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ijustmissyouraccenths · 4 months ago

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My Boss's Son

Y/N, an assistant to Anne Twist, forms an unexpected connection with her son, Harry, when he comes home for the holidays.

Word Count: 9,464

Content Warning: Mentions of alcohol, kissing.

Mostly fluff.

Part one of two.

The light filtered through the blinds, casting faint stripes of gold across the room. I blinked against the brightness, my eyes slowly adjusting as I stretched my arms out, feeling the tension in my muscles ease. A deep yawn escaped me, filling the quiet morning air. The world outside seemed to hum faintly, the distant chirping of birds blending with the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.

I sat up, letting the covers slide off my shoulders. The room was still, yet alive with the promise of a new day. The faint aroma of coffee from the kitchen teased my senses, nudging me toward the day ahead. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I let my toes press against the cool floor, a gentle reminder that today was mine to shape.

As I stood, a faint shadow danced across the wall—a tree branch swaying outside the window. Something about the movement caught my attention, a quiet insistence that the day held more than routine.

After finishing my coffee, I carried the empty mug to the sink, rinsing it absentmindedly as my thoughts drifted to the day ahead. The morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen window, filling the space with a soft, golden glow. I grabbed my phone from the counter and headed upstairs, each step creaking faintly underfoot.

Back in my room, I opened the closet door, revealing a neatly arranged array of clothes. My fingers brushed over the hangers as I flipped through the options—crisp blouses, tailored trousers, and a few statement pieces that Anne had complimented in the past. Getting dressed in the morning was never a struggle. My wardrobe was curated with care, blending professionalism with a touch of personality and casualness, just as my job required.

Working as a personal assistant to Anne Twist, a celebrated children's author based in the UK and mother to global superstar Harry Styles, came with its own unique blend of charm and challenge. Anne’s world was a whirlwind of creative projects, book signings, and interviews, and I was the one ensuring every detail went off without a hitch. It wasn’t just about organizing her calendar or prepping her notes—it was about anticipating her needs, often before she voiced them.

I finally settled on a simple navy blue dress with a subtle floral pattern, pairing it with a cardigan and comfortable flats. Anne had a penchant for warm, approachable styles herself, and I liked to reflect that in my own appearance. As I slipped on the outfit, I glanced at the framed photo on my dresser—a candid shot of Anne and me at a book launch, her arm draped over my shoulder, both of us laughing.

Today’s agenda was packed. A meeting with Anne's publisher, a conference call with a charity she supported, and later, a brainstorming session for her next book.I grabbed my bag and took one last look in the mirror. Polished yet approachable—that was the goal. Taking a deep breath, I smiled to myself.

The drive to Anne’s house was peaceful, the winding country roads lined with lush greenery and dappled sunlight. I rolled the window down just enough to let the cool morning air fill the car, carrying with it the faint scent of flowers and freshly cut grass. Anne’s home always felt like a retreat from the bustling world—a charming cottage with ivy climbing the walls and a garden that looked like it had been plucked straight from a fairytale.

As I pulled into the driveway, Anne was already at the door, her warm smile radiating the same comforting energy as her home. She waved enthusiastically, her auburn hair catching the sunlight.

“Y/N!” she called out, stepping onto the porch. “You’re right on time, as always. Come in, come in! I’ve just put the kettle on.”

I climbed out of the car, grabbing my bag from the passenger seat. “Morning, Anne!” I replied, smiling as I approached. Her energy was infectious, and it was impossible not to feel instantly at ease in her presence.

Anne pulled me into a quick hug as I reached the door. “It’s so good to see you. I hope the drive wasn’t too long. You know how these roads can be,” she said, ushering me inside.

The familiar scent of lavender and lemon greeted me as I stepped into the house. The kitchen table was already covered in papers—manuscript drafts, notes, and a plate of freshly baked scones. Anne was nothing if not prepared.

“I’ve got a lot to go over with you today,” she said, her tone cheerful but purposeful. “But first, tea. You can’t work properly without tea.”

I laughed, setting my bag down on a chair. “You know me too well, Anne. What’s on the agenda today?”

She poured steaming tea into two mismatched mugs, handing one to me. “Oh, the usual chaos,” she said with a wink. “We’ve got that call with the publisher at ten, and later I want to brainstorm ideas for the next book. Oh, and Harry might pop by later—he said he had something he wanted to drop off.”

I raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of the tea. “Harry’s stopping by? Should I be preparing for something out of the ordinary?”

Anne laughed, her eyes twinkling. “You never know with him, do you? But for now, let’s get through these notes. Come on, take a seat.”

I settled into the chair opposite her, notebook in hand, ready to dive into the day’s work.

As Anne and I worked through her notes, my mind kept drifting back to what she had said earlier. Harry might pop by. I hadn’t met him yet—despite working with Anne for nearly a year now. He was always away, either on tour or traveling, and our paths had never crossed. But today might change that.

“Anne,” I said hesitantly, setting down my pen, “so… about Harry. I guess I’m a little nervous to meet him.”

Anne looked up from her notes, her expression warm and understanding. “Nervous? Oh, Y/N, you’ve nothing to be nervous about! He’s a sweetheart. Truly.”

“I’m sure he is,” I replied with a nervous laugh. “But, I mean, he’s Harry Styles. He’s this global superstar, and I’m just… me. What if I say something awkward? Or trip over my words?”

Anne chuckled, setting her glasses on the table and leaning back in her chair. “Y/N, you have nothing to worry about. Harry’s as down-to-earth as they come. He’s more likely to be the one tripping over his words than you are.”

Her reassurance made me smile, but there was something in her tone—something playful—that piqued my curiosity. Before I could dwell on it, Anne leaned forward slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Actually,” she said, a little more thoughtfully, “I think it’s good you two are finally meeting. I’ve always thought you and Harry would get along wonderfully.”

I raised an eyebrow, my cheeks warming slightly. “You do?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said, nodding with certainty. “You both have such similar energies—kind, thoughtful, creative. And you both love to laugh. I can already picture the two of you chatting away like old friends.”

I laughed nervously, unsure how to respond. “Well, I guess we’ll see. No pressure, right?”

Anne smiled knowingly, taking a sip of her tea. “No pressure at all, my dear. But sometimes, the best connections happen when you least expect them.”

Her words lingered in the air as we returned to our work, but my mind couldn’t help wandering.

The day passed in a flurry of productivity. Anne and I tackled everything on the agenda—the publisher’s call went smoothly, the brainstorming session brought to life some fantastic ideas for her next book, and even the smallest tasks seemed to fall perfectly into place. By late afternoon, the papers on the kitchen table were neatly stacked, the mugs washed, and the scones just a crumb-filled memory.

As I started gathering my things to leave, Anne stopped me, her warm smile ever-present. “Y/N, don’t rush off just yet.”

I glanced at her, surprised. “Oh, I thought we were done for the day?”

“We are,” she said, placing a hand on my shoulder, her tone gentle and inviting. “But Harry should be here soon, and I think it would be lovely if you stayed for dinner. I’ve already got everything prepped, and I promise it’s nothing fancy—just a good, home-cooked meal. Besides, you’ve worked so hard today, and I’d love the company.”

I hesitated, glancing at the time. “Are you sure, Anne? I don’t want to intrude.”

Anne shook her head firmly, her expression softening in a way that reminded me of my own mother. “Y/N, you’re not intruding. You’re family—more than just an assistant to me. I don’t say that lightly.” She gave my arm a reassuring squeeze. “Now, stay. Let me spoil you a little.”

Her words warmed my heart, and I felt a lump rise in my throat. Anne had always treated me with such kindness, but hearing her say it so plainly made me feel truly appreciated. “Okay,” I said, smiling. “I’d love to stay.”

“Good,” Anne said, beaming. “You can help me set the table. And don’t worry, you’ll love Harry. He’s just like me, only taller and a bit scruffier.”

I laughed, the nervous flutter in my stomach returning. The idea of meeting Harry still felt slightly surreal, but Anne’s confidence that we’d get along eased my nerves—at least a little.

Together, we walked back to the house, chatting about everything from her garden to potential titles for her next book. Anne’s warmth and humor made the transition from work mode to relaxation seamless, and by the time we reached the cottage, I was already feeling at home.

As we stepped inside, Anne gestured toward the dining table. “You start on the plates, and I’ll grab the drinks. Harry should be here any minute now.”

I nodded, moving to set the table as instructed, but I couldn’t help the little flicker of excitement—and anxiety—that danced in my chest.

Moments later, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house, followed by a familiar voice calling out.

“Mum? I’m here!” Harry’s voice carried easily, warm and slightly teasing.

Anne, busy at the counter pouring drinks, shouted back, “In the kitchen, love!”

I froze mid-step, clutching a plate in my hands. My pulse quickened as the reality of meeting Harry—Anne’s son and global superstar—hit me square in the chest. A part of me wanted to disappear into the background, but before I could even think to move, the sound of footsteps approached.

Then, there he was. Harry walked into the kitchen, his casual stride and easy grin instantly lighting up the room. He was dressed simply—jeans, a T-shirt, and a beanie pulled snugly over his brown curls—but his presence was anything but ordinary. His green eyes scanned the room before landing on me.

He stopped, his smile widening with playful confusion. “Well, you’re definitely not my mum.”

I blinked, caught off guard, before laughing nervously. “No, no, definitely not.”

Anne turned from the counter, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Y/N, meet my son, Harry. Harry, this is Y/N—my assistant, though I prefer to call her my second daughter.”

Harry’s expression softened, and he stepped forward, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. Mum’s told me loads about you.”

I set the plate down carefully before shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you too. She’s told me a lot about you as well.”

He raised an eyebrow, a glint of humor in his eyes. “All good things, I hope?”

“Of course,” I replied, feeling my nerves ease slightly under the weight of his charm. “She’s very proud of you.”

Harry shot Anne a look, his smile turning fond. “She’s not bad herself, is she?” Turning back to me, he added, “So, you’re the one keeping her so organized. Must be a full-time job.”

“It is,” I said with a small laugh. “But I love it.”

Anne interjected, carrying the drinks to the table. “All right, enough chatter. Harry, help Y/N finish setting the table. And no teasing—you’ll scare her off.”

Harry chuckled, grabbing a stack of silverware. “Scare her off? I’m charming, Mum.”

Anne gave him a knowing look but didn’t argue. As Harry handed me the silverware, his smile was soft, his teasing replaced by genuine warmth.

“Don’t let her boss you around too much,” he joked quietly, leaning in just enough for only me to hear. “But I’ll warn you, she’s usually right.”

As we worked together to set the table, Harry struck up a conversation, his natural curiosity evident in the way he asked questions.

“So, Y/N,” he began, placing the silverware neatly beside the plates, “Mum says you’ve been working with her for about a year now. But I’m curious—how’d you end up here? Not many people just casually relocate to the middle of England.”

I smiled, stacking the napkins as I spoke. “Well, I’m originally from New York, but I came to England a few years ago to study abroad. It was supposed to be temporary, but I ended up falling in love with the country. Anne and I met while I was finishing up my studies, and things just kind of fell into place.”

“New York to England, huh?” he said, his tone thoughtful. “That’s quite a leap. What made you want to stay? Was it the tea, the rain, or Mum’s scones?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Definitely not the rain. But honestly, I think it was the pace of life here. It’s different from New York—slower, in a good way. Plus, I felt like I’d found a second home when I started working with Anne. She’s been amazing.”

Harry glanced over at his mum, who was busy fiddling with the oven, her back turned to us. His expression softened. “Yeah, she has a way of making people feel that way, doesn’t she?”

“She really does,” I agreed, my voice warm. “She’s been more than a boss to me—more like family.”

Harry smiled, leaning casually against the edge of the table. “That sounds like her. She’s always taking people under her wing. So, what were you studying before you decided to make the big move?”

“English literature,” I said, straightening one of the forks. “I’ve always loved books and writing, so it just felt like the right path. Meeting Anne was kind of serendipitous. She needed an assistant around the same time I was trying to figure out what to do next, and the rest is history.”

Harry nodded, his interest clearly genuine. “That’s brilliant. Sounds like it was meant to be. And now you’re here, working with Mum, dealing with her endless sticky notes and brainstorm sessions. She ever drag you out to the garden for ‘creative inspiration’?”

I chuckled, nodding. “Oh, plenty of times. But I don’t mind—it’s always an adventure with her.”

Harry’s grin widened. “I can imagine. And do you still write yourself, or is it all Mum’s projects now?”

The question caught me off guard, and I hesitated for a moment. “I try to write when I can, but it’s mostly little things—nothing serious.”

“Well,” he said, his tone encouraging, “maybe one day I’ll get to read something of yours. If Mum’s spoken this highly of you, I bet it’s brilliant.”

His compliment made my cheeks flush slightly, but I managed a smile. “Maybe. But for now, I’m happy helping her bring her stories to life.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “Fair enough. But don’t forget about your own stories, yeah? Something tells me they’re worth sharing.”

The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard, but before I could respond, Anne interrupted, calling us to the table.

“All right, you two, enough chatter! Dinner’s ready. Harry, stop hogging Y/N’s attention and help me bring the dishes out.”

Harry smirked but obeyed, shooting me a quick wink as he moved to help his mum. “Guess that’s my cue,” he said, grabbing the serving tray. “But I’m not done with my questions, Y/N. Consider this round one.”

I laughed softly, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement as I took my seat at the table. Round one, huh? This evening was shaping up to be much more interesting than I’d anticipated.

As Harry walked toward the kitchen to help his mom, I began fiddling with the edge of the napkin in front of me, still processing our earlier conversation. His natural charm and easygoing nature made him surprisingly approachable, and yet I couldn’t shake the nervous flutter in my stomach.

I was just settling into my seat when I heard his voice drift from the kitchen. It wasn’t loud, but the playful tone caught my attention.

“Mum,” he said, his voice carrying just enough for me to overhear, “you forgot to mention how pretty she is.”

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. My heart began to race as I tried to process what I’d just heard. Was he talking about me? It was hard to mistake the sincerity in his tone, even laced as it was with a hint of teasing.

Anne chuckled in response, her reply warm but matter-of-fact. “I didn’t think I needed to, love. I figured you’d see that for yourself.”

The sound of clinking dishes followed, but I couldn’t focus on anything else. My cheeks grew hot as I stared at the table, trying to act like I hadn’t heard a word.

What did that even mean? Was he just being nice? Or was there something more to his comment? The idea made my chest tighten, equal parts flattered and overwhelmed.

Moments later, Harry and Anne returned to the dining room, each carrying a dish. His expression was as casual and easy as ever, as if he hadn’t just said something that was now on a loop in my head. He caught my gaze briefly as he set down a bowl of roasted vegetables, flashing me a small, almost knowing smile before turning back to his mom.

“Right, all set?” Anne asked cheerfully, glancing between the two of us as she placed the final dish on the table. “Let’s dig in!”

I forced myself to smile, hoping it didn’t look too forced. “Smells amazing, Anne. Thank you.”

As dinner began, Harry struck up conversation again, his questions lighthearted and easy, but I couldn’t help noticing the occasional glance he sent my way. Maybe it was nothing—or maybe Anne had been right all along. Whatever it was, one thing was certain: this evening was turning out to be far more eventful than I had expected.

After everyone had eaten their fill and the plates were cleared, I stood to help Anne gather the dishes, but she waved me off with a smile.

“Sit and relax, Y/N. You’ve done enough today,” she said warmly. “But if Harry’s volunteering, I won’t say no to an extra pair of hands.”

“I’ll help too,” I insisted, ignoring her gentle protest as I followed Harry to the kitchen with a stack of plates.

Harry grabbed a dish towel, tossing it over his shoulder as he started rinsing the dishes. He glanced at me with a grin. “Looks like it’s just us now. I’ll try not to scare you off with my terrible washing-up skills.”

I laughed, rolling up my sleeves. “Don’t worry—I’m no professional either.”

As we worked side by side, the atmosphere felt lighter, more relaxed. Harry, ever curious, turned to me with a playful tilt of his head. “So, Y/N, I feel like I barely scratched the surface earlier. Let’s dig a little deeper. Do you have any pets?”

I smiled, handing him a clean plate to dry. “No pets, unfortunately. Growing up in New York, we didn’t really have the space for them. But I’ve always wanted a dog. What about you?”

He nodded, his grin widening. “Mum’s got a cat—Dusty. Though I think she likes Dusty more than me most days.”

I laughed at his self-deprecating humor. “I doubt that. Anne talks about you like you’re her pride and joy.”

“Good to know I’m still in her good books,” he teased, then shifted gears. “Okay, next question. Favorite movie?”

I bit my lip, thinking it over. “That’s a tough one. Probably Pride and Prejudice—the Keira Knightley version. I’ve seen it a hundred times, and it still makes me swoon. What about you?”

Harry pretended to look thoughtful. “Hmm, Pride and Prejudice is solid, but I might have to go with The Notebook. Classic romantic drama.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Am I?” he said with a playful wink, taking another dish from my hands. “Okay, next one: Favorite bar in London?”

“That’s easy,” I said, sliding another plate toward him. “The Churchill Arms. It’s so cozy and covered in flowers—it’s like stepping into a storybook. What about you?”

“Great choice,” he said, nodding approvingly. “For me, it’s The Spaniards Inn. Proper old-school vibe and great music.”

