen from being in the same half cleaned state as well. Just add it to the list of inconveniences, you think.

It only takes a few more minutes for your order to be finished, much to your relief. You’d hate to keep Liam waiting because it's already fourteen to eleven, and you don't want him to start regretting being nice. It also means you don't have time to stand there and start second guessing yourself either, which is the last thing you need right now.

When you exit the restaurant, you notice the air has shifted. It smells damp now, like it might rain. Even the night sky is quickly growing darker as the stars are swallowed by clouds, all the telltale signs of an encroaching late summer storm. So you jog back towards the cab, clutching the takeout bag and praying it holds off.

But as your fingers brush the door handle, you hesitate.

It's late and there's not another car or soul on the street. It's just the two of you, and you've gotten both of you food. It seems almost silly to sit in the backseat now, or to pretend there's much of a separation anymore. Even as friends.

That's what you tell yourself as you head to the passenger door instead.

Liam doesn't say anything. He just watches you climb into the front seat of his taxi. When you finally meet his eyes, you can see uncertainty on his face, but of what you're not sure.

“Is this okay?” You keep the door held open in doubt, giving yourself the option of escape. “I thought it would be easier...you know, with the food.”

“Yeah.” His voice is quiet, and the wary, low gravel of it matches his expression. He glances down at the steering wheel. “Yeah, it's fine.”

Far too late you wonder if you've made a mistake.

“I'm sorry,” you gasp as you move for the door. “I should have asked first. I can get in back.”

“Wait!” His hand shoots out as if he wants to grab your arm—to keep you there—but he stops just short of touching you, still keeping that distance. He lets it hover for a second, hesitant, before lowering it back to his seat, and you swear you see his fingers twitch. Your skin tingles at the near contact. “Stay. Please.”

You take a moment to study his face, to make sure it's actually what he wants. That he isn't just being polite now that you're already in, despite his own comfort.

The genuine plea you see there makes your heart ache.

“Okay,” you say softly.

You shut the door.

Then it's quiet once again except for the rustling of the bag as you settle it on your lap. Except now there's a tension in the air that's never been there before. It's as if you brought the storm into the cab with you and have just sealed it inside. Maybe you have made a mistake.

This had always been so easy.

When there was the clear separation of a car seat between you, you both knew where you stood. Liam up front, you in back. Driver and passenger. The physical distance kept things safe. Without that, you feel unsteady, too—unsure of how to act and unsure where this is going.

You think about that heavy scent of ozone and warm concrete on the breeze outside—about the possibility of rain—and suddenly you know what you want. You know why you got in front and what your heart has been telling you all night: You want to see your possibility. What this thing between you could be.

Despite your nerves, you want him. All you have to do is continue closing the distance.

You're pretty sure that you can't make things any more awkward than they already are, at the very least. Even if you somehow manage it, you doubt he’ll throw you out of his taxi. Why would he? He’s only ever been sweet to you. So the worst he can say is no, you think, as if that wouldn't break your heart.

“I don't know how you feel about food in your cab, but we could sit here and eat before it gets cold. Together. If you want.” You try to sound casual, but hope bleeds into your voice and betrays the truth of what you're really offering him: you. Something more.

You spent weeks being careful to never cross that line while telling yourself that's what you actually wanted. That you were fine simply having something to indulge in. But now that you've finally done it, you don't know why it took you so long or how you’ve been so blind. Because as you look at him, with his snug polo, trimmed hair and beard, his full lips, and his hooded blue eyes, you wouldn't take it back for anything.

Only…that uncertainty reappears on his face. An internal struggle which deepens the lines on his forehead, pinches his brow, and causes his mouth to thin into a frown. He knows agreeing to this would mean crossing that line with you and moving forward. Except where you have hope, he seems conflicted by the possibility.

You wonder if all the flirting and stolen glances felt harmless to him, too, because he never dreamed you’d want him back. And now that you do…

“You don't need to be getting home? It's late," he says helplessly. Half-heartedly. That's when you realize: he thinks he should tell you no, but he just can't bring himself to say it. So he's offering you an excuse instead, hoping that you’ll do it for him.

Of all the ways you saw this going, you never imagined this—that he would want you and still reject you.

You want so badly to ask why, to understand, but this hurts more than a simple no would, and the fear of what he might say stills your tongue. It could just be self-deprecation on his part, the ingrained belief that he's a washed up old driver…but what if the reason is you? Imagining the pity on his face as he tries to let you down gently turns your stomach.

Despite that, you find you can't say no either. Now that you've finally realized that you want this, how do you let it go? To be the one to end it before it's even begun. You don't have the strength.

You suppose that makes the both of you cowards.

“I've got nowhere to be tomorrow, but if you do, that's alright, Liam,” you offer instead. A lie the two of you can cling to. “I don't want to keep you any longer than I already have.”

He shakes his head. “That's not it.”

Oh.

“Either way, don't worry about it,” you quickly blurt out to stop him from saying anything more. “Forget I said—”

“No!” His voice breaks as he interrupts you, stunning you to silence. “No.”

He struggles for a moment to find the words while searching your face, as if he might find the answer there. As if you might make it easier for him somehow. He must find something because then he's staring at you with the determination of a man who's made a decision, consequences be damned, and you let out a shaky breath you didn't realize you’d been holding.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Oh.

Your heart falters for a moment, lurching with violence against your ribcage, before it stutters with renewed hope.

There's a rumble of thunder outside—the sound of possibility shifting into inevitability.

“Me either,” you whisper.

“Then, yeah.” His face softens. And he’s back to looking at you in a way you’re used to, the way he secretly would in his rearview mirror, but something between you has shifted. There's a new intensity to his gaze that takes your breath away. “I’d love to.”

“I’m glad.” Feeling bold at that look in his eyes and desperate to ease some of the lingering tension, you add, “Besides, this is much better than eating reheated takeout alone in my apartment. The company is far better.”

You can tell it works when he relaxes further in his seat.

“Yeah?” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he raises his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah.”

“And I suppose it does smell really good, yeah? Be a shame to waste it.”

“It really does.” You huff out a laugh as you dig into the bag, relieved to have something to do with your hands that isn't clenching them uselessly in your lap. “Plus, now you don't have to listen to my stomach growl for the rest of the drive.”

He laughs along with you, but it quickly turns into a teasing grin. “Well, I’m glad I could save you the embarrassment.”

“My hero,” you say playfully, which finally earns you a full, real smile. The kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your heart skip a beat. Before you can get distracted staring at him, you pull out the disposable utensils and hold them up between you. “Now, fork or chopsticks?"

He sheepishly takes the fork, and it's your turn to give him a teasing grin.

You fall back into easy conversation as you both tuck into your takeout containers. The tension between you is gone now, having dissipated under the familiar—though it'll be impossible to forget just how close he is or the way he lingers in your field of vision no matter where you look.

You’ve positioned yourself in your seat so you're half facing him, and you notice he's removed his seatbelt and done the same. There's an intimacy to the way both of your knees are turned in towards each other, unable to touch but still seeking one another out.

There it is again, you think. The gravity of him, pulling you in. You bend to him like light.

While you eat, it begins to rain. Or rather, it begins to downpour, the drops thumping and echoing off the metal body of the taxi. They coat the windows in streaks, leaving the world outside blurred—a hazy refraction of streetlights and muted color.

The combination of darkness and being shut inside the car already made it feel like there was a barrier separating the two of you from the outside, but now you feel even more cocooned from the rest of the world. In fact, you’re finding it hard to remember anything else exists beyond the interior of this cab. This moment.

Him.