“I’ll have to check it out sometime,” I said, filing the recommendation away.

He paused, glancing over at me with a curious glint in his eye. “I could show you, if you’re up for it. You know, give you the full Harry Styles bar tour.”

The suggestion caught me off guard, but his smile was so genuine, it was impossible not to mirror it. “Maybe,” I said, trying to sound casual despite the warmth spreading in my chest. “If I can keep up.”

“Oh, I think you’ll manage,” he replied, his voice light and teasing as he placed the last clean plate on the rack. “But don’t think you’re off the hook just yet. I’ve got plenty more questions.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Something tells me you’re not going to run out anytime soon.”

“Not a chance,” he said, his smile widening as he grabbed the dish towel to dry his hands. “You’re far too interesting for that.”

As the evening wound down, the cozy energy of Anne’s home lingered in the air. Harry leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, chatting with his mom while I finished drying the last of the dishes. His laugh filled the kitchen, warm and effortless, and I couldn’t help but glance his way more often than necessary.

But soon, it was time to leave. Harry had to fly out the next morning to start recording for his next project, and I knew my days ahead would be busy helping Anne finalize the manuscript for her latest book. It felt bittersweet—our paths had just crossed, and yet, they were already diverging.

As I grabbed my coat from the hook near the door, Harry walked over, slipping his hands into his pockets. “So,” he began, his voice casual but his eyes searching mine, “looks like it’ll be a bit before we see each other again.”

I nodded, smiling softly. “Yeah, sounds like you’ll be busy.”

“Same for you,” he said, tilting his head. “Mum keeps you running around, doesn’t she?”

I chuckled. “She does, but I don’t mind. She’s worth it.”

Harry’s smile turned a little softer at that. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Well, seeing as I’m about to disappear for a while, how about we exchange numbers? Just in case Mum ‘accidentally’ forgets to pass along messages.”

The suggestion caught me off guard, but I quickly recovered, pulling out my phone. “Sure,” I said, feeling a flutter of nerves as we traded numbers. His fingers brushed mine briefly as he handed my phone back, and I wondered if he felt the same quiet spark.

“Now you’ve got no excuse not to check out The Spaniards Inn,” he joked, his voice light but his eyes holding something a little more serious.

“Guess I don’t,” I said, smiling.

Anne appeared then, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “All right, you two, no plotting mischief without me,” she teased. “Harry, don’t keep Y/N standing here all night—she’s got work in the morning.”

Harry rolled his eyes playfully. “All right, all right. I’ll let her go. For now.”

We said our goodbyes, and as I walked out to my car, I couldn’t help but glance back. Harry stood in the doorway with Anne, waving, his easy smile still lingering even as I pulled away.

Weeks turned into months, and the holiday season crept closer. Between Anne’s projects and the quiet hum of my own life, I found myself thinking of Harry more than I cared to admit. We’d exchanged a few texts here and there—mostly casual check-ins or jokes—but nothing too deep. Still, every time my phone lit up with his name, it brought a smile to my face.

Then came Anne’s annual Christmas party. The cottage was aglow with warm lights, garlands, and a massive tree Anne had insisted on decorating herself. Guests milled about with glasses of mulled wine, laughter and conversation filling every corner.

I was in the kitchen, helping Anne plate some hors d'oeuvres, when a familiar voice made my heart skip.

“Surprise,” Harry said, leaning casually against the doorway, his signature grin firmly in place.

I turned, my breath catching slightly. He looked effortlessly stylish, dressed in a festive green sweater and black trousers, his hair tousled as though he hadn’t tried at all. “Harry,” I said, smiling. “I didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Neither did I,” he admitted, stepping further into the kitchen. “But I couldn’t miss Mum’s party—or the chance to see you again.”

Anne smirked knowingly, handing me the last platter before excusing herself with a suspiciously cheerful “I’ll leave you two to catch up.”

I rolled my eyes at her retreating figure but couldn’t suppress the warmth spreading through me. “So,” I said, turning back to Harry, “how’s recording going?”

“It’s good,” he said, his voice softening. “Busy, but good. Though I’ll admit, I’ve been looking forward to this party for weeks.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Because of the mulled wine?”

He grinned, his eyes meeting mine. “Something like that. But mostly because I knew you’d be here.”

The sincerity in his tone made my heart flip. I wasn’t sure what to say, but before I could respond, he gestured toward the door. “Shall we? I think Mum would kill me if I didn’t mingle.”

The party buzzed around us, but Harry and I had found a quieter corner of the living room, where the lights from the Christmas tree cast a soft glow. He handed me a glass of red wine, his fingers brushing mine briefly, and leaned casually against the wall beside me.

“So,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass, “tell me—what’s been the highlight of your year? And if you say one of Mum’s scone-baking experiments, I’ll know you’re lying.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Well, those have been a journey, but I think meeting her in the first place takes the top spot. It’s been a whirlwind, but a good one.”

He smiled, his gaze warm. “That’s a solid choice. I’d say meeting you is up there on my list too.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the subtle sincerity in his voice, but before I could respond, Gemma’s voice rang out across the room.

“Oi, Harry!” she called, her tone dripping with playful mischief. “Do you two know you’re standing under the mistletoe?”

My eyes shot upward instinctively, and sure enough, the little sprig of green was hanging above us, tied neatly with a red ribbon. My cheeks flushed as laughter rippled through the room. I turned back to Harry, who had the audacity to look completely shocked.

“Mistletoe?” he said, feigning innocence as his eyes darted upward. “Would you look at that? What a coincidence.”

I narrowed my eyes, catching the faintest flicker of amusement in his expression. “Coincidence, huh?” I asked, my tone skeptical.

Gemma smirked from across the room. “Well, rules are rules!”

The guests around us were clearly entertained, their chatter fading into encouraging murmurs. Harry turned back to me, his grin widening as he leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only me to hear.

“Guess we’ve got to follow tradition,” he said, his tone teasing but his gaze steady. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint everyone.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my heart pounding as he leaned closer. His lips brushed mine softly, the warmth of the moment washing over me despite the playful shouts and applause in the background. It was sweet, unhurried, and—dare I say—perfect.

When he pulled back, his grin was back in full force, but there was a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he said, his voice just above a whisper.

“Merry Christmas,” I managed, my cheeks still flushed as the room erupted in laughter and cheers. Gemma gave us a knowing look, and Anne, from the kitchen, was clearly trying not to look too pleased with herself.

As the night went on, the party blurred into a haze of warmth and laughter, but that moment under the mistletoe stayed crystal clear in my mind.

The party continued, the festive atmosphere filling every corner of Anne’s home, but I couldn’t shake the giddy feeling in my chest. Every so often, I’d catch Harry glancing my way, and each time, his warm smile made my heart skip a beat. It felt as if the mistletoe moment had shifted something between us—something unspoken but undeniably present.

After the laughter and teasing died down, Harry and I found ourselves back in the cozy corner of the living room, wine glasses in hand. This time, the conversation felt lighter, more natural, as if the small barrier of formality had finally fallen away.

“So,” I teased, swirling my glass, “did you actually plan that mistletoe stunt, or was it pure luck?”

Harry smirked, not even bothering to deny it. “What can I say? I might have noticed where Mum hung it earlier and thought it’d be a good spot to stand. But in my defense,” he added, leaning in slightly, “I wasn’t sure you’d go along with it.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he said with a wink, his grin softening as he studied me. “But honestly, I’m glad it happened. I’ve been wanting to spend more time with you.”

His words caught me off guard, and I found myself searching his expression for any sign of teasing, but there was none—just quiet sincerity. “You have?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

“Of course,” he said, his tone genuine. “You’re… well, you’re amazing. Mum’s always going on about how much she adores you, and honestly, I get it. You’ve got this way about you—calm, funny, kind. It’s refreshing.”

I felt my cheeks heat under his gaze, unsure of how to respond. “Harry, that’s… really sweet of you to say.”

He shrugged, his smile turning a little sheepish. “Just being honest. And, well, I guess I should probably thank Mum for hiring you and convincing you to stay in England.”

I laughed softly, the nerves I’d felt earlier slowly fading. “She is very persuasive.”

“Isn’t she?” he said, laughing along. “So, what about you? Are you glad you stayed?”

I took a moment to think about his question, the warmth of the room and the sound of soft music in the background making the moment feel surreal. “I am,” I said finally, meeting his eyes. “I’ve built a life here I never expected, and it’s been… wonderful.”

Harry’s gaze softened, his smile easy but full of something deeper. “I’m glad to hear that. And, for what it’s worth, I hope I can be part of what makes it even better.”

Before I could respond, Anne appeared, beaming as she handed us a tray of leftover mince pies. “You two look cozy,” she said with a knowing smile, clearly pleased with herself. “Don’t let me interrupt, but someone has to make sure these don’t go uneaten.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Harry said, chuckling as he took the tray. As Anne walked away, he turned back to me, his smile lingering. “What do you say? Mince pie and more conversation?”

I nodded, feeling my heart flutter again. “I’d like that.”

And as the night wore on, surrounded by laughter and the glow of Christmas lights, I couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something special.

Guests filtered out one by one, their laughter and goodbyes echoing softly through Anne’s cozy home. I slipped into the hallway to grab my coat, the frosty chill of the night visible through the windows. Snow was falling in gentle flurries, blanketing the ground in a soft, sparkling white.

“Thanks for everything, Anne,” I said, hugging her tightly. “The party was wonderful, as always.”

Anne smiled, her arms warm and motherly around me. “It’s not the same without you, my dear. Stay safe getting home, all right?”

“I will,” I promised. “I’ll call an Uber.”

Before I could pull out my phone, Harry appeared, shrugging on his own coat. “Don’t bother with an Uber,” he said, his voice casual but insistent. “I’ll drive you.”

“Harry, you don’t have to do that,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s late, and it’s snowing—”

“All the more reason not to let you sit around waiting for a car,” he cut in, flashing me that easy smile. “Come on. Let me play chauffeur.”

Anne smirked knowingly from the doorway, but she said nothing, simply waving us off with a cheerful “Drive safe, you two!”

The snowflakes danced in the headlights as we drove through the quiet streets. The world outside felt still, the kind of calm that only came with late winter nights. Harry hummed softly along to the radio, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.

“So,” he said after a moment, glancing over at me, “did you have fun tonight?”

“I did,” I admitted, smiling. “Your mum really knows how to throw a party.”

“She does,” he agreed, grinning. “But I think the mistletoe was her favorite part.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m sure it was.”

We fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need filling. Then, as we turned a corner, Harry suddenly slowed the car, his eyes lighting up with recognition.

“That’s it,” he said, pointing to a warmly lit building just ahead. “That’s the bar I told you about—the one I wanted to take you to.”

I followed his gaze, taking in the charming old-fashioned pub with its twinkling lights and ivy-covered sign. “It looks amazing.”

“Good,” he said, shifting the car into park. “Because we’re making a pit stop.”

I blinked in surprise. “What? Now?”

“Now,” he said firmly, already unbuckling his seatbelt. He turned to me with a playful grin. “Come on. You’re not getting out of this one.”

Before I could protest, he was out of the car, circling around to my side to open the door. The cold air rushed in, but his outstretched hand and infectious enthusiasm warmed me more than my coat ever could. Smiling, I took his hand, letting him help me out of the car.

The snow crunched softly beneath our feet as Harry led me to the pub’s entrance. The wooden door creaked open, revealing a cozy interior filled with warm lighting, laughter, and the soft hum of music. He held the door for me, his eyes sparkling as he followed me inside.

“This,” he said as we found a quiet corner table, “is one of my favorite spots in the city. Figured it was about time I shared it with you.”

I smiled, taking in the quaint charm of the bar. “I’m glad you did.”

Harry leaned back, his grin softening as he looked at me. “So am I. Now, what are we drinking?”

I glanced at the menu briefly before setting it down with a grin. “I’ll start with a shot of Fireball,” I said, glancing at Harry for his reaction.

He raised an eyebrow, laughing. “Straight to Fireball, huh? You’re full of surprises.”

“What can I say? It’s festive,” I replied with a shrug. “What about you?”

“I’ll take a whiskey neat,” he said, flagging down the bartender.

As our drinks arrived, I picked up the small glass, holding it up in a toast. “To impromptu pit stops and good company.”

Harry clinked his glass against mine, his smile warm. “To that.”

I knocked back the shot, the cinnamon burn spreading warmly through my chest. Harry watched, clearly amused, before sipping his own drink. The atmosphere in the bar was cozy and alive, the soft murmur of conversations and the occasional burst of laughter adding to the charm.

After a few moments of quiet, Harry set his glass down, his fingers fidgeting with the rim. “Y/N,” he began, his tone more serious now, “I owe you an apology.”

I tilted my head, surprised. “For what?”

“For not texting much while I was recording,” he said, meeting my gaze. “It wasn’t because I didn’t want to. Quite the opposite, actually.”

I stayed silent, giving him space to continue.

“It’s just… I felt drawn to you, and I didn’t know how to handle it,” he admitted, his voice softer. “I didn’t want to make things harder for either of us if I couldn’t be around, or if our schedules didn’t line up. It felt unfair to pull you into something when I couldn’t guarantee how often we’d see each other.”

His honesty caught me off guard, but in the best way. I leaned forward slightly, my elbows resting on the table. “Harry, I get it. You’ve got a lot on your plate, and it’s not like I expect constant texts or updates. But… I appreciate you telling me that.”

He let out a small breath, his shoulders relaxing. “I just didn’t want you to think I wasn’t interested. Because I am. Very much.”

My cheeks warmed, and I took another sip of my drink to buy myself a moment. “Well, for what it’s worth, I thought about you too. A lot.”

His smile returned, soft and genuine, as he leaned forward. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said, laughing softly. “I just didn’t know if it was mutual or if I was imagining things.”

“You weren’t,” he said, his voice steady. “Not even for a second.”

The weight of his words settled between us, the unspoken feelings finally taking shape. The noise of the bar faded into the background as we held each other’s gaze, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“Good,” I said finally, breaking the silence with a small smile. “Because I’m not imagining this either—this pit stop? Definitely worth it.”

He chuckled, raising his glass to me again. “Here’s to more pit stops, then.”

I clinked my glass against his, the warmth of the moment spreading through me.

Harry waved down the bartender and ordered himself one more drink, a smile playing on his lips as he looked over at me. “You go ahead, though—order another if you want. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get home safe.”

His words, coupled with the warmth in his voice, made me feel completely at ease. I grinned, raising my hand to flag the bartender. “All right, two more for me, then.”

As we chatted and finished our drinks, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Harry’s wit and charm kept me laughing, and I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so at ease with someone. When the bartender cleared away the empty glasses, Harry glanced at me with a teasing grin.

“Ready to call it a night, or do you want to take over the jukebox and turn this into a dance party?” he joked.

I laughed, shaking my head. “As tempting as that is, I think I’m ready to head home.”

He stood, offering his hand to help me up. “Then let’s get you back.”

The snow had lightened as we drove through the quiet streets, but it still sparkled in the streetlights, blanketing everything in a serene white glow. I leaned back in my seat, the warmth of the car lulling me into a calm state as I watched Harry. He looked focused yet relaxed, one hand on the steering wheel while the other rested casually on his lap.

After a moment, as if sensing my gaze, he reached over and placed a hand on my thigh. The gesture was simple, but it sent a warm jolt through me, grounding me in the moment. His touch was light, reassuring, and yet it carried a weight that made my heart race.

I looked at him, smiling softly. “You know, you’re really beautiful.”

He turned to glance at me briefly, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Beautiful, huh? Don’t let the lads hear you say that—they’ll never let me live it down.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m serious. You are. Inside and out.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing against my leg in an almost absentminded motion. “Thanks, love. But you should know—it’s not every day I get called ‘beautiful.’ Pretty, maybe. Gorgeous, occasionally. But beautiful? That’s new.”

I laughed again, warmth blooming in my chest. “Well, you should hear it more often.”

He glanced at me again, his eyes soft and filled with something I couldn’t quite place. “I think I like hearing it from you the most.”

The car fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds the hum of the engine and the faint crackle of snow beneath the tires. I found myself wishing the drive could stretch on forever, the intimacy of the moment something I didn’t want to let go of.

When Harry pulled the car into the small lot outside my flat, he turned off the engine and stepped out, circling around to open my door before I could even reach for the handle. His gentlemanly gesture brought a small smile to my lips as I stepped out, the cold night air brushing against my cheeks.

“I’ll walk you up,” he said, his voice low and warm.

“You really don’t have to,” I started, but he shook his head, giving me a pointed look.

“Not up for debate,” he said, his grin softening any potential protest. “Come on.”

We walked together toward the building, the snow crunching softly beneath our feet. The tipsy warmth in my chest made everything feel slightly dreamlike—the glow of the streetlights, the way Harry’s shoulder brushed against mine, the sound of his laugh when I nearly slipped on a patch of ice but caught myself.

When we reached my door, I turned to thank him, but he stepped closer, his expression both amused and fond. “You’ve got a little something,” he said, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered for a moment, his touch soft and deliberate.

The simple gesture made my heart flutter, and he noticed. His grin turned playful. “Still feeling a little tipsy, are we?”