Another silence settles over you as you eat and listen to the rain, but this one is comforting. As though just existing next to each other is enough. It's easy in a way that makes your heart sing.

He breaks it by clearing his throat.

“Seriously, how do you use those? I’ve never gotten the hang of it.” He gestures to your hand holding the chopsticks.

You pause mid bite, your food frozen in the air as you look up at him. “Do you want me to show you?”

“You can try, but I should warn you, I'm all thumbs when it comes to that,” he laughs and looks away, self-conscious.

You’ve seen that expression on his face a few times now. Glimpses past the easy smiles and the effortless conversations into how he sees himself. You wonder again if that was the reason he hesitated earlier. Suddenly you want to show him the man you see. The one that’s attentive when you speak and makes you feel seen. Who always cheers you up with his presence and went out of his way when you said you were hungry. The man who's never said no to you, even when you’ve called him at the last minute and were certain he was busy.

You wish you could find the way to say all of that out loud.

Instead, you raise an eyebrow and stick the uneaten bite back into the container. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“It's really not,” he says with a helpless laugh, but you're determined now.

You get a fresh set for him. Then you go about demonstrating the placement in your hand and the way you use your fingers to manipulate the utensils to pick up your food. He copies you, though his own movements are stiff and awkward. There's also a vulnerability to the way he keeps glancing up at you to see if he's doing it correctly and looking for approval.

“You’ve almost got it! It just takes practice,” you reassure him. He gives you a small smile in return, his blue eyes full of gratitude. When he tries again, he’s more relaxed and confident, and the chopsticks move with far more ease.

It's a much better look on him, you think.

You also spend the entire time resisting the urge to reach out and shape his fingers around the thin pieces of wood. Because if you touched his hands, god help you, you might not be able to stop. The idea is so tempting, though, and it only gets worse the longer you focus on the curve and press of his thick fingers.

You imagine what it would be like to have them grazing over your cheek and down your neck, or dipping along your inner thigh and dragging against your slit. There's a sudden throb of need between your legs at the thought. Now the air of the cab feels stifling, electric with a different energy, but he's so focused on what he's doing, he doesn't seem to notice the way you squirm in your seat.

Instead, you offer tips to help him get it right—from a distance, where it's safe for the time being and you're less likely to do something brash, like grab him and kiss him.

After some more practice, he makes a few unsuccessful attempts to eat and has to stop to pick dropped noodles off of his shirt and lap with a sigh while you giggle next to him. Until, finally, an entire bite makes it from the takeout container to his mouth without spilling.

“I did it!” He beams proudly at you as he chews, those blue eyes now wide and lit up with excitement. And god, it's adorable…except there's a bit of noodle stuck in his beard. You press your lips together to keep from bursting into laughter at him in his moment of triumph. He catches on anyway, and his face falls slightly in confusion. "What?"

"You've got some noodle. Right here." You point at your own face.

He quickly runs a hand over his mouth to wipe it away, but all that does is push the noodle farther down his chin. "Did I get it?"

"No!" You snort out a sharp laugh at his look of panic. So he sets his takeout carton on the center console near the gearshift for a more serious attempt, but his palm scrapes uselessly at his face again. “It's lower now.”

“Glad you're enjoying this.” He tries to sound offended, but there's a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he feels around for the elusive bit of food, betraying how much he’s enjoying this, too.

"Here." You set your takeout next to his. And then you don't think before you lean across the center console, your hand stretched out and reaching towards him. "It's right…"

You genuinely meant to help and put him out of his misery, but by the time you realize what you're doing, your fingertips are already brushing through the coarse hair of his beard, the why of it completely forgotten. Now you can no longer help yourself. You’ve finally touched him, and he feels so warm and alive beneath your hand.

Your fingers curl against his chin. Then, almost with a mind of their own, they inch towards his jaw, seeking more. You want to run them over his cheeks. His temple. His smile lines. Along the bridge of his nose. His lips. You want to feel out every bit of his face and commit it to memory.

You don't want to let go.

And you nearly don’t stop until a heavy exhale from him sends you crashing back to reality. The one where you're basically groping him instead of helping. You also notice the noodle bit has long since fallen away and landed somewhere unseen onto his lap.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" You gasp in horror. You start to pull away to search for it because, after that, you're too embarrassed to even look at him. But you’ve barely removed your hand when he grabs your wrist, firmly keeping you in place just inches from his face. Your eyes snap up to meet his.

Neither of you moves. Or speaks.

For several tense seconds, the only sound in the car is the rhythmic patter of rain and your heavy breathing as you stare at each other.

The moment stretches between you like a wire, thick and coiled taut, and you're terrified to pull away. Or push closer. As if doing so might snap the tension and ruin whatever this is. Instead, you sit there, frozen at the way his eyes become half-lidded, barely lessening the now undisguised longing in his gaze.

Just when you think it's become too much and you're going to break under the intensity of it all, his thumb brushes against the delicate skin of your wrist, directly over your pulse, sending a shiver through you. And that small touch alone is enough to make all of this profoundly, achingly, real. Distantly you wonder if he can feel the frantic drumming of your heart. Because by now it's pounding so hard with anticipation, your ribs flex with every beat.

He brings your hand back towards his face and rests it against his cheek. As he does, you're mortified to realize you're trembling in his grasp. He must notice as well because, without a word, he flattens his own hand over yours, anchoring and calming between beard and flesh. His eyes dip nearly closed at the sensation, and he nuzzles into your touch, letting the corner of his mouth graze your palm.

You watch as there's the slightest purse of his lips, a shade of a kiss onto your skin, and you suck in a gasp.

He reaches out for you, then. You think he's going to mimic the gesture and cup your face, but instead his knuckles graze along your cheek. He takes a moment to trace and explore the contour of your cheekbone in awe before continuing on, gliding past the shell of your ear, until he's cupping the back of your neck instead with his thumb resting on your jaw. His hand feels massive as it envelops you, the span of it completely covering your nape, making you feel bird-boned in his grasp. But everything about his touch is so tender, so affectionate, that it never occurs to you to feel vulnerable.

Quite the opposite. Combined with his captivated expression, which is so intense that it borders on grief, he's found a new way to make you feel special.

Wanted.

Gently, he begins to guide you towards him as he leans in and stares at your lips. There's no doubting his intentions.

You go willingly. Lead to him. Pulled to him. Sucked so far into that gravity, you’d still be moving even if he let go.

"Liam," you exhale into the shrinking space between you, finally giving voice to your desire.

His fingers flex against your neck at the sound of his name, but he still doesn't stop or speak. His hand continues to guide you closer. Slow and steady. As if he's giving you plenty of time to put an end to this. To pull away and tell him you don't want it. But you do. You want it so much that you almost forget to breathe.

As his lips ghost against yours, your eyes flutter shut. You instinctively push forward, trying to close the distance between you, but he moves away before you can fully capture his mouth. Then he goes back to brushing his lips over yours, cutting off your protest and taking in your sighs and quivers.

It's almost teasing, the way he's taking his time and savoring every step of this—of you—and there's a confidence to his movements you weren't expecting. As if, now that he's gotten you, he knows exactly what he wants to do with you while you're swept along in his wake.

Except you’ve thought about this moment so many times. Indulged in the fantasy of what it might feel like to have his lips against you as his tongue eagerly explores the heat of your mouth. Now you're so close to getting what you want, too, and the anticipation is building into an agonized yearning every second he’s just out of reach.

You're on the verge of whimpering or pleading when he finally, truly, kisses you.

Any thought you might have had is gone. The pressure of his lips, his mouth slotting against yours, his relieved exhale across your skin—the combination makes you dizzy with need. A moan is torn from your throat.