“A little,” I admitted with a laugh, leaning back against the door for balance. “But I’m good. Thanks for making sure I got home.”

“Well, someone had to,” he teased, his voice light but his gaze steady. Then, after a pause, his tone softened. “I’m really glad we did this tonight.”

“Me too,” I said, my voice quieter now.

Harry stepped just a fraction closer, his hands resting lightly in his pockets. “You know,” he said, his voice dropping a little lower, “I’ve been thinking about that kiss earlier. I’d really like to kiss you again.”

His words sent a thrill through me, and without even stopping to think, I reached for his jacket, pulling him toward me. His hands instinctively found my waist, steadying me as I leaned up and pressed my lips to his.

This kiss wasn’t like the one under the mistletoe—this one was deeper, more purposeful. His lips moved with mine, warm and unhurried, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The cold air, the snow, the late hour—none of it mattered.

When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested lightly against mine, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re full of surprises,” he murmured, his voice laced with both amusement and something deeper.

I smiled, my cheeks flushed from more than just the cold. “Goodnight, Harry,” I whispered, unlocking my door.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replied, his tone soft and lingering.

When I woke up the next morning, the soft light of a snowy winter day filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. My head felt light—not from drinking too much, but from the events of the night before. As I stretched and reached for my phone on the bedside table, a small smile spread across my face when I saw a text from Harry.

Harry: Morning, love. What are you doing for Christmas? Are you seeing your family?

I stared at the screen for a moment, my chest tightening slightly. My family was back in the States, and with everything going on, traveling wasn’t an option this year. I had already come to terms with spending Christmas alone. It wasn’t ideal, but it was fine—I’d planned a quiet day at home.

I typed out a response, my fingers hesitating briefly before hitting send.

Y/N: Good morning ☺️ No big plans—just staying home this year. My family’s in America, so it’ll be a solo Christmas. But I don’t mind.

Setting the phone down, I shuffled out of bed to start my morning routine. By the time I returned, Harry had replied.

Harry: Home alone? That doesn’t sit right with me. Come to ours—Mum would love to have you, and so would I.

The offer tugged at something in me, his kindness shining through even in a text. But as much as the idea of being surrounded by his family sounded wonderful, I didn’t want to intrude. Christmas was their time to be together, and I didn’t want to take away from that.

Y/N: That’s really sweet of you, but you should spend Christmas with your family. It’s their day with you, and I wouldn’t want to interrupt. I’ll be okay, I promise.

His response came quickly, and I could almost hear the concern in his tone.

Harry: You wouldn’t be interrupting. You’re part of the family now, you know.

I smiled at his words, warmth spreading through me, but I stayed firm in my decision.

Y/N: You’re lovely, but I’ll be fine. Thank you for the offer, though—it means a lot.

Harry: If you’re sure… but I’m still not entirely convinced you’re okay with it.

His care made my chest tighten, but I knew this was the right choice.

Y/N: I promise, I’m okay. Have a wonderful Christmas with your family.

As I set my phone down, I couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, knowing someone cared enough to ask. While Christmas would be quiet this year, the warmth from Harry’s offer lingered, making me feel less alone than I’d expected.

The day passed slowly, but pleasantly. I spent the morning baking cookies, letting the warm, sweet scent fill my flat. It was cozy, and for a while, I didn’t mind being alone. After tasting one (or three) cookies to make sure they turned out right, I curled up on the couch for a nap, letting the peaceful quiet of the day lull me to sleep.

When I woke, the snow outside had thickened, blanketing the world in a soft white hush. I made myself a cup of hot chocolate, grabbed a blanket, and put on a Christmas movie, letting the cheerful music and festive scenes brighten my evening.

I was halfway through the film, laughing softly at the antics on screen, when a sudden knock at the door startled me. My brow furrowed in confusion. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and my neighbors rarely stopped by unannounced.

I set down my mug, tightened the blanket around me, and went to the door. When I opened it, my mouth fell open in surprise. There, standing on my snowy doorstep, was Harry, grinning mischievously, a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he said, his tone light. “Santa’s here, and he’s traded in the sleigh for a Mini Cooper.”

I blinked, too stunned to respond at first. Finally, I laughed, shaking my head. “Harry, what are you doing here? I thought you were spending the day with your family.”

He shrugged, his grin softening into something warmer. “I was. But it didn’t feel quite right, knowing you were here alone. So, I figured Santa could make one more stop.”

My heart swelled at his words, and I stepped aside to let him in, the cold air rushing in briefly before I closed the door behind him. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” I said, smiling.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he teased, slipping off his coat and placing the bag on the counter. “I brought some things—thought we could make Christmas a little less solo.”

I glanced at the bag, curious. “What’s in there?”

“Just a few essentials,” he said with mock seriousness, pulling out a bottle of wine, a small box wrapped in festive paper, and a Tupperware container. “Cookies from Mum. She insisted.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I watched him. “You really didn’t have to do this, Harry.”

“I know,” he said, meeting my eyes. “But I wanted to.”

The sincerity in his voice made my chest tighten, and I felt a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the cookies or the hot chocolate. Christmas, it seemed, had just gotten a whole lot better.

As Harry set the bag down on the counter, he pulled out a small, carefully wrapped box and handed it to me. The paper was simple but elegant, with a festive bow on top, and it made my heart flutter.

“What’s this?” I asked, looking between the gift and him, my brow furrowing in surprise. “Harry, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

He grinned, leaning casually against the counter. “I know I didn’t have to. But I wanted to. Go on—open it.”

I hesitated for a moment, my fingers brushing over the smooth wrapping paper. With a small smile, I carefully tore it open, revealing a beautiful hardback book with an embossed cover. My breath caught as I realized what it was.

A special edition of The Great Gatsby.

The gilded details on the cover shimmered in the soft light, and the pages had the kind of crispness that only came with a brand-new book. I traced the cover with my fingertips, momentarily speechless.

“You… remembered,” I said softly, looking up at him. “This is incredible, Harry.”

He smiled, his eyes warm and slightly amused. “Of course, I remembered. You told me it was your favorite. Plus, you lit up when you talked about it that night at Mum’s party. I figured it might be something you’d like.”

“Like?” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “I love it. This is… it’s perfect.”

Harry shrugged, though the grin on his face told me he was pleased. “Good. I wasn’t sure if you already had this edition, but I figured even if you did, a backup wouldn’t hurt.”

I hugged the book to my chest, still marveling at the thoughtfulness behind the gift. “Thank you, Harry. Really. This means so much.”

He stepped closer, his expression softening. “You’re welcome, love. Merry Christmas.”

For a moment, we just stood there, the cozy warmth of the room and the quiet snowfall outside wrapping around us like a blanket. I couldn’t help but feel that, somehow, this was exactly where I was meant to be.

I clutched The Great Gatsby to my chest, still basking in the warmth of Harry’s thoughtful gift, but a pang of guilt crept in as I realized I hadn’t gotten him anything in return.

“Harry,” I said, biting my lip. “This is so thoughtful, and I feel terrible—I didn’t get you anything.”

He shook his head, his grin easy and reassuring. “You don’t have to give me anything, Y/N. Seeing you smile like that is enough.”

Still, I wanted to do something for him, no matter how small. My eyes lit up as I remembered the cookies I’d made earlier. “Wait! I do have something.” I rushed over to the kitchen counter, grabbing the plate of freshly baked cookies. “Okay, maybe it’s not as fancy as a special edition book, but these are homemade, and I promise they’re pretty good.”

Harry’s eyes lit up as he took one from the plate. “Homemade cookies? Now, this is a proper Christmas gift.”

He bit into one, his expression immediately shifting into mock seriousness before he let out a low, exaggerated moan. “Oh, my God,” he said around the bite. “Y/N, this is… ridiculous. These are so good.”

I laughed, watching his dramatic reaction. “Are you being serious, or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

He swallowed the bite and held up the cookie like it was a rare treasure. “Dead serious. These are unreal. You’ve been hiding this talent from me? What else are you secretly amazing at?”

I rolled my eyes, unable to stop smiling. “They’re just cookies, Harry.”

“No, no,” he said, grabbing another one. “These aren’t just cookies. These are a masterpiece. Like, I’m calling Mum tomorrow and telling her to step up her game.”

I couldn’t help but laugh again, his infectious humor and over-the-top enthusiasm making the moment feel so much lighter. “Well, I’m glad you like them,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll have to bake more if it means getting this kind of reaction out of you.”

Harry grinned, crumbs on his lips as he reached for yet another cookie. “Deal. But fair warning—I might show up at your door every time I get a craving now.”

“Good,” I said, surprising myself with the ease of my response. “You’re welcome anytime.”

He paused, his grin softening into something more genuine as he looked at me. “I might just take you up on that.”

The way he said it made my chest tighten in the best way, and as we stood there, sharing cookies and laughter, I couldn’t help but think that this Christmas, though unexpected, was quickly becoming one of my favorites.

As we stood there, the room cozy and filled with the faint smell of cookies, my eyes wandered to Harry. His sweater sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, leaving his tattoos exposed, a striking contrast to the softness of the moment. The intricate designs on his arms seemed even more captivating in the warm light of the flat, and I couldn’t help but notice the way they moved slightly as he reached for another cookie.

I felt a wave of warmth rush through me, one that had nothing to do with the heat of the oven still lingering in the air. My gaze flicked to his face, his lips curved into an easy smile as he chewed, oblivious to the way he had completely stolen my attention. Something about him—the way he looked at me, the way he was simply here—felt too perfect to ignore.

Before I could overthink it, I leaned forward, lightly pressing my lips to his. It was soft, almost tentative, but enough to make my heart race.

Harry froze for just a moment, clearly caught off guard, before he set the cookie down and reached for me, his hands resting gently on my waist. He pulled me closer, deepening the kiss with a passion that made my knees feel weak. His lips moved with mine, slow yet deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every second.

When we finally broke apart, I stayed close, my forehead resting lightly against his. His green eyes searched mine, his expression soft but tinged with a flicker of something playful.

“What are your plans for New Year’s?” he asked, his voice low and warm, his breath still mingling with mine.

The question caught me off guard, but I managed a small smile. “Nothing planned yet,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why?”

He grinned, his fingers brushing lightly against my sides. “Because I think we should make some cookies. Together.”

I felt my heart skip a beat, the thought of spending New Year’s with him lighting up something inside me I hadn’t expected. “I think I’d like that,” I said, my voice steady despite the nervous excitement building in my chest.

His grin softened, turning into something more sincere. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

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littlesoulshine · 1 month ago

Text

"little to the left, bun—"

you duck and kick straight into the vamp’s ribs before dean can even finish. the force sends it crashing into the wall, splintering wood and shaking the whole damn room.

"jesus," dean mutters, but there’s no time for commentary.

another one lunges, fangs showing, claws outstretched—sam’s alreadygot his machete up, ready to swing, but you’re already moving. to help him, you launch yourself forward, jumping off the coffee table, and slamming both feet into the vamp’s chest.

it hits the ground hard, wheezing as the air rushes out of its lungs. before it can recover, you roll, grab the machete off the floor—probably dean's, lost in the scuffle—and in one fluid motion, you’re on it, straddling its chest, blade pressed against its throat.

"say goodnight, evil bitch," you growl.

the machete swings, clean and precise. head off. blood drips from your knuckles, splattered across your torn tank top, but you’re smiling ear to ear with an adrenaline rush as the vampire crumples to the ground at your feet.

"nice one, bunny," dean huffs, wiping his blade on his jeans before kicking the body for good measure. "you been holdin’ out on us?"

you laugh, breathless, flipping the machete in your grip before sliding it back into its sheath. "you guys never let me fight. i had to show off a little."

sam exhales, shaking his head, but there’s pride in his eyes, even as he reaches out to brush his fingers over a fresh scratch on your arm. "still reckless," he murmurs, thumb swiping over your skin.

you pout up at him, bouncing on the balls of your feet. "but i got him first."

dean snorts, stepping up behind you, his chest pressing to your back, warm and solid. "yeah, and almost gave me a fuckin’ heart attack in the process. what were you thinkin’, charging at a vamp like that?"

"i was thinkin’ i could handle it," you tease, tilting your head up, letting your nose brush against his jaw.

his hands tighten on your hips, possessive, his breath warm against your cheek. "you’re lucky you’re cute, sweetheart."

sam chuckles, stepping closer, towering over you as he tilts your chin up with two fingers, his hazel eyes scanning your face. "still. let us take the lead next time, yeah?"

you hum, pretending to consider, before flashing a wicked little smile. "hmm…maybe."

dean groans. "jesus, she’s impossible."

you giggle, and after a second sam’s lips are on yours, his hands framing your face, tilting you up as he kisses you slow, deep. you melt, fingers curling into his jacket, sighing into his mouth.

then dean’s grip tightens, and before you can catch your breath, he’s tugging you away from sam, pressing his own kiss against your lips, rougher, hungrier. his teeth graze your bottom lip, and you squeak—he loves that sound, eats it up like it’s his favorite thing in the world.

when he finally pulls back, you’re dizzy, with your plush lips swollen as you breathe in shallow, shaky gasps.

dean grins, smug. "told ya. lucky you’re cute."

sam sighs, rubbing a hand down his face, but he’s smiling, too. "c’mon, let’s get you patched up, troublemaker."

you giggle again, still giddy, still warm from their hands, their mouths.

"fine, but only if i get the best bed at the motel."

dean and sam exchange a look.

"rock, paper, scissors."

tags: @soldiersgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @bocadelinfierno @sunnyteume @bejeweledinterludes @k-slla @lunaleah @pieandflannel

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missmatchablossom · 1 year ago

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acting on every urge to annoy the fuck out of your boyfriend, satoru gojo

a/n: fluff, female reader, slightly suggestive scenes

tags: @kenqki @sad-darksoul

Gojo Satoru had an annoyingly nice ass - rounded, perky, enough to fill out all tight-fitting pants he liked to wear. And the perk about being his girlfriend was that you got to admire it all the time, which was exactly what you were doing. Gojo had his back to you as he sauted something on the stove for the dinner he was preparing for the two of you, blissfully unaware of the intrusive thoughts brewing in your head.

He somehow had a 6th sense for whenever you were about to smack his ass, always catching your hand right before it made contact. But you were feeling lucky today.

You launched up from your spot on the couch, running at him full speed as you wound your hand up and smacked it against his ass with more force than what you intended on using. Gojo jerked forward, grunting as the spatula that was in his hand fell to the floor. He snapped his head around to look at you with wide eyes and his jaw dropped in disbelief - but you were too busy laughing your ass off.

“Woman where the hell did that gorilla strength come from,” he said begrudgingly, rubbing his ass with both palms.

“Sorry,” you said, catching your breath in between laughs. “You’re just standing there all caked up, I couldn’t help myself.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, laughing along with you.

“When I pay you back though,” he began, stalking towards you. It happened so quickly, the way he bent you over so your hands were braced against the kitchen counter, your ass flush against his front.

“It’ll be in this position,” he said, giving your ass a squeeze before he released you like nothing happened, resuming his cooking.

Another blissful benefit of being Gojo’s girlfriend was that he liked to sleep in just his boxers. It was your nightly routine to cuddle up against his bare chest, pressing your cheek against his smooth skin and reveling in his sweet post-shower scent.

You trailed your nose along the skin of his collar like you usually did, squeezing against him as close as possible. He stroked your back absentmindedly as he scrolled through his phone, until the urge to bite him suddenly overtook you. You placed a light kiss over his shoulder before sinking your teeth into him.

Gojo let out a dramatic series of “ow, ow, OW”s as he backed away from you, sliding far into his side of the bed.

“The hell was that for?” he said, brows adorably furrowed in confusion at the grin on your face.

“Just for being cute and smelling so good,” you said, scooching closer to him again. He smiled at the compliment, but his brows remained scrunched up.

“Last time I checked you liked how cute and sexy smelling I was, so why are you punishing me for it,” he asked, so close to the edge of the bed that he’d fall off if he moved any further from you.

“It’s cute aggression. Think of it as love bites,” you said sweetly, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips, trapping him.

“Should I be turned on or scared?” he joked, raising a perfect brow at you. You laughed as you smacked his shoulder.

“Neither. You should be honored. Think of each bite as me saying I love you,” you said, unable to keep a straight face.

Gojo easily freed himself of your grip, flipping so he was laying on top of you with the full weight of his body over yours the way you liked it.

“Kinky. But alright, if thats how you want to be loved then,” he said, before he bent his head down, nipping every inch of exposed skin he could access.

You had terrible blood circulation, resulting in a chronic state of frozen fingertips and toes. It was especially worse during the winter - and unfortunately for Gojo, it was an especially cold day.

You unlocked the door to your home, heart warming at the sight of Gojo cozied up in one of your favorite outfits of his: grey sweatpants and a fitted black longsleeve. He looked up from the game he was playing to welcome you home with a smile, beckoning you towards with him with outstretched arms.

You stripped off your outerlayers in record time, practically jumping into his warm embrace. You couldn’t help yourself as you slid your frigid fingers into his shirt, warming your hands against his abs. He hissed as soon as your hands made contact with his skin, tensing up while you sighed in relief at his warmth.

“Ah, so nice and warm,” you said airily, the feeling returning to your fingertips. Gojo mock-glared at you, but made no move to remove your hands.

“You just wanted an excuse to feel my abs huh,” he teased, flexing himself under your fingertips. You rolled your eyes as you laughed, removing your hands from under his shirt.

He reached out towards you, tugging you into his lap as he wrapped both of you in a blanket.

“If your hands are still cold I have something big and warm you can ho-” he began, but he froze as soon as you pressed your frigid toes against the warm skin of his calves.

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shybluebirdninja · 5 months ago

Text

Sleep Striker

Summary: You discover that Bucky sleepwalks—and it’s not the calm, peaceful kind of sleepwalking. You wake up to find him in full-on combat mode with the couch.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Note : fluff

The night was supposed to be peaceful. You’d spent the entire evening watching Netflix with Bucky, eating popcorn, and joking around like any normal couple. By the time you both hit the sack, you were expecting nothing but a quiet night’s sleep, maybe punctuated by Bucky’s usual snores.

But no.

Around 2 AM, you woke up to the sound of something crashing in the living room. Your heart leapt into your throat, thinking for a second that maybe someone had broken in. Instinctively, you reached for the baseball bat you kept beside the bed (Bucky insisted on keeping a knife there, but you’d settled on a less dramatic weapon). Slowly, you tiptoed toward the door, already mentally preparing yourself for some horror-movie showdown with a burglar.

But what you found was so much worse.

There, in the dim glow of the living room lamp, was Bucky Barnes—your sweet, grumpy, 100-year-old boyfriend—throwing punches at thin air like he was in the middle of a battle.

“What the hell…” you whispered, blinking in disbelief.

Bucky, still completely asleep, ducked and weaved as if he were dodging invisible enemies, his fists flying through the air with lethal precision. His face was set in that intense, focused expression he wore when he was in full-on Winter Soldier mode, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of fear and… laughter? This was ridiculous. Your boyfriend was sleep-fighting in the living room.

You set the bat down carefully, still trying to process the situation, when Bucky suddenly spun around and landed a full-force punch on the couch.

The couch.

It made a sad thud as the cushions absorbed the blow, but Bucky didn’t stop. He kicked out at the coffee table next, sending it skidding a few inches across the floor.

“Bucky!” you hissed, trying to keep your voice low but urgent. “Hey, babe, wake up!”

He didn’t hear you. Instead, he crouched low, as if he were avoiding gunfire, and rolled behind the armchair, his metal arm glinting faintly in the darkness. You bit your lip, trying so hard not to laugh, but it was impossible. This was like watching an overgrown toddler reenact an action movie in his sleep.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, “how the hell do I handle this?”

You’d heard about sleepwalkers before, and you were pretty sure you weren’t supposed to wake them up. But you couldn’t just let Bucky wage war against your furniture all night. The man had already drop-kicked the coffee table, and at this rate, he’d be suplexing the bookshelf by sunrise.

You crept a little closer, careful not to startle him. “Bucky, babe, it’s just me. You’re, uh, safe. There’s no Hydra agents in the apartment, I promise.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he launched himself toward the couch again, this time pulling off a move that looked like it came straight out of a Captain America fight scene. He tackled the poor couch as if it had personally offended him, his arms wrapping around the back cushions in a chokehold.

“Bucky, stop! The couch isn’t the enemy!” you half-whispered, half-yelled, trying to stifle your laughter. “Oh my god, you’re gonna kill the couch…”

He grunted, still deep in his dream, and threw a wild punch that just barely missed the coffee table. You winced at the near miss. That could’ve been bad. Like, broken furniture and a pissed-off Bucky kind of bad.

At this point, you realized you had to do something before your apartment looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Slowly, cautiously, you approached Bucky like you were approaching a wild animal—because, let’s be real, that’s kind of what he was right now.

“Bucky…” you said softly, reaching out a hand. “Come back to bed, babe. You don’t have to fight the couch anymore. You won. It’s dead.”

He hesitated for a moment, his muscles twitching like he was on the verge of launching another attack. But instead of another round of couch-punching, he slowly stood up, blinking groggily as if he was coming out of a fog.

You let out a breath of relief. “Thank God.”

But your relief was short-lived. Because as soon as Bucky turned around, he spotted the kitchen chairs—lined up perfectly in a row by the table—and apparently, in his half-asleep mind, they were the next Hydra targets.

“No,” you groaned, as Bucky lunged toward the chairs. “Not the chairs! I like those chairs!”

He grabbed one, flipping it over like it was an enemy combatant, and before you could stop him, he had another chair in a headlock. You stood there, watching in sheer disbelief as Bucky Barnes—the most feared assassin in the world—battled a set of IKEA furniture like it was the final boss fight of his life.

“Bucky, babe, please!” you shouted, a mix of panic and laughter bubbling out. “I can’t explain this to the landlord!”

Finally, in a last-ditch effort, you ran over and grabbed his arm—his metal arm, because that seemed like the safer bet. “Bucky, it’s me! You’re sleepwalking!”

At first, he didn’t respond. His eyes were still glazed over, lost in whatever dream battlefield he was trapped in. But then, slowly, he blinked. His metal arm relaxed under your grip, and he looked down at you, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“...What the hell?” he muttered, blinking again.

You let out the biggest sigh of relief. “Oh my god, thank you. I thought you were gonna destroy the whole apartment.”

Bucky glanced around, still looking dazed. “What… what happened?”

“You, uh… kinda went to war with the furniture,” you said, biting your lip to keep from laughing again. “You were sleepwalking.”

His eyes widened. “I did what?”

“You attacked the couch. And the coffee table. And, um, the chairs,” you explained, gesturing to the wreckage around the living room. “It was… a lot.”

Bucky groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Shit. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, no,” you reassured him quickly. “I’m fine. But the couch… not so much.”

He looked over at the couch, which was now sagging slightly from the multiple punches it had taken. “Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Guess I really went at it, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Babe, you suplexed the couch. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Bucky winced. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted, grinning up at him. “It was kind of… impressive, honestly. I mean, you took out an entire living room while asleep. That’s some next-level stuff.”

He gave you a sheepish look, still clearly embarrassed. “I’ll fix it in the morning.”

“You better,” you teased. “But for now, can we please go back to bed before you decide to fight the fridge or something?”

Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll… I’ll stay away from the appliances.”

You wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him back toward the bedroom. “Good idea, soldier. Let’s just stick to sleeping from now on.”

As you both crawled back into bed, you couldn’t help but steal one last glance at the wrecked living room, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Bucky?” you whispered, snuggling up next to him.

“Yeah?”

“If you ever get the urge to fight the couch again, maybe, like, wake me up first?”

He groaned, pulling the covers over his head. “Don’t remind me.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Goodnight, Super Soldier Sleepwalker.”

“Goodnight,” he muttered, already halfway back to sleep.

But this time, thankfully, without the couch-wrestling.

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millalune · 7 days ago

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suprise - park jongseong

pairing - boyfriend jay x reader

synopsis - when your long distance boyfriend jay decides to surprise you, you couldn’t be happier.

word count - 0.8k

You were sprawled out on your couch, wrapped in the softest blanket you owned, mindlessly scrolling through your phone.

The TV played in the background, something you had put on just for noise, but nothing really held your attention.

Your attention had been elsewhere all day on him.

Jay.

The distance between you two felt especially unbearable tonight. Maybe it was the weather, the way the rain tapped against your window like a reminder of how alone you felt without him here.

Or maybe it was just one of those nights when the ache of missing him weighed a little heavier on your chest.

You sighed, pulling your blanket tighter around you as you opened your messages with him.

Jay [6:12 PM]: “Busy today, but I’ll call you before you sleep, okay?”

That was hours ago. It wasn’t like him to go this long without at least sending a quick text.

You tried not to overthink it. Maybe he got caught up with something. Maybe he was exhausted. Maybe

A knock at your door made you jolt.

You frowned, glancing at the time. 11:43 PM. Who the hell was knocking this late? You hesitated, creeping toward the door cautiously.

“Who is it?” you called, your voice wary.

Silence.

Then—

“It’s me.”

Your heart stopped.

You knew that voice.

Your hands trembled as you fumbled with the lock, yanking the door open so fast you nearly tripped over yourself.

And there he was.

Jay.

Standing in your doorway, rain-soaked and breathtakingly real. A black hoodie clung to his frame, droplets of rain slipping from his damp hair onto his forehead.

He was carrying his bag, his suitcase resting beside him, as if he had just stepped off a plane and come straight here.

Your breath hitched. “You’re… you’re here?”

A slow smile tugged at his lips, his eyes filled with something tender, something that made your chest tighten. “Surprise.”

You didn’t think you just moved.

You launched yourself into his arms, the force nearly knocking him back. His bag hit the floor as he caught you, strong arms wrapping around you as he buried his face into your neck.

His scent familiar, comforting, intoxicating flooded your senses, and suddenly, the weight of missing him came crashing down all at once.

“You idiot,” you mumbled against his shoulder, gripping him tighter. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

Jay chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Kinda ruins the surprise if I do.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands framing his face, your thumbs brushing over the slight stubble on his jaw.

His eyes searched yours, filled with something soft and adoring, like he was memorizing every inch of your face.

“How?” you asked, still in disbelief.

He grinned, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “Took the first flight I could. I couldn’t do another night without you.”

Your throat tightened. “You’re such a sap.”

Jay smirked. “And yet, you love me for it.”

You rolled your eyes, but he wasn’t wrong.

Instead of answering, you kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate it was slow, lingering, the kind of kiss that made time feel irrelevant.

His lips were warm against yours despite the rain, his hands slipping around your waist, holding you like he was afraid you might disappear.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Can I come in?” he murmured, voice laced with amusement.

You laughed softly, stepping aside. “Only because you traveled thousands of miles.”

He grinned, grabbing his suitcase and stepping inside. The moment the door shut behind him, you tugged him toward the couch, still unwilling to let go.

He didn’t mind he let you hold onto him, let you steal every second of warmth he had to offer.

Jay pulled you into his lap, arms encircling you as you nestled against his chest. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

“This still doesn’t feel real,” you mumbled.

He pressed a kiss to your hair. “Better believe it, baby. You’re stuck with me now.”

You smiled against his hoodie, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I’m never letting you go.”

Jay tightened his arms around you. “Never.”

And just like that, the distance didn’t matter anymore. Because he was here, finally, where he belonged right in your arms.

milla’s note - I remember doing long distance that shit was so hard to be honest but if you really love the person it always works out in the end!

@millalune please don’t translate or plagiarize my work!

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strongermonster · 4 months ago

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the desk chair i have came with this type of wheel

which are utter fucking garbage oh my god. i've had the chair around a year and a half or so and every single one is broken. they're gummed up with my long-ass curly hair and my cats hair and whatever random fibres it seems to magnetically attract where it weaves them into some sort of evil yarn ball.

the plastic is pitted to hell from where it dented/embedded random crap from running over absolutely anything that might have been on the floor and absorbing it into the shitty plastic. if you were to judge me by nothing but the state of my chair wheels, you would think i live in some kind of fucking gravel pit. i swear to you i sweep my floors.

the wheels are made of 2 plastic disks on a metal axle and i just my weight + rolling around caused about half of them to either fully pop off or to bend at an angle, meaning they DRAG horrendously and have scraped my floor to shit. it's impossible to scoot closer to my desk to sit comfortably. trying to roll anywhere just grinds the plastic horribly along the concrete floor making a noise that sounds like if you threw lego and gargoyles at a belt sander. moving in any direction is an uphill battle.

i tried a couple weeks ago pulling them off to clean them out, re-grease them, and put them back on, but some had cracked entirely, and others had turned white and deformed at the joining part from being dragged for so long.

so i ordered some of the roller blade style wheels and just now installed them and when i righted my chair and went to sit down, i yanked it like i used to have to with the old shitty wheels, but these new babies GLIDE smooth as all fuck, so what i actually did was launch my chair entirely across the room where it lost approximately 0 momentum until it slammed into my bookcases and sent my sleeping cats running for the hills through a meteor shower of novels and knickknacks.

when i put it back at my desk (it was like pushing air, oh my god??) i went to sit and just the weight of my thighs kissing the seat sent the whole chair effortlessly swimming along out of my ass's reach, nearly sending me straight to the floor. when my cat jumped up in my lap, the force of her small body moved us both.

ten outta fuckin ten, exactly what i wanted, i love these. i could probably send myself across the room with a sneeze.

#mad too bc this chair cost me $300+ and i took me YEARS to save up #and they put the cheapest shittiest wheels on it #had to save up to spend like $40+ on it to get Good wheels #hopefully they last and have no issues but so far my thoughts on them are: WHEEEE!!!#jj stuff #also as an added bonus they're a fun and pretty shade of blue #which we all know is the second fastest colour behind yellow (in vibes not science)

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a-aexotic · 1 year ago

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✫𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆, i can see you.

✫ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | fighting, swearing, tristan being an asshole, breaking things (not too graphic promise LOL) ✫ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | hey yall, i'm back! i hope everyone enjoys! also i tagged everyone who seemed interested, i'm sorry for the VERY late update. i'm back, mwahhh. also planning a nate archibald series, who'd be interested? lmk! ✫ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | @colbybrocks @weepingwitchofthewest @shady-writtingtalk @zulpix-blog @wheelerslover @dogmom600 @damnhati @remussbitch @yourmumstoyboy2-blog @1-800-starkindustrie

The front door opened suddenly and she whipped her head to make eye contact with... Tristan Dugray? Oh, so that's where she's heard that name!

Y/N couldn't control as her mouth flew open. She also couldn't control the words that came out of her mouth as she saw him. "Oh, you've gotta be shitting me."

After Y/N had locked eyes with Tristan she whipped her head to face her father. "You're engaged to Tristan's mother?!"

Her father and Kristan looked surprised — they both exchanged glances before they looked back at her. "Yeah, I guess I am?"

His answer sounded more like a question rather than a straight up reply. He didn't know why she was now seemingly opposed to the idea of him being engaged to Kristan simply because of Tristan.

Y/N looked shocked, her jaw practically on the floor. "You're engaged to Tristan's mother." Instead of a question, it sounds more like a statement.

Before any of them could reply, Tristan spoke. "Oh, hello step-sister." You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. He was enjoying see your shocked expression. Tristan's smug remark only fueled your growing frustration and utter disbelief. You shot him a glare that could freeze lava before turning back to her father and Kristan, your mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions.

"So, this is what you meant by wanting me to spend time with my old 'friends'?" Your tone was laced with sarcasm as she addressed her father. "You conveniently forgot to mention that my 'old friend' is now my soon-to-be stepbrother?"

Her father shifted uncomfortably under her accusing gaze, realizing he had failed to properly prepare Y/N for this bombshell. "I... I thought it would be best to tell you in person."

Your frustration mounted with each passing second. "Well you thought wrong, Dad."

Kristan interjected, her voice gentle yet firm. "I understand this is a lot to take in, Y/N. But we're all going to be a family now, and I hope we can find a way to make this work."

Y/N fought the urge to roll her eyes at Kristan's attempt to diffuse the tension as she gave her a sarcastic smile. "Right, a family. How convenient."

Tristan leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed with a smirk still playing on his lips. "Well, this should be fun. Welcome to the family, stepsis."

Y/N resisted the urge to launch herself at him as she shot daggers with her eyes. "Don't call me that."

Kristan shot a glare at her son as she turned to you once again. "We didn't realize it would be such a shock to you,. We should have handled this better."

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside me. You knew you couldn't blame her father entirely, but the whole thing still felt like a betrayal. "I just need some time to process all of this," Y/N muttered, her voice tinged with resignation. "Excuse me."

"I thought that went great." Tristan mumbled as his mother shook his head, your father pulling her in closer.

You turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving your father, Kristan, and Tristan as your retreated to her old bedroom, you couldn't shake the feeling that your carefully constructed world was crumbling around you, and you had no idea how to pick up the pieces.

You stepped out of the car, dramatically slamming the door as you took in the school: Chilton Prep School, where she would be going to school from now. She heard footsteps from behind her, she already knew who it was.

"Welcome home, Cromwell." Tristan's voice rang. You gritted her teeth at the sound of Tristan's voice behind you. You turned slowly, fixing him with a glare that could cut through steel.

"Save it, Dugray," you snapped, your tone dripping with disdain. "This is hardly my idea of home."

Tristan raised an eyebrow, his smirk never faltering. "Well, get used to it. Looks like we're going to be seeing a lot more of each other from now on."

Tristan raised an eyebrow, his smirk never faltering. "Feisty as ever, Cromwell. I'm just offering a friendly welcome to our new classmate, no need to get all... bitchy."

You narrowed your eyes at his remark, resisting the urge to roll them. "I'll take that as a compliment, Dugray. And I don't need your welcome. I know my way around just fine."

Tristan's smirk widened, clearly enjoying getting a rise out of you. "Oh, come on, Cromwell. Where's that famous New York charm? You're going to need it to survive in this stuffy place."

"I'll manage just fine without your help," you shot back, your voice dripping with determination. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have better things to do than stand here and listen to your bullshit."

You turned away from Tristan, walking into Chilton. You already hated it, everyone looked so pretentious and elitist, just like Tristan. But you weren't going to let that intimidate you. You had faced down Manhattan's elite, and you could handle a bunch of snooty prep school kids. You had grown up with these kids, they couldn't be that hard.