The sound breaks whatever gentle spell had a hold of him because, just like that, his arms are around you, and he's kissing you hungrily.

At first it's desperate. Nothing more than a messy searching of lips before you find your rhythm. Then every bit of it is better than you imagined—the scrape of his beard, his nose nudging into yours, a brief graze of his tongue along your bottom lip before it retreats, leaving you wanting more. And god, do you want more.

As if he knows what you're thinking—or maybe you've said it out loud—he tightens his hold around you and pulls you towards his seat, his mouth never leaving yours. But you don't have time to admire how strong he is as you scramble blindly to get your legs under you. In your haste, your knee hits one of the takeout containers, which sends it toppling over.

You break the kiss to gasp out, "I think it spilled."

"I don't care," he murmurs and captures your mouth again. This time his tongue lingers at the seam of your lips. As you open up to him and taste him for the first time, you decide you don't care either.

You finish climbing into his lap. Every movement is clumsy in the limited space, all groping hands and fumbling limbs. You have to squeeze past the steering wheel and keep your head low so you don't bump it into the roof of the cab. The position is also a bit awkward as you try to find enough purchase to settle your knees on either side of his hips. You even have to adjust your dress to keep it from getting in the way, which forces the hem mid thigh.

None of that matters once you're finally settled. Because, when you lower your weight into his lap, you find him rock hard beneath you. And the only thing separating your bare sex from that impressive bulge in his pants is a pair of lacy panties. You can almost feel the warmth of his cock radiating through the denim.

"Fuck, Liam," you hiss.

You can't start grinding onto him just yet, though, because he quickly reaches between you to adjust himself over his jeans. It's something so intimate and casual—something he has to do because of you—that it's devastatingly sexy. That alone is enough to make your cheeks and neck burn. But when his hand grips over the tented fabric and slides along his length, for a brief moment it sharpens the outline of his erection in his fist, and it sends heat racing between your thighs, leaving you aching. Your hips shift involuntarily at the sudden pressure.

“Better,” he sighs in relief. Then his hands squeeze around your waist to drag you down as his hips roll up to meet you, and you see stars.

Before you’ve even recovered, he draws you back in for another heated kiss. You're so fixated on his mouth, so ravenous for him, you don't notice when he blindly gropes between the seat and the door. So when the seat tilts back all the way without warning, you barely catch yourself with your hands at the last minute to stop from falling forward and smashing your face into his. The motion is such a jolt that you cry out in surprise against his lips. You feel his curl into a smile.

It doesn't last long. The new angle gives your hips the freedom of movement to slide over the full length of him, and the friction makes your arousal thrum with anticipation. His eyes roll shut with a groan.

While he’s distracted, you take a moment to appreciate him like this—the flutter of his eyelashes, his kiss swollen lips, and the way the rain dappled streetlight bathes over his flushed skin. When he opens his eyes again and catches you staring, his expression softens.

Your breath hitches at the sight. Christ, he’s so fucking handsome.

You suddenly realize you don't have to just look anymore. Despite the heat of this moment, you can finally satisfy the urge to run your fingers over his face. So, without hesitation, you reach out and touch his jaw again. Only this time, you don't stop. You gently map out all of his lines and wrinkles, relish the contrast in softness between his skin and beard, and trace along his lips—all while he stares up at you in half-lidded awe.

“God, you're amazing, love.” His voice is low and gravelly as he nuzzles up against your jaw. “The most amazing woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

Your eyes fall closed with a shiver, letting the vibrations of it wash over you, but you don't respond. How can you? What could you possibly say to that? 

His thumb caresses over your cheek.

“Look at me,” he coaxes in a soft tone. You slowly open your eyes again to meet his. When you do, he gives you a gentle smile. “I mean it. I've wanted you from the moment you got into my cab.”

Oh.

“I want you, too, Liam,” you finally admit quietly, your own voice thick with emotion.

“I'm still trying to let that sink in.” He shakes his head. “That someone as incredible as you could want someone like me.”

“Of course I do. How could I not?” You sound defensive, but you can't help it. You feel that familiar need to make him see himself the way you do. “I think you're amazing, too.”

“Jesus.” He lets out a heavy sigh. Then he glances down between you, seemingly overwhelmed by your statement.

“Why do you think I kept calling you?” You chuckle breathlessly. “I’ve been making plans and finding any excuse I could just so I had a reason to see you and be in your cab. You had to have suspected I didn't actually need that many rides.”

“I hoped.” His eyes meet yours again and that intensity is back. The muscle in his jaw clenches, making your heart skip a beat. “God, did I hope.”

“It took me far too long to realize just how much.” You lean in to place a slightly heated kiss onto his lips. Then, in a husky voice, you add, “I should have done this ages ago.”

"I don't deserve this," he groans as his hand tightens with rekindling lust around your waist, “but I could never say no to you.”

"Don't I deserve it?" He sucks in a breath beneath you. You let the tip of your nose brush against his as you lower to a whisper. "No one's ever made me feel the way you do, Liam. So please…make me feel even better."

His arms engulf you to capture your lips, just as you start to move over him again.

You continue to kiss as you ride that bulge in his jeans, the stiffness and friction sending delicious sparks up through your core while desire pools between your legs. Every roll of your hips draws needy sounds from your throat and little grunts from his as he rocks up to meet you.

His hands never stop roaming. Up your thighs, a quick squeeze of your ass, and tracing the curve of your waist. Then flattening to drag across your back, stroking along your ribs, and teasing with uncertainty over the swell of your breasts before cupping your cheeks. He leaves flames in his wake.

Yours never stop either. You want to finally run your fingers through his hair. To feel the thickness of his neck and the way the tendons in his jaw flex as he kisses you before wandering lower. And god, those fucking polos do him no favors because underneath you can feel the hard muscle of his chest and shoulders. They've softened somewhat with age, especially at his belly, but it just makes him feel solid beneath you. Steady. Like something you could hold onto.

Every new part of him you touch only makes you want him more.

All of your heavy breathing is trapped inside the taxi, making the air feel thick with humidity. With nowhere to go, condensation is starting to gather on the windows and settle across any exposed skin. It's stifling. You have to keep reminding yourself that you're in a car to stop from ripping your dress off. A part of you still thinks it's a wonderful idea.

Another part reminds you that you don't need to take it off.

You break the kiss.

"I want you, Liam,” you lean in to whisper in his ear. “Right here. Right now." 

He shudders with a groan. Then he gently guides you back by the shoulder so he can look into your face. “Right here? You're sure?”

You nod. “It's dark and I've waited long enough. I want you inside of me.”

“Fuck,” he whimpers, and his cock throbs beneath you. “I told you I could never say no to you.”

You gather the hem of your dress, pulling it back and out of the way so both of you can see the way you're pressed against his straining erection. Your need for him is liquid. It's been pouring from you. By now it's completely drenched your underwear, soaking them through. Only it didn't stop there because there's also a rather large damp spot on his jeans from all of your grinding. He groans helplessly again at the sight of it.

“See?” You purr down to him.

“Christ, love,” he chokes out. “Look at you.”

He grasps your bare thighs, kneading at your flesh before sliding them higher and making you shiver—until those large hands are framing your barely covered sex. He takes a second to admire you further through half-lidded eyes. Then he hooks a thumb into your panties and pulls them aside. When your arousal is exposed, a moan gets strangled in his throat, and his clothed hips buck towards you, desperate to bury himself in you already.