As you made your way through the halls, you couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place. The students eyed you with curiosity, whispers following in your wake. But you held your head high, refusing to let them see any hint of insecurity.

Chilton was a far cry from the bustling streets of Manhattan, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were in for a rough ride. But you were Y/N Cromwell, and you didn't back down from a challenge.

With a flick of your hair and a confident stride, you made your way to your first class, ready to show Chilton Prep that Y/N Cromwell was a force to be reckoned with.

"Where are you two going?" You popped a grape in your mouth as you watched Kristan grab her purse from the chair as your father tightened his tie.

"I told you earlier, we have a date."

You raised an eyebrow at your father's response, a hint of skepticism in your voice. "A date? You two are acting like lovesick teenagers."

Kristan chuckled, smoothing down her blouse as she shot you a warm smile. "Well, your father does know how to sweep a lady off her feet."

You rolled your eyes as Kristan and your father shared glances. You all knew what that meant, you had to be left alone with Tristan. You had barely managed to tolerate his presence since arriving at your father's house, and the thought of spending an evening alone with him was enough to make you want to crawl out of your skin.

"Well, have fun on your date," you forced out, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

With a quick goodbye, your father and Kristan headed out the door, leaving you alone, turning around and seeing Tristan in the spacious living room. He caught your gaze and his lips curved up into a smile.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as Tristan's gaze met yours, his smirk sending a wave of irritation coursing through you. You knew exactly what he was thinking – that he had you right where he wanted you, trapped in his company for the evening.

Suppressing a sigh, you turned away from Tristan, refusing to let him see how much he was getting under your skin. Instead, you busied yourself with anything that would distract you from his presence – flipping through a magazine, checking your phone, anything to avoid acknowledging him.

But no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, Tristan was a persistent presence in the room. You could feel his eyes on you, his smug smirk burning into the back of your skull.

Finally unable to take it anymore, you turned to face him with a glare. "What do you want, Tristan?" you snapped, your patience wearing thin.

Tristan's smirk widened, his gaze flickering with amusement. "Just enjoying the view, Cromwell," he replied casually, as if your irritation was nothing more than entertainment to him.

You let out a bitter laugh as you shook your head. "Real classy, Tristan."

Tristan's smirk only widened at your remark, his amusement evident in every line of his face. "Oh, come on, Cromwell," he said, his tone teasing. "You can't tell me you're not used to being the center of attention. You were in New York for five years and you're telling me you didn't have the boys throwing themselves at you?"

You narrowed your eyes at Tristan, refusing to let his words rattle you. "I don't need validation from boys like you," you retorted, your voice dripping with annoyance. "Unlike some people, I have more important things to focus on than relationships."

Tristan's smirk faltered slightly at your cutting remark, but he quickly regained his composure. "Touché, Cromwell," he replied, his tone laced with amusement. "But don't act like you're immune to a little attention. I've seen the way you strut around like you own the place."

"And you don't? Please, I see the way every girl at Chilton looks at you. And I know you well enough to see how much that strokes your already, inflated ego." You paused, your voice laced with sarcasm as you leveled a pointed gaze at Tristan. "But hey, who am I to judge? If you want to bask in the adoration of your fan club, be my guest."

"Oh, I will, Y/N." Tristan let out a laugh as he watched you get all heated. He continued you watch you as you scoffed, turning your head back to the magazine.

You could feel his eyes on you, his amusement practically palpable. But you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. You weren't about to let him see how much he was getting to you. With a determined flick of your wrist, you closed the magazine and stood up from the sofa, shooting Tristan a glare.

"I have better things to do than sit here and listen to you," you declared, your voice laced with determination. With that, you turned on your heel and marched out of the room, leaving Tristan behind with his smug smirk and his insufferable ego.

You refused to let him drag you down to his level – you had bigger things to focus on than his petty games, like actually getting back to Manhattan where you belonged.

As you walked away, Tristan's amusement turned to frustration. He wasn't used to someone challenging him like this, especially not someone like you. With a determined stride, he followed after you, catching up just as you reached the hallway.

As you stormed out of the room, Tristan's smirk faded into a scowl. He watched you go, frustration bubbling up inside him. How dare she walk away from him like that? Without a second thought, Tristan followed after you, his footsteps echoing in the hallway as he caught up to you just as you reached the foyer.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Tristan called out, his voice sharp with annoyance.

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him with a glare. "Away from you," you replied sharply, crossing your arms over your chest. "I can't stand being around you for another second."

Tristan's jaw clenched, his own temper flaring. "Oh, please," he scoffed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Like you're any better. You're nothing but a spoiled brat who thinks she's better than everyone else."

The words hit you like a slap in the face, igniting a firestorm of rage within you. "At least I'm not a narcissistic asshole who gets off on belittling others," you spat, your voice rising with each word. "You think you're so much better but you're not."

Tristan squared his shoulders, meeting your gaze head-on. "I want to know what your problem is," he replied, his tone angry. "You've been acting like you a complete bitch when I'm all trying to do is be your friend."

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. "Oh, spare me the act, Tristan," you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "We both know that's not what you're after. You just want to play your little games and stroke your own ego."

Tristan's jaw clenched, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "And what about you, huh?" he retorted, his voice rising in anger. "You act like you're too good for everyone, like you're above it all. Well, let me tell you something, Y/N – you're not as special as you think you are."

"You know what, Tristan. I don't care about you or your stupid games because all I'm trying to do is get back to New York. All this shit is just a rock in the road," you spat as you turned around, walking away.

"Oh really? What about your obvious drinking problem, that's why your mom sent you away, right?"

You stopped in your track as you took in Tristan's words. Fury was etched across your features as you spun around to face him, your fists clenched at your sides. "How dare you," you seethed, your voice trembling with rage. "You stupid asshole!"

You pushed him as hard as you could, causing him to trip and fall into a table. You heard a loud shattering and both of you just stared at each other before looking down to see glass everywhere.

"Shit, that's my mom's vase." Tristan's eyes widened in shock as he glanced at the shattered remains of the vase on the floor.

Your chest heaved with anger as you glared at Tristan, your fists still clenched at your sides. "You deserved it," you spat, your voice thick with venom. "You had no right to say that."

"Y/N, this vase is like two grand. It was my mom's favorite vase," Tristan scoffed as he stared down at the ground. "She's gonna be fucking pissed, idiot."

You stared back at him with anger but you knew that you needed to figure something out. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you clenched your jaw and met Tristan's gaze head-on. "I know I messed up," you admitted begrudgingly, your voice tight with frustration. "You shouldn't have been a bitch."

"Well you shouldn't have pushed me, like an psycho." Tristan's voice was sharp, but there was a hint of surrender beneath his irritation. He knew that pointing fingers wouldn't solve anything, but he couldn't help but feel defensive in the face of your accusation.

"Well I'm not apologizing-"

"Y/N, we need to figure out what to do before they come home."

And right on cue, the front door opened, revealing your father and Kristan, who froze in shock at the sight of the shattered vase and the two of you standing next to it.

Your father's expression hardened as he took in the scene, his disappointment evident in his eyes. "What in the world happened here?" he demanded, his voice a mix of frustration and disbelief.

masterlist !

series masterlist !

#gilmore girls paris #gilmore girls #gilmore girls tristan #gilmore girls fanfiction #tristan gilmore girls #gilmore girls season 1 #gilmore girls x reader #gilmore girls headers #gilmore girls smut #gilmore girls a year in the life #luke danes #logan huntzberger #lorelai gilmore #rory gilmore #tristan dugray x reader #gilmore girls tristan x reader #tristan dugray fanfic #tristan dugray

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chunniwritesalot · 6 months ago

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lessons with the hamiltons - lh44

in which reader is a teacher, but hates kids

HIII OKAY THIS IS JUST A SILLY LITTLE THING I STARTED AND THEN I COULDN'T STOP WRITING LMAO!! i might make a part 2 if someone asks! dont mind the no lewis header i have no time to make one hahah

cw: ksi's new song mentioned, cursing maybeeee, lewis being a bighead

wc: many

“I hate kids.” You huffed as you walked into the apartment you shared with your husband, kicking off your shoes with an aggressive thud. “Hate, hate, hate them.”

It was ironic, of course. Being a teacher meant you were surrounded by children all day, one of the few jobs where you were supposed to like them—or at least tolerate them. Good thing you were also an amazing actor, masking your exhaustion with a smile every time you stepped into that classroom.

Lewis looked up from his laptop, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a teacher,” he said, as if reminding you of the obvious. “You’re literally paid to not hate them.”

You rolled your eyes, tossing your bag onto the floor before flopping onto the couch beside him. “Yeah, yeah, thanks for the revelation, Captain Obvious. Match my freak for once, would you?”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “What does that even mean? Is that… new slang or something?” He tilted his head, genuinely curious but clearly out of his depth with your words.

“Yup, some of the kids started saying it,” you replied with a sigh, running your hands through your hair. “I guess I picked up on it without thinking.”

Lewis chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You teach 12 year olds. Doesn’t it freak you out a little to be adopting their slang?”

“Nah,” you said, leaning your head against his chest as he wrapped an arm around you. His warmth and the familiar scent of him—a mix of cologne and home—started to ease the tension you had carried through the door. “What freaks me out is how much I despise them today.”

He smiled at your melodramatic groan, rubbing small circles on your back. “What happened this time?”

“Everything. The noise, the constant whining, the way they somehow always know how to get under my skin. It's like they have a radar for it.” You shut your eyes, sinking deeper into the couch. “It’s exhausting pretending to like them.”

Lewis kissed the top of your head, his voice a little softer. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You let out a long breath, feeling some of the weight lift. “I know,” you whispered. “Thank God for that.”

There was a brief moment of silence, the kind that lingered just long enough for Lewis to think you’d finally calmed down. Then you broke it with a frustrated huff.

“You know what I had to deal with today?” You asked, your voice rising with the exasperation that had been bubbling beneath the surface all evening. You didn’t wait for him to respond before launching into your story. “Two boys in my class—two—decided to break out into song right in the middle of my lesson.”

You paused for effect, locking eyes with him to emphasize the absurdity of it all. Lewis raised an eyebrow, already bracing himself for the punchline.

“And they wouldn’t shut the hell up, mate,” you finished with a dramatic flourish, throwing your hands up in frustration.

He let out a low chuckle, trying to keep a straight face. “What were they even singing?”

You groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. “Something ridiculous. Some TikTok trend or whatever, something about being on a screen and then a ring... Doesn’t matter, though—they were so off-key I couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to be.”

Lewis shook his head, biting back a smile. “And let me guess, they thought they were absolutely killing it?”

You shot him a look. “Oh, of course. They were acting like they were auditioning for a Broadway show. Hand gestures, facial expressions, the works. Like, I was just waiting for them to ask for a standing ovation.”

Lewis laughed outright at that, the sound of it making you feel a little less annoyed, though you’d never admit it. “And what did you do? Join in?”

You gave him a deadpan stare. “I kicked them both out of class.”

He snorted, covering his mouth to hide his amusement. “Classic. Just no patience left today, huh?”

“None.” You sighed, leaning back and closing your eyes, allowing yourself to relax for the first time all day. “Zero tolerance for teenage karaoke. I just wanted to get through my lesson without a circus.”

“Well, Mrs. Hamilton,” Lewis teased, emphasizing your formal title with an exaggeratedly prim tone. “I’m sure you handled it all with grace and professionalism.”

You let out a scoff, shooting him a sideways glance. “Yeah, if ‘grace and professionalism’ means nearly chucking a whiteboard marker at them, then sure.”

Lewis chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m sure you’re everyone’s favorite teacher,” he added, a grin tugging at his lips.

You snorted, throwing your head back against the couch dramatically. “Oh yeah, I can just feel the love. Nothing says ‘favorite teacher’ like the daily chorus of, ‘Can we go home early?’ or ‘Miss, this is so boring.’”

“They only say that because they can’t handle your brilliance,” Lewis quipped, giving you a knowing look. “You’re too much for their fragile little minds.”

“Oh, definitely. I’m just intellectually overwhelming,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes. “How could they ever appreciate my passion for algebra?”

Lewis burst out laughing, pulling you closer. “Exactly. They don’t even realize they’re sitting in the presence of greatness. Legends are never appreciated in their time.”

“Legend? Please,” you said, swatting him lightly. “If anything, I’m the stuff of nightmares. The teacher who ruined their dreams of becoming TikTok stars.”

“Hey, at least you’re memorable!” Lewis smirked, leaning in a little closer. “In 20 years, they’ll be telling their kids about the time Mrs. Hamilton shut down their music career before it even began.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Fantastic. I’ll be a cautionary tale.”

“Better than being forgotten,” he teased, raising his eyebrows. “Plus, you’re probably giving them some quality meme material. They’ll thank you later.”

You shot him an amused glare. “Oh, so that’s my legacy now? Being the ‘meme teacher’?”

“Hey, memes are forever,” Lewis said with a mischievous grin. “That’s practically immortal in today’s world.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculous logic. “I hate that you’re kind of right.”

Lewis leaned back, smug. “I’m always right.”

“You were just confused about slang 10 minutes ago,” you pointed out.

“Details, details,” he waved a hand dismissively. “The important thing is, your students secretly adore you. And if not, well…” He shrugged. “At least you’ve still got me.”

“Lucky me,” you muttered playfully, sinking back into his arms with a contented sigh.

“Hey, not everyone is in the presence of a seven-time Formula One World Champion!” Lewis shot back, puffing out his chest dramatically and poking your cheek for emphasis.

You groaned, shoving his hand away with a playful glare. “Your ego is huge, Lew. Like, it barely fits in this apartment.”

He smirked, unbothered. “What can I say? It’s all part of the package.”

“Oh, is that what it is? A package?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Well, I hope it comes with a refund policy because this ego is too much.”

Lewis laughed, pretending to think for a moment. “Nah, sorry, no returns. You’re stuck with me—and the ego. Non-refundable, no exchanges.”

You sighed dramatically, rolling your eyes. “Great. Just what I wanted. A husband and his oversized confidence.”

“Hey,” he said, feigning offense. “It’s not confidence. It’s facts.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Right. ‘Facts.’ I swear, if you had an award for every time you talked about your seven championships, we’d need a separate room just for the trophies.”

Lewis grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Funny you mention that. I was just thinking we could clear out the guest room and—”

“No,” you interrupted, giving him a playful shove. “Not happening.”

He chuckled, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “Fine, fine. But you can’t blame me for being proud. You did marry a legend, after all.”

You snorted. “A legend with an ego the size of a racetrack.”

“Hey, you’re the one who chose this life,” he teased, kissing the top of your head. “No refunds, remember?”

You sighed, leaning into him with a smirk. “Yeah, yeah. Guess I’ll just have to live with it.”

“Sooo,” Lewis started, drawing the word out with that familiar grin you knew meant trouble. “Ever think of wanting… kids together?”

You blinked, then slowly turned to face him, squinting suspiciously. “Kids? Together? Us?”

Lewis grinned wider, leaning in. “Yeah, you know—tiny humans that look like us, say funny things, and maybe, just maybe, follow in my footsteps. Mini-Hamiltons.” He wiggled his eyebrows dramatically, clearly enjoying the moment.

You raised a hand to stop him. “First of all, you’ve clearly forgotten the part where I just said I hate kids. Secondly, tiny humans that are half you? Lewis, I barely manage one of you.”

He laughed, completely unfazed. “Come on, you love me. Imagine—little curly-haired kids running around, making you laugh, driving you crazy. It’s the dream.”

You snorted. “The nightmare, you mean. I already have to keep your ego in check. Now you want me to manage a whole pack of baby egos that think they’re Formula One drivers straight out of the womb?”

“Exactly,” Lewis teased, poking your side. “Imagine—little racers, pulling wheelies on their tricycles, practicing pit stops with toy cars. We’d be unstoppable.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “No. Absolutely not. I already see it—them racing in the house, breaking things, you teaching them how to do donuts in the living room.”

Lewis gave a mock shrug. “Well, they’d have to learn from the best, right? Legacy, babe. It’s all about legacy.”

You buried your face in your hands, laughing in disbelief. “A legacy of destruction. Fantastic. Let me just call the furniture store now and order everything in crash-proof material.”

Lewis leaned in closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “Okay, but imagine this: family go-kart days, mini helmets with Hamilton written across the back, and you as the team principal. We’d be unstoppable.”

“Team principal?” you deadpanned, lifting your head from your hands. “Lewis, if I’m in charge, the first thing I’m doing is banning anything with wheels in this house.”

Lewis burst out laughing, pulling you into a hug. “Alright, alright, no go-karts in the living room… yet. But seriously, can’t you see it? You’d be an amazing mom.”

You paused, softening a bit as you looked up at him. “I don’t know, Lew. I mean, if our kids inherit your energy, we might need to hire a whole pit crew just to keep up with them.”

He grinned, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “That’s what makes it exciting. We’d make a great team.”

You sighed, half in amusement, half in surrender. “We’ll see. For now, let’s focus on surviving you, okay?”

“Deal,” Lewis said, laughing as he held you close. “But I’m telling you, one day, we’re gonna need matching family race suits.”

You groaned, but smiled. “God help me.”