Your hands shoot to the fly of his jeans to fight with the button, eager to uncover him as well…just as a thumb brushes over your slit. Instead, your whole body jerks at the contact and you nearly collapse against him. Your grip goes slack.

His expression turns smug at your reaction. So he does it again—harder this time—and the tip of his thumb slips easily past your folds, making you cry out. Then he teases circles at your entrance, smearing through your slick, and you nearly sob into his shirt.

“You feel so good already.” He sounds distracted now, as though he's more focused on what he's doing than how you’re responding. He presses again, sinking until he's knuckle deep, and his lips part with a gasp, enthralled by the way his thumb vanishes inside of you. And, god, even the thickness of that leaves you breathless and writhing. Then he teases you some more at this depth, testing how your walls flutter greedily around him, before slowly drawing back out and dragging some of your fluids over your clit. Your hips pitch forward into his hand with a moan. “Can't wait to get my cock in you.”

“Please,” you beg. All of his teasing and petting has left you helpless, and your trembling fingers move uselessly over his fly, “I can't…”

That seems to get his attention.

He removes his hand and you whimper at the loss…until he takes over for you, making fast, if a bit fumbled, work of his button and zip. Then you're eager to have something even better buried inside of you. So you quickly make room for him as he lifts up and pushes his pants and underwear down to his knees.

When he settles, you finally get to have a look at what you’ve only felt up to this point, and the sight of him makes you feel weak. Because he’s sitting beneath you in his polo, and his hard cock is resting over the fabric still covering his belly.

He’s thick and uncut and twitching under your gaze, and you just know wrapping your hand around him would make you feel small by comparison. Your fingers itch to find out. You can also see a trail of hair disappearing under the hem of his shirt.

You're fighting with the urge to rip the offending piece of clothing up over his head to see just how far up it goes and whether or not it connects with that greying tuft of curls peeking out of the top when he wraps a hand around himself.

Your mind blanks.

You watch, dumbfound, as he begins stroking—working his length until the foreskin slides back to reveal the head, flushed and swollen and leaking in want of you. 

The sudden stab of arousal in your core is dagger sharp, leaving you breathless.

“Fuck,” you rasp out, and it sounds as shaky as you feel, “I need you.”

His hand grasps at the base of his erection, keeping the foreskin drawn back and holding himself steady in invitation. When he meets your eyes, you see months of longing and need on his face. How he’s ached for this—would beg to have it if you asked.

You don't hesitate. You make sure your panties stay pulled to the side as you raise yourself to your knees. You wish you had taken them off, but you're far too impatient to stop now. How could you when he's right there, throbbing in his own fist and practically begging you to take him?

With one hand bunched in the fabric of your dress and one braced on his shoulder, you shift into position over him. His tip nudges against you, effortlessly gliding through your folds until he catches at your entrance. Exactly where you need him.

You lower onto him. There's a brief moment of resistance and adjustment at the unfamiliar angle. Then the head of his cock breeches your opening as you both let out twin gasps.

Slowly, you sink onto his length, your walls stretching around him as he fills you, inch by agonizing inch.

He makes it past the halfway point before his patience runs out. He grabs your hips, fingers and thumbs spearing into flesh, and pulls you the rest of the way down onto his cock.

The sound that leaves your mouth is almost as filthy as the one that leaves his.

He keeps you there, unmoving and fully sheathed while he twitches inside of you, and a sob of relief escapes his throat. His eyes are heavy lidded, those full lips are pouting and parted, and his brows are scrunched together in an expression akin to agony.

You're certain you’ll never forget the sight of him in that moment, undone by your cunt.

You drop the skirt of your dress so you can brace against his chest. The fabric falls back into place, hiding the evidence of where you're joined. It’s not unlike when you were just sitting in his lap, grinding over your clothes. Only this time you’re straddling his bare hips and stretched full of him.

You start to move.

The rain has stopped, but outside the drops still linger, glistening and clinging to every surface. Inside, the condensation is now fully coating the glass from your hot breath coming out in sharp pants as you ride his cock. It leaves the world beyond the cab opaque, only leaking through in the trails left by heavy beads of moisture.

He braces himself by planting his feet on the floor of the cab and leaning back against the headrest, using the pressure as extra leverage. Then he's lifting to meet your hips.

"I’ve dreamed of this," he moans as he ruts into you. He doesn't stop staring up into your face—taking in every expression and quiver and noise you make with those intense, blue eyes. His mouth falls open for a moment before he gasps out, “God, your cunt is so sweet.”

You’ve never felt so seen. Wanted. In that moment, you're so utterly sucked in by the gravity of him that you crash your lips against his, desperate to be closer.

His hands bite into your hips as he forces you to keep rocking onto him. You distantly realize the car is rocking with you—that anyone could see and know what's happening—but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when you have him whimpering and groaning into your mouth with his cock inside of you.

Everything about this is fast and messy, but the buildup alone has left both of you nearly frantic with need. You're not even sure how long you’ve been doing this. It's been hours since he kissed you. It's been minutes since he kissed you.

Your overworked thighs are burning, but you refuse to stop. Pressure is building and intensifying quickly inside your core, driving you on and beckoning you to keep moving until you find your release.

His grasp has gotten so tight that his fingers are nearly digging into bone, and he's no longer holding back every whimper or stutter that works its way to his throat. You know he's close, too.

A hand finds your thigh and disappears under the fabric of your dress. He clasps the bend of your hip, and then that thumb that drove you nearly mad earlier is rubbing circles over your clit. You're gutted by the sudden pleasure.

“Want you to come for me, love,” he murmurs up to you as he moves faster between your legs, his hips and thumb working together to destroy you. “Never wanted anything more.”

“Don't stop!” You gasp. You're trembling now. Your thighs are quivering against his hips and the movement has become hard to control, leaving your pace jerky and uneven as you rock over him. “Please!”

“Could never say no to you.” His voice is hoarse and strained as he struggles to hold himself back until you come undone first.

“Liam!” Your hands clutch at his shirt.

“That’s it. Let me see you.”

That last bit of friction is all you need to send warmth exploding through you, and then you’re coming on his cock. You throw your head back with a wail. It scrapes against the roof of the taxi, but you barely notice. Every part of you is consumed with that numbing relief. The way your stretched walls convulse around him. The sound that spills out of him.

If he wasn't holding you up and forcing you to keep moving out of desperation, you’d dissolve in his hands.

Every muscle in his body is taut, strained as he keeps driving into your still pulsing heat. There's ruin on his face when his hips begin to stutter beneath you. Then he slams you onto his cock with a moan and finally comes inside of you.

The throbbing warmth of it fills you with more than a physical gratification. Your heart skips a beat at the way he lethargically works through his orgasm, rocking deep within you. At how his face is now slackened with pleasure, that contentment only broken by the occasional hiss and a shudder from aftershocks—when the sensation of you becomes too much.

You could get addicted to this feeling.

Once both of you are spent and still, you sit there in his lap, gasping for air. His stomach rises and falls against yours while his thumb draws a mindless pattern near the bend in your hip. His touch is warm, even against the ambient heat of the taxi.

Sweat pools along your hairline and back and runs between your breasts. Your body is covered in it, and his skin is similarly glistening. As you’re watching, a drop rolls past the hollow of his throat before disappearing into that tantalizing mess of chest hair left uncovered by his undone top buttons. You wonder what it would be like to nuzzle into it and inhale the masculine scent of sweat and sex before dragging your tongue along his sternum to taste it.

“You okay?” He pants up at you, pulling you out of your daze.

You huff out a laugh as you nod. “Pretty fantastic, actually.”

“Yeah?” He smiles, still breathless.

“Yeah.”

You want to lay against him, snuggle your head under his chin, and stay like that for hours, relishing in this newfound connection. But now that the high is wearing off, you’re very aware you’ve just had sex in the driver's seat of a car. You didn't even move to the backseat or drive to a secluded parking lot! It's a position that’s not only quite public despite the opaque windows, but would require you to contort your body into an uncomfortable shape to do so. Which, regrettably, isn't very ideal for cuddling.

You hadn't been thinking that far ahead at the time.

You give him one last lingering kiss, reluctant to part from him, even as you know you have to at some point anyway. Then you lift yourself off of his lap while swallowing a whimper at both the loss and the surge of wetness between your legs now getting half caught in your askew underwear.

Climbing back into the passenger seat is a slow process because your legs are weak and wobbly, but he gives you a steady hand to lean into. One that engulfs your smaller hand as it wraps around you. You try not to imagine him holding you like this, fingers laced and palms kissing, or else you might not let go.

You both stop to laugh when you bump your head on the roof of the cab.

As you get settled and somewhat put back together, an awkward silence encompasses the taxi. It's not tense like when you got into the front seat. Rather, it's unsure in a different way. It's as if both of you want to say something, but you can't find the right words. Or maybe, without the haze of arousal, they don't come as easily despite the way they build and sit in the back of your throat.

Instead, you take a moment to survey the damage from your earlier fumbling. Thankfully, the takeout spill was minor with only a few of the noodles escaping the carton. He quickly picks them up, and you toss the containers back into the bag.

He rolls down the windows, letting the rain cooled air in to clear the fogged glass and the heavy musk of sex. It feels heavenly on your skin. You lean back in your seat, basking in the light breeze, the weightlessness in your chest, the burning in your thighs, and, most of all, the ache and damp between your legs.

You both still maintain that quiet the rest of the drive with only the low din of the radio in the background. None of the songs register, though, because your mind is too busy racing with thoughts of what happens next.

There's an unbidden hope blooming inside of you that this was more than just sex. You try to rein it in before it takes over and suffocates you with expectation because some part of you is still terrified you’ll end up heartbroken. But every time you glance over at him—take in the profile of his nose and lips, the strong curve of his jaw, the wisp of his eyelashes—you know it's far too late for that.

Instead, you sit there with your heart pounding, wishing you could read his mind and admiring the way the light dances across his face whenever you pass under a streetlight. You can tell when he catches you because he turns to give you a lopsided smile. One he used to shoot back at you in the reflection of his rearview mirror, and the full force of it makes your cheeks burn and your heart flutter before it's too much and you have to look away.

Each time that hope digs in a little more.

Eventually, he pulls the cab along the curb in front of your building. It's the same spot he’s parked in dozens of times, but it looks almost foreign now from the front seat. Or maybe it just feels that way because everything about this situation is so new.

He shuts off the engine, leaving the space in silence as he glances over at you.

This is where you usually part ways. Where you thank him for the ride and pay. Then you climb out, tell him you hope he has a lovely evening, and you leave.

None of that feels right, though. Not after what’s happened between you. More than that, you don't want to walk away as though nothing's changed. Because for you everything has.

So what do you do now? Do you thank him for the wonderful sex? Ask him to dinner? Do you kiss him goodnight and tell him you'll call him later? It's what you would do with anyone else, but with him it's not enough.

Now that you have him, you don't want to let go.

"Would you…" You trail off, suddenly timid. Even though your underwear and thighs are still smeared with this man's come, you know there's so much left unspoken between you. Things you want to give voice to so that the two of you can continue to move forward towards something more intimate and meaningful than car sex. However, doing so is another opportunity to get hurt if he doesn't feel the same way.

Except now you’ve opened your mouth and he's staring at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue. But more importantly: on his face you see that same look of hope reflected back at you.

He wants this, too.

Your anxiety evaporates.

"Would you like to come in?”

His smile is both relieved and tender. He nods.

That's how you end up in your bed with Liam on top of you, entrenched between your legs, cock buried inside of you, and taking you again.

It's different this time. Slower. While the fever and desperation are gone, there's a heavier need churning in their wake. Something between you that was left unsatisfied before.

Now you're wrapped up in each other—a calf tucked behind his knee, and your thigh gripping his hip where he's bent over you. One of his hands is stroking along your hair, and the other is squeezing your waist, holding you in place as his fingers dig divots into your flesh. Your own palms cradle his jaw, cupping him like water to your parched lips.

Through it all, his forehead is pressed to yours, and he gazes down into your eyes from beneath hungry lids. Even if you wanted to, you can't look away from that blue. You're held there, pinned to the bed from the weight of it because even the physical weight of him is nothing compared to the longing you see in those depths.

In the taxi, your closeness was a given. It was overwhelming in the small space, thick like the humidity of your breath, hanging in the air and pressing back in on you. Now it's suffocating in a different way. In the openness of your bedroom, it clings to you. Needy. Touch starved. Terrified that one of you will vanish at the slightest give.

The two of you are so close, you can feel his heavy breath on your face. You can hear the voiceless sounds he makes whenever he buries himself inside of you at just the right angle, each one right there and so loud in the silence.

It's different in that way, too: Neither of you has said a word since you took his hand and stumbled to your bedroom. No pleas or praise. Not when you tore each other's clothes off and finally saw what was waiting for you underneath—the hard panes and curves of him, tan lines and hair, a freckle on his chest, the way his cock hangs thick between his thighs and twitches in your hand. Not even when his fingers dragged over your still wet folds with a groan. Instead, your voices are replaced with sighs and moans and each slick press into your heat.

You don't think you could speak anyway.

He’s fucking you completely breathless. Not from the effort. Not from the way his core flexes and his back rounds every time he thrusts into you. Each steady plunge, a slide and drag of bodies—his chest hair across your nipples, his stomach against yours, his groin grinding into your clit in a maddening friction. No, it's the unmasked passion of it that leaves your heart pounding and your breath caught in your throat.

He fucks you like he watches you: with a sense of reverence. Like he can't believe he has the privilege.

Maybe fuck isn't the right word, then. Because the way his hand moves to cradle the back of your head, thumb grazing behind your ear, feels more like an act of worship than your desperate coupling in the driver's seat of his cab, takeout spilled across the center console.

You've never had sex like this before. Not even with the few people you've whispered I love yous to. The word for it hovers, nameless and heady in the inch of space between you. He breathes it out over your skin, and then you catch it and inhale it into your lungs. As it passes your lips, you can taste it on the tip of your tongue.

You're so close to figuring it out when he angles your head to the side, baring your neck to him and nuzzling his face into the exposed flesh, and your thoughts evaporate. He takes a moment to nose over your pulse, inhaling your scent and warmth with a moan. Then, finally, he’s placing hungry, open mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. It feels so much like he's trying to devour you, that you brace for a sinking of teeth which never comes.

Instead, the scratch of his beard sends a shiver through you, leaving you quivering and covered in goosebumps beneath him. It's too much—sensation, tension, emotion.

It's not enough.

You roll your hips to meet his rhythm, and he lets out a ragged groan—pain and pleasure spilling from his chest. His next plunge is deeper. Harder. Something sparks inside of you.

“Liam,” you gasp, breaking the silence.

Then he’s kissing you, his tongue chasing the sound of his own name into the wet heat of your mouth. So you offer it to him again, a plea for more.

He relents.

He grabs one of your legs and bends it towards your chest, folding you and opening you further to him. This new angle completely traps your clit in the friction of his thrusts.