-fin-

PLEASE SEND REQUESTSSSSSS IM BEGGING OMFGGG I'M FINALLY A LITTLE BIT FREE

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scribblesofagoonerr · 10 months ago

Text

— Separate ‖ | © scribblesofagoonerr

pairings: leah williamson x jordan nobbs x separate reader!buddy x chaos fc reader!monkey

summary: buddy is reunited with monkey, and there up to no good already.

here's the start of the cross over nobody asked for but i wrote anyways, featuring everyones' chaotic fc reader, monkey.

also thank you to @alotofpockets for putting up with me sending my ideas for this and word jumble.

Sure enough with a bit of encouragement, you slowly came out of your shell enough to move to sit in Leah's lap and get in all of the cuddles that you had missed throughout the last week.

Until you hear the front door open, and you knew who it is straight away.

"Ello'? I'm home!" You hear your favourite person shout aloud and your quick to jump up from Leah's lap and race towards the front door, "Where's my favourite little buddy?" She asks.

"Here I am!" You all but launch yourself into the arms of the older girl.

"There you are!" Monkey exclaims, squeezing you gently as she spins you around in her arms, "I've missed you loads!"

"I've missed you too!" You can't help but giggle as your lowered back onto the floor, "Look! We're doin' Lego!" You pull her in the direction of the lego blocks scattered on the floor where you had left Leah and Jordan in favor of Monkey.

"Aw, wow! So you like the lego set, huh?" Monkey grins as she slumps down on the floor and your quick enough to drop down into her lap, the two older women completely forgotten about now that your favourite person is here.

"She's been waiting for you to come back," Leah states, smiling at the pair of you together.

Monkey gasps dramatically before she beams a wide smile, "You have? Well I'm here. Where've you been?" She asks, tickling you under your ribs.

"I went on holiday with my mama, silly!" You exclaim, bursting into a fit of giggles right there, "Where you been?" You wonder, curiously.

You know Leah and Monkey went somewhere, but you can't exactly remember where.

Or if you were told, you didn't really listen much to it.

"Oooh right, of course you did!" Monkey facepalms herself and you can't help but laugh again, you sometimes think your favourite person is the funniest person in the world, "I went to Nashville and I was in my cowgirl era. I even had a lad try hit on me and I told him to kiss my--"

"Monkey!" Leah exclaims, cutting the girl off, "She's 3, she doesn't need to hear that!" She scolds her, which you find it even funnier.

Monkeys' always known to get herself into trouble, sometimes you're corrupted and like to join in with her as well.

It's even more fun when Kyra comes to visit as well.

The three of you have so much fun!

You find it funny sometimes when you watch Leah and Kim tearing their hair out with your favourite person.

"I wasn't even gonna say anything," Monkey holds her hands up in self surrender, smirking at Leah.

You look at Leah to see her giving Monkey one of her usual stern facial expressions. You see it happen a lot, but never usually directed towards you at least.

It's always Monkey.

"And just like that we're forgotten about," Jordan jokes, seeing you happy enough again with being in the company of monkey, "I should probably go." She suggests to Leah, knowing it's the easier option that wouldn't lead to tears.

Leah hums in agreement as she watches you and Monkey together, "That's probably a good idea," She replies before she turns to look at you, "Mamas' gonna go home now, Buddy. Shall we go and say bye?" She questions.

You nod and scramble up from the older girls lap to throw yourself directly at Jordan's legs, "Bye, Mama! 'Ove you!" You exclaim.

"I love you too, my little Buddy," Jordan crouches down and plants a gentle kiss on the top of your forehead, "Be good for your mummy, okay? No getting led astray either." She tells you, glancing in the direction of your favourite person.

"Accusations. False accusations!" Monkey screeches loudly and dramatic, which of course makes Leah roll her eyes in response, "I don't know what yer' even talkin' about there!" She insists, shrugging her shoulders.

"You and I both know what I mean," Jordan remarks, chuckling at the older girl as she ruffles her hair, having the height advantage being stood up while Monkey is still sat down.

"Pft," Monkey scoffs and stands up off the floor, "I'm still an inch taller than you!" She insists, smirking at Jordan.

Leah shakes her head at the antics of your favourite person, "That's enough, Monkey!" She states, firmly before the older girl can continue to wind up Jordan any more, "Stop being a menace, go and do something productive!" She tells her.

Monkey pouts and slumps her shoulders, "I'm bored though and I can't talk to Kyra because she's asleep still!"

"Kyra!" You squeal at the mention of the Aussie girls' name, "I wan' talk to Kyra!" You insist.

Leah gives Monkey a pointed look, "See? Look what you've done now," She pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Oops," Monkey gives the blonde a guilty facial expression.

"I wan' speak to Kyra!" You insist once again.

Shaking her head, Leah turns to look at you, "Buddy, you'll see Kyra when she comes back home, but you can't talk to her because it'll be night time for us when she's awake." She explains.

"I wan' speak to Kyra," You whine, not entirely understanding the whole aspect of time zone differences.

"Ooo, Buddy! I know who we can talk too!" Monkey perks up with the idea as she grins at you, "How about we go and talk to Lessi instead?" She suggests, hoping that you'll agree to that.

"Lessi!" You cheer excitedly, forgetting about the Aussie women for now.

"Yeah, Lessi!" Monkey repeats before she sweeps you up into her arms, "You wanna go fly around the house?" She wonders, knowing exactly what you like and don't like.

"Yeah! Yeah! Fly!" You squeal in delight, squealing even more as Monkey balances her hand under your tummy and you're in the air within seconds.

"All aboard Russo airlines," Monkey jokes, making fun of the blonde for her celebration, "Neeeeeawww!" She makes the noise of a plane, running through the house with you in her arms.

"Don't drop her, Monkey!" Leah and Jordan both shout in sync, almost both of them having heart attacks seeing it happen.

"Sounds like you got your hands full there," Jordan remarks, shaking her head.

Leah chuckles slightly in response, "I'm not sure who's more of a handful at times," She replies.

"Definitely Monkey," The older women out of the two replies, grinning at her ex-girlfriend, "Right, I'll be goin' then. Her teddies in the front pocket of her backpack if she wants it."

"Thanks," Leah nods in agreement, "I'm sure she hasn't asked for it yet when she loves that thing." She adds.

That thing that Leah was referring to was Mr. Bear, a stuffed brown bear that was gifted to you from your great-grandma and ever since you got him, you carried him everywhere with you, even going as far as almost dropping him out of the window one time and Jordan had to stop the car and jump out to retrieve him to save any of the tears.

"Yeah, me neither," Jordan agrees with her ex, "And her blanket, if she needs it is--"

"Jord, don't worry. I've got it, Leah interjects, chuckling slightly at her ex girlfriend, "She's my daughter too, remember? I can figure these things out."

"Yeah, of course, sorry force of habit," The older women out of the two gives her ex a sheepish smile and nods, while shoving her hands in her pockets, "Ehm, I'll be here on Friday at 2 to collect her for the weekend then." She tells her.

"I'll see you then," Leah nods curtly, opening the front door to let Jordan out, "Safe drive back."

Jordan smiles slightly at Leah, "Yep, thanks. See you on Friday." With that, she waves at her ex girlfriend before she departs down the driveway and climbs back into her car for the long drive back home.

#separate fic #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso imagine #scribblesofagoonerr #arsenal women x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal x reader #leah williamson x reader #jordan nobbs x reader #buddy #monkey #woso

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giuseppe-yuki · 1 month ago

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cowboy danny

you sure looked like a one-woman circus as you flitted down the hill in your skirts, one hand balancing one of your mother’s nice china plates, laden with food, and the other, a tiny tin ice box, along with a big jug of milk wedged under your left arm. if your father had seen you right there and then in the pitch-dark night, skirting around like a shadow, he probably would have shot you dead.

it was a good thing then, that they were probably still in the big ol’ ranch house up the hill, talkin’ bout all the boring bits about running a ranch-farm. or maybe, even better yet, they were asleep already, which would make it so much easier to sneak back into the house after.

after…

you blush instinctively, before shooing sinful thoughts away from your brain. he was just an acquaintance. a friend, even, that you were just merely helping get back onto his feet before he went on his merry way.

nearing the red barn door on the outskirts of the property, you slow down your pace and turn your thumping steps into a soft tiptoe. you certainly didn’t want to scare him.

once in front, you gently swing the ice chest against the barn door, letting it knock four times - once long and twice short - in a secret code.

within moments, the door slides open.

danny.

his face lights up like it always does when he sees you, and he smiles one of his big loopy smiles.

“hiya, darlin’,” he drawls, leaning against the red sliding door, his cowboy hat sitting low on his head. “a pretty lady like you shouldn’t be out here in the dark all by herself!”

once again, you feel your face heat up for a second time in the past five minutes.

“hiya danny,“ you chirp back.

you shyly waltz into the dimly-lit barn with the food in your hand, and gently set it down on the hay-strewn floor, right next to the flickering kerosene lamp that you stole from your father’s supply cabinet and the warm knitted blanket that you nicked from your mother’s extra storage.

brandy, your favorite horse, along with a few of the other horses, eyes you up from their stables farther down in the barn, as if you were the stranger living there for a few days.

you turn back to daniel, pointedly ignoring the animals glaring at you. good thing they couldn’t snitch.

bending down, you whip off the cloth covering the plate and lift the cover of the ice box revealing its contents. fat slabs of pork, mashed potatoes, your mother’s fresh butter rolls, cornbread, and a healthy drizzle of gravy glisten underneath the flame of the lamp. the ice box’s cold walls insulate a big chunk of the cherry pie that you had made hours before.

danny’s eyes grow wide, and only then do you realize how starved the poor man was.

“shucks- i could right about kiss you now!” he remarks.

you think he’s joking, but instead of diving for the food, he launches you straight into a haystack, eliciting a sharp shriek from you. his face is inches away from yours. he doesn’t ask explicitly, but his whiskey-brown eyes asks for him.

can i?

you give him a short nod.

he pushes his lips against yours, and you swear he’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

later, when you lay curled up beside him on the same haystack, plate empty and pie half-eaten, lips swollen from what danny said was your “reward” after the meal, he turns to you.

”ya know, we could make a nice pair huh?” danny states, studying your face. “run away with me, and we could have a good life out there. you, me, and the wild, wild, west.”

for a second, you think about your parents- they would be devastated. their only daughter, heir to the family ranch, running away with a cowboy who was basically a nobody. but at the same time, you look at danny. his brown curls, his amber eyes, soft lips.

one smile from him, and you know you’re a goner.

#f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf fic #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo x female reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x reader #dr3 x y/n #dr3 x you #dr3 x reader #dr3 imagine #📝

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hyperactively-me · 1 year ago

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king!ghost x reader -- war

soooo. yeah! this part is so 'simon "only soft for his girl" riley.' but, this is where shit gets seriousss lol ALSO WORD COUNT IS OBSCENE I'M SO SORRY (i'm not sorry), with this part being about ~8.4k words total. HAVE FUN I GUESS! warnings: LOTS OF SMUT, (unprotected sex, but there is no pregnancy resulted from this here because its ~fantasy~!), mentions of death, talks of war

You remember exactly what you were doing when the news was broken to you and Simon.

You and Simon were lounging on your plush couch, your feet propped up in Simon’s lap, sitting before an open fireplace as he read to you. One of Simon’s hands held your ankle as the other held the book open. You had cuddled up with a blanket, slightly dozing off as Simon’s deep voice drawled through the story. It was peaceful, serene…domestic.

The door to the chamber swung open, revealing a solemn-faced messenger. Simon’s gaze hardened as he shifted from the book to the intruder, a subtle furrow forming on his brow. Walking in without knocking was extremely uncommon, and just as Simon was about to reprimand them, the messenger spoke.

“Your majesties, forgive my intrusion, but I bring news from the southern borders. The Southern Kingdom has launched a full-scale invasion. War has come to Kastron.”

The world seemed to move in slow motion as you took in their words, an icy chill running up your spine despite the fireplace a mere few feet in front of you. The tranquility of the moment shattered, and the book slipped from Simon’s grasp, its pages rustling as it hit the floor. The shock of the message echoed through the room, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake.

Simon’s grip on your ankle tightened involuntarily. The flames in the fireplace now seemed to cast ominous shadows on the walls. You sat up, the blanket slipping off your shoulders, and shot a worried glance at Simon. Simon’s eyes met yours, a silent understanding passing between you.

Simon’s jaw clenched, his gaze hardening with a sense of duty and determination. You withdrew your feet from his lap, now sitting up straight, wordless. You swallowed thickly, your throat felt dry.

“What?” Simon’s voice is urgent. “Are you certain?”

The messenger nodded, his expression grim. “The information was just passed along to me from a few witnesses, your majesty. The Southern Kingdom’s forces are advancing rapidly. Our scouts barely had time to send word.”

A weight landed on your chest, a sudden heaviness that made it harder to breathe. Simon immediately shifts gears, rapidly standing up, his eyes never leaving the messenger.

“Prepare the council. We convene in the war room immediately,” Simon commanded, his voice unwavering. The way he switched so quickly from domestic tranquility to a stance of solemnity and command was a stark reminder of the kind of ruler he was — impenetrable, stoic, and ruthless.

The messenger hastened out of the room, and you and Simon followed suit.

As the three of you made your way through the corridors, tens of strategists and other high-ranking military officials added to the growing assembly. The tension in the air was palpable as you reached the war room, its doors swinging open to reveal a scene of controlled chaos. Maps adorned the walls, lanterns flickered on the large table, and the hum of hushed conversations filled the room.

Simon took his place at the head of the table, his presence commanding immediate attention. Simon refused a chair, pressing his hands onto the table as he leaned over. General Price stood by his side, ready to translate the unfolding crisis into a coherent plan of action. Commander Garrick is clutching rolls of paper, already prepared with possible battle strategies.

The council members acknowledged your arrival with nods, but the gravity of the situation left little room for formalities. Simon wasted no time and addressed the room, his voice cutting through the murmurs.

You felt numb, seated in a chair that had to be pulled up for you to sit near to Simon. It felt as though you were underwater, spacing out as Price debriefed the room on the unfolding situation.

General Price stepped forward, unfolding a detailed map that showcased the contested territories. His finger traced the movements of the Southern Kingdom’s forces. As he spoke, you tried your best to pay attention, still caught up in the immediate shift in tone. Not even two weeks had passed since the ball was held in your honor, and approximately two months since you were stabbed, and somehow war was officially declared on Kastron. This is what you were afraid of having to deal with as queen, yet you knew it would be inevitable, knowing Kastron’s history.

“The Southern Kingdom’s forces are advancing on multiple fronts. Our scouts report significant numbers, and their progress is faster than anticipated,” General Price explained, his tone steady despite the concerning information.

Simon’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. The room fell into a focused silence, broken only by the scratching of quills and the occasional whispered discussion among council members.

“And what are their intentions?” Simon asked, his voice sharp.

“We’ve gathered that, since the tensions experienced a few months ago, it is most likely their primary aim to steal our resources and the silver-rich lands, your majesty. They also seek to dismantle our military power by taking over Kastron,” Gaz speaks confidently, motioning to the notes in his hands.

Responsibility weighed heavily on your shoulders, and you could feel the collective gaze of the council turning to you and Simon for guidance. Simon looked back at you, a silent exchange of shared determination.

Simon turns back to face the rest of the room, his gaze fierce. “We cannot let the Southern Kingdom broach any villages. We will defend our lands, protect our people, and ensure the security of Kastron. But, Price, I also want you to mobilize our forces. We need to establish defensive positions and buy time for additional reinforcements. General Price, what are our immediate options?”

Price outlined a series of potential strategies, ranging from fortifying key locations to launching counterattacks to sending diplomats. The council engaged in debates, discussing the strengths and weaknesses of each approach.

Amidst the planning, you felt a surge of responsibility. You couldn’t merely be a passive observer; the fate of Kastron rested on the decisions made in this very room. Gathering your resolve, you spoke up.

“Um, maybe we can explore diplomatic options first. It’s clear the Southern Kingdom wants resources and power. If we can negotiate a compromise, we might avoid unnecessary bloodshed,” you suggested, meeting Simon’s eyes with a hopeful yet determined expression.

Simon considered your words, the furrow in his brow softening. Diplomacy wasn’t his first instinct, but he recognized the potential benefits. The room fell into a contemplative silence as everyone weighed the idea.

After a moment, Simon nodded. “You’re right. We’lll send envoys to open a line of communication. General Price, prepare a delegation. Make it clear that we are willing to negotiate, but also ready to defend our kingdom.”

The tension in the room eased slightly as the council shifted its focus to the diplomatic approach. Three delegates were selected, messages were drafted, and plans were set in motion.

That was a week ago. Two days after you had made your suggestion and the council voted, the bodies of these three delegates turned up near a village close to Kastron’s southern border.

When the news of the delegates’ fate struck the war room, Simon was beyond infuriated. Diplomacy had been brutally rebuffed, and the Southern Kingdom’s intentions were now crystal clear.

The warmth of the crackling fire from that night seems worlds away from the chill that now permeates the air. Looking back now, it all felt like a distant dream.