You grasp at anything you can reach to ground yourself against the onslaught. One of your hands fists your sheet, bunching the fabric in a tight knuckled grip. The other curls through the trimmed hair at the base of his skull. But there isn't enough there to hold onto, and your fingers claw uselessly at his scalp.

The effect it has on him is immediate.

Your nails drag a moan and a full bodied shudder from him. Suddenly his pace becomes urgent, each thrust now punctuated by the joining of skin on skin and a slight shifting along the mattress.

You can feel how close he is from the way he’s tensing against the pleasure building inside of him. From the way he whimpers and clutches back at you, trying to hold on as well. To keep this going just a little longer.

Knowing that his loss of control, that sense of desperation, is because of you, sends you reeling. It isn't long before your legs are quaking against him and your chest is stuttering from your shallow gasps. Every rock of his hips coaxes you further from your control. You can feel your grasp of it slipping, pulling you off balance as you sink deeper into him.

You arch off the mattress—bending as if drawn to him—while every muscle in your body is locked in that moment between tension and release. Then one more moan from him as he rubs against your clit, and you finally break.

Your orgasm shatters white hot at your core, splintering up to churn in your gut and burn through your chest, before resonating outward along every one of your nerve endings, only to recede and start all over again.

As you come, the only thought in your lust fogged brain is him on top of you. Inside of you. The grip he has on your waist. So when your mouth falls open to suck air into your strangled lungs, on the exhale his name spills from your lips.

He looks wrecked by the sound. He buries himself into your fluttering cunt, needing to feel how your walls tighten and clench around him. You protest the sudden loss of friction before your body instinctively seeks it out. You mindlessly grind your hips up against him, riding out the last of your orgasm on his cock until he can't take it anymore.

He grabs you and fucks you, just as mindlessly grunting and rutting into you as he chases his own release. He stares down between you to where his body is joined with yours, watching the way his cock disappears into your folds, his expression stern with concentration. Under the light of the street lamp leaking through your window, sweat glistens on his forehead.

A deep rumble starts in his chest, something half caught between a growl and a whine. His pace quickly becomes erratic, and every time his hips meet yours, you can feel the way he's trembling. You know he's moments from letting go.

You bring your fingers to his chin and force his attention up until his eyes find yours. And god they're so blue, even unfocused in the dim streetlight. Though you're still dazed, you’ve never seen something so beautiful.

“Look at me, Liam,” you breathe out. “I want to see you.”

That's all it takes. His face crumples in agony, and he comes with a sob of relief. He manages a few final thrusts, shuddering and panting his way through each one, until he's finally spent. All the while, his cock twitches and throbs as he fills you for a second time.

You’ve done this once already tonight, but it was different then. The distance was still there while you untangled yourself from his lap, climbed back into the passenger seat, and adjusted your dress. In the way he quietly righted the container of noodles as you struggled to find the words to fill the silence.

This time you don't part.

Instead, he settles in close, pulls you to him, and lays his head on your shoulder with a sigh. In return, you kiss his hair, taking a moment to savor the scent of him—sweat and shampoo and lingering cigarette smoke—and the softness of the thick waves over your lips, before resting your cheek on the crown of his head.

There's nothing between you now. No car seat, no clothes, no more distance.

This is what was missing before in the taxi. This is what you both wanted—what you should have had instead—because this is so easy. As easy as laughter or smiles shared in his rearview mirror. 

And it all feels so right. Even though you’ve made yourself vulnerable in his arms, the way he holds you and caresses your palm with his fingertips keeps any further uncertainty or doubt about what this is between you at bay. You know what this is. 

You’ve spent months falling for this man, bit by bit. Every time you called him for a ride. Every glance, every simple gesture, every time he made you laugh or lean forward in your seat to find some way to be closer to him. It all sucked you in a little more each time, pulled you into depths you couldn't fathom—more than a crush or attraction or something as simple as affection—and it took you far too long to notice. Now your eyes and your chest burn with the realization.

As if he can sense what you're thinking, he pulls back to place a trail of feather light kisses along the side of your face. You close your eyes, letting the tenderness of it wash over you.

“Stay.” The wave of emotion chokes your voice to a whisper. It's a plea. A hope.

“There's nowhere I'd rather be, love,” he whispers back against your temple. Then he hugs you tight, and there's nowhere you’d rather be either than there in his arms, lulled to sleep by his steady heartbeat and his even breaths across your skin.

It's when he thinks you're asleep that Liam untangles himself, and then sneaks out of your bed and steps into the hallway, carefully shutting the door behind him.

At first you think he's gone to use the bathroom and doesn't want to wake you. Which is sweet! In fact, you're smiling over just how sweet and considerate he is—how content and blissful he’s made you feel—when you hear his voice from down the hall.

It sounds as if he's having a hushed conversation with someone, but that's impossible. There's no one else here. Is he talking to himself then?

You’ve never heard his voice sound like this before, either. He’s frustrated. Annoyed, almost. Nothing like the man that smiles at you from the front seat and asks about your day.

You nearly sit up and call out to him in confusion when—Oh. Wait. No. He’s on the phone, you realize.

At nearly half one in the morning.

He's being quiet enough that, if you were asleep, you probably would have slept through it. On top of that, his words are muffled by the door. So, even though you strain to listen, you don't catch everything he says.

You still hear plenty.

He makes up a story about driving someone…somewhere outside of the city. A request he couldn't say no to, apparently, but you miss his explanation as to why. It's not a big deal, he insists. It's not.

At the end of the call, he says he'll be home in the morning. That you catch.

Then silence falls over you once again.

None of that is true. Obviously. He’s standing naked in your hall, and he’s going to spend the night in your bed, decidedly not driving anywhere.

Which means he was lying on the phone.

You quickly piece together that means he lied to you, too. And the only reason he would have to lie at all, to keep you a secret, is if he isn't actually single. Which also means—

He made you the other woman.

Suddenly, the way he struggled with all of this makes perfect, horrible sense. It was never about you. He always wanted you. It was about his decision to say yes, to give in to what he wanted, despite the consequences and what it would mean.

You're still letting that sink in when he slips back into the room, and you have no idea what to do about it. You need a minute to fucking think. So you try to appear exactly as he left you: undisturbed, curled on your side, and facing the wall. Asleep.

On the inside, however, your heart is breaking.

It happens slowly. At first you're so numb from the shock, and the ache in your chest is so sharp, that the pain takes a moment to register. Like slicing your palm open with a knife and waiting for the wound to bleed. When it finally does, the agony leaves you breathless. You can feel it twisting in your gut, searing through your fingers, and clawing its way up your throat until you're choking on it. Your eyes sting from the pain.

Through it all, you focus on keeping your breathing deep and even to calm your frantic nerves and the trembling of your bottom lip. 

He crawls quietly back into bed behind you, clearly believing you're still asleep and trying not to wake you. You try not to stiffen in response.

You're not even sure why you're faking anymore. Perhaps you're still working to get over the shock from the hurt and betrayal. Maybe you want to believe you misunderstood the conversation, even though you know you didn't. Or maybe you’re still trying to figure out what to even say to him.

He lied to you.

Worse, you thought you found something real and lasting with a man that made you smile and feel special—one you felt a connection to. In retrospect, you should have known it was too good to be true, but you wanted it to be. You wanted that so badly. Wanted him.

You feel like such an idiot.

What was this, then? Did he just use you for sex? Were all of those glances and smiles over the course of months faked just for this? How could he have faked even a moment of what you just experienced? The way he looked into your eyes as he… God, even remembering it causes your heart to flutter and heat to pool in your stomach, despite your emotional anguish. You swallow down a sob.