Now, you’re sitting in an empty bed, trying your best to think positively despite the inner turmoil you’re experiencing. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the distant sounds of preparations echoing through the castle. You glance at the empty space beside you, the absence of Simon leaving a void that no amount of positive thinking can fill. The shadow of your personal guard stands outside your bedroom door, a constant reminder of the heightened security measures now in place. The once-familiar comfort of the castle feels alien, additional guards posted throughout the halls. The sense of confinement within the walls was palpable, a stark contrast to the freedom and celebration of the ball held in your honor two weeks ago. The events of the past week replay in your mind like a haunting refrain. The failed attempt at diplomacy, the loss of the delegates, and the inexorable march of the Southern Kingdom's forces toward Kastron—all of it hangs over you, a dark cloud blocking out the sun.

Simon has been stuck in the war room for nearly 16 hours every day for the past week, tirelessly strategizing, receiving updates, and making crucial decisions. As Simon remained confined in the war room, you took on the role of overseeing domestic affairs, ensuring that the daily functions of the kingdom continued despite the looming threat of war. The once-familiar routine now carried an undercurrent of tension, and you found yourself managing not only the logistics but also the emotional well-being of the people within and outside the castle.

The past week was a blur of meetings with advisers, coordinating with servants to maintain order, and responding to the concerns of citizens. The castle buzzed with an anxious energy that mirrored the uncertainty of the times.

Because of this arrangement, you and Simon would really only see each other in the morning while waking, and even then, that was only for a short time. Your morning routine has become a brief respite from the relentless demands of the impending conflict. Simon would wake up, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. You would roll into him, squeezing him tightly. As you both rose from bed, the weight of responsibility descended once again. Simon would dress in his regal armor, the emblem of Kastron emblazoned on his chestplate. You, too, would don the attire befitting a queen, the weight of your crown a constant reminder of the duty that now defined your days. Breakfast was always hurried, yet a brief pause in the chaos. Conversations were punctuated by updates from the war room, and from there, your day began.

A few more days pass, and one evening, Simon returns to the bedroom the earliest he has in the past few days. The look on his face is extremely solemn, and extremely sorrowful.

“Dove, we need to talk.”

You’re immediately pushing yourself off the bed, twisting your hands in your grip.

“Of course, what is it?” Your heart races at the caution in Simon’s voice. The somberness in Simon’s expression deepens your concern. You take a step closer to him, your eyes searching his for any clues.

Simon’s gaze is heavy with sorrow, but yet a hint of determination crosses his features. He takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say. Your hands clasp tighter, a silent plea for reassurance.

“Dove,” he begins, his voice steady but laden with emotion, “the situation has escalated. General Price and I have made a decision. An important decision.”

Your heart skips a beat, anxiety tightening its grip on you. The air in the room feels charged, and you hold your breath, waiting for Simon to continue. He averts his eyes to the ground.

“I... I’m going out into the field,” Simon says slowly.

In that moment, it’s as though the air in the room was swallowed whole. You feel as though you can’t breathe, knees buckling slightly. Are you hearing him right? He looks back up at you.

“Price, Gaz, and I have discussed the strategy, and my presence on the front lines is necessary. We can’t afford to leave anything to chance. I’m highly trained, highly capable, and my place is with our soldiers on the battlefield,” Simon continues, his voice confident and firm.

You’re frozen in place, the room spinning as you process the words. A lump forms in your throat, and you struggle to find your voice. You shake your head vigorously.

“But… no. No. No, no, no, you can’t go. I won’t let you leave.”

Simon steps closer, grabbing your shoulders and holding them firmly. The warmth of his touch contrasts with the cold dread settling deep in your chest. “Darlin’, I have to go. I didn’t take this decision lightly. I’ve been to war more times than you know, and all before I even met you.”

You look up at Simon, desperation in your eyes. “But Simon, this is different. I’m here, and I’ve… I’ve never been alone here. And, what if…”

You swallow your words, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

Simon approaches you again, his touch gentle as he turns you to face him. “You’re not gonna be alone. I’ve asked Soap to stay here, he’ll be with you most days; and I’ll be in communication.”

Simon’s gaze softens as he continues to hold your shoulders, studying your frowning face. “I know. I know this is incredibly difficult, but I need you to understand. The kingdom is in need, and my duty as king demands that I lead our forces. And, I have nothing but full confidence in your abilities to lead Kastron.”

You don’t say anything, your bottom lip quivering as you try to keep yourself together.

“I need you to stay here, love,” Simon murmurs, his voice a gentle plea. “The castle needs a leader, and you’ve shown that you are capable. You’ll be out of harm’s way.”

A sense of helplessness washes over you, and you pull away from Simon’s grasp. Turning away, you wrap your arms around yourself, as if trying to shield yourself from his admission. The room feels smaller, the air heavier, and you wish that this was all a terrible, terrible dream.

“Can’t someone else lead the military? You're too important to risk on the front lines.”

Simon takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving you. “Price and I have considered every option. My skills and experience are essential. It’s the best chance we have to protect Kastron.”

The tears in your eyes now threaten to spill over, and you pace across the room, breathing picking up. “But, there has to be another way, Si. Sending you to the battlefield is too risky. What if something happens to you? Don’t you understand?”

You’re crying now, breathing labored. Fat tears now start to roll down your cheeks, and Simon watches you with a heavy heart. “I understand, love. I do. The last thing I want to do is leave you. Can’t even fuckin’ bear the thought. But I have to do what is necessary to protect our kingdom.”

Simon reaches out, gently cupping your face, his thumb brushing away some tears that escapes your eyes. “I cannot promise you that everything will be alright. War is unpredictable, and I cannot guarantee my safety. And you know better than anyone that I have the training, I have the capability to go to war. But I need you to understand—I'm doing this for Kastron, for our people, and for you.”

You smack his hand away, instantly regretting it the moment you see his face morph into pain.

“You’re not leaving! I won’t let you!” you start to sob, your body trembling with every cry.

You start to hit his chest, your fists pounding against the armor that shields him, as if trying to break through the iron. Simon endures the blows, his hands remaining at his sides, absorbing your hits as his heart shatters.

“I’m not letting you leave!” you practically scream, and the guards outside your door wince. You smack his chestplate harder, hating the way he’s just standing there, unmoving.

“You can’t go, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t,” you plead, voice choking with desperation and vision blurred from your tears.

Simon feels as though his heart is being shredded slowly and painfully with each strike, but he lets you vent, understanding the pain that grips your soul. The sound of your sobs reverberates in the room, echoing the helplessness that has settled upon both of you.

He finally catches your wrists gently, his touch firm yet tender. You collapse against him, your strength waning, and Simon wraps his arms around you. His armor feels cold against your hot cheek, a stark contrast to the usual warmth of his embrace. Your tears flow freely, a combination of fear and frustration.

“I love you, and it tears me apart to see you like this,” Simon whispers, his voice cracking with raw emotion. “Kastron needs me, and she needs you. I’ll do everything in my power to come back to you, I can promise you that.”

You finally look up at him, your tear-stained eyes searching his for any hint of revocation, but you know deep down that he’s firmly set. You cling to him, as if your touch alone can tie him down to this room. Simon gently wipes away your tears with the pad of his thumb, rubbing soothing circles on your back. You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself in his embrace.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You won’t.” Simon holds you tighter, the pressure soothing you, grounding you to the room. “I don’t want to lose you either, dove. But I need you to stay strong. Lead Kastron in my absence. I have complete faith in you.”

“When will you... leave?” you manage to ask, your voice cracking.

Simon takes a deep breath, armor pressing into your chest as he inhales. “Two days, at dawn.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the finality of his words. You tilt your head up slightly, looking up into Simon’s eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation, any glimpse of doubt. But all you find is resolve.

The room is enveloped in a heavy silence, unsettling you to your core. Simon tilts your chin up higher, looking into your eyes with an intensity that pierces through you. His lips find yours in a tender kiss, a bittersweet exchange as his hand weaves itself through your hair. The taste of his kiss lingers as he pulls away, his eyes searching yours for patience. You nod, a silent understanding.

Simon doesn’t let go of you, insteading walking you backwards until your knees hit the bed, forcing you to lay down.

. . .

The next day had come and gone, the moon now rising high in the sky. You were on your way back to your room from your final meeting of the day, the castle now quiet.

You had hoped Simon would be in bed already by the time you arrived at your chambers, but instead you were met with a dark, empty room. You don’t even bother slipping into your sleepwear, a pang of sadness settling in your chest. Sighing, you slip back out of your room, waving off the guard at your door who tried to follow you.

You already knew where Simon was.

You knock gently on the doors to the war room, pushing it open when you hear a muffled, Yes? filter through the wood. The war room is dimly lit, the strategic maps on the walls difficult but not impossible to decipher from the flickering light of the lanterns. Simon is hunched over the large table, poring over several documents and a detailed map of the southern borders. His worn armor sits discarded beside him, and the room carries the scent of parchment, ink, and a hint of something metallic.

Simon glances up, weariness etched on his face, as you step into the room. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift as a small, genuine smile forms on his lips.

“Hey, love,” Simon greets, his voice softer than usual, a stark contrast to the authoritative tone he’s been exclusively carrying the past week. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, crossing the room to stand beside him. “No, I needed to see you.” The dim light emphasizes the exhaustion in his eyes, and it tugs at your heart.

Simon straightens up, putting down his quill gently. “I was just going over the battle plans. Price and I want to make sure every detail is accounted for before…”

An awkward silence settles between you two as you study Simon’s face. The lines of stress, the fatigue in his eyes, and the tight set of his jaw speak volumes. You reach out and trace a gentle finger along the side of his face, an intimate gesture.

“I hate seeing you like this,” you admit. “You’re carrying so much on your shoulders.”

Simon leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “It comes with the job, dove.”

You lower your hand, exhaustion welling up within you. “Everyone is asleep. Come to bed.”

Simon sighs, looking back at the papers spread about the table.

“Soon, darling.”

You step closer, your fingers finding his. “Simon, you’ve been at this for days. Please, you need to rest, relax. The plans will still be here tomorrow.”

The glow of the lanterns casts a shadow along Simon’s face, highlighting the shine in his eyes. His fingers close around yours, and he brings your knuckles up to his lips, pressing an open mouthed kiss on them. You shiver, heat arising in your stomach. Simon pulls you into him, pressing his chest up against yours as he cradles your face in his hands, slotting his mouth over yours. You respond with a fierce passion, your fingers threading through his hair, eliciting a quiet groan from him.

As the kiss deepens, Simon gently guides you backwards until your lower back hits the table, the maps and plans long forgotten. Simon breaks the kiss as you gasp, the heat in your lower body growing stronger.

“This is helping me relax,” Simon breathes, hot and heavy on your cheek. His hands slip down to your ass, pinning your hips to the table with his own. “Jus’, let me take care of you.”

You swallow thickly, gliding your hands up and down his chest, feeling his muscles contract slightly at your touch.

“Take care of me, then,” you whisper, and that’s all he needs to hear before hauling you up onto the table, papers shuffling and scattering onto the floor, but neither of you care.

Simon follows you as you lay down on the table, pressing a deep kiss into your mouth as his hands shoves more papers out of the way. The rustling sounds of papers and maps hitting the floor fade into the background, replaced by the rhythm of your shared breaths. Simon’s touch is both gentle and possessive, his hands exploring the curves of your body with a familiar intimacy. As his hands roam, a soft moan escapes your lips, muffled by the heat of the kiss.

Simon then pulls you forward on the table, adjusting you until your hips are on the edge, legs dangling in the air. You look up for a brief moment, watching as Simon drops to his knees in front of you, and the sight alone makes you dizzy, wetness pooling in your panties. He looks so reverent and his eyes lock with yours, looking up to you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. You bunch up the fabric of your dress, pulling it up high until the fabric pools around your waist.

Simon spreads your legs wide, hot breath fanning against your sensitive skin. You open your mouth, but before you can say anything, he’s pressing wet kisses to the insides of your thighs. You shudder, legs twitching as your desire mounts, aching for his mouth on your wet cunt. Simon doesn’t waste time, throwing your dangling legs over his shoulders to get closer to you.

“Simon,” you groan quietly, needing him to touch you now. He doesn’t respond, instead pressing two digits against the fabric of your panties, just barely teasing your clit. Your breath catches in your throat, swallowing thickly as he runs his fingers up and down against the gusset, circling over your clothed clit with a feather light touch.

You shudder, thighs trembling ever so slightly at the teasing, wetness surely starting to soak through the thin layer of cotton.

“S’ wet already,” he murmurs, eyes mesmerized by the sight before him. His light touch now turns into something stronger, using the fabric over your slit to build friction in the most delicious way. “Feels good?”

“Yes,” you whimper quietly, hands clawing at the surface of the table.

He chuckles to himself, barely audible over the sound of your racing heart and quiet whimpers. Your arousal seeps through the fabric, and Simon seems to revel in the effect he has on you. He squeezes your thighs tighter, fingers pressing into the plush, doughy skin as he presses more kisses on the insides of your thighs, moving closer and closer to your center.

You involuntarily buck your hips as his finger starts to circle your clit more forcibly over your panties, using the fabric as leverage to create more friction. You let a few moans slip out, eyes blinking a few times to steady your dizziness.

Simon's movements become more purposeful, his fingers working magic over the sensitive bundle of nerves beneath the fabric. The sensations send shivers through your body, and you can feel the growing wetness between your thighs. Each stroke of his fingers, every graze of his lips along your inner thigh, adds to the building tension. Unable to withstand the torment any longer, you arch your back, pleading for more.

“Fuck, Si,” you whine, high-pitched and needy. “Please.”

“What’s got you all worked up, love? Hmm?” he teases, moving to press his tongue into the soaked fabric, teasing your hole.

You moan in response, thighs moving to clench his head. He simpers at your reaction, calloused hands pushing your legs apart.

“Tell me what you want,” Simon coos, his voice low and husky. His fingers continue their ministrations, dancing over your clothed heat.

“I want…” you begin, your words catching in your throat as Simon applies more pressure to your clit, the sensation almost too much to bear. “I want you, Si. Need you right now.”

A smug grin erupts on Simon’s face as he abandons the fabric barrier.

“Good girl.”

Unable to resist any longer, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down with deliberate slowness until they slip off your ankles. He stuffs the material in his back pocket, a small, teasing smirk playing on his lips.

With your panties discarded, Simon returns his attention to your exposed core. His breath is warm against your skin as he leans in, studying the way you’re soaking, and the anticipation is almost unbearable. The first touch of his tongue against your clit has you gasping, the pleasure intensifying with each slow, deliberate stroke. He dips his tongue into your hole, then slides it back up to your clit, sucking on it firmly.

“Like this?” he murmurs, teasingly trailing his fingers along your slick entrance.

“Yes, yes,” you plead, aching for him to just have his way with you. “Please, Si.”

Without further hesitation, Simon dips a finger into your wetness, the slickness making the intrusion seamless. You gasp, your back arching off the table as he begins a slow and deliberate rhythm, each stroke making your legs feel as though they’re on fire.

Simon watches you intently, his eyes flicking up to your body every so often. He relishes the way your body responds to his touch, smirking to himself that he’s the only one who’s ever seen you like this.

Your moans grow louder, echoing in the room as Simon expertly works his tongue up, down, and around your vulva. When he comes to suck harshly on your clit, your thighs instinctively close around his head, and Simon groans at your reaction. The vibration adds a layer of pleasure, a deep seated moan pushing past your lips.

“Sound s’ pretty f’ me, darling,” he mumbles, refusing to fully remove himself from you.

He adds a second finger, stretching and filling you, the sensation pushing you closer to the edge.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out, a familiar warmth spreading in your abdomen.

The table beneath you creaks with your movements, but neither of you pays it any attention.

As Simon’s tongue continues to lap at your vulva and clit, your grip on the edge of the table loosens, instead finding purchase in his hair as if to egg him on. The sensation of his tongue and fingers build to an almost unbearable peak, toes curling as he hits all the right spots. You’re teetering on the edge of release, every touch sending shockwaves through your entire body.

“S- Simon, I... I’m so close,” you gasp, your voice strained with pleasure.

Simon, ever attentive, reads your body’s responses with precision, adapting his movements to heighten your pleasure. He doesn’t relent; instead, he quickens the pace, determined to push you over the edge. The oh so familiar coil tightens in your abdomen, and with a sharp cry, you succumb to your orgasm. Waves of pleasure wash over you, legs shaking at your release, leaving you trembling and utterly spent. Simon laps up your wetness, groaning at the way your walls clenched his fingers at your release.

“Such a perfect girl,” he praises, thriving off the way you shudder and moan as you orgasm.

As the aftershocks of your climax subside, Simon withdraws his fingers, a satisfied glint in his eyes. He pushes his soaking fingers to his mouth, sucking off the remaining juices.

“Always tastes so perfect, love.”

Heat rises in your face as you watch him, still panting from your orgasm. He rises to his feet, a pleased smile on his lips as he leans down to capture your mouth in a lingering kiss.

“You alright, love?” Simon whispers against your lips, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

You nod, still catching your breath, a blissful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “More than alright.”

He chuckles, a deep and melodic sound. “Good. Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

You nod fervently, pushing yourself up to sit on the edge of the table. Looking over the edge, you forgot about the various papers and maps that had…fallen to the floor during your heated moment.

“The papers…” you say quietly, warily eyeing the amount of things that had been brushed to the floor.