Instead of tucking back into bed, though, he sits there and watches you sleep. You can feel his heavy gaze on the side of your face and the way it lingers before trailing down the outline of your body under the blanket, oblivious to your inner grief or how you lay there bleeding. It lasts several long minutes—longer than you would have thought was possible to watch someone sleep. But it's as if he’s content at the sight of you.

Just when you're finally ready to open your eyes and confront him, to demand the truth, his hand reaches out to stroke over your temple and your cheek. His touch is delicate. He’s still being careful not to wake you as his fingertips ghost across your skin. Then he sighs and it sounds like your name. You didn't think a single breath could carry so much awe and longing.

You didn't think your name could ever sound like that.

He continues to explore and caress you further, gently mapping out the curve of your jaw and the shell of your ear…all while he thinks you're still sleeping. When you couldn't possibly know what he's doing and there's no need for a performance.

Which means he's doing it because he wants to touch you like this.

And every second of it is far more gentle than his voice was the entire time he was on the phone. The voice he didn't say “I love you” in before he hung up, you realize. You're not sure what it means, but it feels important to note.

Because maybe…maybe he wasn't faking anything. Not about how he feels, at least. Not about you.

As your thoughts race, you realize he never actually said he was single either, just that he couldn't get a date to the play or would have to go alone. Sure, the implication was there, and it was a fair assumption to make, but he never said the words out loud. You also wonder what else that means for the state of his relationship, and whether or not it makes any difference. Assuming he was telling the truth at all. Though something about the way he said it makes you believe that part, at least, wasn't a lie.

What are you doing? You know your mental gymnastics and excuses are pathetic. You should have some self respect! Hell, you should kick him out of your apartment and your life for what he's done! But…you just can't bring yourself to do it.

Despite everything, you're still caught in the gravity of him.

Finally, he lays down in the bed and wraps an arm around you, curling himself against your back. His hand splays across your belly, keeping you held to him as he scoots in closer. He's warm and solid, and you can't help but melt into him, skin on skin, as he snuggles into your neck. You love the way his nose instinctively finds all of the sensitive spots that make you gasp, as if he's done this before. As if he knows you.

You fit together perfectly.

You want to stay there, surrounded by him—to let him alleviate the pain he’s caused you and fall asleep for real. Instead, you roll over in his arms.

Your eyes are open now so you can look at him. After all of this, you need to see him in this new light and face the truth of him. You have to know if you can.

When your eyes meet his, there's an expression of yearning and hope on his face that's so profound, your heart aches again, but for a much different reason.

He’s looking at you as though he's a damned man and you're his salvation.

“Sorry if I woke you, love,” he whispers. He cups your jaw in his hand, and his thumb soothes over your cheek in apology.

It's not the apology you need. Not yet. You’ll get that in the morning. Then, afterwards, you’ll have the talk about where you go from here and how he's going to fix this.

Because, as he leans forward to kiss your forehead, his contented sigh warm on your skin, you realize you’ve already made a decision.

“It's okay, Liam,” you reply in a whisper. “I don't care, just as long as you come back to me.”

A/N: I left the play vague for Reader Insert/Choose Your Own Adventure purposes, but the one I had in mind for ME, because it's my absolute favorite, is The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde (it was actually, in a strange way, also one of my inspirations while writing this). Which is about a man that leads a double life and pretends to be someone he isn't, only to discover at the end of the play that he essentially IS the man he's been pretending to be and has been all along without knowing. There are parts of Liam that are real and earnest, he just doesn't believe they're enough. He despises his life and the man he's become so much, is so desperate to escape them, that he can't imagine anyone else not feeling the same way about the real him. Except, in this story with this slightly different version of Liam (who's been removed from the events of the episode), that connection IS real. He never needed to lie to get Reader to laugh and fall for him or see a glimmer of the real him. But Liam is a sad, wet, desperate little shit of a man and does anyway. (He’s lucky he's hot.) Fingers crossed that he, too, learns the vital importance of being earnest. Also Earnest's eyes are blue. 😌

[berryz-writes]

Special treatment

Summary: Grayson is drunk and see's a black cat he's decided to adopt. It takes you time to get used to his new pet

Grayson Hawthorne x reader

The pool's lights allowed him to see his surroundings better, the time being far too late for his own good. So what? He was old enough to sit partially drunk next to the pool with nothing to do in the middle of the night. It's not as if his dear brothers were trying to find him anyhow.

His vision blurred slightly before focusing on a small black object further away. An object that was moving for some reason? It slowly trotted up to Grayson, making sure to go around the pool and then curling up in front of him. He patted a tentative hand on it's head. At least someone wanted his company, although he had no clue how the cat had gotten into the gardens.

The cat let out a small meow as if asking what the matter was before starting to play with the empty bottle next to it.

"No cat. Sorry. Just because I'm drunk doesn't mean you can be. Unless you want to be. We could both be lonely together" He rambled on unaware that the cat could not in fact understand him. He had to finally snatch the bottle away and hide it behind his back as if that would stop the cat from finding it.

The cat rather than going for the bottle again jumped into his lap and purred, probably asking for another pat. Grayson obliged and stroked it's shiny fur, the action soothing for him.

"Your a pretty cat y'know. I think you should come home with me. I know we're already home but I mean inside. You could have a bed just like your colour fur...or maybe you could sleep on my bed. I'm sure Y/n wouldn't mind"

The cat let out another noise, of course it was because of the constant attention it was getting but Grayson assumed it wanted to know more about Y/n.

"She's my girlfriend by the way. She's so gorgeous. And really funny" After explaining the whole story of how the two of you met he scooped the cat up and stumbled inside, no one saw him with his new pet. Not that they would seen as though they were all asleep. Like sane people.

He turned the light on to his room and placed the cat onto his bed noticing that someone was sleeping in his bed. The sight of you shifted him out of his sleepiness "Shit" He muttered before trying to turn the light back off. How could he have forgotten that you were here? He glared at the cat as if it were his fault.

"Grayson? Why are you awake?" Y/n asked rubbing her eyes and sitting up. Once she sat up she looked down to see a black cat with blue eyes staring straight at her. After letting out a terrified scream and after Grayson assuring her several times that he was harmless she calmed down.

"He's my new pet"

Y/n nodded her head "Right. And what's he called?"

She had warmed up to him now and was slowly stroking his fur. Grayson took a while to think about it before declaring the name "cat".

"I sometimes wonder what's wrong with you" Y/n said after her laughter subsided at his chosen name.

"We'll get a bed for you tomorrow cat. For now you can sleep on my blazer" Grayson picked cat up and deposited him onto a chair where his blazer was spread out, a small cushion placed for the cats comfort.

"Special treatment for cat huh?" Y/n asked snuggling back into the warmth of his bed.

"Special treatment for you too sweetheart" He murmured before pulling her closer to his body so he could hold her tightly.

"Sweet dreams" Y/n said before closing her eyes. He left a small kiss on her head "Night love" He looked at cat from across the room once more to see he was curled up on the pillow, sleeping peacefully.

Maybe everything would be alright now. After all he had a new pet.

[judyfromfinance]

Olden Times. Modern Thinking.

(Heimdall/Modern!Reader)

Summary: You know things you’re not supposed to. You behave oddly. And the way you speak is even odder. Kratos, Mimir, and Atreus have no idea if they should believe your ramblings of another world and of a future they have no way of knowing is real. But, you seem harmless enough. Plus, Faye may rise from her grave if they let a poor woman freeze to death in their forest, right outside their home no less.