Immediately, Simon is picking up the strewn papers, muttering to himself about how they were all in his way. Your legs are still vibrating as you push off the table, now standing on the floor. You brush your dress back to its original place as best you can. When you move to help him pick up the maps, he stops you in your tracks.

“No, no, love. I’ve got it,” Simon insists, a fond smile on his face.

You watch as he efficiently gathers the papers, arranging the documents back onto the table, the strategic maps finding their places among the scattered sheets. Once satisfied with the order he’s restored, Simon turns to you with a grin. “There, good as new. Shall we?”

“My, uh, my panties…” you trail off, face burning. The slick between your thighs is definitely still there, reminding you of your lost garment.

Simon shoots you a mischievous look, and he retrieves your discarded panties from his back pocket. Holding them up, he smirks, a teasing grin playing on his lips as he quirks his eyebrows.

“For safekeeping,” he quips, a playful tone in his voice. “Wouldn’t want anyone stumbling upon them, ‘specially here.”

You roll your eyes, a combination of embarrassment and amusement heating your cheeks. Simon takes a step closer, then bends down on one knee, tapping your ankle.

“C’mon,” he says, motioning for you to step into the fabric. Steadying yourself by clutching onto his shoulders, you relish the way his hands brush up your thighs as he pulls the fabric up under your dress until they’re snug around your body. With a final playful squeeze to your ass, he stands up.

“Now, we shall,” you giggle lightly, brushing stray hair from your face.

Before you fully leave the room, you press up on your toes to whisper in his ear.

“Can’t believe you ate me out in the war room of all places,” you giggle, clutching onto him.

He shrugs nonchalantly, a hint of pride crossing his features. “It’s our castle. Gonna have to christen every room at some point.”

You try to suppress your laugh, knowing deep down that he’s not joking.

Linking your arm with his, you follow Simon out of the war room and through the silent corridors of the castle and back to your shared chambers. Your legs are a bit shaky, still not fully recovered.

Simon gives a curt, silent nod to the guards standing in front of the bedroom doors, before stepping inside with you. The moment Simon shuts the door to your bedroom, he’s kissing you fervently. It’s both possessive and tender, a silent acknowledgement that tomorrow is the day he leaves. He guides you toward the bed, the cool sheets welcoming against your heated skin.

As Simon deepens the kiss, hands wandering over each other’s bodies, the weight of the day’s responsibilities melts away even further.

Simon breaks the kiss, his eyes locking onto yours with nothing but pure adoration and love. “I love you,” he says, the sincerity in his voice echoing through the room.

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “I love you too, Simon.”

With a gentle touch, you start to brush your hands under his tunic, guiding it up and off his chiseled frame.

The room is filled with a quiet intimacy as your fingers trace the contours of his chest, each touch causing the man to shiver. You enjoy the way he trembles from your touch, noting his more sensitive regions. The burden of your impending separation lingers in the air, but in this moment, you choose to ignore it, basking in the warmth of his presence.

You reach for the waistline of his pants, following the fabric down as you let him step out of it. Finally, when your hand grazes his lower abdomen, right above his crotch, he hisses, hand clutching onto your wrist. You don’t stop, yanking down his boxers until he’s fully nude in front of you. The moonlight filters through the balcony window, casting a soft glow on Simon.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” you praise, standing back to admire your husband in all his glory. “So gorgeous, so strong.”

Simon blushes, redness creeping up from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. A grin appears on his face, pride seeping into his skin. His eyes never leave yours as you slowly undress, removing your garments in a languid fashion, desperate to savor this night.

He steps closer, hands reaching for the sleeves of your dress, fingers deftly working to free you from the fabric that separates you. The dress falls to the floor in a gentle cascade, and you hear Simon’s breath catch in his throat. You slip off your undergarments, until you’re finally exposed before him. Simon’s eyes roam over your form, and the intensity in his gaze makes your skin tingle.

You step out of the discarded dress, standing bare in front of each other. Simon’s hands find the small of your back, pulling you close, and you melt in the warmth of his touch. He presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head, then slowly guides your jaw upwards to catch your lips in a kiss. The kiss is a slow burn, a sweet mingling of your breaths, as Simon explores your mouth with a gentle reverence. His hands roam over your back, pressing you closer into him, as if he was trying to bury you into his chest. You can feel his erect cock pressing into your stomach, and he gently bucks his hips against you.

Breaking the kiss, Simon trails a line of tender kisses down your neck, igniting a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

You reach up, cupping his cheek, and he leans into your touch. “Promise me you’ll come back,” you whisper, the vulnerability in your voice bared for him to see.

Simon slows to a stop, keeping his face planted in your neck. He then presses a tender kiss to your skin, squeezing you as tight as he could in his embrace, knocking the breath out of you. “I promise, love. I’ll come back to you.”

You nod, swallowing thickly as he straightens to his full height. Without breaking eye contact, Simon guides you to the bed, the cool silk sheets a sharp difference to the heat radiating off your bodies.

As you lay down together, Simon hovers above you, a mixture of tenderness and hunger in his eyes. The moonlight bathes the room in a soft sheen, your husband looking like a being that descended from heaven.

“You’re ethereal,” you say breathlessly, and Simon’s eyes sparkle with gratitude and affection.

“Says you,” he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. Simon trails his fingers down the curve of your body.

“I mean it. Don’t brush it off,” you whisper, your fingers gently tracing patterns over the scars on his chest.

“‘M not. Thank you, dove.”

You lean up and capture his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. As you kiss him sensually, you reach your hand down to wrap around his cock, pumping your hand up and down his length. He groans into your mouth, body twitching above you as you stroke his hard cock, bucking into your grip as you set an even pace.

Simon’s hand finds its way to your hip, fingers digging into your flesh as he pants above you. He breaks the kiss as you apply more pressure, his breaths heavy and labored.

“F- fuck, lovie,” he moans, head fuzzy as your hand squeezes his cock just right. “God, y’know how to drive me mad.”

You hum in response, swiping your thumb across his slit. Simon gasps over you, body threatening to fall on top of you with every stroke and touch you administer on his cock. Bringing this behemoth of a man down to a trembling, quivering mess in your hands has your heart racing.

Simon then moves to explore your body with a newfound hunger, his lips tracing a path of heat and need. The sensations send shivers down your spine as he kisses and nibbles his way across your collarbone, down to the curve of your breasts as you continue stroking his cock.

“T- that’s it, need you, now, right now,” he pants, his voice desperate and needy. You release him, and Simon wastes no time yanking your legs apart, caressing your thighs. He shifts his weight, positioning himself between your legs.

You whimper as he drags his cock through your slick folds, his tip catching on your entrance after a few strokes. Simon gazes down at you, his expressive eyes full of a potent mix of desire and love. Without breaking eye contact, he guides himself into you, and a shiver runs down your spine. Moans spill from your lips, your back arching as his cock slides into you inch by inch.

“Takin’ me so nicely, so pretty,” he murmurs, clutching onto you.

Simon’s movements are deliberate, his cock stretching you open to accommodate his size and girth. His size makes you see stars every time. Finally, as he bottoms out, you both let out a sharp breath.

“Simon, ‘m so full,” you murmur, grinding your hips against his. In response, he silences you with a searing kiss, pressing you into the mattress.

“I know you are.”

When he finally starts moving his hips, you have to bite back a sob. His thick shaft drags against your walls at an agonizingly slow pace. He buries his face in your chest, tongue lapping at your supple breasts and hardened nipples.

You claw at his shoulders as he pumps his cock into you slowly. You’re still sensitive from when he ate you out, whimpering and wheezing as he pumps his cock into you slowly. When he starts pressing into your clit, you writhe underneath him.

“Please, please,” you wheeze, feeling every little ridge and edge of his cock inside you.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” he coos, chest rumbling as he studies your face twisted into pure pleasure. He thrusts slowly a few more times, his hips meeting yours with each movement.

He starts to move slightly faster, needing you to cum around his cock. You gasp when he starts to pick up the pace, your slick soaking the base of his cock. The faster pace allows him to push into you deeper, his pupils blown wide with lust as you cup his face in your hands and pull him into another kiss. You arch your back into him as you kiss, bucking your hips as he circles your clit faster, harder.

His lips leave yours, breathing hard and open-mouthed against your face. His hands explore every inch of your body as if committing it to memory, fingers tracing every square inch of your skin. You reciprocate, running your hands through his hair, feeling strength and vulnerability coexisting in the man you call your husband.

Simon turns to bite your shoulder, his cock feeling absolutely, perfectly stimulated by your tight walls. You cry out in pain and pleasure, yanking his hair to elicit a response from him.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. The room is filled with the sounds of your moans and the slight creaking of the bed as Simon takes you with a primal intensity. His movements become faster, each thrust pushing you both closer to the edge.

You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper. Simon responds with a guttural groan, his grip on your hips sliding down to your ass.

“I love you,” Simon murmurs against your ear, his words sending shivers down your spine. “Always, only you.”

“I love you forever,” you stutter out, tears threatening to run down your cheeks.

Your walls flutter around his shaft, causing Simon to groan, making his mind sink further into his primal desire. He feels the familiar tightening of his orgasm creeping up on him, but he refuses to cum before you.

Simon starts to circle your clit faster, hitting all the angles and spots that he knows will have you screaming in pleasure.

“Oh, oh fuck,” you moan, thighs trembling. “You- you’re, so good—”

“I know, I know, darling.”

He takes your hands in his own, pinning your hands to the mattress by your head. His fingers lace with yours, never once daring to let go. He looks down at you, his gaze tender and caring, something he saves especially for you, yet there’s an intensity in his eyes, a desire that you know can be seen in yours as well. His hips move faster, slamming deep and hard into you, your body shaking as your moans and cries fill the room. You know you’re on the brink of your orgasm, your hold on his hands intensifying.

“Cum with me,” you moan, arching into Simon again. He groans at the thought of cumming at the same time as you, his cock twitching with the need to release inside of you. “Please, Si. Need you to fill me up.”

Simon’s pace increases impossibly faster at your excitement, pressing and circling your clit in the spot that makes your toes curl.

“Pretty girl, my pretty girl,” Simon growls, seizing your hips and dragging you closer to him. His undeniable need to cum reaches his cock as you mewl.

“‘M gonna cum, ‘m gonna—” you sob, the familiar heat of an impending orgasm traveling from the tips of your toes to the tops of your thighs.

Finally, you orgasm hard, your walls squeezing around his cock as you cum. Simon cums not long after, rocking into you repeatedly as he releases. His cheeks are flushed from exertion, gasping and groaning as his cock twitches with his release. Your name falls from his lips like a fervent prayer as he cums inside you, wrapping his whole being around you.

You try your best to slow your breathing, focusing on the way Simon lets his whole body fall loose, covering yours. The breath he had been holding came loose with a deep sigh, arms coming to wrap around your frame. It took a few moments for you both to collect yourselves, catching your breaths and shivering from oversensitivity.

You swallow the thickness in your throat as Simon pulls out of you, both of your releases trickling from your cunt. He grips your jaw possessively, pressing a kiss to your jawline then to your now swollen lips. You both lay there in the afterglow, nothing but pure love coursing through your veins.

“I love you, Si,” you sigh, scratching his back with your nails.

Simon buries his head against your shoulder, each exhale tickling your flesh. After a few minutes, Simon shifts to lie beside you, his arm draping over your waist as you both lay in a tangle of limbs. You stroke Simon’s hair, your fingers running through the short strands with a certain tenderness. His breathing gradually steadies, and you feel his muscles relax against you.

“Promise me again,” you whisper, vulnerability returning to your voice.

Simon turns to look at you, a serious expression crossing his face. “I promise, lovie.”

Content with his reassurance, you snuggle into his embrace, feeling the comforting warmth of his body. After all, this would be the last time in who knows how long you’d have him in your bed.

The world outside your chambers may be uncertain and dangerous, but here, in the embrace of your true love, you find peace, if only for a fleeting moment.

. . .

Morning comes all too soon.

The sun wasn’t even up, yet you knew the clock was ticking before Simon had to depart.

The moment you both woke up, you were on top of him, aching for him to fuck you one last time before he left.

In the quiet aftermath, as the two of you lay tangled in the sheets, the reality of the separation settled in. Simon’s fingers traced delicate patterns on your skin, a silent reassurance that lingered between you two.

“I wish I could stay,” Simon confesses, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

You tighten your hold on him, unwilling to let go just yet. “I know, but we have to.”

He nods, his eyes reflecting a storm of emotions.

“Dunno what ‘m gonna do without you,” he mutters, pulling you into a comforting embrace, savoring the feeling of being close to him.

The first hint of sunlight starts to peek through the windows, signaling to you both that it was time to get ready for the day.

As you both dress, the atmosphere in the room shifts. You help Simon pull on his military regalia, buttoning his shirt and pinning his crests and ribbons to his chest. Finally, he pulls on his armor, settling the heavy iron and silver pieces on his frame. Simon’s armor clinks softly as he secures it, an unwelcome contrast to the tender moments you had shared just a while before.

Once dressed, you stand before each other, eyeing the door warily. It could be months until either of you saw each other again. Simon cups your face in his hands, his touch tender yet firm, as if burning the memory of your features into his mind.

You watch Simon’s throat bob as he swallows thickly, taking your hand in his as you cross the threshold of your chambers. You walk together through the corridors, hand in hand, the acceptance of his departure finally at peace within you. You would always worry, every day, but you knew that he would come back home to you safely. It was just a matter of when. The castle felt different—a place that would witness the ache of longing and uncertainty in the days to come.

As you reach the front courtyard, the air is crisp, and the first rays of sunlight illuminate the stones of the castle. You’re met with the sight of hundreds of soldiers and knights, Commander Gaz, and General Price. Soldiers bustle around, preparing for the journey ahead of them, their gazes giving respectful nods and bows to Simon as he passes. The castle gates loom ahead, a threshold between the safety of the castle and the dangers that lie beyond.

Simon straightens his posture, walking with purpose, his stride unwavering as his armor clinks softly. You stand by his side, a pillar of support in the face of duty. You steal a glance at Simon, his jaw set, eyes focused on the path ahead. The tender moments you shared in your chambers just hours ago feels like a distant dream, replaced by the harsh reality of war.

Commander Gaz approaches, his expression stern yet sympathetic. “Your majesty, it’s time,” he says, a subtle nod indicating the urgency of the moment.

General Price jogs up to Simon, leaving some of his soldiers to speak to him. “We’re ready whenever you are. The men are looking extremely optimistic this morning.”

Simon nods, a silent acknowledgment of the journey he’s about to embark on. Price’s gaze then shifts to you, and there’s a rare softness in his eyes. “Take care of yourself, your majesty. I’ve left trusted knights and guards here to ensure you’re taken care of.”

“Thank you, General,” you reply, your voice steady as you flash him an appreciative smile.

As you reach the castle gates, the mood shifts. The soldiers form up in disciplined ranks, and Simon turns to face them. He raises his hand in a solemn gesture, a signal for silence. The courtyard stills as all eyes focus on their ruler.

“Today we march not as conquerors, but as protectors. Our duty is to defend our homes, our families, and Kastron as a whole. We stand as a collective, and no force can break the bond that ties us together. For honor, for justice, for Kastron!”

A resounding cheer erupts from the soldiers, their spirits ignited by Simon’s words. The castle gates creak open, revealing the vast expanse beyond. Hordes of soldiers and knights begin to move through the gates, led by Price and Gaz.

Simon turns to you, and for a fleeting moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you. He cups your face, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead. “Wait for me,” he whispers.

You offer a brave smile, masking the tears and sorrow that threatens to consume you.

“I will,” you reply, your voice carrying the strength and resilience needed for the days ahead.

Simon’s fingers press into your cheeks, guiding you to his lips for a final kiss. You grab onto him one last time, wrapping your arms around his neck, not caring that everyone can see you both. When you finally break apart, his eyes search yours for a moment, a silent exchange of admiration.

“I love you, Simon,” you say, your voice firm despite the emotions churning in your gut.

“I love you,” he replies, a promise.

With a final, tender kiss, Simon pulls away, his hand lingering on yours for a moment longer before he joins the ranks of the soldiers. The sound of marching fades into the distance, leaving you standing alone in the entranceway, watching the love of your life vanish into the horizon.

You watch as the castle gates close behind Simon and his troops, separating you from your husband. The morning sun climbs higher in the sky, casting its warm embrace on the now deserted courtyard, where the echoes of Simon’s departure linger.

Now alone in the courtyard, a breeze carries brushes past you. The castle feels emptier, and the weight of your responsibilities as the queen of Kastron settles in. Soap approaches you tentatively, his eyes full of concern.

“Ye’re majesty, is there anything I can do for you?”

You turn to him, sighing appreciatively.

“I… I’m not sure. But, I do want to thank you for staying here with me. It means a lot,” you reply, a small smile breaking through the somber atmosphere.

Soap nods respectfully, his gaze steady. “If there’s anything you need, don't hesitate to ask. I’ll be at your service.”

You jump up to give him a hug, and he returns the embrace. After a moment, you pull away, wiping away some stray tears you had let trickle down your face.

Turning back to face the castle, it seems different—colder, emptier. Yet, in your heart, your love for Simon and Kastron still burns, a beacon that will guide you in the coming months in the hope that he will return home to you safely.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

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