Chapter 5

When you woke up you heard no noise. Or, rather, no chatting. What you would expect to hear if Kratos and Atreus had returned. No you only heard the clanking of metal on metal. The same noise you fell asleep to. With a small groan you swiveled your legs off of the bed and cracked your back. A small yawn echoed around the small room before you opened up the door. You looked around to see no one. The only other person was Brok working in his smithy.

“Where is everyone? I thought they’d be back by now?” You asked while spinning around the main room. Hoping to spy Atreus reading a book perhaps. But no, they weren’t here. Brok stopped his hammering before answering you gruffly.

“They went to Svartalfheim. Apparently the little runt thinks Týr is alive and being held captive there. So Sindri took him and Kratos to see if they can bust the fucker out.” You probably slept through the small exchange before they departed. That’s a shame. You really wanted to see Mimir yell at the Huldra brothers for their, rather ingenious invention.

“Oh.”

“What? Am I not good enough company for the little mortal?” He bellowed in exasperation. You being, well you, decided to poke fun at him.

“I mean… yea pretty much.” You noticed Brok finally turned around from what he was doing to finally pay his full attention to you.

“Ex-fucking-scuse me, Princess?”

“You’re excused.” With a small and short ‘BAH’ he continued his work. But you did notice a slight smile on his face. You walked away, feeling good enough to leave knowing he didn’t take your teasing to heart. You walked up to a book case across the room, gliding your fingers over each and every spine. Your mind raced with thoughts of having to come clean about all that you knew. If they came back with Týr the Imposter in tow then how would you be able to tell anyone anything without tipping off Odin? You glance back at Brok. Knowing what’s to come for him and poor Sindri. It was difficult for you to know what to do. You glance back at the book case. You picked up one randomly and and opened it somewhere in the middle. You read the title on top of the page.

The Oath of Truce

(Tryggthamól)

‘…and wherever men gather together, there shall ye be so agreed as though this matter had never come between you. Ye shall share
  both steel and steaks
  and all the things
  that are betwixt you,
  like friends and not like foes.’

Fuck. Is this the world trying to tell you something? Fine. No more secrets. Secrets are what led to so many deaths and unnecessary hardships in this world. And you aren’t going to help that along. You place the book back on the shelf and turn towards the blue dwarf.

“Brok?” You took a few steps closer to his work station. Slowly, almost as if you were afraid to spook him. But truthfully you were the one that was afraid.

“Oh what? Finally gonna admit you just might like my presence around after all?” He chuckled. You smiled. And earnestly told him that of course you like having him around. He’s kinda an ass. But a funny ass. And humor can make up for a lot.

“But that’s not what I wanna talk about. This might not make sense but…” breath in. Breath out. “If you had knowledge of the future. And you knew a lot of bad things would happen, some even preventable, would you try and stop it?” He scrunches his eyebrows together and asks where this was all coming from. “Atreus told you and Sindri that I’m not from this world. And I’m not. But there’s a lot more to it than just that. I know things. Things about this place and how certain things are gonna play out.” You finally step up to the work table and stare down at him. “Týr is alive. That’s true. It’s also true that he’s locked up somewhere. But the Týr that is being brought back here is not the real one. He’s a fake. It’s Odin. Please you have to believe me. I know I sound out of it and crazy but we need to figure out a way to keep him out of this house.” With that small piece of information off your chest you felt like you can finally breathe again. Sure, you didn’t spill your guts on everything you knew, but it was a start. You look down towards Brok, eyes slightly watering. Lying is easy, but telling the truth is fucking hard. Brok holds his breath for a moment before billowing out a barely there laugh.

“Ok, well that sounds like a load of crockshit but weirder things have happened before.” You had a pleading look in your eyes and before you can beg for him to believe you some more, he continued. “Look, don’t go all teary eyed on me. I don’t need anyone thinking I yelled at ya or somethin’.” You wiped you eyes. “And if what you say is really true then why didn’t you tell the bozos before they went galavanting off to find the fucker?”

“I didn’t know how to tell them! I didn’t know how to bring it up! How do you expect I go about telling literal gods that I know their entire life story?” He squints up at you before asking, “So the Týr thing isn’t the only thing you know. What all else you got locked up in that big ol’ head of yours?”

“A lot.” You bite your lip. “Everything.”

“Streð mik. Ok well, we can’t get rid of him outright or he’ll think somethings up.” You nod. Sounds good. Odin already thinks you might be a key to stopping Ragnarok and you don’t want to confirm that yes, you are one, to his face.

“So… what do we do?” He looks at you sternly. “Nothin’.” What?

“What do you mean we do nothing? How is that gonna help anything?” He rolls his eyes before he turns his back towards you. Working on God only knows what.

“If you haven’t forgotten, you’re mortal. You can’t DO anything. Especially against someone as conniving as the All-Fucker himself. We lay low. Watch him. And I highly suggest you find someway to get Kratos alone so you can tell him everything you know.” He turns around, feeling the grimace on your face as you say nothing. “And I mean everything.”

“But… what if there are some things that are better left… unsaid?”

“Don’t start that shit with me.” You sigh and make your way back to your room. “Fine. Let me know when they’re here if I’m asleep.” Brok scoffs before saying you can wake your damn self up. Rolling your eyes you close your door and wait for your inevitable doom. Why does Kratos have to be so damn intimidating?

It doesn’t take long for everyone to return to the house. Imposter in tow. You walk out of your room and are greeted by Atreus. He beckons to you wildly. Most likely wanting you to meet this God he thinks so highly of. Oh if only he knew. You step forward with a small awkward smile on your face. “(Y/n) this is Týr. Like from all the stories I’ve told you about. Týr this is (Y/n), the human we told you about.” He turns to you, the same golden eyes that you’re used to seeing from Mimir staring back at you.

“Oh, so you must be the girl from… another time was it?” You nod. “Yea, something like that.” He hums. “In all my travels I haven’t heard of a story quite like yours. Excuse me but I would love some rest without Odin’s eyes on me. But after, I would like to continue our talk. I’m sure you have some very fascinating stories.” You nod once more in acceptance before turning away and letting him rest. Atreus catches up to you and asks what you think. About Týr you presume.

“Uh ya know… he’s a dude I guess?” He gives you a look as to say ‘Really?’ “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. I’ve never prayed to any gods back home and I certainly won’t be now.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to get at and you know that. It’s just…” he sighs. “We’re finally closer to getting answer. Answers to questions I’ve been asking myself for so long. We’re not there yet. But we are one step closer. Can’t I be happy about that?” You stare at him with a knowing look in your eyes. “Of course you can be happy about that Atreus. Honestly, that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. And your dad. Happiness. You both deserve that. But please, don’t let the prospect of answers cloud your judgement.” Atreus reaches out to you as you walk away.

“(Y/n)…”

“Look, I’m just a bit tired ok. I think I’m going to get some rest.” And with that you walked back in to your designated room.

“She’s been sleeping a lot lately. Is she ok?” Atreus sighs. “Yeah Sin, she’s fine. Let’s just leave her be for now.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I’m back from the dead! Not really. Look I’ve been an Obey Me mood lately and I still am tbh. Those demon boys do something to me fiercely but I’ve been rewatching Ragnarok and also been rereading one of my fave HeimdallxReader stories and I got hit with a bit of motivation. (If you haven’t read The Pickpocket by @engardeitsme then you are missing out.

I know it’s not the longest chapter but I’m bored with just writing a play by play of the game because the reader can’t be there for most of it. So there will be a bit of a time skip starting off next chapter but it’s all good. Hopefully that’s not too bothersome.

And with that here are my lovely readers and I’ll see all of you, next chapter, byeeee!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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